Love of Finished Years

by Gregory Erich Phillips

  “I’m not letting you get away . . . now that I’ve found you.”

  How good it felt to Dafne to be spoken to that way. How different this assurance was from Glenn’s timidity and Hal’s frivolity. She wondered why she had been wasting her time and her heart for so long. She trusted Thelma and wanted to let her take care of her.

  They kissed again on the doorstep, both hands held at their sides and their bodies pressed together. Dafne closed her eyes for a moment before stepping back with both of Thelma’s hands still grasped in hers. They exchanged a look that meant more than any words could have said.

  Elsa and Dafne both cried on the morning they said good-bye.

  Despite promises to keep in touch and to see each other from time to time, Elsa knew that wouldn’t happen. She wouldn’t have much free time in her new position, and Dafne would never come out to Queens. As she left Dafne in the boxed-up apartment, Elsa knew the possibility was very real that she would never see her long-time mistress and friend again. She left early with her single suitcase of possessions. Dafne waited with all the boxes marked either to be sent back to her parents’ house or to come with her to Thelma’s.

  Elsa took the new subway train under the East River from Grand Central Station, stopped two stations into Queens, walked half a mile, and checked in at the building indicated on her telegram.

  She had been hired by a maid service that employed a dozen other girls. The agency had both residential and commercial clients who didn’t need someone on their own staff but still required maid service once or twice a week. Above the office was a dormitory she would share with the other girls. Dafne had been instrumental in helping secure her the job.

  After signing the necessary paperwork in the office, she took the stairs up to her room. She didn’t mind sharing the facility with the other girls but was glad to have a small bedroom to herself. Perhaps she would make new friends. Setting down her suitcase, she looked out the thick glass at the street below and the warehouse building across from her. It wasn’t much of a view, but the room was well lighted.

  Today certainly lacked the excitement of the last time she took a train east from the city for a new job. Yet she felt glad and even relieved. She had needed to move on from serving Dafne, and she was good at this kind of work. It was better than sewing uniforms in the factories. Furthermore, something told her this was only a temporary position for her.

  She reminded herself of the pride she felt that first night in the Graham house, when she realized that she had earned the right to call herself a career woman. Her hard work had earned that opportunity and would earn her another. Her emotions were frayed right now, but she still had that strength within her. She still believed in herself.

  So ironic, that she had saved for years for a time just like this, and now her savings were all but gone.

  She had no regrets about helping Sonja and Christof. They had already started on the repairs of the bakery, and thanks to her, had been able to restock and open for business in the least damaged part of the building. Elsa couldn’t imagine a better reason to have saved.

  Everyone was struggling to support this war, either directly or indirectly. She was lucky to have a new job. For her and her family, the first thought had to be surviving the war. Once it was over many things would change.

  How these changes would impact her life, she could only imagine. After the first indulgence in her dreams about Glenn, it was hard not to keep imagining a future with him after the war. This new job would allow her to dream quietly without risking her security.

  She wanted to write to Glenn immediately, to tell him her new address and to describe her new home. She always wanted to tell him everything. But this afternoon she couldn’t start. She was afraid.

  Although she wrote to him at least once per week, she hadn’t received a letter from him for over a month. She feared he was dead. The papers spoke of large battles in France. She always read the names of the dead, but in war there were unknown casualties. She had no assurance that he was alive.

  Almost worse, however, was the fear that he had forgotten her. His last letter had felt short and distant. Then nothing. Had he come to his senses and talked himself out of his brief fancy for a servant girl who wasn’t even all that pretty? Had he used her to help himself get over Dafne and now was ready for a new romance in his own class?

  So many times, growing up, her mother warned her not to let herself be swept off her feet by a man. Others—girls in the factory and elsewhere—had told stories of “swells” talking pretty to working girls, only to leave them with broken hearts . . . and often a baby to provide for as well. Elsa had never thought of herself as the kind of girl to be taken in so easily, yet here she was, her heart as vulnerable as could be.

  She knew Glenn was a good man and wouldn’t hurt her intentionally, but these things happened.

  She still had no idea whether Glenn thought of her the same way. She could have imagined the tone she read in his early letters. Maybe it was only friendship to him.

  Her free time was almost up. She was expected downstairs in the office in half an hour. She sat down and forced herself to write the letter to Glenn. Hard as it was to write to someone from whom she had stopped expecting a response, she would continue for as long as it took. She had taken her chance. If he were dead, or had forgotten her, then her heart was already doomed to be broken.

  It had only been a month. She tried to keep hope. Deep in her heart she felt he needed her love and prayers now more than ever.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The War to End All Wars

  Glenn didn’t flinch when he heard the artillery assault begin.

  The position of his vagabond company was eight miles behind the battle, though it could easily spread to their position. They all listened intently for any change in the gunfire.

  “What are ye thinking?” asked Fergus, who sat with him against the wall of the abandoned farm shed that had become their home.

  “I’m feeling guilty for hoping the Jerrys win this battle.”

  “Why?”

  “If they retreat they’ll fall back right to us and kill us. But if they push on to the Marne, we may be able to slip back to our side of the line.”

  The Scotsman nodded. “Ye’re right. But ye should be feeling guilty that we’re sitting here with bellies full of sausages, green beans, and brown beer!”

  Glenn laughed. “How did we get so lucky?”

  That morning, after traveling through the night, the group had stumbled upon a heavenly bounty in the farmhouse where they now hid. The Germans had used it for their officers’ quarters until the most recent advance. Leaving hastily, they left much of their supplies behind, including enough for the wanderers to have a breakfast fit for kings.

  None of the gun ammunition was useful to them—the German officers’ weapons were of different issue. But they had found a good quantity of explosives that they planned to take with them. The store that had been left made Glenn think they planned to use this place again. It would be dangerous to stay long whatever the outcome of the battle.

  “We’ve got it good,” said Fergus, patting his stomach. “I’m sure glad I ain’t up in the trench for this one.”

  “I don’t think there have been trenches in these last battles.”

  Both sides had figured out how to circumvent the trench stalemate. The Germans did it with a huge concentration of men, but their push wasn’t sustainable. Now it was matched by the Americans, whose numbers were sustainable. Meanwhile, the English had introduced a new invention that Glenn expected would eliminate trench warfare for good: the armored tank.

  “Can you believe I enlisted for this?” Glenn asked at length. “They would have sent me anyway, but I wanted to come.”

  “So did I. They never say what it’ll be like. Ye have to see it for yourself to know there’s no glory in it.”

  “I find it hard to care who wins anymore. I just want to stay alive.”

  “Do ye have
someone to stay alive for?” Fergus asked.

  “Yes, I suppose. There’s a girl I’ve been writing to, but I don’t know what will come of it when I get home . . . if I get home. Would you believe she’s my former fiancée’s servant?”

  “I’ve heard stranger things.”

  Glenn briefly closed his eyes to allow a vision of Elsa to come into his mind. He had thought about her so much during these weeks of wandering.

  “Do ye love her?” asked Fergus.

  Do I? Glenn wondered.

  “I don’t know if I’ll get through this war alive,” said Glenn, not answering Fergus’s question, “but if I do, I’ll probably have to forget about her. Still, the thought of her gives me peace.”

  “If ye love her, there will be a way. There always is, if ye have enough courage.”

  Glenn smiled. “She must be so worried right now. So must my family. No word from me in . . . how long has it been?”

  “I lost count of the days. Out here even night and day blurs together.”

  “What about you, Fergus? Any special lady to stay alive for?”

  “Only my dear mother.” He lifted his nearly empty bottle of beer. “Here’s to getting out of here alive.”

  Glenn inclined his own beer forward then drank the last of it. How funny that he’d always disliked the taste of beer. But this morning’s warm bottle had been the most refreshing beverage of his life.

  The sound of distant movement penetrated the countryside: engines, wheels on cracked mud, and thousands of feet. The gunfire continued more sporadically, joined by fire from farther away.

  “You hear that?” said Glenn. “The Germans won the first fight. They’re advancing.”

  He stood up. “Let’s get ready. Billings will have us on the move soon.”

  As the German army advanced through the next few days, Captain Billings led his two dozen men well behind the enemy army, moving mostly at night. They hoped either to find a way to break through to their own army or to somehow disrupt the German supply lines from behind. The main reason the German spring advance had stalled was a failure of their supplies to keep up with the army’s advance. Captain Billings hoped to have a hand in similarly handicapping the summer advance.

  It was clear to Billings and his men that the front had finally been broken. If they could have known exactly where, they might have been able to slip around the advance and rejoin their own army. But there was no way to know and instinct pulled them west. They followed the German army on its western surge as it neared the Marne River for the second time in the war.

  On the third day of the advance, a convoy of eighteen German supply trucks rumbled dangerously close to the makeshift camp of Captain Billings’ men. They drove in single file on the battered road. After the last truck was past, the small band followed at a distance until the trucks stopped. The men hid until nightfall, then crept forward to investigate.

  The supply convoy had stopped at an abandoned trench. It appeared they had started to build a temporary bridge to cross it, but had stopped their work to wait for morning.

  Billings and his men had been monitoring this area closely since the advance and knew there was nobody left in this trench. It had been the German front line earlier in the war, before the advance. They circled around the trucks and dropped into the dark cavern.

  “Tonight we can finally strike a blow for our comrades,” the captain said. “The trucks are poorly guarded. We have almost as many men and plenty of explosives.”

  It was a dangerous proposition. The men all looked around anxiously. But after weeks of wandering they were all ready for some action.

  “String the dynamite together on a long, loose wire,” he said. “Look at how the trucks are parked, all in a line waiting to drive over their little bridge in the morning. With a charge under each truck we can take them all out with one fuse.”

  “That’s crazy. How would we place the charges without being seen and killed?”

  “A man would have to carry the charges from one truck to the next, staying underneath them.” Captain Billings paused as several of the men worked on stringing together the dynamite. “I know there is one of you who could do it.”

  They all looked at Glenn.

  “Captain Streppy,” Billings said at last, “You are the man for this job. I‘ve seen how you move. I think you could do it without being seen or heard.”

  Glenn said nothing.

  “I can’t order you to take on a mission like this. But think of the difference this could make for our men at the front. It would be worth all our lives to destroy this convoy.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you for your bravery. We will back you up from the trench. If anything goes wrong, we’ll open fire.”

  The dynamite was prepared, as was the igniter to light the fuse from the trench.

  Glenn got himself ready. He was eerily calm. Hal came up and patted him on the back.

  “Good luck, buddy.”

  Glenn and Sergeant Fulwider crept through the trench, stopping beneath the nose of the first supply truck. Boards were stacked nearby, ready to build the bridge in the morning. Fulwider carried the igniter while Glenn had eighteen charges of dynamite wrapped around his shoulder.

  “If anything goes wrong,” Glenn whispered as Fulwider set his position, “don’t hesitate to set it off. Taking out a few trucks is better than none. Don’t worry about me. I’ll get out of there in time.”

  He climbed the trench and slipped under the first truck. Breathing slowly, he saw boots close by. He slowly set the first charge beneath the gas tank. Waiting until the boots walked past, he ducked out from the back of the truck, scampered the few steps to the next one and dropped under it. His breath grew quicker. His face was sweating, but his hands were steady as he set the second charge, ducked out and under the third truck.

  Now the boots stood behind the truck. He waited anxiously. The truck above him moved slightly as a man leaned his hips onto the bumper. How long would he have to wait, Glenn wondered, and would Fulwider think something had gone wrong? It was too soon. Only three charges had been set. Glenn waited, wondering what he should do. But he could do nothing but wait and watch. A cigarette butt dropped next to the boots. The truck wiggled again as the man stood up, stomped out the cigarette and walked off. Glenn exhaled deeply, then scampered to the fourth truck.

  Five . . . six . . . seven . . . without a problem. He was getting into a rhythm and moving quickly. But not too quickly. It remained imperative to be silent as he attached each charge. Although there weren’t as many boots here as he saw at the front of the convoy, he had to be just as careful between each truck. Eight . . . nine . . . ten . . . the trucks were spaced farther apart now, carelessly. He had to skip one charge since there wasn’t room on the fuse.

  He set the eleventh, checked the space and ducked out toward the twelfth.

  Suddenly he was grabbed from behind. For all his care, he missed the soldier just coming around the corner.

  “Was gibt? Ein Feind!”

  Glenn wrenched his body around and hit the German in the face with his forearm. Their arms locked together as they struggled between the trucks. Sounds of shouting and running approached. Quickly the first shots rang out from the trench . . . then the first explosion.

  Fulwider had ignited the fuse.

  Glenn struggled to free himself from the German. He still had five connected charges wrapped around his shoulder. The second explosion . . . then the third. It would reach him in no time.

  He jolted his right arm free from his enemy and flipped the dynamite off his shoulder, losing track of the explosions as they rang out in quick succession. Still held by the German, Glenn tugged them away from the convoy. The German saw the string of explosives on the ground and realized the danger. Unwilling to let go, he ran with Glenn a few paces in mutual desperation. As Glenn stumbled away, the German fell on top of him.

  At that moment, the charge on the closest truck ignited. He had set tha
t one perfectly—the gas tank exploded. A red fireball shot toward the two struggling men.

  Glenn saw the flame rush at him as if in slow motion. Everything became red, then everything was black, then there was no color at all.

  Time stood still.

  An image appeared to him of a small boy standing on the beach. It was himself, in some unremembered summer. There he was, too, in his restless adolescence, in college, with Dafne, in Hal’s hotel room . . . the images of his life seen from omniscient eyes, detached and distant. Then he was there on the bench in the Fort Hamilton courtyard, seeing through his own remembered vision Elsa’s warm brown eyes, wet with tears, open wide with love for him.

  Glenn felt death reaching out for him, and his heart reached back out of this hell toward her.

  Come back in tears, O memory, hope, love of finished years.

  A small spark of energy returned to him in the darkness, and with it the will to fight off death for a moment more. He could see nothing, but struggled to regain his other senses.

  With life came pain—terrible pain. His face was hot as if in a furnace. The German lay motionless on top of him. People shouted all around in confusion. Gunfire continued a little longer, then stopped.

  Glenn fought back against the agony that tempted him to give up. He writhed on the ground, struggling to free himself from the corpse that pinned him down. Finally free, he crawled away, blind and bewildered.

  Arms reached down and grabbed him. He almost could have believed they were heavenly arms, but the searing pain in his face reminded him he was still alive.

  And he knew these arms. They had reached down for him once before.

  “Ye’ve done good, Glenn,” said Fergus. “Now help me to save ye.”

  The familiar voice stirred his will. He ran under the Scotsman’s guidance until they both tumbled into the trench.

  Gunfire sounded farther away as the Germans chased their friends down the trench. Fergus lifted Glenn and they ran in the opposite direction. Glenn ran as best he could without sight as the Scott guided him through the abandoned trench. Every few minutes they stopped as Fergus looked for a medical kit. Finally he found one.