He pulls back gently, releasing the hold I have on him, leaving me without his tender heart to lean on or the comfort I feel when I’m in his arms. I reach my arms back toward him to hold on for a few more seconds, but his gaze drops to my hand clenching his. His forehead wrinkles as he covers his hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry I have to leave you again, Lizzie, but I have to go now.”
I release my hand, wanting to fall to the ground and weep until the pain oozes out of every pore of my body.
“Goodbye, my love,” I mutter through a weak breath.
“I’ll be back. I promise, baby.”
He’s gone, leaving me with only a cool draft in the empty corridor. I lean back against the wall, shivering from the loss of hope I felt for a brief few minutes.
* * *
It took me a bit to pick myself up and refocus my attention on what should have been a break to clean myself up.
As I approach the nurse’s quarters, I find only a few other nurses in the room, and no one is speaking. They seem to be here for the same reason I am; to remove the remnants of death from their bodies by donning clean garments.
There is a pile of laundered uniforms in the corner, so I lift one off the table. The scent of bleach and detergent wafting around my nose takes me back to a few days prior, when I was doing Dad’s and the boys’ laundry at home. Life was so simple. I just didn’t know it before yesterday.
“Have either of you seen Nurse Audrey Evans?” I ask.
The women both shake their heads in unison. “No, sweetie, we’re both from the Red Cross. I’m afraid we don’t know many of the staff here yet.”
“Of course,” I respond. Audrey took an offered position here just a month after we completed our training. She had her mind set on what would come next for her. She was clear about the fact that her life is here, and she will remain on this base.
With the folded linen pinched between my hands, I head down the hallway toward the powder room. In moments like this, when there is no one around and silence consumes me, I question every decision I made between yesterday morning and today. I base my decisions on gut instinct rather than taking time to mull things over.
I place the clean uniform on the base of the sink and twist the nozzle on the faucet, watching the water fire out in bursts for a few quick seconds before a steady stream flows into the basin. I fill my hands with soap and lean over the sink to wash my face, rubbing the soap into my eyes during a moment of distraction. The burn numbs my thoughts for a few moments. I need more of that. The cool water sends chills through my nerves and I rub at my cheeks, nose, forehead, and chin as tersely as I can stand to scrape away the remnants of someone’s last moments. I continue scratching at my skin with the length of my fingernails, wiping away the grime from my arms and neck. My nail beds are a rusty-brown and there is dirt caked beneath the tips. I have been avoiding my reflection, refusing to give into the reality of what my eyes will now see in the mirror—a broken woman who has seen too much and comprehends the meaning of loss more than she should.
“You are stronger than you realize,” Mom always told me. “Keep fighting, Elizabeth. We Salzberg women do not give up.”
Recalling Mom’s words forces me to see myself in a different light. My pale face is rigid, but my eyes are alert, and I press my shoulders down and back, looping a stray hair behind my ear. I pinch my cheeks and take in a deep breath. The men upstairs need me. I am capable.
The clean uniform brings a sense of renewal and confidence. I’m where I should be, where I need to be, and where I will make a difference.
I will survive today, and there will be a new day tomorrow.
25
December 1941
Seven days have passedsince watching the last peaceful sunrise and welcoming a new day with hope and joy. The beauty of this tropical paradise is now quiet, dismal, and tattered. Six days have come and gone since President Roosevelt declared America to be at war. Since then, I’ve had little time to consider the meaning of his words, but in the moments when I’m alone with my thoughts, I compare it to children fighting over wooden blocks and how easy it is to split up the toys and give each child equal parts. Although war could never be as simple as trading a few blocks, I can’t understand why ruining so many innocent lives is the answer either.
Then I ponder the other side of the story—a story where we, as Americans, have no choice but to fight for what we believe is right and just. Men and women are stepping forward, potentially giving up their lives to fight for our country. The enemy unfairly attacked, killed, and shattered us. I want to believe we aren’t in this battle merely to retaliate, but I suppose a response is what the Japanese requested, and a war is the only way.
I’ve heard the radio reports and seen the streets outside of the base. Men are standing in lines, waiting to enlist, and women are volunteering to cover duties the men will leave behind. Americans are ready to take back what they have stolen from us.
I’ve wondered what Mom would think at this moment. Would she be pro war or against it? Or would she be somewhere in the middle, fighting for a unique solution no one is considering? Her goal was to save people and if our people are going abroad to fight, the ones saving them need to follow in their footsteps.
All along I thought I had to decide between taking a nursing position on the East Coast or the West Coast, but there is a third option, and it’s going against Dad’s wishes. My safety and well-being will be in jeopardy but if I have a purpose in life, like Mom said, I no longer see the other two career opportunities fulfilling the role I believe I can handle.
The Red Cross has mounted flyers to recruit our nation on every free inch of space. I have never seen so many people in the streets this early in the morning, waiting to sign their names away to Uncle Sam. A sharp red poster catches my eye on the window of a closed hair salon.
The image is of a beautiful woman decked in army greens and decorated with gold insignias. Her bright eyes are bigger than the sky, as if she’s enough to take on the world, one wound at a time.
YOU ARE NEEDED NOW
JOIN THE
ARMY NURSE CORPS
