Dear Rita,
I’m home.
I will never be able to thank you enough for your last letter. I’ve folded it and put it in a small silk satchel that I pin to the inside of my slip (or overalls when I’m in the garden). I hope this letter gets to you quickly. We are always waiting, aren’t we? All in a state of hesitation and held breath. Sometimes it’s glorious like a storm at the end of a hot day. And sometimes it’s like waiting for a vaccination. Perhaps the greatest gift this war has given us is the anticipation itself. Such things out of the ordinary lead to the most inexplicable extraordinariness.
Extraordinariness in the form of a married woman who’s been untrue. Who’s fallen into false love with an old option and then kicks that option aside like a flat tire. Yes, at least my time at Astor House gave me a little clarity about what it is I’ve done. And I was scared. So scared to face Levi after all the things I said. After refusing him that one final time without any warmth or apology. But there he was, waiting for me with an open heart and a hammer.
And we did as you said, Rita. We began the project of making a comfortable reentry for Robert. My husband, his best friend. We sawed and hammered side by side, with the children helping with the smaller things, taking breaks to steal some sunlight for their souls. As we worked I realized something else. I do love Levi, Rita. In some ways, I’ve married both of them. Robert and I were married by our similar histories and by a priest, under God. Levi and I were married when we were eleven years old, by the goddess of the sea. But I’m not a pagan princess... I’m a human wife. And it’s time to let my childhood go. I pushed it away with every “bang” of the hammer.
You gave me this gift, Rita. The gift of time. And this war gave me you. Such sweetness out of such sorrow. (And I’d throw it all away, all of it, if we could travel back in time so that you could have Sal back and Toby safe.) We don’t need to have the answers. We’ll never have them. They’ll come and go and change. And all we can do is figure out the best way to behave when life comes at us. Even if society says it isn’t right. Right is so subjective, after all.
Robert is scheduled back home in the fall. He thinks late September. The house will be ready for him. Now I just have to work on myself. Will I be ready for him? Who knows.
I love you, Rita. Have I told you? Is it too odd for me to say? When do you think it would be proper to begin planning our grand “reunion”? I think if I had that to look forward to, it might make the trying days ahead less trying.
AND there is a new painting from Robbie enclosed. It’s of his family. Me and Robert (note his wheelchair), Levi and Corrine. Don’t go thinking my boy is a genius. Robert wrote to him and asked him to paint it just like that. He’s a very, very good father. I wept when I read the letter to Robbie and helped him with the wheels on the wheelchair. But Robbie told me, “Don’t cry, Mama, the world is good to us. Look how big the sunflowers are! Only lucky people have sunflowers like that!”
Our boy. He loves you, too.
Your account of Roylene and Toby’s wedding was lovely. I wish I’d been there. You are a wonderful woman. Roylene is lucky to have you. And do I dare say that YOU are lucky to have her? Oh, I envy her at times.
And one more thing: we took the kids to the outdoor market and I bought the most delicious “fudge.” I told the woman there I wanted to send the recipe to my sister in Iowa and she was flattered that it would travel all that way, so she kindly jotted it down. Here it is:
Carrot Fudge
Ingredients:
Carrots
Gelatin
Orange essence
Method:
Finely grate carrots and cook four tablespoons in just enough water to cover for 10 minutes. Add flavoring with orange essence, grated orange rind or orange squash/cordial.
Melt a leaf of gelatin. Add gelatin to mixture. Cook quickly for a few minutes stirring all the time. Spoon into a flat dish. Leave to set. Cut into cubes.
All my love,
Glory