“How is our patient in bed eleven?” Emmi asked.
“Surgery won’t be needed,” Anna said, unwrapping a hunk of bread. She broke it in half and gave a piece to Emmi. “He might make a full recovery.”
“It’s your bedside manner that makes them well,” Emmi said.
“Danke,” Anna said. “But everyone knows that I’m one of the least technically adept nurses on the floor.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Emmi said. “There’s more to medicine than picking shrapnel from wounds. You give them compassion and hope.”
Anna smiled, feeling appreciative for her friend’s kind words. She took a bite of bread and turned her thoughts to Emmi’s husband, who was serving as an army medic at the front. “How’s Ewald?”
“I received a letter from him yesterday,” Emmi said. “His spirits are good, although I know he would never tell me otherwise.”
“I’m sure he’s safe and well,” Anna said.
Emmi picked at her bread. “I can’t stop worrying about him.”
“I feel the same way about Bruno.” Anna rubbed Emmi’s arm. “We must have faith that the war will end, and they’ll come home.”
“Ja.” Emmi blinked her eyes, fending off tears.
Anna met Bruno, an army officer with an arm fracture, soon after she began working at the hospital. He was one of her first patients. Despite the ugly cast she had created for him out of plaster-soaked bandages, he asked to see her after he was released from the hospital. She initially declined, but after his numerous requests, including two that were written in the form of a poorly constructed poem, she agreed. Bruno stayed in an Oldenburg boardinghouse for his entire three-week medical leave, rather than return home to his family in Frankfurt. Although they had different upbringings—Anna’svaterwas a humble clockmaker and Bruno’s family owned a large dye manufacturing business—she was smitten by his charm. The day before he returned to the front, he proposed. She accepted, and they planned to marry after the war, which they both suspected would be in a matter of months. But months turned into a year, and now, nearly two years into the war, there appeared to be no end to the conflict in sight.
As Anna and Emmi finished their lunch, a bespectacled doctor with fine, stubbled gray hair entered the garden. In one hand, he held a leash, tethered to a German shepherd. Using his free arm, he guided a battlefield-blinded soldier, who was staring ahead and shuffling his feet.
“It’s kind of Dr. Stalling to bring his dog to the hospital,” Anna said. “It enlivens the patients.”
“Ja,” Emmi said. “I wonder how many dogs he has at home.”
“Why do you say that?” Anna asked.
“He’s a director of the German Red Cross Ambulance Dogs Association.”
“Oh,” Anna said, feeling a bit embarrassed by her ignorance about Stalling’s work.
“Ewald often writes about the ambulance dogs, and how they help medics locate and recover wounded soldiers on the battlefield.”
“They must be incredibly brave,” Anna said.
“And smart,” Emmi added.
“I’ve always wanted a dog,” Anna said, glancing at Stalling’s shepherd, wagging its tail.
Emmi nudged Anna with her elbow. “Maybe you and Bruno will get one after the war.”
“That would be lovely,” she said.
Emmi stood and brushed bread crumbs from her apron. “I should get back to work.”
“I’ll be there in a moment,” Anna said.
Emmi nodded and went inside.
Anna left the bench and stood in the garden, observing the trio maneuver over the grounds. She admired the gentle manner in which Dr. Stalling walked with his patient, and the obedient behavior of the dog, padding alongside him. Most of all, her heart ached for the blinded soldier, who would soon face monumental challenges upon leaving the hospital.
A nurse flung open the door to the garden. “Dr. Stalling! We need you in room twenty-eight!”
Dr. Stalling waved. As he led the patient and his dog to the building, his eyes locked on Anna. “Fräulein Zeller.”
