Vanessa had received the news of Ruby’s forthcoming journey to France stoically enough, but when the time came to say farewell, she was unable to hide her misgivings.
“How shall I bear it if anything happens to you? Already I can’t sleep at night because I’m so worried about Bennett, and now you’re going there, with goodness knows how many Nazis still on the loose . . .”
“Vanessa. Listen to me. I am going to an evacuation hospital that is well out of the way of the fighting. Miles and miles away from it. And I will only go into Paris after it’s been liberated and made safe. I’ll have Frank with me all the time.”
“He’s a sweet fellow, but I can’t think he’ll do much to protect you.”
“I can protect myself. Remember how I grew up. I’m as tough as nails, and you know it.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I am. Now—you haven’t said what you think of my uniform.” Ruby had been sitting with Vanessa on the sofa, but now she stood and took a few steps back. “Do I look the part?”
The tailor, recommended by one of the WACs who worked with Captain Zielinski, had supplied her with a woman’s khaki jacket and matching skirt, a pair of trousers for cold and rainy days, and two men’s-issue uniform shirts, size extra small, together with a men’s khaki tie. Once her insignia had been pinned to her jacket, and her cap badge had been added to her smart little uniform hat, Ruby had felt every bit the accredited war correspondent.
She was traveling light, taking only a single musette bag packed with clothes and toiletries, and her typewriter in its hard-shell case. The folding model was so much lighter and easier to carry than her old one had been, although she did think of Bennett and worry about him every time she looked at it.
A knock sounded at the door; her taxi to the station had arrived.
“Promise to write as often as you can,” Vanessa said, enveloping Ruby in one final hug.
“I will. Please say goodbye to Jessie. I hope she isn’t too upset.” Jessie had retreated to the kitchen, too distressed to stay and see Ruby leave. Nor had Simon ventured inside to say farewell, although he had carefully inspected her packed bag and even tried to crawl inside.
And then she was out the door and into the taxi, with hardly enough time to roll down the window and wave a final goodbye to the woman who had become the mother she’d never realized she needed.
Frank was waiting for her at Waterloo Station; together they took the train to Southampton, arriving in the late afternoon. The ship that was ferrying them over to France, the Duke of Argyll, had just docked and was off-loading patients into ambulances that had been driven right onto the wide quay. Ruby soon lost count of the men on stretchers, but there were at least several hundred and possibly even more.
Their ship was an older steamer, probably a ferry before the war, now painted white and emblazoned with red crosses to indicate its status as a hospital vessel. Ruby and Frank were escorted inside, to the officers’ mess, and were cautioned to stay there for the voyage, as the ship’s crew would be busy cleaning and refitting it for their next complement of patients.
Ruby had eaten nothing at lunch, wary of being sick, and though she did feel rather uncomfortable once they set sail, she was able to push back the nausea by fixing her attention on the view from the room’s large window. Six hours later, she woke from a fitful doze—it was past midnight—to discover they had docked at the Mulberry harbor at Gold Beach in Normandy.
“We’re here, Ruby,” Frank said, shaking her awake. “Best be getting off the ship before they turn her around and head back home.”
They stayed by the harbor overnight, sleeping in tents alongside the ship’s medical staff, and at first light were roused for their ride to the 128th evacuation hospital. A truck had been loaded with medical supplies for the hospital and the driver was willing to take them—but not if he had to wait. So into the truck they climbed, hungry and tired, and began the long journey to Senonches.
“Takes about four hours,” their driver said. “That’s assuming we don’t have to make any detours because the road’s been hit or the krauts have started lobbing shells in our direction again.”
The roads they took were cratered and potholed, enough to rattle Ruby’s teeth out of her head, and traced a depressing path through countryside laid waste by war. The first ruined town they drove through nearly brought her to tears; by the tenth, she hardly blinked.
In one muddy field they passed, British soldiers were digging holes to bury a herd of cattle that had been killed. The animals, about a dozen of them, lay on their backs with their legs pointed straight up, their bodies bloated but otherwise intact.
“Blast force from a shell,” their driver said. “Waste of good meat, that.”
On and on they drove, hour after hour, stopping only once so they might relieve themselves by the side of the road. Wary of land mines or other surprises left for the unwary by retreating German troops, Ruby positioned herself by the truck’s rear wheels and prayed that no one would come along and catch her in the act.
They arrived at the hospital as the sun was setting, at which point Ruby’s stomach was so empty it had given up on growling at her. But food had to wait: their first order of business was Colonel Wiley, who’d left orders that they be brought to see him as soon as they arrived.
“You’re not the first journalists to pay us a visit,” he said, his tone affable enough, “and you won’t be the last. I don’t mind you being here, since it helps with the war effort and all that, but if you get in my way, or in the way of anyone else here, I’ll have you back in England by the next morning. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We don’t have the time or patience to coddle you, so here’s a few rules. Don’t bother my staff when they’re working. If they aren’t on duty, don’t bother them if they say they don’t want to talk. Don’t talk to patients without permission from the doctor on duty. Don’t leave the hospital. And, no, I can’t spare a jeep to take you to Paris, so don’t piss me off by asking again.”
Ruby was given a spare cot in one of the nurses’ tents, while Frank was quartered with the junior officers. It had been easy to make friends with the nurses, who were friendly and open and curious about Ruby’s work, and they had been quick to invite her to join them for meals in the canteen that everyone shared, soldiers and officers alike.
Three days in, she was sitting with them, listening as they talked about home and the things they missed most.
“What about you, Ruby?”
“Me? I guess I’d say it’s coffee. The stuff you have here isn’t bad, though. And anything is better than tea. Plain hot water, even. There were times I—”
“Hey there! Ruby Sutton!”
She swiveled around, searching for the owner of the voice, and was taken aback to see it belonged to Dan Mazur. “Oh, boy,” she muttered under her breath.
“Friend of yours?” one of the nurses asked.
“That’s stretching it. He’s not a bad guy, just—Dan! How are you?”
“Well enough. Surprised to see you here. I thought the Brits weren’t keen on girl correspondents.”
“They’re not,” she said, and pointed to the U.S. war correspondent shoulder patch on her jacket. “Did you just get here?”
“Here, meaning the one twenty-eighth? Yeah. I landed on D-day plus ten,” he said, evidently a point of pride for him. “Been all over since then. Just back from Falaise. Was there with the Canadians for a while, but when it got quiet I decided to spend a day or so getting some softer pieces while I wait for the go-ahead for Paris.”
The most senior of the nurses, a captain in the Army Nursing Corps who had been overseas since the summer of 1942, arched an eyebrow at him. “‘Softer’? Is that what you think it’s like here?”
“I’m forgetting my manners,” Ruby said, hoping to cut Dan off before he irritated the nurses any further. “Let me introduce everyone. Ladies, this is Dan Mazur from The American magazine. We used to work together before I moved to London. Dan, these are some of the nurses who’ve been showing me around and answering my questions. Captain Gladys Kaye, First Lieutenant Sally Greene, and First Lieutenant Edith Geller. They’re veterans of the campaigns in North Africa and Sicily, just so you know. And they were the first nurses to arrive in Normandy. What day was it again?”
“D-day plus six,” Gladys answered, her expression coldly daunting.
“Well, uh, good for you,” Dan said. “I’m sure you all have a lot of stories to share.”
“Colonel Wiley has given permission for Miss Sutton to observe one of the surgeons at work,” Gladys told him. “If you want to join us, I doubt he’ll object.”
Dan swallowed uneasily, but nodded all the same. “Sure thing. What time?”
Gladys looked at her wristwatch. “Right about now. All set, Ruby?”
“All set.”