The General's Women

by Susan Wittig Albert

  But he was a military man, and however much he might yearn for a comfortable retirement, he had the feeling that he’d pretty quickly get bored. Even writing and fishing and a houseful of babies might not be enough. And there was the unavoidable business of making a living. He didn’t know much about divorces and alimony, but he knew he’d have to support Mamie—she certainly wasn’t capable of supporting herself and he couldn’t leave her out on a limb. He’d been in the military so long that he had no idea how much a civilian life might cost or how far his pension would stretch, especially with a chunk of it going to Mamie. So maybe he should plan on staying in the military, at least for another five or ten years.

  And then he considered something else. Divorce in the military could be a tricky business. If he intended to stay in the army, he’d better find out how a divorce would affect his career. In a situation like this, a soldier went to his commanding officer for advice. Which for him meant Marshall. His best course of action was to let the Old Man know what he was considering and see what he had to say. Then he’d be able to think a little more clearly about his options.

  So he had written a letter—he had handwritten it, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to send it through the secretarial pool. It was very straightforward, offering no explanation, no apologies, just a request for information. He put it in an envelope, marked it “eyes only,” and sent it to the Chief. And waited for the response.

  • • •

  When Kay got back from Washington, she was surprised to find that Ike—although he was suffering from another very bad cold—was preparing to leave for the Pentagon.

  “Things have gotten a little complicated in the past few days,” he said grimly. “Truman has decided he wants to send Marshall to China to try to broker a coalition between the Nationalists and the Communists. I’ve been ordered to take over the Chief’s job, effective immediately.” He coughed. “I’m flying to Washington tomorrow, damn it.”

  “Are you sure you should be flying with that cold?” Kay asked worriedly. She knew that he never liked to be reminded that he was ill, but she felt she had to ask.

  “I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to, Irish. Orders are orders.”

  Kay smiled gamely. “I hope it’s a comfortable flight. When do you expect to be back?”

  “In a couple of weeks. Certainly before Christmas.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “This is just a preliminary visit, to get things set up in the Chief’s office. Let’s have a quiet dinner tonight and spend the evening by ourselves. When I get back here, we’ll pack things up and head for Washington.” He shook his head. “God, I hate Washington. Politics, politics, all day long. Nothing but snipers and back-stabbers everywhere.”

  Kay thought about Fleeson’s column in the Evening Star. Should she mention it to Ike? No, she decided. There was no point in worrying him when there was nothing he could do about it. She only said, “I’ll be glad when everything is settled.”

  “So will I.” He bent to kiss her. “And then we’ll go to Washington. You, me, and Telek—together.”

  “Wonderful,” she murmured, her cheek against the rough lapel of his uniform. “That’s wonderful, Ike.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY:

  The Real Story

  Washington, D.C.

  November 10, 1945

  Cookie Wilson put a tray of snack crackers and thin-sliced ham and cheese in the center of the card table in her spacious Arlington living room. “Here, girls,” she said, “we can snack on these while we’re waiting for Mamie. She’s stuck doing a newspaper interview.” She added a stack of cocktail napkins. “She said if she wasn’t here in fifteen minutes, we should go ahead and start without her.”

  “Poor Mamie.” Pamela Farr picked up a cracker and topped it with bits of ham and cheese. “I’m sure there are lots of those interviews, now that Ike has turned into a big muckety-muck.”

  “So true.” Diane Bracken pursed lipsticked lips. “The Eisenhowers are in all the papers these days. Mamie must hate it.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Cookie said archly. She found her cigarettes and sat down at the table. “Mamie wouldn’t do it if she didn’t like it, you know. She’s in charge.”

  “You may be right,” Pamela said. “Personally, I find her a trifle overbearing these days. All those ticker-tape parades have gone to her head.” She popped the cracker into her mouth. “But I didn’t say that, did I? I’m sure I didn’t say that.”

  Cookie patted her friend’s hand. “You didn’t say that, dear. Or if you did, we didn’t hear you.”

  “Speaking of newspapers,” Diane said, “did you happen to read Doris Fleeson’s column in the Evening Star on Tuesday? The piece about Kay Summersby applying for citizenship, I mean.” She tilted her head. “Rather cynical, I thought. And full of insinuations.”

  “Cynicism is Fleeson’s middle name,” Pamela said. “A few years ago, she wrote an article about Missy LeHand—she used to be FDR’s secretary, you know—for the Saturday Evening Post. She didn’t actually say that Missy was sleeping with the President, but she certainly left that impression.” She patted her lips with a napkin. “I hope Mamie didn’t see Fleeson’s piece about Kay Summersby. It would give her heartburn.”

  “But she did see it,” Cookie said. She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, stupid me. There I go, opening my big mouth. Forget I said anything, girls.”

  “She saw it?” Diane asked avidly. “What did she say? Come on, Cookie. Do tell.”

  Cookie looked away. “I don’t think I should—”

  “Cookie, my dear,” Pamela said, “you know something, don’t you? What is it?”

  Cookie picked up a cracker and added cheese. “Well, if you must know. Yes, Mamie read Doris Fleeson’s column. And yes, she was terribly upset. Wouldn’t you be, if you found out—from the newspaper—that your husband was bringing his British secretary to work for him in the Pentagon?” She popped the cracker in her mouth.

  “Oh, I would,” Pamela said.

  “That’s why I don’t have a husband,” Diane murmured. “Men are such louses.”

  “But I have to hand it to Mamie,” Cookie said. “She handled it very well. Very professionally.”

  “Professionally?” Diane asked.

  “What did she do?” Pamela wanted to know.

  Cookie frowned uncertainly. “I would really rather not—”

  “Oh, well, if she made you promise.” Diane examined a fingernail.

  “No, it wasn’t like that. In fact, she doesn’t know I know.”

  “Well, then . . .” Pamela said suggestively.

  Cookie took out a cigarette and lit it, very deliberately. At last, she said, “She telephoned General Marshall.”

  “Telephoned General Marshall!” Diane put her glass down with a thump. “I would never have thought Mamie could be so . . . devious!”

  “That’s not devious,” Pamela said. “It’s forthright. General Marshall has always encouraged his commanders’ wives to tell him if they have a problem. Remember when General Akers’ wife was thinking of getting a divorce? Marshall heard about it and called her. Whatever he said to her must have changed her mind. She’s still married to her husband. And he—the husband, I mean—got a promotion.” She looked at Cookie. “I suppose you heard about Mamie from Marv.”

  “Of course she did,” Diane said knowingly. She reached for a cracker. “It’s very convenient to have a husband who works in the Chief of Staff’s office. He probably brings home all sorts of wonderful stories.”

  “Actually, Marv was impressed,” Cookie replied, pulling the ashtray toward her. “He said that Mamie handled the situation very well. She was very calm and self-contained. She simply telephoned the General and asked him if he’d read the column. When he said he hadn’t, she read it to him.”

  “Read it to him?” Diane and Pamela said, practically in unison.

  Cookie nodded. “And then all she said was, ‘I’d really appreciate it if you’d look into this, Gen
eral Marshall. As you can guess, it’s terribly painful for me. And of course, it’s embarrassing for our son John.’”

  “Good for Mamie!” Pamela said. “I’m proud of her.”

  “That certainly took chutzpah,” Diane said. “To call up your husband’s boss and—” She paused, looking at Cookie. “But I’ll bet there’s more, isn’t there, Cookie?”

  Cookie nodded slowly. “Yes. There was a letter—” She broke off. “But perhaps I shouldn’t—”

  “Of course you should!” Pamela exclaimed. “We promise not to breathe a word.” She looked pointedly at Diane. “Don’t we, Diane?”

  “Promise.” Diane crossed her heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Cookie tapped her cigarette into the ashtray. Finally, she said, “Well, it seems that Ike wrote a letter to General Marshall, asking what would happen to his military career if he divorced Mamie and married that woman. His secretary, I mean. Kay Summersby.”

  “Divorced Mamie?” Pamela cried, her eyes widening.

  Diane leaned forward. “Really, Cookie? You’re serious?”

  “Really,” Cookie said. “Marv didn’t actually see it, of course. Ike sent it ‘eyes only.’” She pulled on her cigarette. “But he did see the cable.” She blew out a stream of smoke.

  “What cable?” Pamela asked.

  “General Marshall’s reply to Ike, in response to the letter. He told Marv to code it and then take it down to the communications officer.”

  “How convenient,” Diane said archly.

  Cookie gave her a look. “It’s part of his job, Diane. My husband is very discreet, you know. Very.”

  “What did the cable say?” Pamela leaned forward. “Hurry up and tell us, Cookie. Mamie may show up any minute.”

  Cookie lowered her voice. “It said that if Eisenhower divorced his wife to marry that girl, General Marshall would relieve him from duty and personally see to it that he would never draw another peaceful breath on this earth.”

  “Oh, my God,” Pamela breathed. “Marshall said that?”

  Cookie nodded.

  “And then—” Diane prompted.

  “And then General Marshall went straight over to the White House to see President Truman. Of course, Marv doesn’t know what they talked about. But when Marshall came back, he had new orders. He’s going on a mission to China. And Eisenhower has been ordered to come back to Washington and take Marshall’s job. Immediately.”

  “What did Eisenhower say?” Diane asked.

  “In response to the cable?” Cookie replied. “He didn’t say anything. But he’s on his way to Washington, so—”

  “So he gave in,” Pamela said. “He won’t be divorcing Mamie to marry that woman.”

  “So it would seem,” Cookie said, with a kind of grim satisfaction. “The man could stand up to Hitler, but he can’t stand up to General Marshall.”

  “Or maybe he’s decided he wants to be president someday,” Pamela said with a shrug. “And of course he couldn’t, if he’s divorced. No divorced man will ever be elected president, I don’t care how many wars he’s won. Being divorced is even worse than being Catholic—if you want to be president, I mean.”

  “But what if he brings that woman here anyway?” Diane asked. “Without divorcing Mamie, I mean. I suppose he could get by with it.” She frowned at her friends’ raised eyebrows. “Well, Wendell Willkie did. Don’t you remember? When he was running for president a few years ago, all the newspaper people knew about his romance with Irita Van Doren—and he was married. But they didn’t say a word. Not one word.”

  “And don’t forget about FDR and his secretary,” Cookie said.

  “But that won’t work for Eisenhower,” Pamela said definitively. “There’s been too much talk already. If he brings that woman to Washington, it’ll be all over the newspapers.”

  “There’s something else,” Cookie said. “Diane, don’t you remember how much resentment there was in the WAC office about Mrs. Summersby’s commission?”

  “I certainly do,” Diane said emphatically. “My sister Rachel said there were several WACs in Eisenhower’s command—American citizens—who could have served as Ike’s aide. Instead, he got the British civilian commissioned as a WAC and gave it to her. And on top of that, he gave her a Bronze Star. Rachel says there are several WACs in Ike’s office with very ruffled feathers. One of them might be very glad to spill a few tidbits in front of a gossip columnist. In front of Doris Fleeson, for example.”

  “He gave her a Bronze Star?” Pamela trilled a disbelieving laugh. “What in the world for?”

  “‘For meritorious service in a combat zone,’ Marv says.” Cookie paused. “To be fair, she probably deserves it. She drove Ike to the front many times in both North Africa and France, under enemy fire.”

  “And who knows what else they did, out there on the front,” Pamela said darkly.

  Diane frowned. “Mamie isn’t aware of the letter her husband wrote to Marshall?”

  “Not so far as I know,” Cookie said.

  “It’s better if she doesn’t know the real story,” Pamela said. “That way, she doesn’t have to pretend that she doesn’t know.”

  Diane laughed lightly. “How very true, Pamela. Where men are concerned, it’s better not to know.” Her laughter faded. “But we do.”

  “We do what?” Cookie asked.

  “Know the real story,” Diane said uncomfortably. “So we have to pretend.”

  The doorbell gave a cheerful ding-dong. “There she is.” Cookie pushed her chair back and stood. “Remember, girls. You promised. Mum’s the word.”

  “Our lips are sealed,” Diane said.

  “Oh, positively.” Pamela smiled. “You can trust us.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:

  “Dear Kay . . .”

  Frankfurt, Germany

  November–December 1945

  “When do you expect to be back?” Kay had asked him.

  Before Christmas, he had said. “And then we’ll go to Washington. You, me, and Telek—together.”

  But he didn’t come back before Christmas. He didn’t come back at all.

  • • •

  The General had been gone for only a week when word reached the Frankfurt office that he was checking into Walter Reid Hospital. The cold he’d had when he left had turned into bronchial pneumonia. Kay only worried a little—she was mostly glad that the doctors had been firm enough to send him to the hospital, where he would be forced to get some rest. He had been working much too hard, on top of all the travel. She wished she could write and tell him that she missed him, but letters between them were impossible.

  Meanwhile, a flurry of telexes had begun arriving with directions for moving important files and documents to the Pentagon. Cries of celebration rang through the office—“We’re going home!”—and everyone started getting things ready to go. Then came an order to the General’s personal staff: they were to prepare to leave for the States on December 1. By that time, though, there were mostly WACs—and Tex, of course. Mickey and the house staff had already left. Beetle and Ethel were back in Washington, where Ethel was working as a nurse. She had written to Kay that President Truman planned to name Beetle ambassador to the Soviet Union, to succeed Averell Harriman. Butch had left Ike’s command months before and was already back in the States, with Molly. They would be married as soon as Butch’s divorce was final.

  Kay was clearing out her desk drawers when Tex came into her office, a telex in his hand. “I’m afraid there’s a problem, Kay.” He handed her the telex. “I don’t know what to say. I have no idea what’s going on.”

  Kay took the telex. As she read it, her heart thudded twice, then seemed to stop. It was brief, telegraphic, to the point. Lieutenant Summersby had been dropped from the travel roster. She was being ordered instead to Berlin, where she would be working for the Deputy Governor, General Clay. She looked at Tex, blinking hard to hold back the sudden tears.

  “Just this?” She swallowed hard. �
��No message from the Boss?”

  “No.” Tex touched her shoulder. “Sorry, Kay.” His voice was rough with compassion. “You don’t deserve this.”

  It felt as if an axe had fallen into her life, severing the yesterdays from the tomorrows. “No,” she said. “I don’t.”

  Without another word, she picked up her bag and left the office, walking blindly through the bomb-ravaged streets of Frankfurt. Its wreckage was like the burned and broken London where she had driven her ambulance during the Blitz. It was like the wreckage of her life, shattered and desolate now. Ike had told her that she’d be going with him to Washington. He had promised—and he had never broken a promise to her. Had he changed his mind? Had somebody else changed it for him? She bit her lip until the blood came. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t have done this unless he’d been ordered to do it. But why? Did it have anything to do with the “complications” he had mentioned when he was getting ready to leave. What complications? Why? Why?

  At last she went home, where she lay down on her bed, pulled Telek against her, and began to cry. The little dog licked her nose and nuzzled close against her. Seized with a crippling despair, she cried herself to sleep.

  • • •

  Three days later, the letter came. It was typed; Ike had obviously dictated it. Dear Kay, he began: I am terribly distressed, first because it has become impossible to keep you as a member of my personal official family and secondly because I cannot come back to give you a detailed account of the reasons. He went on to say that there would be opposition to someone who was not a completely naturalized American citizen working in the War Department. He would not try to express the depth of his appreciation for her unexcelled loyalty and faithfulness. He was distressed that their valuable association had to end, but it was by reasons over which he had no control. He wanted her to keep Telek, asked her to stay in touch, and offered to help her find a suitable job if she came to the States. He signed himself, With lasting and warm regard, Sincerely, DDE. A handwritten postscript added that he was in bed with a bad cold. Take care of yourself, he wrote. And retain your optimism.