Chapter 41

Robert Bailey to Grace Mainwaring Apr. 7, 1938

I'm sorry to take so long to write to you, but between business, Doris' engagement, preparations for the new baby, and Van and Mother visiting, things have been hectic. … I appreciate your trying to talk Mother into staying with Diana and me instead of at the King Edward. She wouldn't listen to me either but reiterated her refusal to stay in the same house as the woman who broke up my marriage to Toppy.

She did allow that some of the blame was mine. There was a time I would have just blown up at her, but now I held my temper. It helped that her refusal was apologetic rather than high-handed and that Diana took it with more graciousness than she felt.

Mother admitted that, as far as she could see, Diana was trying to be a good wife to me. She even trusted that Diana would be a good mother to our child once it was born. She wishes the two of us every happiness in our marriage but was brought up to believe in a certain code of morality and it is not easy to ignore the convictions of a lifetime. While she wasn't jumping for joy, she did make a genuine concession by visiting our home for supper. …

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty April 9, 1938

… Grace came up the walk and into the house with a handful of letters. She put all but one on the parlor table and took that one with her to the phone. She dialed Bob's home number in Toronto. Diana answered.

Grace didn't waste time chitchatting. She immediately asked if Van was there. He was. As Grace waited for him to come to the phone, I tried to read the envelope she held, but the sender's name was covered by her hand.

Once Van came on the line, Grace explained to him that he had received a letter from Harry Schmitz. I'm not the fainting kind, but it's been forever since there was any news of him or his comrades. Realizing that he had to still be alive was almost enough to make my head swim.

Grace asked Van to let her look at the letter and listened to his answer. Then, she tucked the receiver under her chin, tore open the envelope, and removed the letter. Scanning it, she boiled down the contents for Van.

The retreat of the Mac-Paps from Letux to the Ebro had been filled with hard and costly fighting. They had made a stand at Caspe but had been outflanked and driven back. A week later, the survivors crossed the Ebro and regrouped on its northern bank. Grace called what they went through between Caspe and the Ebro a retreat, but we both knew that it was a rout.

Harry was alive and unhurt. So was Oscar Saarinen. Other MacPaps had met some Thaelmanns at the Ebro, but none of them had heard anything of Gottfried. There was still no news of him.

Then Grace suddenly stopped talking. Her face went as white as the belly of a dead fish. When she resumed the conversation, it was in a voice that was tight with pain and shock. She had some bad news for Van. …

Harry Schmitz to Vanaver Mainwaring Apr. 2, 1938

… We were ordered to hold at Caspe on a low, narrow hill to the south of the town. There was a cemetery on top where my squad dug in. The fascists came at us again and again, but the Finns' machine guns threw them back. Their tanks and artillery let loose with shells and German and Italian planes came to bomb and strafe us. The tombs and headstones provided some protection from shrapnel.

Richard Ladner was off to my left. When one of the new bent-winged dive bombers that the Germans have been using since Teruel jumped us, sirens screaming and machine guns hammering, he hit the dirt. When it was over, the rest of the squad got up. He still lay there next to a marble cross, not moving at all. The bullet that struck him in the back must have gone straight through his heart. …

Robert Bailey to Grace Bailey Apr. 11, 1938

Van visited the Ladners yesterday just before he had to leave for the next stop on his tour. He conveyed your sympathies for their loss and his apologies for being unable to stay for the memorial service. They were grateful for the kind things Harry said about their son in his letter to them.

Van came back shaken. When I asked him what else the Ladners had said to him, all he told me was that they, and especially Elliot Ladner, had given him food for thought. Then, he settled into a chair in the sitting room and for a long time stared into the fire as though he could see right past it and through the wall to something in the far distance.

Mother and the Cohens came with me and Diana today to the memorial service for Richard Ladner. We were the only people there to my knowledge with any connection to the International Brigades. Most of the guests were friends from Elliot Ladner's office or the Ladner's church. I wish Doris had agreed to come with us. It would do her good to see the price some people have paid and will continue to pay so she can enjoy her cozy, carefree little life.

Obviously, there was no casket. Instead, sketches and paintings by the deceased of people he found intriguing and landscapes he was obviously entranced by were displayed. They showed a rare skill and sensitivity. That anyone merely human could so perfectly capture the essences of individuals and places with a handful of pen and brush strokes is a wonder. That such a gift could so quickly and easily be ended forever is a tragedy.

… Elliot and Missy Ladner stiffened when they heard Al Cohen's last name. Their daughter and her husband looked more surprised and curious than upset. Elliot took Al's hand in spite of whatever reservations he might have had. He took it as though it were a rotting eel, but he took it. Al had already been getting some doubtful glances from some of the other guests.

I've met Jews who don't look anything like the standard caricature, but you've seen Al. His lips aren't particularly thick and he's stocky rather than fat, but his nose is somewhat hooked. It was enough for some to suspect what he was.

I couldn't help remembering something he once told me over pinochle when I pointed out that Communists might have their faults, but at least they aren't prejudiced. He looked at me uncertainly for a second as though not sure how or whether to reply. Then he spoke calmly. "That's true. No Communist ever called me a kike or a dirty yid or suggested that my religion made me unfit to be Canadian. Only solid, respectable people did that."

I couldn't help remembering all the ugly jokes and stories about Jews I pretended not to mind over the years in order to get along in business and with my social circle. I told myself that it was just harmless small talk that didn't mean anything. I knew better in my heart, but it was easier to trade decency and self-respect for acceptance. It wasn't easy to stop lying to myself, but when I did, I felt cleaner than I had in years. I wish I had done it earlier.

The Ladners' coldness failed to alter the sympathy and compassion in Al's eyes and voice as he paid his respects. He only seemed a little sadder. To his listeners' shock, he spoke of his son's death and the grief that followed. "Your life will never be without the pain of losing your boy but, I promise you, the pain will stop being your life. The memory of the blessing he was to you will bring more and more joy until a day comes when the joy is greater than the pain."

Elliot Ladner's condescending expression had changed to one of desperate longing. "Has that day come for you?"

Al Cohen bowed his head. "No, but the joy grows. I can see that day coming closer and closer. God willing, it will come for both of us."

"God willing," Mr. Ladner echoed Then he brushed away the beginnings of tears from his eyes. I thanked God that my child, difficult as she can be sometimes, is still with me. I love Doris, but I admit that when she was born, I felt some disappointment that she wasn't a boy. Today, with the shadow of war hanging over every young man of her and Richard Ladner's age, I felt relief that she isn't.

Next Week: What no one knew. Marriage, motherhood, and exhaustion. The bargain and the angle.