Anne decided she was no longer going to be shocked by anything, and then she stepped outside, one hand holding the blanket, the other wrapped tight around the towel-covered bundle. Am I stuck in an old war movie? she wanted to say. Then she remembered the Chief’s comment about being at war and Pearl Harbor. She pinched herself again. I’ve fallen asleep in front of the TV.
“Watch your step, Ma’am,” someone advised and she proceeded down the steps. The skyline was different, as well as the buildings, and the automobiles, what few there were. Even the sky itself. It was dark and appeared about to rain. The ambulance they led her to was clean, but about 50 years old she guessed. She climbed in, laid down as they instructed and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see any more.
Chapter 4
Saturday ~ July 17, 1943
Dr. Nathaniel Bronson’s blue eyes casually scanned across the row of enlisted sailors. Most were conscious; however a few were not and were isolated in one section where they could be observed together. A nurse was with them, recording their vital signs. He paid little attention to them except as his duties required. It was the others, the ones who could talk and wanted to talk, with whom he spent most of his time. Many were eager to share their experiences, their escapes from near death – every detail. They could remember precisely what they were doing at that crucial moment, or what they last had to eat, or what their buddy’s last words were before disappearing in a fiery explosion. He never urged them. He didn’t have to. They needed someone to talk to and he provided that service. Sometimes, he would come upon one sailor who had more than routine knowledge about the mission. It was at these times that he no longer felt useless; no longer felt he was wasting his time. It was then that he felt he was fulfilling his own duties.
“Dr. Bronson.”
He turned to the voice of Nurse Turner, walking quickly toward him. She was a stern old nurse who walked, talked and moved like she ran the hospital. In a sense she did. Not a single doctor wanted her scorn. No doctor could afford her scorn.
“You’re needed in maternity, Doctor. We have a new arrival. Her water broke about 30 minutes ago.”
“How far apart are the contractions?”
“I don’t think she’s into serious contractions yet.”
“Well, let’s go take a look at her.”
The nurse turned and led him out of the ward. “She says her records are with a Dr. Charles Rose.”
“Dr. Rose? Should I know him?”
“I’ve never heard of him myself and I’d like to think I know every physician between here and Greenville.”
“She’s from out of state then.”
“Well, no. She claims to live in Goose Creek, left me with the impression it’s in South Carolina, and that Dr. Rose’s office is somewhere in Goose Creek. I really didn’t talk to her that much but what little I did, tells me this is a strange one.”
“How’s that?”
“Her clothes are, well, I really don’t know how to describe them. Different I guess, nothing I’ve ever seen before. And she seems very well educated.”
“So? I’m sure she just comes from a very wealthy family.”
“Maybe, well, yes of course. But one other thing.”
They were approaching the stairs to descend two floors to the maternity ward where the woman was being made ready in an exam room.
“And what’s that, Miss Turner?”
“She showed me a photograph of her baby.”
“You mean this is not her first pregnancy. She already has a child. So what’s so unusual?”
“No, Doctor. She says this is her first. The photograph, she claims, is of her baby inside her, in the womb. She called it an ultra sound or something like that.”
He raised his eyebrows and looked down at the nurse, a head and a half shorter than his six foot four. She shrugged her shoulders and together they walked down the stairs.
“She also says the photo shows it is a girl.”
“What did you see?”
“It didn’t look like anything to me, just a bunch of blurry lines and blotches. I think she’s just strange, Doctor. There’s a lot more odd about her. You’ll see. I’ve been nursing since the turn of the century and have birthed or helped birth hundreds, maybe thousands of babies from women of all social status and color. I’ve never seen anything like this. Even her hair is strange, and the stuff on her face, makeup, is nothing I’ve seen before. She even smells different.”
“Is there anything about her that you find normal, Nurse Turner?”
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, seriously contemplating the question, her hands poked professionally into the pockets of her uniform. She looked up at the young doctor. “You may jest, Doctor Bronson, but no, I can’t think of anything normal about her. But like I said, I didn’t talk to her very long.”
“But you are very observant.” Dr. Bronson had a lot of respect for Nurse Turner’s age and experience; however, at times she seemed to still be back in the nineteenth century and just needed to be humored.
“Yes Doctor, I am. You can make fun of me all you want, but I know what I see.” She locked her jaw and met his eyes, unfazed by their difference in stature, then briskly stepped into the hall. Dr. Bronson followed, having to lengthen his stride to maintain the pace of this woman who was nearly a foot shorter. When she reached the exam room, she held the door, and then followed him in.
Anne Waring sat patiently, running her mind through the strange series of events of the past hour and a half. She wanted Steven, but no one knew anything about him. She had given the nurses all the information she thought they needed and they just looked at her as though she had just grown an extra nose. She had to force them to write down his and her Social Security numbers and then it was as if they didn’t know what to do with them. It was the same thing with addresses and phone numbers. It was like she was speaking another language and had to spell everything out for them. Even her health insurance information left them perplexed. She had shown the older nurse, who appeared to be the most experienced, the ultrasound photo and it was as though she had never seen one before or hadn’t even known what an ultrasound was. And what happened to her purse? Even that left her totally blank.
She looked about the exam room, finding it to be like everything else she was seeing. It was fresh and clean, but outdated. She had never been in this hospital before, but she couldn’t imagine any hospital being this far behind in technology. Am I that naive about the poor south? She was deep in thought about this when a very tall, familiar looking doctor, and the old nurse entered the room.
The doctor stepped forward, extending his hand for hers. “Good evening, Mrs... .” He paused briefly. Anne, to save him embarrassment, jumped in with, “Waring.”
“Yes, Mrs. Waring. I’m sorry. I should have been more prepared. I’m Doctor Bronson. How are we doing today?”
She looked at the doctor, thinking she should ask him which one of the we was having the baby, but thought better of it. “That all really depends, Doc, on whether you’re going to make me have this baby tonight or find a way to hold me off so I can deliver as planned with my husband by my side.”
“Ah, huh,” was all he said.
“I’m in the prenatal program at Trident Regional. I would appreciate it if I could just transfer up there. I haven’t started labor yet so there’s plenty of time.”
“Let’s get you up on the table so I can do a quick check.” The doctor appeared to ignore her. He prodded and poked and listened for heartbeats then assisted her in putting her feet into the oddest-looking stirrups she had ever seen. “When are you due?”
“August 17. All I have to do is get a hold of my husband and he’ll pick me up.”
“Ah, Huh,” he acknowledged, impressing upon her again that she was being ignored. He continued poking and probing. She shut up and let her mind drift to the nursery they had prepared. It was the kind of daydream she always went into to take her mind off of doctors fooling around in that
area normally reserved for her husband. It wasn’t embarrassing so much as a violation of her most intimate privacy, no matter how necessary.
“Well, I really don’t see much dilation yet. I wouldn’t recommend you go anywhere though. We need to get your labor started and there’s no time to transfer you to your hospital. Where did you say you’re from?”
Anne was sitting on the edge of the table now, her head lowered but eyes raised, looking directly at Dr. Bronson. With a tone of frustration she replied, “I live in Goose Creek and my hospital of choice is Trident Regional Medical Center. I’m sure you’ve been there. I’ve seen you before.”
“I’m sorry Mrs. Waring. I’m not familiar with the city or hospital. In what part of the country would that be?”
“Damn it Doctor. Did you just arrive on a turnip truck? GOOSE CREEK! GOOSE CREEK! You know - go to Summerville and turn right. A potty stop on the way to Moncks Corner!” She looked back and forth between Doctor Bronson and Nurse Turner.
“The only Goose Creek I know about,” said Nurse Turner, “is a creek some of the men folks fish in on occasion, up near where Fifty-two and One Seventy-six cross. I think there’s a little community of black folk there abouts. There sure is no town or city by that name and there sure isn’t no Trident Regional Medical whatever either or I’d sure know about it.” Nurse Turner stood with both fists stuck on her hips in her I know what I’m talking about manner.
“Listen. I’ve been really patient. My water has broken which means the longer I wait to deliver, the worse it’s going to get. I’m only eight months along which makes me very apprehensive and all you people do is give me the run around, and nobody will help me find my husband.” Anne, now exasperated, decided she had enough of this. “Give me my clothes. I’ll go where I have to go on my own.”
“I don’t believe we can let you leave, not in your condition,” said the Nurse with her air of authority.
“What are you going to do? Ankle-cuff me to the stirrups? Give me my clothes and I’m out of this nut house.” Anne could feel herself on the edge of losing control. She always prided herself in being able to humor her way out of any bad situation, but this was getting to be too much.
Nurse Turner turned with a huff and stomped out of the exam room.
“All right, Mrs. Waring. Sit tight and let me see what I can do.” Doctor Bronson gave her a reassuring pat on the arm then walked out.
Anne wasn’t at all reassured. Nothing was making sense. She tried to rationalize it with an excuse of heat and pregnancy, but even still, not one single thing showed any level of logic. She thought back, for the umpteenth time, to try and figure out where this all started. Was it when she woke up on the floor or when she pulled up in the truck? She remembered walking into the building and then waking up with a bunch of strange men staring at her. Everything in between was blank.
She slid off the table, paced a dozen laps then stopped to stare at an old photo of President Roosevelt, a couple of more laps then a look at a 1943 Support the War Effort calendar. The room was decorated in World War II memorabilia. She wondered if other exam rooms were decorated in various themes. She was used to stark walls with charts and whatnot. She rather enjoyed the change.
Pacing, and analyzing the decor helped Anne relax. She was examining a photo of a ship being christened at the Charleston Naval Shipyard when Nurse Turner came in, dropped Anne’s bundle of clothes and left. “Thank you,” said Anne to the nurse’s back as she disappeared out of sight.
Fortunately, the top wasn’t wet. Stepping out of the gown, she put on the top and discarded the nylons, thought about doing the same with the panties then quickly slipped them on, bracing herself against the cold, wet sensations on her bare skin. The pants were even worse but she took a deep breath and struggled into them, then slipped on the low heel pumps. All I have to do is catch a cab home and no one will even see me, she thought as she peeked out the door. Slipping down the hall and around the corner she found someone waiting at an elevator. To avoid any conversation, she stepped through a door labeled STAIRS and carefully descended two flights to come out in sight of the hospital front doors. A nurse behind a desk paid no attention to her as she casually walked by and pushed out the heavy wooden doors. She confidently stepped down a tapered walkway and onto the street. As she did, a quivering sensation of sudden awareness began to grip her every sense. She stopped walking. She ceased breathing.
The heavy black clouds she saw when she left the building on the base were gone, leaving red streaks across the sky and an eerie red-yellow light across a nearly empty parking lot. The sidewalk was still wet as well as the street, the grass, and a dozen or so shiny, black, old cars. She knew little about automobiles but she did know, these went back to the thirties or forties. Several more passed by on a nearby road, each of the same, shapeless design, one black and one white. There wasn’t a breeze. Except for an occasional passing car, nothing moved. Anne shivered but otherwise remained rooted in position in the middle of the street, attempting to fight off the overwhelming oppressiveness and looming panic. She wanted to scream and run, then whimper and collapse, but she just stood, unable to move, the stillness closing in around her. She shivered again and then began shaking. She could hear a noise and could sense a large animal approaching from her left but she couldn’t turn her head. She desperately wanted to look, but fear, not as much of the approaching animal but of everything else around her, had paralyzed all muscle control. Then suddenly she felt a pain across her abdomen as though all her muscles had constricted at one time. She let go a scream and then found herself leaning on somebody strong, somebody with a very deep voice.
“Is there something wrong, M’am?”
Black shiny boots and striped pants were all she could see. Her world was coming apart and her baby was about to come into it, but she somehow knew she could trust this voice in black shiny boots. It was time for Elizabeth Anne. She had no choice. She gave up and found herself lifted from the ground and being carried. She didn’t care where, as long as it was away.
Chapter 5
Saturday ~ July 17, 1943
James Terrance Lamric loved his country and, like most citizens of the United States, was enraged when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. He, along with many, quickly announced his intentions to volunteer for the military and help his country put down the aggression. But his mother talked him out of it saying someone was needed to run the household. His little brother was still only a few months too young to join. “He needs to be kept in line,” their mother said. And of course, she wasn’t in good health herself, and so on until he finally gave in.
James was angry at Germany too, but Japan really pissed him off. He and his brother John fueled each other’s outrage over the senseless slaughter of sailors and marines by the “spit in your face and stab you in the back yellow Japs,” a quote John used frequently. They would head out fishing on a Sunday afternoon but would come back with little or no fish and an abundance of self-generated inner loathing for the enemy, John more so than James. John was at that hardheaded, hotheaded age, invincible and with all the answers. As he closed in on the age of eligibility to serve his country, he visited the recruiter’s office and placed his intentions on paper. James, the more sensible of the two and five years older, tried to talk John out of it; however, when reasoning got him nowhere, he decided to join with him. “Someone has to watch over little brother,” he said, using the same argument his mother used only a few months earlier. She was devastated and it broke his heart, but he knew he had to do what he had to do.
On the day they were to head out to sign their life over to their country, James’ boss, Captain Chris Ortmann, Chief of Police, called him into his office. James had just gotten off of the graveyard shift, his last as a City of Charleston Police Officer.
“This is a very honorable thing you’re doing Officer Lamric,” Captain Ortmann said as James sat down. “I would expect no less from any of my officers.”
“Thank you, sir.�
� James didn’t know what to expect. He had figured at least a lecture. He relaxed.
“You know that I have the power to stop you. I wouldn’t use it without your consent, though.”
James relaxed a little more.
“Instead I’m going to try and convince you to grant me that consent. I can void any contract you’ve signed or block any draft notice.”
James felt a bead of sweat roll down his back.
“Not every man can go off to war abandoning all our women and children. Damn it anyway, Lamric,” he yelled. He banged his fist on his desk and stood. “Damn those Japs and damn the Nazis.” His anger echoed from wall to wall. “I’d like nothing better than to join up myself and go beat the living crap out of those ass-holes and I thought just like you when I heard about Pearl Harbor. Damn it, Lamric, I’m just as mad as everyone else but I’ll be damned if I’ll abandon my community and the good people of Charleston. When half the men go off to war, we are needed even more to keep the lowlife riffraff no goods from raping our women and stealing us blind. We have a duty and a responsibility to this community, Lamric.”
The chief’s voice toned down some, but his sincerity and his convictions were still obvious. James Lamric sat with his hands on his knees, saying nothing, waiting for Chief Ortmann to continue. And so the chief did, for twenty more minutes, explaining the structure of the police force, reminding James of his importance in the structure and the need for his youth and energy.
“Despite your lack of experience, you’re one of the best I’ve got, Officer Lamric. You’re much more valuable to your country here than anywhere in the world.”
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