Battle Hymns (7 page)

The other night, I accompanied some of my buddies to
the local USO. There was a big shindig with live music, dancing,
and much better food than we normally eat. I admit I did dance with
a few nice girls. Don’t worry, they didn’t hold a candle to you.
But I sat out when they played our song. I couldn’t dance to that
tune with anyone but you.

Thinking of you, happy and smiling, is what gets me
through each day. When I return, I promise, we’ll get married.
There’s no way I could wait any longer.

Love,

Nick

Charlotte didn’t compose her reply until later that
night, when she was in the privacy of her bedroom.

June 8, 1942

Chevy Chase, Maryland

Dear Nick,

This morning my application to become a volunteer
nurses’ aide was accepted. I have to train and take courses for
almost seven weeks before I can start working, but what else would
I do this summer? I want to do my part in this war, even though my
meager efforts don’t compare to yours.

I’m glad you’re going out and having some fun every
so often, even if it means you’re dancing with other girls. I trust
you and I know you love me.

My heart longs for the next time I can see you
again, hold you in my arms, and kiss you. I’ve daydreamed of that
moment every single day since you left. It’s almost worse you’re
not far away from me. It’d only be a hop, skip, and a jump down to
Virginia Beach, but I know you’re not allowed to leave and I’m not
allowed to visit. I guess this has been good practice for when
we’re continents apart from each other.

I love you so much. I couldn’t have dreamed up a
better fiancé. Keep up the good work and make all of us proud. I
look forward to hearing from you soon.

Love,

Charlotte

She scribbled the address in Little Creek, Virginia
onto the envelope, folded the letter neatly, and sealed it inside.
She attached a stamp in the upper right-hand corner and kissed it.
After so many months, the process had become routine.

Eight

P
aper certificates and
wooden pins covered with the embroidered Red Cross emblem were
distributed around the room at the chapter house. “Congratulations,
ladies,” said the head of the Nurses’ Aide Committee. “You should
be proud to call yourselves members of the Volunteer Nurses’ Aide
Corps. Give yourselves a round of applause.”

The new class of nurses’ aides, ranging in age from
eighteen to fifty, clapped for each other.

“Hospital assignments have been posted on the
bulletin board in the hall. We did our best to accommodate your
location. If there are any problems, please see me. Thank you.”

The two dozen women rose from their seats and, in an
excited chatter, beelined it to the hallway to find their
assignments.

Rachel Stern, a skinny girl with dark hair, pale
skin, and wide-set eyes, linked her arm with Charlotte’s. “Maybe
we’ll be assigned to the same hospital.”

Charlotte smiled. “Maybe so.”

Both young women completed their courses with the
same instructors and in the same group at the training hospital.
They developed a camaraderie over the past seven weeks, especially
since they were both unprepared for the duties they faced on day
one. Looking back, Charlotte could laugh at her naivety. She hadn’t
expected some of the duties to be so labor-intensive. They scrubbed
floors, cleaned bathrooms, and changed bed sheets. Sanitization
helped prevent the spread of disease and was vital to the hospital
environment. Thankfully, these responsibilities rotated among the
nurses’ aides, and Charlotte only had to clean for one day every
few weeks.

Most of her time was spent interacting with patients.
She cast fractures with wool and plaster, and later removed those
casts with a handsaw. She took vital signs. She knew which areas of
the body were best for palpating heart rate and how to calculate
beats per minute. She cleaned shallow wounds and applied bandages.
She even changed bedpans and bathed patients in bed, knowing how
best to maintain privacy and dignity.

In addition to practical training, the Nurses’ Aide
Committee also stressed the importance of bedside manner and
professional ethics. With the patient, nurses’ aides were always
kind and courteous. They remembered the name of each patient and
greeted him before any procedure so the patient was at ease. They
kept conversations light and pleasant. And if the patient asked
about his medical condition, they said they were unable to form an
opinion and he should talk with his nurse or physician.

The aides never questioned the authority of the
doctor. The manual emphasized how many more years of higher
learning and training physicians had completed compared to their
seven weeks. The nurses’ aides stood in the presence of their
doctors, both to revere the selflessness of their profession and to
show their readiness to help in whatever possible way.

Charlotte absorbed the instruction quickly, and she
didn’t mind the tasks many other volunteers found repulsive. One of
her supervising nurses said she was a natural and had a comforting
bedside manner, a compliment that was a necessary esteem boost.

A crowd had gathered around the bulletin board by the
time Charlotte and Rachel arrived. Charlotte didn’t care which
hospital she was assigned, so she stood in the back while Rachel
pushed through the gathering to find their names. Rachel made her
way to the front and ran her finger down the list. She jumped up
and down and returned to Charlotte, clapping her hands
excitedly.

“You and I are assigned to the Army Medical Center
here in D.C.! Do you know what that means?”

Charlotte chuckled at Rachel’s enthusiasm. “No. What
does it mean?”

“No more baby spit up. Only brave, handsome
soldiers!”

***

L
ocated at the northern end
of the District of Columbia, the Army Medical Center was associated
with the Walter Reed General Hospital as well as the Army Medical,
Dental, and Veterinary Schools. The complex of rose-brick buildings
from the colonial revival period resembled a college campus with
open green lawns, large trees, and winding walkways. Instead of
classrooms and dormitories, the structures housed hospital wards,
barracks, nurses’ quarters, recreational centers, and operating
rooms.

Charlotte stood at the foot of the wide steps in
front of the main building. The white, limestone portico, supported
by four giant columns, towered overhead. She squinted at the
inscription—
Walter Reed General Hospital
—in the bright
August sun. Two doctors wearing white coats exited the
building.

Despite all her training, butterflies fluttered in
her stomach like it was her first day at a new school. Charlotte
stepped forward. She was only delaying the inevitable.

She hurried up the steps and pulled open one of the
doors. When she entered, the secretary at reception looked up from
her paperwork.

“First day?”

“How could you tell?”

The secretary gestured to Charlotte’s nurses’ aide
uniform—a light blue and white cap, white blouse, and light blue
pinafore dress with the Red Cross emblem on the chest. “Your
uniform is still starched.”

Charlotte ran her hands down the front of her dress,
smoothing out the few wrinkles from her bus ride to the
hospital.

“Do you have your paperwork?”

Charlotte handed her the papers she’d brought with
her, and the secretary wrote her information on a white card. “This
is your time card. It will be placed in the card file behind me
alphabetically. When you arrive, you’ll sign in. When you leave,
you’ll sign out.” The secretary jotted the time and filed away the
card. Then she stood. “I’ll show you to the ward where you’ll work.
By the way, you can call me Mrs. Farrell.”

Charlotte followed Mrs. Farrell through the lobby. As
they strolled toward the East Wing of the building, the secretary
gave a brief description of the property.

“There are three auxiliary wings to this building.
The East and West Wings are comprised mainly of detention,
observation, and convalescent wards. The mess hall, library,
rehabilitation wards, and a secondary entrance are in the North
Wing. Most of the operating rooms are in the main building, as well
as the administrative offices.”

Mrs. Farrell led Charlotte into an elevator. The
operator took them up to the second floor, and they exited into a
nearly identical hallway.

“Miss Donahue, I’ve assigned you to Convalescent Ward
Fifteen. It’s one of our larger wards with twenty beds.” Mrs.
Farrell stopped at a doorway. “And here we are.”

Like the rest of the hospital, Convalescent Ward
Fifteen was painted white. The long, rectangular room held rows of
single beds on each side. Some beds had patients lying in them.
Others were empty. Nurses wearing white dress uniforms and white
caps made their rounds, and one doctor checked on his patients. Two
other nurses’ aides were working on the ward this morning.

Mrs. Farrell waved her hand to grab the attention of
the charge nurse. “Nurse Parker, we have a new nurses’ aide. This
is Miss Donahue.”

Despite her station, Nurse Parker wasn’t much older
than Charlotte—in her late twenties at the most. Her golden brown
hair was pulled into a bun beneath her cap, and she wore minimal
makeup on her round face.

Mrs. Farrell left them. Nurse Parker showed Charlotte
to the nurses’ lounge, where she could store her belongings and
take her breaks. She stowed her pocketbook in a small locker and
returned with Nurse Parker to the convalescent ward.

“This is only one of the many wards in the AMC,” the
charge nurse explained as they strolled down the center of the
room. “In a convalescent ward, patients are recovering from their
wounds or illnesses. Unless we’re overcapacity, they are no longer
under close observation. Instead, these men are rebuilding their
strength so they can return to their normal lives. Most of them
will return to military service.”

Charlotte nodded.

Nurse Parker paused. “Miss Donahue, I have no doubt
you’re well-trained. At the AMC, we ask nurses’ aides to go a step
further in their responsibilities. In addition to any procedures
you may perform, you should be here for the patients on a personal
level. If you can imagine, recovering in a hospital for weeks or
months can be lonesome. Assuming no urgent matters arise, you can
read to them, write letters to their family, talk to them, play a
game of cards with them, or accompany them for an outside stroll.
Boosting morale is an important step in their recovery.”

Charlotte smiled confidently. “I can do that.”

“Then I suggest you start this morning by acquainting
yourself with our current patients.” Nurse Parker gestured to the
room. “Their charts hang at the foot of each bed. Go around and
update heart rate measurements. Also be sure to introduce yourself.
You’ll be their aide until they’re discharged. If you need me, I’ll
be on this ward all morning.”

Nurse Parker returned to her colleagues, and
Charlotte was left standing between the two rows of beds. To start,
she picked the first bed at the end of the ward. Its occupant was a
man with red hair and a face full of freckles. His leg was in a
long white cast supported by two stacked pillows. He picked at the
mushy breakfast food on the tray in front of him.

She approached his bed and picked up his chart. “Good
morning, my name is Charlotte. How are you doing today?” She spoke
brightly, trying to hide her nerves.

He shrugged. “Good as can be expected.”

Charlotte flipped open the chart and perused the
information. Franklin Jones was twenty-five years old and a
sergeant in the Third Infantry Regiment. One week ago, he sustained
a closed, fibular fracture. Since then, his heart rate had been
recorded two dozen times and fell within the normal range.

“Franklin, I’m going to check your pulse.”

“Call me Frankie.”

He pushed away the breakfast tray and offered her his
arm. She placed two fingers to his wrist and moved them until she
felt the throb of his radial artery.

“Where are you from, Frankie?”

“West Virginia, born and bred.”

“And you’re stationed here in D.C.?”

Frankie nodded. “I’m at the Washington Barracks.”

“How’d you hurt your leg?”

“I was in a bar fight over some broad. I had too much
to drink and was clumsier than I’d like to admit. Needless to say,
I lost that fight.”

Charlotte waited for the tiny hand on her watch to
pass the thirty-second mark. Then she removed her fingers from his
wrist and calculated the beats per minute. “Sixty-six, same as your
last reading.” She entered the information in his chart with a
pencil.

Frankie’s gaze roamed from her head to her knees.
“What’s your story?”

She returned the chart to its hook. “Today is my
first day as a nurses’ aide. I completed my training only last
week. I’m from this area. My parents live in Chevy Chase, but I’m
usually in Washington, D.C. proper. I’m studying at Trinity
College, just south of here.” She felt the diamond of her
engagement ring with her thumb and smiled. “I’m also engaged. My
fiancé’s name is Nick. After Pearl Harbor, he enlisted in the Army
and now he’s in training so he can fight in the war.”

“Which regiment?”

“He’s in the Sixtieth Regiment, Ninth Division. They
were at Camp Upton in New York for basic and now Little Creek,
Virginia for specialized training . . . whatever
that means.”

“Little Creek, huh? I think that’s where they do
amphibious training.”

Charlotte’s eyebrows knit together. “Amphibious?
Like . . . frogs?”

Frankie nodded and sat up, his eyes suddenly bright.
“Wherever they’re going, they’ll probably attack from the
water.”