Free Battle Hymns by Cara Langston Page B

mercury line receded. “I’m going to take your temperature
first. The thermometer will stick under your tongue, and you’ll
hold it there for three minutes.” She extended the thermometer
toward the soldier’s mouth, and he parted his lips. She placed the
device beneath his tongue, and his lips sealed shut around it.
“Perfect. And while we wait for that, I’ll check your pulse.” She
reached for his nearest wrist and quickly dropped her hand.
    Both of his wrists were covered in hard white
plaster. Her second option was the artery in his neck. Although
she’d been trained in this method, she rarely used it on patients.
His neck injury also gave her pause, as she didn’t know how tender
the area would be. Still, it was her best option. His temple was
also bandaged, and she couldn’t reach his knees or elbows.
    “I’m going to place my fingers on your neck. Let me
know if the pressure is uncomfortable.” She lightly pressed two of
her fingers beneath his jawbone, trying to locate his carotid
artery without disrupting the neck brace. He flinched at her touch,
but he didn’t look to be in pain and made no move to stop her. She
found the pulse, gave him a reassuring smile, and stared at her
watch as she counted the beats. When she finished, she retrieved
the thermometer and studied the mercury line.
    “It seems your vitals are perfectly normal,
Lieutenant Kendrick,” she said as she transcribed the information
into his file. She flipped the chart closed and held it to her
chest.
    The soldier continued his observation of the ceiling,
no words spoken.
    Charlotte carried the stool from the foot of his bed
to his bedside and sat. She lowered her voice. “I want to let you
know you’re in good hands. I’ve been volunteering here for a couple
months now, and everyone is very kind. If you’d rather stay silent,
that’s all right. But interaction is important in your recovery.
I’ll be back to visit you tomorrow. I can talk and you can
listen.”
    His fingers twitched, and those tiny movements made
her more determined than ever to reach him.

 
    Eleven
     
     
    C harlotte spent more and
more time at the hospital. Volunteering as a nurses’ aide was the
only thing that distracted her from Nick’s absence, and the work
exhausted her enough that she was able to sleep without
nightmares.
    On Friday afternoon, after her last class, she rode
the bus to the Army Medical Center. She entered the ward and
observed the interactions between the staff and patients. As usual,
Lieutenant Kendrick was unattended. He still hadn’t spoken to
anyone since his admittance nine days earlier. He rarely had
visitors unless another aide or nurse fed him, changed his
bandages, or checked his vital signs. Even then, they never tried
to engage him in conversation.
    So Charlotte had taken on the responsibility of
attending to him every afternoon. She told him about the latest
films she’d seen at the cinema. She shared the subjects she learned
in her college classes. And although she visited every other
patient and performed her duties, she always returned to his
bedside before she left for the evening to say good-night. Most of
the time, he was asleep or resting his eyes, but occasionally, he’d
meet her gaze and lift the corners of his lips.
    She tried not to visit Lieutenant Kendrick first
during her shifts. She didn’t want her colleagues confusing her
attempts to coax him from his shell with favoritism. But everyone
else seemed well cared for.
    That afternoon, disregarding what others might think,
she went directly to his bedside. He lay awake, staring at the
ceiling. After a week and a half, he must have memorized the marks
on the tiles by now. Charlotte sat beside his bed and tucked her
hands beneath her. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant. How are you feeling
today?”
    As predicted, he gave no response. She shrugged to
convey nonchalance. In truth she was becoming discouraged. She’d
run out of subjects to talk about and couldn’t