Book Of Ruth

Friends

Bastogne 
January 1945

Florence Wilkins possesses a strange beauty.

I thought it long before we became friends, before Normandy when her nails were manicured and curls pinned back in a sophisticated chignon. Before I realized her snobbish attitude was shield against others' judgement about her family's money. 

Other girls consider her features too strong to be lovely. But there is a magnetism to her countenance, in her dimpled chin and keenly curved jawline. Her rare smile occupies nearly half of her face. The viewer can't help be fascinated, even if she is stripping away your dignity with her subtle wit.

The men love to look at her. Honestly, they look at all of us. In this frozen hell, I can only imagine how surreal we must seem even in all our woolen layers. They look at me with my aquiline nose and long face, but they study Florence. Unwashed hair tight in a braid and eyes red rimmed from exhaustion or tears, she remains glaringly captivating.

Hot water sloshes over the lip of the bowl as I come to a sudden stop.

It's the lieutenant that Lawrence brought to the field hospital back in Normandy. I have met Richard Pawloski, called Pops by his men, since his recovery. I like him. His face is gentle, despite the scar on his cheek from the shrapnel, with a voice as tepid as bathwater. The men heed him without question. Cal says that he is a natural leader.

He stands at the immediate entrance to the hospital talking politely with Florence. Pawloski is clutching his helmet too close to his body. Florence grasps the blankets in her arms like she's holding on for dear life. Their conversation fades, but they don't leave. They stand there drinking each other in like wine.

The glint of gold on his bare left hand only confirms what I already know. Lieutenant Pawloski is married. Florence is engaged. I hear a couple other nurses whisper nearby as they notice the obvious attraction between them.

I barrel forward, water splashing to the ground.

"Lieutenant." My smile is stiff. "Are you here to see Cal?"

He clears his throat, his pallid skin tinting a light shade of rose. "Nurse Tucker. I have some mail for him and wanted to see how he was doing."

"He's at the cot in the far left corner." I gesture with my head towards the back. "He could use some company."

My tone is firm, but I'm not worried about hurting his feelings. I dread the thought of something developing that would give substance to gossip. I stand partially in front of Florence as though I'm shielding her from the mild tempered lieutenant. He gives a quick smile.

"Good to see you, Ruth." His eyes skirt behind me. "Florence."

After he leaves, I pull her outside into a snow fall as thick as fog.

"You need to be careful."

Her eyes narrow as she comprehends my meaning. "I don't know what you are talking about," she lies.

"Yes. You do," I reply. "What about Tom?"

"There is nothing going on between me and Rich-" Her gaze drops to the ground. "Lieutenant Pawloski was only asking how things have been at the hospital."

"Florence, he's married."

"I know!" she snaps in a harsh whisper, glancing around to make sure no one can hear us. "Please, you're not my mother."

"What happens if someone starts gossiping?"

"You know I don't care what they think. It'd be lies anyway."