Tracie Peterson (39 page)

“Sylvia will understand. I’ll tell her something has come up. Will
you go with me? Please? I don’t know how to get there—especially in the dark.”

“And it will be dark,” Joe replied. “You can’t be driving with full beams in a blackout.”

“The headlamps are covered and shielded. If we hear any planes we’ll turn them off and take cover. Please, Joe. I need to see Michael.”

Joe sighed and looked heavenward. “I know this is a mistake.”

Clara grinned. “Thank you.” She leaned up and kissed Joe’s cheek.

“Ah, getting cheeky with my date?” Jeanine questioned in her best Cockney imitation.

“Literally,” Clara replied. “Look, Joe and I are going to cut out of here. I have to see Michael and Joe’s going to help me. I figured I’d take one of the Hillmans.”

“Can I go too?” Jeanine asked.

“That’s fine by me,” Clara replied. “But we’ll need to hurry. Joe will have to be back to his base at a decent hour. They’re moving you out in the morning, right?”

Joe nodded. “Right, and given my leave status,” he said rather conspiratorially, “I’d like to try and get back before I’m missed.”

“Well, just consider this a reconnaissance mission,” Clara teased. “Come on, let’s hurry.”

It was easy enough for Clara to get the Hillman, but negotiating the roads in the pitch darkness was another matter. Joe tried his best to offer her directions, but more than once they took a wrong turn and ended up having to backtrack.

“We won’t be there till morning at this rate,” Joe said rather dejectedly.

“Well, you can just tell everyone you got an early start,” Clara replied, her steady gaze affixed to the road. “Then instead of being AWOL, you can just be ahead of schedule.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they’d buy that one,” Joe replied.

The Hillman, nothing more than a small pickup truck, had four gears and offered them very little power no matter what gear they chose. Bouncing and rattling along the darkened path, Clara could only keep her thoughts on Michael. She had to show him that he was more important to her than anything in the world. Of course, the dress would still be a nice touch, but maybe plum-colored wool
wasn’t such a bad substitute.

“I think you have to turn just up ahead,” Joe told her. He leaned forward as if it might help him to see better. Just then the back of an army transport came into sight, and Clara and Joe both seemed to catch sight of it at the same moment. Reaching across Jeanine, who’d been sandwiched between them, Joe turned the wheel hard to the left.

Clara felt the Hillman lurch but not in time. Before anyone could say a word, the two vehicles met with the unmistakable sound of metal against metal and broken glass.

“Is everyone all right?” a soldier questioned as he peered in at the trio.

“I think we’re still in one piece,” Joe replied.

“Then what’s the big idea?” the man barked, his tone much harsher this time.

“The big idea is that you’ve chosen to make the middle of the road your personal car park, and we’re trying to use it for a road,” Clara replied angrily. The accident would go on her record, along with her commandeering the Hillman without permission. The last thing she had patience for was arguing with some ill-tempered sergeant.

She put the Hillman into reverse and tried to disentangle the two vehicles, but instead of moving, the tires simply spun in place.

Joe reached over to pat her arm. “Just give us a chance to assess the damage and get the matter settled. We’ll be on our way before you know it.” Then with a sigh he leaned back against the seat and muttered, “Please don’t let there be any military police.”

Clara wasn’t at all pacified. She was less than five miles from Michael. It was maddening to have to sit here and kill time when the love of her life was only minutes away.

“Why don’t we go talk to the boys?” Jeanine suggested. “They’re obviously being shipped out. Maybe we can take their minds off the war for a while.”

“It’s not like we have any records or doughnuts,” Clara protested.

“No,” Jeanine agreed, “but we have ourselves. Come on. It’ll do you good to get out and talk to them.”

Clara shrugged and opened her door. “I guess it might help the time pass at that.” She got out and went to the front of the Hillman, where Joe and the sergeant were discussing the best method for
disengaging the two vehicles. “We’re going to talk to the troops, Joe,” Clara offered. “Just give us a holler when you’re ready to move out.”

“Will do,” Joe replied, seeming relieved to find the girls otherwise occupied.

Clara moved down the convoy, grateful for the few flashlights that snapped on from time to time.

“Ha . . . Halt! Who . . . who goes there?” a nervous voice called out before shining a light in Clara’s face.

“Hello, I’m Lieutenant Campbell with the American Red Cross.” Clara tried to sound cheery in order to calm the nervous soldier. No sense getting shot by some nervous sentry on his first real guard duty.

“Advance and be recognized.”

Clara stepped forward and held out her identification. “I managed to plow my wagon into your rear transport, so I figured the least I could do was come and talk to the boys.”

The sentry seemed satisfied with her explanation. But then his nervousness seemed directed at the fact that she was a woman. “Gosh, Lieutenant,” he said, his voice breaking, “that’s pretty lucky for us.”

Clara could almost hear the boy blushing in the darkness.

“Hey, Lieutenant Campbell, you can climb up here and talk to any of us, anytime you like,” one soldier called down.

Clara glanced up in the dim light to see men packed shoulder to shoulder in the back of the transport. “Where you boys from?” she questioned.

The routine was suddenly no different than when she served doughnuts and coffee on the wharf. She listened to their comments with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

“I’m from Texas, ma’am.”

“I hail from Georgia! Just over here long enough to kick old Hitler in the pants, then I’m headed back home to marry my gal.”

“Say, could you mail these letters for me?” another called down.

Clara reached up to take the letters, then suddenly found herself accepting all sorts of things. Packages destined for home, letters, trinkets that the men seemed intent on sharing with a pretty girl. They were excited about leaving England. Excited about getting their first taste of war—but they were scared as well.

Clara could see the fear in their eyes as the man at her side flashed
the light upward for her to see the men.
They’re children
, she thought. Not one of them even looked as old as she was. They barely looked old enough to shave.

I’m looking at dead men
, she thought again.
Dead children
. The idea suddenly ripped at her heart like a knife. Names were thrown out—hometowns, girlfriends, and mothers’ names were mentioned. Compliments came in waves of sincerity and desperation.

“You’re the best-looking Red Cross girl in all of England.”

“Haven’t talked to an American gal in ages!”

“How about a kiss for luck!”

Clara laughed with the men and shared stories of home and of her work in England. She forgot about the Hillman and her own problems and for nearly half an hour walked up and down the transports, listening to comments and stories.

Where were they going? Would they ever come back? Would she see them in a few days, ripped and torn apart by the weapons of war?

She looked into the eyes of one freckle-faced, redheaded boy and felt tears come to her eyes. These were mothers’ sons. These were brothers and cousins and husbands. And they were soldiers, first and foremost. They were heading off to war, their hopes high and their ambitions fixed on staying alive.

Oh, God
, she prayed,
keep them safe. Watch over them. It’s nearly Christmas. Don’t leave their loved ones to later learn that they died on Christmas
. She felt her heart nearly bursting from the sorrowful thought that as she sat down to turkey and all the trimmings, these men would be lucky to share K-rations. She would be safe, at least relatively so, warm and comfortable, while they would be in foxholes, marching through snow, enduring the relentless nightmare of combat.

She glanced down as if she’d stepped on something and quickly wiped her eyes. There was no sense in letting these men see her crying over them. It would only grieve them, and Clara wanted no part in that. It was her job to encourage and bolster spirits, and
that
she would do.

“So is anybody here from Washington state?”

“I am,” a voice called from the back of the truck.

“Me too,” Clara announced. “I’m from Longview down on the Columbia River. Where do you call home, soldier?”

“Spokane,” he replied.

Jeanine came up and lightly touched Clara’s arm. “Joe says it’s going to be a few more minutes, but even after that, we can’t get around these trucks. We’re going to have to go back to our own billet.”

“No!” Clara said, knowing she sounded terribly urgent. “We have to get to Michael.”

Jeanine was sympathetic. “We can’t, Clar. It’s nearly midnight now and if we don’t get Joe back, he’ll be in big trouble. You wouldn’t want to see him catch it for something that was your own doing, would you?”

Clara sighed and shook her head. “Of course not.”

Jeanine nodded. “I knew you’d feel that way. You’ll just have to call Michael when we get back. There’s got to be a way to get word through to him.”

“I hope so,” Clara said softly. “I have to see him before they ship him out.”

“I know how you feel,” Jeanine replied. “And I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Clara nodded as Jeanine called up to the men in greeting. She felt as though the proverbial rock and a hard place had come to be her resting ground.
Why can’t things just work out the way I want them to?
Of course, if Clara had her way about it, there wouldn’t have been a war going on and she certainly wouldn’t be standing here in the bitter cold of an English December, wondering if she’d ever see Michael again.

“Would you mail this letter for me?” a soldier asked, leaning over the side of the truck to hand it to Clara. “It’s to my mom,” he added as if that might make a difference.

Clara took the letter and smiled. “Sure thing.”

“I’m obliged,” he said, his voice lacking any enthusiasm.

Clara could read the fear in his expression. “So where is home and Mom?”

“Columbus, Ohio,” he replied. “I didn’t want to go without making sure this got back home.”

Clara nodded. “Mail moves kind of slow over here—even slower where you’re headed, I’m sure. It’s probably good to get all your Christmas greetings in before heading out.”

No one mentioned the war or the combat the men were soon to
face. For all intents and purposes they might have been headed off for a baseball game. Except few people ventured outside for baseball in this kind of cold and they certainly didn’t need M1s to play the game. It was like a strained code of silence. They had all agreed without speaking a word to not mention the war or the fact that many of them would probably be dead before Christmas. It was an unspoken pact to temporarily suspend time and reality and instead to live for the moment.

Clara felt her eyes dampen again. She scanned the faces as best she could with the limited light. She forced herself to see each one of them. She tried to memorize their faces and names. Someone needed to remember them—to think of them once they were gone. Oh, there were no doubt folks back home who loved and cared about each one of them, but those folks weren’t here now and they didn’t know what was about to take place.

Clara wished for just a moment they could break their silent agreement. She wished that she could climb up into the trucks and take each man by the hand and lead them in prayers of encouragement. She wished she could tell them that it was all right, that they could speak of their fears and their worries and she would listen and understand. She longed for nothing more than to be able to assure each one of them that everything would be all right—that they would survive their ordeal—that they would live.

But I can’t
, she realized just as quickly.
I can take their cards and letters, their packages and gifts. I can promise to pass these on and see them into the mail bags for home, but I can’t do anything else
.

In one of the trucks, someone began playing “Silent Night” on a harmonica. The sorrowful tones filled the air and several men began to sing. Soon the few voices were joined by many others and even Clara began to sing.

“‘All is calm, all is bright.’” And for the moment it was. But as for tomorrow, no one could tell.