“How does a man get some air in here?”
“The nurse opens the window as soon as the patient gets back in bed.” She stepped by him and managed to pull the window up a few inches. “How’s that?”
After checking his vitals and writing on his chart, she went out for his lunch tray.
“Meat loaf!” He groaned loudly. “What I wouldn’t do for a steak and potatoes!”
When she returned for his tray, she found peanut shells all over the floor and a half-filled bag in his side table. She swept them up while he napped.
The next morning, she gave him a bed bath and changed the sheets. He clung to the railing. “Are you trying to topple me right out on my head?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
He laughed over his shoulder. “I’ll be more cooperative tomorrow.”
And he was. He sat in his flimsy hospital gown, his ankle on his knee, while Hildie hurriedly stripped his bed.
“What is going on, Miss Waltert?” The General stood in the doorway. Dr. Turner’s foot slapped down on the floor. “Is this how you make a bed? By having a poor, sick patient sit in a breeze?”
“It’s the way he wanted it, ma’am.”
“Well, he doesn’t have a say. We don’t want you to get pneumonia, Dr. Turner, now, do we? Get back in bed!” She glowered at Hildie as she marched out the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to inspect.”
Hildemara rolled Dr. Turner from one side to another as she pulled the sheets taut and tucked them in firmly. By the time Mrs. Kaufman returned, Dr. Turner lay on his back, hands folded on his chest like a corpse in a coffin, and an all-too-lively twinkle in his eyes, which he closed when the General came close.
“Very good, Miss Waltert. Good day, Dr. Turner.” As she swished out the door, Hildie breathed again.
“Check the hall,” Dr. Turner whispered. “Tell me when she’s gone.”
Peering out, Hildie watched the General stride down the hallway, pause briefly at the nurses’ station, and head for the stairs. “She’s gone.” She heard a mighty thrashing sound and turned. “What are you doing?”
Dr. Turner kicked until all the bed linens she had carefully tucked in came free. “Ahhh. Much, much better.” He grinned at her.
She wanted to smother him with his pillow or beat him over the head with the sack of peanuts someone had smuggled in. “They should have a special ward for doctors! One with manacles!” She heard his laughter as she went down the hall.
“Doc is gone. You can have Miss Fullbright now. She’s down the hall on the left.” Another private room patient who didn’t seem sick at all. Hildemara carried in her meal trays and drew water in a tub. Miss Fullbright took her time and bathed unaided each morning while Hildie made the bed with fresh linens. The woman read incessantly while a radio played classical music on her side table. The only medicine dispensed was one aspirin a day, a child’s dose.
On the fifth day, Hildie found her dressed and packing her suitcase. “I’m so glad your tests all turned out well, Miss Fullbright.”
“Tests?” She laughed. “Oh, that.” She folded a silk dressing gown into her suitcase. “Just routine stuff, no real complaint. I’m as healthy as a workhorse.” She chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m a nurse, too. A head nurse, in fact. Not in this hospital, of course. I’d have no privacy whatsoever.” She handed Hildie three novels. “You can put these in the nurses’ library. I’m done with them.” She smiled. “It’s simple, Miss Waltert. I work hard all year, overseeing a staff of nursing students just like you. I need to get away and have a little vacation now and then. So every few years, I call my friend and sign in here for a week, have a routine checkup and a good rest with room service while I’m about it.”
Room service? Hildie thought of Mama’s comment about nurses being nothing more than servants.
“None of my friends know where I am, and I get to read for pleasure.” She closed her case and snapped the locks.
“Don’t forget your radio.”
“It belongs to my friend. She’ll pick it up later.” Miss Fullbright slid her suitcase off the bed and held it easily at her side. “You were very efficient, Miss Waltert. Henny will be pleased with my report.”
“Henny?”
“Heneka and I go way back.” She leaned closer and whispered. “I think you and the other probies call her the General.” Laughing, she walked out the door.
29
1936
The six-month probation period proved grueling and heartbreaking. Keely Sullivan got washed out when Mrs. Kaufman caught her sneaking out for another date. Charmain Fortier discovered she couldn’t stand the sight of blood. Tillie Rapp decided to go home and marry her boyfriend. By the time the capping ceremony rolled around, only fifteen remained out of the twenty-two who had come with such high hopes. Mrs. Kaufman informed Hildemara that she would head the procession as the Lady with the Lamp, Florence Nightingale, the mother of nursing.
“I knew you’d do it, Flo!” Boots secured the plain white cap on Hildie’s head and helped her with the coveted scarlet-lined navy blue cape with the red SMH insignia on the mandarin collar. “I’m proud of you!” She kissed her cheek. “Keep that lantern high.”
The other nursing students had friends and family among the audience. “Where are your folks?” Boots looked around. “I want to meet that handsome brother of yours.”
“They couldn’t make it.”
Everyone had a handy excuse. Mama said it would cost too much money to bring the whole family up by train. Papa had too much work to do to leave the farm. Mama had to make plans for Summer Bedlam again. The girls couldn’t be bothered, and Bernie and Elizabeth were making wedding plans. This ceremony wasn’t like a graduation, was it? It was just the end of probation, right? Nothing that mattered. Not to them, anyway.
Cloe wrote.
The folks want to know when you’re coming home. We miss you. We haven’t seen you since Christmas.
Hildemara wrote back.
No one missed me enough to come to my capping ceremony. . . .
Papa wrote a short note.
Your words sting, Hildemara. Do you really judge us so harshly? Mama works hard. I can’t leave the ranch. Come home when you can. We miss you.
Love, Papa
Driven by guilt, Hildemara finally went home for a weekend. The last person she expected to meet her at the bus station in Murietta was Mama. She snapped a book closed and stood up when Hildie came down the steps. “Well, well, so here’s the grand Lady with the Lamp.”
Was Mama being snide or condescending? “It was an honor, Mama, for being top in my class.” Hildie carried her suitcase to the car without looking back. Flinging the suitcase into the backseat, she climbed into the front, clenching her teeth and swearing to herself she wouldn’t say another word. Hurt and anger boiled up inside her, threatening to spill over and spoil the short time she had to visit.
Mama got in and started the car, saying nothing on the drive home. She turned in the driveway. Hildie broke the silence. “I see you have a new tractor.” Mama parked the car, the only sign she had heard Hildie a tightening of the muscles in her jaw. Hildie stepped out, grabbed her suitcase, and slammed the door. As she headed for the back door, she noticed other things she never had before. The house needed painting. The tear in the screen door had lengthened, letting flies in. The roof covering over the sleeping porch had been patched.
Cloe swung the door wide and came charging out. “Wait until you see our room!” The bunk bed had been replaced by two single beds covered with colorful quilts, a built-in, four-drawer dresser between them. On it stood a shiny brass kerosene lamp. Hildie had become so accustomed to electric lights that she’d forgotten the porch had never been wired. “What do you think? Isn’t it grand?”
After living in the pristine environment of Farrelly Hall and the polished corridors of the hospital, Hildemara noticed the unpainted, unfinished walls, the grimy woodwork, the sandy floor. She searched for somet
hing to say. “Who made the quilts?”
“I did. Mama bought the fabric, of course.”
“Of course.” It struck Hildie then. There was no room for her. “Where do I sleep?”
“On the living room sofa.” Mama walked past her. She paused at the back door to the kitchen. “Life doesn’t stand still, you know. Now that you have your own life, there’s no reason we can’t spread out a little and enjoy the extra space ourselves, is there? There’s no law against your sisters being as comfortable as you are in that grand brick building you wrote about.” The door slammed behind her.
Hildemara wished she had stayed in Oakland. Mama had managed to make her feel small and mean-spirited. “It’s lovely, Cloe.” She fought tears. “You did a beautiful job on those quilts.” Unlike the old one Hildemara had used, these covered the entire bed. Cloe and Rikki wouldn’t have to scrunch up to keep their feet warm. “Where’s Papa?”
“Helping the Musashi boys. Their pump broke down again.”
Gathering her courage, Hildie went into the living room and sat on the lumpy old sofa. Everything looked the same, but she saw it through the eyes of her bacteriology class. Everywhere she looked, Hildie saw places where colonies could flourish: a food stain on the sofa; scuffed woodwork; sandy grit tracked in from field and barn, undoubtedly rich with manure; linoleum peeling off in one corner of the kitchen; stacks of newspapers; the splattered, sun-bleached kitchen curtains; the cat sleeping in the middle of the kitchen table, where everyone ate.
If there was one thing Hildie had learned in the past few months, it was what people didn’t know could hurt them.
Papa came in through the front door. “I saw Mama drive in.” Hildie ran to him, hugging him tight. “Hildemara Rose.” His voice rasped with emotion. “All grown-up.” He smelled of horse manure, engine grease, dust, and healthy perspiration. Hildie cried at the pleasure of seeing his smiling face. “I’ve got to get back to work, but I wanted to welcome you home.”
“I’ll go with you.” Hildie followed him across the street, waving hello to the Musashi girls working in the field. While Papa worked on the pump, she told him about her classes, patients, doctors, the girls.
He laughed over Boots’s prank with John Bones. “You sound happy, Hildemara.”
“Happier than I’ve ever been, Papa. I’m where God wants me.”
“I’ll be done here in a while. Why don’t you go see about helping your mother?”
Mama brushed off her offer. “Just let me do it myself. I can get things done a lot faster.”
Cloe had to study. Rikki had gone off somewhere to draw another picture. Bernie was in town with Elizabeth. Hildie sat on the sofa and read one of the old movie magazines Cloe collected. Several pages had been torn out. Hildie tossed it aside and looked at another. Same thing. Gathering up the old magazines, she took them out to the burn pile in the pit Bernie had dug last year. Cats wandered everywhere. Did they still live on mice in the barn? Or did Mama feed them excess milk from the cow she’d added to the menagerie?
Hildie went back inside to escape the heat. She missed the cool sea air that blew in across San Francisco Bay. She felt uncomfortable sitting in the living room while Mama worked in the kitchen, back rigid, hands flying about her tasks. Hildie didn’t know what to say. Silence and inactivity grated on her nerves. “I can set the table, can’t I?”
“Please!”
Hildie opened the cabinet and took out the dinner plates. “This plate should be thrown away.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“It has a crack.”
“So what?”
“Cracks are breeding grounds for germs, Mama.”
“Put it back in the cabinet if it’s not good enough for you.”
Angry, Hildie took the plate out the back door and threw it into the garbage hole.
When she came back inside, Mama glared at her. “Are you happy now, Hildemara?”
“At least no one will get sick.”
“We’ve been eating off that plate for ten years and no one’s been sick yet!”
Bernie came home and hugged Hildemara. “Not staying for dinner, Mama. I’m taking Elizabeth to the movie.” He leaned in toward Hildie. “Want to come with us?”
She was sorely tempted. “I’m only here for a couple days, Bernie. I’d like to spend it with the whole family. Tell Elizabeth I said hi. Maybe next time.”
Everyone talked through dinner, except Mama. Cloe talked enough for two people and Rikki wanted to know about nurses’ training. Hildie told them about the capping ceremony and her new uniform. She didn’t say anything about being Lady with the Lamp or top of her class. She hoped Mama would say something, but she didn’t.
She lay awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling. When she finally dozed off, Mama came into the kitchen and lit a lamp, keeping the wick low as she moved around on tiptoes, filling the coffeepot, making rolls, beating eggs. Papa came in, pulling up his suspenders. They whispered in German. Hildemara kept her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. As soon as they both finished breakfast, they went out to do chores. Nice that Mama let Cloe and Rikka sleep in. Hildie had never enjoyed that privilege.
Throwing on her clothes, Hildie started a fire in the woodstove and filled a big pot with water. She ate a roll and drank coffee while she waited for the water to boil. Filling a pail with hot water, she took a bar of soap and a rag, got down on her hands and knees, and started scrubbing the linoleum.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Mama stood behind her, a milk bucket in her hand.
“Helping, I hope.” Hildie wrung brownish water from the rag. She’d have to scrub for a week to get this floor clean. She cringed at the thought of how many germs had been tracked in on Papa’s work boots.
Mama sloshed milk as she slammed the bucket on the table. “We spent two days cleaning this house for your visit! I’m sorry it’s not good enough for you!”
Hildie didn’t know whether to apologize or thank her and decided neither would do any good.
“Is this what you learn in nurses’ training? How to scrub floors?”
Scalded by Mama’s scorn, Hildie sat back on her heels. “And bedpans, Mama. Don’t forget about that.”
“Get off your hands and knees!”
Hildie got up, grabbed the pail of filthy water, and went out the back door. She slammed the screen door behind her and threw the water over Mama’s flower bed. Tossing the bucket aside, she went for a walk, a long walk down to Grand Junction, where she sat and watched the mesmerizing flow of water. How was it possible to love Mama and hate her at the same time?
When she went back, the house was empty. She found Papa in the barn sharpening a hoe. The scream of metal against stone matched Hildie’s feelings. When he saw her, he stopped. “You didn’t go to the movie with Mama and the girls.”
“I wasn’t invited.”
He shook his head and set the hoe aside. “They wanted you to go.”
“How would I know that, Papa?”
He frowned. “I’m sorry no one came to your capping ceremony, Hildemara. We’ll come to your graduation.”
Old Dash rose and barked as Mama’s car turned in to the drive. Bernie sat behind the wheel, Cloe and Rikki shrieking with laughter as they pulled in. Everyone piled out. Even Mama had a smile on her face until she saw Hildie sitting on a bale of hay in the barn. “Where on earth did you go?”
“To Grand Junction.”
“You missed a good show.” She headed for the house.
“I would’ve come if I’d been asked!”
“You would’ve been asked if you’d stayed at home.”
Papa let out his breath and shook his head.
Hildemara headed for the house. She had tidied up Cloe and Rikka’s bedroom earlier. When Hildie came in the back door, she lifted the hem of one of the quilts. “I made the bed with square corners. This is how we do it at the hospital. Everything stays tucked in this way. Looks nice and neat, doesn’t it?”
> Rikki threw herself onto her bed and lounged with her arms behind her head. “Mama thinks you’re too high and mighty for us now.”
“Is that what she said?”
“She said you wouldn’t put a cracked plate on the table. She said you threw away one of her prettiest plates just because you didn’t think it was good enough for you to eat off of it.”
“I wouldn’t want anyone in the family eating off a cracked plate. Cracks are breeding grounds for germs.”
“What are germs, anyway?” Rikki shrugged.
“They’re living organisms so small you can’t see them, but they’re big enough to make you very, very sick. I’ve seen patients suffering with diarrhea, vomiting, fever, and chills. . . .”
“Be quiet!” Cloe hissed. “You’ve hurt Mama’s feelings enough.”
“And it never occurred to anyone that my feelings might be hurt when no one bothered to come to my capping ceremony?”
“It’s not like a graduation!”
“It was important to me.”
“You’ve done nothing but pick since you got home.”
“What are you talking about, Cloe?”
“Last night at dinner, you picked on Mama’s canning!”
There had been mold growing on the top of the quince jelly. When Hildie didn’t touch it, Mama wanted to know why it wasn’t her favorite anymore. Hildie told her. Mama had scraped it off and plunked it down on the table. “There. How’s that, Miss Nightingale?”
Hildie wanted to explain. “You’ve never seen people sick with food poisoning.”
Cloe glared. “As if Mama’s cooking would make anyone sick!”
Mama appeared in the doorway. “What are you two arguing about?”
“Nothing,” Hildie and Cloe said in unison.
“Well, keep nothing to yourselves!” She glared at Hildemara and went out the back door with a basket of laundry. Hildemara knew she had heard everything.
Hildie hardly spoke the rest of the time at home. She went to church with the family and sat with Elizabeth and Bernie. She walked home with Papa.
Her Mother's Hope Page 31
