A Pledge of Silence (30 page)

He grinned from ear to ear. “My favorite Angel. I saw your picture in the newspaper. I’d recognize that wild hair anywhere.”

“So, where are you headed off to now?”

“I’m staying stateside for the duration. There’s a desk job for me in Texas.”

“Join us for breakfast. How’s that leg doing?”

“It holds me up.”

Margie felt at ease with this group; she could finally let her guard down. Nobody looked at her askance when she said that, although she was only 27, her joints ached like an old lady’s. Gracie’s shoulder never healed right, and she had some permanent range-of-motion loss. Boots reported she’d had enough of nursing; when her army stint was up, she planned on going back to school using the GI Bill. “It’s a good deal. I’d like to go into physical therapy, if I can find a school that will take me.”

They gossiped about those who weren’t there. Somebody said Ruth Ann had lost all of her teeth, and meant to make the army her career. Someone else chimed in that Tildy had been in and out of hospitals since arriving home, but the doctors had yet to diagnose the problem. Most amazing of all, Miss Kermit was getting married!

Gracie told Margie she got assigned to the veteran’s hospital in Ann Arbor, and Kenneth accepted a position at the University of Michigan. “We’ll practically be neighbors, Margie.” They ordered another toasted cinnamon bun to celebrate.

As the days passed, groups of soldiers cycled through the redistribution center, new ones arriving as others left. Temporarily housed in nearby hotels, they energized any area they occupied. They monopolized the local marinas and beaches, boating, fishing, swimming, and playing beach volleyball. At night, they overflowed restaurants offering live entertainment, ranging from crooners to lively dance bands. Still later, they crawled the bars and strip joints that stayed open into the wee hours of the morning.

Underneath the gaiety, however, dark rumors circulated. Soldiers huddled over beers, discussing whatever they’d heard. An invasion of Japan’s main island was a certainty, with protracted bloody battles expected. Margie glanced around the bar filled with drinkers and dancers, and wondered who in this assembly of war-weary, seasoned fighters, wanting nothing but peace, tranquility, family, friends, and a life away from the battlefield with its dangers and atrocities—who would be asked to serve, yet again, on the most dangerous of turfs?

The army doctor who examined Margie asked how was she coping, and how she got along with her family. Had she resumed contact with friends and neighbors?

She told him how things at home had changed: her dad’s death while she was in the Philippines, her mother’s difficulties adjusting to his absence. She worried about her brother, a medic still posted in Europe. When she got home, she met the sister-in-law and nephew she hadn’t known existed. Twirling the mahogany ring around her finger, she told him of her wedding plans, although her fiancé’s return home was still uncertain.

“How are you sleeping?” the doctor asked.

“I sleep okay, but sometimes I dream about the soldiers I cared for—the ones who died. Sometimes when I’m awake, their faces flash in my memory. I’m anxious. It comes and goes. I’m fuzzy-minded too. I have trouble concentrating. I can’t read. Is this normal? Given everything?”

Looking bored, the doctor jotted notes. “What you’re describing is not normal
per se
, but it’s not uncommon either. It’s a nuisance, but not serious. Studies indicate that you nurses are more resilient, recovering from these symptoms better than the men do. We think it’s because of your professional training. The anxiety, sleep disturbances, and what you call fuzziness will disappear with time. Keep yourself busy and try not to worry about it.”

He glanced at his watch, then the lab results. He told her she tested anemic; he would prescribe an iron supplement. Then he gave her a quick physical exam. During the pelvic portion, he inquired about her menstrual history.

“My periods have been unpredictable. In the camp, I’d skip several months, and then have three or four in a row. I don’t remember the last one. I haven’t thought much about it since I got home.”

“Are you having sexual relations?”

She felt warmth creeping up her neck. “No. I’m not married.”

The physical over, he took out his prescription pad and order forms. “You’re still underweight, and your uterus is slightly enlarged. I’m ordering additional tests. Go to the lab for another blood draw and leave a urine sample. If I find a problem, you’ll hear from me. Otherwise, your records will be sent on to Captain Hennessey.”

Irritated by the doctor’s brusque treatment, Margie left the examining room. She heard a commotion coming from outside, and went to investigate. Part of a rowdy herd thundering by, Gracie grabbed her arm.

“You won’t believe this! Hitler’s dead! Dead as a doornail! A double suicide. Him and his mistress! Come on! We’re going out to celebrate!”

The insensitive doctor and his tests forgotten, Margie joined the noisy crowd to celebrate the head Nazi’s self-termination with rounds of beers and bawdy songs with the dead devil-despot and his hated mistress as their subjects.

The Allies accepted Germany’s unconditional surrender, and the reign of terror that was Adolf Hitler’s Third Reich ended. German troops all over Europe had orders to cease firing immediately. As President Truman declared May 8 as Victory in Europe Day, parties erupted throughout the Allied world. Festivities at the redistribution centers, however, were tempered by the harsh reality that the war was far from over for those soldiers assigned to do battle with Japan.

When Margie reported to Captain Bert Hennessey for follow-up, she sat quietly while he read her file.

“Good morning, Miss Bauer,” he finally said. Clearing his throat, he added, “I wasn’t aware of your condition.”

She felt her heart skip a beat. “What condition?”

“Surely you discussed it with the doctor.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

Captain Hennessey picked up a paper from the top of her file. “Your pregnancy test came back positive.”

“What pregnancy test?”

He passed the paper to her.

She looked at the incriminating document; it said, ‘Friedman test for pregnancy, Positive’. “This can’t be,” she demurred.

Captain Hennessey rummaged around in her file. “Hmm … ” His brow furrowed. “This is the doctor’s report from when you were first released from Santo Tomas. It says here there was bruising around the … um … vaginal and anal areas, and evidence of a tear in the perineum.” Blushing, he peered over the top of his half-glasses. “Miss Bauer. Given the timing, was there ever an occasion …”

“No. It was an accident. I stepped backwards. I stumbled over a rock and sat down hard on it. I told the doctor that.”

Captain Hennessey persisted. “A Jap soldier. One of the guards?”

“I said no! It was nothing like that.”

His stare bored through her before he lowered his gaze. “Very well. It’s tricky with you women. Things aren’t always clear. The doctor recommends that you be discharged. I’ll send the paperwork through. It’ll take a few days.” He scribbled a note and closed her file. “Do you have a young man?”

“My fiancé. He’s still in the Philippines. I don’t know when he’ll be home.”

“The fighting’s bad over there. When he returns, he’ll need help adjusting. Be patient with him. Give him lots of love and good meals, but don’t hover. Men don’t like women who hover.” The captain courteously opened the door and patted her shoulder. “Good luck, my dear. I must say, you look like a girl who could bake a great apple pie.”

After four years living under Uncle Sam’s jurisdiction, and three months after leaving Santo Tomas, Margie once again could call herself a civilian. In a matter of days, she boarded the City of Detroit train traveling north. Her purse held a manila envelope containing her honorable discharge from the Army Nurse Corps of the United States Army Reserves, her medals for meritorious service, a copy of the
GI Bill of Rights
, and her full compensation with instructions on how to pay back taxes.

The pregnancy test results preoccupied her thoughts, though she refused to believe them. No test was fool-proof; she had certainly seen enough false positives in her time as a nurse. In disarray from the stress and starvation that disrupted her delicately balanced cycles, her hormones would readjust once she resumed a regular schedule and a good diet.

Moving westward away from the over-developed East Coast corridor, she watched the landscape pass by, marveling at its far-reaching openness. A sense of freedom filled her; the realization of her personal liberty and the absence of fear made her giddy. She laughed aloud, her mouth wide open and her head flung back, delightedly savoring the feeling of well-being.

Chapter 21

Little River, Michigan, May – August 1945

Margie told the family the army discharged her because they deemed her underweight. Ecstatic to have her home for good and out of harm’s way, Mama made it a project to fatten her up.

Margie had to admit she felt better than she had in years, her appetite and energy increasing daily. She spent long hours in the garden, as she had always done; but this year the soil seemed richer, the rain softer and sweeter, the plants greener, the fragrances more intense, and yields more abundant.

May bled imperceptibly into summer. With the harvest came the need to preserve it—canning vegetables; putting up jams, marmalades, jellies and fruit butters; and bringing in honey from the hives out back. Mama and Margie stored all the jars either in the pantry off the kitchen or down in the cool cellar, along with bushel baskets of new potatoes, onions, and carrots. To Margie, the cellar smelled like heaven on earth. They hung bunches of herbs to dry from the rafters of the attic.

One day in early July, Billy toddled outside with Aunt Margie. She showed him how to pick green peppers off the bush and cucumbers from the vine, putting the vegetables into the little basket he carried. Steadier on his feet now, he’d started climbing everywhere—up the steps, on the furniture, into the bathtub. Margie even lifted him off the hood of her car once, wondering how his short legs negotiated such height.

She heard her mother calling from the porch. Scooping Billy up into her arms, she hurried to the house. Waving an envelope, Mama said, “We got a letter from Frank.” She carefully tore it open.

June 24, 1945

Dear Mama,

Just a note this time. The good news is since VE Day there is no more shooting. My unit is occupying a German village, and we are waiting for the units that manage conquered territories to arrive and take over. After that, I don’t know for me, a reassignment to the Far East or mustering out. I should hear soon. In the meantime, I’m sleeping in a soft bed and even got to wash my clothes.

Just wanted to say hi and that I’m all right.

Your loving son,

Frank

Mama said, “They won’t send him to Japan. They couldn’t possibly. Would they?”

Margie shifted the baby on her hip. “We can only hope not.”

Clingy and overtired that evening, Billy refused to go to sleep. Irene alternately cajoled and threatened, but he wouldn’t settle down. Frazzled, she said, “I’m taking him for a walk.” Margie watched as she put a pillow, his blanket, and teddy bear in the wagon.

“Mind if I come?” she asked.

With the cranky toddler in tow, the sisters-in-law walked along the side of North Bensch Road, the steamy July heat causing sweat beads to form on their foreheads. Billy sat up for a while, pointing at horses in the fields and other sights along the way. Finally, he laid down in the cozy nest his mother had made for him and fell asleep, his thumb in his mouth and his blanket held against his cheek. Irene stopped to remove the thumb. “My little lamb. He can be a scamp. I wonder how Frank will be with him?”

“Frank’s a big kid, himself,” Margie chuckled. “He’ll love playing with Billy.” Irene’s pinched look told her she’d missed the mark. “He’ll be a good father,” she revised.

They resumed walking, the wagon rattling behind. Irene confided, “We’d only dated for six months before he got drafted, then we made this grand decision to get married. Don’t get me wrong, Margie … I love your brother. He’s sweet and caring, and he’s fun. I just wish, well … things are complicated.” They continued on a while in silence before she elaborated. “The last picture he sent, the one taken in France, it’s not him. I mean it’s him, but it’s not. Something’s different. I don’t feel like I know him.”

“Well, I know him. I know him to be kind, smart, and responsible. He’s a good guy.”

Irene sounded hesitant. “You know what they say, that war changes a man.”

By “they,” she meant women’s magazines, purveyors of this anxiety. Their pages overflowed with advice on how to live with a husband hard-bitten by his barbarous life in the military—an existence a wife could never imagine. They cautioned that once he returned home, he may be restless and short-tempered; indifferent or self-absorbed; and suffer from nightmares. He may drink too much and want to prowl at night. Marital relations might not be the same, they warned; expect anything from none at all to strange cravings. Above all, the publications counseled, don’t talk about war, don’t press him for details, and don’t try to hurry him through his readjustment to civilian life. Keep up your looks and stay cheerful.

“We talk at work,” Irene went on. “Rita’s husband came home in a wheelchair, and she says they fight all the time. He’s jealous, and she’s like his prisoner. I can see Frank like that. He questions everything I do, even what I wear when I go out. Go out! That’s a laugh.”