I swallow hard before responding, wishing everything ahead of us will be as simple as a promise. “Of course.”
“If it isn’t tomorrow, call me when you can, will you, darling?”
“Of course, silly.” I try to offer a laugh, a hint that I’m not as scared as I am, but I’m sure he hears the truth.
“Stay safe, doll-face. I’ll talk to you soon.”
The phone dial blares in my ear and my heart pounds against the inside of my chest. Everett is only quick with goodbyes when he’s upset. I’ve had to base his emotions off the speed of our salutations and I hate the feeling of leaving him in the same suspense I am living within, but I won’t waste a chance to say goodbye out loud.
* * *
My assumptions were accurate. We received deployment orders and within hours we were ready to debark from New York Port to our next unknown destination. There are plenty of assumptions going around on where we are heading, but no one is certain. For our safety, no one will have access to further intelligence until we arrive. At the moment, everyone seems strangely calm and filled with jubilation of its own brand. Maybe it has something to do with the calmness of the sea surrounding us for as far as we can view, but none of us are blind to the fact that we are closely monitoring the vicinity for enemy submarines.
“She’s at it again,” Beverly moans. “Someone please make it all stop.” Beverly pulls her pillow over her face and rolls over in her rack to steal a few more minutes of sleep. We should all be supporting each other in any possible way, but Beverly has been acting like an egg since the second week after we arrived in New Jersey. Johnny never came to see her and then we were quarantining because of the meningitis scares. A week later, here we are in the middle of the Atlantic.
I climb down from my rack and kneel by Maggie’s side. She has been vomiting on and off daily for the last three days. Her skin has taken on a permanent shade of green and she’s so weak, we can hardly get her to stand for more than a few minutes at a time. “Isabel, can you find some water?”
Isabel is out of her rack within seconds, rubbing her eyes and searching for Maggie’s canteen. The ship is still pitch black because the sun hasn’t hit the horizon yet and we can’t use any form of lighting within the dark hours. This news did not come lightly to some members on board, but once everyone understood what could happen if an enemy spotted us at night, the questions died down and there were no further issues with complying to orders. No one could have prepared us for what to expect. However, I had already lived through many nights of darkness after the attack on Pearl. I understand the importance of staying out of sight. After the initial shock of the newly installed rules, most of us quickly adapted and have gotten proficient at feeling around for what we need at night or in the early morning hours, but it’s challenging when mildly sleep deprived.
I rub Maggie’s back until Isabel returns with her water and toothbrush. “Do you want me to find you some salt crackers?”
“No, thank you,” Maggie croaks.
Isabel and I sit by Maggie’s side, trying to comfort her in the only way we can. “I’m betting this trip won’t be much longer,” I tell her. It’s been almost two weeks since we set sail and it’s hard to know for sure, but from what I can tell with this old compass Dad gave me before I left, I’m almost certain we’re heading toward Europe, which means we should dock within a couple of days.
“Am I the only one who is this sick?” Maggie asks between small sips of water.
“No, in fact, I had to hydrate four sailors yesterday after excessive spells of sickness,” I say. For the most part, no one is talking about those who are incredibly seasick, but it could be much worse if the waters were choppier than they are. So far, the trip has been smooth. “Did you hear about BB last night?” Isabel asks us both, likely trying to distract Maggie from thinking about her nausea.
“No, what happened?” I ask. Nothing will come as a surprise to me with Betsy. I should have known from the initial bus ride with her that she might be too much to handle, but to be fair, I used to be the wild one in my small circle of friends. Betsy is on a whole different level of vivaciousness, though. It appears her only reason for being here is to find a man to bring home at the end of the war, but this isn’t the best place to be looking for a husband, at least not now. She may have been better suited to do that in a nightclub. The last I heard, she had a notepad full of hash marks, keeping track of how many men she wooed off to a utility closet somewhere.
“Captain Landry caught her and an officer in one of the isolation wards. Last I heard, they’re both in trouble on multiple accounts.”
I can’t say I’m surprised to hear this gossip, but a doll-dizzy officer has more to risk than Betsy does, and I find the news somewhat shocking to hear they decided an isolation ward was a good place for engaging in misconduct. “Gosh, I figured it was only a matter of time before she got caught up in more trouble than she’d be able to find her way out of. I didn’t think it would happen on the ship, though.”
“She’s been looking for trouble since the first week of basic training when she and a private got caught, him with his pants down, while they were making whoopee in a meat-locker behind the mess hall,” Isabel adds.
Her statement and reminder of that occurrence makes Maggie laugh a bit, and it’s the first time we’ve seen her perk up since we boarded the Queen Mary.
“Who would have thought we would have so much entertainment along with this grueling lifestyle,” Maggie says.
The scandalous chatter of the gossip on board the ship fills most of my letters to Everett. He isn’t sure if or when he will deploy since they are still deep in training at Fort Benning in Georgia, but I’ve noticed he seems to have an aversion to the discussions of my impending deployment. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s eager to deploy or if it’s because he’d prefer that I was the one still stateside. I know this though; having an ocean between us has brought with it a new sense of longing. It’s Mom’s words that make me think this way: “Distance is the food, stirring the hunger of love.” It was something she would say whenever Dad had to go away for a bit. I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t in a mess of tears like I was when he left, but now I realize it was because she would only allow herself to think about how happy she would be upon his return. To look at the distance between Everett and I as a way of making our love even stronger is better than focusing on the constant ache in my chest.
Just as we seem to get Maggie settled into a place of comfort, a growing echo of sirens bounces off the metal walls, startling all of us up to our feet. Within seconds, we’re in our uniforms, our boots tied, and we are piling into the corridor to reach our assigned locations to prepare for an incoming air raid. As it has each day since we’ve been onboard, my heart sinks to the darkest cavern of my chest as I recall the sounds, the sights, smells and emotions of the attack on Pearl. This may be just another drill, or it may be the real thing. Either way, we must act and react, face the fear of what might come our way. As nurses, our job is to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. For safety reasons, the nurses’ sleeping quarters are on the bottom of the ship, but there are sets of stairs that lead us up to the hospital wards.
The darkness of each corridor, though, has its own dangers because of the obstacles and barriers impeding us from finding our way around without getting hurt. I have several cuts and contusions from the middle of the night drills. Minutes pass before the sirens become a low ringing hum, informing us that our hearts can cease to pound for the moment because this is just another drill.
By the time we return to our quarters, the sun has risen enough to allow a scant amount of light to brighten the upper decks. This means we can now use whatever sources of lighting we have below deck. After being awake for hours, I’m out of sorts as I try to clear my head of the thoughts of what could have happened overnight.
“What’s that?” Beverly says as she makes her way back toward her rack.
“What’s what?” I question.
“That necklace. I’ve never seen you wearing it before. Did one of the nice anchor-crankers give it to you?” Beverly waggles her eyebrows at me, but I refrain from reacting to her teasing remarks. She likes to get a rise out of me, and the others, but I refuse to let her think she’s accomplishing whatever it is she’s trying to do.
I slip my necklace back beneath my collar and ignore her question. By the look on her face, I can see she isn’t about to let the questions go without answers. She takes the few steps between us and corners me between the wall and the rounded hatch. When she reaches toward me, I slap her hand away. “Do you mind?” I ask.
“What are you hiding, Lizzie?” She always puts emphasis on the last part of my name, as if she’s accusing me of something.
