Summer 1918 - Massachusetts General Hospital, Boston, MA, United States of America.
I had a little bird,
its name was Enza.
I opened the window,
and in-flu-enza.
Two little boys, the turners, stood at a comfortable distance between each other, holding a sturdy rope in their small, strong fists. Their tanned sunken faces were turned toward a brunette girl with a dirty lemon-yellow dress, "Com'on Sarah, skip!". The girl accomplished her task, while singing that vile nursery rhyme like a nightingale.
Rose looked at her own reflection in the picture window over the courtyard, where the trio was playing. The dark circles under her eyes were more visible than ever - I had a little bird...
Her wrinkled, once white uniform had stuck to her sweaty back, she sighed, as she pulled a stray flaming red curl back into her cap. It was hard to breath through her cloth face mask.
She stood still, as if hypnotized by such symphony. Her mind wandered far away. She thought of the baby she was carrying in her. She thought of their father, somewhere in France, where the good news had come in a crumpled piece of sallow paper. The two of them were the only reasons why she hadn't yet given up her hope in this modern cruel world.
"Promise me Rose, that you'll take care of yourself, I'll be back before you know it". Rose had never seen Jack cry before that night, she kissed him with urgency, tasting his salty bittersweet tears. His hands were resting on her bare stomach, occasionally stroking her pale soft skin in the after bliss. Both unaware of having conceived a child. "I hate the war, Jack".
But as the US had entered World War I, the Great Influenza quickly spread from Camp Funston, a major training ground for troops of the American Expeditionary Forces, to other US Army camps and Europe. Jack had contracted minor flu symptoms at the front, which were enough to worry Rose, who had known the signs, since the start of her career as a nurse. However luckily, no bacterial pneumonia was reported, and he had recovered rapidly.
Spring 1918 - writing to St. Mihiel Salient, France.
Dear Jack, here everyone's getting crazy over some kind of new doubtful illness, that is apparently spreading really fast throughout the whole nation and beyond. A bunch of my patients have developed some peculiar mahogany spots over their cheekbones, which would then over a few hours, spread to color the entire face blue. Please, don't even try to talk me into leaving my job at the hospital. I get your concern, I really do. This is my battle, you're fighting yours in muddy trenches and, I'm fighting mine in crammed wards. Besides, I have terrific news to share. Jack, my darling do you remember our last night together? That night, your love seed bloomed in me, I'm carrying our child. Don't worry too much about us, we are doing fine, we just miss you very much. I love you Jack. Your Rose.
"Nurse Dawson! Bed number three needs a change of sheets, then back to number ten with more oxygen. Hurry up girl! Less thinking, more doing!". Rose walked away from the large window, nodding obediently to the head nurse. Rose gathered the soiled blankets under her arm, wincing slightly at their fetid smell. "Awful day, isn't it Rosie?". Lucretia was Rose's new devoted friend. Her confidant was about her age but shorter, slender with straight honey hair, always styled neatly in a high bun, now hidden under their mandatory cap. Rose laughed softly, "As if yesterday turmoil wasn't enough". Lucretia face grew pale as she sponged a man down, "The situation is meant to become worse and worse, there's no way out. Not right now anyway, Rose".
Spring 1918 - writing to Boston, MA, United States of America.
Dear Rose, light of my eyes, you gave me the greatest gift of all. A baby who's half me and half you. May God halt this war, and let us reunite. Last night, the sky was full of stars, I was out in the open fields with an officer called Miller. We were so close to the Germans, we could hear them whispering in their trench. I wasn't scared, you actually don't think about it at all. At this point even soldiers are discussing such illness at night in the barracks, some of them said it first appeared here. Being constantly drenched by the heavy French rain isn't good for your health, one can't deny it. Sweetheart, you know me, I won't make decisions for you, just take care of yourself and that little life you are carrying. You'll know what to do, trust your own judgment, you can't go wrong. I love so much. Your Jack.
Summer 1918, nurses' sleeping quarters
"Aren't you scared?" Rose eyes were dancing within the words of her new book, borrowed from the library down the corner. She would have sworn it was a ghost talking, like one of those of the engaging story she was reading, diaphanous and mischievous. "Rose, are you listening?" Lucretia turned her back to the stove, quickly steeping a tea bag into hot water. The two girls looked at each other, the redhead parted her lips "Scared of what?".The other promptly attacked, with shaking slender fingers, her graceful bun on top of her head , letting her hair run free down her back. It was a nervous habit of her. "Scared of getting ill, they say terrible thing in New York". Rose rested the book on her outstretched legs, her eyes were now glued on her friend. "You are in a rather delicate condition Rose, I'm surprised that Jack let you still work at the hospital". Lucretia directed her blue eyes to the floor. "I'm a free woman, that's my decision, not his". Rose felt pity mixing to a start of anger, she knew that her friend was very old fashioned despite her age, it wasn't entirely her fault but the family she grew up in. "I'm sorry Rose, I shouldn't have said that. Can-can you feel it move?". Rose's hand instinctively went to her yet little bump. "Yes, I can. Sometimes it feels like small flutters, or a light tickle. Now it starts to feel more real. I wished Jack was here". Lucretia's smile suddenly faded, matching Rose's grim face. Lots of women had already lost friends, brothers, cousins, husbands and lovers in war, those men who were too old or too crippled, were left at home in the clutches of a new unidentified illness. Yet no place could be called safe. "My brother died out there, kissed by the warm rays of the sun in a clear sky. The birds were chirping, but bullets are made to stick into the flesh".
Late summer 1918 - writing to Boston, MA, United States of America.
Dear Rose, yesterday we walked back to the barracks, all of us thoroughly exhausted. Before my eyes, there was a scene of utter devastation, and yet as I looked at it, a strange feeling came over me. The setting sun had lit up the water in the shell holes, so they looked like pools of gold. And I felt a presence there. Something. Something greater than all this. Such… peace, Rose. And I thought of you, my love. I thought of us, and of the life blooming inside of you. General Bryant says we might come back home for good in November. Don't put the word out just yet. I was indecisive whether to tell you or not, as I don't want to give you false speranze. But, the General's smile, darling you should have seen it! I trust that this time around, this atrocious war will finally end. Sweetheart, I can already feel the curves of your hips under my palms. I can't wait to hold you tight to me. I do nothing but dreaming of you. I miss you and love you so much. Your Jack.
The Boston Globe
Monday, November 11, 1918
ARMISTICE IS SIGNED
GERMANY SURRENDERS
Washington, Nov.11, 2:30 a.m.
Government at Washington offviciallyannounced the signing of the armistice by Germany, which occurred at 5:00 a.m. Paris time.
Hostilities ceased at 11 a.m.
"America Gains All She Fought For" - President Woodrow Wilson.
Washington — President Wilson to-day issued the following proclamation: my fellow countrymen — the armistice was signed this morning.
Everything for which America fought has been accomplished. It will now be our fortune duty to assist by example, by sober friendly counsel and by material aid in the establishment of just democracy throughout the world. Signed. WOODROW WILSON, President.
PRES. CANCELS OUTSTANDING DRAFT CALLS
Author's notes:
Hello! Here's a two chapters little story I wrote a few months (maybe a year) ago. Sorry, I forgot to share it! Nursery Rhyme: "I had a little bird, it's name was Enza" seems to be from the 1918 flu epidemic. Another (longer) version was found in "Our Paper" Vol. 10 (1894) by Massachusetts Reformatory (Concord, Mass.). The Boston Globe's Article is historically accurate. I don't own Jack and Rose, but I do own Lucretia :).