The War Nurse

by Tracey Enerson Wood

  “My brother is here as well. We live together—”

  “Yes, yes.” She waved her hand. “Now, I have to apologize.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “In my time I have learned a few things. Some lessons come harder than others.” She collected her china cup and plates, and I followed suit. “I’m afraid I gave you terrible advice.” She glanced at a framed portrait resting on a side table. It was a photograph of her and Pierre and their bicycles.

  “No, Madame. All your advice was well intentioned and from the heart. I was and am always free to apply it to my own situation as I see fit.”

  “Yes, it was well intended. But you see, my life was devoted to my work, as I suspect is yours. And Pierre’s life as well. We were together always, night and day. Now, as each year passes, I realize more and more how lucky I was to have that precious time with him. We were fortunate to share great joys along with our many sorrows. When I first met you, I was blinded by the urgent need for our work to be of benefit to the French people. I knew you were of a mind to see to that, along with all the wondrous things you and the Americans were doing to save us.”

  She beckoned me to a flowered chintz settee that sat in front of a window. Tall flowers—delphiniums and gladiolas—grew just outside the window, giving the impression of a continuous sunlit garden flowing from the inside out. As she sat, her hair glowing in the light, I thought it was a scene perfect for Monet to capture.

  “I’ve only done my small part, and it has been a great privilege.” I sat down beside her.

  She gripped my wrist rather firmly. She may have been built like a squirrel, but she didn’t lack for strength. “Listen to me. Forget what I said about rumors and not mixing love and work. Love is the more important thing.” She released my wrist and picked up a packet of old letters, tied with string. “These are letters from my beloved. Not Pierre, mind you. Paul Langevin.” She walked her fingers through the stack. “I was fortunate to have two great loves, but I bungled them both. I should have pushed aside work for a time each day and just enjoyed life with Pierre. And Paul…”

  I swallowed. It was painful to watch her suffering such regret. I wanted to put her mind at ease. “You did what was best at the time. Who’s to say that you and Paul would have had anything close to what you had with Pierre? It’s easy to imagine it, but regrets do nothing for the soul.”

  She slid her fingers between the letters, looking for something. “He left his wife because of me, you know.” She sighed. “But that was probably for the best as well.”

  I looked at my watch chain. The train only ran once an hour. “I’m afraid I will have to leave you now. But we will get together again soon.”

  She stood. “Will you promise me something?”

  “Of course, Marie.”

  “Promise to put love first. Without that, nothing else matters.”

  * * *

  On the train ride back, my parting words notwithstanding, I had the feeling I wouldn’t see Marie again. It seemed she was telling me goodbye forever. Indeed, even though we now lived much closer to each other, we both had taken on even larger responsibilities. But it wasn’t only that. It seemed that being with me forced her to rethink her choices and caused her emotional pain. I didn’t want her to think that she had hurt me or my life choices in any way.

  I had learned that outside family, people came into our lives and stayed a while, as we learned and grew with each other. But mostly, they left again, as we inevitably moved on, as we each needed different people in our lives.

  CHAPTER 28

  June 1918

  These were very busy days, with tens of thousands of American troops arriving every week. The number of nurses was growing exponentially as well. If I thought about Marie Curie’s words at all, it was late at night as I drifted off to sleep. Her reversal was curious; I wondered what had happened to inspire it. Had she been speaking with Fred?

  Not that it mattered in any case. He was consumed with running a hospital back in Rouen and had just been promoted to lieutenant colonel. I was sure he was as occupied as I was, and we could safely tuck away our mutual attraction until a better time.

  I had to coordinate with the training hospitals back home, to recruit and train what we needed on a timely basis. The front, after over a year of stalemate, was finally starting to push back toward Germany. There were a few times when the Germans developed a new weapon or did a desperate attack to recapture ground, but the overwhelming feeling was that victory for the Allies was near at hand.

  I could no longer hear the distant thunder of artillery, except for one time when there was an explosion near our office. But this sound was different. It was a sudden, sharp sound, rather than the deep ground rumbling I had become accustomed to in Rouen, or the louder, pounding sounds we could hear from the CCSs.

  I went outside, because it had sounded close by. A few French men and women were pointing up the street, but I couldn’t quite understand what they were saying. The front was too far away was all I could decipher. Finally, an American supply sergeant came hurrying up.

  “Everything okay here?”

  “Yes, but do you know what that was?”

  “The Boche developed a long-range artillery gun, and a round landed not far from here.”

  There was some English-to-French babbling as the word spread among those gathered.

  This knocked the wind out of me, as surely as if I had been punched in the stomach. “They can reach Paris?”

  “Not to worry, ma’am. The explosives are too small to do much damage. Until they fall right on top of you, that is.”

  His answer hardly soothed me or the gathered crowd. If their guns could reach Paris with small rounds, it was only a matter of time before they could reach us with larger ones. Just when it seemed the enemy was on its last legs and peace was at hand, it could all tumble into an even more terrifying conflict.

  And of course, Paris was the grand prize. The Germans had blazed through Belgium and Luxembourg and were ripping their way through northeastern France, not just for the industrial cities, ports, and raw materials, but to capture the beating heart and nerve center. Because to control Paris was to control France.

  I needed to get back to my office. It was time to make evacuation plans, should they be necessary. I was fortunate to have a telephone in my office, and I made quick work of calling a meeting with the other senior department leaders.

  The next day, we met in our conference room, which was dominated by a large square table at its center. In addition to the overall director of the American, French, and British Red Cross organizations, there was a colonel who reported directly to General Pershing in attendance. Upon this table, we had a dozen maps, of all the countries in Central Europe plus North Africa and Mesopotamia. They were marked with red and blue arrows, indicating the movement of the military divisions on both sides.

  It was not up to me when and where to move the people and resources. It would be my job to coordinate with all the chief nurses and communicate the plan to them. I was glad to have met most of them several months back. I knew which ones could be told once and would execute perfectly, which ones would need to argue about why it couldn’t be done, and which ones would need lots of hand-holding.

  I was madly taking notes as the colonel spoke. He seemed to think we had time, several months at least, to formulate and test our plan. But the tension in the room was palpable. These were all people who had seen the devastation of war firsthand.

  A messenger came to me as I was straining to hear one of the quietest members of the group, the head dietician, who was responsible for all food supplies. The messenger handed me a folded note, then excused himself.

  Important visitor. Please go to lobby.

  Unless it was General Pershing himself, I could hardly think of a visitor important enough to take me away from this meeting. But then I th
ought of Phil. Oh my God, had something happened to him? Those new bombs…

  I excused myself and rushed to the lobby, my heartbeat pounding in my temples. I made the usual twenty steps down the central corridor in fifteen, then skipped every other stair down the winding staircase. I held a firm grip on the brass handrail; this was no time to trip. My boots tapped a quick rhythm on the terrazzo floors, and I made no attempt to step lightly to quiet them.

  Finally, I reached the heavy mahogany door and pulled it open. At first, I saw no one in the wood-paneled room. The majestic windows that went nearly to the ceiling let in plenty of light, and I had to blink at first. Then, I saw him.

  Fred was in a corner, absently pulling pamphlets from a rack. I was instantly grateful to see him but horrified at what may have brought him there so suddenly. My throat felt like it was closing.

  I rushed up to him. “Fred, what’s wrong?”

  He took a step back. “Who told you… What do you mean?” He replaced a pamphlet as calmly as you please. He held out his arms to me. “Are you not happy to see me?”

  I panted, still catching my breath. I was tempted to pull my dress away from my now damp underarms. “Is Phil okay? My nurses?”

  “As far as I know, yes. What’s happened?”

  “I… Well, I thought… You do know about the new German artillery reaching Paris?”

  He scratched his head, still wearing a look of confusion. “We know. Nothing to panic about.”

  “So there’s no emergency?”

  He shook his head.

  I looked at my timepiece. The meeting was scheduled to end in fifteen minutes. “Fred, of course I’m happy to see you, but please excuse me. I am in the middle of something. I’ll meet you at Phil and my apartment in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  I followed that up with an awkward kiss on his cheek and scurried back upstairs.

  * * *

  It was nearly 9:00 p.m. before I could break away from the office. The director was in my office, still wanting to review the plans we had made so far, when I realized my brain was so foggy, I wasn’t taking in what he was saying.

  “Can we possibly continue tomorrow?” I asked, a question I should have asked hours before.

  Luckily, our flat was only a couple of blocks away, and it was a refreshing walk home. I let myself in and found Phil and Fred in the sitting room with full glasses of brandy and a nearly empty bottle.

  “Jules! Look who the cat brought in!” My brother gave me a big hug, then fetched me a glass.

  “I know. We’ve—”

  Fred interrupted, squeezing me with a big hug. He even lifted me off the ground, not something many men can do. “Ah, but she’s too busy for me.” He smiled, his breath forty-proof.

  “I’m leaving you two to your own devices.” Phil winked, then left with his brandy in hand.

  Fred and I clinked glasses.

  “If I had known you were coming… Forget it. There was nothing I could do to rearrange my day today.” I took a drink of the deep amber liquid. It was god-awful strong. “What is this stuff?”

  “Calvados. Apple brandy from Normandy. You remember Normandy, don’t you?”

  “It’s only been a couple of months. And we agreed—”

  “To wait until we couldn’t stand to wait any longer to see each other. And I did,” he said.

  I don’t think I had ever been with him after having that much to drink. His emotions seemed to be right on the edge. I wanted to ask him if he’d been communicating with Marie Curie. It all seemed a bit fishy to me. But it seemed wrong to bring her up at the moment. And after all, her message was to treasure love, experience it fully, and not let others bully their way into it.

  “And I’m glad you did.”

  “Ah, Two Bits, I’ve missed you so.” He took my glass and put it aside. “And I’ve got wonderful news. I’ve been promoted.”

  “Oh yes, I’ve heard. In all the excitement in seeing you, I forgot to congratulate you.”

  “There’s more, love.” He slipped his arms around my waist. “I have to go away for a month or so with a unit up at the front.” He seemed to be reading my eyes, which probably registered fear. “But don’t you worry. After that, I will be reassigned someplace quite safe.”

  I let out my breath in relief. “Where would that be?”

  He grinned broadly. “Paris.”

  “No! Are you kidding?” When he shook his head, I grabbed his hands, and we twirled about the room like two teenagers at a dance. Then he took me in his arms. I let his happiness and his strength envelop me, felt love in his touch. The world could go on fighting, maiming, and killing, bent on destruction. But at that moment, that was far, far away, and there was only him and me.

  * * *

  It was a moment to treasure, to bottle up and place in the heart forever. From the warmth of his arms around me to the sound of his voice whispering in my ear and even his brandy-soaked breath, I wanted to remember it all. I wanted to push aside any fears for his safety or doubts that we could be together and let the future unfold as it needed to.

  For whatever happened, wherever the winds would take us, we would have that time together. I had learned from him how to let someone in, how to share the deepest parts of me. I had learned it wasn’t enough to share a meal or a conversation or a bed. To share the secrets of one’s soul was the true love that surpassed anything else.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  When I thought about a topic for my second novel, I wanted to stay in the same vein as The Engineer’s Wife. That is, to focus on a woman in American history who accomplished amazing things, yet whose story has been lost to time.

  Since I had practiced as an RN for many years and knew how challenging and unheralded that work is, I wanted to write about a nurse. Then I considered time frames. Although the World War II time frame is fascinating, there are already many novels written about the era, including many featuring female heroes. But at least in the United States, there hasn’t been many written about the World War I period. This particular time was a watershed era for nursing and medicine.

  In my research, I learned of Julia Catherine Stimson. Although I had studied the usual leaders of the profession, such as Florence Nightingale and Clara Barton, I had not heard of Julia. And since she was from the same geographic area and social strata as my previous heroine, Emily Warren Roebling, I could easily imagine them meeting and passing the torch of advancement for women.

  So with a person and era in mind, I delved into the fascinating history of medical care in France during World War I. I was fortunate to be living in Europe at the time, and many of the places have remained unchanged through the years, with many monuments to mark them. The racecourse in Rouen that was the location of several stationary hospitals is now a park. Sadly, there is no commemoration of the hospitals there at this time, but as the park is under renovation, my hope is that some kind of permanent monument will be installed. I found it interesting that despite the vast efforts at renovating the area, a Google map still shows faint lines of the former tent city, like scars on the landscape. Perhaps that is the only monument necessary.

  The Saint-Sever cemetery mentioned in the story is still there and has been lovingly maintained.

  Many readers of historical fiction enjoy learning which aspects of the story can be documented as true, which are solely in the authors’ imaginations, and which are somewhere in between. For that reason, I submit the following:

  Julia Stimson, Fred Murphy, Philip Stimson, Colonel Fife, Dr. Ernst, Marie Curie, and Annie Goodrich were real persons and served in roles similar to this story, although their specific thoughts, actions, and dialogue are imagined. Nurses Charlotte Cox and Nora W. were World War I nurses who served at the time but in different units. I discovered the story of Miss Cox upon visiting Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery, and Nora W. was my husband’s great-aunt.
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  Although the characters of Benjamin, Ned, and the Belgian patient are fictitious, the illnesses and injuries they suffered were like those described in diaries of real war nurses, or in the case of Ned, the first real casualty in the unit.

  In the story, Julia and her nurses go through Grand Central Terminal in New York City on their way from Saint Louis to their ship. In reality, some of the nurses met them in New York City, and it isn’t clear where they all met up. At the time, a train from Saint Louis could also have arrived at Penn Station, or in New Jersey, to be ferried to the ship. I chose Grand Central to simplify, and because it was and is a fabulous building.

  An interesting tidbit, the original aboveground Penn Station was destroyed, and Madison Square Garden was built over the remaining underground tracks. There was such an uproar over the destruction of the beautiful architecture that laws were passed to preserve many historical buildings, Grand Central being one of them.

  Marie Curie and her daughter Irène did in fact travel across France and Belgium, providing radiological services. They visited hundreds of field and stationary hospitals, mostly French, but some of the Allies’ as well, bringing equipment and training staff. I did not find documentation of which hospitals they visited and when, but as AEF Hospital 21 was known to be at the forefront of radiological services, I imagine it was on their list. Madame Curie’s troubles due to her love affair with Paul Langevin are well documented.

  The relationship between Julia and Fred is also one of those somewhere in-between aspects. They did both arrive at Barnes Hospital/Washington University in St. Louis in 1911. Letters to others attest to conversations between them, but I did not find letters directly to each other. It is documented that Philip Stimson did try to join the St. Louis American Red Cross unit in 1916, and Dr. Murphy apologetically declined, mentioning Julia several times. It is documented that Dr. Murphy was a widower at the time of the story and that he and Julia were both reassigned to Paris within a few months’ time. So they were in close proximity, worked together for seven years, and moved twice with each other.