***
Doc Geone had been sitting on a stump next to his foxhole, enjoying the first warm meal he’d had in a week. It wasn’t decent, but it was warm. His first name was Medic—his last name didn’t matter most of the time. Most of the company was lined up for chow or refining their foxholes. Even with all the noise around him, it was a few precious moments of peace and quiet. He shoveled a spoonful of stew into his mouth and looked up simply to take in the scenery.
When the cup hit the ground stew spilled everywhere, not that he was around to see it. Snow crunched under his boots as he ran toward the soldier carrying the child, his breath brushing past his face with each stride. He met them just as they entered the camp proper.
“Doc.”
“Private. What happened?” he asked, reaching for the patient out of habit.
“Whoa, easy Doc.” Jake gently shook his head disapprovingly. “She’s skittish around strangers.” He gave her a quick hug. “Rose, this is Doc Geone.” Her little arms never once detached themselves from around his neck. Jake turned a little so she could see, his harsh stubble making her look all the more angelic. She gave no reply, only pulled herself closer to him.
“It’s okay, Darlin’, really. Doc’s a good man, he won’t hurt ya’.” She had no intention of letting go. They were beginning to draw attention, something Jake wanted to avoid. “Let’s get her to the major’s tent, I don’t think he’ll mind.”
Doc nodded and escorted them to the tent at the edge of camp. He held open the tent flap as Jake and Rose ducked inside. It wasn’t much warmer inside, but there was a cot, on which Jake reassuringly set her down. Soft daylight streamed in through an open window flap.
“She scraped up her knee pretty good, Doc. I told her you’d fix her up.” Doc was already kneeling and digging through his supply bag.
“You bet I will, Private.” Doc looked up as he set some bandages and other supplies on the cot. “She’s a pretty lil’ thing, isn’t she?” Rose did nothing but clutch Jake’s arm as Doc gently peeled back the blanket covering her knee. As the cold air wrapped itself around her exposed wound, she buried her face against Jake’s arm. He stroked her hair gently again. He’d become accustomed to it as they walked to camp; it calmed him, and seemed to calm her as well.
“Rose?” She looked up, her sad eyes questioning. “I know you don’t feel like talkin’ much, but if you could ask Santa for one thing what would it be?” Jake kept his eyes locked on hers as the medic tenderly extracted the fabric of the hose from the dried blood. She only whimpered and stiffened, but never cried aloud. He kept stroking her hair as he spoke. “You don’t have to tell me now. Just think about it, okay?”
He knew she understood because she tried to put her arms around him, but only clutched handfuls of coat in front and back.
The front flap suddenly flew open. Rose squinted against the intrusion. “Private Reddiger?”
“Yes, sir.” Ordinarily he would have stood at attention and saluted—he quietly prayed the major understood his lack of protocol.
“At ease, Private. I hear we have a visitor.”
“Yes, sir.” Jake nodded at Rose.
Major Teece looked backward. Jake could see a man standing just to his right, but couldn’t make out any detail. “Son, Father Parks and I, well, we need to have a word with you.”
“Sir?”
“Won’t take but a couple of minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” Jake tried to stand but Rose held tight, so he sat down again. “Rose, there’s somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ ta’ ask ya’…” She looked up at him, seemingly forgetting about Doc Geone at her knee.
“Well, see, I was wonderin’ if you’re—you know, married?” Her smile could have set the tent ablaze; instead her face turned a faint shade of pink. Jake smiled back. “I take that as a no?” She shook her head, but retained the smile.
“Great!” Jake glanced at Doc Geone, who was grinning too. “Sweetie, I have to go talk to the major and Father Parks, but I promise I’ll be right back. I’m not leaving you, okay?” He paused. “I haven’t broken any promises yet, have I?”
She shook her head again, but the smile faded. Jake placed his hand gently upon hers, almost completely engulfing it in his palm. “I’ll be right outside, then come right back in.” He nodded once, and felt her grip release. “Doc will be here with you.”
As he stood, he watched her clutch the blanket around herself again, her eyes following his every step.
As he disappeared outside she suddenly recalled the word “father.” Her family had completely slipped her mind amidst all the goings-on. She couldn’t make out words of their conversation, just murmurs. All of a sudden she desperately wanted to find her parents, but Jake’s comfort was more immediate. She knew he’d take care of her. She’d suddenly realized how incredibly alone she was; the dark, empty feeling hurt. She wanted to cry again.
Doc Geone interceded. “Okay, Doll, that should fix you up just fine.”
Rose looked down and saw her knee wrapped in gauze. The dried blood had been cleaned off her leg as well.
“So, you sure are a pretty little girl,” Doc started as the flap opened again.
“Hey now, Doc—you makin’ time with my girl?” Doc grinned. “Just small talk, Private. I think she’s spoken for.” Doc winked then patted her hand and turned to face Jake. “She’s fine. All cleaned up, on the outside at least. I can’t do much about the inside, but maybe you can.”
Doc clasped Jake’s shoulder then ducked outside and into the light. Jake stepped forward and knelt before her. Rose sat up; the best he could do for the moment was stare, a meager attempt to sear her face into his memory. Reaching up, he lightly brushed aside her bangs.
“Major Teece and Father Parks wanted me to wish you a Merry Christmas.” In the diluted light she could see moistness upon his lower eyelids. “Tomorrow morning we’ll take you, Father Parks and I, to a place where there are other children. It’s called an orphanage.”
Jake saw that scared look again. Her arms bolted from under the blanket and locked around his neck like a vice, and his arms wrapped around her, too.
“You’re gonna’ be just fine, Rose. And guess what?” She leaned back enough to see his rough face; even at eight years old she thought him handsome.
“The people at the orphanage will be able to help you look for your parents.”
He’d been told to be careful about his wording. Don’t use find, they said, use look. He hated himself for plastering the grin on his face; it was almost painful to do—to toss her some hope where none may be found.
Her small, round face slowly came toward him, her warm lips kissing him on the cheek. Jake closed his eyes; he needed sleep and food. But right now, she needed him more, and he was just fine with that.
The peaceful respite was broken by the sound of the canvas flap opening again. Soldier and child turned to look, cold once again nipping at their cheeks where only moments before was warmth. Jake leaned back again.
“Rose, this is Sergeant Wills,” he stated, pointing to the red-haired man, “and this guy we call Beaky, on account of his nose.” Both men had a light dusting of snow on their helmets and jackets.
“Hello, Rose,” both men said simultaneously. She gave the slightest wave. Jake was impressed, but said nothing about it. Sgt. Wills stepped forward, hands behind his back. “Rose, All of us wanted to give you a present, but we don’t have much, things being what they are out here.” He looked down at the ground, seemingly ashamed, or perhaps just bashful. “I’d been saving this to send home, but once I heard you were here I immediately wanted you to have it. So, Merry Christmas, Little Lady.”
From her perspective, his arms moved in slow motion, but his smile grew with every inch forward they moved. In his hand was a rag doll; its red-yarn hair was mottled, the striped shirt hastily brushed off, and the fabric body was worn thin in spots. Rose eyed Jake, waiting for his approval. With his nod, she tentatively reached out and grasped it, giving it
a home between her left arm and her body. Her right arm remained around Jake’s neck. She spent the next few minutes giving it loving scrutiny.
“Thank you, Sarge…and Merry Christmas to you, too.” Wills nodded and saluted. Jake turned to the next man. “What’s on your mind, Beaky?”
“I thought you and Rose could use some chow,” he said, producing two tins of piping-hot stew. “It ain’t the best, but it’ll warm your bellies.” He set the tins on the ground next to Jake.
“Thanks, Beaky. I really appreciate that. You guys let the rest of the fellas know we said thank you. Tell ’em Rose said Merry Christmas, too.”
“Sure thing, Jake. Bye, Rose.” Her hand lifted up just long enough to wave once, then clutched the doll again. In more ways than one, both soldiers left the tent lighter than when they had entered. Once again the flap furled shut.
For the next hour they ate slowly. Rose drained the tin of every last drop. Apparently she liked the stew, although she likely wouldn’t have complained if she didn’t. Jake told stories of winters past, and even remembered all the words to T’was The Night Before Christmas. She sat raptly, holding the rag doll against her chest the entire time. He was richly rewarded with a few smiles, and eventually a couple of yawns.
“Tired?” Rose nodded smoothly. “C’mere, then.” Jake opened his arms and she crawled into his lap. Leaving her tomorrow would break both their hearts, but he had no choice.
At least for tonight, gone was the acrid smell of all things burnt or dead. Rose cuddled in Jake’s lap, sound asleep. He caught himself rocking ever so gently, and once again stroking her hair. Through the cutout window snow drifted from angels wings to the ground, soft and silent. The cold tried to huddle around his body, drawing into sharp relief the loss of innocence he’d witnessed; almost as emotionally as it was physically numbing. He cupped his left hand against her small head, small strands of her hair spilled against the back of his hand.
“Love’s a funny thing Rose,” he barely whispered, his chin nestled atop her head. “If you don’t feel it, later on you’ll regret it.”
A thought made him stop rocking. Slowly, so as not to disturb her as she slept, he dug under the collar of his coat and shirt, tucking a gloved finger between the chain and his neck. With skin-numbing slowness he worked it from around his neck and over his head. In the fading light he caught the glint of gold. He no longer needed this reminder; he was holding all he’d need to remember now.
His lap and chest were one mass of gray-blanketed child. A few strands of red yarn peeked out, the doll lovingly clutched against her left side under the blanket. With soundless effort he transferred the chain from his left hand to the right, then replaced his left arm around her shoulders. Gently the blanket pulled back away from her right hand; it lay limp against her tired body. Jake glanced one more time at the ring.
“If I make it home,” he whispered again, “I know she’ll forgive me.” Carefully he coiled the chain and ring into her right palm, tenderly closing her fingers around it, and replaced the blanket again.
“Merry Christmas, Rose.”