Over There, page 16
With her head in her hands, she cried. She cried for the loss of Gabriel, the loss of her brother, the loss of her innocence, and most of all, she cried for Tess. Heaving sobs of despair tore from her, each more desperate than the last. She felt the hot sting of her tears as they coursed down her face and tasted the salt of each. The tears brought no relief, no sense of cleansing, though, and Ruth knew they were far from the last.
Ruth sat on the curb, another victim of the war who lived. She wasn’t sure how long she had been there, keening and hurting, before she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up through swollen eyes, she squinted. The figure was silhouetted in sunshine so bright that it took Ruth a moment to make out whether the figure was a man or a woman.
It was a woman. It was Tess.
Tess stood in front of Ruth, her eyes a mix of happiness and surprise. A fresh cut marked her left cheek and her hair was a mess, but it was Tess. Alive and safe. The two women stared at one another, each taking stock of the situation and ensuring that it was reality.
“You…you’re alive,” Ruth said, still not believing what she was seeing.
Tess knelt beside Ruth so that they were face to face. “Of course I’m alive. And you, you’re here. I thought you’d left for…home.”
“I wanted to see you one more time,” Ruth said, her voice cracking. “They said you’d gone out and seeing what the bombing did, I thought, I thought—”
“There, there, my love. I’m fine. Look at me, I’m safe and sound and right here. I got separated from the team. I was working with them when a little girl saw me and begged me to help her mother. She couldn’t have been more than four, such a brave little one. She said she was having a baby and the baby wouldn’t come.” Tess sat on the curb, holding Ruth’s arm.
“A baby,” Ruth murmured, still stunned at the appearance of the woman who she had felt sure was gone forever.
“Yes. I told the medics I’d be right back, to wait for me. But, by the time I got back, they were gone. I’m sure they had to take some wounded back to the hospital. I knew I’d find them eventually or make my way back to the hospital on my own. But the baby, Ruth…” Tess paused to take a breath.
Ruth held Tess’s hand, warm and strong. She gripped it as if she was afraid that if she didn’t keep a hand on this woman, she would vanish into thin air. Trying to focus on what Tess was saying, she had a sinking feeling she knew how this story would end. It seemed to be the ending to all too many stories these days. “It didn’t survive?”
Tess kissed Ruth square on the mouth, ebullient. “No! It did survive. She did, I mean. It was a breech and difficult to get through but the woman delivered a healthy baby girl. Here, in the midst of all of this, she delivered a beautiful little girl. That baby fought to be born and came into this world with a yell so loud that even I was startled.” Tess’s eyes filled with happy tears. “There is hope, after all.”
In that moment, both women knew. They knew that they were meant to be together. Not time or distance or attitudes could keep them apart. Here too, in the midst of the living hell of war, they had found each other for a reason. How could they possibly deny the miracle of that? They looked at each other, communicating wordlessly, smiles forming as they realized what was happening.
“You’re staying then?” Tess asked. But she already knew the answer.
“I’m staying. With you.”
Epilogue
Evansville, Indiana 1963
The Carroway house looked a little worse for wear, having stood solid for nearly twenty years since World War II. The victory garden was still there, but they no longer called it a victory garden. Instead, it was Neil’s pride and joy. He entered his famously large pumpkins in the state fair every year and had been a runner-up twice. Every new year brought his proclamation that “this was his year.”
He was carrying a bag of yard clippings to the curb when he caught sight of a teenage girl bicycling down the street. He waved and smiled when the pretty blonde-haired girl waved back. It was little Ruth Reed from two streets over. Her mother, Lillian, had remarried after the war, to a nice fellow who ran the local hardware store. The Carroways had all been pleased to learn that she was naming her baby girl after her good friend, Ruth. It was hard to believe that had been fifteen years ago. Where did the time go? Neil liked Lillian and the new husband, Hank, but always thought that the woman looked sad, despite her smiles.
Neil stopped at the mailbox and then returned inside, careful not to let the door slam. Mary was always a little edgy and Neil tried to keep things as calm as he could for her. She had never been the same after the war, after the loss of Frank. It had been ten years before Neil was able to convince Mary to remove the shrine to their boy and another year after that before she finally agreed to change his boyhood room to a sewing room.
“That way you can relax and enjoy the room and still honor Frank,” Neil had said, trying to placate his wife while still dealing with his own, ever-present loss.
He found Mary in the kitchen, peeling apples for a pie. “I’ve got something exciting,” Neil said, waving an envelope with now familiar red and blue borders.
Mary wiped her hands on a towel and smiled a broad smile. The smile lifted Neil’s heart, as it always did. There had been a time right after the war when he’d thought he might lose Mary to her grief. Thankfully, time and peace had helped her heal.
“Is that what I think it is?” Mary asked, pulling on her eyeglasses, which hung from a chain around her neck.
“It sure is. Here, sit down.” Neil pulled a chair out for his wife and pushed it in slightly after she had taken a seat. He looked around and frowned.
“Looking for your glasses?” Mary asked. Seeing him nod in the affirmative, she gently pulled them from the top of his head to the bridge of his nose. “You never remember,” she said with a gentle laugh.
Neil kissed his wife on the cheek and then carefully opened the envelope, treating the thin paper as if it were a treasure. To Mary and Neil, it was.
****
Dear Mother and Pop,
I hope this finds you well! I can’t believe that it’s October already, can you? I do miss the changing leaves this time of year. London doesn’t have that, I’ll tell you.
Things here are same as ever. Busy as can be at the hospital. In between teaching the nursing classes and serving as supervisor, I feel that the days fly by. That’s a good thing, right Pop? I remember you telling me that hard, honorable work was a blessing. I completely agree.
Tess and I took a short holiday to France earlier this month. I am lucky to have found a roommate who likes to travel as much as I do. We ate more cheese and drank more wine than you can imagine. Mother, you would have loved seeing the cathedrals there, they were simply beautiful. When I get my photographs developed I will make sure to send you some of the best ones. That Brownie camera that you sent sure came in handy.
You asked last time you wrote if I still hear from the nurses I met during the war. I do. A group of us write back and forth fairly often and it’s always nice to hear from them. Some days it feels as if it were only yesterday that I was that scared young girl in London. The girls’ letters always make me feel that way, even though we are certainly no longer girls! We always talk of trying to meet up, a reunion of sorts, and I hope that happens.
I’ll close here as Tess and I are going to go for a bicycle ride. She sends her best as always as do I.
Love,
Ruth
About the Author
Rachel Windsor is a boring attorney who enjoys writing in her free time. To spice up her day job of drafting appellate briefs, pension plans and tax documents, she writes lesbian fiction, romantic comedies, historical romance and erotica. Although she never achieved her childhood dream of becoming an astronaut, she thinks she ended up with a pretty cool life.
In addition to writing, Rachel enjoys spending time with her wife and their two children, traveling, enjoying good food and wine, and reading.
Contact info:
Facebook: facebook.com/rachel.windsor.560
Author website: rachelwindsor.com
Check out Rachel’s other books.
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Windsor, Rachel, Over There
