Promise to Cherish (12 page)

“I’ll see you sometime at church and we can talk about a real date. Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s 1945—er, ’46—you’re a modern woman now.” He winked at her then reached over to the passenger door and pulled it closed from the inside. Jack drove off before she could say a word about his idea of her being a modern woman.

It was easy to be invisible. Christine had mastered it in high school. She didn’t say anything to the other workers who were making their way from the parking lot to the Kirkbride building and up to the apartments. A prayer escaped her mind that Jeanne wasn’t among them. How would she explain this to her best friend?

She wouldn’t. That’s all. She would keep this awful secret deep inside of herself and never let anyone ever know what Jack had done to her—especially the fact she led him to it. Christine
lagged behind the larger group of giggling women and once she was in her hall she pulled out her keys. They dropped to the floor with a clang. Several nurses turned.

She bent down to pick up her keys and realized how desperately her hands shook.

“Christine, you all right?” one of the nurses said.

Christine nodded, her eyes welled up.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“You don’t look so good,” said another in a thick accent. “You’re about as pasty as my Grandma Rose, and she’s eighty-two. You sure you’re all right?”

Christine willed her knees not to buckle. Her leg muscles reminded her of how her patients were after hydrotherapy—wobbly, like they were made of rubber.

“Sure,” she said. “Just tired. I think I might be coming down with something.”

She didn’t wait for another query but focused carefully on unlocking her door and then slipped inside without another glance at the other nurses. Once inside, she realized how her body ached. Carefully she walked to the small vanity and collapsed onto the chair. She found her reflection frightening. Her Vivien Leigh victory rolls she’d been so proud of were flattened and ruined. Her wrists ached from how tightly he’d held them. Her glasses were crooked.

Christine peeled off her dress down to her garter, and kicked everything under her bed in disgust. She pulled her housecoat off the back of the chair and wrapped herself inside the warmth. She tiptoed quickly down the hall to the bathroom and shower. Breath quickening, heart interrogating her chest. She could hear voices from the day room. She quickly slipped into the bathroom without being seen.

The hot water pelted her body. Her soreness was quickly getting worse. Surely the hot water would help. The water
poured on her back and her chest for a while before she put her face in the flowing heat. Her tears mixed with the hot water. She wanted to wash everything away. She grabbed her washcloth and lathered it with soap. She began scrubbing every part of her body. Her skin turned red with the effort. Though they had been repeatedly asked not to take long showers, and especially not hot ones, she didn’t care, not this time. Christine let the hot water wash over her until she couldn’t stand the heat any longer. When she finally got out the cold air forced her into reality. Christine towel dried and pulled on her housecoat. She couldn’t even look at herself in the out-of-focus image in the mirror.

She returned to her room and locked the door behind her. She didn’t bother combing her hair or putting on any more clothes, just huddled under the heavy quilt on her bed in her housecoat. Her body couldn’t relax. Christine knew her adrenaline was still racing through her veins. Shivers rocked her to the core. Why had Jack lost such control? Why had he forced himself on her? She shook her head trying to erase the images from her mind. Was he right though? Had she led him on like a common tramp? She had let him kiss her long and deeply. She’d let his hands roam the length of her back and around her waist and hadn’t pushed him away quickly enough when his hands had begun to wander.

The only person she could blame for this awful night was herself.

CHAPTER 10

A
loud knock at Christine’s door startled her awake.

Her eyes opened wide and sunlight streamed through the gap between the curtains. Was it morning already?

“Christine.” Jeanne’s voice was calling. She pounded a few more times.

“Jeanne?” she called back.

Christine looked at the clock. It was nearly seven. The last time she looked it was three a.m. She scooted herself to the edge of the bed and winced. Her hands kneaded her achiness and her eyes squeezed shut.

Her body moved slowly to the door and unlocked it, opening it only a crack. Jeanne’s bright eyes looked concerned.

“Christine, what’s going on? Do you know how long I’ve been pounding on your door? Why aren’t you up and ready? Is something wrong?” She paused for a brief moment. “I know you were out late—are you ill? I thought maybe you’d come to my room last night and tell me about how it went with Jack.” Her voice went up and down excitedly. “Well, say something.”

Christine shook her head. She was saying too many words.
Asking too many questions. Questions she couldn’t answer. She rested her head on the doorframe and squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’m fine.” Her throat was dry and her voice hoarse. “My alarm just didn’t sound. I’ll have to skip breakfast and just get to work. I’ll meet you later?”

She didn’t want to give any clues to her best friend about how her night had gone. Jeanne would figure things out too quickly.

“You’ve never woken up late. What’s really the matter? Was it Jack?” Jeanne pushed the door a bit.

Christine turned but didn’t open the door any farther. Her dress and undergarments from the night before peeked out from beneath the bed.

“He’s not interested? Did he hurt your feelings? He can be very coarse at times, Christine.”

“No. Nothing like that.” She shook her head. “He brought me home and I just forgot to set my alarm. That’s all.”

Did Jeanne buy her lie? Christine’s friend bit her lower lip and squinted her eyes. After a long exhale she agreed and told her to find her later. Christine locked the door again and sunk down to the floor with her back against the door. She couldn’t stop crying. Her physical pain was minimal compared to remembering the feeling of Jack’s body holding her down. That would stay with her forever. The sense of his probing, violent touch filled her with fear and humiliation. She hated him. She hated herself.

Memories of seeing her brother Peter and Jack joshing around in the halls at school came to mind. The way Christine would walk by and pretend not to hang on Jack’s every word. Peter was always sweet and would wave and say hello, but Jack never paid her any mind. Now that he had, she wished Jack had died in the war instead of Peter.

Christine ran into work looking unusually ashen and feeble. After working nearly nine months at the hospital, Eli found himself assessing people’s physical appearance and mental stability in an instant. It wasn’t like he was always correct, but usually Christine was on the ward before him with a smile and rosy cheeks. Today her uniform was a touch wrinkled and her cap crooked. Her hair was combed into a simple Amish-looking bun at the nape of her neck and not in the usual intricate rolls and waves that he’d come to appreciate.

“There you are,” Eli heard Nurse Smythe say to Christine. “I was about ready to call Phancock and see where you were. Minton didn’t know either.”

“Sorry,” Christine said breathlessly. “I think my alarm is broken or something.”

“You sure it wasn’t your date last night?” Nurse Smythe winked at her and nudged her as they stood next to each other hovering over the nurse’s log. “Word travels fast around here, Christine.”

As the color washed from Christine’s face a stab pushed against Eli’s gut. She’d had a date? He’d always wondered why she was working at all and not married. She was by far the most interesting woman he’d ever met, and the most beautiful. But she never talked about any man in her life. As much as he’d urged himself not to get attached to her, there was a part of him that was bothered by hearing she had a date last night.

“Wish I could’ve had a hot date last night instead of getting stuck here.”

“Well, next New Year’s I’ll work instead of you. It wasn’t a big deal. Now, what’s all this about Wally?”

Eli’s ears perked again, hearing something about Wally.

“Something happened to Wally?” Eli turned around from pretending to help Floyd and another patient play checkers. He didn’t want them to know he was eavesdropping, but he and Wally had become friends in his time there.

“No, nothing happened,” the nurse said. “He’s going home. Can you believe it?”

Eli’s and Christine’s eyes met. It was as if they were both remembering their first awkward conversation that happened over Wally’s discomfort with him working there. Wally had improved greatly in the last nine months, Eli had noticed. Wally had become much more than a patient—he was a friend, and Eli would miss him.

“His parents visited during the day shift yesterday,” the nurse went on.

“Looks like we both missed a lot on our day off, Brenneman,” Christine smiled with her mouth, but not with her heart.

With the thoughts of Wally going home and receiving a letter from his mother at the end of his shift, it made his desire to return home all the stronger. If Wally could find the strength to return home, maybe, when the time came, he could, too.

December 22, 1945

Dear Eli,

Blessings to you in the name of our Lord Jesus. We are praying that you are well and healthy. Merry Christmas to you and I hope the new shirt fits you well. I know it’s going to get to you too late. I am sorry about that. You probably won’t get it before New Year’s now.

Our weather here has been damp and cold. Uncle Rufus says we’re due for some warmer weather in a few days. You know how he’s always right and we’re ready for it. I s’pose you might be getting about the same in New York. I hope the comforter is keeping you warm enough.

Betty and Emmy each colored you a picture. They ask about you almost every day now. We are all ready for you to come home. Are they feeding you enough? Mark’s twins are growing so fast. Junior is just like Sylvia and little Lindy is just like Mark. They are as funny as can be. Your sisters try to boss them around. Mark says that Sylvia seems some better after a difficult autumn. I can tell Mark worries sorely over her.

Your dad hurt his back. That old bull pinned him against the wall and he didn’t get out until David heard him. He’s okay, but he’s thinking of asking your cousin Andrew to board with us in your room until you come home. Aunt Annie is doing well in our small cottage. She’s quiet though, probably misses Holmes County. She’ll get used to living here soon enough.

Well, I best be off. David has been dating Amanda Fisher and the young people went to a Christmas Singing tonight. Moses still isn’t interested in any of the girls, you know how shy he is.

God’s Blessings be on you,

Mom

Eli stared at his mother’s words for several long minutes. Though he was nervous to return, he was hungering for home. So many things were happening with his family—things he used to take for granted and even considered trivial. Now he knew that his growing little twin sisters and a twin niece and nephew were the important things. His brother dating a girl seriously might not be big news, but it was to Eli. It wasn’t as if David would ask Eli for advice though. No one ever did. Eli had done just about everything wrong.

He leaned back on the cot and let the letter rest on his chest. He refolded the letter and stuffed it back in the envelope and added it to his small box of letters. The pictures his twin sisters colored for him made him chuckle. One was a simple drawing of a horse and buggy and the other was a pasture with cows. He knew his mother had drawn them. She had been drawing
pictures for them since he was just a boy. The colorful scribble marks atop the drawing were his sisters’ handiwork, he knew. There was a lot of pink.

Over the next few days Eli battled with the recurrence of missing home and his emotional attachment to Wally as he helped him prepare to reenter life with his parents. He lived out in the country in upstate New York. Eli would likely never see him again.

“Thank you, Eli,” Wally said to him as he was ready to leave. His parents stood behind him with hope in their eyes. His dad held Wally’s small suitcase with white knuckles and his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Wally clapped Eli on the shoulder and then the two men hugged briefly.

“I’m glad you’re going home,” Eli said.

Eli was glad that Wally was able to meet his eyes. That had taken months to do comfortably. After their first conversation over mopping, Eli continued to talk with Wally like he would talk with any of his friends—simple conversations, as well as deeper thoughts on his faith and life at home.

Wally waved at the other staff. Christine stood on the bottom step, wiping her eyes. Floyd patted her shoulder in sympathy. He understood more than most people gave him credit for.