K.T. went ahead and let the grin remain on his face long after Nebraska had left the room. No one would know if he was smiling or not. Or why. That should be enough reason for him to not be happy that she’d stopped by to see him, but lying on his stomach day in and day out was beyond monotonous.
The other nurses were fine and did a good job. They just weren’t her.
A guilt that had become far too familiar lately rose up inside him, and he once again told himself that Betty was the only woman he should be thinking about. He hadn’t received a letter from her since arriving in Hawaii, but that wasn’t unusual. There were always months between her letters. When a letter did arrive, she would apologize for her delay in writing and tell him about all the things she’d been doing. Everything from new recipes she’d tried and that he was sure to like, to the new dresses she’d sewn, and the preserves she’d put up at the end of the garden season.
Despite how hard he was trying to not think about Nebraska, his mind recalled when she’d asked if he knew how to sew or cook and how they had those two things in common because she didn’t know how to sew or cook, either.
Most women probably wouldn’t admit that, but she wasn’t like most women. Leastwise, none that he’d known in the past. She wasn’t the only woman to accept a calling in the armed forces, and he was amazed by all the women who willingly left home to support their country. That took courage. Real courage.
He was just more amazed by her, and couldn’t put his finger directly on why.
“Are you ready for your lunch?” a voice asked.
“Yes,” he replied. It was painful to move, to sit up, but each time that happened, it became easier. So did walking to the latrine. The backs of his calves no longer stung and he hoped that meant the burns there were close to healed.
Two nurses assisted him in the process. One was Nurse Manning, the other a young blonde, who seemed a bit unsure of herself, but did a fine job. He couldn’t fault any that he’d met, and was grateful for all they did for him.
It took concentrated effort to eat and his burns stung fiercely by the time he was done, but he was happy that he was being given more to eat than soup.
He was exhausted by the time it was over and the cool, damp dressings draped over his back, shoulders, and neck felt like heaven, even though it meant he was once again held hostage on his bed.
Being confined to bed didn’t get any easier as the hours rolled into days, and the days and nights rolled into weeks. During that time, he had to be perfectly honest at times and admit that the quiet conversations, some thoughtful, some playful, he had with Wendy had been the brightest parts of every long day.
Those dimples, that face and personality, brought joy where there was little.
By his count, it had now been eighteen days since the attack.
He had yet to see the changes at the base. The changes that Wendy, Scott, Will, and others from his unit and in the hospital had told him about. There were changes all around the world because of that attack. Things he’d heard about from those same people, and in letters from home he’d received yesterday. His mother, sisters, brother, had all sent him letters. Even his father had written one. K.T. was sure his mother had been behind that, since he’d never before received one from his father, but he appreciated it just the same. The words of encouragement that his father had penned had been sincere and reminded him of his younger years when he’d often gone to his father for advice.
He’d done that before leaving home, and had made his decision about not becoming engaged. His father had told him of the fear he’d experienced in the Great War that he wouldn’t be able to keep his promise to return, and supported his decision not to ask Betty to marry him before leaving. K.T. knew that tying Betty to him before he left wouldn’t have been fair to her. Four years was a long time and many things could happen.
Including exactly what had happened. The attack. It had taken lives. Changed lives.
Although he was able to sit up for longer stints, even walk around the room a small amount, Wendy had still read all of the letters to him yesterday afternoon when she didn’t have anything pressing to see to. He’d forced himself to think about her only as Wendy days ago, and to call her that, hoping it would compartmentalize her in his mind as his nurse. Calling her Nurse Smith might be better and he did that at times, too.
Mainly when he referred to her while talking to others.
There was no longer a need for her to crawl beneath his bed. Each time they came in to change his dressings, he was able to get up and stay out of bed for longer stints, even in the middle of the night.
He’d hoped that would help him keep things straight in his mind. Her lying on the floor beneath his bed, no matter how innocent or necessary it had been at one time, had grown to feel too intimate. Even if Betty wasn’t waiting on him back home, he wasn’t here to do anything except complete his duty.
There still hadn’t been a letter from Betty, and though it didn’t surprise him, he wasn’t sure he wanted one to arrive. It might help him keep his thoughts in line, but he also didn’t want Betty to think that his injuries had changed anything. His ability to make a promise about the future was even more constrained than before. A war was no time to make promises to anyone.
Wendy had asked if he wanted to write return letters to his family, but he’d declined her offer. He would do that himself, in the privacy of his living quarters after being released. That would happen after the first of the year. That’s what the doctor, Nurse Manning, and Wendy had all implied.
He was looking forward to that, for many reasons.
“Good morning, and Merry Christmas!”
That’s all it took, the sound of her voice, and his heart went wild. Once he was out of here, that would stop. There would be no reason for him to see her.
“Good morning, to you, too,” he replied. “And Merry Christmas.”
“How was your night?” Wendy asked.
“Fine. How was yours?” He could feel her already removing the strips of cloth from his back.
“Good. A band somewhere was playing ‘Jingle Bells’ as I walked to the hospital this morning. It made me smile, thinking about dashing through the snow when it’s eighty degrees and sunny. It’s not that way back home. Aunt Ella said they’ve already had a couple of snowstorms, and...”
As she went on talking about snow in Nebraska, he couldn’t help but think about home. How his mother would already have a big goose in the oven, making the house smell wonderful while everyone gathered in the living room to open gifts from each other. He could almost see the images, smell the smells. Before leaving California, he’d sent his mother extra money, and asked her to buy a gift for each of his siblings, as well as herself and his father. She’d replied in a letter, told him what she’d purchased, including a new silk scarf for herself that she was going to enjoy after opening it on Christmas morning. He’d laughed back then, thinking of her wrapping her own present and putting it away until today to open it.
“Ready?”
The images in his mind cleared at the sound of Wendy’s voice. “Yes,” he replied.
Pushing himself upright was the hardest part, just because it made one particular spot in the center of his back sting like the dickens. Scott had brought him some of his uniform shorts and he wore them day in and day out. They beat the heck out of the flimsy shorts the hospital had been providing him, but he was mighty tried of feeling like an invalid instead of a man.
One look at her smiling face told him he wasn’t a complete invalid. Certain areas worked just fine. The heat that rushed to his groin said that area was working more than fine. His attraction to her was dangerous to more than his peace of mind. It consumed his entire body and none of that was her fault. She was pretty, intelligent, filled with generosity, and a true ray of sunshine to all of her patients.
He was the one to blame. He was taking all of her amazing qualities too personally. Why? Because he’d been so lonely? If that was the reason, it sure had hit fast and hard. He’d been gone from home for over three years and hadn’t had that problem before meeting her. Finding a way to make it disappear was what had to happen.
Doing so while she was near was difficult. Halfway through breakfast, as he sat in a chair with a rolling table before him, he wondered if there was another way. She had told him about her family, and a few other things, but had never mentioned anyone particularly special. “Besides family, are there others you miss back in Nebraska?”
“Oh, sure,” she said, while tucking a clean sheet around his mattress. “There are neighbors and friends that I’ve known my entire life.”
“Like who?” he asked, pressing further.
She tucked the sheet that had been cut to fit down into the hole for his face beneath the mattress and smoothed it flat while naming people who sounded like couples with Mr. and Mrs., until she said what he assumed was a single man’s name, Seth Goldman.
“Who is that?” he asked, denying he felt any sense of jealousy. He’d wanted her to have someone special at home. Wanted her to be taken. “Seth Goldman?”
Her expression softened and she let out a soft sigh. “Seth Goldman is Uncle Sy’s best friend. His wife, Gertrude, died before I was born, and he doesn’t have any other family so always spent holidays with us. I worry about him now that Aunt Ella and Uncle Sy have moved to Scottsbluff.”
That was not the explanation he’d been hoping to hear.
“I mailed a postcard wishing him a happy Christmas,” she continued. “I mailed them to several people.”
“People closer to your age?” he asked, sounding like a newspaper man digging to get a story. He knew what that was like. Reporters had always been hanging around the base in California, hoping to get the scoop on the first words of war.
“Yes.” Standing before him, arms crossed, she stared at him with a look of insolence. “Are you wondering if I have someone back home waiting on me to return?”
“I guess I am.”
“Well, there’s not,” she said, shaking her head. “I would never want to have someone waiting for me, nor would I want to be waiting on them.”
“Why?”
“Because I wouldn’t want to be disappointed when they didn’t return, or vice versa.” She shrugged. “In the blink of an eye, everything can change and people are no different. What they wanted today, isn’t what they want tomorrow or the next day, or the next year.”
There was that wisdom he’d seen her express before, giving him no choice but to agree. It was also no surprise that she didn’t want anyone waiting on her. She would have been told the risks when she signed on with the Red Cross.
Wendy held her breath as she watched K.T.’s expressions change, from thoughtful, to, well, she wasn’t sure what, and sincerely wished she knew what he was thinking. Actually, she did know. He was wondering why he hadn’t heard from Betty. Why was because of her. Betty’s letter and the necklace were still hidden in the bottom drawer of her dresser and not a day didn’t go by when she didn’t think about them, about telling him. Every time a letter arrived for him, she wondered if a family member would mention Betty, and half wished they would, so she would be forced to tell him.
That hadn’t happened, and she assumed that his family was probably thinking of him, like she was, that he didn’t need to talk about bad news right now.
His burns were healing remarkably well. Dr. Bloomberg had suggested a possible discharge next week. There were variables, of course, and he would return to limited duty.
She would tell him, soon, when the time was right. Even though that had to have been why he’d wanted to know if she’d had anyone waiting on her to return. He wanted to know if she knew what that felt like. She didn’t, not really, but had seen her mother go through it and would never do it herself.
She didn’t want him to feel abandoned by Betty, either.
This was truly a pickle and she had no one to blame but herself, yet, if she had to do it over, she would do the very same thing. Protecting him from further injuries was part of her job. Heartbreak was an injury. One her mother had suffered from her entire life.
“I suspect you’re waiting for me to crawl back into that bed,” K.T. said.
She let out a quiet sigh, glad the topic had changed, and reached into her apron pocket. “Actually, I was waiting until you were done eating so I could give you this.”
He looked at the small wrapped box she held out to him. “What’s that?”
“Your Christmas present.” She set it on the table and moved the tray holding his empty plate farther out of the way. “Go ahead, open it.”
Though he was shaking his head, the smile that tilted up the corners of his lips chased away the heaviness of her earlier thoughts.
She bit down on her bottom lip as he folded back the paper and exposed the matchbox. “That’s the only box I could find.”
“It’s a nice box,” he said. “A man always needs a box of matches. Thank you.”
“Matches are not in the box,” she said, even though his grin said he was teasing. “It’s just holding your present. Slide it open.”
He slid open the outer box to reveal the four colorful fishing flies lying on the cotton batting. Unable to stop herself, she explained, “They are fishing flies.”
“I see that.” He carefully picked one up and examined it closely. “Very nice flies.” Looking up at her, he asked, “You made these?”
“I did, for when we go fishing. I had help getting the hooks and feathers. Nigel, a pharmacist assistant, helped me with that. He gave me the matchbox, too.”
K.T. lifted one brow. “Nigel?”
“Yes, he works here and I get all the supplies for your solution from him,” she explained. “He’s quite helpful in finding anything we need at the hospital. Of course, my request for fishhooks and feathers was unusual, but he also told me where we’ll be able to get fishing poles when the time comes. He knows many of the locals.”
“Umm,” he said, shaking his head.
A sudden urge to assure him that she wasn’t trying to push him into performing tasks that he couldn’t struck. “It’ll be a while yet before you can cast a pole, but I wanted you to have the flies now.”
“Thank you.” He replaced the fly and looked at each of the others. “Thank you, very much.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I feel bad that I don’t have anything for you,” he said while sliding the cover back on the box.
She hadn’t thought about that, but knew how that felt. She’d once received a Christmas gift from a friend in school, a book that she had wanted, and hadn’t had anything to give in return. Taking the pen out of her pocket, she flattened the wrapping paper on the table and quickly wrote a note on the paper.
Watching her, he read aloud, “‘I K.T. will go fishing with Wendy when I’m able to cast.’”
She nodded. “That will be my present.”
He looked at her for a stilled moment, then at the note, and chuckled. “Give me the pen. It’s not official unless it’s signed.”
Very happy, she handed him the pen and watched as he signed his name. “Thank you, very much,” she replied, folding the paper and slipping it into her pocket along with the pen. Then, because it was time, she said, “Now, I do need you to climb back in that bed.”
Wendy looked at that slip of paper a hundred times or more in the days that followed. She kept it beneath the little trophy that sat atop her dresser, next to the dish where she kept her hair pins and looked at the note each night and each morning. It was a bit ironic how happy that made her feel. Though it would be weeks before he could cast, when it happened, it would mean he was well on his way to being completely healed. That was the ultimate goal for his nurse to have, however, as his friend, she was going to miss seeing him every day.
She let out a long sigh.
Starting today.
Which also meant that she needed to give him Betty’s letter.
Another sigh, a much deeper one, released as she felt her pocket where the envelope holding both the letter and the necklace was deep inside. After serious contemplation last night, she’d decided to just give him the letter when he was leaving the hospital, for him to read in private.
K.T. had received another Christmas gift the day he’d given her that note. Gloria had told him that he no longer would be strapped to the bed and could get up and move about at will. There had only been one large area on his back, between his shoulder blades that hadn’t healed over, and rather than the solution-soaked dressings lying across his back, they’d started to use a soaked dressing pack and covered it with dry bandages that were wrapped around his chest and over his shoulders to hold the pack in place.
That had worked well, and though the wound was almost healed, even after he was discharged, he would need to return daily for dressing changes.
All of that made her wonder if she should wait to give him Betty’s letter until he no longer needed to return for dressing changes. But ultimately, she knew she’d already waited too long.
She was nervous, very, and hoped that he’d understand why she’d waited to give it to him.
Right up until the moment she entered his room, to find his bed empty.
Then a profound emptiness filled her, one that instinctively told her he was gone. There were two other patients in the room, both sitting up and eating their breakfast. It was totally unlike her, but for a moment their names escaped her. Several patients had left and entered the room since he’d been admitted, but that was no excuse.
Forcing herself to act normal, she greeted the patients, one at a time and looked through their charts, refreshing her somewhat numb mind to their names and conditions. After checking their vitals and recording them, she stripped K.T.’s bed, feeling an even greater sense of loss as she looked at the hole in the mattress.
It was ridiculous. She should be rejoicing over his discharge, his recuperation. A part of her was; deep in her heart she was grateful. Would forever be grateful that he’d survived the attack and that she’d been his nurse.
Pulling up her resolve, she told herself that was all she’d ever been, his nurse, and set into her duties.
Near noon, she ran into Gloria. “Oh, Wendy, I apologize. There was an emergency this morning and Dr. Bloomberg asked me to assist him in surgery.”
“I hope all went well,” Wendy replied.
“Yes, thank you, it did.” Gloria’s expression softened. “I wanted to meet you when you arrived for your shift and let you know that K.T. was discharged early this morning, so you wouldn’t be surprised.”
Wendy merely nodded. She had known that January third had been set as his discharge date, and had known that was today. She simply should have prepared herself for the empty room.
“As you know,” Gloria continued, “he will need to return each day to have his bandage changed, and we agreed that eight o’clock would be the best time. I figured you could do that for him when you arrive each morning. And of course, others will when you have a day off.”
Wendy’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes, of course I can do that.”
“Wonderful. You can use one of the examination bays and report any changes in his chart. I left it at the main nurse’s station for you to collect.”
“Very well, thank you.” Wendy knew she should be questioning the joy inside her. No one should want to see someone because they needed medical attention.
Gloria sighed. “I have to admit, I was sad to see him go, but also very happy. So happy.”
“You made all the difference in his healing,” Wendy said. “And because of you, more men are healing and leaving here, returning to duty, every day.”
“We made the difference,” Gloria said. “Come, let’s eat lunch together and talk about everything except our patients.”
As it turned out, lunch with Gloria was exactly what Wendy needed. Other nurses joined their table, and for the first time since the attack, there seemed to be a more relaxed atmosphere. No one gobbled down their food to rush back to urgent duties.
Wendy was sure everyone was still apprehensive that another attack could happen at any moment, for that was the reality of the situation, but there was the knowledge that whatever came about, they could handle it, just as they already had.
That’s what she’d do, too. Take care of whatever came about. K.T. had simply been one of the patients she’d taken care of. Nothing more.
The rest of her day went by relatively quickly and uneventfully, and she arrived back at her living quarters shortly after four that afternoon, because her shift lengths had been reduced back to eight hours a day at the start of the new year.
A stack of mail sat on her bed. Every letter and postcard was now censored and marked with ink stamps declaring it had been examined. Everyone had been informed that even telling a family member back home if your unit was being shipped elsewhere could be potentially dangerous if it landed in the wrong hands.
Therefore, any concerning comments were cut out of letters, and the process of all that meant letters could be delayed in reaching their destinations. Anxious to see who the letters were from, but also wanting to enjoy reading each one, she removed her nurse’s hat and uniform, then quickly changed into a yellow and white dress.
After taking some change out of her dresser drawer, she carried the letters downstairs, purchased a soda pop from the machine, and walked outside onto the concrete lanai. Several housemates were seated in the sun, some reading and others clustered in groups visiting.
Helen waved. “Join us.”
Wendy held up her letters. “I will, after I read these.”
“I read mine earlier,” Helen replied. “We can compare notes when you’re done.”
Stories from back home were often shared with each other. “Deal,” Wendy said as she found a secluded chair. It wasn’t just stories from back home they shared, it was things in their daily lives. Many things, yet, she hadn’t told anyone that K.T. was the man she’d danced with and had become her number one patient. Her reason for not sharing was simple. Both events had made him special to her. So special, she wanted to keep it to herself, so no one could take it away.
She’d come to that through her own reasonings. Much like she had when it came to Betty’s letter. Neither was like her, but things had changed. She’d changed.
Sitting down in the wooden chair, she admitted that it was as if the whole world had changed. Everything looked different compared to a month ago. The hospital itself was on what was called Hospital Point, a section of land that jutted out on three sides, facing the harbor on two sides and the channel that led out to sea on the third side. The navy base was inland, just to the west of the hospital, and Hickman Field, the army air base, was farther away to the south and ran the length of the ocean coast. The naval air base was on Ford Island, in the center of the harbor, and Pearl City was on another peninsula on the other side of the island. All of those sites had been targets, and now looked very different than before.
There were still tall palm trees, bushes, plants, and grass, but trenches had been dug everywhere, leaving long, twisting piles of dirt along the trench edges, and the once pristine white buildings no longer looked the same. Though any broken windows had been repaired, there were signs on nearly every structure from where bombs, bullets, or shrapnel had struck. Even the clothesline poles had bullet holes in them.
If she were to walk a short distance she’d be able to see the harbor, and the USS Nevada that had attempted to make it to the channel and out to open sea during the attack, but had been torpedoed and run aground on Waipio Peninsula, straight across the harbor from the hospital. The ship was still there, partially sunk, as were others.
So many others.
In time, things would all be repaired or replaced, forever hiding the carnage of the attack, but nothing would be able to hide all the scars. Some would remain forever.
So would the memories. The bad ones and the good ones.
Drawing her attention off the landscape, she slowly looked through the stack of mail, trying to decide which letter to read first.
That decision arrived quickly when the third letter in the stack was from Oklahoma. K.T.’s mother’s name was on the return address.
Wendy quickly set the other letters on the table holding her bottle of soda, and lifted the folded piece of paper out of the envelope that had been opened during censorship. There was just one page, written with neat, slanted penmanship.
Dearest Nurse Smith,
It is with immense gratitude that I write this letter. Your note at the bottom of my son’s letter provided us with the relief we’d been hoping for since hearing that dreadful bulletin on the radio. I was alone in the house that Sunday afternoon and my heart had dropped to my feet upon hearing there had been an attack on Pearl Harbor. I yelled for my husband to come inside and knowing K.T. was in the thick of it, we remained glued to the radio for hours that slowly had turned into days. Kent carried the radio upstairs to our bedroom each evening, so we didn’t miss any updates, even in the middle of the night. I sought to tell myself that my greatest fear had not come to light, but do admit to shedding tears, fearing that very thing.
The day K.T.’s letter arrived, Jud ran all the way to the house from the mailbox, shouting so loud the cows ran along the fence line beside him, all the way to the barn. They must have thought he was Henny Penny and that the sky was falling.
For the world, it may seem as if that is exactly what is happening, for this war has just begun, but at that moment, it was just the opposite for our family. We were filled with joy.
Thank you for writing that letter for K.T., and for adding your own message about his burns and care. I wish I could thank you in person and hug you for your promise to take care of my son. I hold you in my prayers and in my heart for the part you are playing in K.T.’s life.
It is a mother’s prerogative to carry worry for her children, and I imagine that your time is consumed with caring for the injured and ill, but I do hope this letter reaches you and that you understand how your message lightened that worry for one sailor’s mother.
With my sincerest regards,
Ruth McCallister.
Wendy blinked and wiped at the tears welling in her eyes, then read the letter a second time. Never had a letter touched her so deeply. Never had she wanted to hug someone in return as much as she did K.T.’s mother right now.
Other than him, that is.