Free Nightingale by Susan May Warren

dead—she was nearly hysterical. I—I told her that we weren’t sure he was dead.”
    Caroline stood up, walked over to the fan, its blades whirring in front of the window. She bent down, let it dice her words. “Oh, that’s swell, Esther.”
    â€œI didn’t know what else to do! I could see her running to the Hahns, telling them Linus is dead.”
    Caroline’s mouth tightened, pursing at the corners. Then, “What if his letter mentions her?” Caroline cut a look at Sadie, back at her, and leaned close. “What if he was writing to tell you that he loved her?”
    â€œHe wouldn’t be that cruel.”
    â€œReally? He made love to you in the back seat of a borrowed Ford coupe.
Those
are manners.”
    Esther’s face burned.
    â€œI’m just saying, you knew you didn’t love him within days of his leaving. Maybe he figured out the same.” Caroline went to her closet. “You need to open his letter.”
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œWhy not? You know he didn’t love you, right? So, open it, like ripping off a scab, and then deal with the blood. Eventually time will heal…” She picked out a floral swing dress, white with giant splashes of red flowers. It reminded Esther of one Hedy used to own. Caroline hung the hanger over her neck, the dress flapping like an apron in front of her. “I wore this on my second date with Wayne. I’m trying not to duplicate anything with Teddy.”
    Esther opened the book, didn’t look at her friend. “Sometimes, I try to lie to myself, to go back to that moment on the dance floor when he whispered in my ear, when he made me believe that yes, two fools could fall in love in a month’s time. It would have been nice if the fairytale came true.”
    Caroline pulled the dress from around her head. “I know. I sometimes let myself linger in Wayne’s arms that night that he proposed. I’ll never forget the smell of the water as it lapped the beach, salty and mysterious, the way he got down on one knee, his sailor’s uniform shiny like the stars. I just stop my mind right there, and don’t move until morning.”
    Yes, to pluck life’s happy moments and pocket them next to her stars.
    â€œMy date arrives in one hour.” Caroline picked up her bathrobe, a basket of toiletries. She turned to Esther. “The longer you wait to tell everyone the truth, the more you’re going to bleed when you finally do.” She bent down and kissed Sadie’s cheek. “And, next time you write to Peter, send him your picture.”
    â€œThere won’t be a next time.”
    â€œMmm-hmm.”

    June 1945
    Galesville
    Dear Esther,
    I have no doubt that you will pass your test, but you will be in my prayers for that day! Remember the difference between the Pitkin method of spinal anesthesia and the Stout method is that the second dissolves the Novocain crystals in the aspirated spinal fluid. The other injects spinocain right into the canal. I confused these two during my own graduate school exams.
    You guessed correctly. I am with a traveling prisoner of war group. We are a tanned lot, the Wisconsin sun greedy for our winter skin. Every night, I go to bed with the zest of the summer licked upon my skin, the creak of hard work in my bones. Reminds me of when I was eight, mowing hay for my uncle, except I miss the hay chaff in my hair and sprinkling my skin, as well as the lick of a cool pond at the end of the day.
    You asked if my uncle raised pigs. Yes, and corn too. We rented a small plot of land, and my father set up an exam room in our front parlor. I tended my uncle’s hogs, corn, and hay fields. As to the other question, no, I am not married, and never have been, although I was probably sweet on my cousin Dorothy until I was twelve. After that, Mary Jane Allsworth caught my eye, with her blond curls and the way she blushed when I waved to her from the