Battle Hymns (12 page)

Natalie entered before her. “The first time I met
John.” She shook her head. “Jeez, what’s wrong with us? We can’t
even go to a fun dance without sulking and leaving early. We’re
turning into curmudgeons. This is a huge problem.”

But as they headed upstairs, Charlotte concluded that
nothing was wrong with them. The only thing she and Natalie were
guilty of was being truly and madly in love. And for that, she’d
never feel any regret.

Fifteen

“
D
o you think they’ll
celebrate Thanksgiving?” Natalie said as she and Charlotte packed
some clothes into valises. Trinity College closed for three days
over Thanksgiving, and both of them were spending the holiday with
Charlotte’s family.

“Maybe. I’d like to think it’ll be acknowledged, at
the very least.”

Natalie pulled a heavier sweater over her blouse and
smoothed down her hair. She clicked the latch on her luggage and
sat on her bed. “I’m assuming no news is good news.”

Charlotte kneeled on the carpet and searched through
the shoes she stored underneath her bed. “Probably. Their parents
would be notified if something had happened. I visited Mrs. Adler
on Sunday and she hasn’t heard anything yet, either.” She stood and
stuffed leather pumps into her bag.

“I guess that’s true. I’m not as close with the
Cartwrights, though. What if something happened to John and they
didn’t tell me?” Natalie groaned and buried her face in her hands.
“I’m going crazy. Please ignore me.”

Charlotte paused her packing. “Honey, they’ll be
fine. We have to have faith in that.”

“You’re right,” Natalie said. “Well, I’m ready when
you are.”

On their way out of the dormitory building, Mrs.
Lloyd smiled and waved them to the front desk. “Girls! I have
something for you. Rumor has it your beaux are fighting in Africa.”
She sorted through the pile of mail and produced four envelopes,
two for Charlotte and two for Natalie. “These came this morning.
Happy Thanksgiving.”

Natalie flew around the desk and hugged the house
matron. “Thank you so much.”

Charlotte grinned. “Yes, thank you. Happy
Thanksgiving to you, too.”

They left the dormitory, envelopes in hand, and
strode to the cream-colored Cadillac LaSalle waiting at the curb.
They placed their luggage into the trunk and entered the car.

“Thank you for picking us up, Mrs. Donahue,” Natalie
said from the backseat.

“You’re welcome.” Charlotte’s mother shifted into
drive and pulled onto the road. “You girls look rather pleased this
afternoon. Good news from the boys?”

Charlotte nodded. “We finally have letters!”

She unsealed the first envelope and unfolded the
sheet of paper inside. Nick’s note was short, but she found solace
simply by looking at his handwriting again. It was confirmation
that he was all right.

November 10, 1942

Charlotte,

I want to get this note out to you as soon as I can.
Unless something happened, I assume you’ve received my letters from
the ship by now, and I want to assure you of my safety. We arrived
about three days ago. I wish I could give you some details, but I
don’t think I’ll be able to with the censors. I don’t have much
time. I promise I’ll begin working on your true letter soon.

Love,

Nick

Charlotte clutched the letter to her chest and then
opened the next envelope. The second letter was written two days
later than the first.

November 12, 1942

My dearest Charlotte,

I hope by now you’ve received my first note, and I
hope it put you at ease. I’m sure you’ve hated not hearing from me
for the past month, but I tell you, I really miss hearing from you.
Please write to me as soon as you get this letter. On the envelope,
you’ll find a return address where you can send my mail. The
routing station will relay it to wherever we are at the moment.
Right now, that’s Africa. I think they’ll let me put the continent
into my letters. It’s not as if the Nazis don’t already know we’re
here. Specific locations are to be avoided though, should this
letter find its way into the wrong hands.

The weather is definitely something to get used to.
During the day it gets really hot, but at night, the temperature
drops considerably. We’ve set up camp for the night on ###########.
There are a dozen or so tents. These are reserved for the officers
and the makeshift hospital that houses my wounded comrades. The
rest of us are out in the open. It’s cold, but we’ve built fires,
and it’s a beautiful night outside. The stars and the moon are so
much brighter here in the desert than in Washington, D.C.

A jeep just arrived with supplies. We have more
ammunition and some food. We’re on the move too often to set up a
field kitchen. The K-ration supper comes in a tan, rectangular box
with the words U.S. ARMY FIELD RATION K on the top in bolded black
letters. There’s a can of meat (I think it might be pork, I’m not
positive), biscuits, an emergency D-ration chocolate bar (should we
become stranded and have to survive off a chocolate bar for a
week), toilet tissues, cigarettes, and chewing gum. There are other
rations for breakfast and dinner with small variations. We haven’t
had the other rations yet, but someone told me A-rations are fresh
food, B-rations are food items that need to be prepared in a
kitchen, and the D-ration is the chocolate bar. Right now, I’d
probably kill for some fresh food. But I’m surviving, so I
shouldn’t complain.

So, tell me, how are you doing? Your parents? Are
you still visiting my mother regularly? How are your friends? I
want to hear about everything I’ve missed this past month. Even
hearing about the minutest details would mean the world to me. You
bring me home through your letters.

I love you. You’re all I think about, day and night.
I’m fighting for you.

Love,

Nick

***

F
or the first time since
she’d become a nurses’ aide, Charlotte didn’t volunteer at the Army
Medical Center for a full week. Instead, she celebrated
Thanksgiving and the beginning of the Christmas season with her
family and Natalie. When she finally returned to the hospital, the
ward was decorated for the holidays. Carols played from a
phonograph in the corner of the room, next to a brightly decorated
Christmas tree. An eight-branched menorah also rested on a table,
awaiting the Hanukkah celebrations that would begin that night. The
staff had succeeded in making the ward look festive.

Charlotte’s relief at Nick’s safety brought about an
ease she carried throughout the afternoon. She handed out doses of
medicine, wheeled a patient to the physiotherapy ward and back, and
scrubbed bed pans without complaint. When she visited Will before
she left, he noticed immediately.

“You’re genuinely smiling,” he said upon her
arrival.

“You can tell when I’m fake smiling?”

“Of course I can. It’s in your eyes. You can’t fake
that.” He sat up further in bed. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

Charlotte adjusted the pillow behind his back. “It
was nice. I went home and stayed with my parents. My friend,
Natalie, joined me. Her family lives in Michigan, so it’s not
practical for her to travel home for such a short holiday.” She
grinned. “I also finally received word from Nick.”

“Ah . . . That must be the cause of
your happiness.”

She nodded. “I know that doesn’t mean he’s out of
harm’s way, but I feel a lot more optimistic.”

Will smiled. “I’m glad for you.”

She shifted her weight. “Do you want me to write to
anyone on your behalf? Your family? Friends?”

His smile fell. “There’s no need.”

“Will, you’ve been here for almost a month and your
only visitors have been those officers who presented you the Purple
Heart. To the best of my knowledge, you’ve received no letters.
Surely someone cares you’re here. I bet they’d visit if they knew
you were no longer in England.”

His jaw clenched. “I said no.”

Charlotte frowned. “It’s important in your recovery
to keep a positive state of mind. You need some sort of support
system.”

Will’s face softened. “I’m sorry. It’s
just . . . anybody who ever gave a damn about me is
dead. And there’s no use wasting your time writing those who don’t
give a damn.”

“That can’t be true.”

He nodded tersely. “It is.”

She wanted to ask about his family, but Will was
unlikely to provide any answers, and his mood would only become
fouler.

Instead, she kept her questions to herself and
smiled. “I know that’s not true.”

Will rolled his eyes. “And how do you know that?”

“Because I give a damn about you, and I’m alive and
well.”

Sixteen

O
ver the next week,
Charlotte received three more letters from Nick, and she wrote back
to him just as often. She added the letters to her collection.
Sometimes, when she had the opportunity, she took them out and
reread them from the beginning. They were her and Nick’s love
story, a chronicle she’d share with their children one day.

Through his letters, she learned about the other
soldiers in Nick’s regiment. She knew who had girlfriends or wives
back home, and who were single; who were the troublemakers, and who
kept to themselves. He also went into detail about how well they
ate, how little they slept, and how much they walked. He mentioned
little of the war itself. She understood that knowledge of his
regiment’s movements, casualties, and the effects of the war on
their psyche could be exploited by the enemy and, therefore, were
strictly censored from all communication. But even if Nick had been
allowed, he probably wouldn’t have told her in order to spare her
the details.

Instead, Charlotte followed the North African
campaign in the newspapers and on the radio, always wondering in
which battles Nick participated. Since the initial invasion, the
Allies had captured Benghazi in Libya and moved forward into
Tunisia. The newspapers reported heavy combat in Tunisia, but she
was confident in Nick’s safety. As long as he continued to write
her, she was at ease.

Natalie didn’t like hearing about the war, even
though John was fighting in it, so Charlotte read the newspapers
and discussed the events with Will during her volunteer shifts. She
preferred not to play favorites with the patients on her ward, but
she and Will had a special bond, one she hadn’t found with the
other men. Most of the soldiers were never there long enough for
her to establish rapport with them. They were wounded in training
or they broke a bone, and the hospital discharged them within
weeks. Will had been at the AMC for almost two months already.

On the eighth of December, Charlotte made her rounds
in Convalescent Ward Fifteen and finally found the opportunity to
spend time with Will.

“How are you feeling today?”

Will scowled. “I can’t wait to get these casts off.
They itch like hell.”

“You only have two more weeks on your arms. Then
you’ll be able to eat, hold a book, and maybe scratch your nose.”
She flashed a teasing smile. “They’ll be off in no time.”

Will chuckled. “You’re torturing me.” He glanced at
the wall clock on the other side of the ward. “It’s only
two-thirty. You’re usually not here until four during the
week.”

“You’re observant.” She pulled out the stool and took
a seat. “Classes are over for the semester. I had my first final
exam this morning.”

“And how’d you do?”

She shrugged. “I’m sure I did well.”

“I’m sure you did,” he replied. “What are you
studying?”

“Sociology. And what about you? Did you go to
college?”

“I went for two years. I didn’t finish my
degree.”

“Because you joined the war?”

Will shook his head. “It was a couple years before I
joined the Eagle Squadron.” He furrowed his brow. “My father cut me
off financially, and I couldn’t afford it after that. It was either
my plane or my degree, and I chose my plane.”

“What were you studying?” Charlotte asked,
circumventing the mention of his father. Will usually became angry
when the subject of his family arose, and she was enjoying their
chat too much to risk it.

“I studied Economics at Yale. I was supposed to
continue the family business.”

“That sounds impressive. What’s the family
business?”

“Railroads.”

She switched the subject now that Will began
responding with one-word answers. “So, how long have you been
flying?”

Will’s lips lifted into a smile. Aviation was
obviously his passion and a safe topic of conversation. “Since I
was sixteen. In thirty-three, my father took my sister and me to
the World’s Fair in Chicago. We were fifteen at the time. There was
a flying exhibition put on by some ace from the Great War. He flew
his airplane into the sky and did barrel rolls and dives. When he
flew low over the audience, the gust of air blew off my cap, and it
was exhilarating. That was when I knew I wanted to fly.”

Charlotte smiled. “That sounds like a lovely
memory.”

“One of the best. My father indulged my new obsession
and paid for flying lessons, and on my eighteenth birthday, he
bought me a plane. It was an old, damaged biplane in need of
repairs. I soon got her flying. She doesn’t go as fast as a
monoplane, but she has character.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what happened to her. I joined
the war and couldn’t pay for the hangar. I had no other place to
put her. I was renting a one-bedroom apartment in New York City.
You can’t exactly park a biplane on Seventh Avenue.” He
chuckled.

Will glanced over Charlotte’s shoulder, confusion
clouding his eyes.

“Do you know that man?”