Love of Finished Years

by Gregory Erich Phillips

  Glenn’s small band of Allies behind the German front had no grasp of the action in front of them. They moved in counter to the German troops, remaining out of sight of their enemy. Soon they lost track of how many days had passed since their isolation. The German army had advanced swiftly, but few reinforcements or supplies followed. This push represented Germany’s final expenditure of men and resources.

  On the north bank of the Aisne River, the fugitives found an abandoned camp from which they were able to restock their own supplies of food. They hid in what was left of the forest. Most trees were burned to tall stumps, and nowhere could a fresh blade of grass be seen, although it was early summer. The countryside of northeast France had been completely ravaged. But at least the dead tree trunks and riverbed offered some seclusion. If an army either advanced or retreated their way, it would be more likely to go around rather than through their position. They knew the Allied army at Reims was close, but the German front was solidly in their way.

  Soon they sensed the Germans beginning to accumulate forces for an attack on Reims. Each night the stranded band tried to find a way to rejoin friendly forces, but there was no way to cross the German position. Captain Billings, an English officer they came upon in the abandoned trench, had assumed command of the tiny company. He resolved to wait while they were reasonably secure.

  “Perhaps when the attack comes,” he told his men, “we will find a way to help our side from behind the lines.”

  With this goal, Glenn took a small party out each night to record the positions and number of German divisions. Glenn was well suited to this kind of mission. He could move silently through any terrain and had unusually good coordination. He had never realized these skills until the weeks of secretive movements.

  Sergeant Fulwider was a mapper. They had recovered a notebook at the trench, and he created detailed diagrams of the area as they scouted behind the enemy lines. With Private MacLeod and a Private Cook they marked their way west. The Germans had assembled a huge army along more than fifteen miles facing Reims. It took the whole night just to record the westward flank. Dawn surprised them, still two miles from their camp.

  “We’ll take shelter in this creek bed,” Glenn said. “We cannot risk walking out in the open after all the wagons that came through here yesterday.”

  They found temporary seclusion in the dried-out creek bed. They didn’t have to hide well—just out of the direct path the troops would take. Nor would Captain Billings worry about their absence. Glenn had prepared him for this possibility. Even if they were discovered, their friends in the wood couldn’t help. They were on their own. The four soldiers slept sporadically through the morning.

  Close and irregular gunfire woke them.

  “Where is that coming from?” Private Cook whispered.

  “Could they have found our camp?” said Fergus.

  “No,” Glenn said. “Those shots were from the north. Our camp is east. Something is happening.”

  He climbed the side of the creek bed and poked his head over the charred landscape. With his eyes just above the ground, all he could see were sticks and dead grass. Then a runner came into view in the distance. Another shot rang out, and the man lurched, stabbed by a bullet in his left shoulder. Wounded, he kept running. Although he was still far off, Glenn could see by the color of his uniform that he was an American. He slipped back into the creek.

  “There is an American running this way. He’s wounded. I can’t tell how many are chasing him.”

  “I hate the cruelty of it,” Sergeant Fulwider said, “But we can’t afford to rescue him. If he has any sense he will let himself be captured.”

  “You’re right,” Glenn agreed. “It would be too risky.”

  Fergus poked his head up to see the race that was coming toward them. “There are only three Germans chasing him,” he whispered. “We could take ’em!”

  “No,” Glenn said. “It hurts me to leave him alone, but it is not only our lives we would risk but also those of our com­panions in the wood. If we start popping away they’ll send a whole company after us. It’s too great a chance for one man.”

  The voice of the American shouted from above, less than a hundred yards away. “I give up. Don’t kill me.”

  The man’s voice stirred Glenn. He raised his head, feeling his heart twist with a complex array of emotions.

  The American had fallen to his knees with his hands in the air, facing his pursuers. He had thrown his pistol to the ground. He slowly pulled himself to his feet with his good arm. Blood oozed slowly from his shoulder. The three Germans tossed their rifles over their shoulders as they reached him. Suddenly the American ripped out a knife and stabbed one of the Germans in the throat. The other two threw him to the ground, kicking him into submission. The obstinate American tried alternately to protect his wounded shoulder and his groin, as the two Germans aimed their kicks at those areas. He cried in defiance and agony.

  Glenn dropped back into the dry creek, his face sweating profusely. He began to remove his coat.

  “I have to go fight for that man.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I’ll go with ye,” said Fergus.

  “No.” Glenn pointed his finger authoritatively at the Scot, then the other two. “You are all to stay here. If they overwhelm me, do not come out to help, even if they kill us both. That is an order.”

  Glenn left his rifle and took only his Colt revolver.

  “Is he a friend of yours?” Fulwider asked.

  Glenn paused at the top of the creek.

  “No.”

  He ran at a low crouch across the field, angling to make sure the Germans both had their backs to him. The one who had been stabbed was dead. The American had stopped struggling. One of his adversaries held his arms down while the other playfully brushed a knife across his neck. The American had lost his chance to be taken alive. Glenn knew he had to hurry. He ran silently, undetected by all three.

  He stopped running thirty feet away and walked slowly forward. He could not miss his first shot or he would be dead. He had practiced his shooting diligently since joining the army, but he knew he wasn’t the most accurate of shots. Fifteen feet away a twig on the ground betrayed him. The Germans turned quickly. Glenn sprinted forward and fired at the one who had been holding the American down and hit him in the chest from point-blank range. He died instantly.

  The wounded American brought his free arm up and hit the other German in the face with his elbow. The German dropped the knife and twisted away, pulling his pistol out of his coat. Glenn shot at him but missed. The German got one shot off, but it wasn’t well aimed toward either American. He started to run away. Glenn steadied his arm and aimed carefully. If this man escaped, they and their company in the wood would all be found. He shot and missed. Taking a slow breath to concentrate, he aimed again, fired his fourth round and hit the German in the back.

  The wounded American ran up with his own pistol and shot him twice more where he lay on the ground, then the American collapsed from exhaustion and loss of blood.

  Glenn grabbed him by the good arm and half supported, half dragged him back to the creek bed. Fergus came up to help for the final stretch. As soon as they lay in the shelter of the ditch the wounded man vomited three times before relaxing. After a few minutes, his body became calm and his eyes cleared.

  Glenn sat, exhausted and shaken with his back to the slope as Fulwider dressed the wounded shoulder.

  The American’s eyes were fixed on Glenn. Nobody spoke. The three British soldiers could feel a tension in the air that they didn’t understand.

  “Why did you save me, Glenn?” asked Hal, unable to bear the silence any longer.

  “Is that the thanks I get?”

  “You can’t help being a do-gooder, can you?”

  “That’s how you explain it?”

  “It’s what I never understood about you.”

  “On the contrary, I think you were right about me all along. I did it for se
lfish reasons. Bitter as I am to have risked my life for you, I would have hated myself forever if I had hidden here and watched you die.”

  Glenn buttoned up his coat and picked up his things.

  “We need to move on. I hate traveling in daylight, but those shots were probably audible from the front. Once they find those bodies, they will hunt us down. The others in the wood are not safe, either. Private Halifax, can you travel two miles quickly?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We’ll help you.”

  They dragged the three dead Germans into the creek bed. They would have preferred to bury them, but there was no time. At least the bodies would be out of immediate sight. Then they moved on toward their camp.

  Hal and the Brits introduced themselves. Fulwider and Cook eagerly heard the tale of his harrowing flight from the battle at Belleau Wood. At first there had been five companions. Hal was the only survivor. Fergus stayed ahead with Glenn, who had entered into a solemn melancholy.

  Throughout their campaign together, Hal and Glenn never again acknowledged a special acquaintance with each other. To Glenn, Hal was an audacious and daring private. To Hal, Glenn was a shrewd commanding officer. The men who saw the exchange in the creek bed later wondered whether they had imagined the entire episode.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Companionship

  Dafne read her father’s note a second time. He was right, she knew. But that didn’t make it any easier.

  It had been two weeks since her outburst at Elsa. Though they had resumed normality, something was different. Their relationship was now almost purely professional. Dafne missed the friendship they used to share.

  She folded up the letter and looked around her bedroom. How she loved this little apartment, even though it had hardly provided the life she dreamed of finding in New York City. She would be sad to leave it, more for what could have been than for the memories she’d actually made here. The best times—those first few months—had been so brief.

  In these times, everyone had to give a little. Now it was her turn.

  Her parents had asked her to come back to Lindenhurst. Elsa had to be let go. She understood; she had expected it. But she also determined to do all she could to find a way to stay in the city. She couldn’t give up. New York symbolized all her dreams, even if Lindenhurst held her best memories. Why go back to the place of her memories when those years were finished and beyond renewal? She had to stay and prove she could make it in New York. Somehow.

  She would have asked her parents to take Elsa back into their employment, but her father had anticipated this and addressed it in the letter. Katherine was now working in the house beside her father. There was no need for translation work anymore, thus no place for Elsa. Still, Dafne determined to help Elsa find another position. She—and her parents—owed Elsa that after she served their family faithfully for six years. Dafne had grown apart from her servant, but she still loved her dearly and wouldn’t see her working in the factories again. Elsa would come out of this okay.

  Would she?

  Dafne sighed and walked to the window. She looked out at the green trees lining the busy street. How she loved the energy and pace of these city streets.

  Life without Elsa frightened her. Even though she had been cross and cruel with her lately, Elsa steadied her and helped her in so many little ways. Dafne knew how to cook a little, and she could figure out how to do other things. Perhaps her father would let her take a smaller, cheaper apartment. Or at least come back to the city after the war. But there were so many other voids than cooking and cleaning that Elsa’s departure would create. Dafne was afraid of being alone.

  How she wished the war would end. Then New York could return to being the city she loved. Strangely, Hal didn’t play a very large role in her postwar vision. Would they still be together after the war? She didn’t know, but if New York became the vibrant city it used to be, she could build her place in it once again. Her charm and her beauty would be enough. She didn’t need Hal any more than she needed Glenn. As the months passed, she found she hardly missed either of them anymore. She missed the life.

  She didn’t have the courage to talk to Elsa yet, but she needed to talk to someone. She called Thelma and went over to her friend’s home that same evening. Sitting together on the couch, Dafne told her everything, then started to cry. Thelma pulled Dafne’s head down onto her lap.

  “We’ve grown apart recently. But I love Elsa, and I need her. Without her I’ll feel so alone. I’ve never been alone before.”

  Thelma stroked her cheek. “Dear Dafne. Sweet Dafne. You never need to feel alone.”

  “But I am alone now. I don’t know what to do. I can’t bear the thought of returning to Lindenhurst.”

  Thelma turned Dafne’s face with her hand and looked down at her earnestly. “You are not alone.”

  Dafne smiled up at her friend. She understood what Thelma meant, and it comforted her.

  After relaxing a few more minutes, Dafne got up and retrieved a handkerchief from her purse. She wiped her tear-stained eyes, feeling much better.

  Thelma sat back on the couch with her legs crossed and arms out over the back of the furniture.

  “Everything will work out okay,” she said. “Trust me.”

  Dafne smiled, reassured by Thelma’s confidence.

  “You know, Hal hasn’t written a single letter since he left for France. I only found out secondhand that he had really gone. I don’t care anymore.”

  Thelma nodded.

  “For all Glenn’s faults, I know he’s a good man. He wasn’t right for me, but he’s a good man. With Hal I’m starting to feel like I was just one more girl he can brag that he bedded.”

  She sat back on the couch beside Thelma, and saw her friend’s inquisitive eyes.

  “No wonder he kept pursuing me so hard after that night at the Biltmore,” Dafne continued, answering the question Thelma was too shy to ask. “I didn’t sleep with him until much later. I thought I wanted to, despite the risk to my reputation. I always thought I wanted to with Glenn, too.”

  “And?”

  Dafne just shrugged. That single word was a loaded question, particularly from Thelma. She didn’t want to discuss the experience further.

  “You must be starving,” Thelma said, and Dafne knew that she understood. “Let’s go have dinner together.”

  Dafne looked down at her day dress.

  “In this? I couldn’t.”

  Thelma laughed. “I’m not taking you to the Ritz Carlton. I know a casual place close by where you’ll be the best-dressed girl there.”

  Dafne chuckled. “Okay. Let me fix my face, though. I can’t let you see me like this.”

  Thelma, with her children and their maid, lived in a large apartment on 88th Street, toward the river. It wasn’t the most prestigious neighborhood, but that allowed the Sandersons to have more space for the price. They walked to a restaurant in the nineties that Dafne could only describe as a dive. She had never been this far north on the island. Sure enough, Dafne, in the dress she couldn’t possibly go to dinner in, looked more formal than anyone else in the place. They ate greasy meals and drank beer. Dafne thoroughly enjoyed it. She felt ready for a new adventure—for something fresh and exciting.

  Throughout the meal they talked easily. Dafne felt she could tell Thelma everything. She couldn’t believe she’d once felt jealous of this wonderful woman.

  After dinner they walked hand in hand to a nearby nightclub where a four-piece band played jazz music. Dafne had never been in this kind of club. It was very dark inside, but still felt warm and inviting. She didn’t recognize any of the songs. This music was too new to have made it down to the dances at the big hotels yet. They sat in the back, at a table lighted by a single candle, and ordered two more beers. Thelma rested her hand on Dafne’s leg under the table as they listened to the band.

  Dafne asked Thelma to dance with her. Although they were the only two dancing, nobody gawked at them the way the men
had watched at the Biltmore two weeks ago.

  When the band took a break, they sat back at their table in the shadows. Thelma looked at Dafne and held her eyes, then tenderly placed her hand on her cheek. The scant inches between their faces dissolved into the darkness of the club.

  Dafne closed her eyes and waited hopefully . . . welcomingly for Thelma’s kiss. When her lips touched hers they felt soft and smooth. Thelma began to pull away, but Dafne grabbed the back of her head and made her kiss her for a few seconds longer. They smiled at each other and laughed shyly together. Dafne knew if there had been light to show it, her cheeks would be flushed, but inside she felt warm and happy.

  Returning to Thelma’s apartment, they both felt sleepy from the heavy food and beer. Dafne borrowed a nightgown and shared Thelma’s bed.

  She awoke in the morning disoriented. Sunshine poked through the cracks in the curtain to light the unfamiliar room, the big bed and the warm body beside her. Then she remembered everything and felt happy.

  Thelma, seeing her eyes open, leaned up on her elbows and smiled at her. Dafne saw herself reflected in Thelma’s smile. She felt lovely and loved. She reached up her arms and pulled Thelma down to her, hugging her tightly.

  Until that night, Dafne hadn’t consciously realized what was happening between her and Thelma. She couldn’t point to a moment when, once past, this became inevitable. But now, in each other’s arms, she knew that it had to be . . . and this had been true for some time.

  She could have lingered in bed all day but knew Elsa would worry. She dressed in yesterday’s clothes, hoping to make it home without being seen by anyone. Before allowing her to leave, Thelma put both hands on her waist and looked earnestly in her eyes.

  “Dafne, love, write to your father. Tell him you are coming to stay with me. Be my companion.”

  “What about Michael?”

  “Don’t worry about Michael. That is a matter for another day . . . after the war.”

  “Okay.”