(The year is 1942. Jack has been deployed to North Africa, leaving behind his pregnant wife)
*
The ground shook as bombs exploded all around. Everywhere the air was filled with smoke and flying debris. The sounds of men screaming in pain and mass confusion momentarily blocked out the terrifying thuds of the artillery shells. Suddenly, a man's face appeared out of the cloud of smoke. His face was streaked with dirt and his mouth was open as he shrieked in pain. His eyes were filled with terror at the horrors that were being unleashed upon his unit.
The man's face became clearer as the smoke dissipated. It was Jack! As the picture became clearer, you could make out the sight of blood. He was wounded -- perhaps dying...
I sat bolt upright in bed and screamed into my hands that were covering my face. My heart pounded in my chest as my eyes struggled to accustom themselves to the darkness of my room.
Slowly, my mind grappled with the realization that it was all just a dream -- the same dream that had haunted my nights on an almost constant basis for the past five months since Jack had left for Northern Africa.
"Just a dream," I told myself.
Still, in those first moments between dreaming and waking, it all seemed so real. My body was covered in sweat and I was half out of breath. It was if I had really been there. The explosions, the smells, the sounds of the men screaming -- it had all been so real.
I covered my face with the sheet and cried yet again. My mind was still coming to grips with the fact that none of it had really happened. Jack was not hurt and dying right before my eyes. The screams that I heard were not those of wounded soldiers, but those of our baby, Christine, in the nursery across the hall.
I tossed back the covers and swung my feet to the floor. The carpet felt reassuring -- one last verification that I was in our own home instead of some foreign battleground. I sleepily reached for my robe and switched on the light. The clock read two, fifteen in the morning. Not quite two hours since the last time that I had answered the cries of our little one.
I padded across the hallway and opened the nursery door.
"What's the matter with my angel?" I cooed.
I swept Christine up in my arms. I knew darned well what the problem was. The doctor had told me that it was colic and that it should clear up on its own in about three months. That was four months ago and so far there was no sign that it was letting up at all.
I tuned on a small light and carried my precious bundle to the rocking chair that everybody had pitched in to buy us. Christine struggled in my arms as her little body was wracked with pain. I thought again of how much of a failure I was at being a mother. Everyone tried to reassure me that it wasn't my fault, but those words rang kind of hollow when you had a tiny baby who was depending on you keep her safe and happy.
I opened the top of my nightgown and guided my nipple to Christine's lips. Her fussing stopped almost immediately as I held her to me to nurse. This was my favorite time of all. We were all alone and it was perfectly quiet. I was finally doing something to ease her suffering; even if it was only for a short while.
I gazed down at her perfect little angelic face and thought about the night that she had been born. All of the wives had formed a pretty tight group at first after our husbands had been shipped out. One other woman had become pregnant while at Fort Riley, but she wasn't nearly as far along as I was.
The girls all used to make a fuss over me. They also liked to poke a lot of fun, but I could see in their eyes that they were more than just a little bit envious. That night a group of us had been outside visiting when my water had suddenly broken.
"Payjee!" Maria had screamed,
The other women had immediately ushered me back inside of my apartment and there was mass confusion as they all argued about what I should do next. Luckily, someone had thought to run to Sergeant Richards' quarters to tell him of what was happening. The Sergeant had quickly commandeered a jeep and I was rushed off to the hospital.
I had been so scared. I wished with all of my heart that Jack could have been there to help me. I knew that he would always take care of me. However, I had nobody there to hold my hand and tell me everything was going to be fine. Luckily, the doctors and nurses were all great, so I was somewhat reassured.
My labor wasn't anything extraordinary, they told me later. But, let me tell one thing -- if any woman has ever had an easy labor, then I sure would like to meet her! The pains were unbearable. I was so thankful when the doctor gave me a shot that calmed me down quite a bit.
I remember seeing Christine for the first time as the doctor and nurses held her up just after she had entered this world. She was wrinkly and messy and looked only vaguely human, but I was in love with her from that very first moment.
A few days later I was brought back to my quarters and all of the other women were there to greet me. Everybody was so happy and made such a fuss over the baby. It did a lot to mask the fears that I had inside that I was in no way prepared for such huge responsibilities and the sadness that I felt that Jack wasn't here to share in this moment with me.
I also remember that moment because it was perhaps the last time that our little group was able to share in such a joyous event. After that day, things would begin to change for all of us, but I will always hold a place in my heart for the kindness that they showed me that day. Why did things change, you ask? I blame it all on The Black Creeper.
Even all of these years later, I don't like thinking about it. For us women, The Black Creeper was the embodiment of all of our worst fears. In the still of the night, when your nightmares seemed to be all too real, you could always hear The Black Creeper coming for you -- Like a hungry shark patrolling the shallow waters searching for its next meal.
The Black Creeper was the nickname that we had given to the large army staff car that was used to come and inform some poor wife that her husband had been killed or wounded in battle. It started making its first visits right about the time that Christine had come home from the hospital. I well remember the first time that I saw it make its dreaded first appearance.
A group of women had been in my home. Christine was crying almost non-stop and I was about at wit's end. Everyone was trying their hardest to offer whatever knowledge they had to help us. I was eager to accept any bit of old wives' tales that they had to offer that might possibly work.
Everybody was talking at once as we compared notes on different cures. Maria had happened to be standing near the front window when we heard her say, "Mira!"
We had all become used to her mixture of spanish and english over the past months and we knew that she was saying, "Look!"
All conversation died away as we looked on with curiosity. A large black army staff car was making its way down the road. It was moving slowly -- as if they were searching the buildings for a specific number. I think that all of us knew in our hearts what it was that we were looking at. It didn't matter that it was your worst nightmare sprung to life, we were each helpless to keep ourselves from staring.
The car came to a stop a little down the road from my door and out stepped two officers in full-dress uniform. The only sound that you could hear from inside my apartment was Christine continuing to cry. All other activity had ceased. All eyes followed the path that the two officers made to the front door of a unit just down the line from my own.
"That's Marilyn O'Neil's place," someone said.
