Chapter Seven

November

D ear Miss Thorsen,

I know I just sent you a letter, but I thought since I have a moment to spare, I'd write another.

We left Point A, traveling by train to Point B. Boy, let me tell you, the "Forty Hommes et Eight Chevaux" method of traveling is not my favorite. I'd say it beats marching, but I think I'd rather walk than be crammed into a railcar like too many sardines stuffed in a can. Whoever thought forty soldiers or eight horses could fit in one of those train cars must not have taken into consideration the fact that some of us American boys are bigger than most. I'm starting to wonder if the eight horses were hobby horses meant for kiddies to enjoy.

They did fill us up on hot cakes and coffee before we headed out. Rained all day and it was raining when we arrived. A beautiful memorial service was held Sunday to honor those we lost in the Argonne. It was nice to have that time of remembrance and to hear a chaplain. It's been a while since I've been able to sit in a church service.

I've seen a few of those big old Dutch windmills. They are a sight to behold. Makes me think of peaceful, happy times as a boy. My mother has a painting of one in the front room. I always wondered what it would be like to ride one of those big windmill arms around in a full rotation. Maybe I'll find out while I'm here. Ha!

Our Wild West men are on the job. We got a royal introduction to Flanders mud. Everything was dandy until the Huns decided to drop bombs on our heads. We were spitting out turnips after taking cover in a patch but are back to business now.

Hope you are doing well and keeping safe.

Don't work your fingers down to the nubbins keeping everyone connected.

With affection,

Friday

Dear Friday,

I did receive your most recent letters. Thank you for writing.

A hearty congratulations to you on your field promotion. That is grand. They don't pass those out to everyone, you know. Thank you for serving with such bravery. Someday, if you want to talk about it, I'd like to hear what led to the promotion.

For entirely selfish reasons, I'm so happy you are no longer in the private or citizen category!

I hope things are going as well as they can there. Your last letter reminded me of a haunting poem that was published a few years ago, written by a Canadian who died in service. Are you familiar with it? The one about poppies? If not, I shall endeavor to find a copy and share it with you because I don't recall every line to write it from memory.

It's wonderful your division held a memorial service. I hope it was a time of remembering with rejoicing your fallen comrades instead of recalling their losses with bitterness and sorrow.

I was sent to give another training. It was a one-day affair, thank goodness! The bumpy truck ride was sufficiently awful, but the driver seemed to think he would receive a medal for breaking a land speed record and hit the gas the moment I got in. I hung on for dear life the entire way there and back, but I'll admit I laughed the whole trip. What fun!

A group of five officers stopped by on their way elsewhere the other day just to see some real American girls. We smiled and welcomed them. I hope they weren't too disappointed. None of us have spared any of our precious time for pampering ourselves. There are days we've had to turn our blouses inside out when we haven't had a chance for catching up on laundry, and I'm not sure I'd even properly combed my hair that morning. Gracious, I have no idea why I just shared that with you. Just pretend you didn't read that, please.

Yesterday, two of us had just finished getting ready for the day when we had unwelcome visitors (some of those snooty look-down-their-nose types) stop by our barracks to speak with us about the morals of women in the military. Elizabeth and I should be perfectly ashamed of ourselves, but we climbed out the window and hightailed it to the mess hall, giggling as we ran across the camp. From there, we slipped undetected into the switchboard building and got to work.

I have never liked turnips. If you liked them before, I'm guessing you aren't so keen on them now.

Be safe, and know you are in my thoughts and prayers. Also, if you've had word from Harley John, please let me know. We're all worried about him.

With fondest regard,

Molly

P.S. As I was about to seal the envelope, I received word from Sadie. Harley John is at the hospital with her. Full recovery expected! Hurrah!

Dear Molly,

Thank you for the news about Harley John. If he weren't already in bad shape, I'd pummel him for letting us think the worst had happened. I'll look forward to getting the full story on that later.

Also, thank you for your letter. It means so much. Honestly, I'm surprised how quickly it arrived.

We are hanging in there. Fighting here is different than fighting there. The soil is soft. At any given time, you could be getting a face full of turnips that have been blown to smithereens and think you're about to be pelted with shrapnel. You are correct. I will likely never again eat a turnip once I get back home. If it weren't for the war, the landscape here would be spectacular. We've fought between hedges and farms (where folks are still living!) that under normal circumstances would present quite a pastoral view.

One town we liberated was full of such a grateful bunch of folks. They brought us sandwiches, apples, and milk. What a feast! It makes what we do particularly worthwhile when you see firsthand how desperately these people held on to the hope of deliverance. And deliver we did!

We've had some hard losses thanks to the enemy artillery giving us quite a blow to our leadership. We're holding our own for now and hoping to end this thing soon. I appreciate your thoughts and prayers, my sweet friend.

I laughed so much, picturing you slipping out a window and running to the mess hall, a few of the fellows asked me what I was reading, so I shared that part with them. I didn't tell them your name or anything, but it sure tickled me to picture you two girls on the lam from the nose-in-the-air brigade. I've seen their type, and they aren't for the faint of heart. You'd think they could find better things to do than harass the fine soldiers of the switchboard!

Hoping you are well and safe and warm, with plenty of good grub to eat.

Until later, Miss Molly, I'll hold you in my heart and my prayers.

Yours,

Friday