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Choices of the Heart

Page 28

by Margaret Gay Malone


  Until we meet again.

  All my love,

  Vittorio

  Kitty closed her eyes and pressed the letter to her breast, her thoughts with Vittorio. Her father coughed to let her know he was there.

  “Oh, Papa, I’ve heard from Vittorio.”

  Liam already knew. He saw such love and pain on his daughter’s face, he was overwhelmed with guilt. He wanted to beg her forgiveness again. Quietly, he went to her and threw his arms around her.

  “Thank you, Papa. I’m so glad you and Dermot are here with me. I have another letter, too, from Charles. He wrote his just two weeks ago; Vittorio’s is two months old.” She read silently as her father sat on the sofa watching her.

  My darling Kitty,

  How are you and Doughboy? I’m glad you have him for company. You are in my thoughts constantly, and I long for the day when I can see you again.

  I’m working in a field hospital, tending the wounded. I do what I can. Sometimes it is a happy experience, when I can dress a minor wound and see the soldier walk out. Other times I have all I can do to tend to men in the prime of their lives but who will carry the effects of their severe wounds for the rest of their lives, if they’re lucky enough to survive.

  I console myself with the knowledge that I am doing good for men who badly need help. That is the only plus in a war that has so many minuses.

  Don’t worry about me. The field hospital is far enough removed from battle that I am not in danger. We have a good supply of food and medicine. That is the most we can hope for.

  This war can’t end fast enough to suit me. I want to feel you in my arms again. I realize even more now how happy you have made me.

  My love forever,

  Charles

  “What news?” her father asked when she had finished reading.

  Aware of a faraway look in her eyes, Liam said nothing more. At the sight of Dermot, excited at the room with a bird nest, Kitty snapped out of her reverie.

  “Let me show you the rest of the house.” With Doughboy at their heels, she led them on a tour.

  “What an impressive home, my dear,” Liam said. “I’m glad to know he is an honorable Englishman.”

  They ended the tour in Kitty’s bedroom. She placed the letter from Charles in her bedside table drawer along with others, but tied Vittorio’s letter in lavender ribbon and set it on top of the table. She stood silently gazing at his letter.

  Liam held up his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. “I’m sorry, Kitty. We are both without the ones we love.”

  She took his hand and looked at him with eyes that smiled with peace. “Papa, Vittorio is more with me now than he was for years.”

  “Show us the hospital where you wrap bandages,” Dermot said. “You promised.”

  “You’re right, Dermot. How would you and Papa like to go today?”

  When they pulled up in front of the hospital, Kitty felt a surge of pride that this was where Charles worked. She introduced her family to friends on the staff, and the three stayed several hours to help wrap bandages with the rest of the volunteers.

  As they left, a Red Cross representative sat near the door. A huge recruiting poster hung behind her, showing a volunteer serving coffee to a weary soldier. She smiled at Kitty. “I’m looking for women to go overseas to help the troops. We give out chocolates, doughnuts, cigarettes, that sort of thing. But just being there lends them support. If you have no family obligations, perhaps you’ll consider it.”

  Kitty folded a flyer into her purse. She needed time to think about such a commitment.

  After another week’s visit, she drove her father and brother back to New York. As she prepared to leave early the next morning, her father hugged her tightly. “Thank you, Kitty, for pursuing a stubborn Irishman. Age makes you see things without the furor of youth.” He hesitated. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about Dermot.”

  “Papa,” she interrupted, “I love him dearly. He will always have a home with me.”

  His voice was barely a whisper. “Thank you, thank you. You are more than I deserve.”

  During her drive to Boston after bringing her family home, her thoughts were of Vittorio. A vague fear gave way to the heart-shrinking certainty that something terrible had happened to him. With Doughboy at her side, she drove straight through without stopping at a guest house. Her bags left in the car, she raced to the mailbox. Her eyes widened at a letter—not from Vittorio but from his mother, Ottavia. She tore open the letter. Her heart thundering, she began to read:

  Cara Katerina,

  Vittorio wrote to me telling me of your accident and your meeting again. He also asked me if I would write to you if I received any news. I am sorry to let you know that I have received a letter from the U.S. Government that says Vittorio is missing in action.

  We must have faith, my dear, that our Vittorio is alive. We must double our prayers that Our Lord will take care of him.

  I would love to hear from you. We can give each other strength. Stay strong. I know he will come home to us.

  Love,

  Ottavia Rossi

  Kitty stood with her back to the wall of the entrance hall, staring at the letter. She read it over again, to be sure she had read it correctly. Missing in action. The words jumped out at her, no matter how many times she read them. There was no mistaking. She slowly sank to the floor, her head in her hands.

  She stayed there, Doughboy at her side, until she had quieted herself. “He’s alive, I know he is,” she said aloud. Then quietly, “He’s got to be.”

  Kitty rose and looked at her watch. It was too late to reach the Red Cross recruiter, but she would see her at the hospital first thing in the morning.

  Chapter 42

  Kitty sat at the train’s window, looking out at the French countryside. She couldn’t believe the speed with which she had left Boston. A quick trip back to New York to leave Doughboy and say goodbye to her father and Dermot, a letter to Ottavia promising her any news as soon as she heard it, and she was off. Her thoughts were with Charles, and of course, always with Vittorio, but being here, doing something, eased the pain and gave her hope.

  She was dressed in the uniform of a Red Cross worker, a long-sleeved cotton dress and white apron, a white scarf low on her forehead and tied at the back of her head. They traveled with a carload of chocolates and cigarettes. She and the other workers were bound for the village of Montmirail to dispense the treats to soldiers on the way to the front.

  Since joining the Red Cross, she had heard more immediate reports of the carnage of the war. By 1918, the early optimism Americans had displayed had vanished; too many had died in a war that was taking longer than anyone had expected.

  As the train ground to a halt, Kitty saw soldiers at the far end of the platform. Jumping off the train with the five other women in her group, she was astounded to see lines of men as far as the horizon. They cheered at sight of the women, who managed to smile and wave.

  Kitty and two others set up their gifts under a tree just outside the station. She greeted every soldier as he moved up in the line, looked at each face, smiled, and shared a few words. She greeted thousands, many of whom had already seen battle. She saw young men with old eyes and those new to battle, still with spirit and an easy laugh. She was humbled by their gratitude for her small service.

  Some of the men wanted to chat a bit, and she used that chance to ask, “Do you know Captain Charles Lawrence, a doctor? Have you seen Private Vittorio Rossi, First Division?”

  The answer was always a shake of the head and a “Sorry, I don’t know them.”

  By day’s end, she was exhausted by the sheer numbers of men who passed by that day, but she was pleased to be doing something more than wrapping bandages at home, and it gave her a chance to inquire about Charles and especially Vittorio. She fell into her tent that night exhausted, but could not fall asleep. Vittorio is here somewhere. He has to be alive, and I have to find him.

  ****

  Private V
ittorio Rossi lay in a hospital bed, his eyes and part of his face bandaged. His body had recovered well from being blown back by the force of the explosion. He could move around but still had weeks to go before the bandages would be removed. His comrade, Buckley, had been thrown free and crawled back to drag Vittorio away. It saved his life.

  His eyes had been operated on to remove minute pieces of shrapnel that had become embedded. Only time could tell if he would recover his sight. Flying debris had injured his jaw, and the heavy bandages swathing it made talking almost impossible.

  In the confusion that followed the battle, Vittorio was carried away by a medic, and Buckley and their commanding officer, losing track of him, reported him missing in action.

  In the months since he had been wounded, he lay in a hospital in Chateau-Thierry, unable to talk much, but listening with growing eagerness to reports that, little by little, the allies were pushing the Germans back.

  “Well, Private Rossi, let’s have a look at you.” The doctor began examining him. “Very good. In two weeks we’ll unwrap your bandages. Keep your fingers crossed, Rossi.”

  As those weeks dragged by, Vittorio prayed that his eyesight would be restored. He was sitting up in bed thinking of Kitty when the doctor bustled in.

  “This is it, Rossi. We’ll unwrap your jaw first.”

  “Hold it, soldier,” the doctor cautioned as Vittorio reached up to touch his face. “Let me examine it first.” The doctor’s hand slid from his cheekbone to his jawbone. “Your jaw’s healed.”

  “That’s almost half the battle,” Vittorio said, speaking clearly for the first time in months. He clenched his fists, as the bandages were removed from his eyes, and wished Kitty could be here to share the news, good or bad.

  ****

  “Chateau-Thierry?” Kitty asked as the convoy of Red Cross trucks moved nearer to the village.

  “Yes, there’s a hospital there, and troops will be moving through on the way to the front.” Their leader stood with the group of volunteers, advising them of their next stop. Kitty had served in France for six months now, and had received a letter from Charles. He worked near the front in a makeshift field hospital. She didn’t know where, but at least he was safe. No word from Vittorio. She had already asked thousands of soldiers if they knew of him. None did. In spite of the monumental challenge of trying to find him, hope sprang every time they were assigned to a hospital. Today, as the Red Cross convoy neared the village, she hoped anew. Perhaps he’s at Chateau-Thierry.

  ****

  Vittorio kept his eyes shut as the doctor unrolled the bandages. Would he regain his sight? The question tortured him.

  “Okay, soldier. Slowly open your eyes.”

  Vittorio held his breath. He obsessed that such a simple process could have such far-reaching consequences. Now that he had seen Kitty again, he didn’t want it to be his last sight of her. He opened his eyes carefully. After so many months of darkness, the brightness was dazzling. First, he made out color, then shapes. For the first time, he saw the hospital room he had been in for months. The doctor bent down to him, and Vittorio could see his features.

  “Doctor, what a pleasure to see you clearly.”

  “You are one strong soldier.” The doctor leaned in and, lifting his lids, looked into his eyes. “Perfect.” He smiled. “You’re damn lucky.”

  Vittorio stood up and pumped the doctor’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Perhaps you won’t thank me when you hear this. We need all the men we can at the front. Big push. If we succeed, we’ll have the Germans on their knees. I have orders that if you’re recovered, you ship out today.”

  Vittorio stood at attention and saluted. “I’m ready, sir.”

  “Get dressed and meet me at the entrance. I’ve got two other patients to see, and then I’m to drive you to the staging area. I’ll be working there for a while myself.”

  ****

  As they bounced along the cobblestone streets in the Red Cross truck, Kitty and the women stared at the skeleton of Chateau-Thierry. A two-story home stood intact, not a shutter displaced, while next to it teetered half a home, its side exposed like a gaping wound, halfway between civilization and insanity. A monument stood untouched in front of a building that was now a haphazard pyramid of bricks. Playing amidst the rubble, children stopped to gaze as the trucks rumbled past. I have seen what war does to soldiers, and now I see what it does to families and children.

  The convoy swung around the hospital, so small in comparison to Boston General. I’m disappointed. There can’t be that many soldiers here. A few hobbled out on crutches to greet them. When she entered, she was surprised to see so many men, so many beds crowded into the wards. This is not Boston. This is war.

  She began moving from bed to bed, handing out candy and cigarettes. With the wounded, there was more time to chat, and they were eager to talk with a young woman from the States. Though she desperately wanted to look for Vittorio, she stayed a while with each man, realizing how much this simple visit did to cheer every one of them.

  She scanned each ward as she entered, but they were difficult to recognize, so many men bandaged like living mummies. One by one, she found herself writing notes home for those who couldn’t write, talking about New York and Boston to men thirsty for news of home, and most of all, listening to men who needed someone to listen as they poured out their hearts.

  As she finished in each ward, Kitty felt her hopes dip. She couldn’t let herself believe that he was dead. Since their meeting on the pier, he had been so close to her. She could almost feel his presence here.

  The doctor in charge approached Kitty as she was finishing her rounds, holding a sheaf of soldiers’ letters she had written to mail home for them.

  “I want to thank you personally for your important work. I can’t tell you how much your efforts mean to the men. It’s purgatory for them here; they’re not home and they’re not in the war.”

  “I’m so happy to do it.”

  “Look at all those letters you’ve written for the men.” He reached to shake her hand. “God bless you, Miss…”

  “Lawrence. Kitty Lawrence.”

  He held her hand. “I wish there was something I could do for you.”

  “I wonder if you know of two men—my husband, Dr. Charles Lawrence, or Private Vittorio Rossi.”

  The doctor thought a moment, then shook his head. “I was just transferred here yesterday. There is no Dr. Lawrence here now, nor have I come across one in my assignments. And Private Rossi, was he wounded?”

  “I don’t know. He’s missing in action.”

  “So many men.” He shook his head apologetically. “Our records are non-existent. There is simply too much to do just caring for the men. I would inquire of the other doctor assigned here, but he had to travel to the front with a few men.”

  The doctor placed a hand on Kitty’s slumping shoulder. Did she really think she would finally find out about him, much less see him alive? She shook her head as she walked out.

  The next day, as some of her group were preparing to move on to Soissons behind the front lines and some were going to Paris for more supplies, Kitty got a letter from home. She tore it open and read with growing sadness the news in her father’s shaky handwriting.

  Dear Kitty,

  I hope this letter reaches you in time. I have not been well for months now, and I’m getting weaker all the time. I worry about Dermot. I’m asking you to come home as soon as you can.

  In the event that anything happens to me, I have asked cousins Tom and Maureen to look after Dermot until you arrive home. They are good people, and I know they will take care of him, but he needs to be with you.

  It has always been hard for me to say, but I love you. You have been a far better daughter to me then I have been a father. Forgive me for the pain I’ve caused you.

  Please come home soon. Dermot and I miss you.

  Love,

  Papa

  “What is it?” Kitty’
s supervisor noticed her anguish as she read the letter.

  “I’m afraid my father is dying. I must go home to be with him and to take care of my brother.”

  “Of course.” The older woman placed a reassuring arm around her. “You can go with the group returning to Paris, take a train to Marseilles, and get passage on the first ship out. You must be with your family. Your duties here are finished.”

  Kitty flashed her a grateful look and rushed to gather her belongings.

  The trip home seemed interminable. Kitty had left her father and brother to look for Vittorio and Charles and found neither. Now her father needed her and an endless ocean kept her from him. She found solace only in prayer and the thought that her efforts had shone light into so many war-darkened lives.

  When at last the ship docked on New York’s West Side, Kitty was one of the first to bolt down the gangplank. She had taken only one big knapsack for necessities and a change of clothes, and she was grateful for that as she slung it over her shoulder and marched off the ship while others struggled with luggage and steamer trunks.

  She rode the trolley from the pier, got off two blocks from home, and ran the rest of the way. As she approached the house, she slowed her pace and saw a group in a knot outside—her cousins the O’Malleys talking with neighbors. Just before they opened the door, she gave an involuntary cry. On the door hung a wreath tied with a black bow.

  “Kitty, dear, we’re so sorry.” Cousin Maureen reached out to embrace her.

  “Father?” she asked, knowing the answer.

  “Three days ago, dear. This is the last day he’ll be waked, Lord rest his soul.”

  Kitty needed to look at his face again, to hold Dermot in her arms, to grieve with him. She raced up the steps and into the house. Dermot was there, staring off as his cousins chatted. As soon as he saw his sister, he ran to her.

  “Oh, Kitty, you came!”

  “As fast as I could, Dermot.” She held him tight. “As fast as I could.”

  Holding hands, the two of them knelt before the coffin of their father. He was gaunt from his illness, yet there was a serenity about his face.

 

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