Chapter 79
May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan Nov. 6, 1938
… I was in my office attending to some outstanding private correspondence. Grace had been pleasantly relaxed this Sunday afternoon. The letter she had received from Van yesterday had relieved some of her worries. He wrote that he, Alan Belfer, and Leroy Horwitz were essentially finished with shooting. Only a couple of odds and ends were left. They would soon be on their way to France where Horwitz would edit the film. I left Grace sitting in the parlor reading a book called The Arts by Hendrik Van Loon.
After a few minutes, the front doorbell rang. I could hear Grace's steps as she went to answer it, then nothing. I turned my attention back to my task. It could not have been more than a minute before the comfortable silence was annihilated by the scream of a soul utterly consumed by pain. More screams followed and my own soul went frigid with fear. I took up my cane and hobbled to the front of the house as fast as I could.
I found Grace on the front porch and was shaken by the sight. She was writhing and shrieking on the floor like a crazed animal. I knelt down next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned her face upwards to me to reveal uncomprehending anguish. She threw herself on me and sobbed fiercely. I embraced her and asked, "What is it dear? What's wrong?"
Her reply was tortured. "Van's dead! They've killed him!"
My heart broke for her. The agonized plea that followed tore it completely to pieces. "Mother! Mother!"
My poor sweet daughter buried her face in my shoulder. All I could do was hold her as her body shook with a frenzy of weeping.
From the Journal of Maisie McGinty Nov. 6, 1938
… I was walking home from Lucy McGuiness' house. We had just spent an hour thinking up ideas for our part in the Junior Red Cross fund drive for the International Peace Garden on the Canada-U.S. border between Manitoba and North Dakota. I had just turned the corner of West St. when the screaming started.
The last time I heard raw grief and despair like that in a human voice was from me after Mom's funeral when I realized that she wasn't coming back. If I'm lucky, I'll die before I ever hear anything like it again. I had a second jolt when I realized where the screams were coming from. I took the block at a sprint. When I reached home and saw Mrs. Bailey cradling an hysterical Grace on the porch, I didn't care that I was slightly out of breath.
I ran up to them and asked Mrs. Bailey what was wrong. She pointed to a small rectangle of paper lying face up on the floor where Grace must have dropped it. It was a telegram. Mrs. Bailey asked me to read it to her. I could hear my voice shake as I realized what it said. …
Ministeria de la Defensa Nacional to Mrs. Vanaver Mainwaring, Nov. 6, 1938
We regret to inform you that your husband, Sgt. Vanaver Mainwaring of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion, XVth International Brigade, was killed on the evening of Nov. 3 by a stray bullet after aiding the evacuation of the village of Pinell de Brai. Convoy he was with fired on by fascist infantry. No other casualties.
From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -
I sobbed even harder as Maisie read the first two sentences bearing the news of Van's death. To hear another human voice speak the pitiless words was a terrible confirmation that they were true and not something that I had imagined in a nightmare. I don't remember Maisie running off to fetch Dr. Barlow at Mother's orders although she must have. I don't remember him giving me a sedative after he arrived. I only remember my mother holding me and murmuring, "My poor child. My poor little girl."
From the Journal of Honey Sutton, Nov. 6, 1938
I knew something was up when a puzzled Max told me that Mother Bailey wanted me on the phone. I had no idea how awful her news would be. … I offered my sympathies and asked after Grace. It was painful, although not surprising, to hear how hard she was taking her loss.
Mother Bailey and I both had children depending on us when we lost our husbands. We had to hold ourselves together no matter how desperately we wanted to fall apart. Grace doesn't have that kind of incentive to restrain her grief. Mother Bailey told me that we both knew all too well what Grace was going through. "It's been twenty years, but I can still see Dr. Gregory telling me that I had lost my John. I was so certain that the only thing I would ever feel again was pain. I'm sure that it was just as bad for you when Jack passed away."
"It was," I admitted. I haven't ever forgotten that moment when I reached the New Bedford Hospital after that frantic drive from Bas Lake only to find that Jack had died on the way in his sons' arms.
"I would have done anything to spare Grace that," Mother Bailey stated in a soft tone which could not conceal her anguish.
"We both would," I acknowledged.
"This is going to be a hard time for Grace," Mother Bailey continued sadly. "She is going to need all the love and support this family can give her in the days to come. Can I count on you and Max and the children?"
I didn't even have to think about my answer. "Of course. If there's anything we can do, you only have to ask."
I arranged for us to pay a visit to Grace tomorrow. Ordinarily, I wouldn't ask Max to let the boys or Violet out of school, even for just one period. However, they are all great favorites with their aunt. Hopefully, it will do her some good to see them. Max and the kids were distressed at the news of Grace's bereavement. The expression on Max's face was filled with sympathy and compassion.
Henry's reaction was, "Gee, … that's tough."
A wide-eyed, fearful Violet exclaimed, "That means that Aunt Grace will never see Uncle Van again, doesn't it?"
"Not unless they meet in heaven," I admitted. I didn't think that this was the time to mention Van's agnosticism.
Afterwards, when Max and I sat together in bed, I couldn't help telling him what was in my heart. "It isn't fair. Why should a kind, selfless, loving person like Grace have to endure such an awful tragedy? She's given so much happiness to everyone around her, including us. Why can't she have some of her own?"
Max was gravely silent for a moment. When he spoke, it was with subdued thoughtfulness. "I wish I knew. I can't think of anyone who's been as dogged by misfortune as Grace has since I've known her … or anyone who deserves it less."
Tears gathered in my eyes. "It's so cruel. To lose Van just when it looked like he was safe, and they could finally have a future. Just this afternoon, she was telling me how wonderful their new life together was going to be. She could hardly wait to be reunited with him."
There was no complacency in what Max said next after he put his arm around me, only baffled resignation. "God's reasons are His own, Honey. If we know them at all, we only know them imperfectly. All we can do is trust that His ends are merciful."
From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -
I barely responded to Mother's efforts to comfort and care for me. All I could do was lie helplessly in my bed, shattered by my loss like glass by a stone. My hopes, my dreams, my future were all gone. I could not believe that anything could ever fill the sorrowful
void which they had left behind. I could not conceive of any happiness or worthwhile purpose in a world in which Van would never touch me or speak to me again.
From the Journal of Honey Sutton, Nov. 7, 1938
We were all shocked to see Grace so empty and apathetic-like a rag doll thrown down into a corner by a careless child. … We exchanged goodbyes with Mother Bailey. Then we walked across the porch and down the path to the front gate in stunned silence. It wasn't until we reached the sidewalk that Henry spoke in hushed disbelief. "Wow, this has really hit Aunt Grace hard. You'd think she and Van had been married for fifty years."
I answered my son the only way I could, from my experience of two husbands, four children, and many cherished friends. "It isn't how long you love that matters, but how deeply. And your Aunt Grace loved that man with all her heart and soul."
Next Week: Mutual stubbornness. Obituary. Funeral arrangements.