I don't own BoB, but I do own a new package of cookies. :)
Chapter 8-The Delivery
The plan to find Eugene sat on the back burner as soldiers flooded our small camp. Any spare moment we had where we weren't treating the men were spent collapsed on our beds in a deep sleep. Betty spent most of her time in the O.R. tent. She used to say, "I have the easy job-I help patch them up. You girls have to keep them alive after that." Helen buckled down and hardly said a word to any of the doctors and worked diligently through the night shifts. Dottie worked best in the stable unit, keeping the men in line with tough love and reassurance. I worked in the critical unit, tending to the men just out of surgery.
We spent an entire day loading up men to head back to England for more treatment. Around five that evening the four of us sprawled out on our beds, excited to have a moment to relax. The moment was ruined, however, when Lt. Wagner stormed in the tent. She shout practically threw us from our beds.
"Ladies! We've been ordered to re-supply the line. I need a volunteer to join myself and Dr. Pearson. No takers? Renee, bundle up. Let's go!" She turned and left as quickly as she came in.
"She doesn't even give us time to breathe!" Helen whined as she curled up on her bed. I stood up and grabbed my jacket and helmet. Betty spoke softly, "The trip should be quick. I wouldn't worry about it." Dottie agreed, "Renée, just go and have fun." Helen peeked out from under her blanket and shot Dottie a look, who just rolled her eyes and pulled her own covers up higher.
Fun? With Lt. Wagner? They must really be exhausted, I thought. The truck was parked by the main road. Pearson sat behind the steering wheel with Wagner in the passenger seat. I climbed in the back. "Don't we need to get the supplies?" I asked.
"We've done that already. Let's go, Pearson."
The jeep sped down the road, its passengers bouncing with each bump.
Wagner spoke over the roar of the engine. "So Miss LeMaire, I've heard your friends have been looking for a medic on the front line you met in Bastogne." I swore softly to myself. Wagner ruled the camp with an iron fist; the last thing I wanted was for her to know more about me than she needed. "Yes, ma'am," I replied, "It was sweet of them to want to help."
"Have they found him?"
I pulled my coat around me tighter and answered bitterly, "I don't think anyone has had a lot of time for anything outside of work, ma'am." I knew the care of the men came first, but we found it hard to care for others when we barely had time to take care of ourselves.
Lt. Wagner chuckled. The rest of the trip the three of us sat in silence. We pulled up in front of a small convent towards the center of town. The windows let off an inviting soft glow.
"Renée, why don't you head inside? You look like you're freezing." Pearson remarked. I could not remember myself shivering at all. Where did he get the impression I was cold?
"What about the supplies, sir? Where are the men staying tonight?" I replied.
"The men are quartered in the buildings along this main road. The lieutenant and I will take the supplies around and come back and get you when its time to go." I sighed with frustration. They ran the nurses ragged, then pulled me away to help deliver supplies when I could have been resting. I was glad they offered to take the supplies themselves; I welcomed the fact that it gave me a chance to get away from them for a while.
I pushed open the door to the convent and felt my anger melt away with the warmth of the hall. The path was lit with candles on both walls, and the sound of a choir echoed from the last door on the right. I walked slowly down the hall, remembering the cathedral in Bastogne and the men who filled the halls with cries and sobs rather than an angelic chorus of singing.
I reached the room the singing was coming from, and leaned against the doorway as I peered inside. In the front of the room was a choir of girls conducted by one of the sisters. They performed for the soldiers that filled the pews. The men looked like beaten dogs, a sad combination of sorrow and relief to finally be inside. No one smiled; they listened to the choir and relaxed in the warmth and company of each other.
It was then that I saw him. He sat in a pew across the room from me. He stared off into space as the choir continued to sing. Around him some of the men whispered, but he didn't seem to notice any of it. I was relieved to see he was alright. I lost track of how long I stood looking at him, remembering every conversation we had and touch we shared. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Lt. Wagner standing with a smile on her face.
"Helen tried asking every soldier she could what company they were in and who their medic was. Even little Betty searched through the men's files for some kind of clue as to where he could be found. I caught Betty one afternoon while she was digging, and asked her how I could help. I didn't realize I was so mean on you girls-Betty almost started crying when I walked in the room," Lt. Wagner smiled. "I just had to help them out; Lord knows they wouldn't have been able to get you here without my help." I stood silent. "You're one of the best nurses I've ever seen. You deserve this."
It all clicked into place. There were no supplies-I was the delivery. I looked back at Eugene and saw him looking back at me. Our talking must have got his attention. My heart raced as we locked eyes. When he shook his head, looked away, and rubbed his eyes I was scared he had forgotten me. I reached up my hand and gave a little wave, but he didn't move. Lt. Wagner slipped past me and whispered something to one of the soldiers in the pew closest to us. He nodded and walked over to Eugene.
Eugene looked up at the man, back at us, then stood up and walked over to where we were standing. I held on to the door frame to keep myself from falling over. My breathing turned shallow and I swallowed hard. This was the moment I had dreamed of since Christmas Eve, yet I was totally unprepared.
"You needed to see me?" Eugene asked. His voice was strong, but distant.
"Eugene?" I stammered. "Eugene, its me. Renée."
He looked deep into my eyes, as if he were searching for some kind of proof. I pulled off my gloves and, trembling, reached for his hand. His fingers were slender and his skin rough. I couldn't imagine living on the front line for as long as he had. He looked down at my hand, then grasped it in his and turned it over, examining every part of it.
He spoke softly, "Its really you…" He reached up and wiped a tear from my cheek, cupped my face in his hands, leaned down and gently kissed my lips.
