by Marilyn Turk
“Relax, Oscar.” Karl set the tray down on a small table. “The maid couldn’t see anything. Besides, I think you’re acting too suspicious. You should act normal. We’re just some men conducting business.” Karl lifted a cup and the coffee pot, looking at the others. “Coffee, anyone?”
Peter frowned at Karl as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Oscar’s right. You should exercise more caution.”
Karl restrained himself from commenting. The stocky German was the last person to preach caution, with his reputation for being a hothead. If there was anyone to worry about, Karl thought it would be Peter overreacting to some imagined offense.
The men spent the next hour in the smoke-filled room discussing their assignments before the conversation turned to events back in Germany. Karl opened a window for some fresh air while considering how different they all were. Their work experience varied—he was an electrician like Peter, two of the men were car mechanics, one was a cook, and one a butler. Some of them had belonged to the Nazi party. Others didn’t. Five had left families behind, families who thought they were serving in the army. Two of them were divorced, devoted only to the Führer. Karl was single and the only one who still had family on this side of the Atlantic. His mother and sister had moved to Canada to live with his uncle when he went back to Germany, shortly after his father died.
What the men did have in common was their mission and the fact that only they and their superiors knew what that was. But Karl wondered if they also differed in their reasons for accepting the mission. Patriotism? Revenge? Or maybe just fear. Fear of what would happen to their families if they didn’t accept, or maybe fear of failure if they did. Karl’s gut wrenched at the thought. Perhaps there was a reason he had never married, why he’d avoided commitment. It was one thing to be responsible for himself. He’d hate for someone he cared about to suffer the consequences of his behavior.
Lexie followed the psychiatric head nurse into the men’s ward after the door was unlocked. The patients were calm, some sleeping, some flipping through old issues of magazines. Lexie noted that the man who had caused such a ruckus on earlier occasions was strapped down to the bed, asleep. He had been sedated, according to the nurse.
Nurse Martin carried a clipboard with notes about each patient’s condition. She pointed the man’s information out to Lexie, and in a low voice said, “He’s scheduled for shock therapy tomorrow.” She checked the patient’s pulse, then noted it on the chart.
Lexie studied the man’s relaxed features, so different from the panic and terror he’d displayed before. Would shock therapy help him? Would he be able to live a normal life afterward?
They moved to the next bed where a patient mumbled incoherently, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest.
“Good morning,” said Nurse Martin. “What is your name?”
The man blinked several times before uttering, “Sam.” Lexie glanced at the chart and noticed his name was Sam Hall.
“What is today’s date, Sam?” The nurse continued the mental status assessment required for each patient every day.
“Sunday?” The man offered a guess, his eyes darting back and forth between the nurses.
“It’s June 15, 1942. And it’s Monday.”
Nurse Martin reached for the man’s arm and tried to dislodge it from his chest.
“Do you know who the president of the United States is?”
“Roosevelt.”
“That’s right!”
Mr. Hall’s arms remained crossed.
“May I take your pulse, Mr. Hall?”
The man looked up at the nurse with childlike wonder.
“Please?” Nurse Martin repeated, gently tugging on the man’s wrist.
Sam Hall slowly extended an arm, which Nurse Martin took, holding it as she counted his pulse. Releasing his arm, she said, “Thank you. Would you like some water?” He nodded and returned his arm to its former position. “Good, we’ll bring you some in a few minutes.”
The nurse turned to Lexie. “When we get finished in here, you can refill their water pitchers outside and bring them back. Make sure you get some paper cups.”
Lexie nodded, noting the man’s vital signs on the chart. They continued checking each patient who was awake, asking the same questions and taking each pulse. She glanced down the row at John Doe every so often, hoping to see some change, but he still stared straight ahead. When they got to his bed, Nurse Martin spoke to him as well, but there was no response. She checked the bandage on his head. “His head wound is healing nicely. We might be able to take off the bandage this week.” Nurse Martin waved her hand in front of his face, and he blinked. “Involuntary movement,” she said, explaining to Lexie.
“Wonder if he’s thirsty too?” Lexie ventured.
“You can try, but you’ll probably have to open his mouth and pour it in. I’m sure he could use something to wet his throat. He’s dehydrated.” She motioned to the bottle of saline solution hanging on the IV pole next to the bed connected to the tube taped to the man’s arm.
Why this one man intrigued her so much, she didn’t know. Maybe it was because he was so young. A young soldier who shouldn’t end up like Abner Jones had after the last world war—forgotten by society and left to cope with his dilemma alone. Lexie was determined to get a response from John Doe, even if was to help him drink some water. Seeing his uncovered toes, she grabbed the thin blanket and pulled it over them.
They finished making the rounds of the ward, then left the room. Once out in the hall, Nurse Martin faced Lexie. “The stainless-steel water pitchers and paper cups are in the utility closet. You’ll find a tray and cart there too. Just fill the cups and roll the cart in. Unlike most wards, we don’t keep pitchers in this ward—a safety precaution.” She handed Lexie a key. “Make sure you keep the door locked.”
Lexie took the key and put it in her apron pocket. “Am I to go in by myself? I thought someone was supposed to accompany me.”
“Everything’s calm in there today, so you shouldn’t have any problems.” She studied Lexie’s face. “Are you afraid to go in alone?”
Lexie shook her head. “No, ma’am.” She hoped she sounded believable enough to convince two people—the nurse and herself.
“Good. You’ll manage just fine.” Another nurse approached, asking for Nurse Martin’s assistance at the nurses’ station, and they walked away.
I will be fine. Lord, please take away my fear. Lexie found the supplies she needed in the utility closet where the sink was. She filled three water pitchers and assembled them with the cups on a tray. After she located the cart, she put everything on it and rolled it to the ward door. The nurse’s warning to be careful reverberated through her mind as she went through the motions of unlocking the door, pushing the cart through, then relocking the door behind her. She made her way to the end of the row of beds and began offering water to those who were awake and receptive. As she moved through the room, she hummed a hymn she’d heard in church the day before.
Watchful faces followed her through the room, some with wary glances while others smiled. She wasn’t sure if it was permissible for her to hum, but she didn’t see a reason not to. Some of the patients appeared to enjoy her effort to add a form of music to the quiet room. She reached John Doe’s bed and walked to the side. “John, would you like some water?” Protocol was to address the man as Mr. Doe, but she wanted to be less formal.
He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no either. So she took the cup, and placing her hand gently behind his neck, lifted his head. She poured a tiny bit of water into the partially opened mouth, watching as his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed with a little dribbling down the side of his face. She dabbed his wet face with a cloth, then poured a little more water into his mouth. A sense of triumph made her smile. “There, now. That must feel better,” she said. She offered some more, which he also swallowed, and Lexie wanted to shout with excitement. The next time she put the cup to his lips, they were closed shut. Di
d that mean he’d had enough? Was he telling her that? Only God knew what the man was thinking, if he was indeed thinking.
“All right. That’s enough for now,” she said, letting him know she got the message if he was sending her one.
After she passed out all the water to the rest of the patients, one of them said, “I know that song.”
She looked back at the man, an older gentleman with a sad face, who was sitting up. “You do?”
He nodded. “Heard it a long time ago. I think my momma sang it. Or my grandma. I forget.”
“It’s ‘Amazing Grace,’ one of my favorite hymns. We sang it in church yesterday, and I can’t get it out of my mind.” Lexie immediately regretted her words, knowing some of the patients had problems with recurring thoughts.
The man nodded his head. “‘Amazing Grace.’ Maybe it will be in my head now.”
Lexie smiled. “It’s not a bad thing to have in your head. The song is about God’s grace for us.”
The man lay back against a propped pillow. “Please keep humming. It makes the voices shut up.”
So her humming was better than sedation? Maybe, somehow, God’s message would get through to him too. She hoped so. Did John Doe also hear her humming? Did he know the song? Perhaps one day she could ask him, and he’d answer.
Chapter Eight
Russell sat in the hotel dining room staring at the morning newspaper. “US Flyers Attack Italian Fleet in the Mediterranean Battle,” “Flyers Bomb Jap Ships Off Alaska—Jap Carrier Sunk.” He turned the page and found “Nazis Kill Hundreds of Polish.”
He slapped the paper shut and put it down on the table. The world had gone crazy. Hard to imagine such devastation. Why? How could men like Hitler be so evil? The man was a monster, according to all he had read. Lord, God, please help us stop this evil from spreading. If only he could do something about it besides pray. Every day he watched young men leave for the military, ready to give their lives for their country. Russell gritted his teeth—he might as well be an old man who was too old to fight since he couldn’t sign up either.
“More coffee, sir?” The hotel waitress stood beside him with a coffee pot in her hand. “I can’t read the paper anymore,” she said. “I just get so worked up about what’s going on, I can’t sleep at night. And I worry about our men…”
Russell lifted his cup for her to refill. “I suppose you know someone who’s in the service?”
“Yes, sir, my brothers—both of them, one army, one navy.”
“Well, I’ll pray for their safety.” He peered at her name badge. “Lois, that’s one thing we can do for them.”
“Yes, sir, I know. And the preacher on Sunday said that’s one of the most important things we can do too. It just doesn’t feel like I’m doing anything.”
“I know what you mean, Lois.” He sipped his coffee. “Good thing God doesn’t depend on our feelings, now, isn’t it?”
She propped one hand on her hip, holding the coffee pot with the other and appeared to consider his comment. “You’re right. Faith and feelings aren’t the same.” She glanced at another table where a patron was signaling her. “I’d better go take care of that customer. Have a nice day, Mr. Thompson.”
“You do the same, Lois.”
Russell watched her walk to the other table and recognized two of the men he’d seen in the group the previous day. One of them appeared relaxed, while the other was fidgety and a chain-smoker. Watching the man smoke made him glad he had quit for Lexie’s sake. He had to admit he felt better since he’d quit five months before.
He glanced up to see his assistant manager coming toward him. “Phone call for you, sir.”
Russell nodded and pushed his chair back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some change to leave on the table, then tucked the newspaper under his arm, grabbed his coffee cup, and followed the man out to the lobby. He picked up the black receiver and heard a conversation going on.
“Have a good one, Lex,” Penny’s voice was heard in the background.
“Okay, see you later, Penny,” Lexie said.
Russell cleared his throat. “Good morning, Lexie.”
“Oh, you’re there. Hello, Russell, are you busy?” She sounded especially cheerful today.
“No more than normal. Why?” Maybe she could spread some of her cheer his way.
“Well, I’m working the second shift in the ward today, so I don’t have to report until 2:30. Of course, I still have some classes this morning, but I’m free for lunch if you are.”
“Now how can I pass up an invitation like that?” Russell smiled as he pictured Lexie’s face. “I promise I’ll make time to have lunch with my special lady. The diner or here?”
“Let’s meet at the diner. That way, you won’t be interrupted by hotel business.”
“Good point. See you at noon?”
“Sure. I can’t wait to tell you what happened in the ward yesterday.”
“John Doe talked to you.”
“No, not yet. But he will. At least I hope he will.”
“Lexie, sweetheart, who wouldn’t want to talk to you?”
“Oh, Russell.” She paused, and he imagined her expression. “I’ll see you at noon. Bye.”
He hung up the phone in a better mood than he’d answered it. If anyone could brighten his day, it was Lexie.
The diner was packed when Russell entered, pushing his way through the crowd standing inside the door as they waited for a seat. Every stool at the counter was taken with lunch customers, and every booth appeared full as well. He scanned the room, about to give up hope of finding an empty space, when Lexie’s blonde curls came into view as her head popped up from one of the high-backed booths. She flashed a bright smile and waved him over.
He strode to the booth, leaned down, and gave her a kiss. “How’s my girl? Pretty as a picture, like always.”
He loved the way she smiled with her eyes, a smile so inviting, it melted his insides. He placed his hat on the pole at the end of the booth and slid onto the red vinyl cushion across from her.
“I got here just in time to grab this booth for us.” She looked around. “They’re really busy. Glad you got here before I had to share the table with a stranger.”
“Perish the thought!” He glanced toward the grill where above it, a row of menu signs was mounted side by side running the entire length of the counter. “I’m hungry for a patty melt, how about you?”
The waitress came over with her pad in hand, pulling the pencil from behind her ear. “What can I get for you kids?” She kept a steady rhythm with her gum as she waited for their answer.
Russell looked at Lexie. “What will you have, Lexie?”
Lexie glanced up at the waitress. “Grilled cheese and a Coke, please.”
The waitress faced Russell. “And you, sir?” Crack! She popped her gum.
“Patty melt, pickle on the side. I’ll have a root beer, please.”
“Oh, I’d like a pickle too,” Lexie added.
“Sure thing. Be right up.” The waitress finished writing, then flipped the page over as she approached the next booth.
Russell clasped his hands on the white tabletop between them. “Well, sweetie, what exciting things happened at the hospital yesterday?”
Lexie described the scene when she gave water to the patients. “When I was humming ‘Amazing Grace,’ one of the patients recognized the tune. Said he remembered it from his mother or grandmother. Isn’t that great?”
“Yes, Lex. Did John Doe like it too?”
Lexie shrugged, rearranging the utensils on the table before her. “I don’t know. I don’t know if he listened.” She paused, then glanced up. “But he did drink some water!” Lexie proceeded to tell Russell how she’d poured water down the man’s mouth.
“So, I suppose this is progress?”
“Yes, I think so. He also closed his mouth, so maybe he was telling me he’d had enough.”
Russell rubbed his chin. “Could be, I guess. Of course, I
don’t know anything about such things.” He wished he could share her excitement.
“Well, I don’t know much, but I’m learning. I remember when I gave Mother water when she was in the sanitarium, and she behaved the same way, although she normally looked at me.”
The waitress brought their sodas and handed them straws. Lexie took a sip of hers.
“And he will too. I’m sure of it.” He searched her bright blue eyes and clasped her hands in his. “You know, Lexie, I think God is using you to minister to these men’s spiritual health as well. Just keep humming hymns, and maybe it’ll connect their minds to God.”
“I hope so, Russell.”
“What time is your shift tonight?”
“It starts at 3:00 and normally goes until 11:00. I’ve never worked at night before, so I’ll get to see what goes on when the nurses change shifts.”
“Well, I hope things stay calm for you. What happened to the man that was causing all the ruckus the other day?”
“When I saw him last, he was strapped to his bed and asleep—sedated, the nurse said.”
Their food arrived, and Russell took her hand and said grace. Lexie nibbled pensively on her sandwich. “You know, Russell, the nurse said they were going to give that man electric shock therapy today. I’ve never seen that given before—only people after they’d had it. “
“Will you get to see them give it to him?” He took a bite of his sandwich, then sipped some soda.
“Nurse Addams told me they’d wait until I came on duty so I could watch how it’s done.”
“So the doctors do this in the operating room?”
“No, I think the nurses administer it themselves.”
Russell leaned back in his seat, eyes widened. “The nurses can do that? It seems like a procedure only a doctor would do.”
“I know, but I guess the doctors are too busy with other things, and nurses are trained to administer it.”
“Wouldn’t it be dangerous if you gave the patient too big a shock?”
“I suppose so, but I’m sure the nurses know what they’re doing. I’ve never heard of anyone overdoing it.”