Chapter 86

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty Dec. 1, 1938

Thaddeus Poole may be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, but at least he's honest and a friend of the Bailey family. I wish I were old enough to vote for him even though my vote isn't really needed. Archie is certain that Phil Hamlin doesn't have a chance after the way he treated Grace when she asked him to direct Van's funeral.

Saying nasty things to a new widow about her dead husband isn't going to win you any friends … or votes. Even people who agreed with him about the Communists and the war weren't happy about that. Mr. Bridgeman is voting for Poole, according to one of Honey's friends in the Ladies' Sodality. Mrs. Bridgeman told the friend that if Max were running for mayor instead of Poole, her husband would even vote for him before he would vote for Hamlin.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan Dec. 5, 1938

Grace has become even more melancholy since we arrived in Paris. She is polite, but otherwise listless and withdrawn. Nothing seems to touch her. To see her tepid reaction, you would think the Champs Elysees was a New Bedford back street and the Louvre was the local bus stop. If it weren't for the nightmares and the crying every night, I would think that she was completely empty of feeling. I haven't held her in my arms so often since she was a baby. It frightens me to see her this way.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

The only things that kept me going in those days were duty and habit. Otherwise, it was hard to see much purpose in anything. Looking back, it couldn't be more obvious that I was still walking around in shock after my ordeal in Spain. It was definitely obvious to Mother. She insisted on our staying in Paris at Sarah and Mathieu Beauchene's invitation three days longer than I intended. She claimed to be completely exhausted, and she did look a little tired. However, I'm pretty sure that I was the one she felt needed a rest.

In the end, I gave in because it was simply easier than arguing with her. Mathieu and Sarah Beauchene added to the debt of gratitude I owed them for their kindness to Van and his comrades by trying their best to bring some cheer into my life. They were charming, attentive, and very understanding.

Sarah insisted on sketching Mother and me. She actually embarrassed Mother by describing her as "a great subject. The perfect example of a rugged Canadian pioneer."

I'm sure that Mother would have blushed at such praise if it had been in her nature. Instead, she barely restrained herself from snorting and proving her hostess right. "I wouldn't call myself a pioneer. I just made my way through life as best I could." Her face assumed a faraway expression. She was very obviously gazing, not just across space, but back through time. "I was fortunate to find good companions to go with me on the journey."

After that, neither Sarah nor her husband would rest until Mother told her all her old stories about her prospecting days with my father. Afterwards, Sarah remarked wistfully. "France is a wonderful place, I'm lucky to have made it my home for thirty years, but sometimes I miss Canada."

Sarah's husband, Mathieu Beauchene, was equally engaging. If you know French literature, you revere his name. At this time, he was writing A Circle of Humanity, the multivolume novel about France from before World War I to what was then the present that ensured his place in the ranks of his country's greatest authors.

He was a warm and witty man with a humane sensibility that shines through in his writing. I can see him now, leaning in a relaxed posture on the arm of his chair, urging us not to believe a word his wife was saying. "I'm not such a fire-breathing radical as she claims. I do find myself in bohemian circles most of the time, but I'm really a terrible bourgeois underneath. Why, I even married her for her money."

Sarah smiled fondly. "My husband is a terrible liar. He actually makes a decent living from his writing."

Mathieu returned his wife's smile. "As I said, I'm not a true bohemian."

"You're not a true bourgeois either," Sarah retorted playfully. "You won't touch a centime of the money you supposedly married me for. Why did you marry me?"

Mathieu's answer was merry and affectionate. "Even the most mercenary soul can have a sentimental streak. I never could look at you without wanting to dance to Viennese waltzes and ply you with verses of Ronsard."

Sarah's eyes were filled with joy. She and her husband's every sense was focused on each other. For a moment, I might as well not have existed, but I was just as glad that no one was paying attention to me. I was almost overwhelmed with pain at the thought that the man who had once made me feel that kind of joy was lost to me. I was convinced that I would never feel it again for as long as I lived.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan Dec. 5, 1938 cont.

Grace actually showed a little interest when Sarah confirmed her cousin Johnny Pike's claim that one of L.M. Montgomery's better-known characters is based on her. Not Anne of Green Gables-Sarah has no idea if there was a real-life model for her or not. Unfortunately, Grace's enthusiasm was only temporary and soon ebbed. I could hardly believe her indifference to Sarah's suggestion, later in the day, that she write a letter of introduction to L.M. Montgomery so that she could visit her when she is next in Toronto.

At any other time, she would have jumped for joy. L.M. Montgomery is her favorite author. Half the shelves in her bedroom are filled with well-read editions of her books. Instead, she simply stated that she would just pass through Toronto on her way to New Bedford and Van's funeral. There would be no time to stop. Sarah is no easier to discourage when determined to do good than Grace herself. She gently insisted on writing the letter of introduction anyway. Grace can see L.M. Montgomery whenever she has time for an extended stay in Toronto.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton Dec. 5, 1938

As expected, Thaddeus Poole won the mayoral election easily with over two-thirds of the vote. Max congratulated his successor enthusiastically after the announcement. His relief at passing on the burden of responsibility was obvious to everyone. Phil Hamlin actually managed to be halfway gracious in his own congratulations. The only sour note was that Thaddeus Poole's dyspeptic stomach was obviously bothering him. After he finished congratulating his supporters, Mrs. Poole insisted that he go home, take some bicarbonate, and rest.

Next Week: Kindertransport. Fight for life. Unexpected letter.