Here, Lina Elise Grey writes to her husband, author Zane Grey, from their home in California, while he was on a fishing trip in the South Pacific. Lina discloses her knowledge of his numerous affairs, but explains she’d nonetheless never consider divorcing him.
Altadena, California
January 23, 1927
My Darling,
Yesterday the mail came from Papeete, with Romer’s postcard, your manuscript, and a couple of rather depressing letters from you. Also the cables from Wellington and Auckland came during the week. I am glad you reached everywhere safely and found the Fisherman “fine but expensive.” Ye Gods, you didn’t have to cable me that. I’ve found that out in my perennial broke condition ever since you took her on. Or was that a gentle preparation? Well, I’m not worrying, so you needn’t. Only be sensible, darling. And get the most out of the boat—if you can’t physically, then mentally, spiritually, any old way. If, all things considered, you can say, “Well, she’s worthwhile,” why then, what’s the money?
And don’t worry about that silly divorce business. It’s not a scandal, as you dub it. You know that divorce has never entered my mind. I can’t conceive of such a thing when we love each other as we do, and always shall. And divorce would never solve any problems for you and me. We’re past that age and stage. No, darling, we were made for each other and we’ll stick together always, here and hereafter. Why, even if we weren’t bound by indissolvable ties, by the children, by your work—do you think I’d give any female the chance to get you? I’d shoot her first with buckshot.
As for my European trip causing the trouble, I don’t think it, for I went to Europe before under the same circumstances, and I’ve gone East every summer for five or six years. If anything, I’d lay it to Mildred’s prattle about being your literary assistant and being so indispensable to you. She sure must have spread that thick all over the country. It comes back to me from the mountains and cities, the desert and sea.
Well, enough of unpleasantries. Except that you leave me far, far more than I leave you, and people talk, of course, always have. It might not be a bad thing for us to spend more time together—especially at Avalon some summer.
Burton finally sent the check for “Stars of Sand,” after I got worried and wired him. Also the enthusiastic telegram which I enclosed. You had scared me about the length of the story before you left and I imagined all sorts of things, so his wire was a great relief. I’m anxious to get at “The Avalanche,” and would have done so today, but Loren and Betty were home, and I didn’t have a minute to myself. And these letters cannot be delayed, or they wont catch the boat leaving soon. But don’t imagine my lingering over it, for I need the money too badly!
Mr. Herzburn phoned Saturday to make an appointment with me to see Lasky tomorrow. Wonder what he wants? Metro G. are making a pre-revolutionary picture dealing with the opening of the wilderness. As usual Paramount has let them get ahead—but I’ll tell Mr. Lasky so, and suggest Betty Zane to him again. I’m afraid the interview will be too late to get to you in this mail, but maybe not.
I don’t see how you can stay away nine months, though! Aren’t you afraid I’ll forget you? Life seems terribly flat and stale and unprofitable at present. I’ve got to fight out of it, because I just can’t stand this frame of mind. And I’ve always determined not to be dependent for my happiness. I wonder if one becomes so as one grows older.
There’s a letter here from Bessie Barker. Can’t I forward even that? I wouldn’t let anyone tyrannize over me that way. I suppose old B.B. has false teeth and looks like her mother did twenty years ago. By the same token, the romance probably still blooms in her heart. Oh, those bad, sad, mad days! You’d always whistle coming home from the D.H. at night, and I could tell from your whistle what you’d been up to! You don’t have to whistle anymore, sweetheart, to give yourself away! “To know all is to forgive all.” And I love you, knowing all. You still lie to me occasionally, and I know when you do, and it hurts a little now and then. But you needn’t. For my love is too fundamental for that. You could kill me, but not it. Nothing could root it out, even if I were wild about someone else and untrue to you. And I know yours for me is the same—for you’ve been wild about other women and untrue to me physically. But never spiritually or mentally. And you never can be. I know it in my soul and that’s why I should laugh at the world—at “literary assistants.” And mostly I do, but sometimes I get mad, because of the dishonesty.
Always and always
Your wife
From Dolly & Zane Grey: letters from a marriage. Grey, Zane, Grey, Lina Elise, and Candace C. Kant. Reno: University of Nevada Press, 2008.