Marie waited until the doctor left the ward before approaching the sailor propped up against the wall. He stared at his bandaged hands lying limp on his lap. She’d never seen a more woebegone expression.
She summoned a bright smile. “I understand you’re ready to exercise your hands.”
A spark of emotion crossed the young man’s face, and it wasn’t a happy one.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He raised his hands. “These are useless.”
Marie swallowed a laugh. “That’s more like it. Now you remind me of my neighbor’s kitten back in D.C. All spit and snarl.”
His eyes widened before a hint of menace flickered. “You think you know…” His head turned to the side while his gaze remained locked on her. “I’m not spitting.”
His voice had softened, acknowledging his effort to snarl.
She clasped her hand to her breastbone and looked up. “Thank you, Lord.”
The patients in the surrounding beds hooted.
“She’s got your number, Burkhart.” The guy in the next bed practically drooled as he eyed Marie.
She kept her attention on Burkhart. “I’ve been asked to help you get your hands back into shape.”
He snorted and raised them again. “They’re burned. Stiff. Scarred. I was a pianist. I’ll never be able to play again.”
“Never is nebulous.” Marie unfolded a mat across his lap. Retrieving a canister from the basket at her feet, she unscrewed the lid and dumped the contents on the mat.
“Pick-up sticks!” The patient on Burkhart’s other side struggled to sit up. “I haven’t played that in ages.”
Burkhart’s shoulders slumped. “Are you kidding me?”
Marie wiggled her fingers in his face. “This requires dexterity. Pick up the sticks without disturbing any of the others.” She waited a moment while he glowered at her. “What’s the matter, sailor boy? Are you afraid?”
More hooting rose from the other beds. Burkhart scowled. He picked up a blue stick that had landed away from the others. He poked her with it. “Satisfied?”
She snatched it away. “Blue sticks are worth five points. Next?”
He released a long-suffering sigh, and flexed stiff fingers. Oh-so-slowly, he extracted a red stick. Clenching a loose fist in triumph, he stared in wonder as he stretched out his fingers. He leaned over the pile in determination. “How many points are red sticks worth?”
Later that day…
The Pick-Up Sticks game had gained another player. Burkhart crowed at retrieving up the black stick. Maybe he wouldn’t become a concert pianist, if that was his aim, but for today, he was doing better emotionally. And she’d had something to do with that. This is what made her job so fulfilling.
With cheerfulness and friendly teasing, Marie cajoled Burkhart into playing with the Pick-up sticks, thereby exercising his wounded fingers. Instead of focusing on his injury, she encouraged him to work toward healing. As a Red Cross morale worker, Marie offered imaginative ways to encourage the wounded seamen.
She didn’t hesitate to enter their hurting world. It could be draining, being around suffering all the time. As she worked with the men at the WWII naval hospital in Iceland, she offered practical help, focused on the positive, listened as she encouraged them to talk, spoke from her heart.
These are ways we can all be encouragers.
~ Excerpt from No Leaves in Autumn by Terri Wangard
