Home Front Girls

by Suzanne Hayes

  I’m so glad you liked the layette and I am honored he will be christened in it. Thank you. I am here for whatever you need in the future. I am far away, and you don’t know me, but in some ways I feel Rita’s family is my own. Please don’t ever hesitate to contact me with questions or requests. And please call me Glory.

  Love,

  Glory

  April 18, 1944

  V-mail from Gloria Whitehall to Sgt. Robert Whitehall

  Dearest Robert,

  My heart is so heavy today. I received news that my friend Rita has lost her husband to the war. For some reason, this news brought the reality of what is at stake for all of us right into my kitchen. Please come home safe, Robert. You have two young children that need to know you, need to grow up with you by their sides. They need to learn to ride their bikes and dive off tall cliffs with their father. Not me. Not Levi. You.

  How on earth will Rita recover? Why does her new grandson have to grow up in a world where that wonderful man is a memory, instead of a real, live grandfather?

  I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. Don’t go out of your way to find danger. Stay safe. You became a hero the moment you enlisted. You have nothing more to prove.

  And know that I am here and waiting for you. If I didn’t understand what waiting meant, I do now. It’s an active thing. Full of worry and solid, heavyhearted memories. I remember you, Robert. I remember your hair and your eyes and your beautiful smile. I won’t forget again.

  All of my love and prayers for peace,

  Ladygirl

  Letter 1

  Dear Rita,

  I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know about Sal. Irene sent me a letter notifying me. There are no words I can give you to comfort you over these many miles. I know that the place you need to be is deep inside your heart where Sal still lives.

  You can dance with him there. And that’s what you are doing, right? My darling Garden Witch, you are dancing in your heart with your husband and he is home with you in that house. I know a thing or two about ghosts.

  Here is my only request, dear friend.

  You close those curtains. You dance with Sal. Make your peace and let him know how much you love him. Don’t let anyone tempt you out into the world until you are ready to be there. Okay?

  When my father died I saw him in the garden the next day. In our house in Connecticut. He liked it best there. It’s the biggest and the finest.

  I saw him clear as day smoking a cigar and reading the newspaper.

  I told my mother and her eyes got wide. She didn’t reprimand me or even tell me she didn’t believe me. You know what she did? She ran straight through the servants’ kitchen into the back gardens calling his name. She called him by our last name. “Mr. Astor! Mr. Astor!” she shouted.

  She needed to spend more time with him. Their love was untouchable. It never let me in. But it was glorious to watch.

  You stay with Sal.

  I’ll write soon. And I’m here. You know I’m here.

  Love,

  Glory

  April 20, 1944

  V-mail from Roylene Dawson to Seaman Tobias Vincenzo

  Dear Toby,

  I’m very sorry about your father.

  I saw his picture in the paper with the notice. I knew his face. When I was about twelve I started working at the tavern, doing the sweeping and cleaning. Your dad came in once in a while for a sandwich. He liked to do a trick where he would find a nickel behind my ear. Do you know it? He always let me keep the coin. I had eight or nine of them before he stopped coming. I don’t think he liked my pop.

  Well, I took those nickels and bought a scrap of fine lace, cut it in two and sewed the pieces around the tops of my socks. I wanted to make a dickey but I figured my pop would notice, and anyway, the socks made my shoes look better.

  I hope your ma can find some peace remembering the good things about your dad. I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you this but she’s not doing so good. She doesn’t leave the house. We’re trying to help. Everyone is. I even held Little Sal up to the front window, but she won’t come out.

  I’ll write again soon.

  Your Roylene

  Letter 2

  Dear Rita,

  When I got home from that terrible moment at the coffee shop your letter wasn’t waiting for me as you hoped it might have been. It came a few days later and you know what? I needed it more by then. I’d had a few days to grow more and more unhappy about all the decisions I’d made so far in this adult world. I felt, for the first time, that I’d taken on too much too soon. Who was I to think I could be this grown-up woman? It’s a burden I (naively) wasn’t expecting.

  When I was little my parents threw glamorous parties. The summer parties here were my favorite. All the help would put tables outside and string up paper planters. I liked to run around and watch them. All the hustle and bustle of the big event. And I adore the idea of making the outside work like inside rooms. I wish I could live outside. I truly do.

  Anyway, after Franny put me to bed I’d sneak back out and climb into the willow next to our yard. I watched and listened to those magnificent affairs.

  And one night...one night my father looked right into the tree and caught my eye. He knew I was there. And you know what he did? He winked! Really. I never felt so close to him. He gave me his approval right then and there to buck the rules and the trends of society.

  When I got home that day (The day the mourning mother slapped me across the face? Yes, that day), the first thing I did was climb that tree. You see... I’m trying to remember who I am.

  And when I got your letter I thought long and hard about what you said about the lipstick. I looked at myself. Stared for a good two minutes at this strange woman I’ve become. And then I consulted Anna.

  This is what she said: “Sometimes the parts of us that we don’t like are useful.”

  So I started to think about my shameless behavior. My disrespect for both Levi and Robert. How much I hate to admit my own wrongdoing. Burying it under mountains of other things... I do that well, bury things. I am able to turn a blind eye to what bothers me the most. I get it from my mother. And truly, I dislike that ability.

  But...it sure is useful.

  And—if I am to “be a lady” it’s only logical that I look like one when I’m in public. She also told me this: “Many times the world isn’t ready for change. It has to be eased in or else it will be resisted. Change takes patience.” Just like with the plants. I introduced them to the sun and wind, little by little. And they’re doing fine.

  So your life is changed now, Rita. And you need to ease into it. But just don’t get stuck. We all need you.

  OH! And guess what happened? Silly Glory... I did make a mistake... I planted sunflower seeds in my makeshift greenhouse. (Did I tell you? Levi is building me one in the yard. Says my fine mother should have her fine dining room kept nice for posterity.) Anyway...those seedlings grew too fast and got all leggy! I didn’t know you just have to wait and put them in the real ground—the terra firma—so that they can root and grow up properly. Hide in the dark soil until they are good and ready for the sun. Oh, those wonderful sunflowers. So wise.

  Love,

  Glory

  April 26, 1944

  IOWA CITY, IOWA

  Dear Mrs. Whitehall,

  I’ve delivered two of the letters. Margie still won’t come out of the house, but she is taking what the milkman brings, which is a good sign. The curtains haven’t moved an inch, so Charlie and I talk very loudly when we are working in the garden. (Charlie speaks rather loudly already—his hearing is damaged.) Mrs. Kleinschmidt told us to stop making a racket, but I’ll bring a brass band down the street if it’ll get Margie to step onto the front porch. Roylene brings the baby daily, and watching her press his little hands against the front window would thaw e
ven Stalin’s wintry heart.

  This is so unlike Margie. She is not prone to dramatics, which makes this worse to see. Charlie thinks we should just break in and drag her out into the sun, but I said no. She needs time. However, there are limits. After I finish your deliveries, if Margie still has not come out I will take Charlie up on his offer. It’s not healthy to stay inside like that. Also, her canned food must be running out. I will stop by the USO to pick some up for her, to leave on the steps. I don’t feel bad about taking it. She’s just as much part of this war as the next person.

  Thank you for being such a good friend. I know you would come to Iowa if you were able. I’m very sorry about your boy’s illness, and pray he makes a complete recovery.

  Best regards,

  Irene Wachowski

  P.S. I’ve enclosed Toby’s V-mail address. Hopefully it won’t take too long to get to his ship, though I’ve heard it could take weeks. I don’t know if Margie has gotten anything besides Toby’s telegram acknowledging his father’s passing. It came early in the morning and Charlie intercepted it before the delivery boy could ring the bell. He wrote “not bad news” across the front before sliding it under her door. I suppose that was not necessarily true, but it was what he thought to do at the time.

  Letter 3

  Dear Rita,

  Boy! Do I have a story for you! Guess what I did? Well, remember when I went to the farmer to buy the seeds for my garden? He offered to sell me chickens. I said no that day. But thought on it...and realized that collecting eggs is one thing I could let Robbie do. Also, feeding them won’t take much effort. So Levi and me...we built a coop and then went to pick up some chickens. A rooster, too! But I have to keep them separate. You know all about this stuff, I’m sure.

  When you are feeling a bit better, will you give me some advice on chickens? I trust you so, so much about these things. Well...everything, really.

  Robbie is getting better with pencils and he wanted to add something to my letter so he drew a rendition of the chicken coop. I’ve tucked it inside. Do me a favor? Just smell that paper! Don’t you remember the way that pencil lead smells on paper? I bet Toby brought you home all sorts of essays and poems when he was small. This smells just like the inside of my desk when I was a schoolgirl.

  Okay, so the chickens were here and then I SWEAR I put them in the coop and locked the gate. But a few minutes later Corrine began laughing and pointing from the porch. Lo and behold there were chickens EVERYWHERE.

  So there I was, running all over my yard like a loon, trying to get those damn chickens back into that coop. I wish you’d been there. It must have been quite a sight. And it reminded me, quite abruptly, of a moment with Claire Whitehall, mother-in-law extraordinaire.

  When Robert and I were first married I fired my entire household staff. And when I found out I was pregnant I refused to hire a nanny.

  One night when we were visiting with my mother-in-law in Beverly, she had a little talk with Robert. I was tired and lying down on her sofa. I suppose they thought I was asleep, but I heard every single hushed word from the kitchen.

  “You must have her reconsider, Robert! What does that girl know about housekeeping? About mothering? That woman, Corrine Astor? She was a reformed harlot who barely knew she even had a child!”

  “I don’t order Glory around, Mother,” said my sweet Robert.

  “But you will have to do the work, too, son. And you married well. I may not approve of the girl herself, but I DO approve of her finances. I’m sorry to sound crass, but that’s how I feel. If you are going to marry money, why not spend it?”

  Robert was silent for a moment, but his next words came out fierce and between his teeth.

  “My Glory is not her money. There’s never been a girl less aware of what she is worth. She’s wild and free. THAT is why I married her. THAT is why I love her. I will never, ever try to pen her in. I will never cage her capacity for greatness. AND we will NEVER speak about this again.”

  I’ve tried so hard to live up to those words he said. Because at that moment I didn’t see that girl he was describing. It wasn’t until I met you that I began to feel like he might have seen something besides a honeymoon kind of love.

  So, returning to the question of “JUST WHO DO I THINK I AM?” I am Gloria Astor Whitehall. That’s who I am. And I chase chickens and grow my own food. And I am a philanthropist. And I can be very odd. My son is sick all the time. I’m deeply in love with my husband as well as my good friend Levi.

  My best friend in the whole world is Marguerite Vincenzo. And she recently lost her husband in this great and horrible war. She’s mourning now. But soon, very soon, she will realize that her world is too big to ignore. There are sunrises that bring days of gardens and pins on maps. There are friends who are being harassed by Mrs. K. because it’s Marguerite’s job to annoy Mrs. K.—no one else can do that.

  Mostly though, I miss her.

  Love,

  Glory

  Letter 4

  Dear Rita,

  Have you peeked out your window yet? I wonder what kind of mess Irene is making out there. I don’t know a lot about your day-to-day life in Iowa, but I do know that YOU are the Garden Witch. So you must have the nicest garden. Without you... I bet the rows aren’t straight.

  Have I ever told you about my mother’s hair? It wasn’t curly like mine. It was long and straight and thick. Black silk.

  She used to let me brush it for her. Before she went to parties. She had this beautiful, enormous dressing table full of perfumes and pots and jars of powders and rouge. I’d stand behind her and want to linger in those moments forever.

  At the end of her life, when she was nothing but skin and bones (the cancer made her so sick; her pain was so bad that no pain reliever could touch it) she still had magnificent hair. I was brushing it when she died. I knew the moment the air left her chest. But you know what? I kept brushing her hair. I didn’t stop for I don’t know how long. Someone came...and then a doctor gave me some medicine that made me sleep for a long time. The next thing I remember clearly is waking up and seeing Robert. There was this mist in my eyes. Made everything foggy. Surreal. And then... I looked at his shining face (it was literally shining, in the sunlight from a high window) and the mist sort of...evaporated.

  Is there mist stuck in the corners of your eyes, Rita? It will go away. You can let it go. The mist doesn’t hold Sal there. It keeps him locked up. And it’s time for him to fly into the heavens so you can see him as he is supposed to be seen.

  Have you ever seen the autumn leaves up close? They are pretty...but spotted and imperfect. And you can’t ever find ALL the colors together. Only the bright red, or yellow, or orange.

  But if you look from far away at a hillside or mountain...there it is! In all its majesty. The full impact of autumn flora.

  Let him go and you will see him clearly. I promise.

  On another note...my chickens are not laying eggs. I need you.

  Love,

  Glory

  May 1, 1944

  V-mail from Gloria Whitehall to Seaman Tobias Vincenzo

  Dear Toby,

  Please let me introduce myself. My name is Gloria Whitehall. I am a friend of your mother’s. We met writing letters to each other.

  This is a bit awkward as I feel I know so much about you, and I’m sure you know next to nothing about me. Suffice it to say that my husband is fighting this war, as well. And your mother and I have developed a strong bond because of the absence of our beloved heroes.

  I’m sure by now you know about your father. I am so sorry for this tremendous loss. Please accept my deepest sympathy.

  But this is not the reason I’m writing to you.

  Your mother needs you, Toby. She’s taken this news in an unexpected way. We all expect Rita (she likes me to call her Rita) to be tall and wise and strong. Stoic, even...but she’s fairly cr
umpled under the weight of this enormous sadness. I’ve tried, through flimsy pen and paper, to draw her back into life. But she still struggles with your father’s ghost.

  I think (and I am by no means right about most things...) but I DO think that a note from you...something from your childhood? This might just do the trick.

  Well, that’s it, I guess.

  Be safe, Toby. She needs you to come home safe. Don’t look for more trouble than necessary. Okay?

  With love and prayers for peace,

  Glory

  Letter 5

  Dear Rita,

  The first thing I wanted to do when Irene contacted me was to come to you. Run to you. But I can’t do that no matter how much I ached for you. And it makes me feel awful.

  But I know that YOU of all people can understand my reason. It’s Robbie. I can’t leave him, Rita. He needs me. He is my son and he needs me.

  I probably shouldn’t share this with you...but Roylene sent me a poem that Toby wrote to her. She didn’t understand the words...what he was trying to say. So she asked me to “translate” it for her.

  I wish I had the right to share his poem in its entirety, but I don’t. I can, however, share with a clear conscience my own interpretation.

  Toby is homesick. And he remembers his boyhood with a fondness you might not be able to fully grasp. What a life you made for him! And he’s afraid that he’s changed. Something must have happened to change him. His fear is that everything will be different, that there won’t be a home to come home to.

  How will your boy find his way home without a talisman? And who better to be that talisman than his mother?