Chapter 90
From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -
Mother may have been on the mend, but I felt like a dishrag that had been wrung out too many times. Between dizziness, tiredness, and queasy stomach, I couldn't help wondering if I was starting to be ill myself. If so, I had plenty of company. Mother's nurse complained that colds, flu, bronchitis, and, of course, pneumonia were going around. All the doctors and nurses she knew were being run off their feet.
Robert Bailey to May Bailey Dec. 21, 1938
… On the way back from Al Cohen's, I showed Harry a small set of offices I'm thinking of investing in. He thought the repairs and additions I had in mind would certainly spruce the place up. We took a walk afterwards so that I could show him what Toronto looks like away from the city center. As we were passing an old but still solid brownstone, something caught Harry's attention that made him stop instantly. It was a sign reading "To Rent. No Jews Wanted."
Without a word, Harry walked up to the sign, wrenched it off the wall with a ferocious jerk, propped it up in the corner between the building and the sidewalk, and broke it in two with one stomp. Then, he picked up the pieces and disdainfully threw them into the nearest trash can. A scruffy boy of about nine or ten, one of a small group of kids that had been watching in astonishment, hailed him. "Hey, mister! Why did you do that?"
"Yeah," another kid chimed in. "The sign didn't say you couldn't rent."
Harry patiently explained about how all the Canadian Jews he knows love their country enough to do it credit by leading honest, hardworking lives. Some of them in the International Brigades loved it enough to fight and even die for it. He asked the kids if they didn't deserve better than signs that all but call them garbage. The kids guessed so but still looked a little baffled by the idea. Fortunately, no one else on the street was in a good position to see what Harry did, so no policeman came running. As we walked away, Harry turned to me and said smiling, "This country of yours has possibilities."
I couldn't understand how Harry could think that after what had just happened. Harry cleared up my confusion. "That kid called me mister. I've been in places in my own country where it would have been boy or worse."
From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -
Two days before Christmas, I was back in Dr. Saunders' office. I wasn't particularly interested in what he had to tell me about the examination and tests to which he had subjected me three days earlier. If I was coming down with something, I supposed that it would be my turn with the sulfa drugs. Unless Dr. Saunders could bring back the dead, there was no cure for what was really wrong with me and no treatment except time. I wasn't sure that enough time existed in all the universe to do any real good.
It was no surprise to learn that even though I wasn't sick, I was a little run down. Mentally, I was already anticipating the next minute or two. Dr. Saunders would, inevitably, prescribe a good long rest. I would try to push aside my tiredness enough to offer him adequate thanks for his care. Then, I would tell him goodbye and make my exit. I wasn't prepared to have my whole life changed forever by what he told me next. I was going to have a baby.
After an instant of shock, I was filled with profound gratitude-to Van, to God, to life itself. It was as though I had been lying in the dark at the bottom of my own grave and someone had reached a hand down to pull me out. I left Dr. Saunders' office in a daze. The world seemed hushed around me.
On my way back to Claridge's, I stopped at a little Anglican church, knelt before the purple-draped altar, and prayed. After nearly fifty years, it is hard to recall the exact words. My memory may be embroidering a little, but I believe they went something like this. "Dear God, thank you for allowing me this precious gift. Please, forgive me for presuming you to be harsh and uncaring. I don't know that for certain. Perhaps, you are good and loving after all. I don't know that for certain either. All I know is that if the cruelty you allow in the world is a mystery, then so is the mercy."
"I still don't understand the cruelty, but I thank you for the mercy with all my heart. In the face of such mystery, all I can do is hope and trust that you truly are a kind and loving god. We are frail, flawed creatures here on this earth. I pray for us all that you will not let our efforts to be kind and loving to one another be in vain. I pray that you will watch over us all in a spirit of caring and compassion. For myself, I pray that in the same spirit you will watch over the child I am going to bring into this troubled world. In Jesus' Name. Amen."
May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan, Dec. 25, 1938
As I write this, a light blanket of snow is falling on London, concealing the soot and grime from generations of fireplaces and furnaces under a delicate veil of white. Grace is enchanted of course. She even asked me if the snowfall wasn't the loveliest thing I had ever seen. I admit that snow does look much better when you don't have to trudge through deep drifts of it in freezing temperatures. There were times during my prospecting days when I seriously considered settling down in town and taking in washing while John got work in someone else's mine instead of trying to find one of his own.
In spite of all the misery she has been through this past year, Grace has reason to celebrate this blessed day of Our Saviour's birth. Two days ago, she returned to the hotel aglow with a hope and happiness that I haven't seen in her for a long time. …
Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry Dec. 25, 1938
Merry Christmas to you, Mark, and the children. … I was worried about Mother for a while but feel much better now that she has started to harry the nurse with constant complaints about being treated like a helpless baby. Her health is obviously improving. Speaking of babies, she couldn't have been more stunned to learn about the one I'm expecting. The first thing she wanted to know was if the doctor was sure. The second was when it was due-sometime at the beginning of July just so you know. I asked her to please tell me that she was happy for me. There was warmth, joy, and maybe even a little pride in her smile as she answered. "Of course, I am, Grace."
I thanked her from the bottom of a heart overflowing with joy. "You don't know what it means to me that a part of Van is still with me and will be for the rest of my life."
"Yes, I do." Her face softened and her eyes were warm with the light of old and dear memories. "When your father died, you and your brothers were a very great comfort to me."
Mother and I didn't speak for long. She is still tired from the pneumonia and soon fell asleep. I decided that a little reading would be just the thing to while away the time until supper. As I entered my bedroom, the first thing my eye fell on was the stack of movie magazines Mother gave me a few days ago. I read a few articles on the glamorous doings of glamorous stars in glamorous Hollywood.
It all seemed silly, trivial, and overdramatized. The person I was who used to love such things seems so far away and long ago. The life movie stars lead may have been the life I wanted once, but it isn't the life I want now. Never mind that I was reading about them in a richly furnished bedroom in one of London's finest and most luxurious hotels. I'll be back in my own unglamorous small town soon enough.
Next Week: Christmas in New Bedford. Trail of a fugitive. Growing up.
