The War Nurse

by Tracey Enerson Wood

  “So, my dear, I have but a few moments. I have been training women to be radiological assistants, and you will be receiving some excellent ones soon. I am hopeful you will take them under your wing with the nurses. Captain Ernst is competent, but I don’t think he’d be suited to this.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure they will be most welcome. I’ll see to it they are each matched with a nurse to help them get settled.”

  “Yes. Also, I have heard about the new procedure manual and would like a copy.”

  “This can be arranged. Although it doesn’t pertain to radiological procedures.”

  “Hmm. And I’m told you wrote it with the help of Major Murphy. Which proves you haven’t considered my advice. Have I not told you to keep your distance?”

  Now my feathers were getting ruffled. How did one politely tell someone of this stature to mind their own business? “Madame, surely you shouldn’t concern yourself.”

  “Young woman, are you not a student of history?”

  “Umm…”

  “How old were you in 1911?”

  “Er…thirty?”

  “Then certainly old enough to have known they nearly took the Nobel Prize away from me.”

  I scratched my head. “But they didn’t, did they?” I searched my brain for a clue as to what had happened. I had only the dimmest awareness of a scandal that had long since faded away.

  “No, they didn’t. And they wouldn’t take them back when I offered the medals for the war effort. I guess that means something.”

  “Your Nobel Prize medals? You offered them for scrap?”

  Marie was more fidgety than usual. She had never before spoken of her awards. Why now?

  She waved off my question. “So long ago, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is this. After my beloved Pierre died, I was adrift. He wasn’t just my husband, the father of my children, and the man I deeply loved. He was my partner in science. My partner in discovering objects and principles in chemistry and physics that will change the world, for the better I fervently hope.

  “And then, in an instant, he was gone. For years, I merely existed. Can you imagine, one day, we were at the peak of our careers, award-winning scientists, with plans to build a science institute like no other.”

  “You still are, and you have.”

  “But in 1910, it seemed all would be lost. Oh, I had friends, of course. And my beautiful daughters, who are the only reason I managed to breathe. And of course, there was Paul Langevin. Certainly you’ve heard of him?”

  I shook my head. “Afraid not, although perhaps I’ve forgotten.”

  She sighed. “This is to be more difficult than I had imagined. Paul was Pierre’s protégé. The three of us worked for years in any space we could claim. A shed, a borrowed lab. It was Paul who fed me tea when my kidneys failed. Paul who brought the girls to school when I couldn’t get out of bed. He had been so totally devoted to us and the work that I’m afraid his wife could not bear it, and I don’t blame her.”

  “So his marriage was troubled, and that was blamed on you and Pierre?”

  “Yes, but that happened first, you see. It all began before Pierre was gone. Then, as Paul helped me through those awful years, his wife, who never understood the importance of our work, divorced him.”

  The water kettle whistled, and I poured the steaming hot water over the tea leaves in my teapot. I was beginning to see where her story was going, and I didn’t like its direction. “And you and Paul continued to work together.”

  “We did, and more.” She slipped her hands and forearms up each opposite sleeve of her long black dress. “It is not that I regret what we did. Without Paul, there would have been no second Nobel. Probably no Curie Institute, although it isn’t clear that will ever open.” She looked at me, her eyes moist, the first time I had witnessed anything but stolid confidence from her. There was a caring, feeling being under that efficient, stolid shell.

  “Then what is it you regret?” My stomach rumbled; I hadn’t had the chance to have breakfast. I banged around my single cupboard for some biscuits.

  “Oh, child, I regret we didn’t burn the letters. Burn the evidence of our affection so that it couldn’t be used against us.”

  “He was divorced, and you were a widow. You wrote affectionate letters. What on earth could be used against you? You published your research; it wasn’t a secret.”

  “The scientific world is small but complicated, with big egos and jealousies. I dared to be a woman in a man’s field. I dared to present myself as more suited to an important position than a man. These things do not come without cost.”

  I found some lemon drop candies; they would have to do. “And the price you paid had to do with Monsieur Langevin.”

  “The letters were stolen and mimeographed. Copies given to reporters and mailed to everyone in Paris who mattered, the Nobel committee, and so on. I was asked to stand down from accepting the prize, and the position I sought was given to someone else. I didn’t give in, of course, but mobs started to collect outside my Paris flat. Eve and Irène were just young girls, and they were petrified.

  “We had to escape, and we went to live with friends. This went on for a year before everyone grew tired of the charade. But my girls, they suffered so. Perhaps it made them stronger, but none of it was their fault.”

  “And Paul, did you stay together?”

  “Oh no, my dear. There couldn’t be any of that. He worked for us, you see. As if it wasn’t bad enough he was married, at least at first, but he was our employee. That is a line that cannot be crossed. We wrote now and then, but my work was too important. My daughters too vulnerable.” She untucked her arm from her sleeve and plopped a lemon drop into her tea.

  “That’s sad then. It seems he was important to you as well.”

  “I had no choice really. Which is why I’ve come here and shared this with you. I’m afraid you are or shortly will be in a similar situation.”

  “That hardly seems true. I am no famous scientist, just an ordinary nurse.”

  “Don’t underestimate yourself. You are a female pioneer, as was I. But in addition, you are a leader. Whether you realize it or not, the eyes of the world are on you. The future for women in science will be carried, in part, on your strong shoulders. Do not throw this away for a dalliance.”

  “You’re speaking, I presume, of my relationship with Major Murphy.” The gray light of early morning had brightened. I doused my kerosene lamp.

  “Of course I am.” She nodded toward the heavy box she had Benjamin set on my small table. “Open it.”

  I did as she requested. Inside the box was a dozen or so books. “Why, thank you. The nurses always beg for more reading material. Sometimes it’s their only escape.” I checked to ensure they were in English and looked at the authors and titles. Shakespeare’s Othello, Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park, Flaubert’s Madame Bovary. I was sensing a theme.

  Marie looked toward the small, dingy window as a faint light appeared and a low rumble could be felt even more than heard. “A thunderstorm?”

  We both knew it was not.

  She pushed her teacup and saucer forward. “Storm or no storm, I need to say adieu. But I leave you with this. The choice will be yours. Do not underestimate the harm that can be done. It happened to me, and from what I hear, all the way in Paris, there are things in motion that will hurt you as well.”

  I wanted to ask what the “things in motion” were, but since she clearly needed to be on her way and I was aware of rumors, I didn’t press her further. It would be better to discuss with Fred in any case.

  * * *

  The perennial flowers the British had sown were starting to peek through the warming earth. Grass had already popped up between the rows of tents. I decided to take my afternoon walk alone, telling Fred I needed to sort some things out. But it wasn’t Fred that my mind seemed t
o want to focus on.

  Now that the Americans had arrived en masse, the tide of the war was turning. The Boche had not taken new ground, and although there were still horrific battles, they seemed more desperate attempts by a steadily weakening enemy.

  In my pocket was a letter from Dean Herbert Mills at Vassar College. He was setting up a summer camp to train nurses and had invited me to have an important role, perhaps even to become the dean of the camp myself. It was quite the honor, of course. The summer camp was to be followed by two years of training at highly regarded hospitals in New York and Philadelphia.

  It was just the position I had always aspired to. In addition, the training would be designed so that the women could continue on to a career in medicine if they so choose.

  I grew excited at the possibilities. Dean Mills was emphatic that I would have a free hand in determining recruitment and curriculum. It was the perfect opportunity, and yet I vacillated.

  Although I adored teaching and administering, I was doing that in my current position. Taking the Vassar position would require me to leave the war effort by late spring. I was sure I could negotiate a release from the American Red Cross and army, as I would be heading up a program that would provide urgently needed trained nurses.

  As I walked up and down the rows of soft green grass, I weighed the pros and cons of leaving or staying. There were many more pros for heading back to New York. And yet my heart would not go along.

  Lost in thought, I didn’t hear Benjamin calling for me. I finally noticed him, breathless as he chased after me down a hundred-yard-long row.

  “Matron, Matron, please come quickly.”

  This was odd, as trainloads of critical patients could now be arriving, and our smooth-running hospital would not need to call me to help. Phil was healing well and about to leave for some meetings in Paris. “What is it?”

  “It’s Charlotte. Nurse Nora told me she hadn’t shown up for her shift and thought she was with me. So we went to her room.” His voice shook, and he grabbed my arm. “She’s sick, Matron, real sick.”

  My darling little Charlotte. My mind got fuzzy; my only thought was to get to her quickly.

  * * *

  She was alone, curled up on her side in her bed, a mountain of blankets over her even though the kerosene stove was keeping the temperature quite warm.

  Benjamin and I quickly peeled back the blankets. Charlotte groaned as we turned her onto her back.

  “Charlotte. Charlotte, honey, can you hear me?” Benjamin gently rubbed her shoulder.

  Nora entered the room, carrying some wet towels. “She’s got a hell of a fever, I’ll tell you that.”

  Charlotte responded with another groan. She was pale, and her skin was too warm.

  I always kept a clean thermometer in my pocket, so I slipped it under her tongue and held her mouth closed. “Hold this,” I told Benjamin. “Can I borrow your stethoscope?” I asked Nora.

  After we had pulled off most of the blankets and two sweaters, I was able to get the stethoscope head onto her chest. Although her breathing didn’t seem labored, her breath sounds were bubbly on the top and diminished on the bottom. We would need the doctor to confirm, but I was sure she had pneumonia.

  “One hundred four.” Nora shook down the glass thermometer, then applied the cool towels to Charlotte’s skin.

  “Prop her up, and see if you can wake her enough to get her to drink some fluids. I’m going to get Major Murphy.”

  My first thought was to find Phil, but he was due to leave for Paris. So I quickstepped all the way to Fred’s office, hoping he was there and not in surgery. All the way, I begged God to watch over our sweet Charlotte. She was young, I told myself. She should be able to fight this off. But I thought how she had looked the last week or so, the circles deepening under her eyes, her sallow skin. Why hadn’t I put her off duty, sent her away for a rest? I alternated castigating myself with little prayers until at last I ran into Fred, in the hall between our offices.

  * * *

  Fred concurred with my suspicions; Charlotte had pneumonia. We were able to get her to take a few sips of water and gave her aspirin for her fever. I sent her roommate and Benjamin away, as they had had too much exposure already. I donned a face mask and stayed by her side. There wasn’t much I could do but try to keep her comfortable while her body fought.

  I turned her every two hours so gravity could help clear her congested lungs. I comforted her as she shivered when her temperature rose, held her sitting up during her coughing spasms. I read to her during quiet times. I told her to fight, to fight with all her might. I tried to imagine what she would most want to fight for. “You want to be with Benjamin, don’t you? Would you like to be strolling along the river right now, hand in hand? He is here, waiting for you, pulling for you. When you open your eyes, I will let you see him.”

  I sat in a hard chair next to Charlotte, having a difficult time keeping my own eyes open.

  Nora stuck her head in. “Shift’s up, Matron. Get yourself to bed. I’ll watch after Miss Cox.”

  “You seem to have a soft spot for our little Charlotte.” I started gathering my few things. I held out the book I had been reading out loud, Dickens’s Great Expectations. “I’ve been reading to her. Would you like to continue?”

  “No, not that one. It’s always been a little too close to home.”

  “You were an orphan too, weren’t you? Sent from England to a farm in Canada?”

  “Sent to be a slave to farmers at age seven. That I was.” She nevertheless took the book from me and shooed me out the door with it. “Now go. This little girl is the daughter I will never have.”

  “Only if you promise to come get me if something changes.”

  I left, my heart heavy with worry. Those nasty demons that worried me in weak moments and filtered into my dreams set about me like shadowy weights upon my shoulders. What have you done? Why have you used these women to fulfill your own dreams? Haven’t you been given enough in your life? You had choices. These women didn’t, and you took advantage of that.

  I quietly slipped into my room so as not to awaken the nurses in the adjoining rooms. Exhausted, I fell into my bed fully dressed. But my mind wouldn’t rest. It went around and around, seeking something else to do to help Charlotte. Something else to prevent my other nurses from falling ill. How contagious was this pneumonia? I tossed and turned, longing to pad down to Fred’s room for comfort. I knew he wouldn’t mind.

  I had just drifted off when I heard Fred’s voice, calling my name softly. At first, I was confused; had I walked down to his room? I fought the cobweb of sleep and opened my eyes to see him, in a nightshirt, standing next to my bed.

  “Julia, wake up.”

  I knew that tone. In an instant, I popped up. “What? Is it Charlotte?”

  “I’m sorry, Jules. She’s taken a bad turn, I’m afraid.”

  I followed him, a dark shadow behind the light of his lantern. He led me where I desperately didn’t want to go but where nothing on earth could stop me from going.

  I heard the Cheyne-Stokes breathing before we even reached her room. A cycle of irregular, choppy breaths, followed by deep, noisy breaths, then falling into a too-long silence. The sound of impending death.

  Nora was there, and Benjamin, who was hunched over Charlotte, holding her hand and whispering into her ear.

  She had the face of an angel. Clear skin, golden hair fanned about her head. I couldn’t imagine why God would create a girl so loving, so unselfish, only to snatch her away before she had even had a chance to really live.

  I felt Fred’s arm around my shoulders. But I didn’t want comfort. I wanted to scream at an unjust world, to scream at an uncaring God. I stepped away from him and knelt next to her. Nora dangled a mask toward me, but I ignored it. I kissed the girl’s cheek, felt the soft, fading warmth against my lips. I tried to pray, bu
t all that would come to me was God damn it. God damn it all.

  CHAPTER 23

  Late March 1918

  The answer to Vassar was overdue. The dean had sent a second letter, presuming the first had gotten lost or at least giving me the benefit of the doubt of having been too busy to answer.

  None of that was true, of course. It was a matter of a battle within myself. Although I was sure my nurses would deny it emphatically, they no longer needed me there. Miss Taylor had learned all I could teach her, our little hospital running as smoothly as possible given the still-difficult assignment.

  Phil was receiving ongoing care for his newly healed wounds and to strengthen the muscles that had been damaged, so he was still technically a patient. But he had also been studying and experimenting and had become quite the expert in infectious disease. Together, we had sorted out the symptoms of the strange trainload of men who had come in a few months earlier and Charlotte’s illness and death shortly after. We had concluded it was influenza.

  There were a hundred or so cases after that and several more deaths, then it seemed to disappear as the weather grew warmer. But Phil and I were still concerned. In his last year in his pediatric practice before being conscripted, he had been intensely studying infectious diseases, which claimed the lives of so many children. He studied the teachings of Louis Pasteur and dreamed of working on vaccines for measles and other deadly childhood diseases.

  When Phil and I had a chance to chat, usually in the evening after supper, it was almost always about the excitement of a promising new vaccine or disappointment when they failed. Shortly after Charlotte died, our conversations turned more toward influenza.

  “Unfortunately, the experiments with vaccination have not been successful. They don’t know why exactly. It seems the germs are rather rascals, changing their colors, so to speak. It’s like chasing a mouse that turns into a cat. And when you catch up with the cat, you find it is now a leopard.”

  This was why, I realized, I was vacillating with the dean’s wonderful offer. Why it didn’t feel quite the thing I ought to be doing. I felt I was still needed in theater, if not at Base Hospital 21, then with some sort of work to prevent another awful influenza outbreak.