In November, the army contacted me about coming to photograph the infectious disease wards. They rang on the telephone, which Henry and I had avoided using per the guidelines - the number of telephone operators had been reduced to maintain appropriate distance between each worker. The ringing of my telephone in a house quiet after Henry's departure for work alarmed me, and I answered breathlessly, expecting to hear that Henry had fallen ill.

Instead, I was told my services were required at the base. "The American people need to see that the army is doing all we can do during this time, and your records indicate that you are a skilled photographer," said the commander's crackling voice through the line.

I asked a few questions, namely about precautions I would need to take. I could not exactly refuse the duty, not when I'd had no clients for over a month. After I agreed, I was told an army vehicle would arrive shortly to escort me to the base. There was just enough time to dress in my uniform, gather my equipment, and put on a gauze mask before the rumble of a truck drew closer.

Stomach churning, I clung to the door as the driver, a soldier named Morgan, whipped us along the streets. Carriages and cars saw the truck coming and moved aside. They might have assumed we were on an important mission to save the lives of flu patients. Henry was the one they ought to move aside for, not me and my camera.

There had been rumors that the end of the war was coming, not that one could tell from the activity at the base. Large white tents had been erected in the training fields, and soldiers were busy loading and unloading cargo from large trucks. Trucks with red crosses painted on the sides trundled up and down the road, a line of five passing us as our vehicle parked at a low stucco building labelled OFFICE.

"Check in with the commander," said Morgan. "I'll wait here."

Three soldiers stood before the commander's desk when I entered. I hadn't expected to enter directly into his office, despite the sign outside. I waited while he instructed the three soldiers on where to unload a shipment, then they all saluted and filed out. Suddenly remembering my training, I straightened up when I saw the commander watching, and waited for his signal to approach.

"Sergeant Shaw, you've been recommended as an excellent photographer," he said, looking up at me without a hint of a smile.

"I don't know about excellent, sir," I said.

He cut me off. "This isn't a compliment. I need photographs of the current infirmary and the new facilities set up, and I need the photographs and negatives in hand by tomorrow. Is that clear?"

I swallowed. I'd have to spend half the night developing the film and the photographs to have them ready for tomorrow. "What time tomorrow, sir?"

"As soon as possible, soldier. By midday, if you can handle that."

A denial could be considered petty disobedience, if not treason. So I gave the only response I could: "Sir, yes, sir."

"Grand. Cadets Tucker and Mullins will assist." He nodded toward two soldiers who had been standing at ease, so still I'd barely noticed them other than the color of their skin: both Black men. I hadn't known the army to be desegregated. "Morgan, your driver, knows the locations. Take as long as you need, and I'll expect to see you back here tomorrow at 1200 hours."

I knew a dismissal when I heard one. I snapped a salute. "Sir, yes, sir!"

Tucker and Mullins followed me out and climbed into the back of the truck, cramped along with my equipment. The doors barely closed before Morgan hit the gas and we sped toward the first location. I hoped it might be where Henry was working.

"Make sure you keep your mask on at all times," Morgan told me, donning his own mask. I took mine out of my pocket and put it on, then unloaded my equipment, handing off the tripod to Mullins and the case of photographic plates to Tucker. The camera I carried myself, not trusting anyone else with it. Morgan led us inside, through a white sheet hung over the door. "Here we are. Get a photo from each end while I gather a doctor and some nurses for closer shots."

Coughs rang out from everywhere, echoing in the high-ceilinged building. Each bed was surrounded by a white sheet, and the windows were open to allow the cool air in. I rubbed my hands together to get them warm and stop the trembling. I hadn't been out in public in weeks, and now I was in the thick of the infection. The last time I'd gone to the grocer's, someone had coughed and I had run out, having to wait for them to leave before I went back inside.

The thin piece of gauze didn't seem enough to keep the microbes out.

I did my best to explain to Tucker and Mullins what I needed. To be fair, I didn't need much help beyond carrying the equipment. Once it was all set up and I'd taken the first set of photographs, we quickly moved the camera, then I told them, "You might as well wait outside until I've finished, that way you aren't stuck in here with the sickness." They nodded and hurried out.

I bent over and lined up a shot of the beds. From this angle, all looked clean and well-aired. The picture of health, if one could ignore the hacking coughs. Then I waited for Morgan to return. With the nurses bustling, I could not stand idly by, so I swiveled the camera to face the nearest bed. A photograph of the patient's bed would certainly be helpful.

But as I focused the lens, and decided I needed to move the camera closer for a clearer image, the patient suddenly erupted into a series of coughs that sounded as if his lungs were filled with liquid, and I stumbled back. Only just did I manage not to crash my camera to the floor.

I clutched my precious camera to my chest and gasped for air, my mask sucking to my face.

Carefully, I returned my camera to the tripod and stepped back to the wall and tried not to be in the way, either of the nurses or any path the disease might take.

When Morgan finally returned, he had a doctor and two nurses in tow. From her stride, I recognized one as Henrietta immediately, and gave a strange wave. I grinned beneath my mask at this opportunity to see her. She wore gloves and a mask, but I did not have to see her face to know she was not smiling. In fact, she looked downright angry.

"Where are Tucker and Mullins?" Morgan demanded without greeting.

"I sent them outside, to avoid unnecessary exposure," I told him.

"Get them back in here," he ordered.

By the time I had called the two men back inside, Morgan was organizing the shot. "We'll need an empty bed."

"There are no empty beds," the doctor said.

Perhaps that was why Henry was so angry. She would be indignant about her life-saving work being interrupted for a photography portrait.

"Then show me to a patient who is not contagious. Surely there must be one man who is nearly well," Morgan said. "It is your job, after all. To cure the men."

Flummoxed, the doctor wandered off and peered into each cordoned-off bed before beckoning us over.

"Ridiculous," Morgan muttered. He turned to Tucker and Mullins. "Move this equipment down there." I picked up my camera and the tripod. "What are you doing? That's what they're for." Morgan jerked his thumb toward the two black men.

"I would prefer to move my own camera, sir." I meant for my voice to sound strong and authoritative, but instead it sounded too high and soft.

Morgan sighed. "Whatever. Just get this done."

As we set everything up again, and Morgan directed the doctor and nurses into position, I reached out to touch Henry's elbow. "It's good to see you," I whispered.

"It would be best if you kept your hands to yourself while you were here," Henry hissed.

The day seemed to drag along at a breakneck pace.

The scenario repeated over multiple medical tents, and then Morgan indicated that photographs were needed from a higher perspective that had Tucker, Mullins, and me hauling equipment to a watchtower. It was nearing six before I was dismissed.

Morgan drove me out to the car where Henrietta had parked it. She stalked over as I was still loading all my crates and equipment into the back trunk, and upon seeing her, Morgan drove off. Henry waved him away with a middle finger raised high.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

"I was called in this morning, after you left." I pulled down my mask and took a deep breath.

"It is dangerous to be here," Henry said, picking up my case of plates and setting them into the trunk.

"I know that," I said softly. "Trust me, if disobeying orders wouldn't mean going to prison, I would have refused."

She sighed.

"This is how I feel watching you leave home to come here every day," I reminded her.

"I know," she said, glaring into the trunk before turning abruptly and throwing her arms about my waist and burying her face into my chest.

I wrapped my arms about her. There seemed no words to comfort her, and so I said none.