Chapter 80

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty Nov. 7, 1938

A second telegram from the Ministry of Defense arrived just after I returned from school. I had to take the receipt upstairs for Grace to sign. Only after I brought it back would Marcel Castineau let Mrs. Bailey have the telegram. When Grace read it, her eyes widened. She jumped out from under the covers as though someone had run a jolt of electricity through her. She whisked clothes out of her closet and her chest of drawers and onto the bed.

Mrs. Bailey tried to get her daughter's attention. She had to speak her name three times before Grace stopped for an instant and looked at us. Bottomless sadness was still in her eyes, but so was a frenzied determination. "There are things I have to do, preparations I have to make."

She snatched the telegram from her desk where she had left it and handed it to Mrs. Bailey. I read it over her shoulder. It said that Van's body was in the morgue at Barcelona General Hospital. They would bury him with honor if Grace agreed. Mrs. Bailey supposed that Grace would be going down to the telegraph office to wire them permission. She couldn't have been more wrong. Grace answered sharply, her eyes flashing with anger. "I will not leave my husband where the fascists can get their filthy hands on him. I wouldn't put it past them to desecrate his marker. They might even dig him up and throw him into the mass grave they'll make for the people they murder when they take Barcelona."

Mrs. Bailey was confused. "You can't mean to bring him home from Spain."

Grace looked her mother straight in the eye with a fury and determination that would have intimidated a mountain lion. "I intend to do just that."

My grandpop used to call me stubborn sometimes, but I learned today that I have nothing on May Bailey and Grace Mainwaring. They argued until Grace closed the bathroom door behind her so she could take a bath. They argued from the time she came back into the hall until she was in the foyer about to leave for the telegraph office.

They were polite and never raised their voices, but neither would give even a fraction of a fraction of an inch. Mrs. Bailey warned of the dangers of air raids and advancing fascist armies. Grace flinched a little when her mother declared that she had already buried one of her children. Wasn't that enough?

"If it were me lying dead in a foreign country and Van still alive," Grace answered solemnly, "do you think he would refuse to come for me?"

"No," Mrs. Bailey admitted, "but you know he wouldn't want you to come for him, not into a war zone."

"No, he wouldn't," Grace responded firmly before rushing out the door, "but we don't always get what we want in this world."

The argument started all over again on new ground when Grace returned. Mrs. Bailey turned the tables by announcing that if she couldn't stop Grace from risking her life, then she was going with her. Now, it was Grace's turn to argue against a decision that she thought was crazy. She had no more chance of changing her mother's mind than her mother had of changing hers. That didn't stop her from trying until Mrs. Bailey pointed out that she had the resources and connections to get to Spain with or without her agreement.

At that point they were out of things to say. For a moment that seemed to last forever, they just stood there glaring at each other. Then I told them that if they were going to Spain, I ought to go with them. Both of them turned and glared at me. I don't mind admitting that their identical cold stares were scary. Anyone who could put them on Halloween masks would make a fortune.

Mrs. Bailey told me in her sternest voice that I was staying in New Bedford. I didn't actually think it would work, but it was worth a try. Grace threw up her hands in disgust and went upstairs after telling us that she had an obituary to type.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan Nov. 7, 1938

Grace returned from the Chronicle office an hour later. Van's obituary will appear in Wednesday's edition. Maisie and I were glad to hear that Mr. Cramp and his staff had been very kind to her. He didn't raise a single objection to her praise of the antifascist cause in which Van died. He just read through it once and promised that it would be printed as Grace wrote it.

Mrs. Cramp was there bringing her husband a late lunch. Apparently, she tried to reassure Grace from her own experience of being widowed twice before she met Alden Cramp that losing her husband was not the end of her life even if it felt like it. Grace was bemused as she recounted the conversation. She gave the impression that she appreciated the effort at giving comfort but couldn't understand how anyone could believe anything so ridiculous.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton Nov. 8, 1938

I can hardly believe that the Grace who has moved so fast to organize Van's funeral and her and Mother Bailey's trip to Spain is the same Grace who only yesterday afternoon refused to budge from her bed. Toppy, Marjorie, and I would have understood if she hadn't felt up to meeting us above Toppy's shop for lunch. Just before she arrived, Toppy had astonished us by revealing that Grace had asked her to make a make a copy of the flag of the International Brigades to be draped over Van's coffin when his body arrives in New Bedford.

At that point Grace walked in. She thanked Toppy for offering to do the work for free and insisted on at least paying the cost of the material. Her expression darkened when I asked if she had made arrangements for Van's funeral with Phil Hamlin. She described his refusal to take the job with barely restrained fury.

He told her that he didn't believe that a deluded fool who served a Communist government and fought alongside Communists should be honored with a hero's funeral. He even added that she was well rid of Van and probably shouldn't have married him to begin with. Seeing the tears forming in her eyes as she relived that heartwarming moment, I could have happily murdered Mr. Hamlin. Only an unfeeling louse would say something like that to a grieving widow. It's no surprise that he's one of Alistair Grady's clique.

At least, the Rev. Hall was more reasonable. As Van was not a Presbyterian, he could not conduct the memorial in his capacity as a minister. However, in spite of worries about how the more conservative members of his congregation would take his action, he did promise to speak at Van's memorial as a family friend.

Grace added that she had spoken on the phone to Karl Schenken, Roolie's son, in Bridgeville. He is a friend of Mr. Albert, the hardware store owner/undertaker there and was able to persuade him to handle the funeral arrangements. Grace just wishes that she could have been more successful in her past efforts to persuade Karl's mother to move in with him instead of living alone.

As far as I'm concerned, she is being too hard on herself. He should be grateful to her for the way she has kept an eye on Roolie for him these past three years. Helping find a new undertaker is the least he could do. Marjorie improved the mood when she told us that Dr. Barlow had leads on at least three expectant mothers who might be willing to put their babies up for adoption by her and Ollie. Grace actually seemed a little less morose for a moment. She even managed a wan smile as she offered her congratulations.

Grace has obviously planned parts for all of us in Van's funeral arrangements. That night, a light breeze could have blown me over when Max told me what she had asked of him. …

Next Week: Family in Toronto. Madness. Ordeal on Long Island.