Sharing Corrie

Chapter Thirty Seven

 Corrie bustled into the doctor's practice, dropping a few letters on the desk for him and Hannah and humming as she picked through the cots to visit Christina. Winter was falling on Irvington and snow threatened in the gray storm clouds hanging over the town. As Corrie entered the narrow hospital room, Christina lay lifeless on her bed.

"How are you feeling today?" Corrie asked, voice as cheery as she could manage.

"Any letters for me?" Christina answered, her voice monotone.

Corrie hesitated. "Not today."

"It's been three weeks. I haven't received a letter in three weeks," Christina whispered, her features still.

If Corrie didn't know better, she would presume her sister felt nothing as her eyes stared at the ceiling. David who had been faithful in sending her letters so regularly had not been heard from in weeks.

"I'm sure he's fine, Chris," Corrie offered her empty encouragement. "Perhaps he can't send mail from where he's located."

"Or he's worse off than the men who scream at night in the hallway," Christina responded.

Every night, according to Christina, the men would cry out from their dreams and memories, filling the hallways with their eerie screams. Though most of the soldiers were recovering from their physical wounds, they had undergone a psychological torture that Dr. Benjamin could not cure. Corrie worried about Christina living in such an environment; with her own worried preoccupation with David's safety, their heart-rending cries were the worst kind of reminder.

"I can't promise you he's alright," Corrie murmured, sitting on the side of Christina's bed and stroking her hair softly, "but I can promise you he loves you, no matter where he is."

Corrie saw this as no small comfort; whatever other characteristics David possessed, he had proven himself loyal to Christina, and were he in Heaven or Hell, he would still love her.

"What if it's not enough?" Christina whispered so softly Corrie was unsure if it was meant for her ears.

Corrie did not respond; she had no answer for the girl. It seemed that the war was tearing everyone apart and nothing seemed capable of survival, not even love. Minutes passed as Corrie continued to run her fingers through Christina's hair, ignoring the strands that fell out as she combed it. Christina was worsening. Though Corrie had refused to accept that after everything the illness still persisted, she saw it in Christina's emaciated frame and sunken cheekbones. Her newest turn for the worst seemed to be correlated with the arrival of the soldiers and the cessation of David's letters. The desolation of the war pressed in on her, and Christina no longer had the strength to withstand it.

As the invalid drifted off to sleep, Corrie rose to her feet with a sigh, slipping out of the room and closing the door behind her with a soft click. Corrie heard Dr. Benjamin's soothing voice as he spoke to one of the injured soldiers while she fetched an apron and put on a pair of gloves. On quiet mornings like this, she would start by removing all the bedding from the cots and washing it in the large wooden basin in the backyard. It was long, grueling work, especially in the cold of the nearing winter, but Dr. Benjamin insisted cleanliness was necessary for avoiding infection.

While removing the bedding from the cots, Corrie tried to offer the recovering soldiers a few words of hope, but though her words were elegant on paper, they fell short aloud. She started with the cots that remained in the hallways, helping the men to sit up so she could remove the sheets and then resituate them on the now bare cot. During the days, the men often chatted with each other and played cards on the floor while Dr. Benjamin, Corrie, and Hannah cared for them.