Nurse in White (6 page)

“Okay. Here’s what I suggest—see what you think of it.” Together they went over the lists—changing an item here and there and adding others.

“I’m flat, Ellen,” Ann grumbled. “You’ll have to finance the thing. I’ll pay you, positively, on the twenty-fourth. Dad always sends me a check.”

“Ten dollars ought to cover everything,” Ellen figured. “I have a lot of wrappings and seals and things left from my own packages and I snitched three strings of lights from the pile downstairs. Just because this is Ward L, conducted in the name of sweet but cold charity, it doesn’t mean that our tree has to be as skimpy and unattractive as most charity is.”

Ann laughed. “And I snitched three strings, Ellen, and two boxes of ornaments. Hurrah for our side! Forsyth’s a regular Scrooge when it comes to loosening up on decorations. How does she expect us to trim a tree with nothing to use?”

“Do you suppose we can get first pick of the trees when they come, Ann?” Ellen asked. “With six strings of lights, we ought to have a sizeable one. I’ll go down and select a couple more boxes of doodads—just nonchalantly, you know—not snitch them this time unless someone questions my right to them. How about getting Dent to pick out a tree for us? He—well, he seems more or less interested in—in—one of our patients here.”

Ann hesitated for only a moment. Dent had proven himself a total loss. According to reports, he was out for a girl with social position and money. Only yesterday she had heard of his rushing Sylvia Durston—or she him—one of the country-club smart young things. Well, let him rush her; from the picture Ann had seen of her in the Sunday paper, she wasn’t so much. And what was money? Convenient and necessary to be sure—in a man, but in a girl, youth and beauty, plus that ‘certain something,’ counted far more. Dent wasn’t anything to lose sleep over, anyway. She intended doing much better than a struggling young doctor. The only thing about Dent that had intrigued her was the fact that she couldn’t quite make him. That was an unusual thing for her—she always got her man. She had heard he had been attracted to Ellen—had even been attentive to her in a careful, hole-in-a-wall way—trust him to save his cake and eat it, too—the heel! Well, she was sure Ellen wouldn’t fall for him—he was too sure of himself, too nonchalant and smooth, and Ellen was set on following through to a medical career—the poor, willfully blind imbecile!

“Okay! We’ll get the pick of the lot or my fatal charm is losing its potency,” she promised flippantly. “Did you know Forsyth has the sentimental idea we should sing carols on Christmas Eve? Imagine! I can’t carry a tune across the street—no ear for music at all. I suggested you do the singing, Ellen,, but Agatha frowned on it. The old pill! Just because I thought of it first. And yet you’re the only one of the gang with a real voice.”

Ellen laughed. She was entirely familiar with the superintendent’s determination to manage things in her own way. She might ask for suggestions—criticisms even, but in the more than two years of Ellen’s association with her, she had not known of Miss Forsyth adopting one suggestion or accepting one bit of criticism, no matter how constructive either might be. Miss Williams, the night superintendent, and she got along beautifully because Hattie Williams kept her ideas to herself. But
in spite
of this, Ellen liked Miss Forsyth—liked and admired her.

“Oh, well, what does it matter, Ann? I love car
o
l singing and I didn’t think she would allow it. I wonder why she thought of it this year.”

“Nitwit!” Ann jeered. “Haven’t you tumbled to the fact she’s soft on Braddock? Braddock mentioned the fact that down in the missus’s home town, carols were sung at Christmastime and this year she had mentioned that she missed them. The old girl is failing, they tell me. Really getting ready to pass in her checks at last so it’s no particular strain on Agatha’s part to donate our services to make her happy—or at least less miserable. Do you mean to say you didn’t know she was soft on him?”

“Oh, you! You’re soft in the head, Ann.” Ellen spoke rancor and Ann wasn’t in the least offended. “You know, Ann,” Ellen went on, “Christmas just naturally seems to call for carols.”

Ann wasn’t so sure. As she said, she had no ear for music and had difficulty in following a tune; but Ellen assured her she would lend physical if not vocal beauty to any group and Ann’s interest quickened, then sagged.

“But we’ll be on duty, Ellen. How can we sing carols?”

“We can’t, but that doesn’t alter the fact that we ought to have carols on Christmas Eve. We can listen, can’t we? I’m all for it.”

“Listen?
’Way back here? Probably can’t hear a note. Oh, I don’t care, Ellen. You sing to the ward—they’ll love it.”

The hospital was awakening. Not noisily, but with the subdued hum of a giant beehive. Lights flashed oftener; the elevators swished up and down; telephones rang and from the courtyard below, truck brakes squealed and the siren of the ambulance shrilled as it reached the street. Ann yawned and stretched. Ellen straightened the table and went down the ward for a final inspection before she should go off duty.

With the exception of one or two, the ward was asleep. Ellen paused beside Lady X. Did she look a little less waxen? She felt her pulse, smiled and added a note to her chart. Another night had gone to join its millions of brothers. This one had been without incident and like most quiet, uneventful nights, had been a little trying. Ellen looked forward gratefully to the luxury of a warm bath and bed.

CHAPTER SIX

The tree was up
in Ward L—a shapely spruce. Dent and an orderly had placed it at one end of the long room—the end nearest the bed of Lady X. Hospital discipline had relaxed somewhat. Ann and Ellen brought their gaily wrapped packages while the day staff was still on duty and the four girls worked swiftly. At first the mystery girl had shown little interest in the unusual activity going on about her; but when the nurses began hanging the gay decorations and strings of colored lights, the wide, violet eyes glistened.

The whole ward watched—even Mrs. Slavonski, who had been sullen for hours, brightened, and Mrs. Nolan, the latest fractured-hip case, forgot for a moment the excruciating pain and the discomfort of her inactivity and joined with the others in offering suggestions and comments, some of which were, to say the least, decidedly frank.

Angela Dubail, the little diabetic-heart case, wore her perpetual smile, her dark eyes purple rimmed and inordinately brilliant. She lay with her rosary-entwined hands clasped on her childishly flat breast and watched, wanting nothing. She never wanted anything. Ellen wished she would. She yearned over her in a way that aroused Ann’s ire. The girl would be better out of the misery and free from her beast of a husband. Ellen knew that probably Ann was right, but her heart ached every time she came near the bed. She wondered if the girl sensed her tender pity, for her eyes would glow with some inner light and the smile that greeted her was poignantly sweet. So young to die as die she must. Ellen, who had seen death come in so many different guises since that Christmas Eve when little Eloise had gratefully slipped away, no longer looked upon it as always an enemy. Sometimes it was indeed a friend—leading one into another, pleasanter room—to the beginning of another and grander adventure. Oh, there were so many worse things than death, so much that was far harder to bear!

Mrs. Crispi had ceased her everlasting moaning at her failure to leave and thought the star that graced the top of the tree far too small and not very bright, either. Couldn’t someone go out to her place and get one of the kids to lend them theirs? They’d much rather have a pitcher of Roosevelt on it anyways—swell Americans, they was.” But the star stayed put and all but Mrs. Crispi thought it absolutely lovely.

The ward was childishly jubilant. At five o’clock Dr. MacGowan and Miss Forsyth, followed by the house physician and the two interns, stopped in on their tour of inspection through the hospital, and Ellen held her breath. The other nurses were merely attentively respectful.

“Best of the lot!” the chief of staff said heartily.

Miss Forsyth eyed the tree somewhat belligerently, her eyes suspicious. Dr. Braddock grinned at Ellen and Dent looked blandly innocent.

“You have a great many lights, it seems to me,” the superintendent said and Ellen was sure she was counting each glowing bulb. “How is it you have so many? They were to be proportioned.” She looked coldly at the girls, two of whom were perfectly innocent as to just where the lights in question had come from. Ann looked hurt at even the suggestion of greediness. No one said anything.

“Well, you see, Miss Forsyth—” Ellen began.

“A tree of this size needs plenty of lights,” MacGowan interposed crisply. “One less would spoil it.”

“But—but—in the reception rooms—”

“Umph!” the surgeon growled. “Where else would they be so much appreciated as right here in Ward L?”

Why, he’s splendid!
Something of her unspoken admiration showed in Ellen’s brown eyes, for the stern, ugly face of the surgeon broke into a rare and unexpected smile.

Cyrus Dent silently clapped his hands and again the plump little house physician grinned at Ellen. What a grand bunch they were, she thought, her heart wa
rm
ing to them. The chief hadn’t finished.

“You’re doing a fine job, Gaylord, and I’m not referring wholly to the tree. Sometime I want to have a talk with you about our mysterious guest.”

Ellen glowed with pleasure. He had scarcely noticed her before. Even when she was privileged to assist him she felt that she had been just someone to stand silently by, anticipating his needs with quick intelligence and skilful hands. She had even thought him quite unaware of her identity.

Miss Forsyth stiffened and the eyes and mouths of the others showed signs of opening in amazement. Angus unbending! Angus noticing a girl! Would wonders never cease? “Thank you, doctor,” Ellen murmured, “anytime you wish.”

Her back stiff with disapproval, the superintendent followed the surgeon from the room. Dr. Braddock, still smiling, was close behind and the two young interns tiptoed after in exaggerated stealth. Ann Murdock braced herself, her fists clenched, her expression pugnacious.

“I like that! Say, who did most of the dirty work on this tree, anyway?”

“I did!” chorused the other three.

“You did not. I did. I wrangled Cy Dent into snitching the best one for us, didn’t I?”

“Call that dirty work?” Frances Blaine asked, quizzical eyes on Ellen. “Dent would sure be flattered to hear that, wouldn’t he, Gaylord?”

“Oh, forget it, Ann,” pleaded Ellen, eager to keep the peace, “and come on over to the house. We haven’t too much time to change before dinner. Thanks, girls. We should have been lost without you.”

“Like fun, we should,” muttered Ann.

“What’s the matter with you?” Ellen asked as they walked the short distance to the nurses’ home. “You’ve been touchy all afternoon.”

“You’d be touchy, too, if you had got word that your best friend had put one over on you.”

“What do you mean? How, put one over?”

“Got herself engaged to the man I’ve been in love with all my life. And has the colossal nerve to write me that she knows I’ll be happy about it because Tip and I have always been so keen about each other. If that isn’t crowding the mourners, I don’t know what you’d call it.”

Ellen smiled. This was the first time she had heard of Ann’s great, deathless love. Ann was always going through some dramatic experience—some crisis in her life. She gave her companion a little push.

“Snap out of it! You’re no more in love with this Tip than I am. Why, Ann, you don’t know what being in love means.”

“Is that so?” snapped Ann. “And I suppose you do?”

Ellen was surprised and annoyed to feel herself reddening. Of course she didn’t.

“Ye-ah!” Ann went on bitterly, deaf to the other’s silence. “Just a little sister of healing—a sweet, sympathetic Florence Nightingale! Wonderful! Only I bet you hate nursing as much as the rest of us do. Don’t tell me you’re satisfied to take care of a bunch of disgustingly selfish sick people all your life, Ellen Gaylord, for I won’t believe it.”

“But it’s true Ann. You know I’m keen about my work. I wish I had money enough to go on and study to become a doctor, but I—I can’t—right now.” Ellen’s voice was quietly sincere. “I’m proud and happy I’m a nurse.”

“You’re welcome to it,” Ann muttered, but some of the angry hurt went out of her voice. She linked her arm in Ellen’s. “Fine Christmas spirit I have—of the Scrooge variety,” she mocked. “Oh, well, I ought to have known that absence ever makes the heart grow fonder of the other gal. Only, I hope they have quintuplets the first year—darn them!” Suddenly, she began to laugh, at first shrilly, then somewhat tearfully. She stifled a sob.

“Life’s a mess, Ellen. You see, I—I really do like Tip—rather a lot!”

“Oh, Ann, I’m sorry!” Ellen said softly, and gave her a quick little hug of sympathy. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“N-not a thing—but—but thanks for being sorry.” She was trying hard to keep from weeping openly and when she reached her room she went in and shut the door. Ellen stood for a moment uncertain what to do. Ann would hate anyone seeing her break down and weep. Better to let her thrash it out by herself, then no one could pity her—Ann hated pity. Poor Ann! Was she truly hurt in her heart, or was it just her pride that suffered?

Ellen slipped into a clean uniform and stood for a moment contemplating the packages on her dressing table. All of them bore the legend Not to Be Opened until Christmas or some similar admonition. She went to her closet and collected an armful of
gaily
wrapped gifts. She would distribute them now, before dinner. They were simple gifts—not one of them costly; a handmade handkerchief, a corsage of ribbon flowers, sweet-smelling sachets,
gaily
decorated hangers. The salaries of the graduate nurses at Anthony Ware had never been large and just lately had been pared even more. The student nurses received no compensation whatever, and there was not a wealthy girl in the house, so gifts were of necessity inexpensive. But as she deposited the last package, Ellen murmured, “They’re peaches, every one of them, and the hospital should be proud of them.”

As a matter of fact, the hospital was proud of its staff, and except for an occasional infringement of its somewhat rigid rules, which were, with reservations, strictly enforced and, also with reservations, almost as strictly adhered to, there was little if any serious complaining. Ann, of course, was a law unto herself and remained so quite miraculously, throughout her years of training. Each entering class of probationers was hand-picked and carefully tested during the three month period before acceptance. Its training school rated high in the profession and to be known as an Anthony Ware graduate meant superiority-plus.

Ellen wondered if Ann would be down to dinner but she was already in the dining room when Ellen entered and except for an excess of color in her cheeks and slightly shadowed eyes, she showed no signs of heartbreak. Ellen was relieved. Her smile was returned by a wry twisting of Ann’s lips.

Dinner that night was a gala affair. Mrs. Drake, the house mother and Ella Poole, the dietitian, had planned an elaborate menu. A two-foot tree centered the long table and red candles in graduating heights marched in single file down opposite sides of the brightly lighted centerpiece. At each place was a red basket filled with homemade candies and a spray of holly lay on each snowy napkin. As they found their places, the nurses stood and cheered the perpetrators and were not in the least surprised when the two young interns appeared in the doorway begging admission.

“Go back to your own celebration,” Mrs. Drake ordered them severely. “We can’t disarrange the table at this late date.

“Heck!” young Fielding cried. “Know who’s dining over there? The president of the board—old Hatchet face! Doc. Angus MacGowan—our dour Scottie—God bless him! An ancient dame by the name of Ware—bad cess to her! And our own beloved, merry-hearted Agatha! Save us, girls! Have a heart! Where’s your boasted Christmas spirit? Where’s—”

Cyrus Dent tried to hush him but it was too late. Suddenly behind them loomed an austere and awe-inspiring quartet. Miss Forsyth and Dr. MacGowan must certainly have heard. Young Fielding tried desperately to make himself invisible.

The twenty or more nurses stood motionless behind their chairs. Their faces were flushed in an effort to suppress their mirth—their eyes straight ahead.

“I want you to see the happy arrangements we have made for the pleasure of our staff at this joyous Christmas season, ladies,” Miss Forsyth said
smoothly, her eyes boring into the reddened neck of the talkative intern. “Miss Ware, I’m sure your grandfather would have approved. Records show how much he endeavored to make his staff feel at ease and like one big happy family.” Her icy glance passed over the two young men. “Of course these young men are mere onlookers like ourselves. We still hold to the old traditions—absolutely no friendly relations between male and female members of our staff. I see you agree, Miss Ware—Mrs. Preston?” as the old ladies nodded vigorously, one of Miss Ware’s thin, beringed hands cupping an ear. “Our dinner is being served in the dining room of my suite.” She summoned a smile to include the surgeon and her two guests. “Charming picture, don’t you agree?” then turned and ushered the two old ladies out.

Dr. MacGowan lingered for a moment, his face wearing its usual granite mask. Fielding and Dent stood like two bad boys awaiting a well-merited punishment. Ellen knew a wild desire to laugh. She felt it well up inside her and threaten imminent disgrace. She swallowed hard and caught Ann’s exaggeratedly bland stare. That was too much. She choked, and as if a spring had been released, a shout of laughter went up from the girls around the table. Mrs. Burke and Miss Poole vanished into the kitchen. Fielding tried to sneak past the tall angular surgeon, but he barred the way.

“Thanks for the invocation, er, Fielding,” Dr. MacGowan rumbled, deep in his throat. “I hope the Almighty heard you.” He bowed to the demoralized nurses. “A merry Christmas to you, young ladies, and may you enjoy your dinner without further interruption. Come along, my dear-r-r sir-r-rs, our own, er, beloved, merry-hearted company awaits us.”

Came a breathless stillness as the door closed on the trio. The girls sank into their chair and leaned back—helpless.

“Would one have believed Dr. MacGowan had a sense of humor?” Ellen asked in surprise as she wiped her eyes.

“Ye-ah,” Ann scoffed. “The same brand of humor an inquisitor enjoyed when he shouted ‘off with his head!’ I bet those two lads wish they were somewhere else.”

“Oh, well, they had it coming to them,” someone said as she dipped into her soup.

The dinner was prolonged and hilarious. The girls lingered until a message arrived from Miss Forsyth reminding those who were to sing carols that the time was growing short. She was desirous her distinguished guests should hear them.

Seven-thirty and the night force was back on duty, relieving the skeleton staff who went down thankfully to their own specially prepared dinner. The hospital settled down to its usual night routine. Eight, and the singing began. Visitors went to windows. Patients in private rooms begged that doors and windows be left slightly ajar. Lips smiled that so recently had been twisted in pain and would be all too soon again. Thoughts traveled back over the years to other Christmases. Patients and callers, doctors and nurses on duty, joined in the singing.