Battle Hymns (9 page)

Charlotte returned Lieutenant Kendrick’s chart to the
hook and studied him, looking for some sign of life: a twitch of
the toe on his uncovered foot, a blink of his eye, or the lolling
of his head on the pillow. He didn’t move.

A bedpan slipped from the hands of their newest
nurses’ aide and crashed onto the linoleum floor. The soldier’s
eyes popped open. His body quaked for about two seconds and finally
calmed to a barely visible tremble. He stared at the ceiling, and
after a few more moments, closed his eyes again.

She neared his bedside. “Good morning, Lieutenant
Kendrick.”

Without moving his head, the soldier reopened his
eyes and locked them with hers. Then he focused his green eyes on
the ceiling.

“My name is Charlotte. I’m one of the nurses’ aides
here. I’d like to check your pulse and take your temperature. Is
that all right?”

With bated breath, she awaited a response. After
several seconds, she perceived the smallest of nods. She pulled out
the freshly washed, glass thermometer from her pocket and shook it
until the mercury line receded. “I’m going to take your temperature
first. The thermometer will stick under your tongue, and you’ll
hold it there for three minutes.” She extended the thermometer
toward the soldier’s mouth, and he parted his lips. She placed the
device beneath his tongue, and his lips sealed shut around it.
“Perfect. And while we wait for that, I’ll check your pulse.” She
reached for his nearest wrist and quickly dropped her hand.

Both of his wrists were covered in hard white
plaster. Her second option was the artery in his neck. Although
she’d been trained in this method, she rarely used it on patients.
His neck injury also gave her pause, as she didn’t know how tender
the area would be. Still, it was her best option. His temple was
also bandaged, and she couldn’t reach his knees or elbows.

“I’m going to place my fingers on your neck. Let me
know if the pressure is uncomfortable.” She lightly pressed two of
her fingers beneath his jawbone, trying to locate his carotid
artery without disrupting the neck brace. He flinched at her touch,
but he didn’t look to be in pain and made no move to stop her. She
found the pulse, gave him a reassuring smile, and stared at her
watch as she counted the beats. When she finished, she retrieved
the thermometer and studied the mercury line.

“It seems your vitals are perfectly normal,
Lieutenant Kendrick,” she said as she transcribed the information
into his file. She flipped the chart closed and held it to her
chest.

The soldier continued his observation of the ceiling,
no words spoken.

Charlotte carried the stool from the foot of his bed
to his bedside and sat. She lowered her voice. “I want to let you
know you’re in good hands. I’ve been volunteering here for a couple
months now, and everyone is very kind. If you’d rather stay silent,
that’s all right. But interaction is important in your recovery.
I’ll be back to visit you tomorrow. I can talk and you can
listen.”

His fingers twitched, and those tiny movements made
her more determined than ever to reach him.

Eleven

C
harlotte spent more and
more time at the hospital. Volunteering as a nurses’ aide was the
only thing that distracted her from Nick’s absence, and the work
exhausted her enough that she was able to sleep without
nightmares.

On Friday afternoon, after her last class, she rode
the bus to the Army Medical Center. She entered the ward and
observed the interactions between the staff and patients. As usual,
Lieutenant Kendrick was unattended. He still hadn’t spoken to
anyone since his admittance nine days earlier. He rarely had
visitors unless another aide or nurse fed him, changed his
bandages, or checked his vital signs. Even then, they never tried
to engage him in conversation.

So Charlotte had taken on the responsibility of
attending to him every afternoon. She told him about the latest
films she’d seen at the cinema. She shared the subjects she learned
in her college classes. And although she visited every other
patient and performed her duties, she always returned to his
bedside before she left for the evening to say good-night. Most of
the time, he was asleep or resting his eyes, but occasionally, he’d
meet her gaze and lift the corners of his lips.

She tried not to visit Lieutenant Kendrick first
during her shifts. She didn’t want her colleagues confusing her
attempts to coax him from his shell with favoritism. But everyone
else seemed well cared for.

That afternoon, disregarding what others might think,
she went directly to his bedside. He lay awake, staring at the
ceiling. After a week and a half, he must have memorized the marks
on the tiles by now. Charlotte sat beside his bed and tucked her
hands beneath her. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant. How are you feeling
today?”

As predicted, he gave no response. She shrugged to
convey nonchalance. In truth she was becoming discouraged. She’d
run out of subjects to talk about and couldn’t keep up a one-sided
conversation for much longer. But she refused to give up.

Charlotte walked over to the bookshelf, grabbed a
book, and returned to his bedside. She sat on the stool and opened
the novel to the first page. “I’m going to read to you. I don’t
know what stories you prefer so I took it upon myself to select the
book. We’re going to begin reading
The Adventures of Sherlock
Holmes
, starting with
Adventure One—A Scandal in
Bohemia
.”

She smoothed out the page and began reading.

“To Sherlock Holmes she is always
the
woman. I
have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes
she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that
he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler—”

Her voice cracked on the last word. She’d never read
Sherlock Holmes
and didn’t know Nick’s surname was used.
Tears stung her eyes. A month had passed since Nick was deployed.
What if he was already in combat without her knowledge? What if he
was injured like this poor man beside her?

She blinked rapidly, struggling to maintain her
composure. “We’re going to read something else.” She closed the
book and looked up. This time, the lieutenant’s green eyes were
focused on her, his dark eyebrows drawn together. “I can’t read
this. Not right now.”

She walked to the bookshelf and picked another novel,
one with which she was familiar. When she returned to Lieutenant
Kendrick’s bedside, she took a deep breath and smiled. She could
get through this.

“Have you read
Gone with the Wind
? It’s a long
book, but we have plenty of time at our disposal. Maybe you saw the
film in thirty-nine. In my opinion, the novel is better, though I
enjoyed Clark Gable’s portrayal of Rhett Butler.” She giggled. “You
know, my mother took me to see the film when it opened. I was only
seventeen at the time, and she was shocked at the profanity. I
didn’t understand what the big deal was. It wasn’t like I hadn’t
heard it before.”

She received no reaction.

“Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my
mundane experiences.”

Charlotte flipped open the novel to the first page
and began to read.

Nearly an hour later, she reached a good stopping
point, dog-eared the page, and placed the novel on the bedside
table. She was about to stand and attend to the other patients when
the lieutenant’s lips parted.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

A grin lit Charlotte’s face. “You’re welcome.” She
remained seated and proceeded with him cautiously. “How are you
feeling?”

There was a significant pause before he coughed and
answered, “Better than last week.” He cleared his throat a couple
more times. “You’re wrong, you know.”

Her eyebrows rose. “About what?”

“I like hearing about your life, however mundane.
Best part of my day.” His voice was stronger now, deep actually,
with a hint of a New England accent. “You can call me Will, not
Lieutenant Kendrick. Seems overly formal.”

Her smile widened. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,
Will.”

He glanced at his casts. “I’d shake your hand, but
I’m afraid I can’t move my arms.”

She placed her fingertips on his, providing him with
as much of a handshake as he could manage, given the extent of his
injuries.

Dr. Robinson strode toward them. She withdrew her
hand and stood. A nurse must have noticed Will’s responsiveness and
informed his doctor. Although Will needed to speak with the
physician, Charlotte pursed her lips in annoyance. He might clam up
again if bombarded with questions.

The doctor picked up Will’s chart. “Good afternoon,
Lieutenant Kendrick. I hear you’ve been speaking to Miss Donahue.
I’m glad to see you’re making some progress. How are you
feeling?”

“Sore.”

“That’s no surprise considering your injuries. Please
let a nurse know if the pain becomes too much to bear.” Dr.
Robinson scanned the file and took the cap off his pen. “Now,
Lieutenant, do you remember how you came to be here?”

Will scowled. “Not particularly.”

“Do you know your name and birth date?”

“Yes. William Kendrick. June sixteenth, 1918.”

The doctor nodded. “And your occupation?”

“Before the war or right now?”

“Both.”

“Before, waiter and photographer. Now, Army
pilot.”

Dr. Robinson scribbled in Will’s chart. “And when did
you join the war?”

“September of 1940.”

The doctor’s interrogation was interrupted when
military men in full dress uniform approached Will’s bed,
accompanied by Mrs. Farrell.

“Lieutenant Kendrick. We’re General Madine and
Colonel Ryan.” The older man gestured to his fellow officer. “On
behalf of the President of the United States and the citizens of a
grateful nation, I present you with this Purple Heart Medal.”

The officers didn’t linger. The colonel extended a
certificate and black box to Dr. Robinson and followed Mrs. Farrell
from the room.

Many men in the ward gaped at Will. Some looked on in
awe, others, it seemed, in envy. Dr. Robinson was one of them. “A
Purple Heart. It sounds like a great honor.” The physician handed
Charlotte the certificate and box and glanced at Will. “I’ll check
on you later, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir.” Will stared at the contents in her
hands. He didn’t look as impressed by it as everyone else did. “Can
I see it?”

She held the certificate in front of him so they
could both read it.

The United States of America—To all who shall see
these presents, greeting: This is to certify that the President of
the United States of America has awarded the Purple Heart,
established by General George Washington at Newburgh, New York,
August 7, 1782, to William Arthur Kendrick, U.S. Army Air Forces
for wounds received in action – Cologne, Germany on 7 September
1942, given under my hand in the City of Washington, this 6th day
of November 1942.

Cologne, Germany.

Will was wounded in Nazi territory and, miraculously,
made it out of the country alive. Charlotte itched to ask him about
it, but it was still too soon. She couldn’t risk him shutting her
out again.

After Will finished reading the text, she set the
certificate on the side table and opened the box. The medal was
purple and in the shape of a heart. George Washington’s profile was
centered in gold. She snapped the lid closed. “I’ll put these with
your belongings.”

He frowned. “I have belongings?”

“You should. They’re normally kept in a drawer in the
side table.” Charlotte pulled out his drawer, half expecting it to
be empty. She was relieved to see a few items inside. She sorted
through them.

“A gold pocket watch,” she said, holding its chain
between her fingers. It looked old and in need of cleaning. Will
remained impassive as she held up the watch and then replaced it
into the bin.

She held up the next item. “Your dog tags.”

Once again, there was no response. She placed them
next to the pocket watch.

The only remaining items were photographs. They were
folded, torn around the edges, and faded. One was an old photo of a
man and woman dressed in the fashion of the nineteen-tens. In a
manner typical of the time period, the couple did not smile. She
flipped it over and read the cursive inscription:
Arthur and
Cora Kendrick—1917
. The second photograph was of a little boy
and girl who looked to be the same age. They sat alone, posing for
the camera.
William and Margaret—1922
was written on the
back in different handwriting.

She held them up for Will to see. His lips turned
downward and his eyes darkened. “That’s enough.”

She flinched. The family photos were important enough
that he’d carried them with him. So why did they cause him such
distress? Over the past few months she’d seen numerous family
photos of soldiers in her ward, images of pretty sweethearts,
precious babies, and family gatherings. Never had anyone reacted
like Will.

Without a word, she replaced the photographs into the
drawer and added his Purple Heart certificate and medal. She pushed
the drawer closed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Will.”

Charlotte spent the rest of her shift with other
patients and did not return to his bedside to say good-night.

Twelve

W
ill’s physical condition
had improved since his arrival. The dark bruises beneath his eyes
had yellowed and faded. The wounds on his forehead, abdomen, and
left leg were scabbed and now exposed to hasten the healing
process. His neck brace had been removed, enabling him to turn his
head on his pillow. Despite these advances, three of his limbs
remained casted in plaster, hindering him from sitting, standing,
or walking. So he continued to spend his days in bed, dependent on
his thoughts, sleep, and visitors to bide his time.