Chapter 25

Robert Bailey to May Bailey February 13, 1938

… It's been a week since Grace learned that her husband has been wounded and she has yet to hear anything more about him. The only good news is that her contact at the Star got her in to see J.E. Atkinson, the managing editor himself. Atkinson listened sympathetically to her request that he have one of his correspondents at Teruel, Hugh Frampton, make inquiries after Van at the International Brigades' Hospital at Benicassim.

However, he also warned her that because of the fascists' artillery and air power, the doctors and nurses there are dealing with a flood of casualties. It may have taken awhile for anyone to write her the details of Van's condition although hopefully someone has by now. Neither the Schmitzes nor the Saarinens have heard anything from their sons. We can only hope that they are safe. It's no wonder that Grace was so subdued during dinner last night. The only thing that cheered her up even a little was talking with Diana about the approaching birth of our baby

Doris didn't make things any better with her behavior. It was bad enough that she showed only perfunctory sympathy for her aunt's fears for her husband's life. She carried on all through dinner about how difficult the wedding preparations are and how inconsiderate it was of Jerry to not be with us because he had to work late. I couldn't help thinking, a little callously as it turned out, that she would rather have been out on the town dancing and downing cocktails with him than entertaining her "nutty aunt." It was even worse when she remarked of her fiance that, "at least he has enough sense not to go off and fight in some silly foreign war."

I'm not ashamed to say that I flinched at the glare Grace turned on Doris. If looks could kill, we would be planning Doris' funeral now instead of her wedding. Grace's reply was coldly furious. "I hope he has enough sense to realize that if the fascists win in Spain, he will be going off to fight in a foreign war and there won't be anything silly about it."

You would think that Doris would have realized at that point how insensitive she was being. Instead she laughed. "You and Father worry too much. Too many important people are determined to keep us out of another war in Europe. Even if there is one and conscription comes in, Jerry's family owns one of the biggest shipping companies on the Great Lakes and he works for them. They'll use their influence to get him a position in the Department of Transportation."

"Of course, they will," Grace admitted angrily. "He won't ever find himself fighting on a battlefield or lying wounded in a military hospital or maybe even … ."

Looking at the fear and misery on my sister's face as she tried unsuccessfully to choke back tears, I was deeply ashamed of Doris. I will say this for her. Seeing her aunt dabbing at her eyes with my handkerchief, it finally dawned on her that she might be behaving badly. She managed to force out a halting apology. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean … ."

I like to think I'm getting better at holding my temper, but every now and then I slip. "Of course, you didn't," I snapped. "You have to think first in order to mean anything and you haven't been doing much of that tonight, especially about your aunt's feelings."

Doris began her apology again. It was sincerely meant. Grace accepted it with an admirable display of the virtue for which you and father named her. It is typical of her forgiving nature that the next night, she came to me and asked me not to stay peeved at Doris for her behavior at dinner. She probably would have done so even if Doris hadn't spoken with her after church.

Apparently, an acquaintance had mentioned to her earlier that she had heard that Jerry had been working late a lot recently. Then the vicious cat asked if he had a cute secretary, probably knowing full well that he does. Grace was sure that I could understand why Doris was upset and preoccupied when Jerry had to work late again that very night.

There was just enough of an edge to that last statement to make me wince inwardly at the guilty memories of my own past infidelity. I brushed aside my discomfort to ask if there were anything to the rumors about Jerry. Grace assured me that there wasn't. To anyone who hasn't been her brother for thirty-six years, she would have sounded pretty convincing. However, I know how her voice gets just a shade too bright when she is trying to persuade you that everything couldn't be better, but isn't entirely sure of it herself.

I can't help feeling that there was more said between her and her niece than she was willing to tell me. Nonetheless, I later apologized to Doris for being so harsh towards her the previous night. I hope that I persuaded her that she can talk to me if anything is troubling her. I also intend to have a talk with Jerry about his responsibilities to my daughter. Expecting someone to behave better than you once did isn't hypocritical if you've learned your lesson.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

The last thing I did before I left Toronto was to visit Richard Ladner's parents, Elliot and Barbara Ladner. They were polite, but not enthusiastic. Elliot was an accountant at the Hudson Bay Company's Toronto office. It was unsettling enough for him and his wife that their son wanted to be an artist, but neither of them really believed that he should be risking his life in Spain. Elliot was very clear. "My son always was too idealistic for his own good. I don't blame him for wanting to help innocent people at the mercy of a cold-blooded butcher, but he should have used his talent to publicize the cause and raise money. He didn't have to join up and fight."

"No, he didn't," I agreed. "That's why you and your wife should be very proud of him as I am of my husband."

"We are," said Barbara with tears welling up in her eyes. "He was always a good boy."

This seemed like the appropriate time to bring up one of the reasons for my visit. "He did a wonderful thing for my husband and me." I indicated the rectangular object at my feet wrapped in twine and butcher paper that I had described as a surprise when I had first brought it in. "Let me show you something."

I untied the twine and unwrapped the butcher paper to reveal their son's framed drawing of the moon and all the stars. They listened as I explained how I came by it. By the time I finished expressing my gratitude to their son, Elliot's formality had softened into something resembling warmth. They thanked me for showing them such a lovely example of his work. I wish I could have let them keep it, but I just couldn't bear to give it up. That sketch was as much a part of Van to me as it was a part of their son to them. …

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan February 14, 1938

… The Schmitzes heard from Harry today. He and Oscar Saarinen are suffering from ungodly cold along with the rest of the battalion but are otherwise unhurt. … There is no news of Gottfried Schmitz. All Harry knows is that the Thaelmanns suffered heavy casualties in a brutal fight somewhere before Teruel. The details were censored. … Harry's letter had news of Van. It isn't good. Sometime before the end of January, Van suffered a shrapnel wound to the head during an artillery barrage. Two of the men alongside him were killed outright by the same burst. Harry isn't certain how severe the wound was, only that there was a great deal of blood and Van wasn't conscious afterwards. Battalion Commissar Saul Wellman carried him out of the lines. The last Wellman saw of him, he was being evacuated on a stretcher. I am not looking forward to breaking this news to Grace when she arrives in New Bedford tomorrow morning.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton February 15, 1938

Max and I were at the station with May to offer moral support and whatever comfort we could when she met Grace with the bad news from Harry's letter. Maisie wanted to be with us, but May refused to let her take time off from school. It never occurred to any of us that Grace might have bad news of her own to deliver. We were all surprised when she rushed up to Max, her suitcase and carefully wrapped sketch in her arms. The look she gave him was one of pure misery. "I'm so sorry, Max. I can't believe I could have been so stupid."

Max asked her what was wrong.

The words poured out of her in a wave of guilt and shame. "Your manuscript! Miner's Son! I lost it at the station in Toronto."

Max was thunderstruck. "How?"

"I put Richard Ladner's sketch over it when I sat down on the bench to wait for my train. I was so distracted with trying to think of some new way of finding news of Van. When my train was announced, I just picked up my suitcase and the sketch without looking and ran. I must have left the manuscript behind. I didn't realize what I had done until the train was already out of the station. I called from the next stop. The people at the station looked, but the manuscript was gone from the bench. I don't know where it is. I'm sorry."

I had to admire Max for his restraint. I knew how much worry and hard work had gone into the second draft of Miner's Son. It must have been agony to lose the only copy. It hardly showed. There was just a hint of frustration in his eyes and a slight stiffness in his stance. Only a wife with considerable experience of her husband's moods would have spotted it. When he looked down at Grace after a moment, it was with sympathy and understanding. "It doesn't matter. I can write another draft. This one needed reworking anyway."

Grace shook her head. "I just wish I'd paid more attention."

Max smiled at her. "You have a lot on your mind these days. I understand."

Grace gave Max a look of gratitude. "Thank you, Max. I can't tell you how much I appreciate that. I've been half crazy with worry all the way up here. At least the rest of the day has to be better."

Next Week: Grace's fears. More news of Van.