June 13, 1944

IOWA CITY, IOWA

Dear Glory,

Our letters must be synchronized now. I got yours probably about the same time you got mine. There’s something very comforting about that.

I’ve been thinking about Robert all day. Have you heard any news yet? The bravery of those men continues to astonish me. I don’t think I really understood the word hero before now. And they are, each and every one.

I feel in my bones that Robert is alive. Don’t ask me how I know—I just do.

I was so glad to read about the medicine for Robbie. It will make you all breathe a little easier. I would put my faith in a mad scientist without question—they certainly keep the world moving forward!

So...news on the Iowa front: Dr. Aloysius Martin promoted me to executive secretary. I’m not exactly sure what the new title means, though I have my suspicions he wants me to learn shorthand. Still, his wife used precious sugar to make a cake, and the Martin children came in to sing “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” which made me laugh and laugh. It felt good to laugh, Glory. I don’t do much of it.

In bigger news, Roylene and Toby are getting married.

Next month.

I’m not pulling your leg. Here’s the story:

Last Thursday, Roylene snuck away from the tavern long enough to stop by for lunch. She looks even thinner, if that’s possible. It seems Roy expects more from her now, maybe as a punishment, maybe out of general meanness. But being a mother changes a woman, and Roylene is no exception. She’s sick and tired of Roy working her to death, but she’s not going to hide out in that dingy kitchen waiting for her circumstance to change for one more minute—Miss Roylene is going to take action.

Over tuna fish sandwiches (extra mayo—I make mine with corn oil), I told her about the children’s center at the USO—volunteers provide care while war wives help out in the factories. Plenty of gals around here make use of it, all in the spirit of helping out. Well, I used my pull to get Myra Mezick on the phone—she heads up our local program.

Roylene got to talking with Myra, asking questions and feeling her out, and everything seemed fine until our girl went silent. “No, ma’am? I mean, yes, I understand,” Roylene finally whispered. “Thank you much.” She returned the receiver to its cradle and turned to me, eyes brimming. “They only take married women. I can’t lie about something like that.”

What could I say? The world is not a fair place when you don’t follow its rules.

We sat down for fruit pudding (recipe to follow). Roylene bowed her head and got to work putting away the dessert, but I think she didn’t want to look me in the eye. I was too far inside my own head to console her, running through all the ways I could talk Myra into bending the rules.

Roylene was scooping seconds on her plate when we heard a sharp rap on the front door. It was Mrs. K., her mouth jammed into an expression I refer to as “early Mussolini.”

She pushed past me without a how-do-you-do and made a beeline for a shocked Roylene. “You can get married,” Mrs. K. announced. “You call that woman back and tell her to make a place for Toby’s baby.”

We’re still on a party line, Glory. Mrs. K. must spend half the day with her ear glued to the phone, listening in on other people’s dramas. She breathes so heavily I’m amazed anyone can hear themselves talk. Once, I interrupted my conversation to ask her if she needed medical assistance.

So Mrs. K. heard Roylene’s entire conversation with Myra, and it got her goat. She remembered a human interest story she read a few weeks back in one of her magazines. Down in Kansas City is a lawyer who will marry young, war-separated couples by proxy. It’s not legal in Iowa, but our fair-minded state will recognize the marriage nonetheless. It’s on the up-and-up, according to Mrs. K., and only costs fifteen dollars.

“But that’s not a reason to marry someone,” Roylene said after Mrs. K. finished her explanation. “I don’t mean no disrespect.”

I spoke before really thinking. “It’s not a reason, but it’s a good excuse to bring it up. Did you want to marry Toby before this afternoon?”

Roylene smiled broadly. “Yes, ma’am. More than anything.”

“Well, then, you might as well ask him.”

You should have seen Roylene’s face. She ran for paper and pen, and started writing out her V-mail proposal to my son.

I guess if you’re going to break society’s rules, why not keep breaking them?

I still haven’t quite sorted out my feelings on this. On one hand, I did mean to encourage her. The marriage will be good for the baby and good for my boy—he’ll have something to keep his spirits up. On the other hand...well, this isn’t the way it’s supposed to happen. I hope that’s enough of an explanation.

Love,

Rita

Chilled Fruit Pudding

2 cups berries or cherries

1/2 cup sugar

2 1/4 cups water

1/2 teaspoon grated lemon rind

1/8 teaspoon salt

3 tablespoons cornstarch

Put fruit, sugar, 2 cups water, lemon rind and salt in a saucepan. Bring to a boil, simmer 10 minutes. Mix cornstarch with remaining 1/4 cup of cold water and slowly stir into hot mixture. Simmer 5 minutes, stirring constantly. Cool. Pour into individual dishes or baking dish. Chill and serve with freshly whipped cream.