“Perfectly fine by me.” Rachel flashed a smile. “Anyway, I need to finish my rounds and head home. My mother’s cooking dinner before midnight mass, and my entire family is invited. It’s going to be a nightmare. I have, like, twenty cousins. Do you have any big Christmas Eve plans this evening?”
Charlotte shook her head. “It’s just me and my parents. A normal dinner, I think.”
“Well, Merry Christmas . . . and I’m sorry about what happened to your fiancé. If you ever want to talk, I’ll listen.”
“Thanks.”
Rachel disappeared through the double doors, and Charlotte made her way to Will’s bedside. The casts had been removed from his arms since her last visit, and he was now able to hold up a paperback book.
“I hear you’re not being very conversational,” she said from the foot of the bed.
Will lowered the novel and rested it on his torso. “I didn’t think you’d ever return.”
“Honestly, I didn’t think I’d return either.” She took a seat and tucked her hands beneath her legs. “Well, I assume you’ve heard about Nick. Someone’s been talking about it. Rachel knew.”
“No one’s mentioned anything to me about it.”
“But you know.”
Will shrugged. “Your reaction that afternoon said it all. How are you holding up?”
Tears crept into her eyes. “I don’t want to burden you with my grief. You have enough to worry about.”
Will arched his eyebrows. “What do I have to worry about, apart from you?”
“Getting well, reconnecting with your family, retrieving your lost memories . . . just to name a few.”
The left corner of his lips twitched upward. “First, getting well doesn’t require any effort on my part aside from laying here and agreeing to physical therapy for my leg. Second, reconnecting with my family is not going to happen. And third, maybe I’m better off not remembering what happened.” He paused. “You see, Charlotte, you’re the only thing I have to worry about.”
“Why would you worry about me?”
“We’re friends, right? You give a damn about me, and I give a damn about you.”
“All right then . . . I don’t know how I’m supposed to move on.” Her voice shook. “The man I loved is dead. How do I move forward? How am I supposed to forget him, what we had together?”
“My sister died two years ago. I know it’s not the same as losing someone you loved romantically, but I do sort of know what you’re going through.”
“How did you manage it?”
“Not in a way I’d recommend. My response was to join a war that almost killed me.” Will chuckled. “I’d rather you didn’t do the same.”
Charlotte wiped away her tears.
Will placed his warm hand over hers. “Listen, you shouldn’t forget about him. You can’t dwell on the past, and you can’t disregard it, either. He’ll always be an important part of your life.”
She nodded. Will was right. It’d be impossible to completely forget about Nick. But where would she find the strength to carry on without him in her life?
Will removed his hand from hers and shifted in his bed. “And give it time. Stay busy. It’ll get easier, I promise.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte whispered. She swiped beneath her eyes to remove any smudged makeup and stood. “I suppose I should find a nurse and get started on my rounds. Do you need anything from me?”
Will stared into her eyes. “No. Not yet.”
Twenty
Nineteen forty-three arrived with no celebration on Charlotte’s part. She declined invitations to various New Year’s Eve parties, despite the urging from her mother, Evelyn, and Sandra. She missed her friends, but she still couldn’t endure the constant drone of sympathies. Even though they meant well, all it did was remind her of what she’d lost. And if she found last year’s hoopla tedious while Nick was in basic training, this year would have been even worse.
“I understand,” Will said after Charlotte answered his question about her holiday. “I can’t picture myself at a party right now either, even if I could stand on my own two feet.”
“We’re pitiful.”
Will shrugged. “It’ll get better. The future still looks bright.”
She smiled. “I like that you’re so optimistic these days.”
“It’s a good day. It’s a new year, hopefully the year the war ends . . . I get to see you, which is always a pleasure . . . and the doctor said they’ll remove my leg cast sometime today.”
“I heard. I bet you can’t wait to walk again.”
“You have no idea. My leg is the only reason I’m still here.”
“You still have to go to physical therapy, right?” Her voice wavered. “You won’t be discharged soon?”
Charlotte wanted Will’s leg to heal, but she dreaded him leaving. She had gotten to know him well since November. He was a fixture at the hospital and had always been supportive of her situation with Nick, before and after his death. Of course she’d developed an attachment to him. They were both survivors. Will in the physical sense, and her in the emotional one. They still hadn’t recovered, but they were well on their way. She needed him in her life. At the moment, he was her closest friend.
Will flashed a grin. “You can’t get rid of me that quickly.”
She gave a hesitant laugh. “Did you attend many New Year’s Eve parties? Before the war, I mean?”
“Every year. My father hosted an annual party at our home in Stamford. It was a lavish affair . . . dinner, live music, and liquor that flowed in abundance, even during the Prohibition years. Our nanny would make my sister and me wear our best clothes, and we’d pretend to be much older than we were. We were spoiled.”
“What about your mother? She must be a lovely lady.”
“I’m sure she was, but I wouldn’t know.” Will idly scratched the plaster leg cast. “She died while giving birth to my sister and me.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Will shrugged. “It’s all right. You can’t miss what you never had.”
Charlotte was at a loss for an appropriate response. She always asked the wrong questions, ones that sent him into his thoughts. She could’ve left him and moved on to other patients, but perhaps selfishly, she wanted to continue her visit.
She glanced at her wristwatch. “I’ll be right back.”
When Charlotte returned, she pushed a metal cart to his bedside. “I was going to wait until a little bit later. Now’s as good a time as any, and the equipment’s available again.”
Will propped himself up onto his elbows. “What’s all this?”
“I was tasked with removing your cast this afternoon,” Charlotte said with a sly smile. “Are you ready?”
Will nodded and scooted up in bed. “More than ready.”
Charlotte removed the support from underneath the cast. Using a small handsaw, she made incisions on two sides of the plaster. She removed the cast and set the remains on the cart. Then she took a pair of shears to the soft padding that covered Will’s leg. What she saw wasn’t the prettiest sight. Though her expression remained static, Charlotte was startled. His skin was pale, scaly, and red, and boasted numerous scars. His injury must’ve hurt like the dickens.
She removed the padding and returned the equipment to the cart. “All done. How does it feel? Any pain?”
Will bent his knee. A look of discomfort clouded his face. Still, he seemed pleased with the movement. “Can I walk?”
“That might not be a good idea. You haven’t used the muscles for months.”
Will swung his legs over the side of the bed.
Her eyes widened. “At least let me get you crutches.”
He shook his head. “No. I can do this.”
He took a deep breath and pushed down on the mattress to force his body into standing position. For the first time, Charlotte realized by how much he towered over her. The top of her head only reached his chin. All seemed t
o be in working order until Will placed his weight on his injured leg. He cringed and lost his balance, falling forward. She caught his shoulders and pushed him backward onto the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his shoulders slumped and his expression stony.
“You’ll walk again. Just give it time.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “The physical therapist will begin working with you tomorrow. In the meantime, try to do some leg stretches. It’ll help.”
He shrugged off her hand and lay back onto the bed. He stared at the ceiling.
Charlotte sat on the stool at his bedside. “You can talk to me if you’d like.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Please don’t do this again.”
His gaze skipped to hers. “Don’t do what?”
“Retreat. When you pretend nothing is bothering you, even though it evidently is. It makes me afraid you’ll regress into the soldier who wouldn’t speak a word for weeks.”
“And you care?”
Charlotte reached for his hand. “Of course I care. We’re friends, remember?”
Will flipped his hand so their palms touched. He sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s not easy to talk about these things. The war . . . my family . . . the future.” He sat up. “For the past two months, I’ve been waiting for the day when the doctor tells me I’m not going to walk again, that something went wrong and they’ll have to take my leg. So far neither the doctors nor the nurses have been anything but optimistic. They say I’ll walk in no time. But what if they’re wrong? I can’t fly if I can’t use both my legs.”
“You should trust the doctors and nurses. If they say you’ll be walking in no time then you will. That’s why you have to go through physical therapy, so you can get your strength back.”
“I can’t wait to get out of here,” he muttered.
Charlotte removed her hand from his. “Do you think you’ll return to the war? After you leave?”
Will hesitated. “I don’t know. They would’ve kept me in Europe if they thought I could return to the front. I guess they didn’t think I’d survive, so they shipped me back home so they could work on the less severely injured. Triage, you know. Will I return? I’d like to.” He shrugged. “We’ll find out eventually.”
For the rest of the day, Charlotte couldn’t shake the anxiety that clung to her like a leech bleeding her dry. She already lost Nick. She couldn’t lose Will, too.
Twenty-One
Charlotte returned to Trinity College on the tenth of January. Struggling with two heavy suitcases, she unlocked and swung open the door to her dorm room.
Natalie was inside, unpacking her belongings. She turned from the wardrobe. “Hello.” Natalie’s greeting held a note of wariness.
She and Charlotte hadn’t spoken or written to each other during their break. It was the most time they’d ever gone in their friendship without speaking. Though she was loath to admit it, Charlotte continued to feel some animosity toward her. Natalie had what she did not: someone to love. Still, it was unfair of her to blame Natalie, and she longed for their friendship to return to normal.
“Hi.” Charlotte set her suitcases at the foot of the bed and sat on the mattress.
Natalie shifted her weight. “So . . . how was your Christmas?”
“Not great.” Charlotte cringed at her harsh tone. She sighed. “I mean, you know . . .” She shrugged. “I’m sorry.”
Natalie’s face softened. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you. These past few weeks must’ve been terrible. I’ve been worrying about you constantly. I would’ve called, but I was afraid you were still mad at me.” She paused. “Are you? Still mad at me, I mean?”
Charlotte stared at her hands in her lap. “I admit I’m still a little bit jealous of you. But I understand it’s completely uncalled for.”
“Don’t be jealous of me. I still have to worry about John’s safety every day.”
“But he’s alive.”
“True.” Natalie frowned. “How have you been coping?”
Charlotte’s chin quivered. “I don’t know. Somehow I’m making it through the day. I’ve been volunteering at the hospital a lot lately. If I stay busy enough, my thoughts are otherwise occupied.” Her voice cracked. “But, nights and mornings are the worst. He’s still in my dreams. I’ve woken up and completely forgotten that he’s gone and never not coming back.”
Natalie sat next to Charlotte and curled an arm around her shoulders. “You’ll get through this. We both will.”
Twenty-Two
Charlotte couldn’t escape the news from North Africa. After a period of troop reinforcement by both sides, the Allies suffered significant losses in a run for the Tunisian capital and then in a lost battle in the mountains of west Tunisia. The results proved to her the Nazis were winning, yet the government worked their hardest to convince the American public otherwise.
In February, Charlotte and Evelyn saw the new Humphrey Bogart picture, Casablanca. A newsreel played prior to the film, sharing the Allied triumphs in Morocco and Algeria in November. The clip started with American troops marching onto their warships and ended with patriotic music playing over battle scenes and soldiers smiling and waving as though they were never in danger. Any one of those men could’ve been Nick. It was the most painful newsreel she’d ever seen. But she sat through it, hands and jaw clenched, determined to desensitize herself.
Although her friendship with Natalie had almost gone back to normal, they weren’t nearly as close. Natalie rarely discussed John. When she received his letters, she read them in private and didn’t share what they said. Charlotte only knew he was still in North Africa because she asked Natalie a direct question about it.
Neither did Charlotte share with Natalie her friendship with Will. Natalie knew of the injured pilot who’d been in the hospital for nearly six months. But Natalie didn’t know Charlotte credited Will’s support for her ability to recover after Nick’s death. Now, she rarely dreamed of Nick, and when she did, it didn’t shred her heart into pieces when she awoke. She regained the weight she’d lost in December, and two whole weeks had passed since she last wept.
While Charlotte recovered emotionally, Will continued to recover physically. He’d been in physical therapy for the past three months. Since then, he’d progressed from immobility to being able to walk with crutches and then a cane. Although Will often complained about the length of his recovery, he was relieved to walk again, even with the help of crutches. It was only a matter of time until the Army would reevaluate his health and decide his eligibility for service. In the meantime, Charlotte continued to offer support.
By late April, the War Department deemed Will healthy enough to attend a ceremony in his honor, during which he’d receive an award for his service. In the absence of family to witness the celebration, Will asked Charlotte to be his guest, an invitation she readily accepted. She was proud of him, and he deserved to have someone there who cared for him.
At four o’clock on a Friday afternoon, Charlotte waited outside her dormitory. Right on time, a shiny black Lincoln parked alongside the curb. Will opened the back door and held onto it for support as he stood on the sidewalk. He wore his olive-drab military dress uniform. It was similar to the uniform Nick had worn when he left for basic training. The only differences were the officers’ insignia worn over his heart and the oval, peaked cap instead of a garrison cap atop his head. She climbed into the backseat, followed by Will. The driver, an Army private, pulled away from the curb and continued their journey to the Pentagon.
As she peered out the window, she sensed Will’s eyes studying her.
“You didn’t change your mind. I thought you might,” he said.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s a big honor.”
Charlotte surveyed Will’s uniform again. He looked different than he did in his hospital gown: strong, brave, and handsome. Her heart flipped. She chalked it up to excitement and pride over his accomplishments, nothing more.
“I
haven’t seen you in your uniform before. You look nice.”
“Thanks. It’s brand spanking new.” Will brushed lint off the wool sleeve and gestured to her red dress. “You know, until now, I’ve only seen you in your uniform. I didn’t know your hair was so long. You always pull it back under your nurse’s cap.”
Charlotte self-consciously touched her curls. Had her acceptance of the invitation been a mistake? Will was her friend, and she wanted to support him on such a big day. But this was a step forward in the relationship between patient and nurses’ aide, one of which the Red Cross and the Army Medical Center might not approve.
The car stopped at a security gate, and after providing identification, Will and Charlotte were issued visitor passes. As they continued down the road, the newly constructed, five-sided building grew in the distance.
“My father works here,” Charlotte said.
“Really?” Will cocked a brow. “You never mentioned that before. What does he do?”
She shrugged. “Military intelligence. He doesn’t talk about it, so that’s all I know.”
The driver parked the car in front of the entrance and opened the door for them. Will used a wooden cane to maneuver out of the vehicle and onto the sidewalk while Charlotte followed behind. The driver saluted his superior and Will returned the gesture. “Lieutenant, if you and your guest would please follow me.”
Given that she was Will’s only guest, Charlotte expected the ceremony to be small. There were, however, at least a couple dozen witnesses from the War Department, the U.S. Army, and even the press. Charlotte took a seat near the back of the room while Will joined other officers in their decorated service dress on stage.
One of the officers stepped forward to the podium and read from a sheet of paper. “First Lieutenant William Kendrick of the 334th Fighter Squadron of the United States Army Air Forces is awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for his actions on the seventh day of October 1942 in Cologne, Germany.”
Battle Hymns Page 12