Battle Hymns (16 page)

Will propped himself up onto his elbows. “What’s all
this?”

“I was tasked with removing your cast this
afternoon,” Charlotte said with a sly smile. “Are you ready?”

Will nodded and scooted up in bed. “More than
ready.”

Charlotte removed the support from underneath the
cast. Using a small handsaw, she made incisions on two sides of the
plaster. She removed the cast and set the remains on the cart. Then
she took a pair of shears to the soft padding that covered Will’s
leg. What she saw wasn’t the prettiest sight. Though her expression
remained static, Charlotte was startled. His skin was pale, scaly,
and red, and boasted numerous scars. His injury must’ve hurt like
the dickens.

She removed the padding and returned the equipment to
the cart. “All done. How does it feel? Any pain?”

Will bent his knee. A look of discomfort clouded his
face. Still, he seemed pleased with the movement. “Can I walk?”

“That might not be a good idea. You haven’t used the
muscles for months.”

Will swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Her eyes widened. “At least let me get you
crutches.”

He shook his head. “No. I can do this.”

He took a deep breath and pushed down on the mattress
to force his body into standing position. For the first time,
Charlotte realized by how much he towered over her. The top of her
head only reached his chin. All seemed to be in working order until
Will placed his weight on his injured leg. He cringed and lost his
balance, falling forward. She caught his shoulders and pushed him
backward onto the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his
shoulders slumped and his expression stony.

“You’ll walk again. Just give it time.” She placed a
hand on his shoulder. “The physical therapist will begin working
with you tomorrow. In the meantime, try to do some leg stretches.
It’ll help.”

He shrugged off her hand and lay back onto the bed.
He stared at the ceiling.

Charlotte sat on the stool at his bedside. “You can
talk to me if you’d like.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Please don’t do this again.”

His gaze skipped to hers. “Don’t do what?”

“Retreat. When you pretend nothing is bothering you,
even though it evidently is. It makes me afraid you’ll regress into
the soldier who wouldn’t speak a word for weeks.”

“And you care?”

Charlotte reached for his hand. “Of course I care.
We’re friends, remember?”

Will flipped his hand so their palms touched. He
sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s not easy to talk about these things. The
war . . . my family . . . the
future.” He sat up. “For the past two months, I’ve been waiting for
the day when the doctor tells me I’m not going to walk again, that
something went wrong and they’ll have to take my leg. So far
neither the doctors nor the nurses have been anything but
optimistic. They say I’ll walk in no time. But what if they’re
wrong? I can’t fly if I can’t use both my legs.”

“You should trust the doctors and nurses. If they say
you’ll be walking in no time then you will. That’s why you have to
go through physical therapy, so you can get your strength
back.”

“I can’t wait to get out of here,” he muttered.

Charlotte removed her hand from his. “Do you think
you’ll return to the war? After you leave?”

Will hesitated. “I don’t know. They would’ve kept me
in Europe if they thought I could return to the front. I guess they
didn’t think I’d survive, so they shipped me back home so they
could work on the less severely injured. Triage, you know. Will I
return? I’d like to.” He shrugged. “We’ll find out eventually.”

For the rest of the day, Charlotte couldn’t shake the
anxiety that clung to her like a leech bleeding her dry. She
already lost Nick. She couldn’t lose Will, too.

Twenty-One

C
harlotte returned to
Trinity College on the tenth of January. Struggling with two heavy
suitcases, she unlocked and swung open the door to her dorm
room.

Natalie was inside, unpacking her belongings. She
turned from the wardrobe. “Hello.” Natalie’s greeting held a note
of wariness.

She and Charlotte hadn’t spoken or written to each
other during their break. It was the most time they’d ever gone in
their friendship without speaking. Though she was loath to admit
it, Charlotte continued to feel some animosity toward her. Natalie
had what she did not: someone to love. Still, it was unfair of her
to blame Natalie, and she longed for their friendship to return to
normal.

“Hi.” Charlotte set her suitcases at the foot of the
bed and sat on the mattress.

Natalie shifted her weight. “So . . .
how was your Christmas?”

“Not great.” Charlotte cringed at her harsh tone. She
sighed. “I mean, you know . . .” She shrugged. “I’m
sorry.”

Natalie’s face softened. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here
for you. These past few weeks must’ve been terrible. I’ve been
worrying about you constantly. I would’ve called, but I was afraid
you were still mad at me.” She paused. “Are you? Still mad at me, I
mean?”

Charlotte stared at her hands in her lap. “I admit
I’m still a little bit jealous of you. But I understand it’s
completely uncalled for.”

“Don’t be jealous of me. I still have to worry about
John’s safety every day.”

“But he’s alive.”

“True.” Natalie frowned. “How have you been
coping?”

Charlotte’s chin quivered. “I don’t know. Somehow I’m
making it through the day. I’ve been volunteering at the hospital a
lot lately. If I stay busy enough, my thoughts are otherwise
occupied.” Her voice cracked. “But, nights and mornings are the
worst. He’s still in my dreams. I’ve woken up and completely
forgotten that he’s gone and never not coming back.”

Natalie sat next to Charlotte and curled an arm
around her shoulders. “You’ll get through this. We both will.”

Twenty-Two

C
harlotte couldn’t escape
the news from North Africa. After a period of troop reinforcement
by both sides, the Allies suffered significant losses in a run for
the Tunisian capital and then in a lost battle in the mountains of
west Tunisia. The results proved to her the Nazis were winning, yet
the government worked their hardest to convince the American public
otherwise.

In February, Charlotte and Evelyn saw the new
Humphrey Bogart picture,
Casablanca
. A newsreel played prior
to the film, sharing the Allied triumphs in Morocco and Algeria in
November. The clip started with American troops marching onto their
warships and ended with patriotic music playing over battle scenes
and soldiers smiling and waving as though they were never in
danger. Any one of those men could’ve been Nick. It was the most
painful newsreel she’d ever seen. But she sat through it, hands and
jaw clenched, determined to desensitize herself.

Although her friendship with Natalie had almost gone
back to normal, they weren’t nearly as close. Natalie rarely
discussed John. When she received his letters, she read them in
private and didn’t share what they said. Charlotte only knew he was
still in North Africa because she asked Natalie a direct question
about it.

Neither did Charlotte share with Natalie her
friendship with Will. Natalie knew of the injured pilot who’d been
in the hospital for nearly six months. But Natalie didn’t know
Charlotte credited Will’s support for her ability to recover after
Nick’s death. Now, she rarely dreamed of Nick, and when she did, it
didn’t shred her heart into pieces when she awoke. She regained the
weight she’d lost in December, and two whole weeks had passed since
she last wept.

While Charlotte recovered emotionally, Will continued
to recover physically. He’d been in physical therapy for the past
three months. Since then, he’d progressed from immobility to being
able to walk with crutches and then a cane. Although Will often
complained about the length of his recovery, he was relieved to
walk again, even with the help of crutches. It was only a matter of
time until the Army would reevaluate his health and decide his
eligibility for service. In the meantime, Charlotte continued to
offer support.

By late April, the War Department deemed Will healthy
enough to attend a ceremony in his honor, during which he’d receive
an award for his service. In the absence of family to witness the
celebration, Will asked Charlotte to be his guest, an invitation
she readily accepted. She was proud of him, and he deserved to have
someone there who cared for him.

At four o’clock on a Friday afternoon, Charlotte
waited outside her dormitory. Right on time, a shiny black Lincoln
parked alongside the curb. Will opened the back door and held onto
it for support as he stood on the sidewalk. He wore his olive-drab
military dress uniform. It was similar to the uniform Nick had worn
when he left for basic training. The only differences were the
officers’ insignia worn over his heart and the oval, peaked cap
instead of a garrison cap atop his head. She climbed into the
backseat, followed by Will. The driver, an Army private, pulled
away from the curb and continued their journey to the Pentagon.

As she peered out the window, she sensed Will’s eyes
studying her.

“You didn’t change your mind. I thought you might,”
he said.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s a big
honor.”

Charlotte surveyed Will’s uniform again. He looked
different than he did in his hospital gown: strong, brave, and
handsome. Her heart flipped. She chalked it up to excitement and
pride over his accomplishments, nothing more.

“I haven’t seen you in your uniform before. You look
nice.”

“Thanks. It’s brand spanking new.” Will brushed lint
off the wool sleeve and gestured to her red dress. “You know, until
now, I’ve only seen you in your uniform. I didn’t know your hair
was so long. You always pull it back under your nurse’s cap.”

Charlotte self-consciously touched her curls. Had her
acceptance of the invitation been a mistake? Will was her friend,
and she wanted to support him on such a big day. But this was a
step forward in the relationship between patient and nurses’ aide,
one of which the Red Cross and the Army Medical Center might not
approve.

The car stopped at a security gate, and after
providing identification, Will and Charlotte were issued visitor
passes. As they continued down the road, the newly constructed,
five-sided building grew in the distance.

“My father works here,” Charlotte said.

“Really?” Will cocked a brow. “You never mentioned
that before. What does he do?”

She shrugged. “Military intelligence. He doesn’t talk
about it, so that’s all I know.”

The driver parked the car in front of the entrance
and opened the door for them. Will used a wooden cane to maneuver
out of the vehicle and onto the sidewalk while Charlotte followed
behind. The driver saluted his superior and Will returned the
gesture. “Lieutenant, if you and your guest would please follow
me.”

Given that she was Will’s only guest, Charlotte
expected the ceremony to be small. There were, however, at least a
couple dozen witnesses from the War Department, the U.S. Army, and
even the press. Charlotte took a seat near the back of the room
while Will joined other officers in their decorated service dress
on stage.

One of the officers stepped forward to the podium and
read from a sheet of paper. “First Lieutenant William Kendrick of
the 334th Fighter Squadron of the United States Army Air Forces is
awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for his actions on the
seventh day of October 1942 in Cologne, Germany.”

Will stood with his shoulders squared and his hands
behind his back, the cane resting against his thigh. He stared
blankly toward the back of the room.

“The Distinguished Service Cross was established by
President Woodrow Wilson on the second day of January 1918. It is
awarded to a person who, while serving in any capacity with the
Army, distinguishes himself by extraordinary heroism not justifying
the award of a Medal of Honor, while engaged in an action against
an enemy of the United States.”

The officer pulled out another sheet of paper.

“I have a letter from Lieutenant Kendrick’s
commanding officer in the Royal Air Force, Squadron Leader Kinsey,
which describe the Lieutenant’s valiant efforts in this war. It
reads: The solider you honor is the epitome of heroism and
leadership. In the two years in my squadron, Kendrick took every
opportunity to fly, and on numerous occasions went above and beyond
the call of duty to help his fellow soldiers return from the skies
unscathed. He escorted many bombing missions, and I am certain the
missions would not have been as successful without him.

“On the seventh of October, he escorted a bombing
mission of over three hundred aircraft. After the loss of the lead
fighter jet in the skies over Belgium, Kendrick pressed on, leading
the mission toward Cologne. It was reported his jet was shot down
on the return, and it is a testament of Kendrick’s skill, bravery,
and unfailing determination that he survived. It is not often we
get to stand among heroes, and I am proud to say I led one of the
greatest.”

The officer presented Will with the medal and pinned
it onto his uniform. The audience applauded. After the ceremony,
the reporters snapped photographs of him with the officers and with
his framed certificate.

“Congratulations, Lieutenant,” Charlotte said when
Will finally made his way over to her. She inspected the
Distinguished Service Cross medal. It was a bronze cross with an
eagle in the center and a scroll bearing the inscription,
FOR
VALOR
. A red, white, and blue ribbon supported the medal and it
was pinned next to the Purple Heart he’d been awarded months
earlier.