“LET OUR HEARTS BE STOUT”: A PRAYER
BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES
Almighty God: Our sons, pride of our nation, this day have set upon a mighty endeavor, a struggle to preserve our Republic, our religion, and our civilization, and to set free a suffering humanity.
Lead them straight and true: Give strength to their arms, stoutness to their hearts, steadfastness in their faith.
Many people have urged that I call the nation into a single day of special prayer. But because the road is long and the desire is great, I ask that our people devote themselves in a continuance of prayer. As we rise to each new day, and again when each day is spent, let words of prayer be on our lips invoking Thy help to our efforts.
Thy will be done, Almighty God.
Amen.
Excerpt from the New York Times, June 7, 1944
The small community of Hanson, Kentucky, had no hospital, so Dr. Brown made a house call, checking on Libby at the boardinghouse where Ginger had a room.
The elderly, gray-haired doctor examined Libby’s eyes with a penlight.
“Yup, that’s one nasty bump. I’m sure you’ll have black eyes tomorrow.” He gently pressed on the area around her nose.
Libby winced and pulled back.
“Tender, yes. But the thing that’s got me worried is your nausea. Could be sign of a concussion. But even then, you should be fine. We’ll just keep an eye on you. The worst case would be trauma to your optic nerve.”
“Is that serious?”
He flipped off the penlight, sliding it back into his shirt pocket. “Could be. My suggestion is that you stay down for a few days. Mrs. McMurphy said she’d take care of you. Keep the ice pack fresh for that bump.”
“But I told Ginger I’d ferry the planes for her. I—”
Dr. Brown scowled. “Now listen here. The last thing you want is to be piloting a plane with a head injury. It’s not like walking around, you know. If you black out, that will be the end of you. I’ll be back in a few days to check in.”
“So I have to lie here and rest for two or three days? What else can I do, you know, to speed up my recovery?”
The doctor moved to the window and lowered the shade. “Are you a religious woman?”
Libby nodded, then winced from the throbbing in her temple.
“Our boys are fighting a mighty battle as we speak, storming the beaches at Normandy. It might be a good time to send up some prayers. It seems the tide of the war can turn to our favor if we succeed today.”
Libby let her eyelids flutter shut. “Of course, I’ll pray. And I guess in the scheme of things, a bump on the head isn’t that bad.”
Dr. Brown patted her leg. “That’s a good girl. I’ll be back to check on you; and if anything changes or things get worse, just let Mrs. McMurphy know. She’s a saint, that woman. You’re in good hands.”
Ginger arrived home two days later. “You poor thing. Just look at you.” Her hand covered her mouth, holding back a giggle. “Libby, I’m sorry, but you look like a raccoon.”
“I look like a raccoon, but I feel like a donkey. What was I thinking, trying to hold down a spinning Cub?”
“Have you tried to get up?” Ginger sat in the chair next to Libby’s bed.
“Just to the bathroom and back. Mrs. McMurphy has been a doll. I wish I could take her home. She even made blueberry muffins.”
“And the doctor. What does he think?”
“He’s supposed to drop by tomorrow, but I’m sure everything will be fine. I think my body’s just using this time as an excuse to get some extra sleep. I hadn’t realized how exhausted I was.” Libby sat up in bed. For an instant the room seemed to blur, but she ignored it, choosing instead to focus on Ginger’s concerned smile. “And what about you? How were the hearings?”
Ginger rose and moved to the nightstand, fiddling with the bouquet of white roses Mrs. McMurphy had brought in from her garden. “I—I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.” She took a rose from the vase and lifted it to her nose. “Honestly, things aren’t looking good. There are a whole bunch of stuffed-shirt bureaucrats who consider the WAFS simply a pet project. I’m really worried. The training program has been shut down for good, and they still don’t want to give us military status. Just between us … I’m afraid the whole program might wash out.”
“You can’t be serious.” A sharp pain shot through Libby’s head. She let out a low moan, and the room faded into fuzz. She quickly closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her eyelids.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, I’m glad to know—but, my head. I think I’ve tried to do too much.”
“Of course.” Ginger’s voice faded, but Libby didn’t open her eyes. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”
The door closed, and Libby felt her stomach turn. “Dear God, no. Please no.” She turned to her side, grabbing the bucket Mrs. McMurphy had left for her. Her stomach retched, and she heaved into the bucket. “God, please help me.”
She tried to muffle her sobs into her pillow. The worst part was, Libby didn’t know which she was crying harder about—the thought of the WAFS being disbanded or fear about her future. What did “trauma to the optic nerve” mean, exactly?
Libby wiped her eyes, daring to open them. “Please, Lord. Please.” But it was no use. The room faded just as it had before, and even turning her head on her pillow caused the room to black out completely.
She curled onto her side and tucked the blankets around her, wanting more than anything to have someone there to brush back the hair from her face and tell her everything would be okay. But it wasn’t just anyone she wanted. It was Dan. And more tears flowed as she considered the reality that he might not be coming back.
“Remember, there are men fighting and dying at this very moment,” she tried to tell herself. “In comparison, I don’t have it so bad.”
But even as she whispered the words in the fading light, her heart told her otherwise. It seemed that everything she cared for and loved was being stripped away.