“Do you always get up this early?” she asked.
“Never before.”
She gave him a tiny laugh. “No early hours on your ward, then?”
“By some elaborate Army design that only makes sense in Washington, I’m the duty officer on the disease ward. I choose my hours.”
“Diseases? Was that your specialty in med school?”
“Nope. I did work in the lab of a disease expert. I guess charting test tubes qualifies me as an expert in the eyes of the Army. How about you? How did you end up at Percy Jones?”
They were at the hospital, and she stopped and turned toward him. For a second, he considered grabbing her and kissing her.
“Sorry,” she said. “I better go in. Maybe another time?”
Another time? Kiss her another time? Then he realized she was talking about answering his question. “Right. Another time. Don’t suppose you’re taking a dinner break today.”
“Cheese and bread.” She patted her bag. “I’ll eat on the ward.” She trotted up the steps, waving back at him. “Bye!”
He waited for her to turn around—just one more look—but she didn’t.
“I’m telling you, Daley, she’s giving you the cold shoulder. Nobody in the Army works that hard. She’s probably seeing somebody else.” Anderson made a face at the beans on his fork, but he stuck them in his mouth all the same.
They were dining in the big mess hall, where long tables covered the floor. Framed pictures of the Kellogg family sneered down at them from cherrywood walls. Frank knew Helen wouldn’t show, but he couldn’t help watching for her. “You’re nuts, Andy. She works long hours because she’s the real deal, a dedicated nurse. Not what you look for in a nurse, but—”
“Right. Like you’re any better. What about Nurse Jean? Or those lovely student nurses we lusted after and—?”
“Ancient history. I admit her physical beauty attracted my attention at first. But now I admire her dedication.”
“Did you ever ask yourself what she’s actually doing on that ward all those long hours? And with whom?”
The clink of dishes made it hard to hear. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, don’t be a chump. I hate seeing you waiting night and day like a puppy, chasing a nurse you’ll never catch.”
“What do you know about it?”
“I know there’s more going on behind those closed doors than you think. Isn’t that New York doctor, Reynolds, on four?”
“So?”
Anderson glanced over at Larabee. “Let’s just say that Reynolds considers himself a ladies’ man, and the ladies don’t disagree. Tell him, Larabee.”
Larabee lit a cigarette, then snapped his lighter shut. “I went to school with Reynolds. He dated and kept score. He liked to show us his scorecard.”
Frank didn’t want to hear this. “You’re both crazy. That nurse doesn’t leave the ward.”
“That’s just it, ol’ boy,” Anderson said in that patronizing way of his. “She’s on the ward all that time . . . with Reynolds.”
Frank stood up without a word and headed to the mess line, where he dipped his dishes in soapy water, then hot rinse water. Anderson had a complex. The jerk actually believed he knew everything, especially when it came to women.
But once outside, Frank couldn’t shake Andy’s words. What did go on behind those doors? He’d been so interested in getting Helen to talk about herself that he hadn’t asked about her ward. He wanted to know her, not her patients. And certainly not the doctors.
Instead of walking back to his quarters, he decided to stroll over to the hospital, even though Helen wouldn’t be coming out for hours. Nodding to a group of giggling nurses, he tried to think what Nurse Eberhart had that they didn’t. Soon, his logic melted into dreamy visions of her eyes, her smile, her hair, the way she sprang off each foot when she walked, like her whole cute little body was wound and knew exactly where it needed to go next.
When he got to the hospital, the moon was beginning to rise. Normally, he didn’t mind waiting for Helen any more than he’d minded waiting for Christmas morning. His mother used to say, “Anticipation is greater than realization,” one of many quotes she used to get her own meaning across. But it didn’t apply to Nurse Eberhart; her presence topped his anticipation every time.
Yet tonight, thanks to Andy, Frank couldn’t enjoy the wait. Minutes dragged with the viscosity of mud, the speed of quicksand. After thirty minutes on the hospital steps, he couldn’t take it. Maybe he’d go inside and wait for her on the landing. Nothing wrong with that.
He took the steps two at a time. The door to Nurse Eberhart’s ward hadn’t shut all the way, and a crack of light seeped out. Against his better judgment, Frank eased in closer. He heard voices, and when he peeked inside, he saw Helen standing by a bed a few feet away. He slipped back behind the door and flattened himself to the outside wall. He was pretty sure she hadn’t seen him.
“Hey ya, gorgeous!”
Frank could hear the soldier-patient clearly enough, although he couldn’t see him. He felt guilty eavesdropping, but he wasn’t really doing that. He was simply waiting to walk Nurse Eberhart home.
“Hey yourself, good-looking.” Frank didn’t need to see Helen to recognize her voice. He pictured her smile, the spark in those blue eyes.
“Nurse, have I told you that you have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen?”
“Hmm . . . let me think, Danny. Yes, I believe you have.”
Frank fought down his aggravation. He should be the one complimenting her beautiful hair. Why hadn’t he? He’d thought it often enough.
“You sure are pretty, and that’s a fact.”
“Thanks, Danny. No prettier than you. Bet you had all the girls banging on your door back home.”
“Back off, Danny boy!” somebody else shouted. “I saw her first.”
“Heck you did!”
“Play nice, gentlemen,” Helen warned.
Frank couldn’t blame the patients. Helen Eberhart was probably the most beautiful woman they’d seen in a long time. Maybe ever. He couldn’t blame her either. Only, did she have to enjoy their compliments so much?
He heard a soldier call, “Nurse, could I ask y’all a favor?” Frank resumed his stance behind the door, where he could hear what this favor was.
“You bet, Hudy.” Helen’s steps grew closer, sounding inches from him. “As long as it’s not a back rub, like Danny and Jimmy are always asking for. Could I sit here?”
Frank was dying to know where “here” was, but he couldn’t risk being seen.
“Okay, Hudy. You know you can ask me anything.”
Something changed in her voice, the joking or flirting replaced by a womanly warmth and tenderness. Frank couldn’t explain why, but this sudden intimacy pricked a jealousy deep inside of him. He wanted her to speak to him that way.
Hudy took a minute to answer. “See, I got me a letter a couple days ago.”
“Well, that’s great.”
“Only I can’t exactly read it myself.”
“Here, let me scoot closer.”
Come on. This was the oldest trick in the book—Frank had used it, or versions of it, himself.
“I haven’t wanted anybody else to read it, but maybe you could read it to me? Danny says it’s from my gal back home.”
“Mmmm—the envelope smells good. She must be something, that gal of yours.”
“Lila’s something, all right. She smells like a Texas rose.”
In the quiet, Frank heard papers shuffled. “I’d love to read it to you, Hudy. It’ll give me a chance to size up my competition.”
Frank felt lost, confused. Anderson’s thoughts mixed with his own. He felt guilty for listening in on Helen, and on Hudy. He didn’t spy on people. If he wanted to talk to Helen, he should go in and talk to her. He stood up straight and yanked the door.
The first bed he saw held a boy with two stumps for legs. Helen perched on the side of the next bed, where a
patient lay wrapped in bandages. This was the amputee ward. He should have known that. It wasn’t like he’d never been on this floor, though never the ward. He just hadn’t paid attention. He stepped out again. Helen couldn’t have seen him, although some of the patients might have. Frank lurked outside the door, feeling the weight of the war in a way he hadn’t before. He couldn’t shake the vision of those boys, kids the age Jack and he had been when they used to box each other for fun or go skinny-dipping in the reservoir. No one in that room would ever be a boy again.
He leaned against the door and heard Helen’s clear voice through the crack. “Let’s see here. ‘Dear Hudy.’ I guess that’s a good start. ‘Dear Hudy, First, I got to say how truly sorry we all were to hear about your injury. Your mama shared her news with the whole church, and everybody prayed you’d get your sight back, and we was real, real sorry. Some women was crying like it was their own sons.’”
Frank had to see. He squatted down where the crack was biggest and at the right angle. Patients on both sides of Hudy seemed to be eavesdropping too.
Helen glanced at her patient, then stared down at the letter, quiet for a minute.
“What is it?” Hudy asked.
“What? Nothing.” She cleared her throat. “To tell you the truth, though, this perfume is a little gagging. Definitely not something I’d wear.”
“Go on. Please?”
Helen squeezed the bridge of her nose as if adjusting invisible glasses. “Where was I? Oh yes. ‘Hudy, I have always considered myself the luckiest girl in the world that you would want to marry me. Every girl in town would trade places with me in a heartbeat. I’ve been thinking a lot about our plans.’” She coughed, then set the letter on her lap and covered her mouth. Without picking up the letter, she continued: “‘The problem is, I don’t know if I can handle being married to a real live war hero. That’s what you are. And who am I? Nobody. So if you don’t hear from me for a while, don’t worry. I’m here thinking about you. I guess we’ll all have to do some thinking after this war is over. I better go now. You have more important things to do than to hear from the likes of me. You’re my hero, and you’re too good for me—everybody says so. But I will never forget you. Lila.’”
Frank watched it all. Helen’s eyes hadn’t moved as she read . . . because she hadn’t read. When she lifted her head, tears streamed down her cheeks. Her voice never once betrayed her sadness or her tears. In a cheerful, sweet voice, she said, “Sounds like your whole town will give you a parade when you get home.”
“Could I have the letter, please?” Hudy’s voice betrayed no emotion either.
Helen placed the letter on his chest, and Hudy put his one bandaged arm on top of it. “I thank you kindly for taking the time.”
“My pleasure, Hudy.” She swiped her tears with the back of her hand.
“Hey, Nurse!” shouted the patient in the next bed, a good-looking kid in a wheelchair. Frank could tell there were no legs under the Army blanket that covered his lap. “Could you come here a minute, please?”
“Sure, Danny.” She pulled Hudy’s sheet higher, covering the letter. Then she strode to Danny’s bed. He said something to her, and she pushed his wheelchair toward the door. Frank prepared to hide, but they stopped just out of sight, though close enough to hear the wheels squeak.
Danny lowered his voice. “Nurse Eberhart, what you read to Hudy—that wasn’t the letter I read.”
Helen was quiet for several seconds. Then she said, “Maybe it should have been.”
When Helen came off the ward, later than usual, Frank was waiting for her. She gave him a sad smile, then turned away. He followed her lead and didn’t say a word as he fell in with her. Together, they descended the four flights, crossed the lobby, and went outside. Silently, he walked beside her to the nurses’ quarters, thinking that if what he’d felt for Helen Eberhart before tonight was lust, this must be love.
Somewhere “over there” in Europe
May 10, 1944
Dear Gypsy Nurse,
When is this thing going to end? Don’t tell Dad, but I’d give anything to hear him yell at me, instead of listening to my sergeant take his frustrations out on me every day.
War is loud. Even when guns and bombers take time out to reload, they’re still exploding in my head. If by some accident I fall asleep at night, I dream loud and wake myself up. Not just myself.
I have a lot of buddies. Dan and George are from Illinois—Dan from Danville, George from Rantoul. Good guys. And they’re brave. I don’t know how they do it, Gypsy. George’s brother was killed in battle last year, and Dan’s been wounded twice. But they’re the first ones to run onto a muddy, bloody field. They don’t shake the way I do when things are over. I’ve started smoking. If you end up here, bring cigarettes!
I want to tell you not to worry about me, but somebody should.
I have to go. But I’ll mail this anyways.
Eugene
BATTLE CREEK, MICHIGAN
“Gott im Himmel,” Helen muttered as she stepped outside the barracks and started down the steps.
As usual, Frank Daley was waiting for her. Her days started and ended with him, and she found herself anticipating his dimpled grin. But the grin dissolved quickly. “Did I just hear you speaking German? Not a great idea these days.”
“You heard that?” Embarrassed, she thought about denying it, then changed her mind. “‘Gott im Himmel.’ That’s what my parents have always said. Pretty sure Dad uses it as a swearword. But with my mother, it’s always a prayer to a God she needs and believes in.”
“And what about you? Swearing or praying?”
“Praying. I believe in my mother’s God, all right.” She sighed.
He swung in front of her and walked backward to peer into her face. “Are you okay, Nurse?”
“Why? Don’t I look okay?” She forced a weak laugh.
“You always look okay. More than okay. I just thought . . . maybe you’d gotten some bad news. Are your brothers all right?” Frank moved back beside her and slid her arm though the crook of his.
She told herself it was his companionship she enjoyed, but she couldn’t deny the rush of schoolgirl jitters when his hand brushed hers or she bumped against him. She knew he was waiting for an answer. “It’s Eugene,” she said at last.
He stopped walking. “Did something happen—?”
“No.” She tugged him back into a walk. “Although how would I know? I hate thinking of him on a battlefield or in a trench in the middle of nowhere. He’s never made friends that easily. I keep picturing him so frightened he can’t move, can’t shoot, can’t do anything except get shot at. And I can’t do a thing about it!” There. She’d said it. Why had she said it? Eugene would be hurt if he knew she’d confided her fears, his fears, to this almost-stranger. Eberharts were private people. What was wrong with her? In the space of a few minutes, she’d dumped her thoughts about God and her fears about her brother right into this man’s lap. Helen wanted to run back to the barracks and hide. She couldn’t look at Frank. She withdrew her arm, pretending she needed it to shove her hair behind her ears. “Sorry about that. Guess I need more sleep, huh? Forget I said anything.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Frank said, his voice soft as velvet.
“Do what?” She risked a glance up at him and saw pain in the lines of his face.
“I have one brother and one sister, and I do worry about them. But they’re both tougher and braver than I’ll ever be. You have five brothers in active duty. You’d have to be crazy not to worry.” He scratched his head. “You know, I think I’d like Eugene best. He and I have the most in common.” They’d arrived at Helen’s ward. Frank touched her shoulder and smiled at her. “See you tonight, Helen.”
Helen watched him walk away. She could still feel his gentle hand on her shoulder.
That night, they took the long route to Helen’s barracks. She’d been afraid things would be different between them, awkward. But Frank greeted her
with the same broad grin. “Clear sky tonight. The stars are waiting for us.” He was relentless in his pursuit to point out constellations she’d never noticed before.
“Says you,” she teased. So far, she’d made out the Big Dipper, kind of. Probably. He took her hand. Or maybe she took his. “All I can say is it’s a good thing I went into nursing rather than astronomy.”
Frank’s arm shot up. “There! See it? The Dog Star, Sirius.”
Helen stared through thousands of stars lining the Milky Way, but she couldn’t see anything that remotely resembled a dog. “Sorry. I still can’t make it out.”
He took her face in his hands, tilted her head up. “See it now?”
Helen’s heart sped up, making her shiver. His hands were rough—in a good, honest, and earthy way—but his touch was gentle. She was having trouble seeing anything except the silhouette of his face against the moon. “It’s no use.”
His fingers, firm at her jawline, guided her head. “Look for the brightest star in the sky. That’s the Dog Star. Those two stars above it are the shoulder and the eye of the Big Dog constellation.”
Helen could barely breathe, much less see what he wanted her to see. She wondered if his fingers, searing her skin, might leave marks people would ask about.
Still, his grip stayed gentle on her face. “Over there’s the nose. Below, you can make out two front paws.” He removed his hand from her face to point to the sky, and she felt the loss of his touch like a splash of cold to her cheek. The night smelled like wet leaves and fire. “Back there,” he said, pointing, “that’s a back leg, and two stars for the tail. Pretty soon, we’ll get the Little Dog too . . . if we’re still here.” He grew still as the night, the only sound the whip of a flag battling the wind. He slid his arm around her shoulders.
She liked the way his arm felt, secure and comforting, without force or demands. “What do you mean, if we’re still here?”
“First thing I do every morning is check the assignment boards. We all do—even Anderson, who claims he doesn’t care when he goes.”
“We do it too.” Helen leaned into him as they strayed off the path. She felt the chill of the night. “Nurses crowd around that board like they did in Evanston. The stakes are a lot higher now. Did you put in for the Pacific or the European theater? Or is that top secret?”
With Love, Wherever You Are Page 7