Background
Nathan allowed the war and his private frustrations with his life to dictate a behavior unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. After much soul searching, he humbles himself and seeks forgiveness.
|
Grace Nevers was an excellent nurse. However, she paid little or no attention to Nathan Daniels. Either she was overwhelmed by the number of injured soldiers she had to attend, or she couldn't stand the sight of the man who had molested her. Nathan chose the latter. Grace acted as a wound up doll when she attended him, very dutiful and ceramic; she never made eye contact and only spoke to him when professionally necessary.
Moreover, the faint groaning of the men swallowed up the normal noises she and the other nurses made as they busied themselves attending them. There was a loud shrieking in the air, like a horse whinnying, but it was later told it had been a soldier having a foot amputated. It was gangrenous, with no time to wait for the slow-coming supplies of ether and morphine. One of the nurses flung open the doors and someone opened a window as she sat playing hymns on a guitar. The tunes allowed in the sweetness of calm about the hospital like the smell of spring rain.
Nathan lay in the quiet flow of the music and thought of his home town of Sweet Springs. He remembered the innocence of the times before the war: he saw horses grazing in the wild and on the ranches, the children playing under tall oak trees, near freshly cut grass and colorful flower gardens. He thought of the Korens and their beautiful twin girls, Ella and Ellie. He thought of Eva, just what he'd tell her, he wasn't sure. Of course, there was Pete...with his joking and high laughter; and old Bruno, Pete's favorite smooth stepping horse. Nathan wished hard that things could be that way again. But, somehow, he knew they would not.
"Sit up please," Grace said, poking his medication and a cup of water at him. He threw his head back, plopped the pills into his mouth, and took several sips of water.
"Thank you," he said, his eyes searching hers, softly. Handing her back the cup, he placed his hand over hers...hoping for a response; but Grace snatched the cup, then off she went to the next patient, smiling and making conversation. Nathan sunk down, pulling the covers up to his chest like a chastised little boy.
For several weeks, the tension rose even greater between them. Nathan couldn't stand the hatred he thought he saw in her beautiful hazel eyes when she came near him. Late one night, he felt he had no other choice; so again, he followed her into the supply room. He tried not to startle her, but the click of the door closing behind him made her swing around. She raised her eyebrows as she braced herself.
"I swear to God, I'll scratch your eyes out. I mean it," she said, storming forward.
"Wait! I'm not going to touch you."
"Get away from that door."
"I'm not here to harm you. Just hear me out."
"What could you possibly say that I'd want to hear?"
"I'm sorry."
"You're right. You are sorry...a sorry excuse for a man." She forced past him and grabbed the door knob.
"Please listen. I don't know what came over me that night. I was full of drugs; my head was spinning. A woman who meant the world to me showed up unexpectedly and told me how happy she was with another man, and then she disappeared out of my life, forever. He sighed heavily. "Please forgive me." She turned and faced him, letting her hand slip from the knob.
"That's your excuse? Pills, a woman?"
"Grace."
"Shut up! You think you're the only man here who's full of drugs? You think there's no man here who hasn't had a woman walk out on him? But none of them followed me back here and tried to rape me. Did they?" He looked down at the floor. "No."
Grace turned and walked out, with Nathan slowly dragging behind her. Ending a walk of shame, he climbed back into bed. For weeks, their interactions remained unpleasant.
**************
Daniels carried that guilt to bed every night and sat with it at breakfast every morning. With Margaret totally out of his life, he felt Grace was the woman he most desired. He hardly thought of Eva anymore. "Poor Eva," he whispered. He had tried so hard to convince himself that he truly loved her. Seeing Margaret again put out that false fire. But how to get Grace to forgive him... trust him. That was the big question in his mind.
Many convalescing soldiers kept busy with simple arts and crafts made from battlefield detritus: They used wooden aeroplane propellers for picture frames and clocks, and regimental badges for sweetheart jewelry, such as hair pins and lockets. With brass and aluminum available, they crafted matchbox covers, cigar and cigarette boxes and decorated flower vases. From scraps of metal, they made small items such as letter openers, napkin rings, and pins. The finished products were quite stunningly beautiful.
"Sit up please," Grace said, handing Nathan his medication. He plopped the pills into his mouth and sipped the water. As she grabbed the cup, he reached from under the covers and pulled out a beautiful jewelry box made from shell fragments. It glowed like silver. He extended it to her. Grace kept her hands at her side and just looked at it. Her eyes sparkled in admiration, though her face remained cold.
"Why are you giving this to me?"
"I just want you to have it."
"I don't want it."
He kept his arm out holding the shiny box. "There's nothing I want in return. Honest," he said.
"Do you really believe taking this will erase what you did?"
"No. But I can't stand that your last thought of me will forever be what I tried to do to you. I want you to look at this box and see a good man who was just confused and did a bad thing. Something he has never done before or will ever do again."
Grace studied his face and hesitated for a moment; she looked into his eyes, then back at the box. As he held it, she opened it to a beautiful royal blue lining made from a piece of undergarment donated by one of the flirting nurses.
"It's lovely," she said. "I'll have to leave it here while I attend to my patients."
"I understand," he said. "You certainly can't walk around with it."
After she walked off, Nathan wrapped it in a towel and placed it under the bed. Later, while watching Grace with her patients, he noticed her glancing over at him from time-to-time. His heart burst with hope, but she never claimed her gift. Nathan figured she had pretended to accept it just to get rid of him. He had only himself to blame, he thought. He didn't fault her for not wanting to have anything to do with him. Still, he wished somehow she could find it in her heart to forgive him. He thought about her sweet lips and what it could have meant under more wholesome circumstances, like a date, where there was mutual consent. He was deep in his thoughts when he heard his name from a short distance.
"Lieutenant Daniels." Nathan jerked his head around and saw two of his sergeants coming towards him. They were all teeth.
"Cooley? Davidson? Am I glad to see you," he said.
"You look great, Sir."
"I feel great. How about you guys?" Cooley and Davidson pulled up chairs and sat facing him. "We got banged up pretty good. But we're fine now. We really miss you, Lieutenant."
"I missed you guys too."
Cooley lowered his head and looked at Davidson, then back up at Nathan. "Did you hear about Quael, Kowalski, and...?"
"Bennett and Rascus, yes," Nathan interrupted. "The important thing is they're out of this hell hole and back home." Cooley and Davidson agreed. Then Nathan sighed heavily. "It should've been me, not them going home all cut up like that," he said, turning his head away.
"Lieutenant, don't say that," Cooley blurted.
"Don't talk like that, Sir. None of us blame you. Not Quael, Kowalski, none of us. All I've ever heard the men talk about was how you kept us from being killed."
"Think about the men from other companies who won't be going home at all," Davidson concluded.
"Thanks, fellas. But you didn't have to say that."
"Lieutenant, it's true. We're not kidding you." Nathan's eyes became glassy, but he fought back the tears. Not wanting them to see their leader looking weak, he bucked up into what he thought was a more macho appearance. He poked out his chest and took in a big gulp of air.
"SO! How's everything going at the hospital? How's Champ doing?" Nathan asked of his favorite horse patient.
"Oh, Champ is doing fine. He's a tough bronco, Sir. Too stubborn to die," Cooley said, chuckling.
"That's good," Nathan answered."
"They say the war is really winding down."
"Who says?" Nathan asked excitedly.
"Most think it's just a rumor, but it's coming from pretty high up, Sir."
"I haven't heard anything about that around here. But, come to think of it, they discourage nurses from letting us have too much outside news, you know. They're afraid bad news will slow down the healing process.
"Maybe we need to keep the newspapers away from the animals too," Cooley joked. Nathan and Davidson erupted into laughter.
"God! I can't wait to get back home," Nathan sighed.
"I can't wait to hold my Sweetheart." A light flashed across Nathan's face.
"Haaah, you have a girl back home. That's really nice, Davidson. Is it serious?" Cooley bellowed with laughter, then said, "Sweetheart is his cat, Sir. He gets everyone with that one."
"What kind of name is that for a cat?" Nathan asked.
"I used to sleep with her on my pillow when I was a kid. My dad started calling her My Sweetheart. Later, I found out it was his way of calling me a sissy. But the name stuck, so..."
"When you were a kid? In cat years, wouldn't that make her a hundred?" Nathan blurted.
Teasing Davidson took up a good portion of the visit, but he was a good sport about it. They finally settled down and talked more seriously about what their plans were once the war ended and they went home. They shared letters from back home and told funny "before the war" stories until a soft-spoken nurse appeared and told them visiting time was over.
"Well, Lieutenant, Sir, we better be getting on back."
"We got to hold down the fort for you until you get out."
"The major told me what a great job you guys are doing in my absence. Tell the men I really appreciate their hard work. I'm very proud of you...all of you."
"We'll tell them, Sir."
They thanked Nathan for the compliment and saluted him before leaving. He watched humbly as Cooley and Davidson walked off, though he still felt guilty that he had gotten off much easier than Quael, Bennett and his other severely wounded men.
But despite the doctors' noble efforts, the news that the war might be at an end reached many hospitals, and the buzzing began. It reached newspapers around the globe. But no one really knew for sure because the big brass weren't talking. It was a few months before Christmas in 1918, and the entire world prayed that a peaceful solution would come soon.
Meanwhile, Nathan had a smaller concern made greater by his heart's desire to make peace with Grace. Day after day he saw that possibility slipping further away. It seemed nothing could make his pain go away, not even a possible end to this ghastly war.
**************
It was a cool afternoon as Nathan wrote on a pad: The sky is slightly dark, and the rain pours down onto the roof, like a thousand rapid heartbeats. It is Tuesday or maybe Wednesday. Time sometimes gets lost with everyday routines looking like the day before. My lovely stands by the cart in her starch whites, shining like the evening sun. She is moving things about on the medicine tray when...
"Sit up please," Grace said, interrupting him. Nathan dutifully downed the pills and water. She hurried away to the next patient, and Nathan went back to writing his poem. ...she holds out her delicate white hand, and in the middle of the upright pink are three round lifesaving shapes. I toss them into the salivating hole in my face, and .....
At the end of the week, Grace seemed to be behaving more pleasantly towards him, though she never said more than what was necessary. One morning he awoke and found that her gift was not under the bed, but in its place a note that read: I forgive you, as I'm sure God has . Nathan couldn't stop glowing.
"Thank you God," he whispered several times. Don't mess this up, you idiot, he thought. He finished his poem, settled back with his fingers overlapping behind his head, and smiled himself into a nice long nap.
