I couldn’t have been more excited. Ever since my own safe return home, I had been sick with worry whenever I thought about Joe right there in the middle of the Nazi web. On top of that, I knew that his stomach pains continued to plague him. Now all I needed was his safe crossing, and having made the passage for myself, I knew that that was far from guaranteed.
The weeks passed and autumn darkened to winter as I remained in New York, awaiting Joe’s return. Deenie wrote dutifully from Mount Vernon, telling me about her fall semester drama performance. Adelaide and Eleanor visited a few times a week, wrangling me out of the house to go shopping or to dine at The “21” Club. Colby kept me abreast of General Foods business and the latest news from the meetings. I did my best to stay busy, attending shows and visiting museums, walking the park whenever the weather allowed it. But in spite of my efforts at distraction, I felt like clawing the air, I was so impatient to hold my husband safely in my arms.
And then finally, shortly after a subdued Christmas and a quiet New Year at home in New York with my girls, when I thought I could not make it another day, my Joey arrived home. Paler and thinner than I would have liked, and a bit agitated by the stress of the recent months and his journey across the Atlantic, but in one piece. At last we were both in America, and we were both safe. Or, at least, that was what we thought.
Chapter 42
Washington, D.C.
January 1940
Having lived through two Russian winters and an ocean full of Nazi torpedoes, I was no longer daunted by a few sour society dames in Washington. So with Joe’s new position at the State Department, we decided we would make our primary residence in the capital, and I found us a lovely redbrick rental in the north of the city while I scoured the area for a more permanent home.
Besides, it now appeared that with the war on and everything else going wrong in the world, most people had other things to gossip about. And I was being discussed in other, more favorable ways; that January, the Women’s National Press Club told me that they wished to thank me for my service as Ambassadress to Russia, Luxembourg, and Belgium by putting on a lovely tea in my honor. Alice Roosevelt, my old friend and the longtime leader of D.C. society, toasted me there over finger sandwiches and orange scones. Eleanor Roosevelt, the other First Lady, also came, bearing her husband’s warmest regards, and it was hard for me not to laugh as I noticed how those two cousins avoided meeting in the packed room.
All the biggest Washington newspapers sent reporters, each one jockeying for my time and an interview. Even Betty Beale, the grande dame of Washington gossip, was in attendance. She stepped tentatively toward me when we made eye contact, perhaps even feeling a bit sheepish about the many harsh words she’d written in my honor, but her smile as she shook my hand seemed earnest enough. “Mrs. Davies, it is so wonderful to see you safely back home here in Washington.”
I nodded, accepting her handshake as if we were old friends. “It’s good to see you, too, Ms. Beale.”
“Oh, please call me Betty.” She tipped her chin and said, her voice lower: “I hear you collected quite a few Russian treasures while you were over there.”
“Indeed I did.”
Betty angled her body toward mine and said, “I know we are all salivating to learn more about your time abroad.”
“I’ll give a lunch,” I said. “You can all come and see for yourselves.”
* * *
—
I sent out invitations for a reception in my home, and in a marked change from just a few years prior, all who were invited now accepted with pleasure. Thrilled to be back in America and entertaining in a land of peace and abundance, I threw myself into the preparations, filling the rooms of our home with fresh-cut flowers. I heaped the table with platters of fresh fruits and cheeses, shrimp cocktail and small bites of filet mignon. In our living room and our library, I displayed our priceless Russian art and jewelry, glimmering like a second buffet of precious stones atop my tables and shelves. Beside that I laid out dozens of photos of our time abroad, as well as European newspaper clippings that I’d meticulously collected and kept. But the best detail of the day was that I had a special guest of honor, and I introduced her to my guests before it was time for lunch. “Ladies, thank you so much for coming. Now, it is my special honor to introduce you to Her Royal Highness the Grand Duchess Charlotte of Luxembourg.”
Joe and I had used our contacts in the State Department to help the beleaguered royal flee Luxembourg ahead of Hitler’s invasion, and I was hosting her as my guest while we found her a more permanent residence, eager to return the hospitality that she had so graciously shown us. Charlotte was a great success throughout the afternoon, what with her statuesque presence and her booming voice. My guests seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves throughout the meal, and then while perusing my colorful displays of priceless Russian treasure. The afternoon, I decided, was an unabashed triumph.