hence my choice of pseudonym. I do, however, have a lovely garden from late spring through early fall. I cant say its magical, but it definitely has personality. I planted sunflowers last year and they grew to enormous heights, nearly reaching our gutters. Mrs. Kleinschmidt pronounced them vulgar and claimed that staring at their round, pockmarked faces gave her headaches. Of course, this is only incentive to plant more this year.
Now, lest you think I truly am a witch, I should tell you about my situation, as your Rockport version of Mrs. K. so quaintly puts it.
My husband, Sal, is too old to fight in a war but signed up, anyway, right after Pearl Harbor. Until then hed been teaching biology at the university here. He spent some years working in a hospital when we lived in Chicago, so they placed him as a medic with the 34th Infantry. Last I read, his division was in Tunisia. I had to look it up on a map.
My boy, Toby, turned eighteen on Halloween. By Christmas he was in Maryland starting his basic training for the navy. On the day he left I was still making his bed and pressing out his clothes, so Im worried sick about how hes going to manage. I cant imagine the drill sergeants are patient.
Toby also looks young for his age. His cheeks are still rosy, and his hair is the color of the corn that grows on every square foot of this state. My parents were from Munich, so Ive filled him with schnitzel and potato dumplings since he was as old as your Robbie. Im hoping if hes spotted by the Germans theyll take one look and mistake him for one of their own. The Führers dream!
Your boy sounds like a rascal. Toby was always quiet, but I do remember those toddler yearschasing him around the backyard, up the stairs, down the street. I didnt treasure them. I couldnt wait until he grew old enough to talk to me while we ate lunch. When he did, all he wanted to do was stick his nose in a book.
I also understand about loneliness and not fitting in. Ive lived in this town for ten years and only have one woman I can call a true friend. Her name is Irene and she works at the university library. We met at a weekday matinee showing of The Thin Man back in 35 at the Englert Theater here in Iowa City. I was dead sick of sitting by myself at the pictures, so I walked up to Irene and said her pretty dark hair made her look just like Myrna Loy. (It doesnt, not even if you squint.) She laughed at the empty compliment and weve been friends ever since.
Irene is a few years younger than me, shy and unmarried, but Ive come to realize those types of differences become mere trivialities with the passing of time. She and I meet for lunch almost every afternoon, freezing our behinds off on a metal picnic bench because the navy shut the cafeterias down for aviator training. I would think that kind of instruction would mostly take place in the air, but what do I know? We moan and groan, but I honestly dont mind the chill. In fact, the lunch hour is the highlight of my day.
So thats me. Marguerite Vincenzo. Almost forty-one years old. Garden Witch.
Its nice to meet you over these many miles, Glory. You said you need some magic? Well, I need something glorious. This town doesnt provide much in the way of that.
Sincerely,
Rita
P.S. The people here call me Margie. I hate it. Sal calls me Rita sometimes, so Id like to go by that. I hope you dont mind.
February 14, 1943
ROCKPORT, MASSACHUSETTS
Dear Rita,
Rita? Like Rita Hayworth? Oh, gosh, I love that name. Do you have red hair? Oh, Rita, Im so glad you wrote back. I was scared I might have chased you away.
And then I read your letter every night. Thinking about your boy and your husband, Sal. Hes Italian? I wish I was. I think it would be very romantic to be Italian. I spent some time in Italy when I was growing up. Sometimes now, when I think about this war, I wonder about the beautiful places Ive been, the people I met, and worry. What will the world look like after all this violence?
Your words gave me a much needed respite from worry. Thank you for that. I laughed and laughed about the sunflowers. I want to learn to do something with this rocky patch of land I have here behind the house. Its falling down due to a lack of upkeep, but lovely just the same. Robert wants me to move in with his mother who lives in Beverly, but I cant leave this place. It was my familys summerhouse (though since I married Robert, weve called it our permanent home). Its so soothing, with the sea on one side and the woods on the other. Im only ten minutes from town and the bus stops right at the end of our road. I wish he wouldnt worry so much. Ive been independent all my life.
So, your Sal is in Tunisia? How exciting! My Robert is in Sparta, Wisconsin, training. I guess
its going to be cold over in Europe. Funny, I always remember it being warm there. I find myself thinking more and more about the past the bigger my belly gets with this baby. Isnt that strange? But I suppose this war makes thinking about the future too difficult.