Category: Fiction

This is a story about an Iowan farmer, Lee, who goes off to fight in WWII and must confront the dark truth he discovers about war. “Lee, you brought me out to this strange place, to this lonely and forsaken land—and then you left. I never left the city before I married you. That was my home, and I don’t know what to do here without you. I just hope that whatever you’re doing is worth it, and please come home soon.” “But he wrote letters for months to you; we couldn’t understand him. But I suppose you are not…

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I counted the following weeks in groups of three. I knew that every three days there would be a letter from Franz. It was a lovely feeling to look forward to something like that. Sometimes I was happy with the letters I received, and sometimes I cried because they were so dull and war-like. I never asked myself why I did not like those letters, I never examined my heart, and so the next few months passed. Most of the men were gone, and only a few lingered. Frederick stayed on for the longest. Some days when I went to…

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I soon recovered from my bout of tears. The next morning I was sure that I loved Franz, with all my heart. And that day I received a letter from him. I walked, very fast, through the ward rooms with it, on my way to my room. “A letter, Adele?” “Yes, from Franz,” and I smiled in joy. I only heard Frederick sigh in return. My dearest Cathie, we have been so busy, this was the first chance I got to write you. My apologies if it was late. What have you been doing, without me to talk to? I…

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It was curious to see how differently the men began to heal. Franz gained strength every day and was so invigorated and full of ambition. Some of the others had no reason to get well. Their families were gone, and they were disillusioned with the war. They laid in their beds, wasting away and growing stronger in body, but weaker in their minds. Frederick was somewhere in between. He wasn’t as young as Franz, and didn’t have that energy for revenge. Yet he didn’t lie there hopeless, just waiting for death. He got better just a little bit at a…

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One day Franz accosted me. He grabbed my wrist, and I was frightened by his face. “Franz, let go of me,” I didn’t want to make a scene. I was a nurse, and a nun besides that. “Don’t say that, I am not hurting you.” He smiled again, in that same way the first time I met him. It suddenly occurred to me that it was a blank sort of smile. Just on the outside, not a deep true one. I wondered what he was thinking. “I just want you to stay here for a moment; you are always running…

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It was now winter, deadly winter. We all huddled together during mass, to try to stop the shivering. Nights were the worst, I was so lonely and cold in my small room. The stone walls seemed to exude coldness. No matter how I huddled under the blankets, I was still freezing. The one good thing was that during the summer the nuns kept a little garden, and now that it was winter there was reason to use the harvests. So while the rest of the city was getting lower and lower in food, we had enough, and even a little…

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The way back to the nunnery was changed very much, I nearly lost my way a number of times. Buildings that I remembered no longer existed. There were soldiers all over, and I was frightened of them. Thankfully they didn’t take much notice of an ugly, scrawny girl creeping along dressed in ancient clothes. But it was mid afternoon by the time I reached the nunnery. I was quite weak, and had to stop often to rest. I knocked quietly on the door. There was no answer. I tried again, as hard as I could. I waited until I could…

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I was awakened by screaming and shouts. My aunt and uncle came rushing into the room, holding a candle that just went out. “Catherine, come here.” “What is wrong? What is it? I don’t understand?” It had been dark, but there was suddenly a great light shining in the window. I could see my aunt’s pale scared face, and my uncle’s angry looks. “Its them…”she stuttered, “…th-they’re l-l-l-look-k-king f-f-f-f-or Jews. D-d-don’t look guilty or avoid them…” “What do you mean? What are you talking about? Who are they?” I stood up and clutched the blanket around me. “Hitler’s men.” She…

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Three years later I was summoned to the Mother Superior’s chamber. I was very much afraid. She didn’t often call young nuns to her unless they were guilty of a misdemeanor. I walked down the hall and turned into a corridor. There was her gilt door in front of me. I did not want to go in. What should I say? How should I explain my innocence? What had I done wrong? At last I made myself turn the knob, and the door creaked heavily on its hinges. “Sit down,” she said, more kindly than I expected. She didn’t speak…

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