Long Way Home(108)

“Is this the man who was Jim’s commanding officer at the concentration camp?”

“Yes.”

“I think maybe we should all listen in on that call.”

Mr. Barnett had planned to place the call himself, but there was an emergency on Windover Farm the next morning, so it was left to me and Mrs. Barnett to speak with the major. We held the receiver between us, listening together.

“I understand that you’re calling about Corporal Jim Barnett,” Major Cleveland said after we’d exchanged greetings.

“Yes, we’re his family,” I replied. “Jimmy suffered a breakdown after he returned home. He’s in the veterans’ hospital.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. How can I help?”

“We’ve been talking with his Army buddies and the other doctors and medics he worked with, trying to figure out what caused his breakdown so we can help him get well. From what we’ve learned, he began to change near the end of the war, especially after working in Buchenwald. Anything you can tell us about his time there might help.”

“I see. Well, I didn’t know Jim before we were assigned to the camp, so I can’t make any comparisons. But I can tell you that Buchenwald changed everyone who worked there. It was the stuff of nightmares.” There was a long pause as if the major was gathering himself. He cleared his throat. “I was concerned about Corporal Barnett after the first few weeks. Mind you, he was an excellent medic. I believe he would make a fine doctor. But I could see that the work was getting to him. I made him take a seven-day leave at one point after he lost a young patient and took his death very hard. But he went right back to work after he returned.”

“We’re also wondering about a nurse he may have worked with over there. We found a photograph in his bag of a woman wearing a nurse’s uniform.”

“The only female nurse we worked with at Buchenwald was a young Jewish woman who had been a prisoner there. She did some translation work for us and later helped care for the other patients after she recovered sufficiently.”

“Do you remember her name? Was it Gisela?”

“It might have been. I’m sorry, but I have a hard time remembering names. Later that summer, the Soviets took over Buchenwald because it was in their occupation zone. Jim and I and most of the others were transferred to Frankfurt. I know that he continued to work closely with the Jewish relief agencies and he volunteered in a displaced persons camp nearby. I think the woman he married was from that DP camp.”

Married?

Static crackled along the telephone line. His words stunned me. I thought I must have misunderstood, but Mrs. Barnett gasped and covered her heart, so she must have heard him, too.

“What did you say?” I finally breathed. “Jimmy . . . Jimmy got married?”

“He filled out all the paperwork that the Army requires for an American soldier to marry a foreign bride and bring her to the United States. I signed everything for him myself. I even helped him postpone his discharge so he could wade through all the red tape.”

“H-he never told us—his family, I mean. About getting married. And he didn’t have a wife with him when he arrived home.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe it didn’t work out. I wish I knew more, but I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been a big help just the same. Thank you for your time.”

I hung up the phone. Mrs. Barnett and I stared at each other in disbelief for what felt like an eternity. My heart was racing, and I could tell by Mrs. Barnett’s expression that she was as shocked as I was. It felt like we’d walked into the movie theater near the end of the film and had no idea what was going on.

“What do you suppose happened to her?” she murmured.

I could only shake my head. We still hadn’t moved away from the telephone stand in the hallway when Mr. Barnett’s truck pulled into the driveway. The screen door in the kitchen squealed open, then banged shut again. “Martha?” he called.

“In here.”

“Did I miss the telephone call?” he asked as he hurried toward us.

“You’ll never believe it, Gordon, never in a million years. Jimmy got married!”

“What?”

“We just spoke to the major and he told us that Jimmy married a woman from one of the displaced persons camps when he was over in Germany.”

“Really? Our Jim?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Well, where is she? What happened to her?” He gestured around the foyer as if she might be hiding behind the coatrack.

“The major didn’t know. He couldn’t tell us anything else. Oh, Gordon, do you think this might have something to do with why Jimmy—? I mean, if she died . . .”

“It might. Especially when you add it to all of the other things he went through—fighting the war, watching his friends die, liberating the concentration camp.”

“There should be more records somewhere, shouldn’t there?” I said when I finally recovered enough to speak. “The Army must know if and when he got married and what happened after that. We could write to Washington and . . . and . . .” I stopped. Following another long paper trail and sifting through a mountain of government red tape seemed much too daunting at the moment. I sagged against the wall in the hallway. “Oh, poor Jimmy,” I mumbled.