He worried that he wasn’t as good-looking as Rhodes. He wasn’t as smooth, either, but that probably didn’t attract Mary Jo anymore, not after being involved with a player like David. Unlike Rhodes, Mack wasn’t tall, dark and handsome. He was just under six feet and his brown hair had a hint of auburn in it, which accounted for the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He was an average guy, he supposed. He might work for the fire department, but he doubted anyone would select him for one of those hunk calendars.
Mary Jo, however, was beautiful. He wasn’t surprised that someone like David Rhodes would notice her. Mack had long decided that her beauty was part of the problem; it put her out of his league. He was sure she could have her pick of any man she wanted. All Mack could hope for was that, given enough time, she’d want him.
When he knocked at her front door, Mary Jo immediately opened it, almost as if she’d been waiting for him, although that was unlikely to be the case. Noelle cooed from her seat and waved her arms, and he chose to see that as a greeting just for him.
“How’s my girl?” he asked. He handed Mary Jo the bottle of chilled pinot grigio he’d taken from his fridge, then walked into the living room and reached for the baby. As he lifted her in his arms he grinned at Mary Jo. “I’ve only been away a couple of days and I swear she’s grown two inches.”
“She changes every single day,” Mary Jo said. “I see it, too.”
He tickled Noelle’s chin and she gurgled back, which made him laugh.
“There are those World War II letters,” Mary Jo said, pointing at the coffee table.
Mack looked away from Noelle long enough to glance at the cigar box sitting there. He could tell it was faded and a little shabby. “How many letters were inside?”
“Dozens. It didn’t seem like that many when I found them, but the paper is really thin.”
She’d been enthralled by her discovery. Mack was interested, too—who wouldn’t be? These letters were a direct link to history, a personal connection to some of the most momentous events of the previous century.
“The article I read on the internet called this paper onionskin and it said the letters were referred to as V-mail.” She smiled at that. “I think the V stands for victory.” She sat on the sofa and Mack joined her, still holding the baby. He divided his attention between Mary Jo and Noelle.
“I’ve read them twice. They’re addressed to Miss Joan Manry.”
“I remember.” Mack recalled the recipient’s name, now that she mentioned it, although not the sender’s. He cocked his head but couldn’t read the return address. “Who are they from?”
“His name is Jacob Dennison and he was a major stationed in Europe during the war. Some of his letters have black marks on them, but a lot of them don’t have any at all. I assume those marks were put there by censors. You know, I read that there were over two hundred censorship offices. Their job was to ensure that military personnel didn’t reveal anything sensitive in their letters.” She paused. “Of course, that doesn’t explain why these letters were hidden.”
“I’m sure that had more to do with Joan’s circumstances than Jacob’s,” Mack said wryly.
“Well, even with the black marks, I’ve been able to follow quite a bit. They’re fascinating. I can hardly wait for you to read them.”
Mack nodded, caught up in her excitement.
“Joan worked at the Bremerton shipyard,” Mary Jo went on, “and she lived with her older sister. Elaine—that’s her sister—was married and her husband was somewhere in the South Pacific. I gather Joan met the major at a USO dance and they started writing after he shipped out to England.”
Mack gently bounced the baby, to Noelle’s evident approval. “I’d like to take a look at the letters,” he said.
“Here’s the first one. I put them in chronological order.” She unfolded the letter carefully and handed it to him.
Maj. Jacob Dennison
36354187 Hgs. Co.
Hgs. Cond. 1st
Service Platoon.
U.K. Base APO 413%P>M> N.Y., N.Y.
January 15, 1944
Dear Joan,
How’s my best gal? My only gal! I just got another letter from you. When I was given the envelope and saw the return address it gave me the biggest smile. I read it three times because it made me feel even closer to you. I’m awfully homesick, but I close my eyes and see your face and everything seems better. I think about you a lot; it helps me when I can remember familiar places and people I care about.
Until I joined the Army I’d never left the state of Washington. My mom and dad write me, too. My brother’s in the South Pacific and is seeing a lot of action. Sometimes I wish I’d joined the Marines instead of the Army because I’m eager to do my part to end this war. No one knows when the invasion’s going to happen. Soon, I hope. They have us training day and night. I’m getting to where I’m almost used to leaping out of an airplane. That sounds nuts, doesn’t it? My mother always said I was a daredevil. I guess she was right.
I’m glad you got the Christmas gift I mailed you. Sorry it arrived late. I hope that when Christmas rolls around this year I’ll be with you. I thought about that a lot when I heard Bing Crosby on the radio singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”
I don’t know what to say about Elaine. I feel bad that she’s causing you problems. I wish I could figure out what she objects to about me. Would it help if I wrote her a letter? I’ll do whatever you say—anything other than not have you as my girl.
I’ll write more when I can.
Hugs and kisses,
Jacob