With Love, Wherever You Are

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  The howl grew worse. It reached deep inside of Helen until she couldn’t take it. “I’m going in.” She faked right and twirled left.

  “I’m with her!” Bill pushed in after her.

  One of the MPs started to follow them, but the other one, who looked a decade older, took his arm. “I don’t care whose side he’s on. Nobody should be in that much pain.”

  Once inside with the doors shut, Helen’s wave of relief quickly changed into panic. She was staring at perhaps a hundred German soldiers, their beds only inches apart, and every bed full. Weeks—maybe days—ago, they’d been shooting Americans. And now, here they lay in the same beds as the Americans upstairs, under the same blankets and clean linen.

  A heavyset nurse Helen didn’t recognize ran up to her. “I tried to help him.” She glanced at one of the French nurses, who held her position at the opposite end of the room.

  A fresh outburst of the unearthly cry jarred Helen into action. She had no trouble locating the patient. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he writhed, clutching his mattress. One hand cuffed to the sidebar was bleeding, not from the handcuffs, but from his fingernails digging into his palm. He kicked. Every vein in his face looked ready to pop.

  Helen reached for his free wrist to take his pulse, but he jerked his hand away so fast it caught her on the chin. She reeled backward but kept on her feet.

  “Nurse?” Bill was by her side. “Did he hurt you? Want me to get the MP?”

  “He is crazy Nazi!” shouted the French nurse.

  Helen ignored her and the ache in her jaw. “I’m okay.”

  The patient moaned so pitifully. She had to get through to him. Helen racked her brain for the dormant German that should still be there. “Sich beruhigen. Was ist los?” She hoped she’d asked him what was wrong and told him to calm down.

  The startled soldier drew his knees up to his chest, but regarded her as if in a dream. Then he poured out his heart in rapid-fire German.

  Helen didn’t understand everything, but enough. “I think it’s his catheter.”

  Bill barely touched the man’s abdomen and sent him into more horrific howls. “His bladder’s gonna bust.”

  Helen looked around for help. The heavyset nurse had disappeared, and the other nurse, also French, huddled over a patient forty beds away. “Nurse, can you help with this patient?”

  “Mais non. I cannot leave this one!”

  Great. She checked the man’s chest, dodging his hands as best she could. Bill helped, taking a few punches while she searched for the root of the problem. Then she saw it. A piece of limp tubing had pulled out of the catheter incision. The bladder couldn’t empty. No wonder he was wailing. “We need more tubing, Bill. This one will never go back in. It’s not stiff enough.”

  Bill scratched his head.

  “He’ll die if we don’t do something fast.” She hollered to the nurse on the other end of the ward, “Nurse! Where’s the surgical tubing down here?”

  “No more. Try the closet upstairs.”

  “Bill, I need you to run upstairs and—” Bill wasn’t there. “Bill!” Then she saw him leave through the basement door. Tears burned her throat. She couldn’t believe he’d leave her.

  Seconds passed that felt like hours as Helen tried to reposition the catheter. But it was no use. She couldn’t make it work.

  “Step aside! Comin’ through!” Bill burst onto the ward carrying some big brass’s uniform on a hanger. “Got me an idea!” He was trying to unbutton the jacket, but he gave up and yanked it off the hanger and threw it down.

  “But what—?”

  “How long you reckon it would take to sterilize this hanger?” Bill was already untwisting and cutting the hanger with clippers.

  “You’re a genius, Bill!” Helen grabbed the straightened hanger and ran it over to the sterilization center, where she did the best she could the fastest she could.

  The patient screamed in pain, and maybe in fear that his only hope had left his bedside.

  Minutes later, Bill was shoving the sterile metal into the catheter. Together, they pushed in the reinforced tubing, using the original incision and guiding it into the bladder. The second the catheter hit its mark, urine shot out. Helen jumped back just in time. But Bill was soaked. Soaked, but grinning.

  The patient’s face softened, his eyes transforming from pain to relief. “Danke, danke.”

  “I’ll do cleanup.” Bill looked nearly as relieved as their patient.

  “You’re not doing anything until you shower, Bill. Go!”

  It took Helen nearly an hour to clean everything and restore order in the basement. By noon, she felt too tired to eat, but she needed the energy. She barely looked at whatever they plopped on her plate before collapsing at her usual table. “What a morning!”

  The second Helen sat down, Victoria popped up, her tray still full.

  “Was it something I said?” Helen joked.

  “More like something you do,” Victoria muttered.

  “I told you I’d smack you silly if you said another word!” Peggy gripped the table as if ready to bound over it and down Vic’s throat.

  “I didn’t say a thing!” Victoria protested. Then in a whisper: “At least I didn’t say it in German.”

  Peggy started up, but Victoria was already out of range. She rammed into Lydia, who was headed for the table with her tray.

  “What’s with her?” Liddy took the vacated seat next to Helen. Seats had opened up all around her.

  Helen’s mind had been so fuzzy that she only now understood. “Was that about this morning? And that German prisoner?”

  “I thought she made it up,” Peggy said.

  “She probably did, at least most of it,” Helen guessed.

  Peggy leaned across the table, for once not knowing all. “Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

  Helen related the whole thing, from the minute Bill had come running, to the end, when she’d rushed upstairs for her assigned rounds. Peggy didn’t interrupt, and Liddy only stopped her once, to scold her for walking alone in Rennes.

  “I guess we’re supposed to hate the enemy.” Helen forced down a couple bites of cold toast. “But nurses aren’t supposed to hate their patients, are they?”

  Peggy sat back and stretched her arms above her head. “It’s a conundrum, all right. I guess you better be prepared for some flak.”

  “Me? What about that nurse who wouldn’t go near the patient?”

  “The German patient,” Liddy put in. “Don’t get me wrong, Helen. It’s a bum rap, and Victoria’s a rotten egg. Still, some of the guys around here lost buddies to Nazis just like that one. Maybe even that very one.”

  Helen knew that. She also knew she could never let a patient suffer, or die, no matter who he was.

  It was late afternoon when Colonel Pugh found her on the ward. “I have been hearing quite a bit about you, Nurse.”

  Great. She kept counting out pills into tiny cups and waited for the ax to fall. “Can’t imagine why.” It made her angry that gossip would have traveled all the way to the top already. Didn’t people have better things to do than listen to rumors? “I’m flattered to be the topic of so much conversation.”

  “General McNeal himself said—how did he put it? ‘That nurse has spunk.’ He suggested I keep my eye on you. I get the feeling he doesn’t appreciate spunk and harbors a deep skepticism about your uncle the newspaperman.”

  She stopped what she was doing and turned to face him. “So, this is you keeping an eye on me?” She loaded the pill cups onto her tray, wishing they had more generous doses of drugs like penicillin and pain meds—everything was rationed. “If you’ll excuse me, Colonel Doctor, I have work to do.”

  “One moment, if you please. I also heard that your German is pretty good.”

  That did it. “So what’s that make me? A spy? Did you know my maiden name is Eberhart? Very suspicious, don’t you think?”

  He laughed, actually laughed. “I see I
haven’t been misinformed—about the spunk. No, Nurse, I don’t think you’re a spy. And I’m thrilled that you understand German. We have a ward full of German soldiers, most of whom cannot speak English. That makes them difficult to treat. I simply wanted to ask if you would mind helping us on the German ward. We still need your services here, but we have had a devil of a time getting nurses to work in the basement.”

  All the steam went out of her. “Oh. All right. Sure.”

  “Danke very much.”

  As Helen delivered the meds, she couldn’t help thinking that it was no accident she’d ended up right where she was. She liked what Frank had said in his last letter about doing what God planned for him to do. For now, it looked like the plan for Helen Eberhart Daley included taking care of the enemy in the basement, and very likely making new enemies above.

  RENNES, FRANCE

  Helen watched giant snowflakes strike the glass and lace their barracks window like a belated Christmas card. A quick look was all she could afford. They had received a new batch of wounded, and nurses were already shorthanded, thanks to a mean virus going around. Naomi joined her at the window. “You have the day off, you know.”

  “I can pitch in until I need to leave.” Helen was catching the night train to Marseille. She’d be with her husband on New Year’s Day. Everything had fallen in place so fast. Colonel Pugh had gone to bat for her, convincing the general that they needed a healthy Nurse Daley, and that she needed a three-day leave.

  “You’re a good egg, Helen,” Naomi said.

  “Nice to hear somebody thinks so.” Helen wasn’t exactly surprised that half the nurses had been ostracizing her. Even the hint of German sympathy raised suspicions. What did surprise her was that she cared.

  She locked arms with Naomi. “We better get going. Lots to do, especially in the basement. I can’t count on the French nurses down there.”

  “Maybe the French nurses know who the enemy is.” Victoria said it loud enough for the whole dorm to hear, though most were still asleep.

  “We all know who the enemy is,” Naomi said. Helen could always count on her friend to stick up for her, even though deep down Naomi probably agreed with Victoria.

  “Go back to sleep, Vic!” Helen shouted. How Victoria could sleep so much in the midst of all there was to do boggled the mind.

  “Who can sleep with German soldiers in the same building? All you’re doing is making them stronger, Helen. I’m not the only one who thinks this way either. A lot of us have been wondering why you’d be so eager to help the enemy.”

  Helen had felt the glares, heard the whispers. She tried not to let it get to her.

  “Where did you learn to speak German anyway?” Victoria demanded.

  Helen stopped and turned to face her. “Same place I learned to speak English—in the United States of America.”

  “Well, you better watch yourself,” Victoria warned.

  “And you’d better watch yourself, Victoria!” She stormed out with Naomi and told herself it didn’t matter. Soon she’d be with Frank. So what if everybody else was against her?

  Already, Victoria had formed her own little troop of nurses to snub Helen. Even Liddy kept her distance when Victoria’s clan was around. If it hadn’t been for Peggy and Naomi, Helen wasn’t sure she could have kept that stiff upper lip.

  Finally, it was time to go to the station. Helen was dashing back to barracks for her pack when Victoria stopped her. “There’s a French farmer asking for you outside.”

  “I don’t know any French farmers,” Helen said. “Though I’d be happy to meet one if he actually did present himself. I’d love to know how to grow French fries and French green beans.”

  “Fine. I don’t care if you see him or not,” Victoria said.

  Bill would be by to pick her up in fifteen minutes. She might as well wait outside.

  She could use some fresh air to get rid of the stench of ammonia and urine and rotting flesh.

  She was buttoning her coat as she stepped outside. When she looked up, she saw a giant coming toward her. If she’d had to guess his occupation, she would have guessed farmer. And when he said, “Pardon, Madame?” she knew he was Victoria’s French farmer. Whoever he was, if Vic had sent him, Helen didn’t want anything to do with him.

  “I’m sorry.” She turned to go back in.

  “Madame Daley?”

  She wheeled around. Please, God, don’t let it be Frank.

  The man shuffled closer. “Hélène Daley?”

  Fear knocked the wind out of her. “Is it Frank? Is he all right?”

  “Frank? Oh yes. Lieutenant Doctor? Friend of my brother in Marseille.”

  Frank was all right. This man said he was. Thank You, God. She stared up at the giant. “I don’t understand why you wanted to speak to me.”

  He handed her a folded sheet of paper. “No Marseille.”

  She opened it and saw right away it wasn’t Frank’s handwriting: Don’t come to Marseille. I love you, Tiny.

  “How did you get this?” Helen looked up from the scrawled note, but the man was gone, along with all hope of seeing her husband.

  Unless . . . “Victoria!”

  RENNES, FRANCE

  Helen stormed back to the barracks and found Victoria lounging on her bunk. “Tell me the truth! Did you just try to pull off the cruelest practical joke in the history of cruel?”

  Naomi the peacemaker intervened. “Helen, what happened?”

  She spilled the whole story about Vic’s French farmer and his mysterious message canceling her trip to Marseille.

  Peggy was first to render a verdict. “Helen, honey, we both know Vic is rotten to the core.”

  “Hey!” Victoria cried. “I’m right here, you know!”

  “Exactly!” Helen said.

  “But I don’t think even Victoria would do a thing like this. And if she did—which, I concede, is not out of the question—I don’t think she’d use a giant Frenchman.”

  Naomi read the message out loud. “Does it sound like Frank? Does he ever call you Tiny?”

  Reluctantly, Helen nodded.

  Naomi continued with a logic that had eluded Helen. “Victoria wouldn’t have known that.”

  “See?” Victoria sounded like a five-year-old.

  “I’m so sorry, honey.” Peggy put her arm around Helen.

  “I told you I didn’t do it!” Victoria shouted. Then she launched into a fresh tirade of denial so vehement Helen had to believe her. If Victoria had done it, she’d have been bragging about it. By the time Vic ended her harangue, they had quite an audience, with nearly every nurse looking on. As Helen walked away, she heard Victoria’s self-satisfied conclusion: “See, I told you we couldn’t trust her. She’s dangerous!”

  Helen couldn’t stay in the barracks another minute. No one wanted her here anyway. Fine. She’d go where she was needed and wanted.

  She headed back to the ward, Frank’s curt message running through her brain. Don’t come? What kind of a message was that? Why wouldn’t he want her with him in Marseille? Didn’t he need to see her as desperately as she needed to see him?

  The second she stepped onto the ward, someone shouted, “Nurse Daley, did you forget it’s New Year’s Eve?” The question came from Private First Class Gerald Landis, a boy who might never have a life out of bed again. He reminded Helen of Eugene, something about the way Genie talked, like he needed to dodge somebody’s fist after every word.

  She walked to Gerald’s bed and saw that it needed clean sheets. “Honestly, Private, I did forget. Thanks for the reminder, and hold that thought, will you?” She hurried to the cabinet for sheets and glanced at the duty roster to see who was supposed to be on. Peggy, Lydia . . . and Victoria. Great.

  “Sorry we’re late!” Peggy called from the doorway. Liddy was right behind her.

  “Glad you made it. I don’t think the last shift changed bedding. Is Victoria coming?”

  “On her way,” Liddy said. Helen wondered if Lydia had switche
d allegiance. But she didn’t want to think that way, to have sides in their own unit—especially since Helen’s side kept getting smaller and smaller.

  Helen returned to Private Landis. “Okey-dokey, sir. You know the routine, right?”

  “I’m sorry about this, Nurse. I didn’t even know I was doing it. And you have to—”

  Helen cut him off. “Nothing to be sorry about. It’s as natural as belching. Why, Nurse O’Hare over there—” she pointed to Peggy—“does this all the time. Don’t tell her I told you, though.”

  “I heard that,” Peggy said. She was stripping the sheets of an ambulatory patient one row over. “Accidents will be accidents, I always say.”

  Helen rolled her patient to his side so she could remove the wet sheet, make sure it hadn’t penetrated the plastic guard, then slip in the folded fresh sheet. The private had lost the use of one arm, and it dangled as if it didn’t belong to him. Helen had to drape it over the boy’s thin waist. His left leg hadn’t fared much better than his arm when he’d gotten too close to an exploding grenade. She tried not to picture Frank like this. Right on this ward, they had a patient who’d had a practice as a GP in South Carolina. And in Liverpool, she’d treated two nurses who had been part of a battalion aid station on the Belgian border. One nurse, blinded in one eye, had second- and third-degree burns on her legs. They’d done what they could before sending her back to the States. The other nurse suffered disfiguring burns to her breast, but she’d been returned to duty. Helen had so many lives at stake in this war. She prayed they’d all come back in one piece.

  “Thanks, Nurse,” Private Landis said.

  She gave him the best smile she could muster. “It’s nothing, Private. And I’m sorry I forgot it’s New Year’s Eve.”

  “Well, I haven’t forgotten!” Victoria made her grand entrance in a snazzy black V-neck dress that dipped low enough to show too much. It earned a few wolf whistles from the patients.

  “Nice uniform,” Sally said. Helen loved Sally, the plump nurses’ aide who had a lovely smile for every patient and wasn’t afraid of hard work.

  Victoria brushed an invisible something from the bottom of the dress, which was too close to the top of the dress. “Don’t envy this dress, Sally. It does look nice on me, but it wouldn’t on you, dear.”