Chapter Twenty Gunther

TWENTY : GUNTHER

CAMP FORREST, TENNESSEE

MARCH 1942

Gunther watched the clock on the wall in the dispensary like a hawk looking for a mouse in a cornfield.

One hour until he and Ava were to meet at the bench behind the dental clinic.

Concealing a grin, he forced his attention back to the medical instruments he was cleaning. A soldier had come in earlier with a deep gash on his forehead after falling from a high wall on the training field. The wound required ten stitches, and Major Gridley allowed Gunther to perform the procedure under his supervision. It was the second time the doctor asked Gunther to take charge of a patient since he'd begun working in the dispensary a month ago.

"I'm a Columbia medical school alumni," the older man said the first day Gunther arrived at the small clinic. "After Colonel Foster assigned you to me, I called an old friend at Columbia and asked him to look into your records. They're impressive. I'm happy to have you on board."

The affirming words were a balm to an open wound. His work in the dispensary helped Gunther feel like a normal person rather than an enemy alien. To know the major found him worthy to continue to learn and practice medicine, despite his German roots, buoyed him in a profound way. He still wasn't certain what would happen when the war ended, but the major's confidence in Gunther's abilities made him think that perhaps his dream of becoming a doctor wasn't dead after all.

The officer proved to be a considerate, knowledgeable man, and Gunther found himself looking up to Major Gridley in the same way he'd looked up to Dr. Sonnenberg. The men were complete opposites in many ways—Dr. Sonnenberg was a small, serious, Jewish man, and the major was overweight, loved a good joke, and kept a Bible on his desk—yet their skills as doctors shone through in everything they did.

He appeared in the doorway of the back room while Gunther was putting away the sterilized instruments.

"How is your patient doing, Mr. Schneider?"

Gunther was pleased by the inquiry. "He has a concussion, but his X-ray showed no fractures to the skull. After a day or two in the hospital, he should be fit to return to his unit."

The major nodded. "I must say, you have quite a talent for stitching. Perhaps you've chosen the wrong profession. You'd make a fine tailor."

The quirk to the man's mouth told Gunther he was teasing. "My Mutter taught me how to use a needle when I was a boy. It was for the purpose of patching my clothes, but I believe she would be happy to know I'm putting it to use patching people."

The man looked thoughtful. "You did well. I have never seen such neat stitches. That soldier owes you, as I doubt he'll have any scarring at all. Although, some of these boys don't mind a scar or two. They think it helps with the ladies."

Gunther returned to his work after the man left.

His mind drifted to Ava. He didn't think she was the kind of woman who would be impressed by scars. What would get her attention, he wondered? He'd been surprised when she told him she was a widow. She was far too young to have gone through something like losing a husband. But with war raging across the globe, there would be thousands of women like Ava by the end of it.

His mind returned to their last lunch together. She thought it best if they weren't seen together too often, as she didn't want anyone to grow suspicious. They'd decided to meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays at noon. Although their purpose in meeting was innocent, Gunther knew she was right to be concerned, yet he wished they could meet whenever they pleased.

He made his way back to the main room of the dispensary.

Limited space caused it to feel crowded, with two examination stations, each complete with a folding chair and a cabinet with supplies, plus a long examination table shoved up against the far wall. A wooden bench just inside the door acted as the waiting area.

Luckily, there weren't any patients in the clinic now. He hoped none would arrive before lunchtime, thus stealing away his time with Ava.

He picked up the book she'd brought to him last week. Emma by Jane Austen. She explained it was her favorite novel. She'd read it so many times, she said, she had parts of it memorized.

"I know it may seem strange to ask you to read a romance novel that was first published in 1815," she said when she handed it to Gunther, "but the language Miss Austen uses is pure and free of slang and American terms. I thought it would be a good place to begin our English lessons."

Gunther had, of course, heard of the novel and its author. The book was translated into many languages through the years, including German. But he'd never once had an interest in reading it... until now.

"I'm sure I will enjoy the story."

The happy smile that filled her face was worth the teasing he would no doubt receive from his cabinmates when they found him reading such a book.

When the hands on the clock were straight up on twelve, Gunther let Major Gridley know he was going to lunch and left the building. The dental clinic was located on the opposite side of the hospital complex, and he walked as fast as he could. Although the weather had turned warm, he'd put on the lightweight black jacket he'd brought with him from New York to help conceal the bright green of his internee uniform.

As soon as he saw her waiting for him on the bench, he slowed his pace.

She smiled when he approached. "Hello."

"Hello."

She held up a brown paper bag. "I brought chicken salad sandwiches today. They're quite good if I do say so myself. I use a secret ingredient."

Gunther settled on the bench, keeping an appropriate amount of space between them. "I will be able to pay you for the lunches soon. Major Gridley said I am to earn a small wage."

"That's wonderful, but you needn't worry about reimbursing me. You'll want to save every penny so you can go back to school as soon as the Hearing Board reviews your case again and realizes there's been a terrible mistake."

Gunther sighed. " If they review my case again. I have not heard of anyone being released once they leave Ellis Island."

They ate their sandwiches and enjoyed a lively discussion on the character of Emma. Gunther declared her spoiled, but Ava defended Emma's independent personality. When Gunther began to read the third chapter aloud, Ava stopped him periodically to correct his pronunciation of this word or that. Her instruction was never done in a patronizing way but always with kindness and a genuine desire to help him learn.

"Qua-drille," she said, sounding out a word unfamiliar to Gunther. "It's a type of dance they did back in those days."

Gunther repeated the word several times before she was satisfied.

"There was a club in New York where my friends and I would dance the jitterbug on weekends," he said, thinking back to the days before his world imploded. So easy and carefree. " Jitterbug is easier to say than qua-drille ."

Ava laughed. "I imagine it's easier to dance, too. Four couples are required for the quadrille, and there are many steps to learn. The timing and pace is important."

"I don't z'ink my friends an' I would enjoy such a dance. It sounds more complicated zan fun," Gunther said.

He immediately realized he'd lapsed into what he called "lazy English," letting his pronunciation of certain words announce to the world he was German. It usually happened when he was tired or relaxed, as he was becoming in Ava's company.

" Th ink. Th an. It sounds more complicated th an fun," she corrected. "Try not to use the z sound when pronouncing words that begin with t-h ."

Gunther slowly said the sentence again, once again conscious of his tendency to let his German accent overpower the English words. "I hope a day will come when my English is so good," he said, emphasizing the d sound rather than saying it as a t , "no one will know I am from Germany."

He thought the comment would please her, but Ava looked troubled.

"There is nothing wrong with being German. It's part of your heritage, your story. You shouldn't be blamed for the terrible things the leaders of your country have done any more than I should be blamed for the wrongs done in America."

He considered the wisdom in her comment. "I agree, but unfortunately, not everyone else does. I worry what will happen if Germany wins the war."

"Do you think you'd be sent back?"

"I do not know, but sometimes I fear staying more than I fear returning. If I remain in America, I could be a prisoner for the rest of my life. The truth is, I no longer have a home. Not in Germany. Not in America."

Her expression revealed her empathy. "Then we need to pray that Hitler will be defeated. I can't imagine a world where he is in power over all of Europe."

They sat in silence for a while, each deep in thought, before Ava glanced at her watch.

"I better get back to the office." She gathered the empty lunch wrappers and stuffed them into the bag.

They walked to the front of the dental clinic. Two soldiers were just leaving, but neither took notice of Gunther and Ava.

"I will practice my qua-drille when I return to the internee camp," Gunther said in jest, hoping to lighten the mood. "So the next time we meet, I will be proficient at it."

The grin he'd hoped for spread across Ava's face. "I can almost picture you and your housemates dancing tonight." She gave a low curtsy. "Kind sir, may I have this dance?" she said with a laugh.

When she met his gaze again, all humor faded as he stared into her hazel eyes. "It would be my honor to dance with you one day, Mrs. Delaney."

A slight flush filled her cheeks, but she didn't look away. "I'd like that, Mr. Schneider."

They parted. As was their custom, just before she went around the corner, Ava turned and Gunther lifted his hand. After she returned the gesture and he started back to the dispensary, he realized two things.

He was falling in love with Ava Delaney.

But along with that awareness came a bitter truth.

They had no hope of a future together.

None whatsoever.