May 22, 1944
Dear Gina,
I miss you so much. It was kind of you to call me on Saturday. You knew I’d be in terrible straits that day, didn’t you? May twentieth, the day I was to marry Vincent. If I hadn’t derailed my life, we’d be on our Niagara Falls honeymoon right now. I wonder if he thought of me Saturday, or is he so happy with his new girlfriend that the date meant nothing to him? Sorry to go on like this! Really, I only wanted to thank you, not get caught up again in my sadness.
Well, the news here in this part of North Carolina is polio. Infantile paralysis. And it’s not even summer yet, when it usually attacks. This morning I was sitting with Ruth and Lucy on the screened porch and Ruth read an article to us from the paper about there being a couple of cases in Charlotte, which is a bit too close for comfort. It’s such a terrible, frightening, ominous disease! Are you seeing any of it in Baltimore? I can’t imagine the terror of having a child diagnosed with it. Odd that they call it infantile, isn’t it? President Roosevelt is so crippled from it and he was an adult when he contracted it. No one is really safe from polio.
I saw a few cases of it when I was a student nurse, and Vincent told me about some of his patients last summer when he was working in Chicago, but what has always stood out in my mind was his description of his cousin Tony’s battle with the disease when they were children. One day Tony was fine. The next day he couldn’t move a muscle. He recovered, at least partially, but so many children don’t.
Anyhow, I couldn’t help myself as I sat there with Ruth and Lucy. I said, “I have a friend whose cousin had polio.” It just popped out of my mouth. It was as though I couldn’t resist bringing Vincent onto the porch with us. I felt a thrill run up my arms just thinking about him. The two of them stared at me and I realized how little I’d spoken to anyone in the family, Henry included, since Andrew’s death. I’ve become closed off from everyone (except you).
“It only happens to poor children though,” Ruth said. “You know, with poor sanitation.”
That gives you an idea of the sort of woman Ruth is!
“FDR wasn’t poor or a child,” Lucy pointed out. She loves to argue with her mother and I don’t blame her.
“And my friend’s cousin wasn’t poor,” I said. I truly have no idea if Tony was rich or poor. I just wanted to counter Ruth’s silly argument.
“Well, generally it’s poor living conditions,” Ruth said firmly. “Rampant flies and unclean water. This is common knowledge.” She gave me a look that shut me up and I let it go. I have to live with this woman. And honestly, I felt happier than I had in a long time because I was thinking of Vincent. That isn’t good, is it, dear friend? I know I need to live in the real world, but my real world is too difficult for me right now.
Well, guess what I did this afternoon? I went to the library and researched divorce in North Carolina. The results were depressing. Gina, it’s impossible! I grew more despondent the more I read, but I simply have to find a way out of this loveless, lifeless, stultifying marriage! Henry is dead set against a divorce. He’s good to me, but he clearly doesn’t love me so I don’t understand why he’s so against ending our marriage. It would be a stain on the Kraft name and I guess that’s enough to make it unthinkable for him. Nevertheless, I feel a need to educate myself to the possibilities.
It took me nearly an hour to track down the book I needed at the library because I didn’t dare ask the librarian where I might find it and have to answer any nosy questions. “The North Carolina Code of 1944.” Yawn! I settled down at one of the tables to read and immediately found myself bogged down in pages and pages of tiny text. Anyway, here are the miserable facts: to get divorced, Henry and I would need to live separately for two full years … unless I could prove that he’d committed adultery, or that he was impotent, or that he’d committed an “abominable and detestable crime against nature with mankind or beast.” Oh my! I pondered the word “adultery” for a long time. I’ve told you he sometimes doesn’t come home at night. Is he really working at the factory those nights like he says? Could he possibly be having an affair? He’s so disinterested in having relations that it’s hard to picture, although maybe he’s only disinterested in having relations with me.
But as I continued reading, I began to get an idea. I read that a marriage can be voided if the man is impotent. Voided. Similar to an annulment. It would be as if we had never been married. Henry had certainly not been impotent the night we were together in Washington, but maybe something has happened to him since then. Some change, physical or psychological. What do you think? When I was pregnant, I thought he might be afraid to be intimate with me, and afterward, of course, the doctor told us not to have relations for six weeks. But now, eight weeks have passed, and Henry’s no more interested in making love than he had been when I was pregnant. So could he possibly be impotent? And how on earth will I ever be able to ask him that question! He’s such a private person that I can’t imagine it. But it might be our answer—or at least my answer. I’m hoping the word “void” might be more palatable to him than “divorce.” I doubt, though, that he’ll embrace the word “impotence” very easily.
At any rate, I’m meeting him later today at the new house to see how it’s coming along and I plan to broach the subject with him then. I have no idea how. We don’t talk easily about anything, really, so this is going to be particularly delicate. Gina, if by some miracle he agrees to end our marriage, do you think I could live with you and your mother for a short time until I find a job and can get a place of my own?
As usual, I’ve gone on and on about myself. I’m so thrilled that you finally heard from Mac. Please let him know I’m thinking of him and I hope he’s not in harm’s way. Tell your mother I said hello. How I miss you and Little Italy and St. Leo’s and everything! Have some pizza for me, Gina. They’ve never even heard of it down here, and I am ever so tired of grits!
Love,
Tess