Chapter 78
From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -
By October 30, Franco's casualties had been replaced by new waves of conscripts armed by a fresh infusion of German weapons and supplies. On that date, his forces struck the Republican lines south of the Ebro and began to push the exhausted defenders back. When the news reached New Bedford, I silently thanked God that Van and his surviving comrades were not expected to stand against that murderous tide anymore.
May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan Nov. 1, 1938
Between overtime at the mine office and blazing away at her typewriter on one Grace's Corner column after another, Grace has been working at a terrific clip. Her help to me these past two years has been invaluable. I am astonished by how much she has learned about the business. Her knowledge of geology, mineralogy, and mine engineering was surprisingly solid even before her work for me helped her bring it more or less up to date. She was obviously more diligent about plowing through Bob's notes and books for his college and university courses during the 1920s than I gave her credit for at the time.
I believe that my project of educating her to the point that she can monitor my successor as president of the Silverdome Mining Company on behalf of the family can safely be pronounced a complete success. I have not made a final decision on whether Glenn Sinclair or Howard Dowling will be that successor, but I am definitely leaning towards one of the two. I believe that I will reach a final decision in the next two weeks.
… Grace admits that she could be wrong in her suspicion that Hub's feelings for Anna Schiller are starting to grow beyond friendship. For Maisie's sake, I hope that she is. At any rate, Grace is keeping quiet for the time being and hoping that my ward doesn't have an unpleasant shock coming. Maisie, on the other hand, can hardly wait for Hub to return for the Christmas holiday, even if she does have the decency to try to conceal her pleasure at hearing of Hub's doubts about his vocation.
I regret to inform you that she is hard at work with new experiments in the kitchen in the hope of impressing him with her cooking skills. It is only due to Grace's speed and good aim with a bucket of sand that we still have a kitchen instead of a charred ruin. Maisie also hopes to greet Van at the end of his present journey with a meal worthy of a returning hero.
If I were him, I would seriously consider staying in Spain. It might well be safer. Unfortunately, Grace and I aren't lucky enough to have such a choice. Last Saturday night, for her turn at supper, Maisie inflicted mustard chili pepper mashed potatoes with maple syrup gravy on our outraged stomachs. Mustard gas would have been an improvement.
Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry, Nov. 3, 1938
My father died twenty years ago today. I hope he would be proud of what I have made of my life since then. Any success I have had in being a good person I owe, to a large extent, to the love and patience with which he raised me. If I can be half the parent to my children, when I have them, that he was to me, I will have little more to wish for in life. Please, give your father my regards. Mother sends hers also. We are glad that he continues in good health and takes so much pleasure in his grandchildren.
I think Father would like Van very much. He has the same easygoing good nature. Father might not even mind losing to his son-in-law in poker. Mother was kind enough to say before we went up to the cemetery this morning that he would have been pleased with the happiness Van and I have found together.
We put flowers on Father's grave. The stone is starting to wear a little and the grass at its foot is fading with the late autumn chill. The only warmth in that peaceful place was from the memories Mother and I contemplated in silence of a man we had both loved dearly.
Afterwards, I drove up to Alawanda and reached the mill by noon. From the unloading of the logs from the flatbed cars to the disposal of the waste in the burners, the process of producing saleable lumber proceeded at a steady clip. Consulting with Ernest Smith, I was pleased to find that the previous summer's upgrades of plant and equipment have increased the Alawanda Lumber Company's capacity to produce year-round. Further rail building into every corner of our leased land has increased our access to reserves of unharvested timber.
Mr. Smith isn't sure that the Munich agreement hasn't rendered the excess production capacity unnecessary for the time being but concedes that Hitler's integrity isn't the most reliable foundation for a lasting peace. All in all, it looks as though everything will be in place for Van and I to take over the running of the Alawanda Timber Company in February when we return from our trip to Hawaii after New Year's. It was very generous of Mr. Smith to agree to stay on as president and manager for a couple of weeks after the end of the year to make our vacation possible. Waikiki, here I come!
From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -
I stopped my roadster a little down the road from the mill and took one last look back at it under the high sun of the early afternoon. The whir and buzz of the saws and the thud of bundles of planks, beams, and posts settling on top of each other on outgoing flatbed cars were still audible. It was the sort of thing that Mr. Cramp, in one of his Chamber of Commerce speeches, would call the pulse of industry.
That pulse would quicken in the winter, the peak season for timber harvesting and milling, in order to insure a steady flow of material to the building industry for its peak seasons of spring and summer. I couldn't help thinking that if Van had been a different man, an honest man, when I first met him, we could have been running this enterprise together for two years already.
Then again, a different man might not have done what he did, declaring love at first sight for me and meaning it even if he didn't realize it at the time. A different man might not have risked his very life to atone for the wrong he did me or held our love close in the depths of hell. I silently thanked God that the Van who would simply have let me pass by on the other side of the street that April Fool's Day and driven out of New Bedford afterwards without a backwards glance only existed in my imagination.
A sudden yearning to be with the actual Van seized me. I could almost feel his strong arms around me and his broad chest leaning into me as I tilted my head back to receive his kiss. I could hardly wait for the moment when his touch became real, and his kiss became a lifetime.
Next Week: A Sunday Afternoon