Page 32 of All We Thought We Knew
Something stirred in me.
It was the same feeling I used to get when Mark would suggest we do something we knew we weren’t supposed to do, like jump off the loft rafters into a pile of hay or hide a snake in Granny’s bed.
Dad said the box and its contents were none of my business.
Exactly the reason I knew I’d make it my business.
TEN:AVA
TULLAHOMA, TENNESSEE
FEBRUARY 1942
I still had a job.
That was something to be grateful for, considering the setbacks I’d experienced in my first week working for Colonel Foster. True to his word, he was a fair man, but I’d seen the look of disappointment in his eyes when I knocked on his office door late Friday afternoon and confessed I had not finished updating the personnel files.
“I’m sorry, sir.” I prepared myself to be fired on the spot.
His intense gaze narrowed on me. “What happened?”
Without laying blame on anyone but myself, I admitted I’d had a difficult time locating employees spread throughout the large hospital complex, all while trying hard not to bother anyone. I didn’t mention how at least three doctors hadn’t been cooperative or that a handful of nurses declared themselves too busy yet foundplenty of time to flirt with handsome patients. Some of the files even had the employees’ names and ranks incorrect, which took precious time to figure out.
“I still have a dozen or so files to update. If it’s permissible, I’d be happy to work through the weekend without pay to complete the task.”
The colonel seemed to contemplate my offer. “That’s quite admirable, Mrs. Delaney,” he said after a lengthy silence. “However, that won’t be necessary. You may finish on Monday. But I must warn you, things will only get busier. If you aren’t up to it, I suggest you visit the secretarial pool administrator and ask to be reassigned.” He’d dismissed me without waiting for my response.
Happily, I delivered the updated files to him early Monday afternoon. He didn’t look up from the papers on his desk and simply nodded his thanks. Now, my fingers flew across the typewriter keys, determined not to let the colonel down again. In the past two days, I’d typed dozens of letters, filled out countless supply forms, and taken notes during the two meetings he’d had with various officers. Eight days on the job, and I was finally beginning to feel like I might survive.
“Mrs. Delaney, please come into my office,” came the colonel’s voice through the open door behind me.
I grabbed a notepad and pencil and hurried to comply. I’d taken two steps into the small, stark room when he said, “You may close the door.”
I did.
“There is a situation I need to discuss with you in private. Please have a seat.”
After I settled in the chair opposite his desk, wondering what our meeting was about, he motioned to the notepad. “You won’t be needing that. What I’m going to tell you will soon be public knowledge, but for now, this is confidential military information.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
“Two weeks ago, a train full of prisoners arrived at the camp. These men were arrested under the Enemy Alien Control Program and are being housed on base in a restricted and highly guarded area.”
I recalled reading about arrests that were made in the days following the attack on Pearl Harbor. People with ties to Germany, Italy, and Japan were rounded up. I hadn’t paid much attention to the situation, considering I was dealing with my own grief and fears for the future.
“Why were they brought here?”
“From what I understand, there are thousands of these detainees all across the country.” He leaned back against his chair. “Too many to incorporate into our prison systems. The Department of Justice is overseeing the internment program, and several military installations are being used to house the men, Camp Forrest among them. The men we’ve received are all German citizens.”
My heart raced as thoughts of Hitler and the Nazi swastika sped through my mind. “Are they dangerous? Is that why they were arrested?”
“I’ve been told they were in the United States legally, either working or going to school. None have a criminal history, although it can’t be assumed that all of them are anti-Hitler. For most, it seems, their only crime is having been born in a country that is now run by a dictator.”
While his comment brought a measure of reassurance, I couldn’t help but feel on edge, no matter that the camp was full to overflowing with trained soldiers. The thought of having men with possible ties to Hitler’s regime right here at Camp Forrest was terrifying.
“The reason I’m sharing this information with you is because at least one of the detainees will be working in the hospital.”
I gasped. “Sir, is that wise? Won’t the staff and patients be in danger?”
