May 16, 1938

Dear Albert,

The joke is on you this time. I bet a friend that you would never write to me twice in succession. As it happens, you did!

That was the start of a letter from Jean Morlach to Albert Patrick, my parents. Jean, known then as Gina Morlacci, had emigrated from Italy to the U.S. with her parents in 1921. Albert, whose family was already established in America, helped the Italians as they struggled to set down roots in Pennsylvania. Albert, born in 1915, and Gina/Jean, born in 1912, became best friends before they even had a common language. 

You see, it was my turn but I was so darned busy with my hobby show that I neglected to write. You wrote again, thinking it was your turn. I’m so glad you did. 

When Jean and Albert got engaged in 1939, it surprised absolutely no one except Jean’s parents. Still struggling to make a success of their Italian grocery, they’d expected that Jean, their oldest child, would stay at home to help. Jean and Albert had other ideas. Jean was so worried about her parents’ reaction that she wrote Albert about it. She was considering abandoning her devout Catholicism so her marriage to Albert could take place quietly and fast. 

You know, I’ve been thinking (I do it sometimes) that perhaps we’d better marry in a Protestant church. I don’t mind.

Albert, who’d divided his growing up years between Florida and Pennsylvania, got an apartment in Tampa and set about furnishing it for his bride. Jean industriously, but on the sly, added to her stock of soft goods. Knowing nothing of the Florida climate, she worried about heating. 

Are you getting gas in the house, or are you getting an oil stove? I just was wondering about it. 

Last night, I embroidered for a while and made napkins. I have four sets, now. 

When she wasn’t making linens, working at her new job as a grade school teacher, or slaving at her parents’ grocery, Jean longed for Albert.

It seems ages since I saw you last. You seem so very far away—almost unreal. There are ever so many things I’d like to talk over with you, but I guess they will keep. Only, I do miss you so very, very much. 

In 1940, while World War Two loomed and Albert was sure he’d be drafted, Jean and Albert married, not in a Protestant church but in the vestry of a Catholic one. Jean’s parents were as angry as she’d feared. She fled with Albert to Florida, leaving her trousseau—all those embroidered linens—behind. The newlyweds had just enough time together in Florida to conceive their first child when Albert was drafted. He went off to train with the U.S. Air Force. The young airman was shocked by the unreadiness for War he saw in his first posting to Atlanta. He wrote Jean about it.

I don’t think these people realize a war is going on, so much waste and complaining. Several plants and a dairy are on strike, 325 fellows here just sentenced for draft evasion. There was an air raid drill the other day and officials complaining about poor cooperation from people. 

War and loosening social mores were producing changes in American society, and not everyone was comfortable with them. Albert was appalled by local women. Or maybe his letter was an attempt to reassure his lonely bride back home that his eyes weren’t wandering.

The girls up here are awful. Their skirts are 3 to 4 inches above the knee and they smoke more cigarettes than men. More imitation blondes than I ever saw in my life. I’m not laying it on thick, it is the truth with no exaggeration. 

Jean had her own complaints, mostly about her rowdy students. She’d gotten a job in a rural community outside Tampa, teaching eight grades in a one-room schoolhouse.

I’m just a bunch of nerves. You know it’s difficult to keep smiling all day in front of the students when I feel like throwing some of them out on their heads.

As difficult as those war years were, Jean and Albert were sustained by their love letters. Jean’s always closed like this one. 

All my love to you alone. 

Jean

Jean and Albert were married sixty-two years. After Albert’s death, Jean lived another nine years, but she was never truly happy. Her last utterance before her own passing was Albert’s name.

As Albert’s ended like this, from 1941.

I love you, sweetheart.

Your husband

Annie R McEwen is an award-winning author of historical romance, paranormal romance, and romantic suspense. Her Bound Trilogy from Harbor Lane Books launches on May 7, 2024 with Bound Across Time, a love story that transcends death itself. Annie also has upcoming titles from Bloodhound Books (UK) and The Wild Rose Press. For release dates, giveaways, Annie’s quirky blog, and more, go to www.anniermcewen. Be sure to Subscribe for her fun newsletter and a free Regency Romance story. While you’re at it, visit Annie on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/anniermcewen/ and Facebook: https://facebook.com/Quillist/