Cherry Ames Boxed Set 5-8

by Helen Wells

  “Cherry!” someone called. “Over here!”

  It was Sal Steen. She was with two young fliers, both on crutches.

  “Cherry, I had a hunch you’d come. I saved a seat for you.”

  Cherry squeezed in with them on a long sofa and was introduced to the young men.

  “Sorry we can’t dance,” they said. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “I’d love a Coke.”

  One of the fellows went off to get it for her. Cherry felt a little guilty about letting a wounded flyer wait on her. But she knew how good it was for them to do things by themselves. He came limping back and presented the Coke to her with a flourish.

  “Why, thank you, gallant sir,” Cherry giggled. “I’ll come over to your ward and nurse you right and left any time.”

  “I wish you would, I’m in Officers’ Ward 2,” he said.

  Cherry transferred her dark gaze to Sal. Sal’s biscuit-colored face was flushed and her pale hair brushed to a sheen: she looked surprisingly pretty.

  “Could you guess what we were talking about when you came in?” Sal asked Cherry.

  “Love,” said Cherry.

  “No, we—”

  “But that’s an idea,” said the smitten flyer. Cherry grinned at him and advised him that her coke was very, very good.

  “Guess,” the second young officer said, leaning forward on the couch so the four of them made a tight little group.

  “What you’re going to do when you get out of the Army,” Cherry guessed. “No?”

  “We have a complaint. Here it’s spring and we haven’t had any spring celebration!” Sal chanted mournfully, “No May Day party, no nothin’—on account of Colonel Winifred Brown.”

  “I guess the Principal Chief Nurse doesn’t believe in spring or parties,” the second officer said with a smile.

  “What’s the matter with having a May Day party right here and now?” Cherry asked.

  Sal unwound herself to a standing position. “And I’ll be Queen of the May.” She struck a comical pose. “Come let us go a-Maying!—whatever that is. Come dance around the Maypole!”

  The young nurses and officers around them glanced at Sal with appreciation. They were used to her crazy, zany humor. It infected them too: their eyes sparkled.

  Sal stretched out long arms to them, and called out, “Come dance around the Maypole, kiddies. No charge. Meet the Queen of the May. Yippee!”

  Two men from another group came over waving a paper napkin. “We crown you Queen of the May!” and they perched a paper napkin crown on Sal’s head. To the trio they called, “A little May Day music, please!” The musicians struck up a trilling tune.

  Three nurses lugging branches of forsythia out of a vase danced over to Sal, and danced around her. They cried, “For she’s the Queen of the May, tra la! Some queen!”

  The two men with Cherry stacked two of their crutches together. “It’s a Maypole!” They seized the forsythia and stuck it on the crutches. More people surged over, to join in the growing pandemonium. A snake line formed around the Maypole, shouting, laughing, chanting something about, “It’s May, hurray!”

  And in the middle of it all capered Sal, hanging on to her paper crown, whirling Cherry around her, brandishing someone’s cane for a wand.

  “Everybody pair off!” Sal shouted. “Follow me!”

  Young men and young women exuberantly locked arms, and followed Sal in a crazy game of Follow the Leader. Over the sofa back she went, with two dozen of them scrambling after her—on her hands and knees among the small tables on the veranda with all of them crawling and laughing—dancing like imps around the mock Maypole, with belts for Maypole ribbons—toasting each other in Cokes, striking lampoon attitudes, bedlam egged on by Sal—

  Suddenly a whistle blew in the room. Everyone sharply fell silent. Who on earth was blowing a whistle—intruding military discipline here? Was there an emergency of some sort?

  Hatchet-faced Colonel Brown tooted her whistle again from the doorway.

  “It’s twelve o’clock!” she snapped. “High time you all were in bed! I’m putting the lights out in two minutes. Out, now. Out!”

  The Principal Chief Nurse had no authority to do this to her nurses, and she had absolutely no authority at all over the men officers. But no one was going to brave that bristling little figure. They all scampered out.

  “Joy-killer,” Sal muttered under her breath. “Wet blanket. Pickle puss.”

  “I knew it was too good to last,” whispered Cherry’s swain. “Good night!”

  Cherry headed for Nurses’ Quarters with Sal, scolding:

  “The only mystery around here is how that woman knows every last little thing that’s going on—and manages to be in four places at once!”

  CHAPTER X

  A Turn for the Better

  THE NEXT TIME CHERRY WENT TO TELL TOBY DEMAREST a story she found his parents transformed. Their sad, haunted look was erased. Mrs. Demarest almost sparkled. Toby’s father stood up straighter, walked and talked with a new zest. The change could mean only one thing.

  “Toby’s better! Oh, Cherry, he’s so much better! It’s a near miracle. Come up and see for yourself!”

  Cherry ran up the stairs with Mrs. Demarest, tingling, and hoping this wonderful news was really true. She burst in the door, not even waiting for the private duty nurse to admit them.

  Toby was sitting up cross-legged in bed, looking around with interest, talking absorbedly to himself. He had visibly gained weight, and there was actually some color in his face.

  “Why, Toby! Don’t you look fine!” Cherry exclaimed joyfully.

  “H’lo. I’ve got red cheeks like you now,” the little fellow boasted.

  “Well, three cheers for you! Shake, pardner!”

  “Wonderful, isn’t it?” Mrs. Demarest beamed. Toby’s nurse looked happy too, as she tactfully left the room.

  “I’m goin’ to get up,” Toby said. “An’ go for a walk an’ a ride an’ see a circus.”

  Cherry pretended to be overwhelmed and had to steady herself on a chair. “Aren’t you a smart boy to get well so fast!”

  “The smart one,” Mrs. Demarest said in a low voice, “is our young Dr. Orchard. You know he’s in sole charge of Toby now. All the specialists withdrew from the case.”

  Cherry was surprised. “They all gave Toby up? Except Dr. Orchard? And this young local doctor—you’re leaving it all to him?”

  Mrs. Demarest nodded. Cherry made no comment. She was too puzzled to know what to think or say. Except that Toby’s improvement was a cause for rejoicing—and so sudden it took her breath away. This Dr. Orchard must be a wonder-worker. How had he accomplished this? What medicines or foods or methods had he used, to get such immediate and spectacular results?

  Cherry stood beside Toby’s bed. The sharpness of her relief was a revelation to her. She had always recognized that the little boy tugged at her heart—as he would at anybody’s. But she put Jim and her other patients and her hospital work definitely first. She had kept Toby separate, in a way, from the rest of her life, and never talked of him at the hospital lest it be depressing. Only now did Cherry realize how much these afternoons with the child, snatched from the main current of her days, had endeared Toby to her. And how deeply, apparently, the little boy had grown to feel for her.

  He was tugging at her hand. “Tell me a story ’bout giants!” he demanded.

  Cherry sat down by his bed and told him one of the Scandinavian fairy tales, of marvelous creatures greater than men who roamed the mountain forests and fiords. Mrs. Demarest smiled as Toby’s blue eyes grew rounder and rounder.

  “And next time,” Cherry finished, “you shall hear about the tall, bearded, blue-eyed Vikings who came down from those same snowy mountains, out of the northern mists, to sail the seas as no men have ever done before or since.”

  Toby was breathless. “They was real men? Not made up?”

  Cherry nodded. “Real men, who discovered North America,
way back when the calendar read ten hundred and something.”

  “Whew! Tell me now. Right now.”

  “We-ell—since you’re so much better—What do you think, Mrs. Demarest?”

  But the door opened just then, and in came—not a Viking out of Toby’s imagination—but short, plump, cold Dr. Orchard. He looked at all of them sharply.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Demarest, Lieutenant Ames, Hello, Toby.” There was no extra warmth in his voice for the child.

  “Miss Ames has been marveling at your wonderful results with our boy,” Mrs. Demarest said graciously.

  “Indeed!” Dr. Orchard’s voice was frigid. Then abruptly he changed his manner. He twinkled at them and said in a genial voice, “Well, it’s a great day when we can bring the boy around.”

  “It’s certainly a great credit to you, Dr. Orchard,” Cherry said. “Toby’s improved remarkably. May I ask how—”

  “Doctor, do you think my son will—” Mrs. Demarest broke in anxiously.

  “Now, now, my dear Mrs. Demarest. Please don’t expect too much all at once. I’ve already told you this improvement is only temporary.”

  “Only temporary?” Cherry exclaimed. Some of her joy fled. She thought anxiously that they should not be saying all these things before the small patient. He could understand.

  “Yes, only temporary,” Dr. Orchard repeated firmly. “Unless—” He closed his mouth tightly.

  “Unless what?” Mrs. Demarest begged. “We’ll do everything possible to cooperate with you—you know that!”

  Dr. Orchard made no reply. Cherry was puzzled at his silence. And if this improvement was only temporary—then why—?

  Cherry asked the young doctor respectfully, “What medicines or drugs have you used, Dr. Orchard, to achieve such fine results?”

  “I am not yet ready to say,” he evaded. At Cherry’s look of surprise, he added, “I’m not sure a nurse would fully understand the explanation anyway.”

  Cherry accepted this quietly, but she thought it an odd answer. Any good nurse would understand medical technique.

  Toby whispered, “Tell me ’bout the Vikings.”

  Cherry whispered back, “They’ve gone home for the day.”

  “Well, tell ’em Toby wants to see the Vikings.”

  “What’s that?” Dr. Orchard said. “Oh, yes, the storytelling. Mr. and Mrs. Demarest told me about it. Very kind of you, Miss Ames. By the way, if you’re really interested in my method of cure—” He smiled at Cherry ingratiatingly. “It is not so much a matter of any one thing as a combined technique of medication, diet and treatment.”

  Cherry thanked him. But she found this answer, too, rather dissatisfying. It was so vague. Still, she supposed Dr. Orchard had valid reasons for not wishing to discuss his techniques just yet. At least he was honest enough to warn the Demarests that Toby’s improvement was only temporary, and not lead them to fruitless hopes.

  Dr. Orchard bent over the child. Toby looked at Dr. Orchard, not with his usual trusting look, and drew away slightly.

  Cherry turned aside. Well, it was only natural that Toby would dread the person who submitted him to all sorts of uncomfortable regimens. Too bad the doctor treating a youngster could not be a more sympathetic personality.

  She said good-bye to Toby, who wailed in protest, and hastily left the room with Mrs. Demarest.

  Young Mr. Demarest was standing in the circular hallway waiting for them, as they descended the stairs.

  “Isn’t it wonderful!”

  “It is wonderful, Mr. Demarest,” Cherry agreed.

  “We had felt so helpless. Of course this improvement may not last, but still it gives us reason to hope.”

  “It’s so good to see our son looking like himself again,” Mrs. Demarest murmured.

  Their faces glowing, they pressed Cherry’s hands and asked her to come back again soon. “He’ll be so much better, right along,” they promised. “Oh, he’ll be up and walking soon—playing with other children—everything!”

  Cherry hoped so. But as she went soberly back to the hospital, she remembered Dr. Orchard’s warning. Toby’s improvement was only temporary.

  CHAPTER XI

  Wade Comes to Town

  WADE CAME TO HILTON ON A BEAUTIFUL MAY EVENING. He was in a romantic mood. So was Cherry “—or at least, I want to feel romantic toward somebody in this palpitating spring weather!” she had thought. In the days after she had received Wade’s letter saying he was coming, she had made arrangements. Wangled Saturday and Sunday off—which meant Friday evening free, too. Telephoned her mother and father frantically to prepare themselves for still another house guest. Brushed her hair, polished up her face, and splurged with a new bottle of perfume. She even borrowed Midge’s technique—with moderation—of filling the rooms with spring flowers.

  Here she sat on the porch swing, Friday evening. The moon shone silver. The purple clematis vine screening the porch bloomed and was fragrant. The whole dreaming street swam in moonlight and leaf shadows, as if under water, as if enchanted.

  “If only I could wear a soft dress instead of this regulation beige one,” Cherry mourned to herself. But she knew her eyes were very dark and bright tonight, her vivid face glowing like a red rose.

  She thought of Wade. She had never really been in love with him. Perhaps because there had never been time or occasion in those hectic flying days. But this tender night might change everything. Tonight, with peace and solitude and time to dream, and her heart already stabbed by spring—tonight and these three days could be—“oh, everything,” she whispered.

  The whole thing was dreamlike. Wade’s car suddenly, silently, appeared at the curb. Then he was standing before her, handsomer than she had remembered. For a breathless moment, neither of them could speak.

  “Cherry—” Then he laughed quietly. “I—I was afraid, somehow, that you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m here, Wade,” she said softly.

  Unfortunately at that moment Mr. Ames switched on the top light of the porch from the hall. He came out in the glare rattling a newspaper.

  “Anyone seen the sports page?” he demanded loudly. “Oh, excuse me—”

  Cherry could have cheerfully exiled her father to Patagonia. She wondered how he himself had ever been romantic enough to propose to her mother.

  “Dad, this is Captain Wade Cooper of the Army Air Forces.”

  Wade did not seem to share her chagrin. In fact, he shook hands vigorously and seemed pleased to meet another man here.

  “Awfully glad to know you, sir.”

  “So you’re in the Air Forces. A pilot, eh? Our boy is, too. Well, we’re very glad you’re going to stay the week end with us.”

  “Good of you to have me, sir. Tell me, where is your son stationed?”

  “Charlie’s in the Pacific just now. He writes—”

  Cherry cleared her throat. “Uh—don’t you want to come in, Wade, and meet my mother?”

  “Oh, sure, sure—just wait till I get my bag—”

  Cherry’s mother was a better accomplice than her father. Mrs. Ames had moved flowers and lamps and left all the double doors open between the several rooms to give an inviting vista. And she had dressed herself in her best black and pearls. She came forward to greet Wade warmly.

  “We’re delighted to have you visit us, Captain.”

  Wade looked at Mrs. Ames admiringly. “Thank you. I see your daughter takes after you for beauty, Mrs. Ames.”

  Cherry flushed with pleasure for herself and pride in her mother. Mrs. Ames signaled Cherry with a glance, “He’s rather awkward but nice.” Cherry barely perceptibly nodded back at her, amused, agreeing. Neither of the two men caught this little interchange.

  “Have you had your dinner, Captain Wade? Are you sure?” Mrs. Ames was saying smoothly. “Because if you haven’t, we can still serve you—”

  There was a little commotion as Wade declined dinner and was told where his room was. Everyone stood chatting and getting acquainte
d a bit.

  Mr. Ames started, “Well, sit down, Captain, and tell us something about—”

  “Oh, Will, have you forgotten?” Mrs. Ames asked sweetly. “I particularly wanted to see that picture, and you promised—”

  She turned graciously to Wade. “You’ll excuse us, won’t you? We’ll have a good visit tomorrow.”

  Mr. Ames meanwhile looked perfectly blank, as if searching his mind for a promise he had never made. Cherry knew her parents had already seen that movie. But a stroll in the moonlight or a visit to the neighbors probably was what her mother had in mind.

  With Mr. and Mrs. Ames headed for a movie or some other refuge, Cherry and Wade went back out on the porch. They settled into the porch swing. Moonlight shimmered all around them, the heavy sweetness of the earth permeated the night air.

  “Nice here,” Wade said softly. “Nice family you have, too.”

  “They are nice,” Cherry reflected. Perhaps, since Wade considered her family an attraction, she should have persuaded her mother and father to stay home. Apparently Wade thought a nice family was an asset.

  While she was thinking about this, Wade had inched closer. The swing, an old one, sagged perilously at their end. It said “Cre-e-e-eak” and as Wade started to murmur something, a voice said:

  “Hello!”

  It was Midge, sitting on the bottom porch step, invisible in shadow. She rose and came uninvited to sit in the swing with them, on Wade’s other side.

  “I hoped I’d get to meet you, Captain Wade,” she said adoringly. “I’ve been watching for you from Pendleton’s grape arbor across the street since six o’clock.”

  “You have, have you!” Cherry said sharply. Competition from Midge! It was funny but a nuisance.

  “Yes, I have,” Midge said innocently. She turned to the tall bronzed flier. “You know, Captain, I prefer older men.”

  Wade stared at the youngster in bobby socks. “Uh—don’t you think you’re a little young for—for this sort of thing? Of course, youth is fine—in fact, I’d considered myself young, until this minute—”