Frank, I will continue to write and let you know my plans. I hope you will do the same.
Be safe.
With love, wherever you are,
Helen
Helen had written Frank more out of duty than desire. She couldn’t seem to shake the hurtful words he’d shouted at her the last time they were together. She had been so sure that her husband loved her as much as she loved him, wanted her as much as she wanted him. Now she wasn’t sure about anything. It had taken all she had to sign her letter With love . . . as they had done so many times.
As she descended the steps to the hospital ward, Helen prayed, Father God, I have never felt this inadequate in my entire life. And I can’t think of a thing to do about it . . . except to come to You empty-handed and ask You to take care of all of us.
Bill was sitting up as if waiting for her. His glassy eyes, uncovered now, stared straight ahead without seeing.
She cleared her throat as she neared the bed. “Morning, Bill. I—”
“Nurse, I need to ask you a favor.”
Helen shot up a quick Thank You to God. This was the most Bill had willingly said to her since her return from Entzheim. “Anything, Bill. You know that.”
“I want you to write a letter for me.”
“That’s a good—”
“I’ll dictate it. And you have to promise me you’ll write it just like I tell you.”
“Of course. I can do it now, if you like. It’s not my shift yet, so I have time.” When he didn’t answer, she said, “I’ll get some stationery and be right back.”
It was a good sign that Bill wanted to send a letter. She guessed he’d want to tell Jennie about his injury. She fished a V-mail from her pack and hurried back before Bill could change his mind.
Bill hadn’t moved an inch.
“I’m back.” She removed his chart from the end of the bed so she could use it to write on. Then she settled on the edge of the bed and spread open the V-mail. “Okay. Is this to Jennie?”
“Yeah.” He gave the address, and she filled in the lines.
“If you’re going to be very wordy, I should warn you that I’ve only got a V-mail. I could go back for a piece of stationery if—”
“This won’t take long.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
“‘Dear Jennie’—she spells it i-e.”
“Got it.”
“‘Well, this war is finally over. I thank you for your letters. They helped me pass the time and—’”
“Hold it a minute.” Helen was writing as fast as she could, but it wasn’t quite fast enough. “Okay. Go on.”
“‘I liked having a pen pal. But now, I just don’t need that anymore. That’s why I’m writing.’”
“Bill?” Helen didn’t like where this was going. “Don’t say that. Jennie wasn’t just a pen pal to you.”
“You promised you’d write what I asked you to. It’s my letter.”
They were silent for a minute. Then Helen gave in. “Go ahead.”
“‘I doubt either one of us expected whatever we had going to last once the war ended. And anyways, I’ve decided I’m staying here, in Europe.’”
“What? Bill, what are you saying?”
“I ain’t saying nothing to you, Nurse. Either write or don’t. I’ll find somebody who will.”
“You don’t have to do this, Bill. Wait until you feel better.”
He turned to her now, his eyes like blue marbles, glassy and unseeing. “Should I wait until I’m not blind? Because I’d be waiting forever.” He turned away. “Are you going to write or not?”
She didn’t have a choice. “Go on.”
“‘I found me the sweetest little French gal, Jennie. Hope you understand. And I hope you find a fella of your own.’”
Helen was crying as she penned the words. “I don’t know why you’re doing this. You’re hurting her, Bill. I thought you loved Jennie.”
“I’m hurting Jennie because I love her!” Bill cried.
Helen stopped writing. It was as if God had been poking her gently all along, and she hadn’t paid attention. Now she felt that poke all the way to her heart and soul. Frank was just like Bill. They would both choose to hurt the ones they loved if they believed hurting them would give them a better life. Bill said those hurtful things because he loved Jennie.
And Frank had hurt her because he loved her.
Helen stood up from the bed. She folded the V-mail. “I’ll mail this when I get back.”
“Get back from where?” Naomi called from two beds over.
“I have to see Frank!”
Seventeen hours later, exhausted and frustrated and all cried out, Helen limped into the barracks and collapsed onto her bed. She’d forced her way onto a service plane to Entzheim, only to find the base nearly deserted. Frank could have been anywhere, as long as that anywhere ended up in the Pacific.
Peggy and Naomi did their best to console her. “It will all work out,” Naomi said.
“She’s right,” Peggy insisted. “Helen, you and Frank were meant for each other. It was love at first sight.”
Maybe. She’d certainly loved the way he looked at first sight. But what she felt now was so much more—admiration, caring, delight. She loved him for wanting to be a daddy, and she loved him for trying to comfort her when they both felt the loss of Junior. She loved that he’d written her every day of the war, often two or three times a day. She even loved him for hurting her because he’d done it to keep her safe. They both had a lot to learn about love and about marriage.
Helen sat cross-legged on her bunk. “How could I have been such a dumb Dora? I should have known Frank was just trying to get me to go back to the States for my own good.”
“I could have told you that,” Peggy said.
“I was just so hurt,” she admitted. “And mad. And now he’s gone. And it’s too late for me to tell him I understand why he said those things. I don’t know what to do.”
“Do what you’ve been doing since day one,” Naomi said. “Write the man.”
Rennes
2 June 1945
Dearest Frankie,
Please forgive me, my darling. Your wife can be a dumb Dora, and you have to love her just the same. I understand now. That’s what I want you to know. I realize you said the things you did to make me change my assignment. You wanted me back in the States, but not because you didn’t want to have to deal with me. You were taking care of your thickheaded wife. And I love you for it.
I have Bill to thank for this realization, though my understanding was not his intent. He dictated a Dear John letter to Jennie, the woman he’s loved and written throughout the war. It was only when I confronted Bill about his hurtful words that I discerned his motive of love.
And yours.
Frankie, you may have been notified that a crazy woman stormed your old Entzheim airfield in search of you. I had quite a time demanding the French pilot let me stow away on his service plane a second time. I did so want to give you a real kiss good-bye, instead of the weak one at our cold parting. But I shall save that warm kiss for you, along with many more—a lifetime of them.
It’s official. Until the Army can free up transport for me to the USA, I will be stationed at the hospital in Marseille. Naomi will be with me. Peggy and Victoria will be there too until their CBI ship comes for them.
As of yet, I have no plans as to where I’ll live in the States, or what I’ll do once I get there. I only know that I’ll be thinking of you every minute and praying for you.
I love you more than I ever thought possible, my darling Frankie. And I need you to know that I know you love me.
With love, wherever you are,
Your Tiny Wife
P.S. After I wrote Bill’s “Dear Jennie” letter, I wrote her one of my own, telling her the truth. I’m confident that she will come through and be waiting for Bill when the hospital ship pulls into harbor. I pray that they live as happily ever after as you and I will.
P.P.S
. I realize that you may be out in the ocean, where no mail will get through, but I have to write you just the same.
COASTAL FRANCE
For weeks, Frank and Sergeant Whigham had been waiting with thousands of soldiers for a ship out. Frank worked a regular shift in a civilian hospital, but he still had plenty of time to write his wife, which he continued to do, even though he hadn’t received a single letter from Helen since she’d stormed away from their rendezvous in Entzheim.
Hurting Helen, forcing her to safety in the US, had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. He just hoped it hadn’t cost him his marriage. He’d wished he could take her in his arms and do whatever it would take to be together now and forever.
In the beginning of their terrible separation, he must have written Helen a dozen letters apologizing for the way he spoke to her and explaining why. When he got no response, he decided to write her the way he always had, filling her in on his life, his longing, and his love.
Frank Daley, MD
18 July 1945
Dearest Tiny,
It is sweaty hot here, but I am drinking tea at the Red Cross, where I think of you, as I do every minute. Although we may leave for the CBI at any moment, some say we may not get out until Christmas. In the meantime, I am treating civilians and former prisoners of war, including many of the slave laborers. So at least I am put to good use while I wait.
I ran into Anderson awaiting a ship as I am. In spite of his threats (promises?) to quit the Army, he is aimed squarely at the CBI. His parting shot at me was that I shouldn’t expect to get a ship out before him since he still has friends in high places. Andy claims that leaving here first means he will reach Japan or the CBI first and return to the States before me.
His comment did not upset me because I know that when I do return to the US, I will have the most wonderful wife in the world waiting for me.
I win.
With love, wherever you are,
Your loving husband, Frankie
P.S. Darling, I read in the Stars and Stripes that European cattle are 75% tuberculosis. Now they tell us?
It was almost unbearable not hearing from Helen, though no one seemed to be receiving mail. He could imagine her already in the States, but he knew better. Soldiers heading to the CBI were priority for transports.
It was August when Frank walked with Anderson and one of Andy’s fellow partyers to see him off at the docks. “The day before yesterday was Helen’s and my anniversary,” Frank complained, “and we spent the day in opposite ends of France, waiting for ships to take us to opposite ends of the world.”
“I sympathize,” said Andy’s buddy. Frank couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he already liked him better than Anderson. “Perhaps we should all keep in mind that thus far, we have survived the war with two arms, two legs, sound mind and body.”
Frank raised his eyebrows in Andy’s direction. “True, except for the sound mind part.”
“That’s us!” Anderson said. “They’re calling our unit!” He turned to Frank and stuck out his hand. “Frank, ol’ man, always a pleasure. See you on the other side.”
Frank shook Andy’s hand. “Right. Save me a spot!”
It was another hour before they began loading the ship. Even by the sea, where a breeze swept up from the waters, Frank was so hot that sweat pooled under his arms and dripped from his forehead. When Anderson and his buddy finally shoved their way up the gangplank, Frank wanted to dive into the water and cool off. He watched the battleship swallow hundreds of soldiers without rocking, not even when waves pounded the sides. He hoped his ship would be that big. In the meantime, he’d go back to his barracks and dream about Helen.
Frank had fallen asleep when Sergeant Whigham raced into the barracks and skidded to a stop. “Sir! Our ship is in!”
Captain F. R. Daley, MD
Aboard the Marine Panther
6 August 1945
My dearest darling Tiny,
I’m off to the Pacific! I am pleased because this puts me one step nearer to joining my wonderful wife in the US. I only hope that soon you will be settled and waiting for me so that we can begin our new life TOGETHER.
Sergeant Whigham tells us that the war news looks pretty good, but the typhoons are supposed to be too dangerous to permit invasion before September.
I have heard from Dotty, and her news is not good, unless you believe in the myth that “no news is good news.” Prisoners are being exchanged and released, but nobody is talking about Boots. And yet, her love, his love, their love endures.
I must stop writing, for even though I was able to take something to prevent nausea, I find that it is not foolproof. Since I have no way to mail this letter now, I will save it and continue to write later, when I have my sea legs.
Later—Just heard a rumor that we have dropped the atom bomb on Japan. And it may be more than a rumor. Sergeant Whigham says the bomb hit Hiroshima, and there’s a chance Japan will surrender, though the two colonels and one general present at the time of Whigham’s account strongly disagree. They say the emperor would lose face and would rather kill himself than surrender. I say either scenario works for me.
Your loving Frankie
Three days later, Frank stood on the deck of the Marine Panther, watching soldiers dance, hug, scream, and shout. The smell of salty brine mixed with the odor of Scotch and brandy spilled and splashed as the celebration spread. Murmurs, then rumblings, had begun even before the ship’s loudspeakers broadcast the news: A second atomic bomb had been dropped on Nagasaki. Frank felt as if he were inside an opaque cocoon—there but not there, still waiting, still alone.
Sergeant Whigham put a hand on Frank’s arm, and Frank realized Whigham had been saying something to him. “Sorry, Sergeant. What was that?”
“I said, you look like you lost your best friend. You heard the news, didn’t you?” Whigham looked older, but tougher than ever. Bradford had once confided to Frank that Whigham had signed up in order to dodge the law. But he’d given his all for the war effort. The man who had shot “Daley’s Nazi” was the closest thing Frank had to a friend on this voyage.
Frank forced a smile. “Sorry, Sergeant. I’m trusting that I haven’t lost my best friend . . . but I sure do miss her.”
The next few days, their ship wasn’t the only one tossed about by waves, as bad news followed good news. Celebrations stopped cold when word spread that an American battleship, a ten-thousand-ton cruiser, had been sunk with a loss of nearly a thousand men. Reports of overwhelming war losses were coming in from all sides: millions of deaths worldwide. And the devastation of those two atomic bombs was unfathomable. Word of a Japanese surrender came from Guam and the Swiss delegation, only to be denied by sources in Washington, claiming it was all a mistake and misunderstanding.
Then it came. Frank listened on the ship’s radio as President Truman made the official announcement of the Japanese full surrender and acceptance of all terms.
The war was officially over.
15 August 1945, 1:20 pm
Darling Helen,
The war is over. Even Japan says so. My first thought as I listened to President Truman’s announcement was to wonder how you took the news and when you would get to the States to celebrate. Our outfit doesn’t know what our fate will be, but there will be a full-scale occupation, and we will be part of it.
I’m assuming that censorship terminates with the end of war, so I am enclosing the announcement of V-J Day in our ship’s bulletin, a special extra.
Word from the well-informed Sergeant Whigham is that our ship, the Marine Panther, is nearing the Panama Canal. My father has always said that the canal is a sight worth seeing, so I think I might as well go on deck to try to catch a glimpse of it. As always, I shall pretend that you are by my side, seeing what I am seeing.
I would imagine that Anderson and his crewmates must have made their passage through the canal in the middle of the night. Your Victoria as well, since she no doubt worked the same deception
as Anderson to find herself on an early ship. At least I should be able to see the canal in daylight. I would be willing to bet that Andy slept through the whole experience, passed out from the free-flowing rum supplied since the victory announcement.
I’ll go up on deck, see what I can see, and come back with a report for my beautiful wife.
With love, wherever you are,
Your Frankie
Frank had barely left his bunk when shouts rang out above him. He picked up his pace and was joined by others as the cheers grew louder, rivaling the end-of-the-war announcement. The deck overflowed with officers and technical personnel, soldiers and nurses. Most of them looked as confused as Frank felt. He spotted Sergeant Whigham at the railing near the bow, leaning so far over that he looked drenched from sea spray. Frank made his way through the crowd to reach him. “What’s going on, Sergeant?”
“Looks like we’re turning around!” Whigham shouted.
Frank stared at Whigham for some sign of teasing. “Sergeant, I can’t take another rumor.”
“Captain, our ship received orders to turn around. Don’t you feel it? Every ship that’s already passed through the canal has orders to proceed to destination. They’ll be in the CBI or Japan for two to four more years. Every ship this side of the Panama Canal—and we’re the first—turns around. Our peace mission will be run from the United States of America!”
It was true. Even now, Frank sensed the ship veering left, whatever direction that was. They were turning. Thank God in Heaven, they were turning around.
Frank felt Sergeant Whigham’s hand on his shoulder. “Captain Daley, we’re going home.”
Helen had waited all afternoon for a chance to get outside and think. Dutifully, she delivered insulin shots, passed out pills, changed dressings, and assisted in OR. When she managed to escape for a few minutes, she walked down by the breakwater, just yards from the hospital. Tilting her face to the sun, she wrapped her sweater tighter around her shoulders. A cool Mediterranean breeze offset the August heat as she settled onto her perfect spot along a stone wall.
With Love, Wherever You Are Page 37