“Where do you always hear these rumors?” Isabel asks her.
“Oh, you know. It pays to have an in with an officer,” she sighs.
“I think she meant to say: it pays to have an officer in—” Isabel continues.
“Girls,” Maggie interrupts, stopping the chatter before it goes any further. We all share a giggle which is refreshing since it doesn’t happen often anymore.
We’ve done our best to keep our morale up, but between my silence, Maggie’s nerves, and Beverly’s obnoxious behavior, we’ve all been moody recently.
“I’ll let you girls know if I hear anything more about a move,” Beverly says. “Let’s just hope Germany isn’t next on our locations to go sightseeing. We don’t want our precious Lizzie to be in that type of grave danger.” A snort of laughter follows Beverly’s unnecessary comments. There is nothing funny about what she’s saying. We all know they could move us to Germany any time. We’re pushing the lines forward and it will not end until we’ve accomplished what seems like the impossible.
Maggie, Isabel, and I roll our sleeping bags over our cots and tend to our hair before dressing and preparing to make our way to our assigned locations. Beverly strolls around late wherever she is going and somehow keeps herself out of trouble with the commanders and captains. It’s annoying, because no one should receive special treatment when we are all struggling to get by each day.
“I hope you girls have a good day. Fingers crossed for no serious injuries and maybe some extra smiles on these boys’ faces.”
“Hear, hear,” Isabel says, holding her tube of lipstick up in the air.
The weather is becoming colder by the day as we enter the autumn season and I’m dreading winter in these measly tents that do little to keep the chill out. I suppose something must change soon, anyway. It’s not feasible to keep the patients in these conditions.
I’ve also heard mentions of Germany and the setup of another evacuation hospital, but it’s all hearsay at this point. In any case, we’ll be moving along with our patients and it’s the only peace of mind I have at the moment.
I reach the shock unit tent and place my bag down on the hook just on the inside flimsy wall. “There she is,” Everett drawls with a giddy, but weak smile.
“You’re awfully alert this morning,” I respond.
“He’s been mumbling about you in his sleep all night,” Alan, another shock patient follows. Alan is likely being released today or tomorrow. His injuries were minor, and the shock was because of a slight concussion he suffered upon falling.
“Is that right?” I question.
“My body is aching. I’m an old geezer, and I think I need a nurse.” It’s hard not to react to his words, so I lift a brow in Everett’s direction. I’m beyond thrilled to hear his communication skills are improving so much, but we haven’t been able to get him up and moving around yet and it’s concerning after sustaining broken bones. The longer he’s in bed, the weaker he’ll become, not to mention the threat of blood clots and infection.
“How are you feeling this morning, Alan?”
“I’m well, thank you, Miss. I’m just hungry.”
“Breakfast should be here shortly,” I tell him.
I make my rounds, checking on the others, many of whom are still asleep or quietly staring at the ceiling. It’s hard not to wonder what they’re thinking about, but I presume it’s either a replay of the horror they’ve endured or the dream of going back home to be with their families. As usual, I check body temperatures and fluff the pillows of those who are awake and not propped up. I’m also lucky enough to receive a few morning greetings. Watching these men make progress gets me through the days here.
I make my last stop at Everett’s cot. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” I run my fingers through his hair and then down the side of his face.
“How come he gets all that attention and all we get is a fluffed pillow?” Alan asks.
“She loves him more than you, bozo,” Teddy, one of others speaks up. Teddy is close to moving out of the unit as well.
“Hush over there,” I tell them.
“I want to get up,” Everett says.
“We’ll try again today,” I say with a hopeful smile.
Everett places his hand on my arm and tugs weakly. “Come here,” he says. I lean down, coming in close to the face I would love nothing more than to kiss until we are both left breathless. “I might go home. A doc said something.”
“Home?” We haven’t been able to transport anyone out of here because of the conditions, which is why we have been doing everything possible to be a functioning hospital at this camp site.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Somewhere.”
“Maybe you misheard him.”
