by Amanda Harte
“Did Glen have any news?” Carolyn asked. Though the censors would not let them mention anything in their letters, men at the front sometimes heard about planned offensives or the progress of the war, while the staff in the hospital were among the last to learn what was happening.
When she saw Helen’s expression, Carolyn was sorry she had asked the question. “He’s worried about something big. There are rumors that Pershing has some secret plan that’s going to crush the enemy. But no one knows anything for certain. You know how rumors are.” Helen’s attempt to smile failed.
“Ninety percent are false.”
Though Helen nodded, her lower lip trembled. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Glen.” She shuddered and closed her eyes. “This war has to end!”
“It will,” Carolyn said with more confidence than she felt. In his last letter, Ed had told her that the more cynical of the veteran soldiers believed that the war would never end, that—like the changing seasons—war would be an accepted part of the natural order. A month ago, Carolyn would have said that was unthinkable, but now the unthinkable was being discussed. Surely it would not become reality!
Two weeks later Carolyn was thankful she had not opened her mail in the dining room. Most of the staff and the ambulatory patients were so excited to receive letters that they ripped them open and read them wherever mail was delivered. Carolyn had never done that, preferring instead to take the precious epistles back to her room and savor them in privacy. Normally she chuckled at the stories her sisters recounted, smiled at Ed’s tales of his fellow soldiers’ attempts to tame the all too common rats, and laughed at Theo’s quirky sense of humor. Today she blinked back tears.
Remember how everyone used to laugh at my sixth sense? Theo had written. Carolyn had started to smile, recalling the times when her brother had claimed that intuition told him it would rain or that they would have an unexpected visitor. More times than not, he had been right. But as she scanned the next lines of his letter, Carolyn’s smile faded. Don’t tell Martha or Emily. They’ll only worry, and there’s nothing they can do. The commanders say nothing’s planned, but my senses tell me that I’ll be in danger soon. It’s a bad feeling, Sis. A real bad feeling.
Carolyn’s hands were shaking as she slid the letter back into its envelope. If anyone else had expressed those fears, she might have dismissed them as the natural worries of a man at war. But Theo’s premonitions were more difficult to discount. Her palms grew moist and her stomach roiled as she considered what her brother had said. He was right; there was nothing Martha or Emily or even Carolyn herself could do. She wasn’t certain why he had confided in her, unless perhaps he thought she would understand, since she was so close to the battlefront. All Carolyn knew was that her own fear was so strong she could taste it.
She began to pace the floor, trying to quell her anxiety, but nothing she did helped. She needed to talk to someone. Helen would understand. She knew exactly what Carolyn was feeling, for she had the same fears for Glen. Helen would listen, Carolyn knew that. But she also knew that she could not burden her friend with her own concerns. That would be unfair.
There was, however, someone else, someone who would help her. Her heart lighter than it had been since she had opened Theo’s letter, Carolyn headed for the operating theater. She would try not to think about Theo while they worked; but afterwards she would ask Dwight.
“I hate to bother you.” Carolyn waited until they were finished with their patients before she spoke.
Dwight turned from scrubbing his hands and stared at her. Her face must have reflected some of her anguish, for his eyes darkened. “What’s wrong?”
“Can we go somewhere less public?” When Dwight nodded, they arranged to meet in the converted library.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated when they were in the staff lounge. He had waited until Carolyn had seated herself next to the coal fire, then had dragged a chair so that he sat only a foot from her. Though he did not touch her, his strength seemed to warm her more than the meager fire.
Carolyn swallowed deeply, suddenly unsure whether voicing her fears would strengthen them rather than lessen their power. Though Dwight said nothing, the concern she saw reflected in his eyes made Carolyn realize how much she wanted his advice. Slowly, she began to speak.
“Your brother is right,” Dwight said when she finished explaining what Theo had written. “Worry changes nothing. All it does is weaken us.”
She knew that, and yet the knowledge did not reduce the fear. “How do you cope with the knowledge that someone you love may be killed tomorrow? I know I should tell myself that he would be a hero, dying for the cause, but I’m not that strong. Dwight, I don’t know what to do.”
His eyes darkened again, and this time he laid his hand on top of hers, squeezing it gently. “Fear is like an enemy. If you want to defeat it, you plan a campaign.” Carolyn wasn’t sure what Dwight meant. He wanted to help her. She knew that. That was why he was holding her hand, why he was giving her his warmth. But a campaign? Carolyn didn’t understand the reference. Before she could tell him that, Dwight continued, “What is your greatest fear?”
That was easy. “That Theo will be killed.” But as she pronounced the words, Carolyn realized she was mistaken. That was not what she feared most. She shook her head, contradicting her previous declaration. “I’m more worried that he’ll be injured and no one will be there to help him.” That was the image that sent chills of fear down her spine. Carolyn couldn’t bear the thought of Theo suffering and having no one to ease the pain.
“Did your brother ever say that there were no hospitals near him?” Dwight continued his questioning.
“No. He told me there’s a field hospital only a few kilometers away.” While not as large or well equipped as base hospitals like the one in Goudot, field hospitals were designed to deal with battlefield traumas.
Dwight gave her hand another squeeze. “Think about that when fear strikes again. Tell your enemy he’s powerless, because you know that even if Theo is wounded, there are trained doctors and nurses close by to help him. You’re here, Carolyn. You know how much good we do. The people at the field hospitals are just as competent. Maybe more so.”
Carolyn felt as if the bands that had threatened to squeeze the life from her heart were being eased. “Thank you, Dwight.” She managed a weak smile. “I think I’m ready to face the wards now.” She wouldn’t shirk her duties. Other women were depending on her to help heal their husbands, sons, and brothers. She wouldn’t fail them.
When they entered the ward where Corporal Seymour was recuperating, Carolyn handed his chart to Dwight, then watched as he reviewed it and examined the man’s leg.
“Have you told your Molly that you’re going to dance the gavotte with her?” she asked.
The corporal grinned. “I ain’t gonna wait that long. I reckon me and the men are gonna dance at you and the doc’s wedding.”
As if on cue, the other patients began to hum “The Wedding March.” To Carolyn’s dismay, she felt her cheeks color. She turned to Dwight, expecting him to deny that there would be a wedding, but instead of the sharp retort she envisioned, he merely shrugged.
“Why didn’t you stop them?” she demanded when they were back in the hallway. “I keep telling them that we’re not getting married, but they don’t listen to me.”
Dwight gave her a long, appraising look, as if he were searching her face for something. At last he said, “I learned from a wise woman that laughter heals men’s spirits. If the men want to tease us, let them. It doesn’t hurt us. We know the truth.”
Then why, Carolyn wondered, did the men’s humming make her dream of walking down the aisle toward a groom who looked suspiciously like Dwight? It was Ed she was going to marry, Ed Bleeker, the boy next door, the man who had put a diamond on her left hand and promised to love her all his life. Ed was the man she loved.
That night Carolyn wrote Ed a longer letter than normal, telling him the news she had he
ard from home, regaling him with amusing tales of her patients but neglecting to tell him how the men had graduated from playing Parcheesi to a silly game of humming a ridiculous song. She would not tell him about that, any more than she had told him of Dwight’s Christmas gift or his parting words.
Stay safe, my dear, she wrote. As she penned the words, Carolyn wore a triumphant smile. See! The endearment meant nothing special. It was a term to be used between friends. But as she sealed the envelope, she could feel the blood drain from her face. This was Ed! He was more than a friend. Of course he was.
Two days later, Carolyn and Dwight had finished their first shift when the mail arrived. They stood in the far corner of the dining room, letting the others cluster around the mailman. “I hope to hear from Louise today,” Dwight said as the mailman began to call out names. “I didn’t get a letter from her last week.”
Carolyn was surprised. Dwight had told her that she had apparently been right about letters somehow getting lost, because Louise’s weekly epistles had resumed. He hadn’t mentioned that he had missed another week. Perhaps that was because last week they’d all been discussing President Wilson’s Fourteen Points proposal and speculating on whether that would help shorten the war. While the French soldiers whom everyone called poilous, focused on the eighth point, that all French territory must be freed, the English and Americans were more concerned with the possibility of a ceasefire. For several days after the president’s proposal was made public, the staff had spoken of little else. No wonder Dwight hadn’t mentioned Louise’s letters.
“That’s it,” Dwight said, smiling when he received a thick blue envelope. “Louise always uses this color stationery.” Impatiently, he tore at the flap. Carolyn was surprised. Normally Dwight was like her and took his mail back to his room to read. He must have been more worried about Louise’s silence than he had admitted.
Not wanting to intrude on Dwight’s private moment, Carolyn took a few steps away and stared at the mailman, willing him to call her name. When he had emptied his bag but had not called for her, Carolyn looked back at Dwight. To her surprise, his face was ghastly white, his lips clenched tightly. Never before had she seen Dwight look like that. Shocked and more than a bit concerned, she rushed to his side. “I don’t believe it,” he was muttering when she reached him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Dwight kept his eyes fixed on the paper that he gripped with his left hand. His right hand was clenched as though he held something.
“You may be a first rate physician, Dwight Hollins, but you’re a mighty poor liar.” Carolyn tugged on his arm. “Let’s go.” Whatever was wrong, this was not the place to discuss it. Dwight, she knew, valued his privacy. He would not want his problems overheard.
Though she had expected a protest, he followed as she led the way to the converted library. Deliberately, Carolyn chose the same chair where she had sat the day Dwight had comforted her, and when he started to sit several feet away, she beckoned him closer. Dwight had helped her when she needed a friend; it was her turn to return the favor. She started to reach out, to touch his hand the way he had touched hers, then drew back. A man could do that. It would be unseemly for a woman to initiate such a gesture, even with a friend.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Dwight,” she said, thankful that no one else was in the library. What had Louise written that had disturbed Dwight so deeply? Was someone in his family ill?
“Please, dear.” The word slipped out before she knew what was happening. Thank goodness, Dwight did not seem to notice. “You’re worrying me,” she added.
Dwight stared at her, the lines that bracketed his mouth bearing witness to his distress. “It’s Louise.” He swallowed, his mouth moving as if the simple act were painful. Whatever was wrong with Louise, it was serious.
“Is she ill?” The only thing Carolyn could imagine that would worry Dwight this much was a terminal disease.
In the corner, the grandfather clock chimed the half hour, its bells bright and cheerful, a poignant contrast to Dwight’s laugh, which was short and devoid of mirth. “No, she’s not ill. Louise is married.”
Married? For a second Carolyn did not understand what Dwight was saying. “But she’s engaged to you.”
He laughed again, and the sound wrenched Carolyn’s heart, for Dwight’s laughter was not healing. Far from it. “Not any longer,” he said. He stared at Carolyn for an instant, and the expression she saw reflected in his eyes wrenched her heart. No one should have to endure pain like that.
“Look,” he said and opened his right hand. Carolyn’s eyes widened, for nestled in his palm was a ring. That was why the letter had been so thick. Louise had returned Dwight’s ring.
“She didn’t want me, my ring, or the life we had planned.”
At that moment, Carolyn hated Louise. How could anyone be so cruel as to break an engagement when the man was thousands of miles away, embroiled in a war?
Dwight shook his head, as if denying the words he was pronouncing. “I just can’t believe it. We had our lives planned so carefully. We both agreed that we were the perfect couple because we had so much in common. And now she …”
Carolyn knew that if he left the pain inside, it would fester like the wounds they treated so often. “Did she say whom she married?” Perhaps if she encouraged Dwight to talk, he would be able to lance the wound. Even anger would be preferable to the disillusionment she heard in his voice.
Dwight’s face contorted in a grimace. “His name is Harold, and he’s the man who’s been repairing her automobile.”
Carolyn nodded slightly as the pieces to the puzzle began to fit together. No wonder there had been weeks when Louise had not written. No wonder she had told Dwight about the Model T and its frequent repairs. She had apparently been seeing Harold for some time. But Louise and Harold and their romance weren’t important. What was important was helping Dwight. The man had been dealt a blow that, even though it wasn’t physical, was still serious. Carolyn couldn’t let him continue to suffer. There had to be something she could do to cheer him.
“My granny always said—”
Dwight shook his head. “Nice try, Carolyn, but it won’t work with me. Remember, I know the truth about your grandmother.” His voice was dull and lifeless, the tone telling Carolyn more clearly than the words themselves how deeply Louise’s rejection had cut. Dwight was bleeding, and like the soldier Carolyn had seen in the hallway that one morning, he would soon be in shock unless someone stanched the wound.
Carolyn stared out the window, seeking inspiration. All she saw was rain pelting the ground. What could she say? She could try to comfort him the way she had Martha when they’d learned her husband had been killed. Carolyn dismissed that thought when she remembered that the only thing that had seemed to assuage Martha’s pain had been when Carolyn had wrapped her arms around her sister. She couldn’t do that with Dwight.
What could she say? The truth was, Dwight needed more than words. He needed actions, just as Martha had. “You’re right,” Carolyn admitted. “There’s no point in quoting my grandmother to you. What you need is some of Clothespin Carolyn’s wisdom.”
A spark of interest seemed to ignite in his eyes. “What do you suggest?”
What indeed? She had spoken impulsively. Now she had to finish a sentence that had no end. Trying to buy herself some time, Carolyn said, “The way to heal a broken heart is to …” Perhaps Dwight would think the pause was for drama. The truth was, Carolyn was trying to figure out something that would help him. She stared outside again, and once again all she saw was rain and mud.
If he were going to heal, Dwight had to laugh. He wouldn’t laugh on his own. Carolyn knew that, just as she knew that she would have to provoke that laughter. She thought back, trying to remember the times when Dwight had laughed the most. Though he had been amused by some of her antics, the occasions he seemed to find the most pleasure were when they danced. As much as he had protested, each time they had practiced, D
wight had seemed animated and happy.
Carolyn glanced outside again. That was it!
“The way to heal a broken heart,” she said firmly, “is to go dancing in the rain.”
He stared at her, his eyes wide with disbelief. Surely it wasn’t her imagination that the look of despair had faded, even if only slightly. “Have you taken leave of your senses? We’ll catch our death of cold out there.”
Carolyn felt a bubble of hope begin to grow. He hadn’t refused. He was only being cautious. That was very, very good.
“No, we won’t,” she countered. “Come on.” She rose and tugged his hand, refusing to let go. He could have pulled it away; she knew that. But he did not, and that made the bubble expand again. Dwight wanted to be helped; he was going to let her help him.
A feeling of elation swept through Carolyn. It was more than the satisfaction that came from knowing she was useful. This was different. Somehow, though she couldn’t explain why, she felt as if every moment in her life had been leading up to this, and that whatever was happening, it was meant to be. The bubble of hope and happiness filled her. Perhaps it was wrong to feel as if they had crossed a threshold, as if something good were going to come out of today. Perhaps she should still be sharing Dwight’s pain. Instead, she felt as if he had been set free.
When they reached the courtyard, Carolyn started to hum the song that had been their practice tune. “Let’s dance,” she said. Though his face was somber, Dwight drew her into his arms and they began the steps of the Castle Gavotte.
The afternoon was frigid. The Christmas snow had disappeared, turning to cold, sticky mud. Rain was tumbling from the sky, driven sideways by the wind. Within seconds, Carolyn and Dwight were wet. Rain plastered their hair to their heads; mud splashed their legs. The wind howled around them. It was totally absurd to be dancing in the rain. They were cold and wet and this crazy therapy was doing nothing to help Dwight. Though he continued to dance, he said nothing, and his face was unnaturally calm, as though he were deliberately repressing every emotion. Carolyn kept a smile fixed on her face, though inwardly she was crying. If this didn’t work, what would she do?