Dearest Glory,
I’ve been thinking of little Robbie every morning, and of you and Corrine and your husband. I don’t know what use my thoughts are, but each one carries with it a wish for healing, and for happiness.
I also asked Father Denneny to call your name with the weekly intentions. I’m not sure what kind of pull he has, but there are a hundred tea-stained elderly ladies on their knees come Sunday, every one of them desperate for more reasons to beat their breasts and cry out to Our Lord. You’d think they’d have enough reasons these days....
I wish there was something more I could do for you. I suppose the only thing I can offer is more advice: don’t blame yourself, hon. There are some people who believe everything happens by chance, and others who think every outcome was set into motion long ago. I think it’s a little bit of both. The fever befalling your family swept like a tornado through your corner of the world and caught the Whitehalls on a whim. The changes happening to you before it came through? Well, I believe those took up residence years ago, and were only just making themselves known. They’re not likely to leave anytime soon, either. They might go into hiding, but they’re there, and you’ll need to face them straight on.
But I didn’t write this letter to upset you. If I was really a good friend, I’d be offering a distraction, so here goes.
News on the Iowa front: Sal’s and Toby’s letters aren’t coming regularly, but they are coming. Sal hasn’t said where he is, but I have a feeling he was with the surge of troops into Italy. How strange that must have been for him. His parents were born there, and a good chunk of his family still lives in the Tuscan hills. It would be his first trip to the country where his parents met and married, where his grandparents and their parents farmed the land he is now overtaking. Would he look into a pair of enemy eyes and see a resemblance? On second thought, I hope he’s not close enough to see a flicker of anything!
Toby’s letters are poetic and gentle, though I can read between the lines enough to know his soul is taking a rubbing. It’s the unwritten words which tell of his true feelings. How many years of war will it take to undo the eighteen years of a (relatively) peaceful childhood? I wonder. I worry more for him than his father, who’s had a lifetime of observing the sometimes destructive nature of human beings. My Toby is going to need some careful handling when he gets home.
He also hasn’t mentioned Roylene lately, probably—knowing Toby—out of respect for me. He doesn’t like to point out anyone’s faults, and my avoidance of that girl is a shining one.
In my next V-mail, however, I can report a Roylene sighting. I didn’t initiate it, so I can’t brag, but I did speak to her, and she did respond.
I was sitting on the greens eating lunch with Irene and Charlie the Cowboy (Irene’s been seeing him since that crazy dinner at my house). Turns out old Charlie’s got a perforated eardrum on the left side, so he won’t ever be in uniform. I think he hears just fine, and I sit on the left side and talk really low sometimes and he answers well enough, so I don’t know. But that’s Irene’s business, I suppose.
Anyway, we were enjoying the Indian summer heat, stretching our legs out over the grass and tilting our heads toward the sun, when I heard a squeaky noise, like the kind a mouse makes when caught in a trap.
Roylene was pushing a loaded cart up the hill, its shelves piled high with sandwiches and sacks of potato chips. One of the wheels must have been off, because it made a racket. Our eyes met, and I left Irene and Charlie and walked over to Roylene. She had her colorless hair tied up in a knot and a layer of sweat covered her body like the skin on vanilla pudding.
“Can I help you?” I asked, bringing out my best smile.
“No,” she said, and kept pushing that darn cart.
No question mark at the end. Roylene had made a declaration.
The exchange distressed me, so I made my excuses to Irene and Charlie and walked home. I went to bed early that night consumed with remorse. I should have helped her anyway, right?
But I made a decision to step back and let things play out. Maybe some part of me knows that’s the way it’s got to be.
I know you’ll take good care of your boy, and I hope you’ll take good care of yourself. Sounds like Robert is doing a fine job of that, as well. As far as the other stuff, maybe it makes sense to take a step back temporarily. I don’t think you can walk away, but maybe it will give some necessary perspective.
Sending love over the miles,
Rita