All she wanted was an ice-cold soda. The temperatures in Florence were well over 90 degrees, and the hour-long commute to Phoenix made her delirious with fantasies of sipping a cool drink at the downtown lunch counter. The United States Army Nurse Corps clearly hadn’t considered ventilation in their uniform design. The sturdy jacket and skirt, and hat, along with the long-sleeved blouse and nylons, were a torturous ensemble in August.

Elinor saw a menu on the counter, picked it up, and threw it on the floor before storming out. If a glass had been sitting there, she would have thrown that instead. She didn’t know where she was going. Her legs and brain hadn’t connected yet. But she felt the tears falling off her face, which made her more enraged. There was a small restaurant not too far away. Elinor walked in and pretended not to see people stop talking in midsentence when she approached the counter. “May I help you?” asked a young waitress. It had been a long time since someone asked her that. Relieved, Elinor sat down, smiled, and asked for a ginger ale.

“Sorry, but you can’t sit here. You can order around back and I’ll bring it to you.”

Several seconds passed before Elinor silently got up and walked out. There was no point throwing a tantrum. She had already done that today.

She guzzled a soda she bought at an old convenience store and walked into a movie theater in lieu of the shopping she had originally planned to do. Maybe a movie would take her mind off the day’s heartache. But when the usher escorted Elinor to “her” section, she gave up feeling hopeful about anything once she realized he was referring to where blacks sat.

On the bus ride back she contemplated lying to the other black nurses about her miserable afternoon, but that wouldn’t be right. They would go to Woolworth’s thinking they could get served, only to be told to leave in front of a restaurant full of people. She wouldn’t want anyone else to go through that humiliation.

At least she would make it back to the base in time for dinner. She could commiserate over her meal with the other nurses, but she didn’t want anyone’s pity.

When she made it to the mess hall, she was suddenly exhausted. Smiling, though preoccupied, she sat down at the nurses’ table, barely noticing the conversation that flowed around her until a hush came over the table and everyone looked in her direction.

“What?” she asked. And there he was behind her. Frederick. Elinor felt her heart flutter. He was wearing his white chef’s hat and apron, the same getup he’d worn the first time he approached her. Normally he remained in the kitchen while the other German POWs served the meals, but not that night.