“Did you know Captain Moretti’s a boxer? Like a top-ranked boxer?” Tommy said after they headed to their truck.
“I think everyone in England knows by now,” I said, amused at their adoration.
“He’s an even better soldier and captain,” Sam Katz said in his quiet voice.
I looked up at Sam. “Really?”
Tommy, Sam, and the other guys started nodding, their faces solemn. “Really.”
The GIs got back to work. Viv came and stood next to me, watching the truck kick up dirt as it drove away.
“You’ve always been the worst liar,” she said in a quiet voice.
“I know,” I said. “Do you think he bought it?”
“Who knows,” she said with a shrug. “But why wouldn’t you just tell him?”
“Because I’m tired of telling my sad story?” I said with a sigh. “I don’t know.”
“He has to contact his friend for you,” she said. “I think he’s a much better bet than Gibson. You’ve got to track him down, ask him to do that, and tell him the truth.”
“You’re right,” I said. “God, why the heck did I lie to him? I never do things like that.”
Viv looked at me, and I couldn’t quite read her expression. “No, you don’t,” she said. “But I think I get why.”
“Oh, really? Why?”
“I’ll tell you later. Let’s finish up. Mrs. Tibbetts promised a surprise for dinner.”
“Oh no, I really hope she doesn’t cook that black-and-white-speckled chicken for us; she’s become my favorite pet,” I said, and we both started laughing as we went back to finishing our chores.
It was drizzling when we pulled into the camp the next morning. My eyes were puffy, and I was a bundle of nerves. I had woken up with the roosters, going over everything in my head, praying that we could wow Judith Chambers and Harvey Gibson with our skills and charisma.
“Why does it have to be raining this morning?” I said as we opened up the side of the truck and pushed down the counter. Jimmy jumped out and hooked us up to the water.
“Because it’s England,” Viv said.
“It’s hardly rain at all,” Jimmy said. “Just a sprinkle trickling down; ain’t nothing to it, really.”
“Okay, Dottie, you’re going to play at least three songs today, yes?” I said. “‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree’—they all love that one. And have you decided on the other two? Oh, Viv—don’t forget to put the scales on the counter today. We actually have to weigh the water and the flour.”
“Fiona, honey, you told us that three times on the way here this morning and at least another ten last night,” Viv said, slamming the scale on the counter next to the doughnut machine. “And if you ask Dottie what songs she’s playing again, I’m going to smack you.”
“And I’m going to let her,” Dottie said. “You need to relax, Fiona; it’s going to be fine.”
I looked at both of them, knowing they were right, but it didn’t calm my nerves one bit.
“I’m sorry,” I said, taking a deep breath and gripping the counter. “You’re right, and I’ll try not to be such a nag. Let’s get ready.”
We were setting up the counter with our guest log, cigarettes, gum, and Life Savers. It was our second time at this particular camp, and the welcome back made me feel better about the day ahead. Lots of greetings of “Hey, Boston!” as the GIs started to line up with their canteen cups.
Nelson Carmichael, a young, energetic dark-haired private from West Virginia, came running up to the Clubmobile. “Oh, hey, can me and a couple of my buddies help you girls make the doughnuts? Please?”
“I don’t know, Nelson. It’s a big day; Red Cross brass are coming,” I said, biting my lip. “They’ll be here in an hour or so.”
“But last time you said I could help this time,” he said. I had completely forgotten.
“Aw, let him help,” Viv said. “It’ll make us look good, having soldiers happily helping us. And we need to make at least one batch while we’re here.”
“Please?” he said again, holding his hands in prayer and batting his blue eyes at me.
“All right,” I said, shaking my head, laughing despite myself.
“Hey, that’s swell, thanks so much,” he said, flashing a huge smile. “I’ll be right back.”
A few minutes later, Nelson came back with his two friends, George, a tall, skinny Southerner with bad teeth, and Alan, a slight young man with unusually large ears.
The coffee urns were on the counter, and the already-made doughnuts were stacked neatly in their trays. But with the six of us inside, we could barely turn around. We had a long line of hungry soldiers waiting, and I started to panic.
“Okay, everyone, listen up. We need to have a system,” I said. “Dottie, you and Nelson mix the next batch of dough for the doughnuts. George, you grab soldiers’ cups and squirt milk in them, and hand them to Viv to pour the coffee. Alan, you help me hand out the doughnuts. And someone start the Victrola. I almost forgot—put a record on and blast it, something fun. Don’t let us down, boys; it’s a big day.”
“Pistol Packin’ Mama” by Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters played over the loudspeakers, and the soldiers waiting in line cheered as we poured the first cups of coffee.
We were working like a well-oiled machine as the jeeps carrying the Red Cross officials and press drove up. I spotted Major Bill driving Harvey Gibson, Liz, and Miss Chambers. Talking and laughing with our boys, Viv and I smiled our biggest Red Cross smiles as the photographer ran over and started snapping photos.
I was beginning to relax, feeling like this day might go just fine, when I heard Dottie let out a cry of pain.
“Oh no. Oh no, this isn’t good,” Nelson said behind me. “Fiona!”
I whipped around to see Dottie with a huge gash down her forearm. Nelson grabbed a cloth and started to wrap it.
“Oh my God, Dottie,” I said, putting my arm around her. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“I was getting some lard out of the damn can and I sliced my arm. I was trying to hurry, and I didn’t remove the lid all the way; it’s my own damn fault.”
The cloth that her arm was wrapped in was already soaked with blood, so Viv grabbed some more cloths from one of the upper cabinets and shoved them at us.
“It’s pretty deep; she’s going to need to go to the hospital to get this stitched up,” Nelson said. “Alan, tell someone to call for the ambulance.”
The color had drained from Dottie’s face, and she listed into me.
“Oh Jesus,” I said, patting her face. “Someone get me a cup of water. Stay with us, Dottie. Viv, you and the boys take over. Nelson, help me get her out of here.”
We stepped out of the Clubmobile, and a number of the GIs descended upon us. Someone handed us a blanket, and a medic came over with first aid supplies. They cleared a place for us to sit until the ambulance came. Dottie was still pale as she sipped water. Her injured arm was wrapped tight, but the blood was seeping through again. Liz came running over, and I explained what happened.
Somewhere behind her, Miss Chambers, Harvey Gibson, and the rest of the Red Cross administrators were in the crowd, shaking hands and talking with the soldiers. “Pistol Packin’ Mama” was on its fourth loop.
“Nelson, can you please go help Viv, and maybe change the record too?” I said. Sweat was dripping down his face, and he looked crestfallen. “It’s okay, hon, she’ll be all right.”
“Liz, could you go with Dottie to the hospital?” I asked. “I need to go help Viv; she’ll never be able to serve all these soldiers alone.”
“I can go with her too.” I looked up at the sound of Joe Brandon’s voice. He was gazing at Dottie with genuine concern and definitely something more. Dottie gave him a weak smile.
“The Twenty-Eighth’s band is performing here later, so I have a few hours to spare,” he said. “I just heard you were here, so I thought I’d come over to catch up with my favorite Red Cross girls.”
“That would be great actually,” Liz said to him. “After I see she’s settled at the hospital, I really should head out to meet Gibson’s group at the next camp.”
“Come on, Dottie, let me help you,” Joe said, reaching down to put her good arm around his shoulder.
“You’ll be stitched up in no time,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek when she got up.
“Thanks, Fi, I’m sorry . . .” She dropped the cup of water she was holding, and her glasses slipped off her face as she passed out against Joe Brandon. He scooped her up in both arms, carrying her against his chest.
The medics from the ambulance came running over with a stretcher and helped Joe get her on it and into the back of the ambulance. I handed Dottie’s glasses to Liz, and she promised one of them would give us an update as soon as they could. I felt sick to my stomach, watching them drive away.
Poor Viv—the crowd of men had tripled in size since Dottie had cut her arm. I rushed inside the Clubmobile, and my feet made a splash on the floor as I stepped into a puddle of coffee at least three inches deep.
“What the . . . ?”