The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection

by Kristin Billerbeck

  “How special.” Glorie was aware once more how deeply her grandparents cared for each other. What a blessing it must be to find someone you love that much, and who loves you back the same. A painful twinge of envy twisted her heart. Would she ever experience that? Johan’s face with his teasing blue eyes and wide smile flashed into her mind. She pushed the picture away. She mustn’t allow herself to daydream their friendship into something it wasn’t.

  But the picture returned, and the longing remained.

  “It’s the pin I want to tell you about,” Lucy went on. “Ever since you went into nursing, I’ve planned to pass this pin along to you.”

  Glorie gasped softly and pressed her palms to her chest. “To me?”

  “I’d hoped you would wear it close to your heart, as I have, and pass it along to your own daughter or granddaughter one day. But now I’ve decided to leave the pin to Grace.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment filled Glorie’s heart.

  “Grace confided in me this morning that she’d also dreamed of becoming a nurse. Then she met Daniel and gave up her dream of nursing to marry him. She’s not sorry for her choice, as I’m sure you know. She is completely in love with that man, and darling Elisabeth is the light of their lives. But Grace feels useless next to you.”

  Surprise straightened Glorie’s spine. “Useless?”

  “When she sees the wounded and knows you have the skills to help them and she doesn’t …” Lucy spread her hands, palms up.

  “She fills every minute with helping others. Hasn’t she told you about her Red Cross work? She visits soldiers here, reads to them, writes letters for them, does shopping for them. She spent untold hours making surgical dressings. And even remade shirts for the soldiers when the army changed the uniform regulations, which was a great sacrifice, since she hates sewing.”

  Lucy smiled. “Yes, she’s thrown her heart into helping the soldiers. That’s why I decided to give her the pin. I realized you won’t be allowed to wear it when you’re in uniform. Grace can wear it. I hope it will be a reminder that her efforts are as much a gift as any nurse’s. From your defense of her, I know you will understand.”

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea.” Glorie gave her a quick hug.

  “I want to give it to her tonight, instead of leaving it to her in my will. I want to see her face when I pin it on her.” Lucy stood and replaced her hat. “I would have joined the army as a nurse in this war, if they’d allowed me to.” Her eyes danced with a merry smile. “Unfortunately, the army only accepts nurses between twenty-one and forty-five, so like Grace, I joined the Red Cross and made dressings. My favorite work was recruiting nurses.”

  As they left the room, Lucy continued, “Did I ever tell you about the time I met Clara Barton? It was one of the most memorable days of my life. It happened in Washington, and …”

  Chapter 4

  Glorie was assigned to Johan’s ward that evening. She saw him look casually toward the door when she entered. Then he did a double take, and a grin brightened his face. A smile leaped to her own in return, but she made herself casually stop at each man’s bed until she arrived at Johan’s in turn.

  “You haven’t had a shift on our ward for quite awhile.” Johan’s tone was a mixture of censure and gladness.

  “I’ve been assigned to surgery most days. Did your parents visit today?”

  “Yes. Better than last time.”

  She understood that he meant no one had said anything unkind in their presence, and she was glad for all concerned that it was so.

  Three beds later, she discovered she was humming. Even a short encounter with Johan left her happy.

  At the ward desk she filled out paperwork, then made a final check of the ward toward the end of her shift.

  Johan, dressed in his uniform, showed up at the desk minutes later. “I can’t sleep. Will you walk with me when you’re off duty?”

  Shocked at his boldness, she could only stare at him.

  “It’s not against the rules for an officer to ask a nurse to walk with him,” he reminded her.

  Like Johan, Glorie and most of the nurses were lieutenants, though most patients called them “Nurse” or “Sister.” Glorie liked it that way. The men treated the nurses with respect whether they called them by the proper army titles or not. She couldn’t quite imagine a patient saluting every time a nurse passed his bed.

  “It’s not against the rules,” she agreed, “but fraternization between patients and nurses is discouraged.”

  His grin blazed. “Did the bachelor doctors make up that rule?” He leaned against the desk. “I won’t be a patient long. I’m only asking you to keep me company on a platonic walk around the hospital halls.”

  In the end she agreed. She’d wanted to all along.

  They chatted in low voices as they wandered the dimly lit, empty halls. He told her of his parents’ visit, and she told him about Jere and Lucy.

  “They sound interesting. I wish I’d met them.”

  She was glad he didn’t know of Grace’s attempt to arrange that or Grace’s comments on Glorie’s feelings for him.

  At the end of one hall, they stopped beside a tall window overlooking a wide, tree-lined green. The moon shone brightly down, casting tree shadows across the manicured lawn. “I wonder if we’ll have snow for Christmas,” Johan mused. “I like a white Christmas. Do you?”

  “Yes. I love snow.” She leaned her forehead against the cool glass. “My brother, Fred, used to pummel Grace and me with snowballs. We’d fight back, but our aim wasn’t as accurate as his.”

  “This is the first time I’ve heard about a brother. How old is he?”

  “He’s … I don’t know.” Glorie closed her arms tight over her chest, trying to keep back the pain gripping her.

  “You don’t know? What kind of sister doesn’t know her brother’s age?” Johan teased. He traced a frosty outline on the windowpane with his index finger.

  Glorie had to swallow twice before she could explain. “Fred’s birthday is November sixteen. He’s twenty-one now, if he’s alive.”

  “If …” Johan swung to face her.

  “He …” She swallowed again. “He was declared missing after the last offensive.” She shut her eyes tight in a vain attempt to keep back the threatening tears.

  Then Johan’s arms were around her, and her cheek pressed against the wool of his coat. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair.

  Her heart cracked open, and the tears spilled. She clung to him, sobbing. “I’ve tried so hard to believe he’s all right, but I’m so horribly afraid.”

  “Of course you are. Anyone would be.” One arm held her close about the waist, while a hand cradled the back of her head. She felt a kiss pressed against her hair, just above her ear. “Cry it out, Dear. It’s all right.”

  His spoken invitation wasn’t necessary. She was bawling uncontrollably, the sobs racking her body.

  When they subsided to a small shower and she’d used up both their handkerchiefs, part of her was appalled at her behavior. She always did her crying alone. She never broke down like this in front of others. Yet it hadn’t felt strange or embarrassing. It felt … comfortable. It was too much to understand how sharing her grief with him could feel that way. She set it aside to examine later.

  He led her to a flight of marble steps. She didn’t resist the arms he kept about her, drawing her close when they sat down. The crying had drained her of energy. Exhausted, she laid her head against his shoulder. He rested his cheek against her hair. It felt so peaceful, so right, together with him this way. She wasn’t sure how long they sat like that—not speaking, not spooning, just being together. She had the sense he was praying for her.

  “Fred was with your division,” she said finally, breaking the silence. “He was … is one of the Gopher Gunners with the 151st artillery, the Rainbow Division.”

  “I don’t remember a Fred Cunningham. Of course, there are a lot of men in our division. We might know e
ach other by face.”

  “I keep telling myself ‘missing in action’ doesn’t mean dead. I know it might mean that, but it could mean other things, couldn’t it?”

  “Of course.”

  Had he hesitated before answering? She didn’t want to believe it. “He could be a prisoner, couldn’t he?”

  She felt him nod, his cheek mussing her hair.

  “Or wounded. Maybe he’s unconscious and the people at the hospital don’t know who he is. That’s possible, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Dear.”

  Glorie pressed her cheek harder against his shoulder and rested her hand on his chest. “Sometimes I don’t think I can hope anymore. Other times, I don’t know how to go on if I don’t hope.”

  “Did Fred ever write you about the rainbows?”

  “I know the Gopher Gunners are part of the Rainbow Division.”

  “Because of the division’s name, we gave special meaning to nature’s rainbows. We all knew the biblical story of the rainbow, how God gave it as a promise after the great flood. ‘And the bow shall be in the cloud; and I will look upon it, that I may remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is upon the earth.’ When we’d see rainbows, we’d take them as a message of hope. They showed up at some pretty strategic times.

  “The first was in June, when we left Baccarat and headed for Champagne and our first battle. The next was July 15, when the regiment started attacking north of Chateau-Theirry. Then September 12, when the division went over the top at the start of the Saint-Mihiel drive. We won the battles and the war.”

  The names were important names in the war. Like most Americans, she’d followed the troops’ movements through newspaper reports. It seemed the Rainbow Division fought in all the major battles after its arrival in France.

  This man beside her, with his arms around her and his uniform beneath her cheek, had been in those battles, which would be listed in history books for generations, perhaps for centuries. He’d returned injured, but he’d returned, and was almost restored to health now. If he could come through it all, couldn’t Fred, even if he was missing in action?

  If it’s not already too late. The words hissed through her mind.

  Reluctantly, Glorie pushed herself away from Johan. “I should go back to the quarters. If it weren’t a holiday and so many nurses away on leave, I’d probably be in trouble. It’s way past lights-out.”

  He walked with her down the steps and to the outside door. There his arms encircled her once more, and she leaned against him trustingly, not wanting to leave. His lips touched her temple in a soft, warm kiss. Then his fingers were beneath her chin, lifting it gently. His gaze searched hers with a question. She shyly smiled her answer.

  His lips were gentle against hers. Glorie closed her eyes, welcoming the beauty in the lingering kiss. She wanted to stay in this place forever, this place of tranquillity and hope.

  “When you think of Fred, remember the rainbows,” Johan whispered as she stepped into the night.

  St. Paul citizens spent Thanksgiving rejoicing over the war’s end. Victory Sings across the country celebrated “thanksgiving for the triumph of right, birth of universal freedom, and dawn of a new day.” St. Paul’s Victory Sing brought together almost five thousand people. Some ambulatory patients received passes to attend the sing with relatives or Red Cross volunteers.

  Glorie heard about the celebration from Grace. “The people sang their hearts out, Glorie. ‘America,’ ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic,’ ‘America, the Beautiful,’ ‘Star Spangled Banner,’ and a host of our generation’s songs, like ‘Keep the Home-Fires Burning’ and ‘Pack Up Your Troubles.’ The reverend from St. Mark’s spoke. He said—let me think a moment, I want to get this right—okay, he said, ‘1776 marked the birth of the nation. 1861 marked the reconstruction of the nation. 1917 marked the birth of the nation’s soul.’ Isn’t that beautiful?”

  Glorie did think it beautiful.

  So was Grandmother Lucy’s lamp brooch which Grace now wore. Glorie commented on it, and Grace told her how much she loved it. “I almost forgot,” she added, “Grandmother sent this box for you, Glorie.”

  Glorie took the box back to her quarters to open it. It was a cedar box, hand carved. Inside were old letters and a journal. A note from Grandmother said they were letters Jere had written her during the War between the States and the journal in which she’d written letters to God. “I thought you might enjoy reading them,” Grandmother wrote. “If you wish to share them with Johan, you have our permission to do so.”

  It was tempting to share the news of Johan’s kiss with Grace. She and Glorie seldom kept secrets from each other. But Glorie wasn’t ready to share this one yet. She wanted to savor the memory of it, the sweetness of it.

  Glorie was glad she was assigned to surgery Friday and Saturday. She longed to see Johan, but she didn’t know how she’d hide her fondness for him from other patients if she was working in his ward. It was a lesson in discipline, keeping her focus on the surgeries.

  Saturday afternoon, she and the rest of the surgical team came out exhausted from a grueling eight-hour operation. A nurse met them with grim news. Five patients had come down with the flu that morning. Already fifteen were suffering from it. All were removed to the contagious-diseases building.

  The staff exchanged weary glances. Fear bubbled up in Glorie’s chest like chemicals in a test tube, hot and sudden and overflowing. No one said the removal had come too late. But everyone knew it.

  By Monday, St. Paul and Fort Snelling were caught up in another wave of the deadly Spanish flu.

  Chapter 5

  The building set aside for contagious diseases was overflowing within the week. Wards in the regular hospital buildings were set aside for flu cases also. Those who worked with the flu cases weren’t allowed to work in the other wards.

  The hospital, according to plan, had spread since it opened in September until it encompassed the entire fort. Now the fort was quarantined.

  Still the flu spread.

  Surgery cases were postponed, except in the most serious gangrene cases. The strictest care was taken to avoid exposing those who had recently had surgery. Precautions were also taken to keep gassed patients apart. As the flu spread, it became more difficult to protect these patients.

  Every time Glorie approached Johan’s ward, the fear she struggled to keep under control threatened to overwhelm her. She’d studied a lot about the gas used in war since the overseas men started arriving. It was believed that mustard gas didn’t harm the lungs, as did chlorine and some other gasses that were common in the early years of the war. Already it was known that soldiers attacked with these gasses often had lingering asthma, and bronchial and heart problems.

  She never thought she’d be grateful for anything related to Johan’s experience with mustard gas, but now she was grateful the gas wasn’t considered more harmful. Still, the knowledge of gasses’ long-term effect was in its infancy. If he caught the flu, could his lungs fight off the resulting pneumonia that killed so many of its victims?

  Ten days into the second influenza wave, Glorie stood outside Johan’s ward gathering her courage. Her hand on the door, she sent a prayer heavenward. She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, forced her lips into a smile, and entered the ward.

  She avoided eye contact with Johan while exchanging comments with other soldiers as she walked between the two rows of beds. She made a point to talk to a couple of soldiers who she knew were in a depressive state.

  Johan, like most of the ambulatory soldiers, was in uniform during the day. When she reached his bed, he was seated with his back against the headboard’s white metal bars, his sketch pad on his knees.

  “May I see what you’re sketching, Officer?” Glorie hoped her tone was appropriately light and impersonal. She always tried to act professional when in the ward with Johan. It was a difficult task, with the comfort of his arms and tenderness of his kiss filling her
memory. She’d had a lot of practice hiding her attraction to him. Since the surgery ward was basically shut down, she’d been reassigned to Johan’s ward.

  Now he gave her a grin that was anything but impersonal and allowed her to see the page. He’d sketched her plumping the pillow of the patient across from him.

  “I’ll never understand how you capture a person or a scene in only a few quick strokes,” she complimented.

  “Have you seen his caricatures?” Joe slid off the neighboring bed to stand beside her. “I like them best.” He glanced down at the sketch of Glorie and the patient. “Hey, that is good.”

  Johan jerked a thumb in Joe’s direction. “The resident art critic.”

  “At least I give you good reviews.”

  Glorie liked Joe’s constant easygoing nature. “I agree with your opinions, Joe, but I haven’t seen the caricatures.”

  “Show her the ones of President Wilson and Kaiser Bill,” Joe urged.

  Glorie raised her eyebrows in surprise. “There’s a likely combination.”

  “Didn’t you hear that Wilson’s going to Paris to join the peace-treaty talks?” Joe asked.

  The pages of the sketchbook rustled as Johan flipped through them. A moment later, he handed the pad to her. She burst into laughter. Joe was right. Johan had captured both the famous and the infamous with the expertise of a professional political cartoonist.

  “Nurse Cunningham.”

  “Yes?” Glorie spun around to see which patient was calling for her. “Oh!” Her ankle twisted beneath her. She reached for the bed to steady herself. The sketch pad fell to the floor.

  Joe grabbed her arm. “Are you all right, Nurse? Guess I shouldn’t have left my shoes where someone could trip over them.”

  “I’ll say,” Johan growled. Glorie felt his hand at her back. “Did you hurt your ankle?”

  “No, I’m fine.” The ankle did hurt, but only a smidgen. All the attention embarrassed her. She knelt to pick up the sketch pad. It was lying open, upside down. Some of the pages were bent. “I hope I didn’t ruin any of your drawings, Officer.”