Scarred Dreams

By Barbara Whitaker

In 1944, a German artillery shell destroyed Milt Greenlee’s future in professional baseball. His hideously scarred face and useless arm require him to relearn and recondition. But no amount of rehab will restore his looks or his self-confidence. There’s no chance a “cripple” like him could catch the eye of the stunning Nurse McEwen.

Army Nurse, Annie McEwen dreams her voice will take her far away from her hateful, overbearing father. She hopes Milt, a patient who fought in Sicily, might be the one who can help her find closure with the death of her cousin.

As their attraction grows, how can their relationship survive Annie's fears and Milt's secret?

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Dec 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781509246069

Barbara Whitaker

Barbara Whitaker writes historical romances with a focus on the World War II era. Originally from a small town in Tennessee, she currently calls Florida home. You can visit Barbara's website at http://www.barbarawhitaker.com/.

Book preview

Chapter 1

July 23, 1944

Palm Beach, Florida

No! Annie McEwen flung the letter onto her dresser. He couldn’t tell her what to do. Not anymore.

Her father's all too familiar words burned in her memory. You will do as I say. I know what is best for you. That’s how he'd run her whole life. And he might think he could keep on doing it. But no more.

She wouldn’t write Brice and she wouldn’t go to Washington to meet him, as her father had ordered in his letter. And she certainly would not ask for a transfer to be closer to her father’s choice for a husband.

She had defied him by joining the Army Nurse Corps and she had intentionally stayed away when she could have gone home to visit. The Army would decide where she went until the war ended. By then, she'd be on her way to a singing career and a life of her own.

Right now, she had to get dressed for her big night.

With shaking hands, she pulled open the drawer to retrieve her last decent pair of stockings. Amid her soft under things, her fingers collided with something hard and rectangular. She drew it out of its hiding place, knowing what she would see before she laid eyes on the handsome face.

Joe. Her dear cousin gazed up at her, bars glistening on his Army uniform and eagerness shining from those smiling eyes.

I still haven't done what you asked. I…just couldn't. She plunked the photo down on the dresser, on top of the discarded letter. I'm still mad at you, you know. Tears welled and threatened to spill over and ruin her makeup. You left me to deal with him…all alone. She dabbed her handkerchief at her traitorous eyes. I know you didn't mean to. I know you …

She drew a ragged breath. She couldn’t think about all that now. She had to get ready for the biggest show of her life.

Aren't you ready yet?

Annie jerked around, startled. Stella stood in the doorway.

Just finishing up my makeup.

Stella crossed the room, trailing her fingers across the silken dress spread out on the bed. You better get a move on. I thought sure you'd be ready to slip into this gorgeous gown by now.

Annie leaned forward so she could see to apply enough makeup to hide the puffiness brought on by her unexpected tears. Luckily her mascara hadn't run.

Stella appeared in the mirror behind her. Who's that? He's cute.

Annie kept her gaze on her image in the mirror. That's Joe. My cousin. She tried to sound casual, but her voice betrayed her emotions.

Oh. Stella's reaction held a wealth of understanding. She had a brother missing at sea. He's the one you told me about. Sicily, wasn't it?

Annie nodded. She didn't want to talk about Joe. She needed to prepare for the show. She needed to be positive and confident and excited. Today was her big day, and she wasn't going to let anything spoil her first time on a real stage singing with a fabulous band.

After she carefully pulled on her stockings, Stella helped slide the borrowed evening gown over her head. Annie could have never gotten this concoction on without help, what with the plunging neckline and the backless illusion of the sheer silk invisibly fastened together with delicate, embroidered flowers. She’d had her doubts about wearing the daring dress, but as it settled around her body and she turned to face the mirror, it worked magic on her spirit.

Oh, Annie. It's just beautiful. Stella moved around her, smoothing and tugging. You're… you're just so gorgeous in it.

Annie admired her image in the mirror. She did look good. Like a real star.

Her gaze went to Joe's picture. How she wished he was here to see her, to hear her sing.

A warmth filled her, like Joe's loving embrace. You are here, aren't you, she whispered. His love and encouragement surrounded her. In that moment she knew he'd be at her side on that stage as she took a big step toward her dream.

****

I don’t want to go to any damn show, Sergeant Milton Greenlee spat out. I just want to be left alone.

It’ll do you good, the stout, sour-faced nurse insisted.

He gritted his teeth, wishing his head would go ahead and explode and get it over with. I only got here last night. Talk to the doctor. He’ll tell you to take me back to my bed.

I have my orders, she said with the firmness of an umpire calling him out. Everyone who can be moved is to see this show.

When the elevator stopped, the operator reached across and slid the door open.

The nurse leaned down and spoke to Milt in a firm yet more conciliatory tone. A little entertainment will help you relax, forget your troubles.

The hell it will, he muttered, knowing his objections fell on deaf ears. The unrelenting woman would have made a good Nazi—follow orders no matter what.

She pushed his wheelchair down the wide hallway oblivious to his wishes. A damn show wouldn't fix what couldn’t be fixed. And it wouldn’t make him forget either.

His chair jerked to a halt in the middle of the hallway. Annie, you’re gorgeous, his nurse exclaimed.

Milt glanced up. A dazzling woman approached. He instinctively straightened in his chair. Even with only one eye, he could appreciate the way the deep blue evening gown set off her curves. How her dark red hair framed her creamy, heart-shaped face.

His battered heart stuttered at the sight.

Luscious red lips curved up ever so slightly. A gentle flush spread upward turning her pale skin a delicate shade of pink as she nodded modestly.

Can you believe that Margo Van Buren loaned her this fabulous dress?

He hadn’t even noticed the other nurse until she spoke.

You know. Margo Van Buren. The heiress. And she had her maid alter it so it fits Annie perfectly.

He caught the name. Annie. Not what he’d have guessed for this classy lady.

Two other nurses appeared, adding their ooo’s and ahhh’s in chorus.

Give us a turn so we can really see it, one of them said.

The glamour girl could have been a model the way she turned on the ball of her fancy, high-heeled sandals, took two steps, and then turned back to face her friends…and him.

He couldn’t look away. The vision held him there as his heart pounded in his ears. He should smile but his whole being froze in place.

One of the other women broke the spell when she touched Annie’s shoulder. These flowers embroidered on the sheer silk look like they’re scattered across your bare skin.

The guys will love it. That plunging neckline. How it hugs your body, another nurse said.

Is it too daring? Slender fingers smoothed the form-fitting garment.

Milt allowed his gaze to caress her every curve.

She glanced around for an answer from her friends. Heads shook in response.

Then her gaze settled on him, as if she had heard his thoughts. He hadn’t intended to get involved but he couldn’t help smiling, just a little, to show his approval.

Oh, no, the first nurse said. It’s perfect.

Annie visibly relaxed.

She hadn’t asked him, but he would have agreed that it was perfect. And so was she.

I’d better get backstage. she said.

She disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared. He knew nothing about her except her name, Annie. That and the fact that she was the loveliest creature he’d ever seen.

Chapter 2

After the blue-clad goddess disappeared, his nurse resumed her place behind him. She pushed him through a wide doorway and paused when someone down front held up a hand to tell them to wait. The room must have once been a night club or ballroom in this fancy hotel the Army had transformed into a hospital.

Milt’s anger had cooled at the sight of the beauty in the hallway. Despite the fatigue that weighed on his shoulders, he would force himself to watch the show. Looking at a pretty girl might not be so bad. The pounding in his head had backed off a little, but he knew it would be back. It always came back.

While waiting, he surveyed the room. Compared to what he remembered of the stark hospital in England and the crowded ship rolling with the waves, this place could have been the set one of those Hollywood movies where a bunch of stars put on a show for soldiers.

Band members made their way onto the stage and took their places. One of them played a run on a saxophone, then a trumpet tooted, and a slide trombone joined in.

The musical chaos from the band warming up amplified the pounding in his head. Heavy drapes that should have dampened the sound seemed to deflect it outward to torture the men trapped in the rows of chairs, almost like hiding from unrelenting machine gun fire in rows of fox holes. He pressed his right hand over his ear and wondered how he would stand it when their aim improved, and they started playing for real.

His driver maneuvered him to a row of wheelchair-bound patients up front. Two similarly confined men, also dressed in pajamas and robes, gave him the once-over as he rolled past them. One had a cast on his forearm, a bandaged head and foot. The next one’s casted leg stuck straight out in front of him.

The nurse placed Milt at the end of the row, probably thinking it would prevent his protruding, plaster-encased left arm from hitting someone in the face if he tried to turn in his chair.

I’ll be back to check on you later, the traitorous caregiver said as she retreated toward the back.

Yeah. Well, maybe I’ll be here and maybe I won’t, he muttered to himself. He definitely wanted to see that gorgeous red head again. But after that he might just make his exit.

Reaching down with his right hand, he tried to roll the wheel forward. It didn’t budge.

Shit! She’d locked the wheels.

You need some help? someone nearby asked.

No! he barked.

He didn’t like feeling helpless. He didn’t want to have to depend on someone else. He was a grown man, not a baby in a stroller.

For the millionth time he asked himself why? Why him? It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He should have been killed. He’d resigned himself to that, after all he’d seen. He’d never imagined being like this, an invalid, maybe forever.

He’d made it through North Africa and Sicily without a scratch, while others around him were shot dead or blown to bits. He wasn’t invincible, just damn lucky. Then he made it across that beach, that bloody, watery hell where he’d clung to the wet sand and prayed for the strength to keep going. So naturally, as they moved inland, he’d thought his luck would hold out and he’d be safe. He’d been wrong.

The guy next to him, the one with the broken leg, spoke, but Milt merely grunted in reply. Ducking his head, he avoided eye-contact with the other patients. He had protested coming and refused to be the least bit social. He didn’t want to be here, and his splitting head made it that much worse.

Something rammed into his damaged arm. Searing pain shot through his left shoulder.

Auuugh! Milt roared. What the hell!

Rage coursed through his veins.

He twisted around in the damn chair, toward his blind left side, searching for his assailant, ready to blast him with a string of angry curses.

Gee, I’m sorry. A young kid with freckles strewn across round cheeks and an up-turned nose met his anger with wide-eyed innocence. I can’t seem to get the hang of driving one of these contraptions.

Milton’s pulse pounded inside his skull, matched by the throbbing ache in his shoulder.

Red colored his vision. His good hand clenched into a fist ready to pound the careless kid.

Then he saw the stumps. Legs that stopped just before where his knees should have been.

Milton’s gut cramped as if he’d been punched. His anger deflated like a punctured balloon.

Another kid flashed before him—covered in blood, one leg gone, the other mangled so bad it looked like chopped meat, from the explosion that had blown him up into the air and slammed him hard onto the ground fifteen feet away. The kid had been just one step ahead of Milt when he’d stepped on the mine.

Withering machine gun fire kept Milt and the others from reaching what was left of the youngster. They’d flattened themselves to Mother Earth and watched him bleed to death, heard his cries for help, unable to do anything.

I hope I didn’t hurt your arm, the kid continued. With it stuck out like that, well, I guess I didn’t see how far it stuck out.

It’s okay, kid, Milt said softly. It’s okay.

He straightened in his chair, fighting the cloud of melancholy settling around him. He grabbed his casted arm’s prop that attached to the cast around his middle and tried to adjust the arm so that it didn’t protrude so far. It was useless. The hard plaster didn’t give an inch.

They’d put him in a partial body cast to keep his shattered arm stable during the long voyage from England. Miserably awkward, the slightest movement caused stabbing pain in his shoulder.

The kid maneuvered around in front of Milt. Are you sure you’re okay?

Yeah, kid, I’m sure. Drained by the pain, Milton struggled to get a grip on himself. Just leave me alone, okay? he said with more anger than he intended.

The boy passed Milt and continued toward an orderly to be added to the line of wheelchair-bound patients. The double-amputee glared at Milt as he went by.

Milt glanced down at his own whole, fully functioning legs. A pang of guilt had him repeating his earlier question: Why? Why me? Why him? Why any of us?

Wham. Rat-a-tat-a-tat. Crash. Milt jerked violently. His breath caught. His right hand gripped the arm rest. His head swiveled as his mind searched for the machine gun he quickly realized wasn’t there.

On the stage the drummer continued to run through his warmup.

Breathe, he told himself. You’re in a hospital, in the States, safe.

He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his unnatural reaction to the loud noise. The guy with the broken leg met his gaze and held it.

He knew. He understood.

Milt forced his body to relax. He nodded ever so slightly to his fellow combat veteran, who nodded back and then turned away.

The noise from the band tapered off while the buzz from hundreds of voices rose as men streamed into the room filling the rows of seats and talking among themselves. Ambulatory patients hobbled on crutches or leaned on canes as they searched for any remaining empty chairs. Late arrivals milled around the doors. Most waited stoically, like they did for everything in the Army. Almost all sported some type of cast, bandage, crutch or limp, evidence of how the war had damaged them.

After sitting side-by-side in silence for what seemed like forever, the man on Milt’s right, the one with the broken leg, extended a hand. Warren Calhoun.

Milt reluctantly shook the offered hand. Milt Greenlee.

Hope it’s a good show, Calhoun commented, his voice light, upbeat.

Milt glanced toward the stage and shrugged his good shoulder, trying to send a message that he didn’t want to talk.

You haven’t been here long, have you?

Nope.

After being shuffled from place to place, moving ever closer to home, exhaustion weighed him down. Milt doubted he’d make it through the afternoon of entertainment his tyrannical nurse insisted he attend.

Two weeks, they told him, since he left England. From hospital to dock to ship, from ship to dock to train, from train to truck to hospital. So many bumps and jostles and apologetic faces telling him that he would be okay, that he was going home. Only he wasn’t home, and he wasn’t okay.

So why was he sitting here waiting? Oh, yeah. Because the damn nurse said he had to come to this damn show. Well, he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care if he missed seeing that dreamboat again. He just wanted them to leave him alone. Give him something to dull the pain and let him sleep. He’d just as soon sleep from now on.

Gotta be grateful, I guess. Calhoun’s comment jostled Milt’s thoughts. At least we’re alive, and we’ve got both our legs. Calhoun nodded toward the freckle-faced kid over to their right. Not like him. Mine may be busted, but I’ve still got it.

Yeah, I guess. Milt tried to feel gratitude, but he didn’t. Guilt maybe, for having two good legs, for just being alive.

He wouldn’t let himself think of what the future held. Even if he hadn’t completely lost his eye, he would never have good vision in it. And with a shattered arm and no feeling in his hand, his baseball career was over before he’d gotten to first base.

An officer approached the microphone on stage and raised his arms to get the audience’s attention. Would everyone please settle down? The show will be starting in just a few minutes. He lowered his arms and stood watching the crowd for a moment before speaking again. Find a seat before we turn the lights down. We don’t want anyone stumbling around in the dark.

That brought a response, not a laugh exactly, more a round of groans and okay’s.

Someone shouted, Let’s get this show on the road.

Followed by, Yeah. Start up the band.

The comments were good-natured and soon the men settled down.

Milt managed to turn in his chair enough to see several nurses huddled in a group as if plotting their next move. They then disbursed around the room.

His nemesis moved into position only a few feet away. She shot him a glance that said stay put and don’t make trouble.

Okay. So he was stuck sitting through this thing. No chance to slip out.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t walk. He could make it as long as he had something to grab hold of when he got too dizzy. But he couldn’t escape with her standing guard.

The band struck up a popular tune and the lights dimmed to near darkness. Spotlights bathed the stage in light. The conductor’s arms moved rhythmically as the saxophones and trombones blasted out the swing number. Around him smiles spread across faces and toes tapped along with the rhythm.

Milt tried to relax. He might as well enjoy the music since he was here for the duration.

When the song ended and the applause waned, the emcee stepped up to the microphone and started his spiel. The welcome, the acknowledgement of the band members who were apparently hospital staff augmented by personnel from other bases.

They struck up an instrumental number and Milt’s mind drifted back, to England, to dances with English girls and music provided by a record player.

The next song took him back even further. To a girl he’d dated while in training. She’d loved the jumpin’ beat and had played it over and over. He’d perfected his jitterbug dating that girl, Jill, a cute blonde from somewhere in Georgia.

Milt’s toes were tapping, and despite the pain, he felt the urge to get up and dance. Self-consciously, he looked to his right where others grinned and swayed to the music. When the number finished, the crowd exploded in applause.

Milton pounded on his leg with his good, right hand. Loud whistles sounded behind him. Many jumped to their feet and cheered.

The emcee thanked the audience and called for the band to take a bow which brought on another round of applause.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Milt glanced around to find the nurse, still standing at her post. They exchanged nods. Okay, he guessed she was right after all.

He settled in to listen to the band, allowing the music to flow through him, letting memories of happier times creep into his thoughts.

Chapter 3

Annie wrung her hands to keep from pacing while waiting for her cue to go on stage. She tried to clear her mind and focus on the music, but her father’s words crept into her thoughts. "You’re not good enough."

Today she would prove him wrong. The band leader promised her an introduction to one of the big band leaders he’d worked for before the war.

The applause died down and the band started up the number before hers. She had to relax and get herself ready. She’d never sung for a big audience like this before or with such a great band. She hoped her nerves wouldn’t get the best of her, make her lose her place or forget the words. Years ago, someone had told her to pick out one person in the audience and sing to that person rather than thinking about all the people watching her. Could she?

That soldier in the wheelchair with the one blue eye peering out from under the bandages came to mind. His eye had been the same blue as Joe’s, deep blue and intense with emotion. The moment she saw him she thought of finding Joe’s picture and of the Joe's presence watching over her.

Just thinking about Joe made her feel better. Maybe if she found that soldier in the audience or just pretended to be singing to him, it would be easier.

The band’s number ended, and the applause roared. Her number came next. She walked calmly to the edge of the stage and peeped around the curtain. So many men waited.

The familiar notes played, and she walked out onto the stage, her shoulders back, her head high. At the microphone she stopped and looked over to where the spotlight shone on the trombones playing the lead in.

When her cue sounded, she opened her mouth and pictured that wounded soldier. The words flowed out and blended with the other instruments.

Darkness concealed most of the audience, but she could make out the wheelchair patients across the front. As she sang, she let her gaze roam over these men, imagining that somewhere out there Joe watched and listened. She poured her heart into the song, into its dream of finding someone to love.

****

Milt closed his eye when the strains of a slower tune began. The notes flowed over him. A sweet, soprano crooned familiar words. Her melodious voice wrapped him in a warm blanket of sound.

Memories, of home, of his sister at the piano, he and his mother standing beside her, singing, his father nearby smiling. He felt their presence, here with him as the beautiful voice continued. He blinked back tears, glad to be alive.

The band played an instrumental interlude and he glanced around, self-consciously, hoping no one saw his tears. But everyone else focused their attention on the stage. Milt’s gaze followed theirs.

A vision stood before him—the same angelic face, the same curvaceous body swaying with the melody. Her red-tipped fingers caressed the microphone she held near matching red lips. Then she began to sing, and her rich soprano reached out and embraced him with its sweetness.

The beauty from the hallway had the most soothing, melodious voice he’d heard in a long, long time.

She sang of finding a dream and his heart raced.

She was the dream, every man’s dream.

The ahhh’s from the mostly male crowd told him he wasn’t the only one admiring the lovely songstress. They all leaned forward, in unison, to get closer to the beauty on stage.

She sensed their reaction, acknowledging it with an upward curve of her luscious red lips while her rich voice continued its melody. Her free hand added graceful emphasis to every phrase. Her sparkling eyes moved from face to face, touching each of them with her magic.

The spellbound audience somehow fueled the emotion in her voice, as if she were responding to a lover’s touch.

Like every other man in the audience, the lovely image and the warm feelings evoked by her voice mesmerized Milt. The dream in her song drew him in until he floated by her side.

As she belted out the final notes, she closed her eyes and raised one hand high. Milt’s heart soared with her glorious voice.

When the sound stopped, a split second of silence preceded a roar of deafening applause. Milt pushed himself to his feet joined by every man who could stand. Cheers, whistles, and continued applause rang out.

The singer bowed and mumbled her thank you’s. Her delicate, pale skin flushed pink with pleasure at the audience’s reaction. She scanned the crowd, clearly enjoying the approval.

The emcee approached her, and the crowd settled a bit.

Milt returned to his chair, but his ears perked up trying to hear the emcee’s introduction.

Lieutenant Annie McEwen, the emcee announced, setting off another round of applause. Our very own Nurse McEwen.

She bowed again as she moved backward on the stage and looked to the wings.

And now, Nurse McEwen will be joined by Nurse Lucy Compton and Tech Sergeant Tom Altman.

Another woman in a flowing pink evening gown and a man in dress uniform joined the gorgeous songstress. They gathered around the microphone and the band leader raised his baton to start the next number. In a couple of beats, the trio sang out the fun, up-beat lyrics in perfect three-part harmony.

Milt focused his attention on the red head as her face, as well as her voice, conveyed the positive message of the song.

Finally, he’d really come home. The music, the roaring crowd, the beautiful songstress, all seemed to welcome him. He’d have to thank that nurse for not letting him skip out on this. Nurse McEwen’s performance alone was worth all the hassle.

He settled back into his wheelchair as the announcer introduced another song by the lovely nurse. This time she sang an old favorite of his. As the sound of her voice filled the space, Milt floated into sweet oblivion.

He forgot about the pain in his head and shoulder. About his uncertain future. For now, he focused on her. For now, he let himself drift away into the magic of her voice.

Chapter 4

Annie ran from the stage, adrenalin pumping. She twirled around, bouncing in her high heels, the roar of applause still filling her head. She’d never get enough of the crowd’s pure adoration. Never, ever, ever.

At the end of the show the band leader, Charlie Cushman, called the performers out to take a final bow. Annie rushed from backstage to even more applause.

Offstage again, Charlie touched her shoulder. You were fabulous, he said.

Thank you so much, she gushed. So were you. So was everyone.

Great show, someone nearby called.

She looked around to see who spoke and felt Charlie’s hand slip away.

An officer she didn’t know grabbed Lt. Cushman’s hand and shook it, congratulating him. She took the opportunity to step back.

The other officer complimented her singing, and Lt. Cushman agreed. Best singer in the show.

Good enough to sing professionally? she asked, very much wanting him to keep his promise of an introduction to his former employer.

Sure. You’re a natural. You had the audience in the palm of your hand. Not every singer can do that, you know.

Then do I get that introduction you promised? I delivered the goods, didn’t I?

You sure did. I’ll write you a letter. I promise. He moved closer, slipped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a hug. You were fabulous, he whispered in her ear.

Her body stiffened at his unexpected familiarity, yet her mind immediately told her to relax.

Be happy. Be grateful. This man can help your career.

Thank you, she forced out with as much sweetness as she could muster. She did appreciate the praise she craved, especially from a professional like him. And he could help make her dream a reality. She couldn’t mess all that up by being silly.

Despite knowing that this man might just be her ticket to fame, part of her wanted to pull out of his grasp and run. She’d practically begged him to let her sing with his band. Now she desperately wanted to get away from him.

Annie! You were great! Stella ran toward her with a giant grin and her arms wide forcing Lt. Cushman out of the way as she swept Annie into an enormous bear hug.

Tears pricked at Annie’s eyes. She welcomed both her friend’s joy and her compliments.

Over Stella’s shoulder Cassie, another nurse, hung back smiling broadly. Annie gave her a little wave.

You were swell, Cassie gushed. The men, they all loved you.

By now Stella had stepped back and Cassie came forward to give Annie a little hug of her own. Out of the corner of her eye Annie saw someone speak to Lt. Cushman and draw him away. She sighed in relief.

See, you had no reason to be so nervous, Stella said. You were so good.

Like one of those famous singers on the radio, Cassie added.

Annie’s friends refueled her excitement. Unable to contain it, she kicked up her high heels and danced a little jig. I did it, she murmured, almost to herself. I really did it.

Stella and Cassie laughed in chorus, then joined her dance. The three circled around until they noticed all the band members gawking at their antics.

Let’s get out of here, Stella suggested.

Those boys will never look at you the same again. You realize that, don’t you? Cassie laughed as Stella