August 23, 1944

IOWA CITY, IOWA

Dear Toby,

I love you, too. And yes, it was strange but not wrong, if I’m making sense.

I’ve been a wife for two weeks now. I’m living in your home, which through your ma’s kindness feels like my own. My life in the tavern seems far away, like it happened to someone else. My days are quiet, one tumbling into the next.

Work’s hard to find unless you live in Des Moines or Cedar Rapids. The USO center said they’d take Little Sal on the days your ma has to work, but the factories around here don’t need me. Everyone who can wants to help, which is nice, but it don’t help me none. The other day, I thought I’d take one more walk into town to check for openings. If I didn’t see anything, I’d start asking at the local farms. I figured they could always use another set of hands.

When I got to Clinton Street I saw the enlistment office. My feet walked in before my brain caught up. I was flappin’ my eyelids like a real country bumpkin when an officer asked me if I needed anything. She stood at attention while she waited for my answer. Her uniform was crisply ironed and the deepest, prettiest blue I’d ever seen. “I’m just looking for work,” I said. “But I haven’t found nothing yet.”

“Yes, you have,” she answered right back. “Your country needs you to work for Victory. Join the WAVES and free up a stateside guy to go overseas. The training center is in Cedar Falls. That’s just a hop, skip and a jump from here.” She took me in, her eyes bright. “You look perfectly suited for it. What do you say?”

I said yes. Scrawled my name on the dotted line.

Oh, Toby, don’t be mad. Do you remember the first time you sat on the counter while I chopped onions and washed dishes? I asked why you enlisted and you said it was an opportunity to see the world and meet history face-to-face. You also said you believed this war to be one of the only times you’d get into a fight and know for certain you were on the right side of things.

I barely finished high school. Kansas City was the farthest I’d ever been from home since leaving Oklahoma. What can I offer Little Sal? What kind of wife will I be to you, if the only thing I can talk about is how to make a good corned beef sandwich?

I’ll be gone a year. I’ll miss Little Sal something desperate, but my mind will rest knowing he’s staying with your ma. I want to give him to her for a short while. She’s not easy with him yet—when he bumps his head on the crib or topples into the coffee table she cries out like he lost an arm. If she has time alone with him, maybe she’ll be more comfortable.

I haven’t told her yet. She’s lonesome, and having us around helps. I’ve seen lots of lonesome people in the tavern, so I can spot it even when they try to hide it. Telling her will be harder than breaking the news to Roy, that I know.

I probably shouldn’t, but I’m gonna go see him and tell him why I’m leaving. I have to. My mama never did.

Your wife,

Roylene