I looked toward the tent entrance. Dr. Gross was still nowhere in sight. “Give me a scalpel.”
CHAPTER 20
I had just removed a sharp piece of shrapnel, which no doubt had severed the femoral artery, then had clamped the artery, when Dr. Valentine appeared, trailed by a limping Dr. Gross.
Still groggy and with gray hair wild about his head, Dr. Valentine hoarsely yelled, “What’s going on here?”
I quickly brought him up-to-date.
“The tourniquet should have worked.”
“Should have but didn’t.”
He listened to Private Dempsey’s heart. “He’s still with us. But you sure have made a mess of things.”
I bit my lips.
He examined the thigh wound, now larger after my intervention. “Stable enough now. Let’s get him to the operating room before he loses his leg, or worse.”
* * *
When I got back to my office, I had to pace for several minutes as I resolved in my mind that I did the right thing for Private Dempsey. No doubt my actions would be frowned upon, not only by Dr. Valentine but by Fred as well.
My gut told me that had I not acted, the patient would have died. And Fred himself had said that we sometimes had to make decisions in the field that weren’t what was found in policy manuals. Needing to clear my mind, I made myself a pot of tea and settled myself at my table with a stack of letters.
I found a curious note from Marie Curie:
My dear Julia,
I hope you will think about what I said. There is more to the story, which I don’t care to put into writing for the nosy to later find and judge.
Yours,
Marie
But I wasn’t in the mood to answer her, as my mind kept returning to Private Dempsey. It was only a matter of time before word got around regarding my foray into medical practice. The fact that I undoubtedly saved the man’s life would not be an excuse and could very well be challenged. I had to reconcile with myself first if I was to defend my actions and keep my job.
There was no doubt that my primary goal, going back to my college days, was to be a physician. I had the analytical thinking abilities, the drive, the stomach for it. I was less suited to the role of a nurse. To follow orders, to observe, to comfort. Indeed, I enjoyed training the nurses, loved them dearly, in fact. I relished seeing them grow, learning new skills. I enjoyed the physical giving of the care. What I didn’t relish was the restrictions put upon me to provide care that I knew perfectly well how to do. It irked me to stand and guide a greenhorn doctor through a procedure that I wasn’t allowed to perform myself.
Was my ambivalence toward my suitability for nursing causing me to be a bad nurse? Was I a poor example to the other nurses under me? That thought punched me in the gut. Clearly, I needed to talk this over with someone. My senior nurses, Dorothy and Margaret, came to mind. But as their leader, I thought it inappropriate. The obvious answer came to me—Fred. He had even suggested it when he offered to work together to develop a manual of nursing protocol.
I tucked Marie’s letter back into the envelope. She seemed to be warning me about just such a thing—meeting privately with Fred. But her reasoning seemed shallow, and I sensed some bitterness that could be affecting her judgment.
The next morning, after a fitful sleep, I looked at my watch. Fred should be off duty and hopefully not still asleep. I gathered a pen and a notebook and headed over to his hut.
I knocked in the “shave and a haircut” rhythm, our little signal. His answer came: “Two bits!”
I pushed through the flimsy door and found him busy polishing his shoes.
“What brings you to my empire, Two Bits?”
“Is that my new name?”
“Well, you’re worth at least that much.” He leaned over and gave me a peck on the forehead.
“You might not think that after you hear what I did last night.”
“Oh, I’ve already heard.” Swish swish swish, his brush blackened the toe of his shoe. “We’ve got faster communication here than Ma Bell does to AT&T.”
“Well then, let the tongue-lashing begin.”
“Mmm. Tempting, but no.” He dipped the end of the brush into a tin of Shinola. “Not my place.”
“Do you think I was wrong to do what I did? The soldier survived. And probably will keep his leg too.”
“You already know what I think.”
I flopped into the only other chair in the room and held up my notebook. “I came over to start on the policy manual for the nurses that Dr. Heinz wants us to work on. But maybe I’m the last person on earth who should be writing it.”
He poured a few drops of water from a pitcher into the lid of the shoeblack, dipped a rag into it, then started vigorously rubbing the tip of his shoe. A little too vigorously—a sign that he was upset with me. That, and his clipped answers to my questions. “Why would you say that? You are certainly the most qualified in this camp, probably about anywhere.”
“Because I don’t practice what I preach. My father was a preacher. Did I ever tell you that?”
“Interesting. But not relevant.” He put down his shoe, wiped off his hands on a clean rag, then dragged his chair next to me. “What is going on?”
Once I got started, I couldn’t stop. I told him about wanting to go to medical school and how that dream was crushed. I told him how I loved nursing with every fiber of my being but thought maybe I was unsuited to it. “How am I supposed to create guidelines for nurses when I struggle deeply with them on a personal level? I don’t have the necessary perspective. In fact, I think…” I shifted uncomfortably; this was something I hadn’t even admitted to myself. “I think after this is all over and we return to the States, I won’t continue in nursing. Sometimes I think I might even return early. Let someone less pigheaded serve in this role.”
I glanced over to see his reaction. But his face was open, intent, and unreadable.
“Go on. What do you think you’ll do?”
“Well, it’s far too late in my life to go into medicine now. And I have no hope for marriage and children. But I’d like to go back to taking care of them. Maybe I could go back to Barnes.” A lump formed in my throat. I breathed deeply to remain in control of my voice.
“Julia, none of that is true. You’re still young enough to do whatever you want to do. God knows you are brilliant and driven enough to accomplish anything you put your mind to.” He nudged closer. “You could go back to Barnes if that’s what you really want. But in all these years I’ve known you, you’ve never traveled backward. You mentioned preaching? Is that something you feel called to?”
“God no.” I laughed. “Oops, that was probably an inappropriate answer, but there you have it.”
“I’m not going to tell you what to do now or after the war. I won’t agree that you aren’t suited for nursing. I think you are exactly what nursing needs. If the boundaries are wrong, then you have to explore that. And I think you have enough good judgment to know where those boundaries should be, even if the rebel in you always wants to flout them. You are an extraordinary nurse.”
He gave me a handkerchief for the tears I didn’t realize were collecting. I dabbed at my eyes, then squeezed his hand. There was no one else I could talk to about these things. He made it so easy, I revealed more to him than I did to myself.
“Two Bits, can we change the subject?” He leaned closer.
I could smell his shave soap, the pleasant lilac scent mixing with a bit of the earthier shoeblack. I couldn’t help wondering if he chose the soap with me in mind.
“Something tells me you didn’t come here just for my words of wisdom. At least I hope not.”
My heart quickened, and my body tingled. I wondered if his door had a lock. But before I could get up to check, his lips were on mine. And I welcomed them, pulled his shoulders toward me, even afte
r voices in my head told me this was wrong. Marie Curie bounced into my brain, and I forced her out as I welcomed the warmth and comfort and excitement of Fred.
CHAPTER 21
March 1918
Half of my respiratory patients had recovered and were being sent back to their units. The other half, eighteen or so men, were struggling. This was definitely not like the normal influenza that came around every fall. That affected everybody about the same: sneezing, coughing, muscle aches, and fever, all of which these patients had. But the men remaining in our hospital after two weeks had all developed pneumonia.
Dr. Valentine approached me as I was checking the clean utility room for supply needs. Clipboard in hand, I was adding up boxes of syringes. The last time I had seen him was at the bedside of Private Dempsey. At least his hair was combed now, and he had what might pass for a smile on his face.
“You seem to vacillate between other people’s jobs. What’s next, ambulance driver?” he asked.
“Good afternoon to you, Dr. Valentine. Our supply sergeant has taken ill, and it is easier for me to do the duty of inventory rather than to explain to someone new how to navigate the confounded British system.” I didn’t want to bring up the Private Dempsey incident. That would all shake out soon enough.
Apparently, he hadn’t come to discuss that. “I’ve had communication from the field commanders. They are anxious to have those men, fresh from training, to join the lines.”
“The respiratory cases?”
“Correct. I was hoping you would have a moment to do rounds with me. With this peculiar disease, the nurses sometimes see things we doctors don’t.”
Was this some kind of trick? Dr. Valentine was a surgeon. This was not anything close to his specialty. I straightened a row of boxes that didn’t need straightening. “You want to see flu patients?”
He puffed up in umbrage, his tone suddenly hostile. “Certainly. We all have to work outside our favorite areas, now, don’t we?” He pointed to the rack of supplies. “And some of them might require chest tubes. For once, do you think you could focus on your own work?”
I shrugged. Since I was mentally preparing myself to move on, his tone and underlying accusation didn’t bother me one iota. “In my own work, I see at least a third of your chest tube patients die right after surgery. Maybe you should think about that before you go cutting into pneumonia patients.”
“This isn’t the time or place for that argument,” he said. “We have regular meetings to discuss such observations.”
I tried to soften my tone. “You might want to leave that white coat here.”
“Why is that?”
I desperately wanted to roll my eyes but maintained full control of them and my oh so noncondescending voice. “Because it might be a bit bulky under the smock you’ll have to put on for isolation procedures.”
Then I chastised myself. Where had I gotten this terrible attitude? Perhaps it truly was time to move on.
* * *
My foray into the realm of thinking I should do anything else but stay right where I was lasted twenty-four hours. I woke up the following morning with a clearer head, having had a straight six hours of rest, practically a record for my time in theater.
I dressed quickly and hummed on my short walk to my office. Nothing was going to deflate my good mood. In fact, I was looking forward to consulting with Dr. Valentine and apologizing for being short with him. I dawdled, wondering if I should do that first thing, when I noticed the door to my office was already open.
I could smell coffee brewing, and upon entering, there was Fred, helping himself to a cup.
“Well, good morning, Fred. What brings you here so early?”
He held out the coffeepot. “Fancy a cup?” He poured, not even waiting for my answer. “It so happens that you are one of the few creatures on earth who is pleasant to be around first thing in the morning. Thought I could learn from your example.”
I accepted the coffee. Whoa, it was strong. “It isn’t me. It’s the magic coffee beans. Once they wear off, you best keep five paces back.”
“Duly noted. I did want to clarify my…um…what I said.” He lowered his head so I couldn’t read his expression.
“About what?”
“I don’t wish to put pressure on you if this has all become too much for you. And whatever you decide, about staying or going, you know I wish you only the best.” He brushed back an errant lock of hair, then took a couple of agonizingly slow steps toward the door.
“Fred.”
“Yes, Miss Stimson.”
It seemed Dr. Valentine had enjoyed retelling that little story, and it had been making the rounds all week. It was beginning to irritate me, which I supposed was Dr. Valentine’s goal.
“I’m not going anywhere. All I really needed was to blow off steam and get a good night’s sleep. There’s no way on God’s green earth I would leave my nurses. They’d have to drag me away with four horses.”
“I’m glad. Because you’re needed here. And I’m holding on to the slightest of hopes that there is one other reason to stay on with our merry band of men.”
“Of course, with Phil here…” I teased.
“Okay, two other reasons.”
The scent of coffee about to burn drifted toward us. I held up a finger to signal wait a moment as I took the coffeepot off the heat. It gave me the moment I needed. “Fred, do you think anyone saw you come over here at this most early hour?”
“I don’t know. Who cares?”
“I do.” I nodded toward the door. “They do. I’m already in enough hot water.” I debated whether to tell him of Marie Curie’s strange warning. “And if we have feelings for each other…”
“I do have feelings. And you won’t convince me that you don’t.”
“I won’t deny it. But we have to be careful. I’ve been reading through the manual. The Red Cross has pretty specific rules about relationships between people assigned together.”
“Do you really think we can hide this? I’m two feet off the ground every time I’m with you. Others will surely notice, whether we’re ‘careful’ or not. I say let’s just get it out there, and let the chips fall where they may.” He finally stepped away from the door, back to where I was standing, a hot coffee cup in my hand. “There are things that we can’t control. I’m falling in love with you, Julia.”
CHAPTER 22
I didn’t return Fred’s sentiment for two reasons. Letting the chips “fall where they may” might be an option for him, as he wasn’t at risk of losing his position. A nurse, even a chief nurse, was much more expendable. The second reason was that I wasn’t quite sure of my feelings toward him. I loved him, yes, and had for a long time. And I was attracted to him. But I didn’t think the picture in his mind of our future matched mine.
I knew I couldn’t be the stay-at-home, sweet doctor’s wife like his first one. Not that he had come even close to proposing marriage. But it definitely seemed he was heading in that direction, and that made me want to dig in my heels before he became too attached to the idea. I feared I would only be a disappointment to him, and I knew that if I expressed that, he would brush it away as nonsense. In my mind, I could hear him say, I wouldn’t expect or want you to be like Cornelia.
But surely I would be tempted to try to be the wife he really wanted. And how long would that last? Again, I saw nothing but disappointment for him. And I loved him too much to let that happen. Sadly, it wouldn’t be right to share that with him.
So I persevered in the notion of having a strong friendship without pushing for more. We agreed to treat each other with the ultimate in professionalism and no favoritism on his part when I wandered astray of my ordained duties, as I was wont to do. Any insinuations, questions, or sidelong glances from others were to be dealt with either by a stony silence or “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
> We would permit ourselves to get the occasional pass to leave the compound together and to go on walks when we had simultaneous time off, but there would be no public displays of affection. We would allow one dance with each other at the Monday evening socials with BEF Hospital No. 10 next door. Of course, there would be chatter in the rumor mill, but we would just laugh it off as a necessary diversion in their stressful lives.
It wasn’t too hard to do, for my waking hours were so full. I did rounds in all the lines of tents and in the respiratory tent during each change of shift. Miss Taylor and I wrote letters to the families of every admitted seriously or dangerously ill patient.
Lately, we had had to write letters to families of some of the nurses. We had to admit three to the Sick Sisters Hospital in downtown Rouen within a week. One needed surgery on her arm after aggravating an old injury, another had diphtheria, and still another was suffering from a combination of exhaustion and a bad reaction to the smallpox vaccine.
Smallpox had been rearing its ugly head once again. The entire city of Rouen was under stay-at-home orders until the population could be properly vaccinated. We enjoyed a short respite from incoming casualties, as they were routed elsewhere due to the quarantine.
The smallpox vaccination caused a wound the size of a quarter on the upper arm, and the entire arm became quite sore. Most of my nurses were working one-handed for several days, which was tough to do. But they were bricks and never complained. I had received the smallpox vaccination as a child, so with full use of both arms, I filled in shifts for nurses who needed a break.
During our lull, I managed to read all my letters from home and to write quite a few as well. I tried to sound cheerful and minimized the strain we were all under. I didn’t want to add to their worries, especially now with Phil in theater as well.
I decided not to tell my family about Fred and me. Of course, I casually mentioned him in my letters, but to have them fussing about that from three thousand miles away would just make the situation more difficult. I also endeavored to shield them from the infighting and territorial battles I was facing. Let them think we were one big happy family, working well together for the common good. Which, for the most part, we were.
The War Nurse Page 22
