TDTLBU Chapter Forty-One

September 22nd, 1943

Letter from Josh to Rob and Myra

Dear Mom and Dad,

Just dropping a few lines to let you all know we’re alive. But barely. Because if I don’t get some sleep soon, I’ll just keel over and die. So, I’m sorry for the incoherency, but I’m pretty sure this letter won’t be making much sense. 

These past months have been… what can I say? An eye-opening experience, I guess. Wasn’t quite expecting what we were getting into. Among other things, I’ve learned the overwhelming, all-encompassing importance of clean socks. So Emma was right, I admit it. I have also learned how much I loathe, despise, detest, abominate sand. Remember how I used to say I wanted to go on vacation at the beach? Yeah? Well, scratch that. If I never see a single grain of sand again, it will be too soon.

Oh, you're not gonna believe this... Cat got stung by a bee last week and we thought he was gonna die. His face swelled up and he was gasping for breath. We found a medic that knew what to do and now that it's over, it's actually really funny. I mean, the guy literally lives on a bee farm! And not only that, but he comes all the way across the world to get shot at by Nazis and he almost gets killed by a freaking bee! I am never letting him forget that. He deserves it anyway. Still haven't got him back for that fire and brimstone sermon he preached at me when we were stuck in a foxhole on Sunday. Couldn't get away from it. And he sang too... At least half a dozen hymns all by himself. It got very annoying. He really has a knack for this preaching though... He almost always has worship or at least prayer services on Sundays and Ronnie helps. They make us all sit and listen.

I had a near-death experience myself just yesterday. We found a turtle out here, or a tortoise or whatever you call it. Guess we must just be really bored or something, cuz it was pretty funny to poke that thing and see it snap indignantly. But then it up and swallowed my dog tags. We had a ferocious tug of war in which I thought I was gonna be strangled. I was ready to chop it up and barbeque it and serve it under the name "GI Joe sandwiches". Actually might be pretty good, now that I think of it. But the turtle gave in first and I came off victorious.

Anyway, you’ve probably heard about the victories over the news and while it is a relief, it doesn’t feel as relieving as it should. Because we’re not done yet. Not even close. I guess you could say we've finished round one. Now for round two... Wherever and whenever that is. None of us are looking much forward to it. They’ll be shipping us… somewhere else… soon. Can’t say where, because that would just result in a letter full of holes. Not much fun reading, I’m sure. But we’ll get some time for rest and training before we go into combat again. At least, that’s what they tell us. Not sure if I believe them or not.

Ronnie says to tell you hi. It's been weird, getting used to him being a sergeant. Gives him all the more reason to boss me around, I guess.  And  Cat's been corporal-ized, which is also weird.

Haven’t run into Emma yet, but I know she’s around here somewhere. Hoping I somehow run into her at some point. But there’s so many people all over the place, it’s hard enough to keep track of one’s own unit. Unfortunately, the best way to see a nurse is to get yourself shot full of holes. And I’d rather not do that. 

By this point, my handwriting is getting so sloppy, even I can’t read it, and the words are changing shape right in front of my eyes, so I’m gonna wrap it up and hit the hay.

Missing you both,

Josh

✯✯✯

October 2nd,1943

Letter from Emma to Jim and Donna

“Rest, training, and recuperation. That is the order of the day. Or shall I say, the next several weeks or months, or however long it ends up being. They won’t tell us how long, nor where we’re going next. And honestly, I’m not going to even try surmising, because it will just be censored. Feels strange, keeping secrets as important as whereabouts from your family. But it’s not like I have a choice.

And so we’ve just been sitting here in England, doing nothing much. Other than the rest, training, and recuperation aforementioned herein. And when we’re not doing that, we do fierce battle with boredom. And it is a fearsome foe, believe me!! We get creative. And we go for very, very long walks. Exploring the countryside and all that. Fancy me strolling about England! Why it’s all I’ve ever dreamed of! Pardon me if I sound more enthusiastic than I actually am. You ought to see the way I’m dressed. Of course I always envisioned myself in lovely tea dresses and evening gowns, having garden parties and teas with nobility… at least, that’s what I dreamed of as a little girl. And here I am, stomping around in combat boots and big baggy army trousers, most of the time. Thank goodness for the gaiters that we wrap around our ankles to keep those horrid trousers from dragging in the mud! We do have dress uniforms… like the jacket and skirt I wore when I came home for leave… and those dreadfully impractical white dresses like I wore back at home when I worked at the hospital. But like I said, dreadfully impractical. We’ve been working to get used to combat uniforms. In North Africa and Italy, we mostly suffered through aforementioned white dresses and the dress uniform. Then they took “pity” on us and issued us what is, in all honesty, men’s uniforms. Like this is exactly what the soldiers wear.

I do have news though, and it's high time I shared it. I met somebody in North Africa, you see. His name is Lieutenant Nathan Craig. I first met him at hospital when he came in wounded. He asked me to write and so I did, and now the letters are flying back and forth, and he's such a wonderful person. You'd like him, all of you would, I know it. Especially Mickey, since not only is Nate a soldier, he's a cowboy. From Nebraska. Now isn't that fascinating? And the best part of all… he loves to read. Albeit not much else but western novels. Started on in school and read every spare moment he could get. Fancy me meeting a kindred spirit at long last! And now I know the questions you're asking. Is he a Christian? Is he a Republican? How old is he? What is his family like? What does he look like? Well, I shall end your curiosity.

He is a Christian and a Baptist like us, too. And yes, he is a Republican, Dad. You won't have to argue politics with him! He's twenty-four. He has a mother and father and little sister back in Nebraska and a little brother in the Air Force. He's tall, well maybe not so tall as Ronnie, but still considerably taller than me. He's got dark hair like Scout and black eyes like no one I've ever seen before. And the kindest smile. He's really sweet and so interesting… and lately, he's been hinting in his letters that he hopes for more than friendship. What do you think, dear family? Do you approve? I have to admit that I'm not sure... yet. But I am pleased to think that a man such as him would be interested in me.

Speaking of Scout, what do you hear from him? Does he write often? I've gotten such letters from him as I never have before in the past several months and I'm worried. He sounds different... something is changing in him. Wish I could see him again. I miss him dreadfully… that ornery smile of his and those green eyes full of amusement and mischief… I miss all of you so badly it aches.

But look at me rattling on here! This is what happens when I get bored. I ramble like I’m half-insane. Why this letter is already three pages long. I shall take mercy on your poor nerves and write Josh instead. I’ve already written just as mercilessly long of letters to both Ronnie and Katie. I shall enjoy plaguing Scout with as much high vocabulary and book quotes as I can cram into an envelope. Don’t worry, usually I write perfectly normal letters. But as I said before, I’m bored. And when I get bored, I hit him with a Shakespearian letter. He doesn’t have a clue what I’m saying and it’s hilarious.

✯✯✯

October 5th, 1943

Letter from Katie to Jim and Donna

For weeks I've done nothing but pass out donuts and dance and sing. One of the hardest things we have to do is send them off. We'll be jammed there on the dock with all the rest of the screaming crowd, passing out those endless donuts and cheering as they shoulder their packs and go up the gangplank... off to war. It's a dreadful feeling when the ship begins to sail away and everyone falls silent. And then I feel so helpless and ineffective. 

I suppose it's important, keeping our soldiers entertained and happy, but I always feel like such a flop when I hear from Emma and Ronnie and Josh. Think of what they're doing and what they've already done… how important it is!! I know what you're thinking, Mom. You're saying "everyone has their place, no matter how small it seems, and every little thing is equally important as it contributes toward the end goal." That may be so, but I've done my bit and now I'm ready for more. Don't worry, Mom, I can't… I never could… go anywhere near combat. I'm not brave like Emma and the boys. But it seems there is a place for me after all.

Do you remember Emma talking about nurse's aides? Because now I am one. The Red Cross opened a recruiting office near where I was staying and last night, I went down and signed up. I could get sent anywhere there is a permanent hospital… that's anywhere in the US or England. I have a couple months training and then I'll get my assignment. I pray I'll be able to do some good in this messed-up, shattered world.

✯✯✯

October 6th, 1943

Letter from Emma to Josh 

Good Sir,

Weary with toil I haste me to my bed… but first… I’ll call for pen and ink and write my mind. Ah, dear sir, life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man. But… the web of our life is as a mingled yarn, good and ill together. When we are born, we cry, that we are come to this great stage of fools. It is silliness to live when to live is torment. Ah… to be or not to be! That is the question. All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts. And yet I remember, sweet are the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

Truly, dear sir, expectation is the root of all heartache. My tongue will tell you the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break. When the drums of war have reached a fever pitch and the blood boils with hate and the mind is closed, the leader will have no need in seizing the rights of the citizenry. Rather, the citizenry infused with fear and blinded by patriotism, will offer up all of their rights unto the leader and do it gladly so. 

In peace nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility; but when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger; stiffen the sinews, disguise fair nature with hard favoured rage. Remember, dearest friend, cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once. We are ready to try our fortunes to the last man. Fight to the last gasp. Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colors wave! And either victory, or else a grave. To whom God will, there be the victory. 

My rage is gone, and I am struck with sorrow. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, all losses are restored and sorrows end. Words are easy, like the wind, faithful friends are hard to find. 

Heaven send thee good fortune. I bid you heartily farewell.

Emma

✯✯✯

Josh squinted at the letter in his hand, turning it sideways and even upside-down as if that would somehow make it more readable. He had read it through half a dozen times and still could barely make sense of it. It wasn't the first time Emma had done this either, and it was starting to drive him crazy. It was awful to finally get a letter from her, only to realize it was another one of those "book messes", as he called them. 

"Sugar mail?" Mac was grinning at him. At Josh's despondent and hopeless expression, he leaned over his shoulder to peer at Emma's letter. "What the heck is that?" he laughed and Josh angrily stuffed the letter out of sight. Never mind that it was pure gibberish to him, it was a letter from Emma, and therefore a priceless treasure. He had kept every letter she had ever written, tied with a bedraggled ribbon, and carefully buttoned into his shirt pocket... along with the Bible he had barely even opened. But he carried it all the same... in honor of the promise he had made his father.

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