by Dean Hughes
Bobbi also prayed for Wally, for her parents, for Alex and Anna, for Afton and Ishi, and she prayed for both Richard Hammond and David Stinson. She didn’t know what to expect now, whether there was any chance that she would marry either one of them, but she had loved them both, still loved them both, and she knew that they were struggling. Richard was trying to adjust, accept the changes in his life, deal with his memories, and David, the last she had heard, was struggling for his life. She longed to see them healed. She wanted to make a decision based on the right questions, not all these matters of survival, but she didn’t know how to do that, so every morning and every night she asked for direction. Was one of them right for her? Couldn’t God tell her—and make the decision so much easier?
Bobbi was still assigned to the area of the ship that had once been the burn ward. It was now filled with former prisoners. As the men arrived, the medical staff had to learn how to treat them. Most of the POWs were eager for all the foods they loved and remembered, and the staff wanted to reward them for their courage, so they fed them well. But it soon became obvious that many of them were not able to eat the rich foods they craved. Broth soups were all that some could hold down.
Bobbi tried to check on every patient, supervise, and direct her corpsmen on what to feed each man—then, in many cases, to see to it that they were fed by hand. She and her corpsmen were also trying to treat all the sores and skin maladies, and that kept them busy too.
One day as Bobbi walked past a lower bunk, she saw a patient sitting by one of his buddies, talking softly, holding
a spoon in front of the patient’s mouth. “Come on, Wilford, you’ve got to eat,” he was saying. “You can’t give up now. We’re going home.”
Bobbi stopped and looked at the men. The one who was trying to feed his friend was probably only twenty-eight or so, but he looked older, looked used up. The man he had called Wilford was probably a couple of years younger. His cheekbones and jaw, his eye sockets, formed the shape of his face, with only a blue layer of skin to cover them. His arm lay next to his body, thin as a broomstick.
“Won’t he eat?” Bobbi asked.
“Not much. A corpsman tried, but he didn’t have much luck. I’ll stay with him. I’ll keep giving him a little at a time.”
“Is he drinking water?”
“A little.”
“He needs that, too.”
“I know. The corpsman told me what to give him. I’ll stay right here all day. The medicines should start to work before long. I just have to keep him going until then.”
“What’s your name?” Bobbi asked.
“Max. Max Jones. Plain as a mud fence.” He looked up and grinned. He had blue eyes—strong and clear—but he was squinting, hard, and Bobbi wondered whether he needed glasses.
“Are you two friends from home?”
“No. We met in prison camp. We’ve sort of looked out for each other.”
It was hot in the ward, down on this lower deck, and sweat had darkened most of Max’s shirt, down his back and under his arms. Bobbi could imagine that it was anything but pleasant to sit here all day, not to go up on deck for some air. “I’ve noticed that most of you men formed little groups of three or four,” Bobbi said. “Did that help you get through?”
“That’s how we made it. You have to keep each other going.”
Bobbi nodded. “Well, stay with him, Max Jones, plain as a mud fence. You might be his only chance.”
“I’ll tell you right now—he’s not going to die. I won’t let him. If things were turned around, he wouldn’t let go of me.”
Bobbi was surprised when her eyes filled with tears. One man fighting for one life: the idea seemed to reverse everything she had concluded about the state of humanity. She patted Max on the shoulder again. “I’ll check back in a little while. Keep talking to him. Keep feeding him.”
“I will.”
All day she did keep checking, and she never came back to the bunk without finding Max alongside his friend. “I got him to drink some water,” he would say, or, “I think a little color is coming into his face.”
Bobbi wasn’t sure about that, but she found that Wilford’s vital signs were holding steady, and that meant he had a good chance. She also found that her own vital signs were on the rise; she even told Max that she owed him something for that.
The Charity took several days to fill up, but it was eventually brimming over with men, so it put out to sea, headed for the Philippines first, and then, if scuttlebutt had it right, on to Honolulu and California.
By the time the ship docked in Manila Bay and a few critical passengers were dropped off at the hospital there, Wilford was sitting up at times, taking more soup, even eating a few solid foods. Bobbi couldn’t get Wilford to say much, but Max never stopped talking to him. What she heard when she caught a bit of the running monologue was Max telling Wilford about all the great times they were going to have when they got back to the states. Or Max would say, “We’ve come a long way, buddy. But all the bad stuff is behind us now.”
Bobbi was pretty sure that that was not exactly true. She was seeing some things in the men that they probably didn’t recognize in themselves. She would try to fluff up a pillow and find a few slices of bread hidden away in the pillow case.
And when she asked the man why he was sticking food in his bed, she would get nothing more than embarrassed excuses. But she knew what was happening. The men were still scared that the food might stop coming. It was hard for them to trust in the steady flow of such plenty, such luxury, so they held something back, hoarded it like wary animals. And that was not the worst. These men who had eaten their first ice cream with the joy of little boys were now getting restless and even impatient. Some were wondering how long it would take to cross the ocean, why they hadn’t been flown—as some men had been. Bobbi understood that they wanted to get home, but she also saw a growing anxiety that came out in odd ways. It was as though they were starting to realize what had been done to them, and the depth of their resentment was finally starting
to register. For all these years they had needed to survive and they had concentrated on that, but now some of them were getting angry that such a thing could ever have happened to them. She wondered how bitter and disillusioned some of them might end up.
One afternoon, as the ship was nearing Honolulu, Bobbi saw her friend Kate Calder out on the main deck. Her fatigues were soaked with sweat, and she was leaning over the rail with her eyes shut. She was obviously trying to let the air flow over her, cool her.
“Kate, have you been in surgery all day?” Bobbi asked.
Kate opened her eyes for only a second, closed them again, and then nodded. She had taken her glasses off, was holding them in one hand.
“I thought you didn’t have much of that to do now.”
“We’ve got some strange cases. Some of these guys had broken bones that were never set right. It’s a mess to try to fix them now.”
“Are you okay?”
“Sure. Just tired.” She smiled a little. She looked pretty without the thick glasses magnifying her eyes. Her hair had been rolled up in back and pinned, but it was breaking loose, the strands blowing about her neck. “How are you doing, Bobbi?”
“All right. We’re busy, of course.” She took a step away and then stopped. “There’s something I want to ask you, Kate. Do you have a minute?”
“About five. Then I’ve got to go back in there.”
“Well, my question might be more complicated than that.”
“I can stretch it to maybe seven.” She laughed.
Bobbi knew she shouldn’t do this. But there was no one else Bobbi was close to. “You believe in God, don’t you, Kate? I mean, not the same as me, maybe, but . . . you do believe.”
Kate turned, leaned against the rail with her hip, and then smiled, more fully than usual. “This could possibly take ten minutes.”
“But you do believe. You’ve told me that, more or less.”
“Let
’s say I cling to a certain hope. Nothing I’ve experienced in life convinces me that I should continue with such silliness, but I do. A little.”
“Do you think God can give you directions or answer questions for you—that sort of thing?”
“I don’t know, Bobbi. Probably not.”
“Why just ‘probably’?”
“Well . . . I do get these little glimmers of insight that I sometimes wonder about. Every now and then, during a surgery, I seem to know what I ought to do, and it seems to come from somewhere outside myself. Or at least it’s just there all of a sudden—and it’s nothing I’ve been taught. A couple of times, those little hunches, or whatever they are, have saved lives. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do.”
“So what’s God been saying to you, Bobbi?”
A couple of sailors walked by, and Bobbi had to step closer to the rail to let them get by, but she didn’t want to block the air from reaching Kate, so she stepped back again, tucked her hands into the pockets of her skirt, stood with her feet set rather wide apart so she could keep her balance as the ship slowly rolled in the rather heavy sea. She didn’t look at Kate directly when she said, “Yesterday I got a letter from Richard.”
“Now there’s a good example,” Kate said, seeming serious. “When I looked at Richard’s picture the first time, I thought I heard God whispering in my ear that that man, in all fairness, ought to be mine.”
Kate was smiling again, and Bobbi knew it was time to let this drop. Kate would never really understand, never even take her question seriously.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Kate said. “Go ahead. I won’t smart off again.”
Bobbi watched the waves, the horizon, didn’t look at Kate. She just wanted to say all this out loud once and see whether it seemed to make sense. “Richard wrote the letter the same day that he and I talked on the phone—the day back in Hawaii when I got so mad at him. Remember, I told you about that?”
“Of course.”
“The letter was really sweet but so mixed up. He told me he was sorry, and he said he loved me and wanted to marry me. But half the letter seemed to be setting me free. He seems to have his mind made up that that’s what I really want—that I could never love him after all the troubles he’s had about his hands and everything. I know what’s happening. He admitted his fears to me, and his confusion about the war, and now he thinks he’s not a man in my eyes.”
“And what do you think of him?”
“Kate, I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who’s so gentle and patient. He’s good. He’s strong. He’s smart. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
“Then how come you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself?”
“Do I?”
“You certainly do.”
“Well, I don’t know. But here’s the thing. I was almost finished with his letter, and then this feeling came over me, and all of a sudden I was really sure. I knew he was the one I should marry. There wasn’t even any question in my mind about it. I just knew.”
Kate nodded, slowly, waiting for the rest. But Bobbi didn’t know what else she wanted to say. Finally, Kate said, “You said you wanted to ask me something. You haven’t asked.”
“It’s just . . . Well, I just wonder, would you decide that way? If you got a feeling like that, and you thought it came from God, would you think that was the end of it? That the case was closed?”
Kate reached for Bobbi, took hold of her shoulders. “Bobbi, do you hear what you’re asking me? You’re saying, ‘If God told you to do something, would you do it?’”
“Well . . . would you?”
“You’re the religious one. How can you even ask such a thing?”
“I don’t know. I just . . . wonder.”
“No, Bobbi. You still love David, and you’re a little put out that God wants to get in the middle of this.”
Bobbi had told herself the same thing a couple of times, but she didn’t want to think about it that way. “Kate, I love them both in different ways. But I know Richard is right for me, and David isn’t.”
“God knows the same thing. Apparently. So where’s the problem?”
Bobbi had come to this point fifty times in the past twenty-four hours. And she didn’t understand the problem either. She had wanted an answer, had asked for one—over and over—and for those first few minutes after she had felt that overpowering confidence that she finally knew what to do, she had been relieved and thankful. And then her brain had started to clank into action, and what she had felt was the loss of David, the most exciting man she had known in her life. “Oh, Kate, I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“I do. You’re not so sure you trust the source. No matter how religious you tell me you are, you’re just not sure that feeling came from God.”
“I was absolutely sure when it was happening.”
Kate nodded. “Well, I do have to get back to work, Bobbi. But here’s what I’ve got to say. First, if I ever have a chance to choose between two guys of that quality, I won’t pray, I’ll just flip a coin. Because they both seem mighty fine to me.”
“I know, but—”
“Just listen. Here’s the second thing. If God ever speaks to me—and it’s that clear to me that he has—I’m going to do whatever he tells me, no questions asked. Just once in my life I’d like to be that sure of something, even if just for a few minutes.”
Bobbi ducked her head and nodded. “That’s right, Kate. That really is right.”
“God must love you, Bobbi.” She rested her hand on Bobbi’s shoulder. “But then, who doesn’t? I’m a much harder project—for God or anyone.”
“Not to me, you’re not.”
“Well, then, mention that to God. Tell him to send a man to me. Just one would be enough.”
She patted Bobbi on the cheek, and then she walked away. What Bobbi felt was ashamed. She had gotten her answer, and it was actually only a confirmation of what she had known all along. So why did she struggle so hard to accept it?
When the Charity docked at Pearl Harbor, Bobbi was eager to help the patients who were being transferred from the ship to the navy hospital—the place that had been her home through most of the war. When she got inside, she took care of the paperwork she had to do, got the patients settled, and then hurried to the operating room. But Afton had the day off, so Bobbi walked to the nurse’s quarters and found that she wasn’t there, either. Bobbi was afraid that the ship would continue on the next day and she wouldn’t see Afton at all. But in the morning the Charity was still at dock, and Bobbi pulled a few strings to get another couple of hours on shore. She hurried back to the hospital and this time found Afton on duty. When she spotted her in the recovery room, she ran to her, and the two hugged each other, but Afton didn’t respond with quite as much enthusiasm as Bobbi had come to expect, and Bobbi wasn’t sure why. “Did you get my letter?” Afton asked, as soon as the two stepped back from one another.
“No. I haven’t had any letters from you.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. Listen, Bobbi—I need to talk to you. Give me a minute or two and then I can get out of here for a little while.”
Bobbi heard the tone, and she guessed what this might be about, but she didn’t want to think it. Maybe Afton was still struggling with her parents—some of her usual concerns. This didn’t have to be anything terrible.
Afton hurried to take care of a patient, and she then stopped at the nurse’s station and made a notation of some sort. When she was finished, she said, “Bobbi, come with me.” Without saying another word, she walked down the hall and then outside, out to the bench where Bobbi had sat so many times before—with Gene, with Richard, by herself.
“What’s wrong, Afton?”
Afton sat down. “Sit here next to me,” she said.
Bobbi was suddenly angry. “No. Just say it. It’s David, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t he make it through the surgery?”
“Bobbi, he never made it that far. He died on the airplane, on the way over. But I didn’t hear about it for a while. I wrote to you as soon as I got word. I’m sorry you didn’t get the letter.”
Bobbi had stopped listening. She was trying to think what had happened to her life. She knew that the sorrow would set in, that the mourning would have to begin, but she wasn’t that far yet. She had felt the words, like a slap, and now she was waiting for the anguish to begin. She did sit down, but she didn’t let Afton pull her into her arms, and she didn’t cry.
“Were you still thinking that he might be the right one for you?” Afton asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t have married him. It never would have worked. That’s not what I’ve been worried about.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was afraid I would always love him—more than Richard. And I’m going to marry Richard.”
“Oh, Bobbi.”
“David and I understood each other. We loved the same things. We thought the same way. I never have felt as close to Richard.”
“Bobbi, I didn’t really know David—not very well—but I know Richard, and I do think he’s right for you. You’re more alike than you want to admit. And I don’t think you and David were at all alike.”
Bobbi understood that. David had been more what she wanted to be than what she was. He had brought out a side of her that both pleased and scared her. Richard was careful and tentative, and the truth was, Bobbi’s impulses were much the same, but that was a side of herself that didn’t excite her.
