June 1945, Normandy, France
Faith Carter watched as another half-hearted victory parade went by the medical tent. Germany had surrendered to the Allied forces a month ago and were now fully retreated from France. Victory celebrations were happening every week.
But there was little to celebrate.
Normandy was devastated. France was in ruins. Hundreds of thousands of men had lost their lives in the war with Hitler. They had victory, but it had come at a high cost.
As a nurse on the front lines, Faith had seen the utter devastation wrought by the many bombings in Normandy. She had made her way to France in 1943 with the Red Cross after hearing how badly they needed nurses there. She wanted to make a difference in the world, and working in war-torn France with the Red Cross seemed like a good way to do so. Her family had been horrified, worried sick for her safety, but Faith had to follow the calling on her heart. She was drawn to France for a reason, and she had steeled herself for the horror that would come with working in a land stricken by war.
Even so, she wasn't prepared for how horrifying it actually was.
Men were brought in by the hundreds each day. The medical tents couldn't hold them all, and sometimes the nurses had to treat patients based on who had the best chance for survival. No matter how many times that happened, Faith's heart never stopped breaking for those who were deemed beyond hope of saving. Sometimes she would walk through the rows of men who lay dying, tears rolling down her cheeks, trying to offer some kind of comfort to the men simply by her presence. She would stop and speak a kind word to them with a touch to their shoulder or arm. Sometimes they wouldn't respond; sometimes she received a weak smile in return right before the light went out of someone's eyes forever.
Many of the nurses had become hardened by all the pain and death they saw on a daily basis, but not Faith. Her heart remained as tender and compassionate as ever. Every single day for the two years she had been in Normandy, she cried. She cried for the men who died. She cried for the men who were emotionally scarred. She cried for the women whose husbands would never come home, for the children who lost their fathers. Her fellow nurses sometimes deridingly told her to toughen up, to harden herself to death since it was a fact of life.
Faith refused to become hard. She had promised her mother before leaving for France that she would keep her gentle spirit, her belief that there was good in the world, no matter how bad things got. It hadn't always been easy, but Faith had kept that promise. Every single day, even when she had been hunkered down while bombs dropped all around them, she managed to find something to be thankful for, something that was still beautiful in the world.
She felt someone at her side. Turning, she smiled as she saw her friend, Elizabeth Thornton. Elizabeth had signed up with the Red Cross around the same time Faith had, and as fate would have it, they were assigned to the same medical camp in Normandy. The two women hadn't met before they got to France, but they had felt an immediate kinship in their mission to work in war-ravaged Europe. Faith was thankful to have a friend like Elizabeth in the medical camp; Elizabeth had maintained her calm, peaceful disposition through the hell they had been through, and like Faith she saw the good in everything. And Elizabeth had more reason than most of the nurses to be hard.
Elizabeth's husband had joined the military after the attack on Pearl Harbor. He had felt a calling to fight for his country. A year ago, he'd been a part of the D-Day attack on the beaches of Normandy, and though the Allied forces had been victorious that day, Jack had lost his life in the battle. Elizabeth had been devastated, but she'd continued to soldier on, channeling her grief into caring for the wounded and the dying.
Faith knew Elizabeth saw Jack's face in the faces of the soldiers who didn't make it. She could see the pain on her friend's face. But through it all, Elizabeth clung to her faith and her passion for helping others, and she'd made it through the darkest night. Now she was healing, and it made Faith happy to see Elizabeth smiling more and more as the days went on, despite the darkness that still surrounded them.
For several moments, the two women stood and simply watched as the straggly parade marched by. Elizabeth spoke first. "They're trying to be strong, but their eyes hold so much pain." Faith could hear empathy in her friend's voice.
She nodded in agreement. "They want to give hope to the people of this city, but most people have lost hope." Her eyes scanned the ruins of Normandy. "How long do you think it will take for hope to take root again?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't know, Faith. I see hope in a few places, but by and large everyone is hurting in some way. It breaks my heart to see so much physical and emotional suffering."
"Nurse Carter. Nurse Thornton," a crisp voice said from behind them. They turned to see the head nurse, Florence Blakely, staring them down. "We're having an emergency meeting with all nurses right now in the field. Come along." She set off at a brisk pace, and Faith and Elizabeth trotted to keep up with her. Faith wondered what the meeting could be about. Emergency meetings were rarely a good thing.
As soon as all the nurses were assembled, Florence began speaking. "As you know, ladies, the war has ravaged most of Europe, but France in particular. We have a new batch of nurse recruits coming in from the United States in the next couple of weeks. Many of the smaller towns and villages around this nation have only one doctor, and we've been receiving requests for the Red Cross to supply nurses to help in these towns. Need is high, but with only one doctor, burnout is higher. We're planning on sending nurses out two by two to some of these towns, but since you all have been here for quite some time, we're giving you the option of staying or going. Please let Nurse Sullivan know before the end of the day what your preference is." She nodded brusquely. "That is all. Resume your duties."
Something tugged at Faith's heart when Florence mentioned towns in need of nurses. She knew how rough it was on hospitals to be understaffed in general, but for one doctor to attempt to care for a town? That was nearly impossible. A quiet but undeniable desire filled her, a desire to answer the call. She'd felt this feeling once before, when the Red Cross was recruiting nurses in her hometown of Denver to volunteer to go overseas to help with the war effort.
She turned to look at Elizabeth, and in that moment she saw the same fire in Elizabeth's eyes. Her friend smiled, seeing the determination on Faith's face. "We're going to do this, aren't we?"
Faith nodded, a sense of giddiness filling her at the prospect of a new assignment. "Let's go find Molly."
They found Molly Sullivan at a makeshift desk, carefully working on a typewriter to log patients and illnesses. She glanced up and smiled when she saw them, looking tired but cheery. "Hello, ladies. How can I help you?" she asked.
Faith and Elizabeth glanced at each other, excited smiles lighting their faces. "We want to volunteer to go to one of the villages requesting a nurse," Faith said.
Molly's smile widened. "I'm impressed, girls. Most of the nurses here are going to want to stay and embrace the familiar. You are taking a big risk by starting over again somewhere else. I admire your courage." She laughed softly. "But it doesn't surprise me. You are two rays of sunshine, and you always want to help the underdog. I should have seen this coming." She pulled out a pad of paper and wrote their names on it. Peering up at them, she asked, "Would you two like to be assigned somewhere together?"
Joy exploded inside of Faith. "Is that possible?"
Molly grinned. "We can make it happen."
"Yes!" Faith and Elizabeth squealed in unison, giving each other a quick hug while Molly laughed and wrote down the information. Faith knew she could weather a new assignment on her own, but the fact that Elizabeth would be with her made it a hundred times better.
Molly folded her hands and looked up at them. "You're all signed up. You'll get your assignment in the next couple of weeks." She shook her head. "I admire this decision, but I must admit I'll miss you two. You somehow managed to bring joy to the darkest days."
"Thank you, Molly," Faith said, reaching out to squeeze her hands. "We're going to miss you too."
"Carter! Thornton! Time to get back to your patients," Florence barked, shooting them a sharp glance as she passed by the table.
"Yes, ma'am!" they answered. Before they went to their separate posts, Elizabeth smiled at Faith. "One chapter is closing and another is about to begin. I can't wait to see where we go from here."
"Me neither," Faith said with feeling. "It will be a whole new adventure."
Doctor Carson Shepherd ran a hand wearily over his face. It was only nine o'clock in the morning, and already he had seen seven different families all over the little coastal town of Etretat. Though they weren't a community with many buildings like the cities around them, they had seen utter devastation from the war. Their crops had been destroyed, and many people were struggling just to survive. Many homes had been bombed, and many villagers had lost their lives, in addition to the soldiers who never came home. Some men had survived, but the population of the village was largely women and children.
Emotionally scarred women and children.
Carson had seen a lot in his fifteen years as a doctor, but he had never seen so many people physically affected by emotional ailments. He had a pretty thick skin, but during the war and in its aftermath, he felt the weight of the suffering of his fellow villagers. The entire country was suffering, but he felt it in a particular way here in Etretat.
Sometimes, the sheer weight of the pain threatened to envelop him in darkness, but he resisted the temptation to allow the darkness to win. He knew it was possible for beauty to rise from ashes, and though he had a hard time seeing how this town would recover, he knew they would. Somehow, someway they would rise again and make it through.
Carson knocked on the door of his next patient. Etretat didn't have a proper hospital anymore. Their previous one had been bombed into oblivion, and now Carson mainly operated out of a small former church. It was a step above a medical tent, but barely. He tried to make as many house calls as possible to make sure his patients didn't have to stay in the small, dirty confines of the makeshift hospital long.
The door was opened by a small girl, barely four years old, with long blonde hair and sad brown eyes. Carson smiled at her gently. "Hello, Christine. Is your mother up today?"
The little girl shook her head, stepping back to let him enter the house. "Mama still sick," she said quietly, tears welling in her eyes. "She said baby not moving."
Carson felt a jolt of fear strike his heart. Christine's mother, Fiona Bouchard, had lost her husband to an infection that had set in mere months after the war ended. For six long, agonizing months he had been in pain, slowly dying from an illness Carson had been unable to identify. He had passed away two months ago, a survivor of the war but unable to survive his illness. Fiona was alone in the world besides her two children, Christine and Peter. She was eight months pregnant with her third child, and Carson feared that her current illness was putting the baby's life in danger.
She had already lost so much. She couldn't lose her baby too. Carson would do everything in his power to make sure both she and the baby survived. They had to survive. A baby was a sign of hope, and Carson knew that if the child was lost, the entire town would feel it as one more blow to an already fragile mentality.
He suspected Fiona's illness was caused by grief. She had taken the loss of her husband hard, and she was already more immune compromised because of her pregnancy. Carson half wondered if she had lost the will to live, if she was only hanging on for the sake of Peter and Christine and the baby.
Carson walked into the bedroom, where Fiona was lying on the bed. Peter sat next to his mother, holding her hand and trying not to cry. At eight years old, he was an intelligent boy, but a child could only handle so much grief before he started to break. Carson had watched Peter wither before his eyes in the last three months, and he prayed that the boy would find the strength to carry on no matter what happened. The tears shining in his dark eyes told Carson that Peter needed reassurance more than anything.
"Hi, Peter," Carson said, trying to sound upbeat. "How's my favorite baseball player today?" The town's schoolteacher, Nathan Grant, had been teaching the children baseball to keep their minds as well as their bodies occupied, and Peter had taken to the sport naturally. He loved it. Carson noticed a spark light Peter's eyes at the mention of the game.
"I'm okay," he said. "Mr. Grant promised us a baseball game later today." His eyes turned to his mother, darkening once more. "But I don't know if I should go. Mama's still sick."
"I'm fine, Peter," Fiona said weakly, opening her eyes and giving her son a small smile. "You should go play with Mr. Grant and the other children. I just need to rest."
"Hello, Fiona," Carson said, settling his tall frame onto a stool next to the bed. "Christine told me…" He glanced at Peter. "Peter, would you mind getting your mother a nice, cold up of water, please?"
"Sure, Dr. Shepherd," Peter said, heading for the kitchen.
Fiona gave Carson a grateful smile. "Thank you for not saying anything in front of him," she said. "He knows the baby isn't moving, but he starts crying whenever he hears it." Tears welled in her own eyes ."Why won't the baby move, Dr. Shepherd?"
Carson took out his stethoscope, moving it over Marie's stomach. "I don't know, Fiona. Are you following all the precautions I asked you to take?"
She nodded. Carson stopped the stethoscope as he heard a faint heartbeat. Relief flooded him, and he smiled at Fiona. "The baby is still alive," he said softly. "I heard the heartbeat. Now, how much are you eating?"
Fiona's eyes fell. She didn't answer right away, and Carson immediately realized his mistake. The Bouchards were one of the families struggling to put food on the table. His eyes softened, and he reached out, resting a hand on Fiona's shoulder. "Never mind. I'll bring by some food for you and the kids. Well balanced meals to help nourish all of you, but especially that little one inside of you. He or she needs the nutrients."
Fiona was a proud woman, but she was too tired to argue, and Carson knew she loved her baby fiercely, enough to accept charity from the town doctor. She nodded slowly, swallowing her pride. "Thank you, Dr. Shepherd."
Peter and Christine came into the room, Peter bearing the cup of water for his mother. Carson held out the stethoscope. "Do you want to hear the baby's heart beating?" he asked.
Peter's eyes widened. "The baby is alive?" he asked, hope making a rare appearance in his eyes. Carson simply nodded, and Peter took the stethoscope, listening as Carson placed it over Fiona's stomach. Tears filled his eyes, and he laughed and sobbed at the same time. "The baby is okay."
Carson wrapped an arm around Peter. "Yeah, buddy, the baby's going to be okay." Bidding the family farewell, Carson went to make arrangements to get nutritious food sent to the Bouchard house.
By the time six o'clock in the evening rolled around, Carson was exhausted. He opened the door to the old rectory that stood on the grounds of the church he had turned into a hospital. It wasn't much, but it was a roof over his head and had a functioning kitchen. He sniffed the air, noticing the distinct scent of stew. Following his nose into the kitchen, he looked at the stove, where there was indeed a pot of stew bubbling away. Frowning, he wondered who could have left it on his stove.
"You really can't keep living this way," a voice said from Carson's kitchen table. Carson jumped slightly and whirled to face the voice. His best friend, Nathan Grant, sat there with a crooked smile on his face. "You skipped lunch again today, didn't you?"
Carson couldn't deny it. He simply spooned the stew into two bowls and brought them to the table. "I didn't have time for lunch," he said simply, tasting the stew. His brows rose as he looked at his friend. "This is actually decent."
Nathan laughed. "I'm getting better." He leaned forward, studying Carson, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the slightly slumped posture. "Carson, you can't keep this up," Nathan said seriously. "You're headed for burnout faster than lightning in a storm. This town needs you, but you can't give them what they need if you're too exhausted to help."
"And what am I supposed to do?" Carson asked. "I'm the only doctor in a twenty mile radius. There are no nurses, no volunteer health workers. It's just me. I can't leave these people to fend for themselves."
"You might not have to," Nathan said, pulling a brochure from his pocket. Spreading it out, he put it in front of Carson. "The Red Cross is sending nurse volunteers to small towns throughout France. Towns that have only one doctor like Etretat. Why don't you apply to have one sent here?"
Carson looked at the brochure, a momentary hope filling him. "Do you think they would answer?" he asked. "There are so many towns like ours all throughout the country. Why would they choose us?"
Nathan pinned him with a pointed look. "You'll never know if you don't try, Carson. The worst they can say is no, and then you're right back where you are now. Nothing changes. But on the chance that they say yes?" He raised his brows, looking at Carson earnestly. "Then you get some much needed help and can avoid burnout."
Mulling it over, Carson nodded slowly. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Nathan." He could feel the hope growing. Why not? What could it hurt?
Nathan tilted his head. "So you'll apply?"
Carson nodded firmly, his decision made. "I'll apply."