Chapter 24
Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry February 9, 1938
There has been no further word of Van. I have written to the International Brigades Hospital at Benicassim hoping to find out more. As I walk down the streets of New Bedford to and from work, I see people drive to appointments, shop for groceries, and shovel snow to clear the sidewalks in front of their businesses. At the mine office I type Mother's dictation and help her keep her appointments straight. At CRNB I read my copy over the air. At home I type a column on how to put life into leftovers.
It seems almost obscene for me or anyone to follow a routine, to carry out the thousand little actions that mesh into a pattern of daily life as though the man I love doesn't matter. I want to scream at the world that he matters to me. The only good thing I can say is that as the shock of the bad news is starting to wear off, my mind is starting to focus itself. I know what I have to do. If there is no official word of Van in the next day or so, I will see what I can learn from unofficial sources. …
From the Journal of Honey Sutton February 9, 1938
Toppy and Archie had Max and I over for supper tonight. … The conversation turned to Max's play. The Attenboroughs had heard from Grace that Max had finished his second draft of Miner's Son. Toppy wondered if he might want to have the New Bedford Dramatic Society put it on.
"Maybe," Max replied. "In the future. If I can work out some of the problems it still has."
Toppy was thoughtful. "If I didn't have a deadline for my new book in two weeks, I'd suggest letting me have a look at it like I did the first draft. Perhaps someone else could do it."
A light came into Max's eyes. "What about Grace? Her suggestions were very helpful when I was writing serials for CRNB. It might even be good for her to have a distraction with everything she's going through."
Archie raised an eyebrow. "You really think four acts of drunken rages, wife and child beating, and the Great War will cheer her up?"
"It might," Toppy chimed in. "Speaking as a reader and an author, there's nothing like the troubles of fictional people to take your mind off your own."
From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -
… During those days when I didn't know if my darling Van was alive or dead, there was a small silver lining in the form of sympathy from unexpected quarters. After the weekly board meeting, Mr. Bridgeman actually had the decency to express his hope that Van's wounds weren't serious and that he would soon recover. Mr. Cramp spoke to me after I turned in my latest column. His face wore a look of both embarrassment and concern. "I know I've said some hard things about your husband's cause and your efforts to help him in the past year, but that was only a difference of opinion. I hope you understand that I never wanted him to come to harm."
I assured him that I did. He put his hand on mine and squeezed it gently. "If there's anything Callie and I can do for you and your husband, you only have to ask."
It was probably terrible of me to take advantage of one of Mr. Cramp's rare moments of generosity the way I did, but what I asked really was a help to my husband, or at least his comrades. Besides, I was still a little irked at how he and Mrs. Cramp had bamboozled me into writing the homemaking column for the paper. Never mind that I had actually come to enjoy the work. "There is one thing."
Mr. Cramp looked at me eagerly. I didn't keep him in suspense for long. "The Friends of the
Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion are planning a new fundraising campaign for the Rehabilitation Fund. I'm sure that you wouldn't mind letting us advertise in the Chronicle for free so that we can contribute the money saved to the fund."
The look of abject horror on Mr. Cramp's face at the sound of the word free was very satisfying. "Do you know what a quarter page of advertising costs these days."
I quoted him the going rate minus the pittance of a discount I had managed to negotiate with him for the last fundraising campaign I had run. I could have dickered with him some more, but then I thought of all the Canadian wounded lying in that hospital with Van. They had fought for their country as surely as any veteran of the Great War, but they would come home to a government that could be relied on to give them no care for their wounds or any help in building new lives. Suddenly, there were more important things at stake than my desire to get my own back.
I explained to Mr. Cramp exactly how much artificial limbs and treatment by a doctor would cost for just one veteran. Every penny I could save on fundraising expenses would be needed. Surely, he could give up a little profit for a short time for the sake of wounded soldiers like the ones he knew in the Great War. To his credit, he listened thoughtfully and understood what I was saying even if the very idea of giving away ad space aggravated his stomach trouble.
"All right," he grumbled doing his best not to let me see that there might actually be a tender spot or two in his heart of stone. "How about one free ad and the rest at a 50% discount?"
I didn't reply. Mr. Cramp understood why immediately. He put his hand up. "Please, stop calculating. I don't need to know how much medical care I'd be depriving the poor veterans of." He gave a sigh of resignation. "If Callie finds out, she'll never let me hear the end of this, but one ad free and a 60% discount on the rest."
I admit I was shocked and delighted. That was a much better deal than I expected to get. I leaned over and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. "You're a nice man, Mr. Cramp."
I could swear he actually blushed, but the light in the corner of the newsroom where we were standing was very dim. I probably imagined it. He was a little startled though. "Don't go overboard Grace."
"I'm not. You really are a nice man."
"I'll deny it if you tell anyone, especially Callie." He grinned wickedly. "I don't want her to think I married her under false pretenses."
I stifled a burst of laughter. "We can't have that. I promise, my lips are sealed."
That lighthearted moment was short lived, but much appreciated. In those tense days, such moments were a much-needed relief from my troubles.
Next Week: An insensitive niece. News at last