My Sunshine, My Shadow

The Nebraska sun, now a fading red orb, sank low enough to brush the tips of the corn stalks, their dark silhouettes cutting against a fiery orange sky that seemed to stretch endlessly. Howard ambled toward the farmhouse, a trickle of sweat creeping down his neck under the collar of his shirt, his muscles stiff from a long day spent in the fields alongside his brother. As he approached the porch, worn and crooked as it was, he caught sight of his sister, bent over a bucket, shucking fresh ears of corn. A gentle breeze whispered past him, carrying with it the sweet sound of Lorna Belle’s soft voice.

“You are my sunshine…”

Without thinking, Howard joined in, his deep voice seamlessly flowing into the next line, but in German, “mein einziger Sonnenschein.” The rough edges of the language softened in his baritone, like a smooth, dark chocolate coating a sharp, unfamiliar taste.

Lorna Belle lifted her head, her face lighting up with a grin brighter than the setting sun. “Howard! You're home just in time to help me,” she said, patting the porch step twice, inviting him to sit.

Even though every muscle screamed for rest and his hands stung from countless cuts, Howard gladly took a seat beside her. They worked together, peeling the husks off the golden kernels, all while continuing to sing her favorite song—she in English, and he in German. After a while, though, Lorna Belle stopped, her face full of thought.

"Howard," she asked, furrowing her brow, "why'd you learn German? I thought they were our enemies in the Great War, and Len says they're causing trouble again in Europe."

“They were, and they still are,” Howard acknowledged, “But just because someone was our enemy once doesn’t mean they always will be. I’m going to be a chemist one day, and some of the best scientists came from Germany. If we end up going to war with them again, I’d rather be able to speak to the people I’m fighting.”

Lorna Belle scrunched her nose in that way that always made him laugh. “I guess that makes sense… But, Howard… I sure hope you never have to fight the Germans, or anyone else.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’ve got too good a heart, Howard. I don’t think you could ever bring yourself to hurt another person, and I couldn’t stand it if you didn’t come back.”

“Don’t worry, Lil’ Belle. I don’t think I’ll have to go to war anytime soon.”

She began to sing again, her voice now tinged with sorrow, each note heavy with emotion, especially as she sang the last line: “Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

Howard gazed out at the rows of corn, their dark outlines shifting in the fading light, turning into crosses and half moons in the distance. He stared at the cornhusk in his hand and suddenly it wasn’t a husk anymore—it was his crisp military cap. The sound of Lorna Belle’s voice drifted into a memory, and Howard found himself looking down at the stone marker bearing her name.

“Well, Lil’ Belle, I hope I don’t let you down. I’m leaving tomorrow. We’ll be joining a regiment in France soon. I just hope I never have to find out if you’re right about me being able to kill someone. But I promise, I’ll do my best to make it back. Maybe speaking German will save my life over there. And if nothing else, I’ll sing to them.”

He whispered softly, almost to himself:

*Du bist mein Sonnenschein, mein einziger Sonnenschein. Du machst mich glücklich, wenn der Himmel grau ist. Du wirst nie wissen, Liebes, wie sehr ich dich liebe. Bitte nimm mir nicht meinen Sonnenschein.*

Deep down, Howard knew she was right. Every time he took aim with his rifle, his heart would sting uncomfortably. He pushed those feelings aside as his regiment sailed toward France, telling himself that he had to do whatever it took to get home. But in his quietest moments, he questioned whether he still had anything to return to. Since Lorna Belle had passed, things just weren’t the same.

In the long, heavy days leading up to their arrival at the front lines, Howard’s comrades eagerly discussed the upcoming battles. But Howard knew that he would never be the one remembered as a hero. No medals would be hung around his neck when he returned. He was just an ordinary man playing the part of a soldier. As they neared their destination, the chatter died down, and the only sound was the rhythmic pounding of their boots in sync with one another.

Then, in a flash, the world erupted with the deafening roar of explosions and the shriek of shrapnel. Men dropped all around, some never to rise again, others too scared to move. Before Howard could even react, he felt a searing heat pierce through his right knee. His rifle fell from his hands as another wave of pain hit his shoulder, followed by a sharp, blinding sting in his left thigh that knocked him to the ground.

He lay there, barely conscious, as the chaos of war swirled around him, the screams of men fading into a dull hum. The sun began to sink low in the sky, casting the battlefield in a blood-red hue. A soft breeze brushed across his face, and then, from somewhere deep in his mind, he heard Lorna Belle’s voice again.

“I couldn’t bear it if you never came home.”

Slipping in and out of consciousness, he wondered if this was truly the end. But then, another breeze ruffled his hair, bringing her voice once more.

“Howard, it’s not your time yet. You still have so much more to do.”

And again, the melody of their song filled his thoughts, her voice in English, his in German.

He barely registered the distant voices—some speaking in harsh tones, others sounding strangely familiar:

“Tot…Tot…Tot….Sani er ist Deutsch!... Tot…Tot…This one’s American, finish him…”

Yet, it didn’t bother him. Lorna Belle’s voice circled around him once more, and before he knew it, he was back on the porch, singing their old song.

"Nein, er ist Amerikaner, mach ihn fertig…"

"Wait, he isn’t armed and he’s singing in German. He isn’t our enemy. He can be saved."

"You’re safe now, Howard. Sleep,” Lorna Belle whispered, and the darkness of unconsciousness enveloped him.

The pain in his shoulder was unbearable, but he pushed through it, willing his body to sleep. After what felt like an eternity, he awoke in a new place, disoriented. The room around him was dim, but he could make out the steep roof of what appeared to be a school attic. His body ached with every movement, but at least he was no longer on that hellish battlefield.

"You're in Germany," said a voice beside him. The dark-haired man who lay next to him smiled weakly. "I’m Kurt. Your German’s almost as bad as my English." He chuckled, and Howard found himself smiling in spite of the pain.

“Three bullets,” Howard mumbled, as he tried to process the situation.

Kurt nodded. “Nurse say they pull out three bullets! You okay now, yes?”

Howard chuckled weakly. "I guess so. How long have I been here?"

"Two days," Kurt replied. “When they brought you, they say you get hit in France just before.”

Howard’s eyes flickered toward the window. "So, this is a school?"

Kurt grinned. "Yes! School still in session. When I come, kinders play outside. One poke my foot with bandaged stick, and teacher swat his rump!"

Howard laughed, realizing how different this war was for the people who lived in Europe. For them, it was just another chapter in their lives.

Over the next few weeks, as both men healed, they became fast friends. They spoke in a mix of English and German, often playing pranks on the nurses who attended to them. The boundaries of nationality and war slowly faded into the background as they saw each other as just two young men caught up in something far bigger than themselves.