Smile, baby sis. Whether we’re standing on the shores of the Pacific or the Atlantic, the water is the same.
Love you, Deedee
Chapter Forty-one
AMERICAN ARMED FORCES R&R CENTER
19 GERNACKERSTRASSE
GARMISCH, GERMANY
AUGUST 7, 1945
Elsie balanced heavy plates of meatloaf on the serving tray. Following the departure of the Ninth Air Force squadron, the R&R Center was notably quiet. Robby declared the kitchen crew on a minihiatus and announced “Mom’s Meatloaf Special” as the set menu. Late the previous evening, they’d mixed, baked, and frozen over two dozen meaty bricks in preparation. The gigantic bowl of ground beef had nearly sent Elsie running for the toilet, but she wouldn’t risk vomiting Mutti’s tea.
For the past week, Mutti had brewed batches each morning and bound the herbs in petite cheesecloth sachets for Elsie to take to work in the evenings. Purple puffs of pennyroyal and leafy cohosh hung from the kitchen window to dry. Papa had nearly made himself a cup, mistaking the pennyroyal for lavender, so Mutti tied the stems with red yarn as an indicator.
This was Elsie’s fifth and final day on the tincture. So far, the tea seemed to do little more than give her a yellow complexion and full bladder.
“Last order up for Table 2!” called the line cook. He handed Elsie a plate slathered in extra ketchup and wilted onions, and she hoisted the loaded tray onto her shoulder.
Five soldiers drank frothy steins at the table. Hungry eyes brightened with her approach, but before she reached them, something between her ribs and pelvis spasmed, then knotted hard. She doubled over. The plates slid forward to a crash.
Unable to collect herself from the pain, two of the men lifted her off the floor. A third brushed slimy vegetables and tomato sauce from her apron while the remaining pair picked up broken plates. Their faces contorted; their mouths moved, but she heard little. The sound of crashing still echoed. The knot twisted tighter inside. She clutched her stomach and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Robby held her chin and strained to see the pain Elsie could not and would not tell him. He spoke to someone behind him, and then everything began to swirl like cinnamon mixed in cake batter. She was going to vomit but remembered the tea and leaned her head back to keep it all down. Quickly, she realized the room wasn’t spinning. She was moving, being carried out of the dining hall through the kitchen into the back linen closet.
Robby made a long bed of stacked cream tablecloths and a pillow of folded napkins. She pulled her knees to her chest and begged to have her dirndl undone. Robby hurried the men out and did as she requested.
“Elsie, we’ve got to call a doctor,” he said.
She gripped his arm, digging her fingernails into his wrist. A doctor would alert him of her pregnancy. “Nein.” She understood what was happening. She only wished Mutti was there to validate her symptoms. “My mother,” she whispered, but then remembered where she was and where she was supposed to be. She still hadn’t told her parents about her job with the Americans. “Never mind.”
Another cramp kicked so hard, she knew it could only be the baby writhing within.
Robby put his hand to her belly. “It hurts here?”
The pressure of his palm relieved some of the pain, and she wondered if the child felt his pulse through her thin skin. Her eyes stung and blurred, and she prayed for forgiveness.
“A new guy just arrived with the last recruits. He came to play pickup football the other day. Said he was a doc. I could get him. Nobody would know,” said Robby.
Before she could refuse, he was gone, and she was alone. The closet lightbulb dangled from a cord above. A fat moth flew round, occasionally touching the hot white, then fluttering back, touching and fluttering, touching and fluttering, desperately diving into the brightness. Its powdery wings pattered against the round glass barrier. Elsie wished she could catch it in her palms and release it outside, so the true moonlight might set its path straight. Her cramps began to ease with each passing minute.
There was a knock and though she gave no permission, it opened. A tall man with russet hair falling over his brow entered. He stood out from the other soldiers with their tight regulation crew cuts; his face was older but softer by the framing.
“This is Doc Meriwether. I told him you’ve been feeling bad for weeks. He’s going to fix you up,” said Robby.
“Fräulein Schmidt.” Doctor Meriwether nodded, then knelt by her makeshift bed and opened his Red Cross rucksack.
“Nein.” She pulled away and tried to stand, but the pain returned.
Doctor Meriwether felt her forehead. His fingers so tender and careful, she immediately lay back.
“A little warm.” He turned to Robby. “Mind stepping out while I examine the lady?”
Robby shifted his weight on either foot. “Elsie?”
She nodded, and he left.
“How’s about you tell me where it hurts,” said Doctor Meriwether.
Elsie couldn’t distinguish what was different in his voice. There was a slow twang to his English, like honey drizzled off the comb.
“Woman’s business.” She hoped he’d leave it at that and be done. Instead, he put a palm to her lower belly and pressed down firmly. She gasped as something inside came loose. A warmth spread between her thighs.
“Uh-huh.” He widened her eye between his fingers and peered. “Look right at me.” And she did.
In fact, Elsie couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked so closely into another person’s eyes. Yes, she met the gaze of everyone she spoke to and sometimes remembered that their eyes were very light or very dark, but there was more she’d never noticed until Doctor Meriwether. His eyes weren’t merely brown; they were gold flecked and gave way to green and yellow near the perimeters. His pupils were no ordinary darkness either; their centers glimmered light and reflected an entirely different world. She wished she could fly straight into them. Her heart beat fast.
“Sergeant Lee says you’ve had chronic vomiting, lack of appetite, fatigue.” He paused and waited for a response.
Elsie nodded.
“When was your last menstruation?” He turned his face away when he asked, and she knew he knew.
She bit her lip to hold back the tears.
He moved to the end of the bed. “I’m sorry, Miss Schmidt, but would you allow me?” He gestured to her skirt.
She closed her eyes and lifted it to her knees. It only took a moment before he pulled it down again.
“You’ve miscarried a child. Did you do anything to yourself?” His voice was gentle. “I only ask because I need to know if there’s a puncture wound. You’ll die if you bleed out or develop an infection.”
“I drank tea,” said Elsie.
He frowned with concern.
“Pennyroyal and cohosh.” Her voice broke. Another cramp seized her, and she pulled her knees up again.
“Stay here.” He left the room for a moment, returning with a slice of bread and two glasses of water, one clear and one gray.
“First, drink this.” He handed her the gray.
Elsie sipped and spat back in the glass. The water was gritty and tasted of charred wood.
“What is it?”
“Carbon. I promise it won’t hurt you. It doesn’t taste good, but you have to drink it all. Pennyroyal’s got a mean bite if you use it wrong. This will help carry the poison out of your body.”
“Poison?” Elsie gulped down the bitter drink. “I thought I was losing the baby.”
“You did.” He gestured with his chin for her to finish the silty bottom of the glass.
She swallowed hard. The charcoal bits scraped her back molars and sent goose bumps down her spine.