Battle Hymns Page 4

  Love,

  Nick

  Charlotte read the letter again and again. Once Nick’s words were nearly memorized, she dropped the letter onto the bed and looked for his address. It was tucked inside, the address transcribed by a typewriter.

  Sitting at her desk, she opened the leather box of her new stationery set. She set a sheet of the cream-colored paper on the desk and removed a black ink pen. Unsure of what to write, she brought the cap of the pen between her lips.

  Until now, she and Nick hadn’t exchanged many letters. She’d written messages in birthday cards and the occasional love note. Beyond that, they’d spent enough time together that written correspondence was unnecessary. Why write when she could tell Nick what she was feeling and see his reaction? She would miss his smile and the desire in his eyes when she told him she loved him. Her imagination would have to suffice for now.

  With a resigned sigh, she set the tip of the pen to the paper. She’d write whatever came to mind. She could always start over.

  January 9, 1942

  Chevy Chase, Maryland

  Dear Nick,

  I was so excited when I saw I finally received your letter. I’m happy you made it to New York safely. I can only imagine how cold it must be this time of year. Is it colder than it is in D.C.? It’s been overcast here the past few days, typical winter weather.

  Right now I’m trying to picture you with a buzz cut. I think you would look nice. I’m having a hard time picturing John with shorter locks, though. I’ve gotten used to his curly hair. I wonder what Natalie thinks. She returns from Grand Rapids tomorrow for the semester. I can’t wait to see her again. She’ll understand my loneliness and longing for you more than my parents or anyone else. Classes start Monday and I am, for once, looking forward to it. It will give me something to think about other than the fact you’re not here with me. I can get back into a routine.

  Evelyn took me to a party at Ginger Rosenfeld’s house for New Year’s Eve. I tried to have a good time, I promise, but I missed you every single second.

  My parents are doing well. My father is busier than usual. As you can imagine, the War Department has a lot more to do since the declaration of war. My mother, I think, will be relieved to see me leave for school tomorrow. My mood has been less than chipper since you’ve been gone, and I think she feels like it’s her responsibility to make me feel better while I’m under her roof. It will be easier on her nerves when I’m not at home anymore.

  I wish I had more to tell you, but my days have been less than eventful since you left. When my classes start again and my social life returns, I’ll have more to discuss with you in my letters. Until then, I want you to know that I love you very much and that I often daydream you’re sitting right beside me. I miss you so much sometimes it physically hurts. But I know we’ll make it through this war. I have faith in that. I can’t wait to hear from you again. I’ll be checking the mail every single day for your letters, so don’t keep me waiting!

  I’m yours, always,

  Charlotte

  She set her pen down and read through the letter. Satisfied, she folded the sheet of paper and slid it into the matching envelope. She addressed the envelope and placed a three-cent stamp in the corner. She kissed it once and ran downstairs to place it in the black tin box by the front door.

  Five

  Charlotte returned to Trinity College on the tenth of January, two days before the spring semester started. She was eager to return to her routine—classes, study groups, meals with her girlfriends at the mess hall, tennis practices, and sleeping in her single bed across from Natalie. The normalcy would distract her from Nick’s absence.

  But there would be no escape from the war. The United States was now a wartime nation, and its citizens had new responsibilities.

  Washingtonians prepared for an attack on the nation’s capital. Air raid shelters were constructed throughout the city, and wardens educated the public on the appropriate response to warning sirens. When the sirens blared, blackout conditions were enforced. The thin curtains in Charlotte’s and Natalie’s dorm room were replaced with heavy, thick drapes that were required to be closed during a drill. The lighted national monuments Charlotte once loved to admire at night had become invisible. Even car owners painted over the top half of their headlights so the beams couldn’t be seen from above. All were precautions to hide the city from enemy planes.

  For the first time rationing affected their everyday lives. Personal transportation became severely restricted. The local rationing board determined each family’s need for gasoline and tires, divvying out ration coupons only by necessity. A national speed limit of thirty-five miles per hour was imposed to reduce gas consumption and incentivize civilians to use public transportation instead. Sugar was the first food to be rationed. Within a year, rationing would stretch to include typewriters, bicycles, coffee, and shoes.

  Recycling was stressed. Saving aluminum cans meant that more ammunition could be manufactured for the soldiers. Communities joined together to hold scrap iron drives, and schoolchildren pasted saving stamps into war bond books. Although hosiery remained a social expectation, many women, especially those of a younger generation, opted to forgo nylon or silk stockings beneath their dresses and skirts. Nylons were no longer sold in stores, and women donated their old stockings for recycling. Both materials were used to make parachutes, whose manufacturing was far more important to the country than the covering of a woman’s legs.

  Women went to work in factories and other jobs that were traditionally held by men. Some of Charlotte’s classmates quit their studies to take on paying jobs as waitresses, secretaries, and switchboard operators. Many of her remaining classmates united through volunteerism. Evelyn and Sandra volunteered at the local United Service Organizations center. The USO provided services and entertainment to the troops, and it seemed Evelyn and Sandra spent most of their volunteer hours dancing with young, handsome soldiers.

  Natalie volunteered to help the Treasury Department organize war bond drives. Her main responsibility was to write Hollywood celebrities and persuade them to make appearances at the drives to boost proceeds for the war effort. To Natalie’s delight, she’d already received responses from Rita Hayworth and Bing Crosby, even if the letters were only through their studio agents. The bond drives had already raised ten thousand dollars, a fact Natalie proudly tossed into the occasional conversation.

  Charlotte’s volunteer efforts were spent promoting victory gardens with her tennis club. Between practices and tennis matches, the young women hung educational posters around the city. They sold packets of vegetable seeds and distributed booklets that taught farming and gardening techniques to the urban dwellers of Washington, D.C. They also helped in the formation of neighborhood cooperatives, all so they could increase the food supply and provide more fruits and vegetables to the soldiers overseas.

  Between her studies, tennis, and community service, Charlotte had little free time. But it was a sacrifice she was more than willing to make. Times were tough, and they all wanted to help out in any way they could.

  ***

  On a Monday afternoon in late April, Charlotte checked her mail. Mrs. Lloyd handed her an envelope covered in Nick’s handwriting, and Charlotte scampered upstairs to read his latest correspondence.

  Since her first letter in early January, she received Nick’s letters two to three times every week. Her replies were written at the same rate. Usually, she’d write a new letter before receiving his latest reply. The overlap didn’t bother her. It allowed them to talk to each other that much more often.

  Nick never went into specifics about basic training. Instead, he wrote about his new friends, the types of food he ate or craved, and any amusing stories he chose to share with her. He always ended his letters by saying how much he loved her, how much he missed her, and how much he wanted to see her again.

  “I got another letter!” Charlotte said to Natalie as she entered the room.

  Natalie sco
wled from her desk, where she wrote an essay for one of her English classes. “I checked earlier. I don’t have one.”

  Lying on the bed with her head against the pillow, Charlotte read the note.

  April 24, 1942

  Upton, New York

  Dear Charlotte,

  We’ve been told to pack up. We’re leaving tomorrow. Don’t worry—I don’t think we’re leaving the country yet. John overheard one of the sergeants saying we’re going down to somewhere near Virginia Beach for “specialized training.” I have no idea what that means. It’s near the Chesapeake Bay. Maybe it has to do with water? I’ve probably already said too much, but I don’t think they’re censoring our letters while we’re still in the U.S. If you can’t read the above sentence, you’ll know they did.

  When we get there, I’ll send you another letter so you can have my mailing address. I’m looking forward to the warmer weather. I’d be perfectly content never to spend another winter on Long Island.

  I love you very much. I’ll write to you soon.

  Love,

  Nick

  Charlotte sat up, frowning.

  “What’s wrong?” Natalie asked.

  “Read it.” Charlotte handed the note to her.

  Natalie scanned the page. Her lips twitched into a frown, too. “Specialized training? That sounds serious. Did Nick actually think his water clue would make sense? There’s water all around the world. Their regiment could be shipped off to New Guinea or to the coast of France, for all we know.” She returned the letter to Charlotte, who stuffed the letter back into the envelope.

  “He was only trying to help.”

  Natalie slouched into her desk chair. “Why didn’t I get a letter today? Nick found the time to write. John should’ve, too.”

  “Perhaps his letter is still in the post. I’m sure you’ll receive it tomorrow.”

  Natalie wiped the tears under her eyes. “Gosh, I hate exchanging letters. I just want him to be here.”

  Charlotte nodded. Only five months had passed, and she too had grown weary of the limitations of written correspondence. If Nick’s letters were too few and far between now, what would she do when he went overseas? The notion that she would have to wait even longer for letters filled her with dread.

  But regardless, Charlotte would continue her correspondence without fail or complaint. If she and Natalie were having a hard time in D.C., how much more difficult was it for the men who had to journey to another country, so far from home? In times like these, she and Natalie had to think of their men’s struggles ahead of their own. They were the true heroes, and it was their bravery that would allow their country to emerge victoriously in the end. Offering Nick all the support she could, despite her own fears and impatience, was her duty as a fiancée and an American woman. She refused to be discouraged, no matter what.

  Part Two

  June 1942

  Six

  Natalie stood inside the door to the train car as it rolled out of the station. She wiggled her fingers. “Toodle-oo, ladies! Have a swell summer and I’ll see you in a few months!” The car passed the end of the platform. Natalie waved once more and ducked her head inside.

  “It’s days like these I’m glad my father didn’t make me go to Bryn Mawr,” Sandra said as she and Charlotte made their way through Union Station. “I like not having to travel between school and home. Of course, we’re lucky that home has prestigious educational options.”

  “I don’t know,” said Charlotte. “It could’ve been fun to travel. Michigan might be nice, despite what Natalie says.”

  “In the summer, maybe.” Sandra linked her arm with Charlotte’s. “Now let’s go shopping. I’m never in this area of town, and I have ten dollars to spend.”

  They left Union Station and strolled to a consignment shop just down the street. An old mink coat hung from a mannequin in the window. A bell above the door rang as they entered. The lingering scent of musk and old perfumes, smells of decades past, hung in the air.

  Sandra flipped through the hangers on the nearest clothing rack. She removed a polka-dotted cotton dress. “One girl’s trash is another girl’s treasure.” She found the tag and wrinkled her nose. “Too small. It’d probably fit you, though. It’s only four dollars. You should try it on.”

  Charlotte held the dress while Sandra continued to browse the racks. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

  “Maybe I can find a dress to wear to tonight’s dance. The hems are fraying on my favorite dresses. I need to stitch them, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

  Charlotte trailed her fingers along the fringe of a beaded handbag from the twenties. “You’re going to the USO again tonight? Is there someone you’re looking forward to seeing?” She smiled as she watched for Sandra’s reaction.

  “No. Why?” Sandra replied without reticence.

  “You’ve been going to a lot of dances lately. You haven’t met anyone?”

  Sandra shrugged and pulled out a blue dress. “No one in particular. The USO isn’t really an atmosphere where you get to know someone. We dance, have fun, and that’s it. I rarely see the same guys. Is that why you decline our invitations? You think Evelyn and I are there only to find beaux, and you already have your own.”

  “I decline your invitations because I have no desire to dance with anyone but Nick. Now don’t change the subject. Don’t you want to find a beau?”

  Sandra returned the blue dress to the rack. “I do. I don’t like being single and alone. But I also don’t want to get married anytime soon. I couldn’t even imagine my life revolving around housework and children.”

  “And your husband,” Charlotte added.

  Sandra chuckled. “Sure. Him, too.” She pointed to a hunter green dress. “Oh! Look at this one!” She held it to her figure and looked into a nearby mirror. “The color complements my eyes, don’t you think?”

  They left the consignment shop twenty minutes later with their purchases. While they waited at the bus stop, Charlotte set her shopping bag on the bench with Sandra and moseyed along the wall of the adjacent building.

  Promotional posters were plastered to the concrete. Uncle Sam wanted her to buy war bonds. A portrait of Hitler reminded her that the enemy was all around her, listening and watching. A blond girl at a typewriter said she was winning the war by becoming a stenographer. A brunette girl in a blue and white nurse’s uniform looked to the painted blue sky, a portrait of dedication, as the poster asked women to save lives as a volunteer nurses’ aide.

  Charlotte turned to Sandra. “What are you doing this summer?”

  Sandra looked up from her manicure. “Summer reading, volunteering at the USO, and filing papers in my father’s office. Why?”

  “I need to find something new to do with my time. Now that the semester is over, the victory garden work with the tennis club is also over.”

  “You have plenty of options. What do you want to do?”

  Charlotte sat beside Sandra and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d really like to make a difference, but I don’t have any of these skills.” She gestured to the posters. “I don’t know how to use a typewriter, and I haven’t had any sort of medical training. I’m not good at writing, at least not enough to write on behalf of the government like Natalie does.”

  “You can learn those skills. Take a stenography class if you really want to.”

  “But then what’s the use? As soon as the war is over, Nick will come back and we’ll get married. A stenography class won’t do me much good at home.” Charlotte sighed. “I just need something to do this summer. I’m not looking for a career.”

  Sandra pursed her lips. “You know, this war might last longer than you think. You might not be getting married this year or even the next. Pretend Nick doesn’t exist. It’s just you. Don’t think about it for too long, and tell me your first thought. What do you want to do?”

  Charlotte shut her eyes, mainly so Sandra wouldn’t see them roll.

  How could she
possibly pretend Nick didn’t exist? He was the biggest part of her life, more than her friends, her parents, and her interests. Within her social class, young women worked only if they couldn’t find husbands by the time they finished their studies. Charlotte didn’t have that problem. Twenty-two years earlier, her mother didn’t have that problem, either. She married Charlotte’s father halfway through her education at Vassar, never finishing her degree. She told her daughter she didn’t have any regrets. Family was more important than classical studies. And Charlotte wanted a family with Nick more than anything.

  “You’re overthinking it,” said Sandra.

  Charlotte opened her eyes. “Honestly, my first thought is that this is nonsense.”

  Sandra prodded her to continue. “Then tell me your second thought. Pretend you’re not as pretty, your parents aren’t as well off, and you have to make a living for yourself . . . like most other people in the world.”

  This time Charlotte rolled her eyes openly. “Fine. If I had to work . . . Well, I wouldn’t want to sit at a desk all day. It sounds awfully boring.”

  “Stenography is out, then.”

  “I don’t know . . . What am I good at?” Charlotte shrugged. “I’m good at tennis, but certainly not good enough to be a professional. I’m good at studying for my exams, but that’s not a career.”

  “Become a nurses’ aide.”

  Charlotte chortled in bewilderment. “How did you jump to that one so quickly?”

  Sandra pointed to the Red Cross poster behind them. “I can’t think of a reason why not. You’re friendly, you don’t mind talking to people, and you’re not oversensitive.”