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Love to you all,
Frangie
Dear Colonel Herkemeier,
I am writing to you as the mother of a soldier. My daughter Elisheva (Rainy) Schulterman works for you, I believe. We have not had a letter from her in some time. I’m sure I’m just being silly, but could you ask her to write so I know she’s all right?
Thank you,
Ethel Schulterman
Dearest Rio,
I feel that our last meeting went badly and I am sure I’m entirely at fault. I’m afraid I get a bit keyed up before a mission, especially as the previous two had gone badly with my plane having to return for repairs. I apologize if I was beastly.
Yesterday we had one of our socials, a sort of drinks-and-dancing evening in the village. All the guys were there and there were a lot of nurses and Red Cross ladies, but yours truly behaved like a perfect gentleman. I only danced with the old battle-ax who is in charge of the nurses, and I drank very little. You would have been proud.
Even if I had been tempted to stray or let my eye wander I’d have had no chance, because all the fellows have decided that you’re the sort of girl who might come after me with that knife of yours. It’s become a regular thing to tease me about you.
I don’t mind much because anytime they say your name I still see you not as you are now but as the girl I knew from back home in Gedwell Falls.
Someday, hopefully soon, this will all be over and life can go back to normal. Maybe then we can get back to being regular old Strand and regular old Rio. I’d like to put all this behind me, and I know you must feel the same. We will need to put all this out of our minds and just be a man and his girl again.
I guess we haven’t really talked much about after, have we? I suppose I don’t feel I have the right until the war is over. I don’t want to try and tie you down when anything could happen to me. But if we can turn the clock back someday, back to before, I think we’ll be fine. I sometimes daydream about it and picture heading off to work in the morning with your pancakes in my belly and your kiss on my lips. You can make pancakes, I hope? That’s a joke!
Anyway, I love you and miss you.
Strand
XXX
Dearest Lupé,
I don’t know why I’m writing to you. We got the notice today. They sent an army chaplain to tell us since we don’t have anyone carrying telegrams out here.
I guess you wouldn’t figure your old dad for the kind to cry. But I can’t seem to stop. I love you so much, and I am so proud of you. I guess I never told you that, but you know, I’m old-fashioned. My father—well, you never knew him but he was tough, and I guess I thought I had to be tough too. But my heart is broken, that’s the truth of it.
I don’t know what to do, sweetheart. Everything is just all wrong now. I can’t bring myself to believe it. I still expect to see you come up the drive and I would rush out to greet you and we would throw the biggest barbecue ever with all the neighbors and the hands. That’s been the picture I’ve kept in my mind ever since you left.
Now they tell me you won’t be coming home at all. There’s talk of a graveyard there in France. It feels wrong to me. I want you here. You should be with Gran Martinez and Pops and your mom.
Baby. My baby. My little girl. I keep going over every time we ever disagreed or argued. I can’t help it. I just wish so many things had not been said, and so many other things had been said. I love you, Lupé.
I know you are in the loving arms of Jesus, that’s what your mother would say if she were here. I’m writing this because I hope somehow you can read this letter from heaven. Someday Mama and I will be with you again. “In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you.” That’s what it says in the Book. “I go to prepare a place for you.” That’s what Jesus said, and I have to believe it or go nuts. So, baby, my
darling, my sweetest Guadalupé, you’re with your mother now, so the two of you just wait for me in that mansion. Leave a light on.
All of my love,
Daddy
Jenou,
I know you have other things on your mind, but I simply had to tell you. Your father and I have separated. I won’t go into the sordid reasons, but we have agreed to sell the house. I have rented a small apartment, just one bedroom, I’m afraid, from Mrs. Brannigan’s brother. Your father has moved to Oakland. I know nothing of his situation there. Perhaps he’ll write to you, but just remember this was not my choice. He’s the one who strayed. I just felt you should know, because when you get out of the army you’ll have to think about where to live.
Mother
Dear Maria,
