by Sarah Sundin
“Uh-uh.” He told Annie he loved her, but he couldn’t get Mellie out of his mind.
“Hush. Now, you rest. Don’t worry about anything. Just go to sleep.”
“Sleep.” Tom’s eyelids slid shut. Sesame was taken care of. Annie would receive his last letter. Now he could die.
37
3rd General Hospital
Mateur, Tunisia
“Next.” The physician motioned the medics to bring Tom’s litter forward.
Mellie flipped the page on her clipboard and stole a glance at Tom’s sleeping form, at peace at last.
“Yes . . . ?” Captain Donaldson raised a pale eyebrow.
“Lt. Thomas MacGilliver, age twenty-five.” Mellie used her professional voice despite her raging emotions.
Both pale eyebrows shot up. “Thomas MacGilliver? Like—”
“Yes, sir. But that’s irrelevant.” Mellie read the medical information, although she knew it by heart. She relayed how she gave him five grains of sulfanilamide, though not how she cajoled him to swallow. After the morphine had taken him away, she hung fluids, cleansed the wound, and applied sulfanilamide powder and a fresh bandage. And she sang him hymns of comfort.
The physician shifted the bandage and whistled. “Bit longer and he might have lost his arm, maybe his life.”
“I know, sir.” Her voice tripped over the lump in her throat.
“Admit him to the medical ward,” he said to the nurse at his side then turned back to Mellie. “Any more?”
“He’s the last one.” More than anything, she wanted to press a kiss to Tom’s fevered forehead, but two medics raised his litter and carried him away. At least the 3rd General was in Mateur, so she could visit him on her stops.
Mellie stepped out into the Tunisian sun and whipped Tom’s letter from her trousers pocket. No drawing adorned the letter, and his handwriting scrawled all over the page.
Dear Annie,
This is my last letter to you. I got shot the other day, and I’ll be dead by the time you read this. It’s best this way.
You see, Annie, I’m just like my father. Worse. I killed five men. Five. I want to build but I destroy, just like him. I can’t stand how people sing my praises as if I’d scored a grand slam, I can’t stand myself, and you shouldn’t stand me either.
This is a bad line. My dad’s killer blood flows in me. It needs to stop. I should never have children, never get married. I should never have let myself fall in love. And Annie, my sweet Annie, how could I let you fall in love with me?
Forget me and fast. You deserve better.
Please don’t mourn me. Remember I’ll be with Jesus in heaven, where my name won’t matter. Rejoice for me, darling.
All my love, Tom
Mellie rubbed away tears. Delirium colored every word, even how he signed his real name.
“Oh Lord, he needs you. He needs your healing in his soul even more than he needs it in his body. Show him how much you love him.”
She would have time on the return flight to pen her reply, and she’d need it. At least he voiced the same issues in the letter as he had in person so she could address them without revealing her identity.
Mellie turned her face to the blazing African sky. “Lord, give me your words.”
Ponte Olivo Airfield
“That is enough.” Captain Maxwell thumped his canteen cup down onto his field desk. “Twigs? You made the patients chew twigs?”
The stuffy tent and the pressure of another reprimand made Mellie’s head throb. The doctor hadn’t told her to take a seat, so she stood behind the camp stool. “It’s bark, sir. Willow tree bark, a natural source of salicylic acid.”
“Oh, Mellie.” Lieutenant Lambert sat on another stool, arms crossed and brow furrowed. “We warned you.”
Mellie gripped her hands together. “Pardon me, ma’am, but I was told not to use prickly pear—”
“Do I have to spell out every little thing to you?” Maxwell stepped right in front of her, green eyes burning in the glow of the lantern overhead. “None of these quack remedies. None.”
“Sir, we’re out of aspirin, you know that. We have nothing else for fever.”
“That doesn’t mean you can use jungle juice.”
Mellie drew a deep calming breath and ventured a slight smile. “Sir, willow tree bark is the original source of aspirin. I used the same medication, just in different form.”
“You don’t understand, Blake. You may only use the approved medications in your medical chest. Anything else is forbidden. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” She looked down to her white knuckles. He’d let patients burn with fever? What kind of care was that? She swallowed hard. “It won’t happen again.”
“You’re right. It won’t. You’re done here.”
“Sir!”
“Frank,” Lambert said in a firm voice. “Once again, you do not make those decisions. I’ll take care of it.”
“Like you took care of her other offenses? I’m going to Major Guilford on this. I’ve had enough. We can’t let rogue nurses practice medicine without a license.”
Mellie’s heart ricocheted in her chest. She wanted the best for her patients. How could that be wrong? How could that lead to her dismissal?
The chief nurse sighed and stood up. “All right. Let’s have a talk tomorrow with the major. But I think she deserves one more chance. Come on, Mellie. Let’s go.”
Mellie left the headquarters tent. Her legs and hands shook.
Vera Viviani stood right outside. How much had she overheard through the canvas? She passed Mellie, gave her a sly look, and leaned into the tent. “Excuse me, Captain Maxwell? I have a question about acceptable treatment.”
“Come on in, Vera.” Now his voice was sugary sweet. “I’m glad one of our nurses understands proper physician-nurse relations.”
Mellie groaned and followed Lieutenant Lambert toward the nurses’ tents, careful with her step in the dark.
The chief nurse paused under the Sicilian stars. “Oh, Mellie, when will you learn?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Her lips dried out. “We had no aspirin, I had half a dozen febrile patients, and—”
“And you made a mistake.” Lambert held up her elegant hand. “I defended you in there, but I’m fed up too. You should have known better. You know what Maxwell’s like. He can barely tolerate nurses breathing without a physician’s order.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Mellie gave a feeble smile. “I thought we were pioneers.”
Lambert let out the shortest laugh. “Pioneers, yes. But we have to move slowly. They’re men.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The chief swatted at a mosquito. “I’m sure I can get you one more chance. Guilford’s been wonderful for us. But don’t waste it. Stay within your scope of practice.”
Mellie blew out her breath over her rough throat. “I’ll be good.”
“Do you have more of that bark?”
“Yes.” Mellie patted her musette bag. “I promise I won’t use it.”
“Better yet, turn it in to him. Right now.”
“What? Right now?”
“Yes.” Her voice brightened. “I think that’ll work. Oh, I know you could get more, but that’s not the point. You just have to show him you’re contrite. Show him you’re serious about changing.”
Mellie grimaced. She didn’t want to face him tonight. And what if Vera was still there? “Can I do it tomorrow?”
“No. Right now. He’ll go to bed with a softened heart.” Lambert took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the flight headquarters tent. “And you’re going to ask in your very sweetest voice what he’d recommend for fever. Show him respect. Show him you know he’s in charge. It’ll do a world of good.”
“Ma’am . . .”
“Don’t make me doubt my faith in you.”
Mellie tipped back her head and drew a deep breath of the cool night air. “All right, I’ll go.”
Dread pooled in her stomach, but she peere
d at the ground in the dark and made her way back to the tent. After what had happened with Tom and with Captain Maxwell, all she wanted was a good night’s rest.
Something nipped her neck, and she slapped. She took her Atabrine every day, but she needed to retreat under her mosquito netting. With all her worries, she didn’t want to add malaria to the list.
Lantern light glowed through the canvas of the headquarters tent, and Mellie huffed. So much for her hope that Maxwell had retired for the night. At least the silence meant Vera wasn’t there to watch her humiliation.
“Excuse me, sir.” Mellie slipped through the tent flaps. “I wanted to—”
In the lantern light, Captain Maxwell and Vera stood in an embrace.
Kissing.
They sprang apart.
“Mellie!” Vera cried. “How dare you?”
Blood rushed into Mellie’s cheeks. Oh goodness, no. He was married. He had two children. How could he do such a thing? How could Vera?
“What are you doing here?” Maxwell shook his hands in the air as if shaking Mellie’s shoulders.
“I—Lieutenant Lambert—she asked me to turn in the bark. I’m leaving.” She inched back. Was this what he meant by proper physician-nurse relations?
“Are you spying on me? Trying to blackmail me?”
“No, sir!” She stepped back to the exit, her pulse galloping. “Why would I—”
“I know why.” Vera smoothed her tousled hair. “She’s in trouble again, so she wants to get you in even bigger trouble.”
“No! That’s not—”
“Of course it is,” Vera said. “You’ve always hated me. Now you can get both of us in one shot.”
“I don’t hate you, and I wouldn’t do that.” Mellie lowered her voice. “What you’re doing is wrong. Captain, you’re betraying your wife and your position of authority, and Vera, you’re no better.”
“Oh, what do you know?” She stomped her foot. “You’re just jealous because you can’t get a man.”
Mellie clamped her lips together. “Better no man than a married man.”
“I knew it. I knew it, Frank. She’ll ruin us both.”
“No, she won’t.” He ran his hand through his hair and stared at Mellie, hard and determined. “She can’t. Everyone knows she’s being disciplined. If she goes to Guilford with this—with no evidence—it’ll look like petty retribution. In fact, she’ll be guilty of slander and in worse trouble than before.”
“You have my word. I won’t say a thing.” Mellie dashed out of the tent, her head spinning. He was right, of course. What he didn’t say, didn’t have to say, was that he’d work harder than ever to send her home.
38
3rd General Hospital
Mateur, Tunisia
July 19, 1943
“Please, sir. You need to take your pill.” The nurse poked it between Tom’s lips.
He shoved it out with his tongue and rolled his head to the side. “Don’t want it.”
“So, you just want us to let you die, huh?” She sat on the cot by his knees.
Tom forced his eyes open. Lieutenant Steinmetz had thin brown hair and an angular face. Not the prettiest nurse he’d seen. Could she be Annie?
She patted his knee and gave him a soft look. “What is it? Lose your best buddy? Get a Dear John letter?”
His eyelids burned, and he let them slip shut.
“Live or die, it’s up to you,” she said. “Just don’t die on my shift. I hate the paperwork.”
A smile twitched on Tom’s lips. He brought it under control. “I’ll wait.”
“Thank you. But let me tell you, dying won’t bring your buddies back. And will it matter if your girl beats herself up and moans about her tragic mistake? You’ll be dead and you won’t get to enjoy the melodrama.”
“Wise woman.” The words rasped over Tom’s parched throat. Wise, but not like Annie.
“You know it.” She got up, grabbed some envelopes on the up-turned crate by Tom’s bed, and sat back down. “If you won’t take the pill, how about some letters?”
“Letters?” Tom hitched himself higher in the bed, but dizziness overtook him. He slid back down to the pillow. “Can you read them for me?”
“Sure. I’m bored.” She ripped open the first envelope. “From Staff Sergeant Larry Fong.”
Tom groaned. That couldn’t be good. “Go ahead.”
Lieutenant Steinmetz unfolded the letter.
Dear Gill, I knew you’d worry about Sesame, so I wanted you to know he’s safe with me, a bit concerned, but he caught a nice fat mouse, so he’ll be fine. Doc Abrams said you’re distraught about the sniping incident.
The nurse lifted one eyebrow. “Sniping incident, huh?”
He waved his hand in a loose circle. “The letter?”
“All right. No more editorial comments.” She drew a breath.
Let’s get this straight, Gill. The men say you’re a hero because you killed five men in combat. I know better. I know your heroism runs far deeper. You had the courage to set aside your reputation, overcome your fears, and protect your men. Those machine gunners injured three of our boys, but they would have injured many more if you hadn’t acted. The outcome was tragic for those five men, but your actions were justified. Giannini told me everything. You did your best to save those men’s lives, but you put our lives first. I respect you and thank you.
Tom stared at the khaki canvas above him, his throat tight and hot. Thoughts struggled not to drown in the boiling pool of his brain. A thought gasped for breath—he’d done the right thing? No, it couldn’t be. Five men died. Another gasp—how many would have died if he hadn’t acted? And another—he wasn’t his father.
“Are you all right, sir?” Lieutenant Steinmetz folded back the blanket over his chest. It was too hot anyway.
Tom nodded. “You said there was another letter?”
“Special delivery. Pretty little redheaded flight nurse. She your girl?”
“Nope. Courier.” He scooted a bit higher, closed his eyes until the dizziness went away, and reached out his hand. “I’ll read this one myself.”
“All right.” She pulled it out of the envelope and passed it over. “How about some water?”
Tom nodded and laid the paper on his belly. He took a canteen from the nurse and swallowed warm metallic water with the faint taste of chlorine. It absorbed into his dry mouth and throat. Why had he deprived himself of fluids?
Across the top of the page, Annie had drawn a bridge. Not a structurally sound bridge, but still, she’d thought of him, more refreshing than that water. He squinted at the drawing, his vision blurry from the fever. Worked into the design of the bridge were dozens of little birds.
His Annie. So creative and thoughtful. She deserved better than him. He read the body of the letter.
Along with your letter, I received the news that you are very sick and headed for the hospital.
My dear Ernest, my prayers go out to you. Your illness worries me, but not as much as your letter. I tell myself you wrote it while delirious. I know the shooting incident rattled you, but darling, you must not let it consume you.
Kay told me some of the details, while maintaining your anonymity. You did what a good soldier would do to protect his men. You acted with both courage and compassion, demonstrating your growth.
You despair that you’ve turned into a killer like your father, but you haven’t. You worry about destroying like he did, but you build. Oh Ernest, in everything you do, you build. Not only on the airfield, but you’ve built me up more than you know. Someday you’ll build great and glorious bridges.
Sweetheart, remember what God’s Word tells you in 2 Corinthians 5:17. “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” You are a new creation! Even if every sin of your father’s flowed in your veins, Jesus’s blood washes them away. You are a new man, with a vibrant life waiting for you.
Look at Colossians 3:10:
“Put on the new man, which is renewed in knowledge after the image of him that created him.”
You’re doing this in your life. You’ve taken the best parts of your earthly father, put aside the rest, and filled in the gaps by emulating your heavenly Father.
You have a ways to go, as do I, as do all who love the Lord. But my beloved Ernest, you must not give up. You have so much to live for.
Tom rested his head back on the pillow. Annie’s letter merged with Larry’s and with the memory of Mellie’s touch and words and songs. “I’m not my father,” he whispered. “I’m a new creation.”
And he had a lot to live for.
“Lieutenant Steinmetz?” Tom raised himself on his good elbow and caught the nurse’s eye. “I’m ready for that pill.”
Ponte Olivo Airfield
July 24, 1943
Mellie brushed dirt off her stationery box. Thank goodness it hadn’t opened when her musette bag got dumped next to her cot.
Rose picked up Mellie’s toiletry kit. “Those slobs. Couldn’t they pick up the mess they made?”
“We don’t know how it happened.” Mellie picked up her scrapbook and inspected it for damage. She’d found everything on the ground after breakfast.
Kay poked her head in the tent. “Lambert says to get your tails to the trucks. Heading up to Agrigento, and it’s a long way to walk.”
The front had moved north, and so had the evacuation holding unit. “I’m not ready. My bag tipped over. It’s a mess.”
“I’ll say.” Kay frowned. “Well, hurry, ’cause Lambert’s in a tizzy.”
“We’ll be there.” Georgie whacked Mellie’s hairbrush on the cot to shake out the dust.
“You’d better.” The tent flap closed. “It’s a real big tizzy.”
Mellie grimaced. “Georgie, Rose, I appreciate your help, but why should all three of us get in trouble? Go.”
“Mellie . . .”
She picked up Georgie’s barracks bag and thrust it into her arms. “No. It’ll go faster if I’m not bumping into the two of you. Go. You can explain. Lambert will understand.”