In Times of War

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Six

“It will be okay.”

   Those were the words Sarah spoke to me after I got it. I got the letter no one ever wants to get. I got the letter from my mother. She had gotten the telegram no mother wants to get. Jimmy was missing in action and presumed dead. I don’t know how but somehow he had managed to weasel his way overseas, but he was still stuck with secretary work; typing letters, filing papers, things like that. The camp he was working in was attacked by Germans. Everyone working in it was either dead, or captured. It can easily be assumed that my brother was not going to be alive the next time I saw him, if I saw him again.

   I had run out on my shift as soon as I opened the letter. The looks of pity on everyone’s faces were unimaginably irritating. I didn’t want pity; I wanted my brother to be safe at home. Some of the girls had gotten these letters or these telegrams saying the same thing about their husband, or their cousin, or some other loved one. It wasn’t uncommon to see a girl run out all of a sudden after mail call.

   I was lying face down on my cot and Sarah was sitting on the edge of it, patting me on the back comfortingly. I appreciate the effort, but I really just wanted to be alone with my thoughts. I was crying and I turned my body so that I can look at her.

“S-sorry, Sarah, b-but can you just leave me alone for minute?”

“Sure thing, just shout if you need anything.”

“Thanks, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

   “Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” I nod and turn my head back into my pillow to cry a little more. I tell myself to get over it, to suck it up and get on with my work because there are men who need help. I take about thirty minutes altogether to finish sobbing and compose myself again. I rub all wetness from my face and walk back into the hospital with my head held high. I go back to my job because those men needed my help and I wasn’t doing anyone any good by throwing myself a pity party.

   “Are you alright, sweetheart?” The patient I’m helping asks me with real concern in his voice. He puts his hand on my arm in a comforting gesture. He’s one of my favorite patients. He’s one of the oldest men I’ve seen come through here, still young, but old by military standards. He was going to go home soon because he had messed up his leg in a parachute drop and it was irreparable. He wouldn’t be able to use it at all, ever. He was always so nice and funny.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” I nod, pushing the bangs out of my face.

“Look, I don’t mean to pry, but who was it?”

“M-my brother. Presumed dead.” I murmur out, avoiding his eyes.

   “I’m sorry. I really am. You’ve gotten through this before; you’ll get through it again, just like always. And, who knows? Maybe he isn’t actually dead. It wouldn’t be the first time the Army got something wrong. I’m sure your brother’s just fine, wherever he may be.” The man winks at me like he knows something I don’t. Then he lets go of my arm and I blink a couple of times to clear my head. Was he trying to tell me something? Was he just going crazy? What made him think he had the right to talk about my brother that way? I stalk over to the next patient and help him. I continue helping my patients until I have calmed down. When my shift ends I go back to my cot and curl up until I go to sleep.

~*~

   The routine goes the same for almost seven months. That was the day we shipped out for the first time in a year. We had moved before, but we had stayed in that little French town for almost a year. We pack up because we were told we were needed at a beach in Normandy. There were a lot of casualties and a lot of wounded. I had also heard through the grapevine that we would be the first group of medics to show up. So, we packed up all the patients and shipped them to the hospital thirty miles behind us that would stay put and take care of our patients.