Nightingale (5 page)

My world, then, became a blur of dodging bullets, pulling the wounded to safety, assessing them through triage, dressing their wounds, only to repeat this, hour upon hour.

The 80
^th
broke through the Seigfried line sometime that night and pressed forward through Wallendorf, in house-to-house, hand-to-hand combat. It was in the middle of this desperate hour that I found myself in Linus's company.

To be sure, I didn't care for his nationality. Only knew that, after hours of dodging mines and mortars, chewing dirt, the rain and blood seeping through to my skin, my ears numb with the thunder of artillery and the moans of my compatriots, I hated this war.

I still hate it. With everything inside me, I long for the hot Iowa sun on my face, the earthy lure of freshly turned soil. The melody of the breeze over the fields.

As to your other question—did Linus speak of you in his fading hours? You must know that talking with such injuries as I detailed was difficult. However, he did talk of Roosevelt and his love for his family, how he missed fishing in the Baraboo River. He mentioned someone named Bertha, for whom I believe he holds great affection. He spoke of her in his delirium, those incoherent moments when he believed himself a child. And, when he cried—perhaps you shouldn't know his weakness, but the truth is, too many men cry when peering at their final hours—he called out for her. He spoke of others, although their names began to blur as the night progressed.

I can also assure you of the great depth of emotion in his tone when he asked me to give you his note. I can only imagine you are a childhood sweetheart, one perhaps whom he had forgotten until the war. Or maybe you are a cousin. I myself have fond affection for my cousin Shelby in Mason, Iowa, with whom I once accidentally burned down my uncle's hay barn.

I wish I could deliver a happier account to you.
I know your friend must be greatly missed, and I am happy to answer any further inquiries, although I confess, I try to revisit that night as rarely as possible.

Best,

Peter Hess

Medic

Glenn Miller's “Little Brown Jug” bee-bopped into the night as Esther opened the doors to the Germania building-turned USO Hall off Main Street. A Red Cross V
ICTORY
! banner hung across the back of the hall, over the community band ensemble—a trombone, drums, trumpeter, and bass player—including, much to her surprise, Dr. O'Grady on the saxophone. Ladies dressed in v-necked swing dresses, a few with real stockings instead of the line drawn up the back of their legs, and men in uniforms lindy-hopped around the wooden dance floor.

The room pulsed with a cheer that no longer felt manufactured. Indeed, the entire country seemed to be rejoicing, the Ladies' Auxiliary wild with planning the Fourth of July pie social and parade. Mrs. Hahn nearly wore a hole in the kitchen floor linoleum next to her telephone.

Esther hung her trench coat on the racks by the door then, glancing into the mirror, fixed her hair back into its snood and pressed her hands to her cheeks. Her bones seemed to protrude even more and shadows hung, traitorous under her eyes.

“There you are!” Caroline bumped up next to her, rolled out a shade of siren red lipstick, smoothed it over her lips. She seemed brighter than
usual tonight, her creamy brown hair parted Veronica-Lake style, pincurled into waves, and she wore a floral wrap dress that restored what remained of her figure, as bombshell as she could manage.

Caroline drew in a long breath. “Tonight, I'm going to dance.”

“Indeed. Where did all these service men come from?” The soldiers milled around the punch table, some seated at tables, most of them gaunt, wounds in their eyes. But they tapped their feet, eyeing the women who'd dressed their best for their heroes.

“It's a victory party.” Caroline stepped back, surveyed Esther. “Why are you wearing your uniform?”

“I have a shift at eleven and I didn't want to go home to change.”

“Horsefeathers. You don't want the judge and the Mrs. to know you're here.”

Esther pressed her lips together.

Caroline turned her to the dance floor, hooked her arm around Esther's. “You have to tell them, you know. You can't keep Linus's letter a secret. It's been two weeks.”

“I'm waiting for a telegram.”

“What if he's lost—what if they never find his body?”

It seemed a betrayal to speak of him without so much as a spark of warmth. She lowered her voice. “Then they'll eventually declare him dead.”

Caroline rounded on her. “Are you kidding me? That could take years. They're still trying to locate missing soldiers from the Great War. You'll wait for decades in limbo, locked in their attic, waiting for Linus to be declared dead!”

“Keep your voice down. I don't think the entire town heard you.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “You don't want to tell them.”

Esther met her narrowed eyes with her own. Then looked away.

“Why not?”

“Because as soon as they find out that Linus is gone, they'll throw me out. I need time.”

“Come and live with me. There's room in the boardinghouse.”

“I need to go farther than that. If they find me, they'll come after Sadie.” She said it softly, but the words still made Caroline clamp her mouth shut, as good as a slap.

“They wouldn't.”

“They would. How many times have you told me you wished you and Wayne hadn't waited, that you'd gotten pregnant with Wayne's child so you'd have something of him? Sadie is all they have of Linus. Of course they'd keep her. And why not, I hardly blame them.”

“She's your daughter.”

“Yes. And she's Linus's daughter. And their granddaughter.”

“Which means you're going to spend the rest of your life locked up in their attic?”

Esther closed her eyes. “I didn't come here to fight with you. I wanted to show you this.”

She reached into her jacket, pulled out the aerogram then handed it over to Caroline.

She took it, read the address. “It's from him.”

“I just got it.” Esther ran her slick hands down her hips, drying them. “Today. I got it today.”

Caroline had already opened it and was scanning it. “I can't believe you wrote to this GI.”

“I just thought that maybe if I knew what Linus was thinking… Maybe he didn't love me either. Maybe…”

Caroline held up her hand, cutting off Esther's words, her eyes glued to the page.

Over Caroline's shoulder, Esther noticed two wide-shouldered servicemen eyeballing them from their café table. “Uh, I think I'll have some punch.”

She shuffled Caroline—still caught up in the letter—to the punch table. Rosemary poured her punch, handed her the cup, her smile stiffening, not even bothering to hide her resentment. And why not? Rosemary had more hours, more seniority, and yet, more often than not the doctors chose Esther as their surgical nurse.

Still, something about her—perhaps her too-bright smile—moved a place inside Esther. She would have liked to have made friends with the redheaded nurse.

Now, Esther ignored Rosemary and guided Caroline to a table.

The men had turned away, perhaps watching them in their periphery. The band started in on “Don't Sit under the Apple Tree.”

“He doesn't even mention Sadie. What kind of man doesn't mention his daughter on his—” Thankfully she cut off the rest of her words, although Esther could guess “deathbed.” Caroline put the letter down, shook her head, those brown eyes so wide that Esther wanted to hug her. “And who are you?”

“I don't know. The friend. The
cousin
. You tell me.” She leaned forward, taking Caroline's hand in hers, crushing the letter. “But don't you see—maybe he didn't love me! Maybe he thought back to that night and cringed too. I don't know, I guess I was thinking that if I show this to the judge, he'll understand the entire thing was a big mistake, and that Linus and I just… ”

“Sinned?”

Esther jerked. Took her hands away. “Yes. Sinned. But I can only ask their forgiveness so many times before it feels futile.”

Caroline shook her head and folded the letter. “That's not what I mean, Es. I know you're sorry. And frankly, I understand.” She handed her back the letter, not meeting her eyes. “Wayne and I were terribly tempted before—well, that's why we wanted to push up our wedding date and get married at the base.”

“Sadie is my entire life. I won't lose her.”

Caroline smiled, waved to a huddle of nurses who walked in the front door. “Then show the judge the letter. You're right, if Linus didn't love you, then maybe they'll stop holding on so tight.” She turned back to her. “What did his letter say?”

“I haven't opened it yet.”

Caroline stared at her, words on her face that Esther had no trouble reading.

“I—I can't. I keep thinking… Well, what if he
did
love me? What if his last words were of adoration, and longing, and…”

Or, what if he knew, had guessed from her veiled letters that she hadn't loved him back? “I can't bear that, Caroline. I already stare at the rafters every night and ask what kind of woman hopes the war won't end? What kind of woman hopes with everything inside her that her fiancé doesn't come home?”

The kind of woman who deserved Caroline's expression.

“See?” She shook her head. “If he loved me… Oh, Caroline, that makes me even more of a scarlet woman, don't you see it?”

“A scarlet woman to whom?”

“To…myself.” Esther's voice shook and she lowered it, looked away. “Myself.”

Caroline stood there, saying nothing.

The music changed, slowed, and the band leader added romance with the bittersweet crooning of “At Last.”

At last, my love has come along…

From the open window the fragrance of spring, a lilac heavy with bud, perfumed the night.

The men at the café table rose.

“I need to get to work.”

“Stay for one song, Es.”

“Not this one.” She got up, backing away just as the two men approached. One, she recognized as having spent a month in the ward. He seemed to be walking well, his fractured leg healing.

I believe he may have shattered all the bones in his leg, including the thigh bone or femur and both bones below the knee, the fibula and tibia.

What if Linus didn't die, but came home without a leg? Or a face like Charlie's? Could she love him then, if she didn't love him now, her memories of him still whole?

She imagined him, lying in the darkness, the medic, Peter, beside him, packing his wounds, shivering. At least he hadn't been alone.

“Would you like to dance?” the soldier she'd seen in the ward asked. Esther shook her head, hating the disappointment on his face.

“I have to get to work.”

That tempered his expression, and she cast a look at the girls around the punch table. The GI followed her gaze—and her hint.

On the floor, Caroline danced well in the arms of her partner, her smile fixed, her feet light. In truth, Esther missed dancing.

She wrapped her arms around her waist, smiling into the music, the memory of the USO club, the American flag turning the club patriotic,
the room packed with the servicemen with chili-bowl haircuts, their youthful arrogance creating a wartime magic, the air rich with summer recklessness.

Can I have this dance, ma'am?
In her memory, Linus swaggered up, leaned against the pole beside her.

Me?

“No, the hairy ape behind you. Of course you.”

Yet, the slightest hue of hesitancy in his voice, even the texture of fear in his eyes caught her, more than this attempt to be suave. Snappy in his pressed green-gray army jacket, the knotted tie, the shiny gold buttons—even his shoes gleamed.
Yes
. She let the soldier cajole her to the floor, let herself wrap her arms around his shoulders, let herself ease into his arms.

“You know how to dance,” she said with a smile as she caught his lead.

“Years of lessons.” Linus moved her out into a lindy circle, back in, back out, then into a closed jitterbug hold. “My mother told me she didn't want me to embarrass her at the community socials.”

“Your mother seems like a smart woman.”

“That or just calculated.” He smiled, twirled her out, back in. She laughed, and even in her memory, the twinkle in his eyes charmed her stomach into a swirl.

She placed him a couple years younger than herself, although they all seemed too young. But he made her laugh with stories about basic training and the other yanks on his squad. And after the dance, walked her back to the Red Cross dormitory, properly, without a kiss.

The scoundrel.

He showed up every Friday and Saturday night for a month.

Kissed her on week three, and the night he got his orders, showed
up in a borrowed, shiny 1942 Ford Coupe and whisked her away to the Flamingo Ballroom.