Battle Hymns (10 page)

Charlotte visited him during her shifts over the
weekend. They’d finished two more chapters of
Gone with the
Wind
and thoroughly discussed the autumn weather and their
music preferences. He’d noticed her engagement ring and asked if
she was married. She’d told him about Nick, their relationship
before the war, and his enlistment and training. When she’d asked
Will if he had a girl waiting for him somewhere, he’d said there
was no one in his life and changed the topic immediately.

On Monday afternoon, after she performed her more
time-sensitive duties, she came around to Will’s bedside. He
readjusted his head on the pillow. His eyes were shut.

“Hello, Will. How are you feeling today?”

Will opened his eyes and focused on her. His lips
curled into a smile. “Not too crummy. How’s your shift so far?”

“Fine and dandy. Does your neck still hurt? How are
your meds?”

“They seem to be working a little bit. I’m still
pretty uncomfortable, mostly my ribs. I don’t want anything
stronger, though. I can bear it.”

“Well, let me know if you change your mind.” She took
a seat on the bedside stool and studied his appearance. “Did you
get a haircut?”

Will nodded. “And a shave. I feel human again.”

“Who did that?”

“Rachel stopped by this morning.”

Charlotte’s jaw tightened. Rachel, who’d been so
dismissive of Will when he wasn’t speaking, now cared for him
during her morning shifts. But grooming and personal interaction
were important in Will’s recovery, even if Rachel was the one
providing it.

“I’m glad.” She lifted her chin and refocused on her
visit with Will. “What do you want to do today? Should I continue
reading our book? Do you want me to write a letter to anyone? Or we
could just talk. It’s up to you.”

Will didn’t seem to notice her inappropriate
reaction. He lifted his head a few inches from the pillow and
glanced around the room. Then he winced and dropped his head.
“Think you could find me a recent newspaper? I’ve been out of the
loop for a few weeks. Hitler could’ve been killed, the war won, and
I wouldn’t know it.”

Charlotte chuckled. “I guarantee someone would’ve
told you if that were the case. This morning’s paper is in the
nurses’ lounge. I’ll go fetch it.” She hurried to the lounge and
snatched the paper from the table. When she returned, she unfolded
it and read through the bolded headlines.

“What’s happening?” Will asked.

“Good news, I think,” she said, scanning the
articles. “Yesterday we invaded French North Africa. It seems the
Allies inflicted serious losses on the Vichy navy and captured
Algiers. Roosevelt is calling it the second front. They’re saying
it’ll probably lead to the invasion of Libya and eventually Europe.
That covers most of the front page.” She flipped the page and
continued reading. “In other news, the Supreme Court upheld the
penalty on excess wheat production.”

“Charlotte.”

She peered at Will over the paper. “Hmm?”

He sighed. “Your fiancé . . . you said
his regiment was en route across the
Atlantic . . .”

“Oh God!” Charlotte clasped a hand over her mouth as
a wave of nausea washed over her. For weeks she’d been waiting for
Nick’s letters to inform her they’d arrived at their destination.
She hadn’t grasped that the invasion would be broadcast long before
his letters made it back across the Atlantic.

In a panic, she extended the newspaper. The
Post
had included an illustrated map, and she followed the
dark black arrow down the coast of Portugal. The arrow split as it
neared North Africa, four to Morocco and two others through the
Strait of Gibraltar and on to Algeria. She scrutinized the text.
The article listed the Ninth Infantry Division as a participant.
She searched for news of casualties.

“It says there were only slight American losses. Only
two of our ships were torpedoed. That’s considered slight? What if
Nick was on one of those ships?”

“Calm down. You don’t know that. There’d be hundreds
of ships in that kind of convoy. The odds are low,” Will said.

“There’s still a chance.”

“Charlotte, there’s always a chance. We’re at war.
Look at what happened to me.”

Dropping the newspaper to her side, she glared at the
casts on his limbs and the cuts on his face. “Do you even know what
happened to you? I thought you couldn’t remember anything.”

Will seemed to consider her question for several
seconds, long enough that she regretted her question and the tone
in which it was asked. She took a deep breath. At least now she
knew where Nick was. Her wait was over. There was some relief in
that.

“I’ve led bombing missions into Germany with the
Royal Air Force. You could say I have a good idea of what landed me
here, even if I can’t recall the particular circumstances.”

“That’s why your certificate said you were in
Cologne . . .” Charlotte lowered her voice to a
whisper so Will’s neighbor, a young airman in training, wouldn’t
overhear. “Do you think you were shot down?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. Yes, I
think my plane was hit. That doesn’t fully explain the extent of my
injuries, though. I’m convinced my parachute tore during the fall.
That’s the only way my body could shatter like it did.”

Her eyes stung as she imagined him plummeting toward
the ground. “You’re very lucky. You might not have survived at
all.”

Will shrugged. “There’s no pain in death.”

A single tear fell from her eye. She wiped it away
hastily. “You can’t think that way.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not suicidal.” He gave her a
reassuring smile. “I’m just not afraid of death anymore. I’ve also
come to realize life’s too short not to pursue what you want.”

Charlotte studied her fingernails. Her eye contact
with Will suddenly discomfited her. She forced a smile and steered
the conversation along a lighter route. “You’re a fighter pilot?
Did you fly before the war?”

Will nodded. “It was a hobby until I joined the Eagle
Squadron. The U.S. hadn’t joined the war so I volunteered to fight
with the British. I was stationed in various parts of southern
England for a couple years.”

“How’d you like England?”

“I liked it just fine. We were stationed in the
countryside at these massive manors that were built hundreds of
years ago with spires and gardens. They used to house the
aristocracy. Now they’re housing soldiers. The encampments and
planes have torn up their lawns.” His eyebrows furrowed. “The
British people see the need to come together and sacrifice for the
cause. And how can they not, after so many civilians were killed in
the Luftwaffe bombings? The Americans weren’t like that when I
left.”

“You haven’t been home since 1940. We’re all doing
our part now.”

Will smiled. “I can see that. After all, here you
are. Do you like volunteering at the hospital?”

“I do. I honestly wasn’t sure I would when I signed
up. I went to my first day of training and thought, what in the
world have I gotten myself into? But now I look forward to coming
here every day.”

“You should become a nurse, then.”

She shrugged noncommittally. Nursing wouldn’t be a
possibility when Nick came home. “We’ll see about that.”

From across the ward, Nurse Parker caught her
attention with the wave of her hand. Charlotte glanced at her
watch. She’d spent more time with Will this afternoon than she’d
planned. She set the newspaper on the bedside table and gave him a
parting smile. “It looks like I’m needed elsewhere. It was nice
talking to you today. I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She left the bedside.

Will’s voice sounded behind her. “Charlotte?”

She turned.

“I’m sure Nick will be all right.”

“You’re kind. But you don’t know that.”

Will looked down at his blankets. “I do know he’ll
put up one heck of a fight.”

“How do you know?”

When his eyes met hers again, they brimmed with
sincerity. “Because with you in his life, he has too much to
lose.”

Thirteen

T
en excruciating days
passed before Charlotte and Natalie heard from Nick and John.
Charlotte regarded the unopened envelope with a mixture of relief
and terror. After a month of silence, she could finally read
another one of Nick’s letters. And yet the envelope meant his ship
had landed and enough time had transpired to mail the letters home.
What if something had happened to Nick since then?

She glanced at Natalie across their bedroom. “Have
you opened yours yet?”

Natalie shook her head. “I’m almost afraid to.”

Charlotte stared at the envelope, building her
resolve. Finally, she tore it open. The envelope was fuller than
the others she’d received. When she pulled out the contents, there
were dozens of sheets of paper. She read from the beginning.

October 15, 1942

En route in the Atlantic

Sweetheart,

I hope to continue writing to you every day, and if
not, then every other day. Early yesterday morning, we rode to the
shipyard, marched onto the dock, and boarded ############. We’ve
only been sailing for a day now, and already the men have nicknamed
it ##########. I hope it’s an apt nickname because we’ll need all
the luck we can get. One of the crew told me that it weighs nearly
####### and can travel up to ######. Considering the size of this
thing, that’s really fast. But we’re in a convoy with many other
types of ships and can only travel as fast as the slowest
vessel.

The sleeping quarters are tight with hundreds of men
fitting into one room. We’re in hammocks stacked four or five high.
I was uncomfortable last night between the tight space and the
swaying of the ship on the ocean, but I reminded myself this might
be the most comfortable location I sleep in for a while. I doubt
we’ll have comfortable accommodations where we’re going. Heck, I
might not be sleeping at all.

The food actually wasn’t terrible. By that I mean it
wasn’t worse than what we ate at camp. Of course I still miss your
mother’s apple pie. Nothing can beat that. I guess I’ll have to
contend with their poorer version that congeals and looks more like
a piece of gelatin pie after a few minutes. We had pork chops last
night, and there were a lot to go around, considering over half the
men are seasick. From time to time, when the sea is especially
choppy, I feel like I might be sick, but it passes quickly. I’m a
lot better off than my comrades.

Now that we’re en route, there’s a little bit more
time to relax. They’re keeping us in shape, though, with continued
push-ups and other exercises. But training has definitely
ceased.

There was a break in the page before the letter
continued.

October 17, 1942

Last night, I made it up onto the deck once it was
dark outside. With the exception of the moon and the stars, it was
pitch black. It was eerie knowing there were ######## ships
surrounding ours, but you couldn’t see them because we’re under
blackout orders. We can’t give away our position to the enemy. I
presume they navigate with radars, because otherwise, I don’t know
how one ship wouldn’t steer off course and crash into another.

I slept easier last night. I’m finally developing my
sea legs. And if you can get yourself into the right state of mind,
the rocking of the ship does help lull you to sleep. You know, it’s
weird being out on the ocean, in the middle of nowhere. I haven’t
seen land in two days, and despite the other ships, it feels
isolated. The ocean is dark blue out here, darker than you’d
imagine. Today was calmer than yesterday. Yesterday, the midnight
blue was dotted in white with all the choppy, breaking waves. Now
it’s possible for me to look over the ledge and not feel faint at
the sight.

Without visibility of land, you can see the curve of
the earth on the horizon. How they ever thought the world was flat,
when the European explorers sailed around Africa to reach Asia, is
beyond me. Maybe they stayed near the shore to navigate, which
distracted them.

October 18, 1942

Fresh paper is becoming hard to come by in these
parts. The service clubs provided us with packs of it before we
shipped out (thus the letterhead), but those who write less are
bartering it for other things—photographs, watches, and other
doodads. I’m trying to write in as small handwriting as possible,
front and back, so I can write you for longer.

I miss your constant incoming stream of letters.
I’ve begun rereading through the ones you sent me in January. They
were the first real letters you’d ever written me. Your handwriting
has become etched in my memory—the way your g doesn’t connect and
looks more like an S, your uppercase E that looks more like a
backward 3. We took it for granted, last year, that we could see
each other or talk on the phone. But as much as I miss your voice,
I enjoy reading your professions of love for me every day. I can
relive the moments easier than trying to recall a conversation of
ours.

Do you remember our day trip to Chesapeake Beach
last summer? We rented a canoe and paddled out into the bay. It was
a bright blue day, and you were wearing that red bathing suit that
drove me mad. I don’t think I’ve ever told you this—that was the
moment I knew I was going to marry you. I sometimes imagine you’re
on this ship with me, and I think your hair would blow the same way
in the wind as it did that day. But it’s for the best you’re not
with me. A ship full of soldiers is no place for a lady.

Onboard, I’ve met a lot of guys from all over the
country—cowboys from Texas, Swedes from Minnesota, and Jews from
Brooklyn. And they all have different sayings, most of them
inappropriate to write to you. However, I can say that, “come hell
or high water,” I will forever love you.