Tracie Peterson (36 page)

Michael’s hopes rose as the hour for his meeting drew near. Tinker was convinced the deal would go down as planned. Clara would finally have her parachute silk, and Michael could see them quickly married before he found himself on a boat for who knew where.

He glanced at the clock and then smiled at the two bottles of champagne. Maybe whoever was making the trade had a celebration of their own planned. If he’d been a drinking man, he might have asked Danner for a third bottle. But it was probably just as well. Clara didn’t drink either, and Michael knew their celebration would be just as nice without it.

“Captain Shepherd?” a voice called from the doorway. Michael looked up to find a tired-looking sergeant standing there clutching a clipboard in his left hand, saluting with his right.

“Yes?” Michael questioned, uncertain if the man needed medical attention or had come on behalf of someone else. He returned the salute and waited for the man to speak.

“General Blevins requests your presence in his quarters.”

Michael nodded and cast a quick glance at the clock. Surely there would be enough time to see what General Blevins needed and still make his rendezvous with Bob in D Company. He grabbed up his hat and headed for the door.

“I can drop you off if you like, sir,” the sergeant said as he followed Michael from the hospital.

“Thanks,” Michael said, glancing around for the man’s vehicle. “That would be swell.” Michael calculated that the sergeant’s offered ride would save him at least five, maybe six minutes.

They rode in silence and Michael jumped from the slowing jeep as the sergeant pulled up in front of the general’s quarters. “Thanks,” Michael called out, returning the man’s rapid-fire salute. He bounded up the walkway and soon found himself ushered inside.

Saluting his superior, Michael awaited whatever announcement General Blevins might make. Sometimes these meetings meant supplies would be scarce, and sometimes they were warnings to let Michael know a hospital ship would soon be docking, bringing him new wounded.

“Captain, we’re moving out in three hours. I’ll expect you to inform your men of the move and oversee the matter personally.”

Michael’s lungs refused to draw air. This couldn’t be happening.
Three hours? He was leaving for the Front in three hours?

“Where are we going, sir?” he managed to question.

“About twenty miles from here. The buzz bombs are making the base commanders a little nervous, and this, coupled with rumors of a new secret weapon, are causing them to push the hospital back away from the coast. It’ll make for a rougher transfer of patients, and we still plan to keep a team here for emergency cases, but most of the men will be loaded off the ships and put onto ambulances and trucks and taken to the new location.”

Michael felt himself breathe again. He wasn’t being sent to Europe. There was still time—still hope. “I’d like to get word to my fiancée,” he stated simply. The general knew all about Michael’s desires to wed and had been very supportive. “General Danner brought me the proper clearance to marry her, and I haven’t even had a chance to tell her.”

“I understand, Captain, but I haven’t the time to spare. Leave word with someone or wait until we’re settled at our new location. I’ll try to make it up to you once we’re settled. It’s important you stay with your patients and see them through this transfer. Some of your boys are probably going to have a tough time of it.”

No doubt they would, Michael thought. Some of them were barely clinging to life as it was. “There are two in particular,” he replied. “Private Thomas and Private Davidson. They shouldn’t be moved in their condition. They came in off of a shot-up B-24. They may not make it, but if we move them I can guarantee they’ll die.”

“So noted,” General Blevins replied. He grew thoughtful. “Look, Michael. I was completely sympathetic to your desire to get married; in fact, I still am. But you have to understand, when I helped you to push through the paper work, I figured the war to be over. The Germans were on the defensive, beating a path back to the Fatherland, and we had hopes for an end to the war by Christmas. This latest business in the Ardennes has changed all of that, however. It won’t be a cakewalk now, that’s for sure. I’m not so sure marrying at this time would be prudent.”

“I understand, sir. I appreciate your honesty, but this is very important to me. I will pray about it.”

“Well, like I said, I’ll try to make this up to you. The base will be closed, but if you’re still determined to do this, then I’ll do what
I can to make it happen.”

“Thank you, sir,” Michael said, feeling only a moderate amount of encouragement.

The general dismissed Michael to head back to the hospital. In a daze, Michael realized he’d missed his seven o’clock appointment.
So much for the parachute silk
, he thought. He should have put Tinker on it. If he’d just given Tinker the champagne and left him to make the trade, things might have worked out.

There was little time to fret over the matter, however. Even now, as Michael made his way back to the hospital, trucks and transport vehicles of every kind were being lined up outside the building.

“Hey, I just heard the news,” Joe Wittmer said, coming up the walkway. “We’re leaving day after tomorrow.”

“I’m leaving tonight,” Michael declared. “Look, I need you to get word to Clara. I don’t have time to call her or even write a note. Just tell her we’re relocating and that I’ll be in touch. Oh, and, Joe, tell her the paper work came through for us to get married.” He shrugged. “I’d wanted to tell her myself, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to be possible for a while.”

“I’ll tell her,” Joe promised. “One way or another, I’ll get word to her.”

“Thanks,” Michael said, giving Joe a single pat to the arm. “I knew God would provide a way.”

Clara sat opposite Sylvia Clarke and listened to the woman talk about her once-famous garden. Clara liked to imagine the glorious array of colors and vegetation. England seemed like such a lovely country and it saddened her to think that so many ancient treasures and romantic landscapes had been scarred by the enemy’s bombing raids.

“I had always wanted to travel abroad,” Clara commented. “I’d always wanted to see foreign lands firsthand. I’m sorry, however, to come under the circumstances and I’m sorry, too, that England has been so injured by this war. I’ve seen the rubble in London, and frankly, it brought tears to my eyes. Such destruction. And for it to happen to such glorious old buildings—irreplaceable architectural marvels—well, it’s a grave injustice.”

“Such things are happening all over Europe,” Sylvia said sadly. “But, England will always be England. She is a grand old lady who wears the passage of time as one might expect. She is not without her wrinkles and scars, but a certain grace and elegance makes its place with her as well.”

Clara nodded. “Oh, I agree. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I’ve been so impressed with the cathedrals and abbeys. But I’ve been even more impressed with the people. They hold such hope and determination. I don’t know that I would be able to do the same under the circumstances.”

“I am certain you would,” Sylvia said with a smile. “You strike me as a very determined young woman.”

Clara thought of her desire for a wedding dress and nearly shared her longing with Sylvia. This woman obviously had some clout and connections. After all, she served lovely food to the girls and never seemed at a loss for tea and sugar. Perhaps Mrs. Clarke could also connect her to a wedding dress. Still, Sylvia was really a stranger, and Clara felt rather odd bringing the idea up. Perhaps another time and setting would lend itself to the discussion, but for now, Clara felt a definite need to remain silent. She’d find her dress or the means to make it. She’d not let her mother down and settle for second best.

Clara poured another cup of coffee and smiled at the soldier in front of her. The kid couldn’t have been more than sixteen, but obviously he’d fooled the army board into believing him to be older.

“So where are you from, Private Woods?” she asked.

“Kansas, ma’am.” The freckle-faced boy took a doughnut from Jeanine and moved to one side in order to let his comrades in arms have their turn.

Clara smiled at the next man in line. Tall and lanky, he had a weary look on his face that suggested he’d been in the army too long. “Cup of joe?” she asked, extending a cup.

“Thanks,” he said, looking up at her with eyes that suggested such misery that Clara could hardly stand it.

“You look a little down in the mouth, soldier. Better let Jeanine fix you up with a doughnut. Hey, you want to hear some Glenn Miller?”

The man shrugged. “Guess so.”

He moved on by and the next G.I. lumbered up with a whistle and an appreciative smile. “You’re the best-looking Red Cross gal in all of England.”

Clara laughed. “I’ve only heard that line about four hundred times today. Tell me, Private, have you got a girl back home?” She handed him some coffee and waited for his answer.

“Nah, I’ve only got eyes for you. Look here,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “I’ve even brought you a present.” He put a tube of lipstick on the counter and pushed it toward her.

Clara recognized the cosmetic as one of the cheap versions many of the soldiers bought to take with them to Europe. Lipstick was often exchanged for one thing or another, and the boys seemed only too happy to load up on trinkets before heading into the combat zone.
Clara would have laughed had it not been so sad. She couldn’t imagine the boys back home being caught dead or alive with women’s compacts, lipstick, or nylons in their pockets. Suffice it to say, war changed things.

“I think you ought to save that for the girls across the Channel. I don’t use much of the stuff and I have an easier time getting it if need be.”

Jeanine cranked up Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood” and slipped out the back of the Clubmobile, where they’d been serving coffee and doughnuts for over an hour. “Let’s cut a rug, boys,” she called and soon had no fewer than fifteen dance partners.

Clara would never get over the sight of uniformed soldiers dancing with each other, but whenever they put on the music, the results were the same. It was just another reminder of the desperate need to live every minute of every day to its fullest. They’d heard horrible rumors, frightening rumors of a German winter offensive. They knew the odds weren’t always on their side and that tomorrow might not come for any of them.

“You gonna dance with me?” one burly sergeant questioned Clara.

She smiled down and, even though her feet were aching, gave an enthusiastic “You betcha” to the man’s request.

She and Jeanine danced and laughed, listened to various stories, and looked at pictures of kids and wives. The Red Cross sent doughnuts by the dozens and coffee by the gallons, but it was the listening ear and friendly female smile that seemed to do the most to nourish these men.

When it was time for the soldiers to depart, Clara and Jeanine switched from dance music to patriotic marches. They took their place at the front of the Clubmobile and waved as the men marched off to board their ship. They were heading off to God only knew where. The prospect of looking at many a man who would never come back alive haunted Clara.