by Leslie Gould
“I grew up outside of Springfield, Illinois,” she said, “with my grandparents, after my parents passed away.”
“I’m sorry,” Joe said. “What happened?”
“We were visiting my grandparents and my mother and father went into town to do some Christmas shopping. A snowstorm caught them by surprise and on the way home they were involved in a bad accident. Both were killed instantly. I have a few memories of them before they died, but my earliest vivid memory is of Grandmother crying when the sheriff came to the door to give us the news. Did I mention that my grandmother and grandfather were Mennonite?”
“Oh.” It was all beginning to make sense. “And they spoke Pennsylvania Dutch?”
“Just a little. I spent the summers with an aunt and uncle south of there who are Amish.”
His heart lurched. “What made you decide to become a nurse?”
She ducked under the branch of a flowering crabapple tree. “I needed to support myself somehow. My grandparents both passed away a few years ago.”
Of course she wouldn’t want to join her aunt and uncle’s church and become Amish, not after having grown up Mennonite, which must have been a liberal group if they didn’t speak Pennsylvania Dutch in the home. And now she was completely Englisch.
Feeling awkward and not knowing how to respond, he eventually said, “That explains how you know the word Denki.”
She laughed. “That slipped out. I’m sorry.”
“No,” he said, stepping over magnolia petals on the sidewalk. “It was nice to hear.”
As they walked on, he asked if she was happy to be off the farm and in the city.
“Not entirely,” she said. “I don’t mind the city, but there’s nothing like the smell of freshly cut hay, along with the feeling of working hard all day long. Not that we don’t work hard here—we do. But working outside has its own kind of satisfaction.”
Joe agreed wholeheartedly.
As they reached the lake, he realized that she’d matched his pace, and he regretted not slowing down. But she wasn’t out of breath.
The sun grew lower over the city as they walked along the shore. Lt. Shaw told him that she’d graduated from nursing school a year before and joined the army immediately. He guessed she was at least twenty—two years older than he was.
“Look,” she said, pointing. The sky had turned a fiery orange, with yellow closest to the horizon and lavender toward the top, and was setting over the tallest building on the skyline. The building had hundreds of windows and some sort of figure on top that was a silhouette against the setting sun. “That’s the Chicago Board of Trade Building.”
Joe was reminded of the spectacular sunsets back on the farm that filled his soul. Now, both his soul and heart filled with emotion like never before. Perhaps it was the city, but he guessed it was more likely the company.
He could only imagine what Faith would say to him about his swell of feelings for an Englisch girl—an army officer, at that. “You’re getting too big for your britches. . . . Why would a girl like that want anything to do with you? . . . You’ll never amount to anything anyway. Not to mention, you’re treading where no Amish boy should go.”
“Isn’t it amazing?” Lt. Shaw’s face lit up like the sun.
Joe swallowed, found his voice, and started to say, just as Lt. Shaw did, “We only have God to thank—”
They both began to laugh when they realized they were saying the same thing and then together finished “—for such beauty.”
“My grandfather used to say that,” she said, looking up at him.
“My father too.” Joe’s heart swelled more, but then as the last of the sun disappeared, he thought of the soldiers who’d stopped him and Ali the week before. “We’d better get going.” Could he protect Lt. Shaw if they were accosted? Without resorting to violence?
As he turned west, Lt. Shaw slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow, sending a tingle down his spine. He drew his arm closer to his body and again she matched his stride as they walked in silence. He wished the evening would never end.
They passed several groups of soldiers, but all of them had girls with them, and none of the men paid any attention to Joe and Lt. Shaw. They all seemed to be having fun and were oblivious to anyone else.
Thinking back to their conversation by the lake, Joe asked Lt. Shaw, “Did you ever think about living with your aunt and uncle permanently?”
She shook her head. “They have fourteen children. You’d think one more wouldn’t matter, but it was time for me to become independent. So many women were getting jobs building aircraft and making munitions, but I needed something where I could support myself after the war too.”
He guessed most women would plan to get married, keep house, and raise children. But of course not all people married.
“I haven’t been back to the farm for a couple of years,” she said. “I do miss my aunt and uncle and cousins, who are all male. Not one girl in the family.”
“Except for you,” Joe pointed out.
She smiled wryly. “Well, they were good to me, but I never felt I truly belonged. My uncle and cousins are all good men, don’t get me wrong. From what I’ve witnessed, Amish men are raised to be hard workers, good husbands, and good fathers.”
Joe certainly hoped he would be, regardless of Faith’s predictions.
Lt. Shaw continued. “My aunt truly cared about me, but there was a division there. She’d been raised Mennonite and married an Amish man. Her sister, my mother, had been raised Mennonite and married an Englischman. I was a reminder of that.” She shrugged. “My older cousins have married and have families of their own, and my aunt and uncle are growing old, with the responsibility of still caring for the younger ones. It’s a lot for them. Perhaps if I had a girl cousin, she and I would be close. I do miss my trips to the farm though. . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Joe regretted his earlier assumption. She wasn’t as enamored with the Englisch way of life as he’d guessed. It sounded as if she were simply being pragmatic, although he knew she had a gift for being a nurse. He’d seen it in action.
As they walked in silence for another block, Joe realized he wasn’t the only one who felt awkward in conversations. She seemed to also. But he wasn’t as worried as he had been before. Perhaps she didn’t mind the quiet. He liked that in a person.
After another block, she asked him about Lancaster County. “What is it like?” she asked. “I assume you farm there.”
He answered that he did. He told her about his Dat and his sisters, and then that his Mamm had died a few years before.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“I’m sorry about your parents too,” he answered. “And that you were so young when they passed.”
“Denki,” she answered.
When they climbed the stairs to the hospital, she didn’t let go of his arm. A strand of hair had fallen from her bun, against her face. He longed to brush it aside.
As they stepped into the lobby, a loud booming voice jerked Joe out of the dreamlike state he’d been in all evening.
“Well, well, well.” Karcher stood in the middle of the lobby, his feet spread wide. “Lt. Shaw, you have no business being out with a Dutchy, holding on to him like that.”
Lt. Shaw didn’t let go of Joe’s arm, but he sensed her stiffen. “My personal life is none of your business.” Then she spit out, “Second Lieutenant Karcher.”
As a first lieutenant she outranked him.
The man’s face reddened, right up to his hairline. “I’ll report you to Captain Russell.”
“By all means,” she said. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Karcher smirked. “Bachmann’s your subordinate.”
“No, he’s with the CPS.”
“That’s right. The man is shirking his duty—he’s un-American.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth,” Lt. Shaw retorted, tightening her grip on Joe. “He’s a good man and a skilled orderly. And a compassionate h
uman being.” She glared at Karcher as if implying he wasn’t.
The man didn’t seem to register her words or tone. “I’ll walk you to your room,” he said.
“You absolutely will not.” She started toward the staircase, dragging Joe along. When they reached the door to the female dormitory, he swallowed hard, trying to control his anger. “Will you be all right?” He’d never felt like hitting a person before—until now.
She nodded. “He won’t follow me.”
“I’ll wait here,” Joe whispered. “Until he leaves.”
“Denki. I enjoyed our time together.” She turned her face up toward his. “And I meant what I said about you.” She let go of his arm and slipped through the door. Joe pulled the door shut and stood with his arms crossed over his chest as Karcher headed out the front door.
Maybe Faith was wrong. Maybe he would amount to something someday. Maybe he did already.
His heart constricted. Even though he hadn’t joined the church yet, he knew he would. Karcher was right, but in a way the man wouldn’t understand. Joe and Lt. Shaw had no business being interested in each other—not that Joe believed she truly cared for him, but he feared it was too late for him not to care for her.
Karcher did report Lt. Shaw to Captain Russell, but nothing came of it except that Joe feared Lt. Shaw distanced herself some. He couldn’t blame her. They still continued to spend time together. They sat by each other in the cafeteria. Took more walks, although they stayed in the neighborhood instead of going down to the lake. But Lt. Shaw didn’t loop her arm through his again.
A couple of times, Karcher sneered at them, but Lt. Shaw insisted that Joe just ignore him. On the last Sunday of May, they both had the day off, and Joe tagged along to the Mennonite church Lt. Shaw attended when she could.
She explained on the way that she hadn’t told anyone she was a US Army officer. “I’ve told a few people in the congregation that I work as a nurse, but that’s all. The Mennonite church is familiar to me, although this particular one isn’t. Still, I don’t want to go anywhere else. But they wouldn’t understand why I joined the army. I hardly do myself.”
“Do you regret it?”
She wrinkled her nose and said, “Not yet.”
As they walked, she asked, “How old are you, Joe?”
“Eighteen,” he answered.
“Goodness, I thought you were at least my age. Twenty. You seem wise beyond your years.” But she didn’t react negatively that he was younger. And it increased his confidence that she thought he was at least twenty.
He’d never been to a service inside a church building before. It was a simple structure on the outside, located in a neighborhood with modest houses. There were wooden benches on the inside with a simple pulpit up front. The songs and the sermon were all in Englisch, and Joe found himself missing home.
Yet he appreciated the sermon. The minister read Colossians 3:15: “And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to the which also ye are called in one body; and be ye thankful.” He preached about relying on the peace of Christ even when the entire world was at war. “Pray for peace,” he said, “and above all remember that you are called to peace. Live that out in our congregation, in your families, in your neighborhoods, and at your places of work. Those are the best ways we can share the peace of Christ.”
Joe thought of the patients he cared for and the nurses and doctors he worked with. He thought of Lt. Shaw. Jah, he wanted the peace of Christ for all of them.
“And don’t forget to be thankful,” the minister said. “Gratitude makes us aware of all Christ has done for us, of His sacrifices. A grateful heart draws other people to the love of Christ.”
Joe thought about that too. He had so much to be thankful for. The Lord. His family. All that he was learning. The people he’d met in Chicago.
After the service ended, several people came up and greeted Lt. Shaw. She introduced Joe to each one, explaining he was from Lancaster County. All of them asked questions about his life there. Some asked if he knew a particular family. One lived close to Leacock, and Joe believed he knew which farm was theirs. The connections between Mennonites and the Amish in some circles were strong, even all the way to Chicago.
On the way to the trolley from the church, Lt. Shaw took Joe’s arm again. “That was a good sermon.”
He agreed as his nerves jumped up and down his spine.
“I’m thankful for you,” she said.
He swallowed hard, wanting to say he was thankful for her too, but the words stuck in his throat. He simply smiled and nodded his head. Lt. Shaw was making his time in Chicago more than bearable.
On a Tuesday morning in early June, Joe had stepped out of the shower room and dressed for his shift when Captain Russell, who stood in the doorway of his office, motioned for him. Joe headed down the hall and into the office, where several other orderlies and doctors were gathered around the radio. Karcher leaned against the far wall, his hands shoved into the pockets of his white coat. It appeared he’d just gotten done with his shift, which meant he’d been working with Lt. Shaw. Joe tried to catch the man’s gaze, but Karcher averted his eyes.
Joe turned toward Ali and started to ask what was going on, but his friend hushed him and pointed to the radio. “. . . invasion began at 6:30 local time this morning. The Allied operation began with the landing of airborne troops at the mouth of the Seine River. The Allied armies are on the march!”
Captain Russell let out a whoop and most of the doctors clapped. Joe felt his heart sink. Who knew how many were dying right now. But then his heart lifted. Perhaps the war would soon be over. Perhaps the battle would save lives in the long run. How God must mourn what men did to each other.
But after four years, Allied troops were back on European soil. Hopefully they could push the Germans back and hold their ground.
As music came on, several of the men shook hands. Joe didn’t want to celebrate a battle, but he couldn’t help the surge of emotion he felt. Would he soon be going home? He felt both elated and devastated.
Once he left Chicago, he’d never see Lt. Shaw again.
When he reached the third floor, a radio blared out another news report: “The beaches of Northern France are alive right now with Allied troops. . . .”
Lt. Shaw stood at the narcotics cabinet, counting the medications as she did at the end of every shift. She turned and caught his eye. “Did you hear?” She nodded toward the radio.
He nodded, stepping closer to her.
Her eyes sparkled. “Hopefully this is the beginning of the end.”
Joe wanted to reach out and wipe away the tears that had escaped her eyes, but of course he didn’t. “God willing,” he said.
She smiled and brushed away her own tears, nodding in agreement.
Too soon, she left the floor. The radio stayed on all day, and they all quieted whenever a newscast started. Bennie, whose stump still hadn’t healed, was ecstatic. “This is what we’ve been waiting for!” he shouted whenever an update came on.
Joe tried to calm the soldier down. He was running a fever, and Joe knew too much excitement wasn’t good for him. Toward the end of Joe’s shift, Bennie gestured toward his stump and said, “Today made this all worth it.”
Joe feared his voice would quake if he spoke, so he simply smiled at Bennie. The boy had sacrificed so much. What had Joe done? Leaving Lancaster County to come to Chicago had been exciting. The little adversity he’d faced was easy to deal with compared to what Bennie had already been through and what was still ahead. After giving Bennie a second serving of soup and bread, he headed to the cafeteria.
Lt. Shaw sat next to him as they listened to the radio that had been dragged into the room. The newscast said Adolf Hitler had personally taken charge of all of the German anti-invasion operations.
“Sounds as if he’s frightened,” Lt. Shaw said.
Joe hoped so.
The day after the invasion, General Eisenhower released a communiqué stating that the Allie
d losses were light during the invasion, but it seemed his message was more for Hitler than for the folks back home. Many lost their lives on the beaches and in the fields of Normandy. Joe had been right in fearing the casualty count was high. Over 425,000 Allied and German troops were killed, wounded, or unaccounted for.
In late June, three weeks after the invasion, there were rumors of doctors and nurses at the Chicago hospital being transferred to France as a combat unit. Joe heard about it first from Ali.
“Will orderlies be sent too?” If so, Joe hoped he’d be selected to go.
Ali said, “Only army orderlies as far as I’ve heard. Not any of us.”
Joe woke in the middle of the night worried that Lt. Shaw would be sent to France. It didn’t feel right that so much would be required of her, along with the others, while he stayed safe and sound in Chicago.
The first of July, Joe had a letter from Hope. She said they were working hard but doing well. Dat had a bad spell a couple of weeks ago but is doing better. He says to tell you hello and that he prays for you every day. Joe’s heart constricted as he read. He was relieved Dat was doing better but wondered how bad the spell had been. I’ll let you know the following because I doubt Faith will. Abe Yoder has been stopping by to court her. Hope, who usually had clarity before anyone else in the family, wrote, I’m guessing they’ll marry in the fall, and I didn’t want you to be surprised.
Joe was happy for his sister—and for Abe Yoder. He hoped she’d learned to be kinder than she had been in the past. He knew it would be a loss to his Dat to not have Faith keeping house and helping with the farming. Perhaps Abe Yoder would move to the farm once they married. Or maybe Joe would be home by then.
Hope continued, We’ve had hot, humid weather. The lightning bugs were out last night, and we all laughed as we remembered the joy you found in chasing them—even up until last year. He smiled at the memory, knowing his family had found pleasure in laughing at his antics his entire life. We all cherish your letters. Please write when you can. We’re praying the war will end soon, and you’ll be home before we know it.
