there was no letter from Mac. When it became unbearable and I could take no more, I often took long walks by myself and cried. I just knew my Mac was the only man for me, and something inside told me that we would marry and have a long and happy life together with three or four kids of our own. He was strong, handsome, brave, and kind. Just the type of man I had always imagined I would love. We had dated six months before he was shipped abroad. We promised each other the night before he left that we would remain always faithful, and that immediately upon his return, we would announce to the world that I was to become Mrs. Harold McSwain.
On a sunny Tuesday after school, I had gone to band rehearsal and had just trudged home when I saw the mailman putting a pile of mail into our mailbox. I skipped over to retrieve the mail just as our mailman had shut the little door and was walking toward the next house on his route. He must have known I was waiting to hear from Mac because he gave me a little smile as he passed me by. My heart skipped a beat—did this mean Mac’s letter had finally arrived? I threw open the mailbox door and grabbed the assortment of letters there. I felt my pulse racing as I flipped through each one. About halfway through, I saw it, and my heart suddenly grew angel’s wings and began to flutter. I ran inside the house and threw the rest of the letters onto the kitchen table, taking Mac’s into my bedroom and slamming the door shut.
It was a two-page letter in his own handwriting. He told me they were resting safely in Melbourne but that they would be shipping out soon. He did not know where they would be going, but he had put in a request for a two-week furlough back home. If approved, he thought he would be home by April 5! He professed his undying love for me and said he could wait no longer to see me. He had enclosed a newspaper clipping from an Australian newspaper which had a photo of him along with some of the other American bombers. He looked so proper and handsome with his broad smile and typical look of confidence. The caption below identified my Mac as a master sergeant. Without hesitation, I began to write my reply. As I wrote back, I just knew everything would be all right and that my Mac was coming home to me. The next day, I told everyone in school that my Mac would very soon be coming home for two weeks on furlough. The gang became so excited, and I had not felt such a sense of joy in quite some time.
At recess in school the next afternoon, I showed Margie Mac’s letter along with the clipping from the paper. As she looked at the photo, she said, “It’s good of him—he’s the best-looking one in the group!” She glanced down at the caption beneath the photo. “Just look at that—handsome, and a master sergeant to boot!” Glancing at the other soldiers in the photo, she continued, “Some of these other soldiers aren’t too bad-looking either, if you ask me.”
“I never look at the others, Margie, just Mac,” I quickly responded.
She looked at me and shook her head while smiling broadly.
I pled my case to Margie. “Oh—Margie, the next two weeks can’t pass any too quickly for me. I must see Mac, and I must see him right now! Though it’s only Wednesday, tomorrow it will be only two weeks till he comes. Oh—I wish the fifth would hurry up and just be here! I don’t know if I can stand it! It’s been so long since I last saw him.”
“Hang in there, Corda—you’ll see your Mac soon enough!”
Although everybody was happy for me, something didn’t seem right to me, nonetheless. With battles raging all around the globe, I could not understand how they could get my Mac home safely for a furlough, and even if they could, wouldn’t they need him in battle much too much to be able to give him a break? Why would he tell me he was coming home if he knew it was unlikely? I did not share my doubts with anybody, but I continued taking my slow and solo walks around the neighborhood to clear my mind. That Sunday, after church, I was taking the long way home when I paused on the corner of Maple Road and Iroquois Lane because it felt like the heel of my right shoe was coming loose. Leaning against the light pole there, I picked up my foot to look at my shoe and sure enough, the heel had bent frontward just a bit. I still had another five blocks to go to get home!
As I was bending over to try adjusting my heel, the right side of my blouse slipped below my shoulder, and suddenly, I heard a woman’s voice from behind me. “Some nerve of you, right here smack in the middle of our peaceful and proper neighborhood! Who do you think you are, little Sassy, and what might you be up to?” As I looked up in shock, I saw a hefty woman carrying a grocery bag, wearing a heavy wool coat and black hat, clambering along toward me. It was a lady I recognized but did not know from our neighborhood, whose sons were always in some sort of mischief and trouble. As I tried adjudging her expression, because for the life of me, I couldn’t understand what I had done to offend her, she glared at me and went on, “If I ever had one of my sons ever to go with you, or even be seen with you, believe you me he’d be sorry. You are certainly the cheapest girl I’d ever hope to meet.”
I thought I would explain to her that I was not waiting at the corner intentionally, that I had just been adjusting my heel, but I grew so hopeless and upset. That was what was wrong with our country—too many people were so quick to judge rather than to show compassion or understanding in any way. Did she really think I was standing at the corner with such unspeakable intentions? She moved on, and I decided not to respond to her, but I felt crushed to the core, and my tears flowed like a river.
I arrived home and snuck into my bedroom while Mother was in the bathroom. I decided I must write Mac about this incident so he would know the truth in case he ever was to hear anything about this lady’s accusations against me. In my letter, I told Mac that it just killed me what she had said, and I reminded him that he himself knew I was a proper lady who didn’t drink or smoke, and that I minded my own business while leaving everyone else to their own affairs. I knew that Mac saw me as a nice person who was there to help her friends and family. I reminded him that this lady’s eldest son was a roughneck who I had never even one time had anything to do with and assured Mac that I would avoid him now at all costs should I ever run into him about town.
Even so, I cried the entire time I was writing to Mac. My, how the world seemed so cruel at times! Here we were—a world at war on this crisp evening of Sunday, March 25, 1943, and it just showed that when one of your very own neighbors could do nothing but find fault for absolutely no reason whatsoever…that we still had a very far way to travel in order for mankind to get itself together and to finally learn how to behave civilly toward one another! I could not wait for Mac to receive this letter because I knew that he would understand my reaction to this event better than anyone could. I needed to know he would understand and be there for me; however, I suddenly began to feel like maybe I shouldn’t burden Mac with my petty concerns, seeing as he was so far away fighting for his very survival. I gave it some more thought and realized I really needed him to know about it, and so, after writing about the lady, I promised him that I would do better tomorrow and only write about happy things.
I went on to assure him that I had attended Sunday school and church earlier in the day. I then decided I would have to finish the letter later on tonight before bedtime, as I had realized I better start to get ready because I was having dinner at Mac’s family’s house in about an hour. Mac’s mother, Bertha, had invited me last week even though his sister Myrtle was doing most of the cooking because Bertha had taken ill a couple of days ago and had remained in bed under doctor’s orders. I put my pen down and decided to place the unfinished letter beneath one of my textbooks within a pile of them on the right side of my desk—my math book! I then went into the bathroom to get ready for my dinner engagement. As I was powdering my nose, Mother came to check on me. “Will you be eating with us tonight, or are you still going to take your dinner over at Myrtle’s?”
I put my facial sponge down on the counter and looked at Mother. “Seeing as Myrtle has prepared such a great big dinner, I must go, and also, I want to go over to make sure their mother is doing better.” She gave me that stern stare of hers but nodded cordially, nonetheless. I smiled at Mother. “I’ll tell them that you and Father send your regards and will see them soon enough.”
“Please
