Corbin Hall
Newbury, England
September 25, 1943
Walter could not believe his eyes. “What
are you doing here?”
“Is that all you’re going to say?” She asked with a big smile.
“Come here,” he said. They rushed into one another’s arms as Margaret Morgan watched with joy.
“I’m so happy to see you,” she said.
“I can’t believe this,” he said.
“England is so beautiful.”
“It’s a lot more beautiful with you here. But how did you get here? There are restrictions on civilian travel.”
“Well, I knew you’d be all melancholy about missing homecoming weekend in Jamesville. So since you couldn’t come home, I decided to bring home to you! We still have ships crisscrossing the Atlantic, you know.”
“Crisscrossing the Atlantic filled with German submarines.”
“Now Walter, have faith in our Navy. You’re here, and now I’m here.”
“But how did you do it? I don’t understand. How did you cut through the red tape?”
Margaret Morgan cleared her throat.
“My apologies, Margaret. I’m so shocked that I seemed to have lost my good manners. Margaret Morgan, I’d like you to meet my wife, Jessie Brewer.”
“We met earlier,” Margaret said. “I don’t know how you did it, Mrs. Brewer, but you have one happy Army officer here.”
“Amen to that,” Walter said.
“I’ll leave you two alone. I’m sure you have some catching up to do.”
Walter again took Jessie in his arms and peppered her with questions. “How did you afford this? And what about the kids?”
“The kids are with Ellie. And don’t worry about all that, Walter. I’ll explain at dinner tonight. I’ve only got two days here before I have to sail back. You’re taking me to London tonight. We’ve got reservations at The Prince Albert Hotel in Kensington. Get packed and let’s go.”
Suddenly Walter’s perspective about a weekend in London changed. “I think a weekend in London with the prettiest American in Britain is just what the doctor ordered.”
Walter decided to spare no expense for the weekend. He still wasn’t sure how Jessie had done it, but for her effort in getting to England, she deserved every penny—or in this case every pence—he would spend on her. He would take this weekend and give her memories she would never forget.
After a whirlwind tour of Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s, and Buckingham Palace, he took her to dinner at his favorite restaurant in London, the posh, French restaurant, Palais du Jardin in South Kensington. The food there was fabulous and expensive, and the atmosphere was romantic. Plus, he could show off his newly-polished French for Jessie.
The cab dropped them off in front of Palais du Jardin at eight o’clock. Walter took Jessie by the hand and led her into the posh lobby, where they were greeted by the French-speaking maître d’.
“Bonsoir, monsieur et madam. Comment allez vous?”
“Nous allons tres bien, monsieur. Nous avons reservations pour deux personnes, s’il vous plait,” Walter said.
“Votre nom, monsieur?” The waiter asked.
“Brewer,” Walter said.
“Ah, oui. Un moment, s’il vous plait.” The waiter stepped away as Jessie put her arm around Walter’s waist.
“I’m impressed,” Jessie said. “But what did you just say to him?”
“I told him that you were my mistress.”
“You did not.”
“Oh yes, I did. Then I asked him what he thought of your legs.”
“Oh, really? And just what did this little Frenchman have to say about that?”
“He said your legs and your smile are both ravishing.” Walter snickered.
“It’s good to see the Army hasn’t ruined your sense of humor, Captain Brewer.”
The waiter returned with two menus. “Monsieur, nous avon un bon table près de la fenêtre pour vous. C’est d’accord?”
“Bien entendu, monsieur,” Walter said.
“Volià. Bon appétite,” the host said as he walked away.
Happy to be alone with her finally, he reached across the table and took her hand. “So, I’ve got just one question.”
“And what would that be, Captain Brewer?” She smiled at him again.
“Are you an angel, or are you real?”
“Your question presupposes that angels aren’t real, Captain. Why couldn’t I be a real angel?”
“You got me on that one, madam. Let me rephrase. Are you an angel, or are you human?”
“Do you want to take my pulse?”
“Now you’re talking,” he said.
Jessie laughed. “Frisky, are we?”
“Guilty as charged. But also curious. How? How did you do it? I mean you shouldn’t be here. England is a war zone. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to see you, but . . .”
“Okay. Let me get my purse.” She reached down and handed him a letter. “Three weeks ago, this came in the mail. This is how I did it.”
Walter opened the envelope and unfolded the one-page letter.
Allison & Cranford, Attorneys
300 Neptune Road
Norfolk, Virginia 23502
Mrs. Jessie Brewer
St. Andrews Street
Jamesville, North Carolina 27846
August 31, 1943
Dear Mrs. Brewer,
Our firm serves as general counsel to the Reunification Foundation.
Founded by the generosity of an anonymous donor at the beginning of the war, the Reunification Foundation seeks to ease the pain of separation caused by war by providing spouses an opportunity to visit their loved ones on foreign soil during long periods of separation.
Because of the restrictions on civilian travel during wartime, the foundation must be very selective in the candidates it chooses for travel and works with the appropriate Federal agencies to ensure the maximum opportunity for safety.
We are pleased to announce that you have been chosen as a grant recipient for travel to England. Should you choose to accept, be advised that all expenses for your travel will be paid by the foundation.
In addition, the foundation will provide for two days and two nights at a London hotel of your choice and will afford you five hundred dollars cash to spend on the trip or in any manner that you so choose.
Please notify our offices immediately if you choose to accept. We will need two to three weeks to coordinate with the appropriate congressional and military authorities to gain a diplomatic exemption for you, which will allow you to travel on a United States ship back and forth to England. The trip will take ten days each way, so you should arrange your affairs accordingly.
Please accept our congratulations, Mrs. Brewer. We look forward to hearing from you.
Very truly yours,
F. Eugene Allison, Esq.
“This is amazing,” Walter said. “I’ve never heard of this organization.”
“I hadn’t either,” she said. “But Mr. Allison said the organization was very small and had to be very discreet in their operations. Otherwise, he said they would get a flood of requests they couldn’t handle.”
“But if they’re in Norfolk and you’re in Jamesville, how did they find out about you?”
“I don’t know. I asked Mr. Allison about that, but he was very secretive. He said the organization would fail if it lost its anonymity. Plus, he said that the foundation’s ability to work through Congress, the War Department, and the State Department might be compromised if too much information is revealed.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Walter said. “But you’re here, and that’s all that matters.”
“It’s a miracle from heaven,” she said.
“It has to be—that you, out of so many thousands, were chosen.”
It had been a fairy-tale weekend for Walter and Jessie. Not even their honeymoon trip to Washington, D.C. all those years ago could compare to this. Unfortunately, Sunday morning came too quickly.
Walter grabbed Jessie’s bags and took them down the elevator to the lobby of The Prince Albert Hotel. She had a ship to catch, and he had to get to his men for a parachuting exercise at noon.
He kissed her one last time. Then the black cab disappeared into the streets of London.
On Christmas Eve, 1943, Walter received a package from the United States. It was a fruitcake from Jessie.
December 10, 1943
Merry Christmas Sweetheart,
Thought I’d forgotten our Christmas morning tradition, did you? Not a chance. Think of us when you have a slice of this for breakfast with your coffee Christmas morning. We’ll be thinking of you.
By the way, when you get back I have another present for you which has been specially ordered but isn’t quite ready for transatlantic shipment.
In fact, this present was specially ordered from England. I’m sure this token of the U.K. will serve as a glorious reminder of your tour of duty in Europe.
This surprise present will be delivered, not by Santa Claus, but by the stork! The stork, by the way, prefers warm weather. He should be stopping by Jamesville sometime in June.
Congratulations and Merry Christmas. Number five is on the way!
Love,
Jessie
It had been years since Walter had a swig of Jimmy William’s eggnog. Suddenly he was feeling the urge again.