The first mine went off, the blast so loud it shook the ground underneath us. In that instant, I saw Monty grab one of the kids and throw him as a second mine exploded. The boy Monty had thrown was badly injured and started shrieking, the lower part of his right leg shredded. In one horrible moment, Monty was there and then he was gone. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard people around me start screaming too, and soldiers came from all directions trying to save Monty and the injured children.
I looked down at Monty’s coffee cup and half-eaten doughnut on the ground, ran behind the Clubmobile, and threw up. Then I wiped my face and rushed over to see how I could help. Martha had already commandeered a jeep, and Frankie was carrying a little girl with long black hair. I went into the Clubmobile and grabbed a bunch of clean rags to help Frankie wrap the little girl’s arm. A soldier was carrying the little boy with the injured leg, which was now in a tight tourniquet. There was a third boy with white-blond hair who was not hurt but still in shock. Blanche had taken a blanket and wrapped it around him.
A group that included Frankie and Martha sped off to bring the children to a nearby field hospital. Captain Guy, who spoke French, walked over to the village to find the children’s parents.
Several soldiers surrounded Monty’s body. He wouldn’t be going to the hospital. I felt like I might be sick again. His girlfriend, Thelma, would get the news that nobody ever wanted.
“Uh, Fiona?” Blanche called to me, as she sat next to the blond boy. I looked up, and she pointed to Dottie, who was sitting on the ground, her arms wrapped around her knees. “It happened to Martha too, the first time we . . . the first time something like this happened.”
“Dottie?” I said. Dottie was staring into space, her teeth chattering, her skin ashen. I called for Viv to bring me a blanket.
“Honey.” I patted her face. “Let’s get you some coffee; you’ve had a shock, we all have. For the sake of the soldiers here, we’ve got to pull it together. Remember we’re no use to them if we don’t.” I echoed Peter’s words to me before he left.
“He was just here,” Dottie said in a whisper. “Jesus Christ, he was just here with us. And those poor children.”
“The kids are going to be okay,” I said. “Monty saved them. He saved their lives.”
I gave her a hug as Viv came over with a blanket and handed her Barbara, who instinctively snuggled into her arms. Viv sat down next to us and lit a Lucky Strike, and I noticed her hands were shaking uncontrollably.
“We’ve got to stay strong,” I said. “That really dark place in your mind? Don’t go there, Dottie. That’s one thing I learned when Danny first went missing. If you go there, you might not come back.”
Dottie took some deep breaths, and we sat there in silence for a time. I looked over, and Blanche had her arm around the little boy, who was still crying and nibbling on a doughnut.
A group of five soldiers had wrapped Monty’s body up. Their faces were dirty, their expressions resigned; some of them had his blood on their uniforms.
“I keep thinking about how he ran toward danger like that to save those kids,” Dottie said as we watched them walk away. The color had returned to her cheeks. “He didn’t even think. He just went. How the hell does someone become that brave?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think being here brings out strengths in people they never knew they had.”
Chapter Twenty-One
December 1, 1944
I heard the sounds of mess kits rattling and a rooster crowing in the distance before I opened my eyes. Someone had already made coffee. It was a little before seven on a chilly December morning, and we were on a farm near a village twenty miles outside of Paris.
For eight weeks, we had traveled like nomads from camp to camp, serving grateful soldiers mountains of doughnuts and rivers of coffee as we camped all over the French countryside, in barns or bomb-damaged chateaus, but most of the time in our tents.
Planes continued to roar overhead, and tanks often barreled past us. More than once we had been forced to move because of nearby shelling. Every night, the sky was filled with the flashes of battle.
We had worked in the mud and the rain as temperatures got colder by the day. And the Cheyenne had gotten stuck in the muck on the roads at least once a week. Mercifully, there had been no accidents as horrific as our first day, but we had visited a few of the field hospitals and seen the injuries that these men endured. There were men with missing limbs, men who were blind, men on crutches and in wheelchairs, to say nothing of the psychological impact that you couldn’t see at all.
We would be packing up and heading to Paris in the afternoon, staying in beds for the first time in forever, and I could hardly wait to take a real shower. Having to wash my hair using a water-filled helmet was something I would never really get used to.
In the dim light of the tent, I could see Dottie still asleep and was surprised to find Viv already up and out. I put my long johns on under my uniform, threw on a sweater and my field jacket, and peeked out of the tent. Viv was standing in front of the Clubmobile with her pad, sketching a young GI’s portrait with her charcoal pencils. He was leaning against the Cheyenne with a nervous smile on his face. Our Clubmobile exterior now included the painted emblems of all the outfits we had visited. The Seventh Armored Division. The Eighty-Third Infantry Division. The Fifth Infantry. And the Eighty-Second and Twenty-Eighth, of course.
“You’re up early,” I said to Viv.
“I know, but I promised Ronald here that I’d sketch his portrait before we left for Paris,” she said. Ronald nodded to me.
“Don’t move, Ronny, I’m almost done,” she said. “There’s coffee in the truck, Fi. After you get some, I’ve got some gossip to go with it.”
I quickly fixed myself a cup and sat down next to Viv. She handed Ronald his portrait.
“Thank you. My mom is going to love this,” he said, giving her a huge smile before he headed off.
“Okay, spill it,” I said.
“Guess,” she said.
“Oh no, you can’t do that. What is it?”
“Let’s just say you won’t be shocked.”
“Blanche and the captain?”
Viv smiled, and I knew I was right.
“Yup,” she said. “I was up extra early, too excited about Paris to sleep, which as you know never happens to me. I got up to make coffee, and that’s when I spotted her sneaking out of his tent.”
“Are you joking?” I said, nearly spitting out my coffee.
“No!” Viv said, laughing. “He’s got to head back to London today.”
“I say it’s about damn time. Honestly, the way they’ve been pretending since Cherbourg?”
Blanche and Captain Guy had shared a laugh about their flirtation at the café in Cherbourg on our first day on the road, so there hadn’t been any awkwardness between them. However, since then, it had become clear that they had real feelings for each other. The signs were obvious, like when we were all sitting around a fire with some of the guys, and you’d catch them gazing at each other, or during one of Dottie’s evening concerts when the captain always ended up sitting next to Blanche.
“Are you going to tell her you saw?”
“Of course I am,” Viv said with a wink.
“Did you ever hear from Harry Westwood?” I said. “Can he see you in Paris?”
“I sent that note a while ago, but haven’t heard a thing back from him, damn mail here,” Viv said.
“Tell me about it,” I said. “Nothing from home, nothing from Peter about . . . anything.”
“Do you regret not getting in touch with him, telling him we’ll be in Paris for a couple days?” Viv asked after a moment. “You know, in case he could see you there?”
I paused before answering the question. I could feel the Purple Heart in the bottom of my pants pocket.
“Yes. No. I don’t know, Viv. I guess. But then just the thought of seeing him stirs up so many emotions about Danny. It’s probably better to just let things be . . .”
Viv opened her mouth to argue my point, but I started walking to the tent before she could. I wasn’t in the mood.
“At least Dottie knows she’s going to see Joe,” I said over my shoulder. “I’m going to go get packed up. I can’t wait for a couple days of civilization.”
Dear Deidre, Darcy, and Niamh (and Mum and Dad!),
Hello, my dear family. We’ve been on the road in France for eight weeks, and I was beginning to think you all had forgotten me. But when we arrived in Paris (yes, Paris!) yesterday afternoon, I received a bundle of mail and packages, and it’s like Christmas came early. That tends to happen with the mail here—nothing for weeks, and then it all catches up to us in a deluge.
Thank you so much for the care packages. It’s getting colder, and I love the red wool scarf and mittens. I’m so glad you got my note about the fur-lined boots—they fit perfectly.