Luke carefully shifted from one hip to the other. The more hours he spent in bed, the more his body ached. His face throbbed, and he gently pressed on the bandages swathing them. He'd been burned and wondered how bad the scarring would be. The doctor had assured him the burns weren't deep and would heal. At least when he got home he wouldn't shock his family; he just wished he knew where home was and who his family was. And even more, he wished he knew who he was.
Holding up his hand, he studied it. He had neither a wedding ring nor a mark where one might have been. Who and where was his family? He concentrated, trying to remember. Nothing.
No one knew to whom he belonged. He'd been fished out of the ocean when the Wasp sank, but he had no dog tags or other ID on him. He lay unconscious for days, and no one came forward to identify him. Of course, it was difficult to identify someone whose face was hidden by bandages. He wondered if anyone in the military hospital would know him once the bandages came off. Unfortunately for Luke, most of the survivors from the ship had already been sent home or reassigned. Some had been sent to other hospitals. If only he could remember.
Days passed, and Luke's dressings were removed. Although his skin looked red and sore, the scarring was minimal.
No one knew him. He'd asked every conscious patient in the hospital. People were beginning to think he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had. Why couldn't he even remember his own name? With each passing day Luke felt more lost, as if he'd been set afloat in some great ocean—alone.
The doctor told him the amnesia would resolve itself in its own way and its own time. Luke wanted an answer now. His body had regained its health, his scars were healing, and he'd soon be shipped back to the States. If he didn't remember by then, he hoped that being in his own country would help.
The trouble was, even the idea of returning to the States was unsettling to him. He didn't know anyone there. Where would he go? Who would he contact? At least here he knew the doctors and nurses and was comfortable with his surroundings. It felt like a safe harbor.
“So, how're you doing today?” the company chaplain asked, sitting in a chair beside Luke's bed. He smiled, his eyes warm.
“OK, I guess.”
“You remember anything?”
“Nothing. It's discouraging. How long will it take?”
“Can't say, son. Our brains are mysterious things. Only God knows.”
“What if I never remember, and my life is gone forever?”
“That's very unlikely. But if it were to happen, you'd begin again and build a new life.”
Luke shook his head. “I don't want a new life. I want my life.”
“I know, I know.” The reverend stood. “It will happen in God's time. He knows you, where you came from, and where you're going. He'll see to it that you get where he wants you to be.”
“I believe you, but I don't know why. I can't remember. Do I know God?”
The chaplain smiled, his blue eyes crinkling. “Sounds to me like you do.” He took Luke's hand. “Let's pray together. That all right with you?”
“Sure.”
The chaplain closed his eyes.
Luke closed his, thinking, God, please tell me who I am.
“Dear Father in heaven,” the chaplain began. “We thank you for being a loving father to us, a father who never takes his eyes off his children. You know our sitting down and our rising up. You understand our thoughts. You know our paths and our lying down. You know all our ways.” He paused, as if contemplating the power of an all-seeing God. “Father, although this young man feels alone, he's not. Help him to know and understand that you are with him. And, Father, you know the right time for him to remember. While he waits, fill him with your peace.
“Father, I also pray for those who love and miss him. His family doesn't know what has become of him. Their sorrow must be great. Comfort them. Assure them he is well, and give them peace as they wait.”
The chaplain paused. “Lord, I pray also for all the young men and women who are fighting in this war. Keep your hand of love and protection upon each one. Carry them through the battles safely, and when it is all finished, carry them home.
“I pray for your intervention in this war. It is ugly and vile. Our enemy, Satan, is gloating, but not forever. You are the destroyer of evil. Help each of us to love and to forgive our enemies. I pray that all humankind will know your love. Amen.”
Luke felt a stab of hatred for the Japanese. It was a familiar sensation, and he tried to hang onto it, hoping it might reveal a piece of his lost memory. The feeling quickly evaporated, and once more, he felt cut off. Luke looked at the chaplain. “I hope your prayer works. I don't know how long I can take not knowing who I am.”
The chaplain stood. “God hears us, and he will answer. It may not be in the way we want or the time we want, but he'll do what is best.”
“Why did you pray for our enemies? They're the ones who put me in here.”
“They're part of God's creation too. The men and women fighting on the other side also have families, people who care. They matter to God. And he tells us to love our enemies.”
Luke knew he'd heard the words before. He peered into his mind and tried to remember, but he couldn't. Still, he knew the words were significant. Maybe reading the Bible would help. He looked at the chaplain. “Do you have a Bible I could borrow?”
“Sure. I'll bring one over later today.”
“Figure I ought to read up on God so I can know if I want to believe in him or not.”
The minister smiled. “Sounds like a good idea.” He moved on to the next bed.
Luke clung to the peace he felt while in the chaplain's presence. He didn't feel quite so alone. God, if you're real, help me. Please.
Chapter 20
ADAM, ELISA, AND ADIN STOOD ON A RISE OVERLOOKING THE TOWN OF Abbeville, which lay in a valley with the Somme River flowing through. Adam imagined that on a bright day it probably looked inviting. Today, however, a drizzle soaked the landscape and draped the town in a murky haze.
The three travelers were drenched and cold to the core. Poor Adin shivered and snuggled against Adam's chest, but he could do little to help the boy. Adam's skin was goose-fleshed and cold. He eyed a nearby farmhouse. Smoke trailed into the sky from a stone chimney, and lights glowed within. He imagined himself and his comrades inside, sitting before the hearth and eating a bowl of hot soup with warm bread.
He gazed at Adin in his arms and tried to protect him with his soaking coat. The boy whimpered softly. “We've got to get out of this weather. If we don't, Adin's going to end up sick.”
