Chapter 42

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

None of us knew, as the fascists went from victory to victory, that the war still had a year to go. On April 10, Franco's divisions, nearing the Ebro, turned southeast away from Catalonia. They drove for the sea and reached it five days later, cutting the Republic in half. This was a hard blow, but not a mortal one.

The generalissimo was worried that if Catalonia fell immediately, it would provoke a military reaction by the French. He was also worried that if the war ended too quickly, he wouldn't be able to subject the Spanish people to as thorough a campaign of terror and slaughter as he wished. It wouldn't do to leave them with even a few shreds of hope, freedom, or dignity-or himself and the rest of their conquerors with even a trace of honor or integrity.

In New Bedford, goodhearted kids who only wanted to bring cheer and comfort to lonely soldiers far from home paid their own price for Franco's ambitions. When news finally arrived of their International Brigades pen pals, it came all at once.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry Apr. 11, 1938

This is going to be a long letter, so sit down and have Melanie watch the boys for a moment. I wish I had a housekeeper. Maisie is a great help, but it's still a big house. I'm not looking forward to spring cleaning this year. Back to my subject. I have a lot of news about my family and friends.

I had lunch with Toppy and Marjorie today. Toppy insisted on treating us at the New Bedford Inn Tearoom with the increased profits resulting from Rebecca's radio promotion of her dress shop. She even sprang for a private room so the three of us could chat without the other customers overhearing.

I kidded her that she shouldn't spend too much of the profits since some of them were mine. She assured me that I would get my share. She hadn't forgotten the money I invested when she opened the shop.

Marjorie sends her love. So does Libby who was waiting tables in the main dining room when we arrived. Marjorie all but collapsed into her chair when she arrived. Apparently, marriage and motherhood can be exhausting, especially motherhood.

Marjorie loves Jacob, but all that energy and enthusiasm can wear her out. Every now and then she needs to relax with friends. She did wonder if she was being selfish. Toppy's reply was emphatic. "No. You're being a mother. We all have ways of carving out a little time for ourselves so we can keep a grip on health and sanity."

It seemed to me that they were making motherhood sound like an ordeal.

"It is sometimes," Toppy affirmed. "I'm not saying it isn't worth it, but you wouldn't believe how much it can take out of you."

"You said it." Marjorie seconded. "My sister would probably agree too."

Marjorie then launched into an account of Libby's troubles with her oldest boy. Alec continues to resent her determination that he will finish high school. He thinks that it's completely unfair that she won't let him drop out like at least half a dozen of his friends have. He envies the money they're making at the Bas Lake Mine.

To her credit, Libby refuses to relent. Alec's father may have been a miner, but he always regretted leaving school at an early age. He wanted more for his sons. In their last conversation, which Marjorie witnessed, Alec countered that that was alright for his brother. He's smart. Alec is just a regular guy. He doesn't need books and studying to get along.

Libby retorted that she used to think that way. Maybe, if she hadn't, she could have gotten a better job than waitress when her husband died. Maybe she wouldn't have had to count every penny and do without so many things just to get by from one day to the next. Alec complained to Marjorie afterwards and asked her to persuade his mother to stop ruining his life. Of course, Marjorie supported her sister.

My own nephew, Henry, is much more satisfied with his life. He is enjoying the current friction between Pritchard and Rebecca far too much. Pritchard's father tells me that his son isn't happy with Rebecca's new celebrity. He thinks that it matters to her more than he does. It doesn't help that last week, she cancelled a date with him to address the Pinebury Women's Institute on fashion.

Pritchard also hates that when they are together, she spends so much time talking about clothes and styles. Henry is nicer about it to get her to warm to him. However, he also admits that when Rebecca talks about fashion it makes sense. As he put it, "It's still a girl thing, but they actually have reasons for liking it so much. And it is serious work for people who do it as a living."

His Aunt Toppy will be glad to hear that her dress shop isn't a waste of time. He is all but turning cartwheels since Rebecca agreed to go to the Spring Dance with him. Of course, this good fortune means that he has redoubled his efforts to persuade me to lend him my roadster. Yesterday, he even came up with an ingenious new angle. "If Mr. Flett thought that you should, would you let me drive your roadster?"

I looked at my nephew skeptically. "I'd have to at least consider it."

Henry grinned. "He does. Our agreement is that I had to go a year driving the Ford without an accident. Right?"

"It is."

Henry's eyes lit up like a hunter's who has just spotted easy prey. "I checked the calendar. It's been 189 days since I accidentally punctured the left rear tire by backing over your garden rake."

I knew I was about to be played for a sap, but I didn't know how. "That sounds about right."

Henry sprang his trap. "Mr. Flett told us in science class that a year on Mercury is 88 days. One 88-day year means that you've refused to let me drive your roadster for over two years instead of the one you promised. That's a terrible thing to do to your own nephew."

It took every ounce of willpower I had to keep from collapsing into helpless laughter. "Terrible my foot. Your parents can stop wondering what career you're going to choose. With logic like that, you'll obviously grow up to be a lawyer."

"I've still had two accident-free years with the Ford though."

"Not in earth years. By those, you still have until October 17 before you can drive the roadster."

"That isn't fair," he protested. "You and Uncle Van will be leaving New Bedford by the end of the summer. You won't even be here in October."

"Van and I will still visit."

Henry wasn't cheered up at all. "So, I'll get to drive it once in a blue moon. Thanks a million, Aunt Grace."

I let him walk off for a couple of seconds, head bowed, shoulders slumped, hands in his pockets. Then, I spoke to his back. "Of course, I could leave it in New Bedford between the first couple of visits."

He straightened up instantly. Then he turned around, ran up to me and hugged me. "Thanks, Aunt Grace. I promise I won't put a scratch on the Ford."

In two weeks: War's harvest. Spring dance. Sergeants and commissars. Lumber and executives.