The priest bowed his head and crossed his hands while holding a copy of the Holy Bible. “Our brother, Nicholas, has gone to rest in the peace of Christ. With faith and hope in eternal life, let us assist him with our prayers.”
Charlotte closed her eyes. Tears escaped the corners.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. She and Nick were supposed to be happily together for the rest of their lives. Of course the time would eventually come for funerals, but decades from now, not before they even started their life together.
“We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.” The priest concluded the prayer.
The senior officer stood beside the casket and turned toward the seven soldiers who stood in a line about fifteen feet away. “Attention,” the officer instructed them. “Ready, aim, fire.” One shot rang out as they fired volleys into the air.
“Aim, fire.”
Another shot was fired.
“Aim, fire.”
The third and last shot echoed in the distance.
The soldiers returned to their stance, and a bugler held up his instrument. He played the eloquent and haunting melody of “Taps,” chilling Charlotte to the bone even more than the bitter wind that blew back her hair and ruffled her clothes.
The casket team returned to the casket and folded the flag into a neat triangle. The leader passed it to the senior officer, both of them saluting during the relay. The soldiers returned to formation and marched away from the graveside. The senior officer then relayed the flag to the priest, who presented it to Mr. Adler.
The service’s end was announced. Mr. and Mrs. Adler stood, and Charlotte offered them meek condolences.
Mrs. Adler kissed her forehead. “Please visit,” she whispered shakily. “You’re still like family . . . my only child now.”
“I promise I’ll visit soon.”
Good-byes were exchanged between Nick’s parents and Charlotte’s mother. Mr. and Mrs. Adler made their way toward the cemetery exit, clutching each other for support.
“Let’s go, Charlotte.” Her mother took Charlotte’s arm and ushered her away from the gravesite.
“One minute.” Charlotte pulled back her arm and made her way toward the casket. It looked bare now, without the flag and decorated soldiers surrounding it. She placed her hand at the top, feeling the polished wood beneath her fingertips. It was only his body inside. It wasn’t him. Nevertheless, she whispered her good-byes.
“I love you . . . I still do. I always will.” She kneeled onto the cold liner. “I suppose you’ve lived up to your promise to come back to me—here you are—but I wish it were under different circumstances.” She wiped away fresh tears. “Please know I’m so proud of you. You fought bravely, I’m sure, and you made a sacrifice for a greater cause . . . Thank you . . . I love you.”
Charlotte stood. Her mother waited for her at a distance. She looked at the grave once more and read the inscription on the white, marble headstone.
Nicholas J
Adler
Virginia
PVT
US Army
Dec 6 1942
Nineteen
Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” played over the radio as Charlotte sat on the sofa and flipped through the latest Harper’s Bazaar. Meanwhile, her mother added decorations to their Christmas tree, stringing tinsel and hanging glass ornaments. The festivities were an obvious attempt to lift Charlotte’s spirits. But the tree ornaments and even the first snowfall of the season didn’t improve her mood.
Her mother tried to engage her in conversation. “Have you heard from Natalie?”
“No.” Charlotte had made no attempt to contact Natalie since she’d left for Michigan.
“You two were so close over the last couple of years. You were attached at the hip.”
She flipped to an article on how to look stylish while still supporting the war effort. “Yes, well . . . things change.”
Her mother sighed and glanced out the front window. “Will you at least get the mail? I’m expecting a note from your uncle.”
Charlotte placed the magazine on the side table, and retrieved the bundle of letters from the mailbox outside their front door. She flipped through the envelopes. There were several letters for her parents and one large envelope for her. She didn’t recognize the handwriting. The ink was smeared, and the corners were worn. It looked like it’d made a long journey.
She held it to her chest and set the other letters on the hall table.
“I’ll be upstairs,” she said to her mother. She ran up the stairs and fled to her bedroom for privacy. After she shut the door, she tore open the envelope and pulled out a bundle of folded papers. At the bottom of the first page was a signature—John Cartwright.
December 7, 1942
Dear Charlotte,
I assume by now you’ve heard the news. I wish my letter could’ve gotten to you before an impersonal telegram, but I’m afraid airmail takes much longer to get back to the States. I cannot imagine the grief you must be feeling. I feel as though I should explain the events of Nick’s death, but I can’t tell you in a letter. I want you to understand something: Nick died honorably. Through his death, he saved one of his friends, and I both admire and despise him for it.
As you may have noticed, there are two more letters enclosed in the envelope. One is the letter Nick was in the middle of writing to you before we were called out to patrol. It’s not finished, but I know he’d want me to send it on to you. The second is the letter he wrote to you in the case of his death. We’ve all written these letters to our loved ones, but we sincerely hope these letters will eventually be burned, never to be read by anyone other than the author. I pray to God every day that Natalie will never read the letter I’ve written to her.
Take care of yourself, Charlotte, and Natalie, too. I hope I’ll have the pleasure of seeing your smiling face again.
John Cartwright
Charlotte flipped to the next page. This one was in Nick’s handwriting.
December 6, 1942
My dearest Charlotte,
I was eating dinner earlier this evening, the usual mush of mystery meat, potatoes, and something we’re supposed to call “bread,” when I suddenly realized the one important thing I’ve been missing for months. Of course, I already miss you, my parents, the fresh sheets on my mattress, the smell of clean laundry, and the feeling of hot, clean water in which to bathe. But I also miss oranges. Yes, as in the fruit. I miss the feeling of digging my nails into the orange peel. I miss the smell that comes from them when they’re peeled, and I miss the fresh sweet taste on my tongue. John’s looking over at me now and wondering why I have drool hanging down my chin like an infant. When I get back, I’m ordering an entire truck full of oranges straight from sunny Florida. They won’t even have time to go bad at the rate I’ll be eating them. I’ll let you help, too.
And as we’re stuffing ourselves full of oranges, we’re going to set a wedding date—one in the near future, hopefully. I think our engagement has been long enough already, don’t you think? Charlotte, you have no idea how much I want to touch you again, to feel
A sob escaped her throat. As painful as it might’ve been, she wanted to know how much Nick wanted to touch her again, to feel whatever it was he looked forward to. The letter made her stomach churn. It ended as abruptly as Nick’s life, full of hope and confidence in their future, all of it dashed by the war and his enlistment.
With great reluctance, she unfolded the last letter.
To the love of my life,
Charlotte, I hope you never read this, and if you do, it’s because I didn’t have time to dispose of it before coming home to you, and you found it somewhere. If that’s the case, burn it immediately and chastise me for being so forgetful. However, I know there’s a likelihood this may not be the case. I might die in this war. If this happens, I want you to have this letter. I know it won’t completely ease your sorrow, but perhaps it can help a little bit.
If I am to die tomor
row, next week, next month, or next year, my life will have been short. But with you, Charlotte, my life has been fulfilling. I’ll be able to die a happy man after spending those two years with you. You have loved me so much more than I ever deserved, and I am forever grateful God allowed me to the time I did have with you. Should I not return to you, remember the good times we shared—the laughs, the smiles. We had fun together, and it’d be a shame if my death were to overshadow them.
I don’t regret joining the war. It was an inevitable conflict, and I never would’ve been at peace with myself had I not contributed. I once told you I was joining the war to protect you and the life we’d share. This is still true, even if it’s not our life together, but your life with whomever else is in your future. And Charlotte, there will be someone else out there for you. Don’t ever lose hope in that. You’ll be happy again.
The Second Book of Timothy says, “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.” My faith in God has not wavered, and I’m assured my actions are justified. I am not afraid of death or what comes after. Despite this trying time, keep your chin up and a smile on your face. I will always love you, in this world and beyond.
Nick
Tears fell onto the pages, running the ink. Charlotte shifted on her bed and sat against the headboard to read through it again. Something small clinked against the hardwood floor.
She peered over the edge of the mattress, and when she didn’t find anything unusual, she looked underneath the bed. Nick’s gold ring had rolled into the corner. She retrieved the ring. She held it carefully between her forefinger and thumb and brought it nearer to the lamp to scrutinize it.
The ring had gone through a great deal—Army training and the war abroad—and yet it was as flawless as the day she purchased it. She slipped his ring onto the finger that also sported her engagement ring and stared at them together. The symbols of their commitment to each other now solely resided with her.
Charlotte sat at her vanity table and placed Nick’s ring in her jewelry box. Then she stared at herself in the mirror she’d been avoiding for the past week. She hadn’t bothered with cosmetics since the funeral, and her eyes were red and swollen from reading Nick’s letters. A depressed appetite had made her cheekbones sharp and angular, aging her past her twenty-one years. Her face was more like a stranger’s than her own.
She opened her bag of makeup and applied cream, mascara, and powder to her skin in wide, heavy strokes. By the time she finished, she had to use her handkerchief to tone down the garish amount of rouge on her cheeks. She rested her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. Fresh tears threatened to ruin the mascara. She couldn’t even make herself look presentable anymore.
“Pull yourself together,” she whispered.
She straightened her back and brought the pink-stained handkerchief to her eyes. She wiped away any excess color. Then she swept back her hair and pinned it into a bun. She lifted her cheeks to reveal a fake smile. At least now she looked like some semblance of her normal self.
Downstairs in the sitting room, her mother was still working on the tree.
“May I borrow the car?” Charlotte asked. “I promised Mrs. Adler I’d visit, and I haven’t yet.”
Her mother nodded. “Give them my best. And be careful. The roads might be icy.”
Charlotte fetched the car keys from the foyer and left the house.
She pulled into the driveway of the Adlers’ house within the hour. The housekeeper greeted her at the door and led her into the parlor where Mrs. Adler welcomed her.
“Would you like something to eat or drink? Our family, friends, and neighbors have been too kind these past couple of weeks. We have plenty of fruitcake, and I’ve made some tea.”
“No, thank you. I just wanted to visit,” Charlotte said.
“Then please have a seat.”
Charlotte rested on the opposite end of the sofa from Nick’s mother.
Mrs. Adler regarded her with genuine concern in her blue eyes. Nick’s eyes. “How are you?”
Charlotte stared at the dark green upholstery. “I’ve been better.” She lifted her gaze. “And you?”
“The same. I’ve had good days and bad days. We’ve gotten a lot of support from family and friends, though. It’s helped.” Mrs. Adler picked up her cup of tea from the table. Steam swirled up from the liquid, and Charlotte wished she’d accepted a cup.
They fell into silence. Small talk would not suffice, so Charlotte focused on the original intent of her visit. “I want to return something. It’s not mine to keep anymore.” She looked at the engagement ring on her finger, the one that had belonged to Nick’s grandmother. She twisted it off her finger for the first time in over a year and held it in her palm. The skin underneath where the ring had been was pale. Her hand looked bare.
Mrs. Adler frowned. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I do.” Charlotte placed the ring in Mrs. Adler’s hand. “It belongs to your family, and as much as I wish otherwise, that no longer includes me.”
Tears escaped Mrs. Adler’s eyes. “I do wish things could have been different. You and my son would’ve been happy together.”
Charlotte dug her fingernails into her palm to keep her tears at bay. “Nick wouldn’t have wanted us to dwell on what could have been.”
Voices came from the hallway. Moments later, Mr. Adler and another couple entered the room. Charlotte stood as they approached. She hadn’t expected the Adlers to have guests.
Mr. Adler gave Charlotte the same small smile his wife had perfected. “It’s nice to see you, Charlotte. This is my sister, Louisa, and her husband, Bill. They’re visiting for the holidays.”
“Hello,” Charlotte replied. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You were Nicholas’s fiancée? I’m sorry for your loss, dear. He was a wonderful boy,” Louisa said.
Charlotte tried to hold back tears at her use of the past tense. “He was.”
Mr. Adler poured himself a drink and one for his brother-in-law from the bar cart. “Have you been here long?”
“Only a few minutes. I should go, actually.”
“Well, thank you for visiting. Please give my regards to your parents.”
Charlotte clutched her pocketbook. “I will. Thank you.”
Mrs. Adler accompanied her to the front porch.
“How long is your family staying?” Charlotte asked.
“Indefinitely. I’m grateful they’re here. Jim works so often, and I didn’t want to spend the holidays alone, especially under such circumstances. I can only imagine how much worse it is for the men overseas to be away from their families at this time.”
Charlotte nodded. She admired that Mrs. Adler was able to overlook her own loss and think of the other soldiers who were still fighting, whose lives were still on the line. Whereas Charlotte hadn’t been able to focus on anything but Nick for weeks. She avoided her friends, fearing their worried looks. More importantly, she neglected her nurses’ aide duties when they were most needed. The soldiers abroad weren’t the only ones away from home. The men at the Army Medical Center couldn’t spend the holidays with their loved ones either.
Charlotte exchanged good-byes with Mrs. Adler. As she drove north, the radio announcer addressed the war, and instead of turning the dial as she normally had since Nick’s death, she listened. He spoke of victories in Buna and other places in the Pacific, and mentioned less than triumphant situations in North Africa. He also discussed the recent Congress filibusters against a silver bill, problems at the War Production Board, and the new prosperity of American farmers. When it came time for her to head west into Maryland, she continued north without hesitation.
Charlotte needed to volunteer at the hospital. She needed to remind herself that she wasn’t the only one experiencing pain and sorrow.
When she arrived, the receptionist acknowledged her with a polite hello as she signed her timecard, and in the nurses’ lounge, she found a spare Red Cross
uniform that was two sizes too big. She changed into the uniform, pinned the cap into her hair, and entered the ward.
It was a quieter afternoon than she had left weeks earlier. Because it was Christmas Eve, there weren’t nearly as many doctors, nurses, and volunteers on duty. Even the patient count was down, as some soldiers were allowed to go home for a Christmas visit, depending on their injuries.
Before Charlotte could assess any patient needs, Rachel rushed toward her. “Oh my gosh. Are you all right? I heard what happened. I didn’t think you’d come back.”
“Well, I’m here. How are things? Did I miss anything important?” Charlotte asked.
Rachel didn’t look appeased by her answer. She always wanted to be the one with the juiciest gossip, but thankfully, she didn’t push it.
“Everything’s copacetic.” She shrugged. “You haven’t missed much—hardly any new patients either. Johnny’s still flirting with all the nurses and aides, so watch out!” She giggled.
“What about Will?” Charlotte glanced across the ward. All she could see was his casted leg at the end of the bed.
Rachel’s sunny disposition dimmed. “He’s fine.”
Charlotte dropped her voice to a whisper. “Did something happen?”
“No, it’s not that.” Rachel shifted her weight. “I mean, you know he’s never been much of a conversationalist . . .”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “And he’s not talking to you,” she finished. “Do you like him?”
Rachel shook her head. “No, of course not.”
Charlotte sighed. She was in no mood for contention with Rachel. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’m going to talk to him.”
Battle Hymns Page 11