By the time we made it to our car, my excitement was bubbling over. I couldn’t wait until I got home to read them. I slid into the passenger seat, filed the letters in chronological order (based on their postmark), and then opened the first one on top of the stack.
I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about Joseph and Ella Mae Chambers, wondering what happened to them, if they stayed married after the war, and how these letters ever ended up for sale at a flea market over 300 miles away from their home. I’ve also spent a lot of time regretting and feeling guilty that I only purchased 2 handfuls of their love letters, leaving a full box behind. (Most of you have shared similar sentiments with me in the last few weeks. Thanks for that!)
Three weekends ago, I left the Nashville Fairgrounds with 10 of Joseph’s letters tucked safely in my R. Riveter purse. I smiled, thinking Joseph would love his letters being transported in a purse handmade by a brand whose mission is to employ military spouses.
By the time we made it to our car, my excitement was bubbling over. I couldn’t wait until I got home to read them. I slid into the passenger seat, filed the letters in chronological order (based on their postmark), and then opened the first one on top of the stack.
This three-page letter, dated May 1, 1945, is the longest one in my collection. The first few paragraphs make it clear that Joseph has been moving ports, and Ella Mae has been anxiously awaiting his return to find out where he is stationed and whether he’s safe.
He tells her that he’s finally to port in New Orleans and has received 60 letters upon arriving. I had to wonder how many of those letters were from Ella Mae. Based on the handful of letters I had in my possession, it seems that Joseph wrote to her multiple times a week. So, it’s safe to say a good majority of the letters he got once they docked were from her.
My darling wife and babies:
Hello, darling, and how is my sweet wife and children by now? Honey, I’m just fine and feel as good as I ever have physically.
Darling, I got 60 letters today, so you know that I am in port, it is the same port as we started from.
This letter was no different from the anniversary letter I had read while standing in the flea market booth. His words were full of affection and adoration for his wife back home and their 2 young children, Wayne and Brenda. He bragged about her ability to decorate their home.
I bet, honey, that the new furniture does look good, I know you can pick out pretty things, because I have seen you do it.
He takes the time to soothe her anxiety and encourage her while she waits for him.
Please, darling, don’t worry about me it is pretty safe out here now, and honey I can’t tell you the things you would like to know, but I will when I get home.
With every word, I can feel his deep admiration for his wife. He writes with immense gratitude for all she does back home while he’s away. He doesn’t fill 3-pages, bemoaning his hardships and detailing his anxieties. Instead, he spends paragraph after paragraph expressing his gratitude for the garden she’s growing, praising her for the care she shows their two children and endlessly thanking her for the letters she sends in return.
The letters she writes him seem to be like a buoy that keeps him steady and afloat in the depths of murky waters while his shipmate’s marriages are sinking around him.
Honey darling, you will never know how much I appreciate your precious letters, I wished I could write as nice a letter as you.
Honey, I feel sorry for a shipmate when he gets a letter from his wife, that she is tired of waiting for him and is going to get a divorce. It has happened to two fellows aboard my ship.
Nearing the end of the third page, he reminds her again of his devotion and signs it with his nickname, “Bud.”
Ella Mae girl, don’t worry about me…My precious darling wife, I will close loving you more each day, and longing for you and the children.
As ever, your devoted husband, Bud.
Carefully, I folded the letter back up and slid it into its yellowed and worn envelope, a new feeling welling up inside me. This time, it wasn’t giddiness but guilt. I was struck with a pang of remorse for splitting up Joseph’s and Ella Mae’s love letters. Should I have bought the whole box despite its weighty price tag? Did I owe it to the Chambers to keep what was left of their love together?
My guilt was mixed with confusion. Here, I was cherishing these love letters as if they were from my own grandparents. So, how did these letters ever leave the hands of the Chambers family?
My head was swimming with thoughts pondering the most likely scenarios that had led to me holding these letters in my hand.
Scenario 1: The family didn’t even know the letters existed; somehow, they were lost and sold during an estate sale.
Scenario 2: The family did know about them and tragically misplaced them in a move or were accidentally sold.
Scenario 3: (This is the worst-case scenario in my mind.) The family knew about the letters and didn’t want them. And if this was the case I had to wonder what would make a family not want these love letters? The most plausible conclusion being that Joseph and Ella Mae didn’t stay married after the war. Just the thought of them separating made my heart sick.
I paused for a moment to laugh at my overly sentimental heart. Just 2 hours ago, I’d never heard the names Joseph & Ella Mae Chambers, but now I was grieving their possible divorce.
“I’m sick over these letters,” I confessed to Dan after we got home.
“I know you are,” he said apologetically. He left the room to make our afternoon French press. When he returned 10 minutes later, coffee in hand, he said, “They stayed married until Joseph died in 2003. Ella Mae died in 2011.”
“How do you know that?!” I asked him excitedly.
“I found her obituary! They had 5 kids, 16 grandkids, and 22 great-grandkids. I’m sure we can find out more, but this was just what I found in a few minutes.”
I felt instant relief that we had some clear evidence that their love had lasted a lifetime. After the war, they had three more children and were buried together in the Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery.
My brain quickly shifted back to their family and the scenarios I’d been considering. It’s too impossible for me to imagine they knew about the letters and didn’t want them. So, my working theory is that somehow, these letters got misplaced, and they either don’t know they exist or are devastated they are gone.
So, next weekend, the Flea Market will be back at the Nashville Fairgrounds, and I plan to try to rescue the rest of whatever, if any, is left of the letters. I’ll know I’m meant to rescue them if they are still there. What I’ll do next is unclear, but I’ll probably try to find the Chambers family to reunite them with the letters. That’s what I’d want if somehow a box of my grandparent’s love letters ended up for sale on a folding table at a flea market.
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