The Beantown Girls

by Jane Healey

  “No. Tomorrow, I’m still going to work,” I said. “We need to help these POWs; Liz needs us.”

  Viv and Dottie gave each other a look like they were trying to manage me, and it made me crazy. And at that moment, I realized how wiped out they looked. The day had taken a toll on them too.

  “Fi . . . ,” Dottie said. “Let yourself grieve. Please take a day or two off.”

  “I know you both mean well. But I need to be busy,” I said. “I don’t want to sit around the house and just be alone with my thoughts right now. That would be the worst thing.”

  There was a pause in conversation as they both looked me over and considered.

  “All right,” Viv said, clearly not convinced. “Only if that’s what you want. Just promise you’ll talk to us if you need to? Take a break if you need to?”

  “Yes, thank you. And I will read his letter when I’m ready,” I said, tucking it in my pocket with the Purple Heart, which felt heavy with guilt. “And I’ll also take some time. But right now? I’d rather get up tomorrow morning and help these men. After all, some of them were Danny’s friends.”

  We headed to the Cheyenne and I tried to push all my feelings down, as I had for months. But this time, I knew they wouldn’t stay there.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  April 27, 1945

  Dear Fiona,

  If you’re reading this, that means things haven’t gone well for me, so I hope you never do read it. Or I hope we read this together as newlyweds and both have a laugh as we throw it into the fireplace.

  Today I write this from a POW camp, having been captured by the Germans when my plane crashed. I still have that photo of you from that perfect day on Bunker Hill. I’m looking at it right now.

  I’ve thought hard about what to say in this letter, what is supposed to be my last good-bye to you, but in the end, words could never be enough. Just know that I love you, Fiona. I should have told you that every single day.

  And whatever happens, I want you to be happy—that’s my one request. Do all of the things we talked about. Even if I’m gone, move out of your family’s home, get some pets, travel, and have some adventures. Also think about getting a new job—we both know you’re too good for that mayor’s office.

  This is the hardest part for me to write—but please do fall in love again. Get married, have babies—all of those things. I want you to have a long, wonderful life—you’ll honor me by doing that.

  I’m so sorry this war cut our time together short. Thank you for the memories that have helped me get through it all. I’ll be seeing you . . .

  All my love,

  Danny

  I’d read it a hundred times, but it was still hard to grasp that I had finally, after all these months, discovered Danny’s fate, discovered that he had died. Again, I wondered if every wife or fiancé was as naïve as I had been. I thought out of the thousands, he’d be one of the soldiers spared, because he was my soldier.

  For the next several days after I learned the news, I channeled my grief into our work with the POWs, as more trucks of them arrived at the camp almost hourly. After the chaos of the first couple of days, the army finally began registering these poor men, interviewing them, and then assigning them to blocks of barracks upon their arrival.

  The Red Cross also brought in more staff and opened a service club on the field, where men could write letters home or play cards or Ping-Pong while waiting for the planes to take them out. We worked long days, serving food, mending clothes, finding fresh clothes, and tracking down shoes and medicine and anything else they needed.

  We answered hundreds of questions a day. Easy ones like, “Who won the World Series?” The St. Louis Cardinals. As well as more delicate ones such as, “Will my wife think I’ve changed too much?” or “Do you think my girlfriend still loves me?” I think your wife will just be thrilled you’re still alive . . . Of course, she still loves you.

  My friends all kept checking in with me, making sure I was okay. I was, and I wasn’t. I would wake up in the morning thinking that Danny was still missing, only to remember seconds later that this time he was gone forever, and I’d have to let it sink in all over again.

  After delays due to weather, they started flying the men out in huge numbers, the Brits to England, the Americans to ports of embarkation where they would then be shipped home. Seeing the absolute happiness on their faces as they left filled me with a mixture of joy and bittersweet sadness, and I had to take more than a few quiet moments alone to have a good cry.

  On Friday night, Liz had called a meeting for all of Group F at the château. I had just taken a shower when Dottie knocked on the door of our bedroom and peeked in.

  “Coming down?” she asked. I was in the threadbare pink pajamas that had traveled the ETO with me, my sleeping bag wrapped around my shoulders. I couldn’t get warm. “I know you think we’re hovering over you, because we are. You don’t look good. And I’m not just talking about the weight you’ve lost.”

  I had lost weight. My uniform pants were barely staying up, but the fresh grief over Danny had made everything taste like sawdust. And I was definitely coming down with something, but I shrugged it off.

  “It’s just a cold,” I said through chattering teeth. Dottie came in the room and put her hand on my forehead.

  “You’re burning up.”

  “It’s not that bad,” I said, as I started coughing.

  “Uh-huh,” she said, rolling her eyes. She helped me wrap the sleeping bag tighter around my shoulders, and we headed downstairs.

  Everyone was socializing. Blanche waved us over. She was sitting in the front with Viv and Frankie, and they were chatting with Doris, Rosie, and ChiChi. Liz stood near the fireplace, next to something large and square covered with an army blanket. After she scanned the crowd and did a quick head count, she began to speak.

  “First, I have surveys up here that the Red Cross needs all of you to fill out, to let them know what you plan to do next now that this war is mercifully winding down. Your options include heading to the Pacific, going home, or staying here with the occupation forces. Please remember that I’ll be staying in the ETO, and there will be positions available in London, Paris, and Berlin at the very least.”

  Liz gave me a pointed look and a smile when she mentioned the ETO jobs, and I was flattered she wanted me to consider it. But did I want to stay? I tried to imagine myself living in Paris, working at the Red Cross headquarters there. My future was wide-open, which was strange and exciting and sad all at once. And judging from everyone’s surprised reactions, it was the first time any of us realized we’d have to make that kind of decision so soon.

  “Now, you have some time to think about it,” Liz said, raising her voice above the chatter and raising her hand for quiet again. “I don’t need to send these back to headquarters until the end of May, but please try to get them to me as soon as you know what your plan is.”

  She paused and smiled, putting her hand on the square covered by the army blanket.

  “I also wanted to call you all together tonight just to say how proud I am of you and the work we have done here with the POWs,” Liz said. “I think you’ll agree with me when I say that while it’s been some of the hardest work I’ve done in the ETO, it’s also been some of the most rewarding.” There were nods and murmurs of agreement from all over the room.

  “Some statistics I think you’ll be interested in: In the past week we have served sixty-four thousand doughnuts and five thousand gallons of coffee, four thousand packs of cigarettes, and fifteen thousand packs of gum.” She looked around, smiling as all of us clapped.

  “Most importantly, we have helped soldiers from over fifteen different countries, including Poland, Greece, China, South Africa, and Australia. Now, I don’t know about you, but I think that calls for a celebration. And Lieutenant Craighill has generously provided us with champagne for the occasion.”

  The room erupted in cheers as Liz pulled the army blanket away to reveal two
cases of champagne.

  Frankie and Viv jumped up to help Liz open one of the cases and uncork a couple of bottles. A few girls ran out to their Clubmobiles and brought back as many mugs as they could carry.

  “No thanks,” I said, when Viv came over with two mugs, one for me and one for her.

  She handed it to me anyway and then sat down on part of my sleeping bag. Frankie, Dottie, and Blanche came over to sit down with us too. It wasn’t until Liz showed up with Dr. Caplan, a medical doctor from the POW infirmary, that I got suspicious.

  “Dr. Caplan, what are you doing here?” I said, frowning.

  “We asked Dr. Caplan to come by and take a look at you,” Dottie said.

  “What is this?” I said, looking around at my friends. “I’ve got a cold, that’s all. I’m doing fine, just a little overworked.”

  “A little overworked?” Blanche said. “Sweetie, you haven’t stopped, despite losing Danny.”

  “And I love you and your stubbornness,” Viv said, “but I refuse to stand by while you work yourself to death due to grief and needless guilt. You need to knock it off.”

  “All right, all right,” I said, holding my hands up in surrender. “You don’t have to gang up on me. Doc, will you check me out?”

  “Yes. And I’ve already written you one prescription that you must fill in two weeks’ time,” Dr. Caplan said.

  “What?” I said. “You haven’t even taken my temperature.”

  He handed me a piece of paper and I unfolded it.

  “This is a prescription . . . ,” I said, squinting as I tried to decipher his handwriting, “for a ten-day leave in Antibes?” I looked up at him, frowning. “The South of France—are you serious?”

  “Yes. You need a vacation—that’s an order,” he said, smiling. “In two weeks, assuming you’re well enough to travel by then. I’m guessing pneumonia from the looks of you.”

  “The South of France is actually an order for the five of you that I’ve already arranged,” Liz said. “None of you have taken a break since Paris, and you need one. Things are getting under control here now, supplies are coming in, we’ve got more personnel. We’ll be in great shape by May.”

  Frankie and Dottie clinked glasses as Frankie let out a whoop.

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Viv said, getting up from the floor. “This calls for more champagne.”

  “Ten days at the beach,” Blanche said. “We’ll have to do some shopping when we get there; I want to burn all my clothes.”

  “But . . .” I tried to come up with the words, but what could I say?

  Frankie grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Fiona, you know I understand how you feel. You still need to live.”

  “I know,” I said. “I just have these moments of feeling so lost. My plan was to find him. And now? I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do next. Do you?”

  “Yes,” Frankie said. “I’m going to get on a plane and head to the French Riviera on May 11. How about we all try not to think much beyond that?”

  “Couldn’t agree more, Frankie,” Dottie said, looking at me. “All right?”

  “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go on vacation.”

  It was pneumonia, as Dr. Caplan had suspected. I spent the next two weeks in bed, sleeping most of the days away, and after a course of penicillin, I was feeling well enough to travel to the South of France.

  “I’ll be honest, Fi. If you hadn’t gotten better? I was going to convince the girls we had to ditch you. I swear I have never needed a vacation more.”

  “Uh, thanks?” I said to Blanche, and she just smiled and put her arm around my shoulder.

  The five of us had just disembarked from a C-47 in glorious Nice, France, the gorgeous sunny weather a reflection of the mood all over Europe. On April 30, Hitler had committed suicide in Berlin, and then on May 8, the Allies had formally accepted Nazi Germany’s unconditional surrender of its armed forces. After six years of suffering through a harrowing war in which so much had been lost, people broke out in huge celebrations in the streets in cities and towns all over Europe. And everywhere you looked, there were smiles on faces and Allied flags draped on buildings. Though there was still fighting in the Pacific, the world was breathing a collective sigh of relief that things were drawing to a close.

  The small airport in Nice was teeming with Allied military, many of whom whistled or called to us as we walked by. Several hotels along the French Riviera had been opened for officers and GIs so they could finally get some rest and relaxation.

  “When we were trapped in Vielsalm, I never thought I’d feel this warm again,” Viv said, her face turned up to the sun.

  We got into a waiting shuttle bus for the forty-minute drive to Juan-les-Pins, a resort town just next to Antibes. We kept the windows rolled down and gasped at the beauty of the famed Côte d’Azur—the breathtaking beaches with their turquoise-blue waters, the palm trees, brilliant tropical flowers, and dazzling sunlight.

  The Hôtel le Provençal was a ten-story white stucco hotel, one of five in the French Riviera that had been taken over by the Red Cross. Our driver informed us that it had been built by the American millionaire Frank Jay Gould in 1926 and that Ernest Hemingway and Charlie Chaplin had both stayed there.

  Dottie, Viv, and I were given a room on the fourth floor. It had a stone balcony with a view of the sea and the mountains in the distance. Just below us was an enormous landscaped terrace with wicker chairs and tables. Off the terrace was a gravel path flanked by a low stone wall draped with bright-magenta bougainvillea. Beyond it was a small, sandy beach.

  “I have never been anywhere this beautiful,” Dottie said in a quiet voice as we stood on the balcony and took in the view.

  “It’s so stunning, it doesn’t even look real,” Viv said.

  “Any word from Harry Westwood?” I asked Viv, wondering if she would be reuniting with him this week.

  “Yes, of course,” Viv said, her face lighting up. “He’s coming down in a few days, staying nearby at the Hotel Eden Roc with a slew of British officers.”

  “Yes, of course?” Dottie said. “Is this getting serious, Viv?”

  “Maybe.” She gave us a playful grin. “You’ll have to wait and see. And Joe?”

  “They’ve opened up hotels for officers in Cannes, so that’s where he’ll be in a couple of days,” Dottie said, chewing on her hair. She had been preoccupied lately. But all of us had been to some degree, the Red Cross survey weighing on our minds.

  What would we all do next? I was still feeling adrift, even more so now that this chapter with my friends was coming to an end.

  “Your turn, Fiona,” Viv said, as she brought out the complimentary bottle of rosé the hotel had left in our room. “Any news about Peter Moretti that you haven’t told us about?”

  “Nothing,” I said, sitting down on one of the chairs on the balcony, not taking my eyes off the ocean. “I don’t think he made it; I think I would have heard from him if he had.”

  “I’ve heard the Eighty-Second went through hell these last few months,” Viv said.

  “Viv, not helpful,” Dottie said, giving her a look.

  “No, it’s okay; I’ve heard the same,” I said, picturing him at the command post, our last kiss, our last words. “Thousands were lost in the fighting in the Ardennes. I haven’t even tried to find out if he made it out alive. I just can’t take more bad news about another person I care about. And then, of course, I still feel some guilt about caring about him at all.”

  “Honey, I know you’re still on an emotional roller coaster with all that’s happened,” Viv said. “But I think it’s about time you stopped feeling so guilty.”

  “She’s right,” Dottie said. “We’ve been living in strange circumstances. Stop feeling guilty about caring for someone else that was right here with you.”

  Do fall in love again . . . I thought of Danny’s letter, how hard it must have been for him to write those words. I hadn’t realized how much I
needed to hear them until I read his letter.

  “You’re both right, and I’m working on it,” I said.

  We sat there at the small iron table on our balcony, sipping our rosé and admiring the view, listening to the seagulls cry to one another.

  “Even though this was not how I hoped things would turn out,” I said, “I’d do it all again. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.”

  “I think that makes three of us,” Viv said. Dottie just nodded as we watched the sky shift into shades of pink, orange, and gold as the sun set over the Mediterranean.

  We spent our days swimming and sunbathing on the beach and our nights dining and dancing, alternating between Harry, Guy, and Joe’s friends. I got so much sun, the freckles on my cheeks multiplied, and the blonde streak in the front of my hair bleached out. And with such delicious breads and cheeses and fresh seafood available, my appetite finally returned with a vengeance.

  On our second-to-last afternoon, the five of us were sitting on the beach and it occurred to me that I felt content, even happy. Since Danny had gone missing, there had been a part of me that had been holding on to life with white knuckles, forever waiting for news about him, afraid to ever breathe easy until I knew his fate.

  My mind-set was starting to shift. Frankie was right—the not knowing anything had been torture. And though my heart still ached from the loss, there was a kind of peace in the knowledge that I hadn’t had before. Even though it would take me some time to completely heal, I felt a calmness I hadn’t felt since before Danny left for the war.

  I couldn’t deny that I was still waiting on news of another soldier. In the past week, we had run into many of the officers and GIs we had met on our travels around the ETO, but so far none of our friends from the Eighty-Second.

  Viv and Blanche were both asleep, stretched out on their beach chairs like cats in the sun. Frankie and Dottie had walked down to the water for a swim, and I got up to join them.

  Dottie’s olive skin was now a deep bronze, and she looked striking in her pale-pink bathing suit. Frankie had her curls tied in a handkerchief on her head and was wearing a navy-blue one-piece bathing suit. She was lying on her back, floating. The skin on her right thigh that had been burned still looked melted and raw, but she wasn’t the least bit self-conscious. The two of them were laughing and splashing each other like little kids.