Gertie

If Gertie was going to make it to William’s graduation on time, she needed to hurry. A hot day was forecast and she did not want to be sweaty and mussed when she got to the schoolhouse. It was the worse time for the hospital to call for her. “Pfc. Warren Sykes is asking for you, Gertie. His time is short, very short.” “4:15,” she absentmindedly read the clock aloud after writing a quick note to William. The sun would not be up for hours. The cool, quiet, dark morning was calming as she stepped into the car and began the drive to Ft. Meade. The town was still asleep as she traveled east on Montgomery Street under the canopy of maple trees, lined with the homes of Laurel’s doctors, lawyers, and merchants. Gertie never failed to admire the lovely homes and well-tended lawns. She looked down Fourth Street to the turn to Grandmother Amsterdam’s house and allowed herself a moment to mourn the lovely lady again. Maybe in her busy life she failed to think of Grandmother but, often in quiet moments like this, she thought of her wonderful benefactor. To pass the dark miles, she put her thoughts in the air. “You would be so proud of William on his graduation day, Grandmother. He’s going to college.” She listened to her own words and added, “If he doesn’t get the Naval Academy, I’ll sell the cameo. He will go to college.” The young soldier at the gate waved her through.”Mornin’, Mrs. Neal, awful early.” Gertie started down the dark corridor toward the ward where she had spent so many hours. She passed familiar doors and nurse’s stations that held so many stories, hopes and tragedies. Tonight every feature was dark and sad because she knew what was going to happen in room 302. She drew her strength and pushed the silent door open. The dying soldier looked very small in the bed and his sweaty forehead glistened as light filled his space. She wiped his brow and listened to the sound of the almost silent footsteps of the nurse and the quiet whirl of the fan, trying to cool the stuffy place. Gertie concentrated and focused so as not to hear the death rattle in the soldier’s throat. She tried not to look at her watch as she sat with the dying soldier. “Time isn’t marked here, Warren. You are not alone.” she said in a whisper. Her heart was with her patient, but she had trouble keeping her mind from racing ahead to this special day in her son’s life. Contrasting this young man and her son on this day tore her heart and she cried. She took his hand in hers and tried infuse mother love to him. As always, the things she said were very personal and comforting. Yesterday, she spent hours with Warren and talked on the phone to his far away family. “I talked to your Mother. She sends her love. Willy and Bryan are working at the service station this summer. The carnival is set up at the vacant lot next to the firehouse and watermelons are good this year.” Her seasoned ability to say just the right thing took the deep lines from his face just as his hand fell away from hers. She paused a moment while his death took precedence over the universe. Her first thoughts screamed out to the deadly gas that was trapped along with our soldiers in trenches—sometimes killing quickly and other times putting beautiful young lives like Warren Sykes’ in a long struggle. Gertie softened as she saw his torn, broken body accept peace. Then she turned her thoughts to his soul. “Our Heavenly Father, have mercy on us. Take your beloved young servant, Warren. He gave his full measure to you and to his country. Give his soul rest and his loved ones comfort. Abide in us. Amen.” It was the prayer she had said too, too many times. The sun finally poured long slanted beams across the foot of the soldier’s bed, announcing the new summer day. Its brightness seemed a sad contradiction. Gertie spoke to the nurse in attendance and went to her office. She took time, sitting at the desk, to hold services for Pfc. Sykes in her mind. Her Bible fell open to the ribbon marking John 14: 1-4. She read the verses aloud and closed the book. After a few quiet moments in this place, where death pushed her life aside, she was ready to go back home. She hurried toward the car, graduation day, and the picnic planned after the ceremony. Gertie looked at her watch. "Eight-twenty. I have some time. Thank God. I need every minute.” She stepped out in the bright sun of this perfect June morning. She ran across the parking lot, and saw Jesse, standing at her car waiting. He stepped toward her and put his arm gently around her shoulder. “William called. He told me where you were. I decided maybe you should not drive back to Laurel. You would not have been called unless it was urgent.” “Yes. I lost another one today.” “I’m so sorry. Get in my car; we can come back for yours after graduation.” “My bag is in the back seat,” she said as she lifted a hanger from the front. “I brought my dress in case I ran out of time.” “Jesse, what would I have done if he had hung on past noon?” “No point in thinking about that now.” Jesse understood her anguish. Today was no easier than the first dying soldier she attended years ago. “You know, Jesse. We don’t lose as many as we did in the war years. How did we do that day after day—so many gravely ill on each ward?” “By celebrating those we helped to heal and send home. Keep that in mind.” “I do. But, one lost is too many.” She heaved a sigh.