Chapter 19 - Emily - December 1944

Emily felt lost. She was painfully aware of where she physically existed - nearly a mile from where her comrades sat freezing on the front line. But she was unfamiliar with the person who inhabited her body. It was a terrible feeling not only because she felt disconnected from herself but because she was constantly admonishing herself for spending so much time on selfish thoughts rather than the more obvious, pressing violence that lay only a short distance from her. But between the incoming and departing jeeps, meetings with the command staff, and helping with the wounded there was a surprising amount of time to think. The days were long and cold; only broken by intermittent adrenaline-pumping rushes to action. Between the adrenaline and moans of wounded men, it was impossible to sleep so many nights were spent in thought until exhaustion finally took over.

Emily could not stop reflecting on who she had been before the war. So god damn naive, she thought bitterly. She had been a delusional child who thought she had it all figured out. And now? She didn't feel secure in anything.

Nixon's words in London about not taking her career seriously haunted her. She felt as if she was being forced into a position of career or marriage. Questions swirled around Emily's mind as she grappled with what she really wanted. The thought of resigning to marriage was debilitating, but the thought of not ever falling in love… was that something she could sacrifice? Was losing her career more terrifying than becoming a spinster? Or had she just been terrified of being John Elliott's wife?

Despite the stress of the circumstances, Emily had been excited to become a mother to her baby. It was the notion of never leaving Fort Wayne, never seeing or experiencing more than what was right in front of her that froze her to the bone with fear. And when she had lost the baby, Emily's immediate feeling was of relief; and God how that filled her with guilt when the grief came.

When John had done the honorable thing Emily had felt nothing but fear. She knew exactly what her life would look like with him. It involved a house and a baby within the first year of marriage. And then what would they do? Emily would have rotted in that house between feeding children and attending church meetings.

The war was a relief, and another cause for guilt. But it was an opportunity for her to escape her dull world. Now, living within that opportunity, she was still unsatisfied. Emily wanted a family, she just hadn't wanted one with John in Indiana.

Now, Emily felt more trapped than ever. She was afraid that if she admitted, even to herself, that she wanted to get married and raise a family her mother would sense it all the way across the ocean and demand she come back. She was afraid everyone would see it on her face, that yes she wanted to be a wife and mother, and she wouldn't be taken seriously in her work. These thoughts spiraled in Emily's head as she sat in the semi-warmth of the battalion headquarters.

In a trance, Emily brought her cold fingertips to her lips. Her breath was warm, soothing. She could still feel the warmth of Nixon's mouth on hers. It had felt so wrong and totally right when he had leaned forward to kiss her. Electricity had run through her body from where his hand had rested on her leg. In the cold recesses of the Ardenne forest she could still feel the memory of that shock.

Emily didn't believe in God. But as anyone raised Catholic would admit, no matter how atheist one became there would still be a small voice in the back of one's head wondering what you did to piss off God when something went wrong. It was the same conditioned reaction that triggered one to cross themselves when entering a church whether they were practicing or not. Therefore, a little voice in the back of Emily's mind wondered, had the force of her wish not to be cornered into marriage been so powerful that she was destined to love an unavailable man?
Emily had to decide what she wanted. She had to be honest with herself before anything went too far.

Supplies were running low at the aid station even though it was so far from the front line it hardly seemed to matter. Every couple of days surgeons from the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd battalions would appear to re-stock, their stores supplemented less and less each time. The main hospital was in Bastogne. Emily wearily directed desperate medics and surgeons to the hospital, helping them to arrange jeep rides into the crumbling city.

Now and again Strayer and Sink would ride to the front line to asses their troops. Emily wished she could go with them. She ached to asses the men herself; to see who was wounded, who needed holding, and who was no longer there. Even more so, Emily wanted to see Nixon. She willed him to come back with the officers - just once - but he never did. He was among his men and there was no work from him so far behind the line.

One day towards the end of December a supply truck arrived. It crunched and creaked across the hard-packed snow littered with tree debris. In the distance, artillery sounded just like it did nearly every day. The explosions were a soundtrack of constant anxiety in Emily's chest and she tried to push away the vision of men whose faint gunfire popped back. Emily sat on a canvas stool warming a cup of tea on a bunsen burner when a barking voice entered the tent directing men with wooden crates of supplies.

Emily knew that voice. She jumped up with joy to greet the friend she had thought she would never see again.

"Marwa!"

The woman's gold eyes had lost some of their shine but she still held her head high. The firm expression she wore while directing the men softened when she saw Emily and she held out her arms. Emily rushed into them. The nurse's thick wool coat smelled of gunpowder and something less familiar; a tangy smell of iron that, Emily realized, was the smell of dried blood.

Marwa had joined the paratroopers at her own will. She hadn't left the continent since she came over for D-Day. She kept forcing her way through the allied armies, across borders, to wherever she felt she was needed. And boy was she needed in Bastogne.

Marwa offered much-needed companionship to Emily who's patience and respect for the regiment staff were waning. Emily learned a lot from watching Marwa work, not only about nursing but about how to command respect. The men had a near innate reverence for Marwa who corralled them with firm words and a gentle touch.

The intelligence work Emily had been doing had been tedious and intermittent at best. At its worst, Emily was nothing but a steward. She was frustrated with the out-of-touch leadership she witnessed and constantly having to tell desperate company leaders and medics "no" and "I'm so sorry, I don't have anything for you". Marwa kept Emily busy in her down hours and provided her with a purpose that reinvigorated the young Irish woman. Not to say the work wasn't brutal; working on men's bodies was much different than working on maps and in hypotheticals.

The only peace the pair of women experienced were in the brief moments when all the wounded soldiers were settled. They got to know each other over baskets of stripped bed sheets that they rolled into bandages. Emily listened enraptured to Marwa's stories about growing up in Cairo. In exchange, Emily told her about Indiana and they reflected on how similar their households seemed to be despite all their differences. As they grew closer, Emily apprised Marwa of her relationship with Nixon. She confessed her doubts about him and admitted her own insecurities regarding her future. Marwa was a good one to talk to. Emily never felt judged by the gold-eyed woman even though she always had a strong opinion.

One late afternoon, Emily sat rolling bandages in the aid station. The day had hit a lull. All the men seemed to be as contented as they could be. It was an uncharacteristically sunny day so Marwa had directed that the tent flaps should be rolled up to allow some sunshine and fresh air into the canvas tent.

"Lewis?"

A stiff Lewis Nixon didn't notice Emily as he walked past. He jerked back at the sound of her voice, "Oh, hi," he said.

"Hi!" Emily said. She didn't know what her expectations were for the first time seeing him since their kiss but she had expected him to seem more interested in seeing her. His tepid reaction caused her to feel suddenly anxious. Emily grew painfully aware of her hands, one of which clutched a half-rolled strip of sheet. "Um how is everything?" she asked.

Nixon had stopped but his body was still half turned away from her with his feet still reaching for the path they had been on. He inhaled and his eyes widened, "good, good. Not exactly the Christmas holiday I had in mind," he said dryly.

Emily offered a slight smile at his jest, "what are you doing here? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just gotta clarify a few things," Nixon gestured over his shoulder.

"I thought Strayer just debriefed you all?" Emily asked.

"Yeah but, he,-," Nixon gestured in frustration, "never mind. I gotta go."

"Oh, okay." Emily watched him stomp off in the snow, his body noticeably worn.

"Who was that?" Marwa came up behind Emily. She did little to hide a tone of judgment.

"That was Lewis Nixon," Emily said morosely. She continued to roll the bandage in her hand just to keep herself busy.

"Is he always so… brief?" Marwa asked, her eyes still trained on the receding officer.

Emily clenched her jaw, "brief, no. Cantankerous, yes."

"Cantankerous?"

"He can be very… he keeps me at arm's length when he's in the wrong mood."

"And this is the man who kissed you? Who you love?" Marwa asked with raised eyebrows.

"I don't know if I love him."

Marwa clicked her tongue in disapproval, "Right. Well, don't ask me what I think of him."

Emily chuckled, "I wasn't going to." Marwa shot her warning look before walking away.

Emily didn't even know what she thought of Lewis right now, and that interaction had only confused her more. If she hadn't been so cold and exhausted and incapable of only feeling one thing at once she would have been mad at him. She would have been frustrated with his aloofness and mad that his games were distracting her from the war that was closer to them than ever.