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FOUR

MAVERICK

Seattle, March 13, 1952

Dear Nurse Cass,

I hope this letter finds you well and that you’re not opposed to receiving it. I had my good friend Tommy (I reckon you remember him by his lousy guitar-playing) find out what field hospital they transferred you to. I’ve made it home, and though it ain’t exactly the homecoming I imagined, I’m in one piece, much thanks to you. I will be in hospital a while longer until my legs heal properly, they say. At least the conditions are a far deal more pleasant here than in Inje.

The reason for my writing is that I never got the chance to thank you properly for saving my life that day. It wasn’t until I breathed our wonderful homeland air again that I realized my mistake, and it’s been eating at me ever since. You were an angel to me upon my injury, and that’s not saying too much. You believed I was worth a shot, and without your faith, I’d have been a goner like those other poor boys. You brought me back from the brink, and for that I will forever be grateful. My mama is as well.

Truth be told, when I close my eyes at night, I still see your face leaning over my cot and feel the soft touch of your hand on mine. I’m sure I’m foolish and you hear this all the time, but the thought of you just won’t leave me. Would you write me back I wonder? I’d be honored.

I trust you take good care and stay safe.

Sincerely,

Pvt. Maverick Zuft