Arriving at the hospital a full half hour ahead of time, Wendy went straight to her workstation to prepare the solution for Oklahoma’s dressings. She’d had a hard time sleeping last night. They’d been slowly lowering his doses of morphine yesterday, and all night she’d wondered if he’d awakened while she’d been gone.
Several times in the past three days, he’d been restless and mumbling, and she’d held his hand, whispered that all would be okay, because that was all she’d been able to do.
“Good morning,” Gloria said, entering the room. “I have good news. Dr. Bloomberg was in to see our patient early this morning and confirmed that there is no infection as of yet.”
Wendy instantly knew who Gloria referred to. Even though they knew his name, she called him our patient, while Wendy continuously thought of him as Oklahoma.
“That is wonderful news,” she said, pressing a hand to the increased beat of her heart. She was overly pleased for many reasons. Burns became infected easily. Others in the hospital were already experiencing that.
“And,” Gloria continued, “he woke up last night.”
“He did?” Wendy’s happiness grew.
“Yes, he did,” Gloria replied with a touch of warning, but her smile showed her delight in what had happened. “He still has a lot of healing to do.”
“He does,” Wendy agreed while gradually mixing the solution in the basin. “But I fully believe that your procedures are working better than all the others.” During her sixteen-hour shifts, she assisted in several other wards and was sure the solution-soaked dressings were working far better than spraying the tannic acid solution on the burns. She sincerely hoped that would soon be proven so that others could receive the same treatments.
“Dr. Bloomberg commented on it positively, but it will be a few more days before we can make any real comparisons.” Gloria laid the dressings in the solution one by one. “Dr. Bloomberg said our patient could begin eating solid food this evening, and I’m quite worried that it will be extremely difficult to keep him on his stomach once that happens. He appears to be very strong-willed.”
“Well, we’ll just have to think of ways to do that,” Wendy said, knowing he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. “There is too much at risk not to.”
“I agree, and that is exactly why I requested you to be my assistant. We think alike.” Gloria picked up the basin and placed it on the rolling cart. “Our other patients all had a restful night.”
Wendy listened as they walked out of the station and Gloria filled her in on their other patients. They were each doing well in their own right, and she was working behind the scenes to help find David Gomez’s brother, Robert. She’d sent out inquires as to his whereabouts, but it was a slow process. Many of the fallen and injured had not been wearing ID tags. Along with many other changes put in place, everyone was now required to wear ID tags at all times, including all of the hospital staff.
So many things had changed within the past few days, since the attack. Armed patrol guards were stationed everywhere, foxholes and trenches were being dug, and bomb shelters were being created. Families of servicemen who had been living at the base, all the bases, had been evacuated to Honolulu, and word was that those evacuated would soon be required to return to the States. That had cut down greatly on the number of volunteers helping at the hospital.
Except for Wes Henderson’s wife, Faye. She’d refused to be evacuated, as had a few other wives who didn’t have young children or were not pregnant. Faye visited her husband almost hourly and was where Wendy received most of her information about what was happening outside of the hospital walls.
They entered the ward, and Wendy’s gaze instantly went to Oklahoma, looking for a sign if he was awake again or not. It was impossible to tell.
Arriving at his bedside, she gently touched his hand. “Good morning, Lieutenant McCallister.”
He let out a low growl sound. “K.T.,” he said. “My name is K.T.”
Her heart welled with joy that he was awake. “Very well, K.T.” She gave his hand a gentle pat. “How are you feeling today?”
“Bound and gagged.”
She shared a smile with Gloria, who was standing on the other side of his bed, at his response. If nothing else, that answer was a display of his will.
“I can understand how it feels that way,” Gloria said. “But it’s necessary for your healing.”
“I need some water,” he said. “My mouth feels like I chewed my way through this mattress.”
Wendy had thought of that and had come up with a plan, one that Gloria had approved of considering they needed to keep him lying down as much as possible.
“I’ll get you one,” Wendy said.
Her hands trembled as she walked around the rolling curtain and across the room to a table holding a pitcher of water and drinking glasses amongst other regularly needed items. She told herself that there was nothing to be nervous about, but she was anxious, wondering if he would recognize her or not. His drink of water would come about in an unorthodox way, but it was imperative that he remained on his stomach as much as possible.
She filled a glass with water and picked up the length of tubing she’d collected from the supply closet yesterday. A paper straw wouldn’t be long enough to reach through the bed springs. She was convinced this would work, and was also just as convinced that she would do the same for any patient.
Back at his bedside, she handed the glass to Gloria, then lowered herself onto the floor, and making sure the skirt of her dress was smooth beneath her, she laid down on her back. After scooting a short distance beneath the bed, she took the glass of water from Gloria and made her way over until her face was directly beneath his.
It was odd, looking at him through the grid of the bed springs and the mattress framing his face made him look slightly different, but she still would know that face anywhere.
The way his eyes widened said he recognized her, too, even before he whispered, “Nebraska. It is you.”
Her stomach did an odd flip-flop as she nodded. “Hello, Oklahoma,” she replied, releasing a smile. She carefully worked the length of tubing through the springs and put the other end in the glass. “I hear you’re thirsty.”
“I am.”
She maneuvered the tubing to his mouth, and held it as he took a long drink.
“That’s the best water I’ve ever tasted,” he said.
“Because you were thirsty,” she rationalized.
“Still am.” He took another long drink. “You aren’t Nurse Manning.”
It was a statement, not a question. “No, I’m not. I’m Red Cross nurse’s aide Wendy Smith.”
He grinned. “A Smith named Wendy.”
With her very common last name, she’d heard that one before, yet her smile increased. “That is correct.”
“You’ve been here, talking to me while I was sleeping.”
“I have been.” It was a strange way to carry on a conversation, on her back and looking through the metal bed springs. It was also an odd way to drink water, but it was working. He was emptying the glass. All in all, everything about it made her happy.
“Thank you for that,” he said, “and for the water.”
“You’re welcome.” She lowered the empty glass, careful that the tube didn’t get caught on the bed springs.
“How long will I be like this?”
“That depends upon your healing. You need to remain on your stomach, but starting this evening, we’ll help you sit up long enough to eat.” Her cheeks heated up as she thought of other reasons that he’d be able to get up. As an aide, she didn’t have anything to do with his catheter, other than emptying the bag on the side of the bed, and would leave it to Gloria to explain when that would be removed.
“Until then?” he asked.
She held the glass up toward the springs again. “It’s just water.”
“Even prisoners get bread with their water,” he said.
Her heart was pounding harder than it should because he was smiling. That amazing sailor smile. It was quite remarkable, and very charming, even with his face surrounded by mattress stuffing. Her heart then fluttered as she realized just how serious his injuries were and how lucky they were that he’d survived. “You’re going to heal up just fine, Oklahoma,” she said quietly. “And quickly. I’ll make sure of that.”
“I believe you will, Nebraska.” He winked one eye. “You like challenges.”
“As do you,” she said.
He wasn’t just handsome. He was an all-around good man. One who had saved many others and deserved to be saved, too. Blinking at the tears that stung her eyes, she slid out from beneath the bed.
Despite the pain encompassing his neck, shoulders, and back, and the uncomfortable position of being tied on his stomach with his head stuffed through a hole in the mattress, K.T. smiled as she disappeared from his sight.
His heart was still working just fine, because he could feel it pounding. It was good to know that he hadn’t been dreaming that it had been her talking to him the past few days. He wasn’t exactly sure how long it had been. Time, hours, days, had melded together, and he wasn’t sure when he’d asked the other nurse how long he’d been here. Last night, maybe? He wasn’t even sure what time it was now.
Morning? Afternoon? The room wasn’t dark. Not like the last time he’d awoken. There was no longer the heaviness pulling at him, dragging him back into sleep and he appreciated that.
“Can you get word to Seaman Scott Westman?” he asked. “He’s in my unit. Our barracks are just south of the industrial yard.” Scott was his second-in-command and hopefully had remained uninjured during the attack. There was so much he needed to know. So much that had to be done.
“He will most likely be in to check on you again this evening,” Nebraska said. “He’s stopped by the last two evenings.”
K.T. had heard her response, and had more questions to ask about Scott, but his thoughts had a mind of their own and were focused on the fact that he now knew her name. Wendy Smith. A Red Cross nurse. That explained why he’d never run into her before the dance. There had been no reason or opportunity for that to have happened. She didn’t look any different, except for the nurse’s cap pinned in her hair rather than a flower. Otherwise, those cute dimples were in her cheeks and there were sparkles in her eyes, although they hadn’t been as bright as the night of the dance.
Her spirited personality was still alive and well, too. He told himself that had nothing to do with him. Crawling beneath his bed to provide him water might be part of her job, but she’d completed it with such an animated smile that any patient would have appreciated the act. He was no more special to her or anyone else than the other hundreds of men who had been injured—or worse—during the attack.
He needed information. Needed to know what was happening. “What time is it?”
“A little after eight in the morning.”
He closed his eyes at the disappointment washing over him. The answer hadn’t come from Nebraska. It was the other nurse. Nurse Manning.
Whatever bandages were on his back were being removed. It wasn’t overly painful, other than the smart of air. As a welder, he’d acquired burns numerous times over the years, small ones and larger ones, so knew the sensation well, but this was multiplied by a hundred at least.
The coolness that followed of new bandages being laid down was a welcomed relief, and the process gave him a clearer picture of just where his burns were located. Overall, the removal and replacement had taken a fair amount of time, and despite the fact that he hadn’t moved the entire time, he felt worn out by the time it was over.
Suddenly, he wondered if he was naked. He couldn’t tell. Couldn’t feel if he was or not. He tried moving, parts that he could move, and along with pain, he felt the restraints of the bed straps across his lower back and thighs.
God Almighty, he hoped he wasn’t lying there bare-ass naked.
K.T. had no memory of falling asleep, but knew the moment he woke up again. He could hear Nebraska talking. Not to him, but someone else. He listened carefully as she explained that someone had been taken to the hospital aboard the USS Solace and was healing, would soon be released.
The hospital ship was docked at Ford Island and hadn’t taken any direct hits; he remembered that much. Men from the Solace had participated in rescuing others.
“Thank you, Wendy,” a man answered. “Does he know where I’m at?”
“Yes, I relayed a message on your behalf,” she replied.
The two continued to talk, and K.T. figured out the man was another patient, and the person on the Solace was his brother that Wendy had searched for until she’d discovered his location and condition. That didn’t surprise him. She clearly took her responsibilities beyond nursing tasks.
Her voice filtered into his hearing again, but this time she was farther away and he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He thought he heard another woman’s voice, and continued to listen with a high degree of hope that she, not another nurse, would soon make her way to his bed.
The soft footsteps were nearly silent, but the hope inside him was granted to fulfillment when he was sure the steps had stopped beside him. It was overly frustrating to not see anything except the floor, because there was no way to know if it was her for sure.
Until he felt a soft touch on the back of his hand and the tingle that worked its way up his arm. Both of his arms were bent at the elbows, so his hands were lying on the mattress near the sides of his head, and like the rest of him, he was unable to move them.
“Hi, Nebraska,” he said, certain that was her touching his hand.
“Hello, Oklahoma. How are you feeling?”
“Trapped.”
Her sigh was soft. “I know. I would apologize, but you’ll heal faster this way.”
Once again, he wondered about being naked, yet didn’t want to ask, but needed to know. Really needed to know. “Can I have a blanket?” he asked, hoping that would get to the answer without him actually asking.
“Are you cold?” she asked, with a clear alarm in her tone. “Chills? Sweating?”
Her hands were touching his forearms and the back of his head in a way that reminded him of being little, when his mother would check to see if he had a temperature. “No,” he said, feeling guilty for causing her concern. “None of that, I just...” He couldn’t say it.
“Wondering if your bum is bare for all to see?”
Her whisper tickled the hair behind one ear. “Yes,” he admitted, through his humiliation.
“It’s not,” she whispered. “Whatever isn’t covered with dressings is covered with a sheet and blanket. Other than your feet. I can get you a blanket for them, if you’d like.”
Relieved, he said, “No. I’m fine.”
“Are you thirsty?”
Her breath no longer tickled his hair, and he did his best to redirect any feelings that left.
“I’ll get you some water,” she said.
He was thirsty, and wanted to see her face again, but also felt guilty about her having to crawl under the bed. “Can I sit up to drink?”
“No.” She patted his hand. “I’ll be right back.”
A moment later, he sensed she was back and felt an unusual wave of excitement while waiting for her to appear beneath him. The tunnel vision that the mattress caused was annoying, while uniquely increasing the excitement that was growing by the second.
When her face appeared, wearing her dimple-branded smile, he felt a chuckle rumble in his throat. Yet, he felt the need to apologize. “I’m sorry that you have to crawl under the bed.” He was sorry about the bum thing, too, but was trying to forget that.
“Don’t be. It was my idea to cut the hole in the mattress, and my idea of how you’d be able to at least have some water. Even after you are allowed to sit up, because that will only be for short amounts of time.” She was guiding the tube through the springs as she spoke. “Your dressings won’t stay on while you’re sitting up, and it’s imperative to keep the dressings on for healing to occur.”
“Are you doing this for all the burned men?” he asked, before taking a sip from the straw. At that moment, he felt a stab of something that he knew he shouldn’t feel. He’d never been jealous or envious of anyone, and sure as hell couldn’t feel that way over her nursing others.
“No, just you,” she said.
He accepted that, and quit struggling to make sense of anything while taking a long drink from the straw. He’d thought working in the hot sun all day was the true precursor for appreciation of a drink of water, but now knew differently.
Still, other thoughts penetrated his head. “Am I your only burn patient?” he asked around the tube straw.
“No, but you are my main burn patient.” Her head twisted, as if she was looking around, before she looked up at him again. “We are trying a different approach to your burns with the solution-soaked dressings and have high hopes that once it’s proven to work, that we’ll be able to apply it to others.”
He let that sink in while drinking more water. It was a bit strange swallowing, took a real concentrated effort. “How are the others being treated?”
“The solution is similar, but applied differently. Sprayed on or applied by hand. Nurse Manning suggested this process for you and we both believe it’s working. There are no signs of infection.”
Any infection could set back his healing, and he sincerely didn’t want that. “I thank both of you for all you are doing, and I will do my best to follow your orders.” He took a final sip from the tube, emptying the glass. “But I don’t want any more morphine.”
“But the pain—”
“I will handle the pain,” he interrupted. He wasn’t here to lie in bed, he was here to fight for his country. If that meant fighting some pain to get back in the action, he’d do it. He would do whatever it took.
She lowered the glass to the floor. “I can’t promise that, but I’ll talk to Nurse Manning.”
“Thank you. I don’t mean to put you on the spot, but there’s going to be a lot of work to get the fleet back in the water. I can’t leave my unit to that alone.”
She pinched her lips together and he was sure she was preventing herself from telling him that he might not be able to do the work he had before. The diving and welding. He would be able to. He’d make damn sure of that. He wouldn’t hold her thoughts against her, though. She had a job to do just like him. Sometimes that job probably was telling sailors they would be shipped home rather than fulfilling their commitment.
He wasn’t one of those men. Wouldn’t be one of those men. Returning home as a burden wasn’t any more of an option than not returning at all. “I promised four years of service,” he said, “and I will keep that promise.” For some reason, he wanted her to understand that, understand him. “My mother experienced a broken promise when she was young, one that changed her life, and not for the good. She raised all of her children, me, my brother, and two sisters, to never break a promise.” He let the grin tugging on his lips form over the memories of his mother. “When any one of us misbehaved in any manner, she’d asked if we’d forgotten who we were. Then she’d remind us that we were McCallisters, as if that alone was enough for us to know right from wrong.”
Nebraska was smiling.
It was surreal how that smile, those dimples, made him feel better. It probably did that to every one of her patients. “Was your mother like that? Or were you one of those girls who never got into trouble while growing up?”
She shook her head as her eyes widened. “Oh, no. I got into trouble, but not from my mother. It was usually my uncle.”
“Your uncle?”
“Yes, he was never mean about it.” A tiny frown formed between her brows as she continued, “He’d just set me down and say, ‘Now, Wendy, you didn’t mean to act that way, did you?’ I’d answer no, and he’d say, ‘Good, then don’t disappoint me by doing it again.’ And I wouldn’t do it again, because I didn’t want to disappoint him.” Her smile was back, full force.
“What about your parents?” he asked.
“My mother died when I was twelve, but we lived with my Aunt Ella and Uncle Sy since I was born.”
“In Nebraska?”
“Yes. Bridgeport, Nebraska. It’s about fifty miles from Scottsbluff, and not much farther than that from either Wyoming or Colorado. It’s on the Nebraska Panhandle. Got its name when the train depot and a bridge over the North Platte River were built.”
“What about your father?”
She shrugged. “I never knew him. He left while my mother was pregnant with me. She’d been living in Scottsbluff then, and moved to Bridgeport to live with my aunt and uncle. They were actually her aunt and uncle. My great-aunt and great-uncle. They owned the general store in town. My mother worked there for them, but she always wanted to see the world. She’d read books about places and say that we’d see it someday. Then, when she got dust pneumonia, and knew her dreams wouldn’t come true, she made me promise that I’d see the world for her.”
“That’s why you joined the Red Cross?”
She sighed. “It sounds callous considering all that’s happened, but yes that’s why, and I got in the navy line because it was far shorter than the army line. I had to make sure I was accepted. My aunt and uncle were getting up in years. I knew they wouldn’t sell their store as long as I was there. Their children, three of them, were married and had moved away, Sid and Joe to Scottsbluff and Ellen to Denver, so I was the only one to help my aunt and uncle. Sid, who is a lawyer, wanted them to move in with him and his family, so when I heard about the Red Cross recruiting nurses, I told them all that I was going to sign up as soon as I turned twenty-one. It was the one way for everything to work out for everyone.”
“Including for you to keep your promise to your mother,” he said. “To see the world.”
“Yes.”
Seeing the honesty in her eyes, he asked, “So you know about promises, too.”
“I do, and I will talk to Nurse Manning about the morphine.”
“Thank you.”
She held up the glass. “Do you need more water?”
“No, thanks. I’ll let you get up off the floor.”
She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “I don’t have to be anywhere for twenty minutes.”
“Where do you need to be then?”
Even her grimaces were charming. “That’s when I need to mix up the solution for your dressing change.”
“Again?”
“Every four hours.”
“I slept that long?”
“A body heals during sleep.”
“Is that why I’m strapped to the bed like this? So I’ll sleep?”
“No, it’s so you don’t roll over while—”
“Sleeping,” he said at the same time she did.
They both laughed.
“So, what part of Oklahoma are you from?” she asked. “I just told you my life story, which you probably didn’t want to hear.”
“I wanted to know,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t have asked if I hadn’t.” He didn’t mind telling her more. “We are both panhandlers. I’m from Guymon, Oklahoma, which is in the Oklahoma Panhandle. My folks own a farm there. My little brother, Jud, is fourteen, my sister Holly is seventeen, my other sister Mavis is twenty, and I’m the oldest. I’ve been called K.T. since birth because my father’s name is Kent, too. Kent Edward, and I’m Kent Thomas. My mother’s name is Ruth, and her broken promise was similar to yours. Her father left his family when my mother was eleven. She had four younger siblings, and was farmed out as a laundry maid to help feed everyone. She met my father while working at the restaurant in the train station in Kansas City, when he was heading out to fight in the Great War. He promised her that he’d be back in three years to marry her. And he was, and he did.”
His father had been one of the lucky ones. He’d shared many stories about men who hadn’t returned. Whose promises to wives and fiancées had been broken by the war. The attack that had happened on Pearl Harbor confirmed how right he had been, how quickly men perished. Those men would never return home to loved ones, regardless of what promises they had made. That could easily have been him. He didn’t want to make a promise he couldn’t be sure he could keep.
“Sounds like she had good reasons,” Nebraska said. “Is that why you joined the navy? Because your father had served?”
He’d said more than he’d meant to, but the words had just kept flowing. “Can’t say that was the reason.” It hadn’t been, and a goodly amount of guilt formed at not having mentioned Betty. They weren’t engaged, but that had been his intention upon returning home. “I joined because there weren’t many jobs available, the Depression had hit the area hard.”
“The Depression hit everywhere hard.” Letting out a sigh, she added, “And now we are at war again.”
“It was declared?” he asked.
“Yes, the day after we were attacked.”
The damage had been disastrous to the ships in the harbor, but he couldn’t remember noticing the damage on land. “How did we fare? The base?”
“There was a lot of damage from what I hear. I haven’t seen much. I start work at eight in the morning and it’s dark when I leave at midnight. But no one is allowed out after dark, and a blackout is being enforced. Cars aren’t even allowed to turn on their headlights...”
He listened as she told him about armed patrol guards, foxholes, trenches, bomb shelters, evacuations, and a number of other things, all the while cursing himself for ending up too injured to do his job. He should be out there, rebuilding ships, inspecting the work of the welders in his unit. Instead, he was here, strapped to a bed.
It was more than frustrating. It was unacceptable.
“Would you like me to write a letter home for you?” she asked. “I’ve done that for other patients. People in the States have heard about the attack and are anxious to hear from loved ones.”
Guilt struck K.T. again. People would be worried about him, and he was lying here feeling sorry for himself. Not necessarily feeling sorry for himself, but he clearly wasn’t thinking straight. Betty and his family should have been on his mind from the moment he woke up. He was already disappointing himself, and couldn’t disappoint them. Wouldn’t disappoint them. Promises were meant to be kept.