Will stood with his shoulders squared and his hands behind his back, the cane resting against his thigh. He stared blankly toward the back of the room.
“The Distinguished Service Cross was established by President Woodrow Wilson on the second day of January 1918. It is awarded to a person who, while serving in any capacity with the Army, distinguishes himself by extraordinary heroism not justifying the award of a Medal of Honor, while engaged in an action against an enemy of the United States.”
The officer pulled out another sheet of paper.
“I have a letter from Lieutenant Kendrick’s commanding officer in the Royal Air Force, Squadron Leader Kinsey, which describe the Lieutenant’s valiant efforts in this war. It reads: The solider you honor is the epitome of heroism and leadership. In the two years in my squadron, Kendrick took every opportunity to fly, and on numerous occasions went above and beyond the call of duty to help his fellow soldiers return from the skies unscathed. He escorted many bombing missions, and I am certain the missions would not have been as successful without him.
“On the seventh of October, he escorted a bombing mission of over three hundred aircraft. After the loss of the lead fighter jet in the skies over Belgium, Kendrick pressed on, leading the mission toward Cologne. It was reported his jet was shot down on the return, and it is a testament of Kendrick’s skill, bravery, and unfailing determination that he survived. It is not often we get to stand among heroes, and I am proud to say I led one of the greatest.”
The officer presented Will with the medal and pinned it onto his uniform. The audience applauded. After the ceremony, the reporters snapped photographs of him with the officers and with his framed certificate.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant,” Charlotte said when Will finally made his way over to her. She inspected the Distinguished Service Cross medal. It was a bronze cross with an eagle in the center and a scroll bearing the inscription, FOR VALOR. A red, white, and blue ribbon supported the medal and it was pinned next to the Purple Heart he’d been awarded months earlier.
Will leaned in to Charlotte’s ear, grinning. “I don’t think they know I can’t remember what happened that day. Let’s go before they realize.”
They found their escort and followed him to the exit. It was approaching five o’clock, and many of the men and women who worked in the building were leaving for the day.
“Charlotte?”
She stopped at the sound of her name. Will halted beside her.
Her father approached them. He wore his workday uniform and carried a leather briefcase at his side. “What are you doing here?”
Charlotte looked at Will. “Will, this is my father, Thomas Donahue. Dad, this is William Kendrick. He was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross today.”
They shook hands.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Major Donahue,” Will said.
“Likewise”—her father glanced at the insignia on his uniform—“Lieutenant.”
“I met Will volunteering at the Army Medical Center,” Charlotte explained.
“It looks like you’ve met a true war hero.” Her father gestured to the medals on Will’s uniform. “A Distinguished Service Cross. That’s rather impressive.”
“It was nothing,” Will said.
“On the contrary. They don’t award many DSCs. I have no doubt you deserved it.”
Will bowed his head. He didn’t seem accustomed to so much praise. “Thank you, sir.”
“How long have you been recovering?”
“Almost six months, sir.”
“And before that, how long were you on duty?”
“Two years, sir.”
“You must’ve been fighting with the British or the Canadians.”
“The British. Royal Air Force, sir.”
Major Donahue patted Will’s shoulder. “Then you’re in need of a good home-cooked meal. Charlotte, why don’t you and Will come to the house for dinner?”
Will frowned. “I couldn’t impose.”
“Nonsense. It’s the least we can do for you after all you’ve sacrificed for us.”
Charlotte nodded. “He’s right. You’ve also been complaining about the hospital food for months. I’d accept the offer.”
Will smiled. “All right, then.”
They rode with Charlotte’s father to the Donahues’ house in Chevy Chase, and though their arrival was a surprise to her mother, Will was wholeheartedly welcomed into their home.
“I hope you don’t mind meeting my parents,” Charlotte said as she showed him through the house while they waited for dinner to be prepared.
Will studied the photographs on the fireplace mantel. “I don’t mind. It’s nice, actually, remembering what a normal family is like.”
When dinner was ready, they joined her parents at the table. Will and Charlotte sat across from each other. Mrs. Donahue had prepared a stew from leftover beef and the victory garden vegetables she’d canned last fall. On account of the food rationing, the stew wasn’t the most delicious meal her mother had ever cooked, but the taste had to surpass that of the Army Medical Center’s food.
Mrs. Donahue glanced at Will. “Lieutenant.”
“Will, please,” he said.
She smiled. “Will, forgive my ignorance. You’re in which branch of the Army?”
“The U.S. Army Air Forces, ma’am. I joined the Eagle Squadron in 1940, which allowed me to fight with the Royal Air Force in England. But the Eagle Squadrons were turned over to the Army Air Forces last September.”
“I’ve heard good things about the Eagle Squadrons,” Major Donahue said. “You fought in the Battle of Britain?”
“No, sir. I would have liked to, but I was in training.”
“Are you from this area?” Mrs. Donahue asked.
“No, ma’am. I grew up in Stamford, Connecticut. These past few months have been my only time in Washington. Unfortunately, I still haven’t seen much of the city. But I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon, if I can help it.”
“You don’t want to return to your family?”
“I don’t have any family to return to. Not anymore.”
Mrs. Donahue frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“Mother,” Charlotte said in gentle warning.
Will shook his head. “It’s fine, Charlotte. It doesn’t need to be a secret.” He swallowed a spoonful of the stew before answering. “My mother died when I was very young, and my father and I had a falling out a few years ago. I was close to my sister, Margaret. But in thirty-eight she moved to London with her new husband. Two years later, the Luftwaffe bombed London, and my sister and her husband were killed in the Blitz. So, I have no one to return to.”
His voice remained steady, his eyes trained on the middle of the table. Charlotte couldn’t believe Will was able to explain his sister’s death with such detachment. She knew how much it affected him. His sister was the reason he fought in the war before the rest of the country.
“I’m so sorry. Well, you’re welcome here any time,” her mother replied.
To Charlotte’s relief, the conversation steered away from Will’s personal life for the rest of the meal. Charlotte updated her parents on her studies and her friends. Will and her father discussed the war in Tunisia and the plight of Jews in Eastern Europe. They also discovered a shared affinity for military aircraft, so Will spent much of dinner describing the strengths of different bombers. He opened up comfortably with her parents, more than she would’ve imagined given his usual reticence for conversation.
Following dinner, Charlotte helped her mother with the dishes, while her father and Will went into the sitting room.
“He’s in love with you.”
The dish Charlotte washed clamored into the kitchen sink. She turned to her mother. “We’re friends. That’s all.”
“That may be the case on your end, but I see the way he looks at you.”
Charlotte resumed washing the dish. She had noticed a change in Will over the past few
weeks that supported her mother’s position. After all, Will had invited her—no one else—to his award ceremony that afternoon. She wasn’t ignorant to it.
“Even if he is, it doesn’t matter.”
Her mother picked up the dish Charlotte had cleaned and dried it with a towel. “You don’t feel the same way? He’s a handsome man.”
“Of course not. I can’t feel that way for anyone right now.”
Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s understandable if you do. You have to move on some time, sweetheart.”
Charlotte returned to washing the next dish, which was getting far more attention from her scrub brush than what was needed. “Well, I don’t.”
Twenty-Three
When Charlotte visited the Army Medical Center on Sunday, Will had a visitor. She could only see the man’s back from where she stood in the ward. He wore a dark suit and his gray hair was slicked back. Whatever they talked about, Will didn’t seem pleased by his presence.
As Will was otherwise occupied, Charlotte tended to a young soldier who’d been recently admitted to the hospital. The Army Medical Center had become busier in the last few months. More soldiers had been deployed into combat in the European and Pacific theaters of war, so more soldiers sustained severe enough injuries that sent them home to recover. Will was no longer the only patient who had fought on the front lines. There were now thousands in the hospital, including this young man.
The soldier couldn’t have been much older than eighteen and yet he was bruised, gaunt, and had lost one of his arms to infection. Despite his treatments, he suffered from a high fever. He should’ve been in an observation ward, but they were overcapacity, and the doctors had deemed him to be noncontagious. In the past two days, his vital signs had been measured at least thirty times by the nurses’ aides.
Charlotte approached his bedside. His face was flushed, and his skin felt warm to the touch. Even without a thermometer, she could tell his fever had spiked. Still, she placed the instrument under his tongue and checked his pulse as she waited. When she was done, she penciled the measurements in his chart and found Nurse Parker.
“Jimmy’s fever is up to one-oh-five, and he’s tachycardic,” she whispered.
Nurse Parker frowned. “I’ll get the doctor.”
Charlotte returned to the patient with cool, wet towels. She folded them and placed one beneath his neck and the other over his forehead. Jimmy opened his eyes and offered her a weak smile.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Eh.” He glanced at his elbow that was now a bandaged nub. “I’m left-handed. Ain’t that just my luck?”
“You’re lucky to be alive.”
“I don’t know about that.” He coughed. “Hey, can you write someone for me?”
“Of course. Let me get some paper.” She left and returned with a pad of paper, a pen, and an envelope. She pulled out the stool and sat. “Who’s the letter for?”
“My father.”
“What’s his address?”
Jimmy provided his father’s address in Detroit, Michigan and then started on the letter. “Dear Pa . . .” He paused and looked at Charlotte. “I don’t know what to say.” He coughed. “I haven’t written to him or my mother since I joined the war.”
Charlotte wasn’t sure how long Jimmy had been in the war. It had to have been long enough for him to complete Army training, go abroad, get wounded in battle, and travel back to the States.
“You could tell them what happened and where you are now. I’m sure they’ll be glad to hear from you, regardless of what you share with them.”
“All right.” Jimmy was silent for several seconds. “Dear Pa. It’s Jimmy. I’m sorry for running away and any worry it’s caused you and Ma. You’ve probably guessed by now that I enlisted in the Army. The recruiter either believed us or didn’t care that me and Tom were only seventeen. We heard they’d let just about anyone volunteer, and that seemed to be the case. We joined a regiment that was part of the Michigan National Guard. We were sent to New England to train for fighting in Europe, but then orders changed and we were shipped to California, and then to Australia. We spent last summer in Adelaide and Brisbane to complete training in jungle warfare. And then we were sent to New Guinea.”
Jimmy closed his eyes and grimaced. Charlotte readjusted the towels.
“Don’t let Ma read this letter. Just tell her I’m alive and back in the States. Truth is, we got beat up pretty bad out there. Tom and other guys from our group died from some tropical disease and then I got it myself. I survived that, but then I got shot in Buna. The field hospital was able to get the bullet out of my arm, but the wound became infected and my arm was amputated at the elbow.
“Hopefully I get better and can come home soon, but if I don’t, I want to tell you I’m sorry for not writing until now. I was afraid you’d report me for being underage and I’d get kicked out. After that, I never built up the courage to write. I thought it’d be better for you not to know where I was and what I was doing. I’ve been constantly afraid over the past couple of years. I was afraid of not doing my part in the war and then afraid of being rejected. I was afraid of failing my country, but also afraid of dying. But I’m not afraid anymore.”
Jimmy glanced at what remained of his left arm. Then, with his right hand, he wiped the towel from his forehead and let out a resigned sigh. “I hope you, Ma, and Julie are doing well. I don’t know what’s happened since I left, and I hope you can forgive me for that. Love, Jimmy.”
Charlotte finished writing and read the letter back to Jimmy for his approval.
“Take out that stuff I said about being afraid. I shouldn’t be saying those things.”
She scratched out the paragraph until it was no longer legible.
Jimmy stared at Charlotte. “What do you think?”
“I think your parents are fortunate to have such a brave son.” She folded the letter and stuffed it into the envelope. “I have no doubt they’ll be proud of you.”
Tears formed in Jimmy’s eyes. “You think so?”
“I do. Now, try to rest.”
Nurse Parker and Dr. Robinson approached Jimmy’s beside as Charlotte left. She placed the letter into the stack of outgoing mail, washed the thermometer and her hands, and watched the medical team from a distance.
The doctor unwrapped the bandages and inspected the amputation. He took out his stethoscope and auscultated Jimmy’s chest. Jimmy's head lolled to the side, his eyes closed. Nurse Parker placed her fingers to Jimmy’s neck and shook her head.
Charlotte rushed forward and halted at the foot of the bed. Nurse Parker whispered to her, “I’m sorry.”
Charlotte clenched her fists and retreated to the nurses’ lounge. She shut the door behind her and sagged against it, taking deep breaths as her eyes welled with tears.
As serious as Jimmy’s condition was, she hadn’t expected him to die. She was sure they’d control the infection, and Jimmy would eventually walk out of the hospital and go home. She’d seen medicine work miracles. Will was a testament to that. But Jimmy was a sobering reminder of the costs of war.
She pushed herself away from the door and staggered to the nearest chair. Her shoulders slumped as she allowed herself to cry. She cried for Jimmy, Nick, and all the families that were being torn apart. It seemed everyone who joined the war would never come back the same, if they returned at all. Oh, why did Nick have to join the war?
The door to the nurses’ lounge creaked open. Rachel entered. Her eyes widened when she spotted Charlotte. “What’s wrong?”
Charlotte sat up and sniffled. “Jimmy is dead.”
Rachel grimaced. “I’m sorry to hear that. He was so young.”
Charlotte blinked away her tears. She didn’t want to linger on Jimmy’s death, and especially not Nick’s.
“Anyway . . . How are you?”
Rachel stowed her pocketbook in her locker. “Well, I guess I should tell you the news. Today’s my last day as a volun
teer nurses’ aide. I’ve decided to become a salesgirl at Macy’s. I start tomorrow.”
“Really? Why?”
Rachel sighed. “I can’t do this forever, and my family needs the extra income.”
“But I thought you enjoyed working here. Why don’t you become a nurse if you want to make a real job out of it?”
“I’d love to.” Rachel shrugged. “But nursing school costs money.”
“Oh, right.”
“And besides, I should come to terms with the fact that I’m already twenty-five years old and have no marriage prospects.” Rachel laughed bitterly. “I certainly don’t want to live with my parents until I’m an old maid, so it’s time to start a career of sorts.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“What about you?”
Charlotte stared at Rachel. “What about me?”
“I mean, what are you going to do after you finish your degree? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not about to be married anymore.”
Charlotte swallowed hard. She had planned her entire future around being Nick’s wife. Now she was adrift. “I don’t know.”
“I guess you have more time to figure it out than I do.” Rachel stood and adjusted her Red Cross uniform. “Are you ready to go back? I can’t believe it’s my last day here. It’s surreal.”
Charlotte wiped away her tears and returned to the ward with Rachel.
Jimmy was gone. The bed was stripped of its sheets. It looked as though he’d never even been there.
While Rachel helped a nurse with a new patient, Charlotte approached Will’s bedside.
He was sitting up and flipping through a Popular Science magazine. He glanced up from the periodical. “Hey. Did you know they’ve invented a new elastic? They’re substituting it for rubber in military manufacturing.”
“I didn’t know that. How are you today?”
Will dropped the magazine onto his lap. “Much better now that you’re here.”
Charlotte smiled nervously. This was the kind of talk that made her think her mother was right about Will being in love with her. “Let’s take a walk. Your legs could use the exercise, and it’s a nice day outside.”
Battle Hymns Page 13