“Fi . . . ,” Dottie said. “Let yourself grieve. Please take a day or two off.”
“I know you both mean well. But I need to be busy,” I said. “I don’t want to sit around the house and just be alone with my thoughts right now. That would be the worst thing.”
There was a pause in conversation as they both looked me over and considered.
“All right,” Viv said, clearly not convinced. “Only if that’s what you want. Just promise you’ll talk to us if you need to? Take a break if you need to?”
“Yes, thank you. And I will read his letter when I’m ready,” I said, tucking it in my pocket with the Purple Heart, which felt heavy with guilt. “And I’ll also take some time. But right now? I’d rather get up tomorrow morning and help these men. After all, some of them were Danny’s friends.”
We headed to the Cheyenne and I tried to push all my feelings down, as I had for months. But this time, I knew they wouldn’t stay there.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
April 27, 1945
Dear Fiona,
If you’re reading this, that means things haven’t gone well for me, so I hope you never do read it. Or I hope we read this together as newlyweds and both have a laugh as we throw it into the fireplace.
Today I write this from a POW camp, having been captured by the Germans when my plane crashed. I still have that photo of you from that perfect day on Bunker Hill. I’m looking at it right now.
I’ve thought hard about what to say in this letter, what is supposed to be my last good-bye to you, but in the end, words could never be enough. Just know that I love you, Fiona. I should have told you that every single day.
And whatever happens, I want you to be happy—that’s my one request. Do all of the things we talked about. Even if I’m gone, move out of your family’s home, get some pets, travel, and have some adventures. Also think about getting a new job—we both know you’re too good for that mayor’s office.
This is the hardest part for me to write—but please do fall in love again. Get married, have babies—all of those things. I want you to have a long, wonderful life—you’ll honor me by doing that.
I’m so sorry this war cut our time together short. Thank you for the memories that have helped me get through it all. I’ll be seeing you . . .
All my love,
Danny
I’d read it a hundred times, but it was still hard to grasp that I had finally, after all these months, discovered Danny’s fate, discovered that he had died. Again, I wondered if every wife or fiancé was as na?ve as I had been. I thought out of the thousands, he’d be one of the soldiers spared, because he was my soldier.
For the next several days after I learned the news, I channeled my grief into our work with the POWs, as more trucks of them arrived at the camp almost hourly. After the chaos of the first couple of days, the army finally began registering these poor men, interviewing them, and then assigning them to blocks of barracks upon their arrival.
The Red Cross also brought in more staff and opened a service club on the field, where men could write letters home or play cards or Ping-Pong while waiting for the planes to take them out. We worked long days, serving food, mending clothes, finding fresh clothes, and tracking down shoes and medicine and anything else they needed.
We answered hundreds of questions a day. Easy ones like, “Who won the World Series?” The St. Louis Cardinals. As well as more delicate ones such as, “Will my wife think I’ve changed too much?” or “Do you think my girlfriend still loves me?” I think your wife will just be thrilled you’re still alive . . . Of course, she still loves you.
My friends all kept checking in with me, making sure I was okay. I was, and I wasn’t. I would wake up in the morning thinking that Danny was still missing, only to remember seconds later that this time he was gone forever, and I’d have to let it sink in all over again.
After delays due to weather, they started flying the men out in huge numbers, the Brits to England, the Americans to ports of embarkation where they would then be shipped home. Seeing the absolute happiness on their faces as they left filled me with a mixture of joy and bittersweet sadness, and I had to take more than a few quiet moments alone to have a good cry.
On Friday night, Liz had called a meeting for all of Group F at the chateau. I had just taken a shower when Dottie knocked on the door of our bedroom and peeked in.
“Coming down?” she asked. I was in the threadbare pink pajamas that had traveled the ETO with me, my sleeping bag wrapped around my shoulders. I couldn’t get warm. “I know you think we’re hovering over you, because we are. You don’t look good. And I’m not just talking about the weight you’ve lost.”
I had lost weight. My uniform pants were barely staying up, but the fresh grief over Danny had made everything taste like sawdust. And I was definitely coming down with something, but I shrugged it off.
“It’s just a cold,” I said through chattering teeth. Dottie came in the room and put her hand on my forehead.
“You’re burning up.”
“It’s not that bad,” I said, as I started coughing.
“Uh-huh,” she said, rolling her eyes. She helped me wrap the sleeping bag tighter around my shoulders, and we headed downstairs.
Everyone was socializing. Blanche waved us over. She was sitting in the front with Viv and Frankie, and they were chatting with Doris, Rosie, and ChiChi. Liz stood near the fireplace, next to something large and square covered with an army blanket. After she scanned the crowd and did a quick head count, she began to speak.
“First, I have surveys up here that the Red Cross needs all of you to fill out, to let them know what you plan to do next now that this war is mercifully winding down. Your options include heading to the Pacific, going home, or staying here with the occupation forces. Please remember that I’ll be staying in the ETO, and there will be positions available in London, Paris, and Berlin at the very least.”
Liz gave me a pointed look and a smile when she mentioned the ETO jobs, and I was flattered she wanted me to consider it. But did I want to stay? I tried to imagine myself living in Paris, working at the Red Cross headquarters there. My future was wide-open, which was strange and exciting and sad all at once. And judging from everyone’s surprised reactions, it was the first time any of us realized we’d have to make that kind of decision so soon.
“Now, you have some time to think about it,” Liz said, raising her voice above the chatter and raising her hand for quiet again. “I don’t need to send these back to headquarters until the end of May, but please try to get them to me as soon as you know what your plan is.”
She paused and smiled, putting her hand on the square covered by the army blanket.
“I also wanted to call you all together tonight just to say how proud I am of you and the work we have done here with the POWs,” Liz said. “I think you’ll agree with me when I say that while it’s been some of the hardest work I’ve done in the ETO, it’s also been some of the most rewarding.” There were nods and murmurs of agreement from all over the room.
“Some statistics I think you’ll be interested in: In the past week we have served sixty-four thousand doughnuts and five thousand gallons of coffee, four thousand packs of cigarettes, and fifteen thousand packs of gum.” She looked around, smiling as all of us clapped.
“Most importantly, we have helped soldiers from over fifteen different countries, including Poland, Greece, China, South Africa, and Australia. Now, I don’t know about you, but I think that calls for a celebration. And Lieutenant Craighill has generously provided us with champagne for the occasion.”
The room erupted in cheers as Liz pulled the army blanket away to reveal two cases of champagne.
Frankie and Viv jumped up to help Liz open one of the cases and uncork a couple of bottles. A few girls ran out to their Clubmobiles and brought back as many mugs as they could carry.
“No thanks,” I said, when Viv came over with two mugs, one for me and one for her.
She handed it to me anyway and then sat down on part of my sleeping bag. Frankie, Dottie, and Blanche came over to sit down with us too. It wasn’t until Liz showed up with Dr. Caplan, a medical doctor from the POW infirmary, that I got suspicious.
“Dr. Caplan, what are you doing here?” I said, frowning.
“We asked Dr. Caplan to come by and take a look at you,” Dottie said.
“What is this?” I said, looking around at my friends. “I’ve got a cold, that’s all. I’m doing fine, just a little overworked.”
“A little overworked?” Blanche said. “Sweetie, you haven’t stopped, despite losing Danny.”
“And I love you and your stubbornness,” Viv said, “but I refuse to stand by while you work yourself to death due to grief and needless guilt. You need to knock it off.”
“All right, all right,” I said, holding my hands up in surrender. “You don’t have to gang up on me. Doc, will you check me out?”