Authors: Lucy Agnes Hancock
CHAPTER TWENTY
Graduation! Ellen awoke
to a perfect June day. A day of brilliant sunshine, soft perfume-laden breezes and a
general
air of excitement. Early though it was, the house was awake and she could hear the flip flopping of slippered feet in the halls as the girls passed to and from the bathrooms and showers. One or two rapped softly on her door and Ann Murdock thrust in her head to inquire if she intended getting up at all that morning.
But Ellen was loath to get up. She lay and dreamed of all the things—delightful and rather frightening—some that had already come to pass and others that were to happen within the next few weeks. Tonight after the exercises, she was to announce her engagement to Cyrus Dent. She wondered if it would come as a surprise to the girls. She had told no one, not even Ann—or, as she said to herself, especially Ann. She was afraid of hurting her. But she intended telling her first of all—just before they should go down to the chapel where the exercises were to be held.
Poor Ann! And yet Ellen felt sure that Ann would find her happiness some day. There was something appealing and very endearing about her. None of the smart sophistication, the hard, biting brilliance that so often hurt and antagonized people.
“For heaven’s sake, get up, girl!” Marcella Harris came into the room, her arms piled high with clean linen. “Here, I sorted out your laundry for you. What ails you—not sick?”
Ellen laughed joyously. “Sick? Who, me? Just lazy, I guess, Marcy, and I hate to leave the bed I’ve occupied more or less regularly for three years. Perhaps I shall sleep here tonight, but I may not. Aunt Bess is coming to commencement and wants me to go back with her. She’s driving.”
“Does that mean we won’t see you again after today, Ellen?” Marcella asked, her eyes clouded. “I’m going to miss you—terribly.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Marcy. I’ll miss the whole place, when I have time to think about it. But you see, I’m expecting to be very busy so perhaps I won’t have so much time to think—about myself and the hospital, I mean.”
At the forlorn look in the plain face of the older nurse, Ellen said impulsively, “If you only knew how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Marcy, you’d realize I’ll miss you all the rest of my life!”
There was a rush of footsteps and three or four girls burst into the room. “Do you know what time it is? Quarter of seven! You’ll never make it, Gaylord. And this is our last breakfast together, too. Do get up and come down with us.”
Ann shouldered herself past the others. “What’s the idea, Ellen? Sick?”
“Get out—all of you!” Ellen laughed. “I’ll be ready when you are if you give me half a chance.” She jumped out of bed and shooed them out ahead of her, took a quick shower and joined them as they hurried down the stairs. Ellen felt that she deserved the reputation of being the hospital’s quickest dressing nurse.
“Our last breakfast in this joint!” someone exulted. “Believe me, from now on I shall have what I want for my morning meal!”
“Somehow, I’m not hungry this morning,” another said, as she sipped her tomato juice. “I hate these last affairs—last dance, last day of the year, last—”
“Last good-night kiss,” teased someone else. “I thought he would never go, last night.”
“Last night! I wasn’t even out last night. You’re wrong, lady. It must have been two other girls.”
Light, inconsequential banter—youth’s method of camouflaging deep feeling.
Breakfast over, they trooped into the chapel. Ann and Ellen entered together. The last chapel before commencement! To most of the girls it signified little, but to some ten or a dozen it meant the end of their training. The day was theirs for recreation, preparation for the evening, amusement or packing up of belongings before leaving for home or a job as the case might be. Tall jars of Madonna lilies banked the little platform, their scent filling the air. Ellen’s eyes swept the room to encounter the blue eyes of young Dr. Dent, who stood near the east window talking to the two new interns who had entered the hospital a week before. They smiled briefly across the intervening space and Ellen sat down in the place she had occupied for nearly three years.
Miss Forsyth entered and walked to the platform. She was followed by the chief of staff and the house physician, who took seats on either side of her. The rest of the staff found their places and Miss Forsyth came to the edge of the platform, her finger in the Psalter.
“To most of you who are graduating tonight, this will be the last chapel meeting. I want you to know that each of you has been a source of joy and inspiration to me. These brief meetings together have never failed to uplift and strengthen me for the arduous duties ahead, and I’m sure you have felt the same way. I could wish that as you leave Anthony Ware, you might feel disposed to continue these mo
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ing devotions in whatever field of service you find yourselves. You will discover, as I have, that they grow more precious with the years.” She opened the Psalter. Behind, on either side of her, a white-clad man arose. The reading began:
“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.”
The slow, precise voice of Miss Forsyth led in the reading. Again it was Psalm 121. Clear and strong came the voices of the staff in response:
“My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.”
Ellen felt her hand grasped convulsively. A long shuddering sigh escaped the girl beside her. Ellen pressed Ann’s fingers and leaned closer.
“...He that keepeth thee will not slumber.”
How beautifully familiar it all was! The erect, handsome superintendent in fresh, spotless white, her eyes shining as from some inner light; flanked on either side by those two splendid men, so human now and so wonderfully kind! The rows of uniformed nurses, interns, orderlies, dietitian, cook and maids—a goodly company!
Small wonder that eyes glistened as the reading went on to Psalm 23:
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”
Ellen bowed her head. A flood of memories came rushing back. She felt Ann’s shoulder against hers and pressed closer in sympathy. Poor Ann! Dear Ann!
Across the intervening heads she could see the smooth blond one of Dr. Cyrus Dent. Beyond him was the great east window—Christ healing the sick—“Freely ye have received—freely give!” The radiance of the mo
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ing sun was reflected there. The figures seemed alive—vibrant!
As if he felt her gaze Cy turned, his glance a caress. Happiness enfolded her—the future spread out, full and glorious. Together she and Cy would go on to a life of service. What matter poverty, sacrifice, hardship? The work for which they had spent long, hard years in preparation was just ahead. They were doing that which they both loved: healing the sick, comforting the broken in spirit, heartening the dying! Just a
small-town
general practitioner and his wife. She felt that she had indeed reached her goal—a trained nurse, fitting helpmeet for her husband—Cyrus Dent, country doctor.