Promise to Cherish (4 page)

February 4, 1945

Dear Eli,

Hello in the Name of our Lord! How is the camp treating you? I wish you could visit home. I saw your mom at church and she said they all miss you. Norman Hershberger came home this week from your camp. His mother already looks healthier now that he’s home. Norman said you are well-liked there. I am not surprised. He also said that letters from girls are called sugar reports. How sweet. I think I quite like that.

Your brother and Sylvia look real happy and their little house is so nice. They make such a nice pair, don’t you think?

Eli stopped reading and stuffed the letter back in the envelope. He did not want to read about Sylvia and Mark. He’d gotten his fill of hearing about his brother after his mother first wrote him about their wedding. A wedding after the fall wedding season came as a shock. When it was clear the families rushed the wedding because of an expectant child, the awkward timing became understood.

CHAPTER 3

T
he winter passed in slow motion. By the time April arrived, the nurses became restless and the patients were antsy. Keeping them cooped up in the ward for so many months made everyone feel sufficiently crazy. At least once the warmer weather came the attendants would be able to take the patients out walking.

“My favorite dresses to dance in are my spring dresses, not my boring winter ones,” Millicent Smythe said on a slow Sunday afternoon as several of the nurses spent time together in the day room at the top floor of the Kirkbride. She perked up. “Let’s go dancing on Saturday night.”

Everyone quickly agreed, even Jeanne. She was a nurse in the Children’s Ward and Christine’s best friend from high school. She’d been widowed several years earlier. Her husband, Paul, had died only days after landing in Europe. They’d only been married for a few months when he left for overseas. The stress of his death had forced Jeanne to also lose the baby she had been carrying. She usually avoided all festivities.

By that Saturday six of the nurses squeezed into Millicent’s powder-blue Mercury Eight—borrowed from her older
brother—and giggled the whole way to the dance hall. They shed their winter blues as quickly as they could drive out of the hospital lot. The hall was as busy as ever. Christine didn’t often go dancing, not wanting to spend any extra money. But with the stresses of her job weighing her down, she decided she needed the fun. If it meant she would have to wait a smidgen longer for her new nursing shoes—so be it.

The dance hall reminded Christine of the high school dances her mother had forced her to attend in the school gymnasium. She suddenly had the urge to shrink away into a corner as she had years ago, but when her group found a table near the wooden dance floor and bar, it was clear that retreating wouldn’t be possible. They pulled chairs over for everyone and took in the excitement of their surroundings. The ceiling rafters were lined with streamers, the band’s loud music and the chatter of the crowd around her set a happy scene in motion.

“Look at all the men,” Millicent said, elbowing Christine. Millicent put special emphasis on the word
men
and with it brought giggles and agreement from the other nurses. Away from the hospital, the serious nurse became a gregarious young woman. Her curly hair, usually tamed beneath her nurse’s cap, was styled to perfection tonight with pin curls framing her heart-shaped face. She took a pull from the cold drink in front of her and slammed it down against the wooden table.

“Take a look at that fella,” Gussie, another nurse, said, tilting her head over. “The one with the cocky grin.”

Christine blinked to see who Gussie was talking about.

“He reminds me of Errol Flynn in
Robin Hood
.” Nearly every statement Gussie made was in reference to some picture show or Hollywood star. Her own fire-red hair had the waves of a starlet. She wore an emerald-green dress with a low-cut neckline and a full skirt that would twirl better than anything else on the dance floor. Her strong New York accent made Christine
smile. Her own eastern accent, barely noticeable, was nothing like Gussie’s, who had grown up very close to New York City. “Ain’t he a looker. Not so handsome as Clark Gable, but he is something else.”

Everyone but Jeanne agreed whole-heartedly. From Christine’s vantage point, the tall man had a strong, chiseled face and broad shoulders. His greased hair gleamed under the lights. A few moments later, the man came into full view, displaying the loss of an arm. All of the ladies’ eyes diverted quickly.

“Hey, Bette Davis—er, I mean, Jeanne—you a nun or something?” Gussie asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that hovered over the women.

“A nun? No, it’s just that—” Jeanne began.

“Jeanne’s just a bit of a wallflower, is all. But she was a cheerleader in high school, and homecoming queen,” Christine interrupted.

Christine didn’t want her friend to talk about being a widow when they were out to have fun. It was the same reason she rarely spoke of her dead brothers. Everyone knew someone who had died. No family was exempt. At this point, however, no one wanted to talk about it at every turn since the signs of the war were everywhere regardless—the one-armed man, men still in uniform, and empty chairs around the dinner table.

“What about you, Christine, you’re tall and curvy—you really don’t got a fella?” Millicent piped up again. Every sip of drink brought out more of her eastern accent.

She shook her head. The conversation moved on without her before she could think of anything to contribute. Her thoughts lingered on being called
curvy
. Christine wondered if she really meant
fat
? No one had ever called her fat, though she’d never been willowy thin like Jeanne. Her hands smoothed down the length of her flat abdomen, then she straightened her glasses, and exhaled. And if curvy was really a positive, it had never
worked for her. She was known as the smart girl in high school and she hadn’t dated much. She’d stood in Jeanne’s shadow as she floated around with her boyfriend Paul, the football player.

“Hey, Christine, anyone ever tell you that you look kinda like Vivien Leigh with lighter hair?” Gussie broke into her thoughts.

Christine rolled her eyes. “Gussie, please,” she laughed, then threw back her head and put the back of her hand against her forehead. “Kiss me, Rhett.”

The group of ladies laughed and collectively said, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t—”

“Remember, we are ladies.” Jeanne piped up. “Nice girls do not cuss.”

“Oh, fiddle-dee-dee.” Christine elbowed her friend.

They all laughed.

“Enough talk.” Gussie stood from the table. “Let’s dance. Who’s with me?”

They all danced through several songs. Christine found that the one-armed man had a lot of rhythm and he took turns dancing with nearly all of them. They all had to remind Gussie not to twirl too fast otherwise her garter and panties were on display, but other than that, they all had a smashing time. After several laughable efforts at an East Coast Swing and the Jitterbug, Christine needed a break. She and Jeanne each ordered another Coca-Cola and sat down. Their friends continued spinning on the dance floor.

“Don’t look now, but I think I just saw Jack Delano.” Jeanne elbowed Christine and pointed with her pinky as she sipped her soda.

She peeked over carefully, then looked back at Jeanne. It was him. She’d know that face anywhere.

“Is it true that Sandy Jordan split with him?” she asked Jeanne. Christine couldn’t imagine why.

“Yes, she wrote him saying that she wouldn’t wait for him
when he wasn’t even halfway over the Atlantic. She started dating Tim Crandal who returned injured from the war shortly after.”

She just couldn’t imagine why anyone would leave Jack Delano. They’d gone to high school together. He was handsome, smart, a football and basketball star, and everyone seemed to want to be his friend. After all, their high school had voted Jack most popular. His father died when he was a boy, but she did not know many other personal things about him. He and his mother came to church some Sundays. She also heard they occasionally visited Jack’s well-to-do grandfather in New York City on the weekends.

Christine tempted another glance. Jack’s black hair was slicked to perfection. His Italian roots made his skin tan enough to make him stand out in a crowd. She bit her bottom lip at his handsome, chiseled face when suddenly Jack looked over. Their eyes met for a moment before she turned away. How long had she been staring?

“I think he saw me looking,” Christine said to Jeanne. “Please tell me he’s not coming over here.”

When she saw her friend smile and wave over her shoulder, she immediately grew warm.

“Jeanne?” Jack’s voice, deep and sharp, came from behind her.

Christine squeezed her eyes shut for a few moments and did not turn around.

“Jack, you’re back!” Jeanne stood and hugged him. Jeanne’s husband, Paul, and Jack had been good friends. “And how dapper you look in your uniform. Who would’ve thought you were over there for so many years. You don’t look a day older than when you left.”

A distinct pause filled their conversation.

“I was sorry to hear about Paul.” Jack’s soft voice could barely be heard over the ruckus around them.

Christine sensed Jeanne nodding her head—she usually did when people brought him up.

“Who’s your friend?” Jack’s voice resonated against her back.

Christine wondered how her hairstyle looked from behind. Her caramel-colored hair was in the usual victory rolls on top, but she’d left her length to cascade in waves past her shoulders. Usually the back of her hair was in a snood or rolled up when she was working. Why worry over it? It wasn’t as if he was looking at her.

“You remember Christine Freeman?” Jeanne grabbed Christine’s shoulders and pulled her up. “Christine, say hello to Jack.”

After that awkward introduction, Christine couldn’t do much more than nod. She may have waved a few fingers in his direction also. His dark eyes met hers and her knees wobbled.

“Sure I do.” He smiled and nodded.

“You do?” Christine hadn’t meant to say that. She pushed her glasses up and began pulling at the skirt of her dress then moved to the neckline of her dress—or rather, Millicent’s dress. She had insisted it was perfect for Christine’s shape. It was much lower cut in the front than what she usually wore. Why couldn’t she just have worn something more sensible? She imagined her cleavage getting more obvious by the moment.

“You’re Pete’s kid sister, right?” Jack took a long drink from his cup, and then smiled at her. “I guess not so much of a kid anymore.” He winked at Jeanne and chuckled.

Pete was her brother, the oldest of the four of them, and had died a few years earlier. All through school she had always been known as Pete or Nathaniel’s sister. They were special and popular. She had not proven the same.

“Pete’s dead,” she blurted out. “I mean, yes, I’m Pete’s sister.”

Jack nodded. “I hadn’t heard. I’m sorry.”

Christine nodded back, feeling a lot like Jeanne, only less sympathetic in her awkwardness.

“Wanna dance?” He looked at Jeanne.

“Oh no.” She waved her hands. “I’m beat. But you and Christine should dance.”

His eyes went slowly back to Christine, who held her breath. What had Jeanne just said? He put his glass down on their table and lifted his eyebrows at her.

“How ’bout it?” His hand extended toward her.

Jeanne nudged her.

“Okay,” was all she could say and she took his hand. The warmth of his hand made her entire spine tingle. She was holding Jack Delano’s hand and he was about to dance with her. She had been in the Math Club and had worked at the YMCA locker room since age fourteen, when all her popular classmates were playing sports and spending time together. She’d never held a pom-pom or gone to a homecoming dance with a boy. She and Jack had nothing in common, but here they were hand in hand.

As soon as they stepped foot on the dance floor the big band music shifted from a lively tune to something slow and soft.

“Fellas, why don’t you hold those pretty dolls a tad closer for this next number.” A man’s warm, soft voice came through the stage’s microphone.

Jack pulled her closer than she expected and she could smell the slight scent of alcohol on his breath. It heightened her sense of his nearness and she let her rigidity go. Christine’s body grew warm. She’d never had a man press his hand against the small of her back and draw her in. All the boys she’d grown up with had been off to war for so many years, and the ones who hadn’t gone to fight usually weren’t worth dancing with.

“So are you a nurse like Jeanne?”

She nodded, not able to find her voice.

He nodded back.

“Do you like it?”

She imagined herself only nodding and not saying a word. That question was not easy to answer. Before she knew what to say, her mouth opened and she spoke.

“I had been interested in nursing for a while when the war started,” she began. “I knew nurses would be needed.”

“But you stayed here. You didn’t go over there or work at a military hospital?”

“My ma didn’t want me to go far away, like my brothers,” she said and shook her head. “I needed to be here to help support the family. Hudson River was short-staffed because of the war and my ma had me enrolled in their nursing program before I even had a chance to say no.”

“Sounds like my mother,” Jack said.

“Really?”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “She always tries to make plans for me. Her and my grandfather, that is.” He smiled down at her for a moment. “How’s your father? I remember Pete telling me about your father. A hero of the First World War. Has a bad leg because of an injury, right?”

Christine nodded. He was shot in the leg during the war and had walked with a significant limp up until a few years ago.

“Just as my brothers left for the war, right after Pearl Harbor, he lost his ability to walk. His knee never really recovered fully from his injury, but now, nearly twenty years later, he . . .” She wasn’t sure how to finish. He’s an invalid? He’s unemployed? He won’t even try to find a job? “No one wants to hire someone who can’t walk.”