by Helen Wells
So Winky was carried up to Bone Deformities, of all places, making it inconceivably inconvenient for the plastic surgeon, the assisting doctor, his own R.N., and balling up all the hospital records and procedures, but close to his beloved Cherry.
Cherry wiggled her toes reflectively. Her feet still ached a little. They ached not from working, but from dancing half the night at the Fall Term dance. It seemed funny to go to a party, not in her prettiest dress, but in a fresh uniform, and Cherry had worried about not looking glamorous enough to attract many partners. Apparently Dr. Jim Clayton liked the combination of blue and white with red cheeks and black hair. Though he danced with lovely Miss Baker until she had to leave, after that he danced almost exclusively with Cherry. Dr. “Ding” Jackson paid her a lot of attention, too, and a whole swarm of internes she knew only by sight until that night. There had been punch and sandwiches, and Gwen’s red head bobbing merrily at the front of the conga line, and Ann talking earnestly in a corner to an unidentified young doctor. But most of all, there had been Jim Clayton.
Cherry was just beginning to think melting thoughts when the rising bell clanged like a dozen fire engines and practically hurled her back into Tuesday morning, six A.M., and plenty of work ahead.
“There’s plenty to do on Orthopedic,” Cherry thought as she came hurrying in smiling as warmly as she could at the helpless crippled patients. She pitied them. The women here lay rigid in their casts, broken-backed, or unable to stir their paralyzed bodies under the heated “domes” which arched across their beds. It was a brave ward, full of hope that with months or even years of treatment and courage they might some day walk. It was a ward that made Cherry thankful for her own sound legs and good straight back. The women called cheerful “Good mornings” to her, even though the December morning was gray and snowing.
Cherry took around breakfast trays to her own four patients, assisting Mary Miller who could not feed herself, and gave them morning care. Then she counted aloud while the two patients who could and must perform passive exercises lying prone in their beds, painfully but obediently flexed knees and fingers. After that, Cherry stole a minute to look in on Winky in his new room. He had had his breakfast and had dropped off to sleep again, his tousled bandaged head cocked on one shoulder.
In the hall someone hailed her. It was Bertha Larsen, her round face beaming. She came up and put her sturdy arm around Cherry in genuine affection. “You know what I heard?” she said in her sing-song voice. “You will be so glad!”
“What is it?” Cherry gave Bertha’s plump white hand a squeeze.
“Such good news for you! Like a Christmas present! They say Dr. Wylie has been asked to go to the battle fronts and may leave here. Now, wouldn’t that be nice?”
Cherry bit her crimson lip, trying not to laugh. “Oh, Bertha, you mustn’t say such things—even if you feel that way. We both might be seriously misunderstood.”
Bertha’s honest face clouded. “But it’s true, isn’t it?”
“I’d be greatly relieved,” Cherry admitted dryly, “if Dr. Wylie were to disappear out of my life.”
“Dr. Wylie reminds me of a stubborn bad-tempered old cow we have back on our farm,” Bertha remarked placidly. “I think I’ll tell him so some time.”
“You’d better not!”
Bertha folded her arms across her buxom figure. “A good scolding might do him good. It works fine with our cow.”
They saw the supervisor coming and hastily parted. Cherry was still trying to sober her face when she reentered the ward. Perhaps Bertha was right at that. Perhaps Dr. Wylie might have more respect for her if she fought back. Unfortunately, in his dual role of senior surgeon and administrator, that stern gentleman had his sharp nose into every nook and cranny of the hospital. He had a case on Orthopedic now, too. He had not discovered Winky up here yet, for both Winky and Cherry had barely moved in, but when he did, Cherry fully expected trouble. However, thinking of Dr. Wylie as cousin to the Larsen’s cow cheered her considerably.
Cherry hurried through her ward duties and her studies on Orthopedic with an eager sense of expecting something to happen. Something nice, from the happy way she felt. Maybe it was Christmas excitement in the air that made her tingle inside. Or perhaps it was her approaching birthday, which fell—most unfairly, Cherry always thought, from the angle of presents—the day before Christmas. This would be her first birthday and first Christmas away from home, and she felt a little forlorn about it. Well, this Christmas she would think about her patients, not about herself.
It was wonderful how Christmas brought them renewed interest and courage. Even Mary Miller was able, for the first time, to turn herself around in bed, so eager was she to watch when the nurses dragged a great fir tree into the ward. Cherry and the other girls set it up between the windows, amid much puffing and panting and laughter. The nurses brought out the decorations they had bought.
“The blue star has to go on top!” Mary cried from her bed.
“The tinsel’s too high,” another patient contributed. “And look, there’s room there for another red doo-dad!”
They worked three afternoons on it until the tree shone in glory.
“Bells and e-stars and e-sugar canes!” marveled the twisted little Puerto Rican woman. “Madre de Dios, Mees Ames, ees the most beautiful tree never have I saw!”
The tree was beautiful. Winky must see it. Cherry ran in to his lonesome little room to get him. His eyes grew rounder and rounder as she told him of the wonderful tree and bundled him carefully into a wheel chair.
“I have a tree all my own,” he said gamely as she tucked blankets about him. “See?” he pointed to a tiny tree on his bedside table. “You know who gave me that? My daddy. Maybe I won’t have no more Christmases.”
The little boy looked up at Cherry worriedly for reassurance.
She drew in her breath in sudden fury. They had explained and explained to Winky’s father. Why did he have to keep acting as if he didn’t expect Winky to get well? “That’s not so, Winky. You’re going to have so many Christmases you won’t be able to count them all.”
“You sure?”
“I’m so sure,” Cherry bent over him, “that let’s you and I make a date right now for next Christmas and the Christmas after that.”
“Okay. You won’t forget by next year and next next year, will you?”
“I could as soon forget you as my own people,” Cherry thought fiercely. “And as for your hysterical father——”
Her thought was interrupted the moment she wheeled Winky into the ward. Winky was an extremely popular young man. The women halted their exclamations to listen to his rapturous sigh as he beheld the Christmas tree. He looked a long moment, his eyes shining, and then he said one breathless word: “Jiminy!”
Out of the happy hush came a cold voice.
“What is this case doing on Orthopedic?” demanded Dr. Wylie. He turned and stared at small Winky, then walked over to Cherry, his coat flapping like the harsh grating of his own voice. “Miss Ames! I’ve had enough trouble with you before! This child isn’t a bone case, is he?”
“No, sir,” Cherry whispered, “he’s a plastic surgery case. I just brought him in to see the tree.”
“There’s a tree on Plastic Surgery. I presume you know that. Take him back where he belongs! Christmas is no excuse for disrupting hospital routine!”
“But he belongs here, sir.”
Dr. Wylie’s eyebrows went up and Cherry talked as fast as she could. There was a dense silence from the rest of the ward as Dr. Wylie absorbed this strange infraction of rules.
“So you’re to blame,” he snapped, his steely eyes boring into Cherry, “as usual. So it’s your fault.”
The hot blood rose to her cheeks. “Cow,” she mumbled. “Cow!”
“What’s that?” Dr. Wylie demanded sharply.
Cherry planted her feet firmly and dug her fists in her pockets. “I said yes! I’m to blame! It’s my fault! If making a patient like you is
a fault!” She was so angry she had no time to be afraid. “And if that’s a fault, sir, I’m not at all sorry!”
Dr. Wylie drew up his stocky tense figure and his whole aquiline face seemed to throw off electric sparks. “That will do!” he roared at her. “Take this boy back to his room at once and don’t let me hear any more of your impertinence!” He choked in inarticulate rage.
Cherry swung the wheel chair around, thinking furiously, “Of all the undeserved bawlings-out! He’s down on me, that’s all! He doesn’t even try to understand! He’s just got it in for me!”
Dr. Wylie could choke himself into a froth or he could go off to the battle fronts or he could turn into a cow. She refused to worry about the incident. Strangely enough, she felt relieved and confident, and calmly went about her business. The afternoon fell into its usual grooves. Cherry gave her patients dinner, said good night to Winky, and went on downstairs for her own dinner. That gay and tingling feeling had bubbled up again. After all, it was nearly Christmas and her birthday.
After dinner, Cherry’s whole class retired, giggling, for the Candle Walk rehearsal. They locked themselves in the basement and mysteriously made as little noise as possible. The last few days before Christmas flew by and only those rehearsals in the shadowy basement, with the girls’ white faces massed together like flowers, seemed real to Cherry.
Late one afternoon, just four days before Christmas, when Cherry was in her room making herself neat and fresh for dinner, one of the nurses from T.S.O. rapped at her door.
“Someone to see you, Miss Ames.”
Cherry flew over to Spencer and into the lounge. She knew she had been waiting for something! There, sitting stiffly on the sofa, all dressed up in their best clothes, were Dr. Joe and Midge! Cherry fell into their arms and then stood back to have a good look at them. Dr. Joe looked as frail and absent-minded as ever, his thatch of gray hair falling in his eyes, and a little uncomfortable without his white laboratory coat.
“How is it going, Cherry?” He looked at her keenly. “I want to hear all the details.”
“You shall, Dr. Joe! But look at Midge! She’s grown!”
“Did you like my fudge? How’s Charlie’s watch? Can I meet Ann and Gwen? How many patients do you have? Are you in love yet?”
“Whoa!” Cherry laughed. “How long are you going to be in town?”
“Only this evening and tomorrow morning when I see the Administrative Board about my drug.”
Cherry’s face fell. She knew she could not get the morning off. She hurried to T.S.O. and secured permission to go out for dinner with her visitors.
It seemed strange to be dining out, in a real dress, at a downtown restaurant. But there was nothing strange about being once more with Dr. Joe and Midge. They had so much talking to catch up on—Cherry’s hospital adventures, Dr. Joe’s experiments, Midge’s doings in and out of school, love and news of Cherry’s family, Hilton’s new clinic now being built, and the three kittens Tookie had produced. Then Dr. Joe told Cherry the reason for his visit.
“Not that seeing you isn’t enough reason,” he said, smiling his gentle smile. “But I have reached a point in my experiments with the new anaesthetic where I must have a chance to test it or—or—well, or I just can’t go on. I’ve brought it with me and I’m hoping—” he nervously fingered his napkin, “that Spencer Hospital will test it. They would test it—if they do—in their laboratory first, of course. My own is small and limited, I cannot test it properly. Then, too, it should be tested on animals and I have no facilities for that. Then, finally, I hope very much the hospital will test it on volunteers and, if it is satisfactory, use it for patients. Cherry, I know this derivative compound can save lives! It will advance surgery, and prevent pain—if only——”
“—if only the hospital will believe in you and give you a hearing,” Cherry finished. She looked at Dr. Joe thoughtfully. His years of lonely work, his willing poverty, his discouragement—of those, typically, he had not said a word. She asked hesitantly, “Have they given you any hint—do you think they’ll accept your drug for experiment—or perhaps they haven’t said …”
Dr. Joe shook his head. “They’ve said no. I’m here to try to get them to change their minds. But I’m not very hopeful.”
“Oh.” Cherry exchanged a worried glance with Midge.
“But I will do one thing!” Dr. Joe was speaking with unaccustomed fire. “I will insist on leaving a few grams of the anaesthetic in the laboratory here! Then, in case they change their minds, or in case there is an emergency, the drug will be in the hospital.”
His words struck Cherry hard. She would remember that Dr. Joe’s precious new drug was in the laboratory.
“Well, I’m going to be cheerful this evening anyhow!” Midge said stoutly. “Dad has to meet an old doctor friend this evening, so can I come back to the hospital with you, Cherry, and meet Ann and Gwen?”
“Of course,” Cherry said.
In Cherry’s room that evening, Midge not only met Ann and Gwen, but Bertha and Mai Lee and Josie and Vivian and Marie Swift as well. Cherry squeezed nine girls in her tiny room and made a party of it, with ice cream and cookies she had bought on the way home, and Midge as guest of honor. Midge was so impressed by the uniforms and the girls’ nonchalant professional chatter that she sat shy and silent. “You’re only about four or five years older than I am but you seem so grown-up!” Cherry heard her confide to Ann.
“That’s because our lives have a focus, instead of just drifting,” Ann explained. “Deciding on a career, and taking the first steps toward it—well, that alone is enough to make you grown-up.”
Midge knitted her brows. “Guess I’d better grow myself up then.” As usual, she jumped grasshopper-fashion to another subject. “It’s too bad about Cherry.” Cherry, overhearing, held her breath.
“What’s all this?” Gwen interrupted. “Has Cherry a secret sorrow?”
“Oh, yes.” Midge nodded knowingly. Heaven alone knew what Midge was capable of saying. All the girls were listening now. “It’s that trouble about her birthday, you know,” she said regretfully. And she went on to explain that Cherry never got both Christmas and birthday presents “like normal people.” The girls laughed, but they sympathized too.
Cherry was embarrassed. She would have scolded Midge, except that she was so glad to see her friend, and so sorry, later, to have to put her on the downtown bus and say good-by.
“Call me up tomorrow and let me know what the hospital says about the drug,” Cherry told her anxiously.
“I will,” Midge promised. “Good night!”
When the phone rang around noon on the ward, Cherry know it was Dr. Joe.
“They said no, Cherry.” His voice sounded old and terribly discouraged.
Cherry said what she could to console and hearten him. But Dr. Joe was in no mood to talk. He told her he had left the drug in the hospital, anyway, and then said good-by.
Even this, however, could not dampen Cherry’s spirits for long. The hospital sparkled with holiday gaiety, and the first-year students rehearsed frantically. Two days before Christmas, Cherry managed to get out long enough to buy Winky a water color set and a picture book to go with it. He was going home soon now and could take it with him. Later that afternoon, Cherry received presents from home. She knew she should not open them until the next day, but who could possibly wait?
When she woke up on the morning of her birthday, there they were where she had spread them all out over the furniture: a fluffy white nurse’s sweater and a lacy slip from her mother, a fountain pen with her name on it from Dad, Charlie’s imaginative gift of white handkerchiefs appliquéd with gay red cherries in the corner, and a huge box of candy from them all, and a book from Dr. Joe and a pincushion in the shape of a calico heart from Midge. Cherry blinked at her combination birthday-and-Christmas gifts sleepily and happily. The sun was shining too. “Extra-special bright for my birthday,” Cherry said aloud. It looked as if it was going to be a good birthday,
even though she was away from home.
There was a knock on her door. Cherry was surprised, for the rising bell had not yet rung. “It’s only I,” came Gwen’s muffled voice and the door opened a crack.
Cherry sat up in bed, alarmed. “If you’re up this early, you sleepy-top, something must be wrong!” She stared as Gwen staggered in in her bathrobe, sleepily hugging a big box.
“Happy Birthday, Merry Christmas,” Gwen yawned. She smiled. “Here. I got you two presents. Midge broke my heart the other night.”
“You didn’t! Why, Gwen Jones! Two!” Cherry scrambled for the box while Gwen curled up on the foot of her bed and closed one eye. She pulled the lid off and there lay two rubbers.
“One for the right foot, other for—” Gwen yawned hugely “—left foot. Two. See?”
Cherry said doubtfully, “Well, I do need rubbers but——.”
Gwen vaguely waved her aside and gave a low whistle. Cherry’s room suddenly filled with sleepy girls in assorted pajamas, nightgowns, and robes, their hair tousled and faces flushed.
Ann babbled vaguely, “Two presents, we all want you to be normal—” and she dropped a small package on Cherry’s stomach. Cherry found in it the prettiest pan of gloves she had ever seen. She put them on, sitting cross-legged in bed, and sat with her chin on one gloved hand, staring incredulously at her staggering sleep-drunk visitors.
“Two legs, two garters,” Josie explained nervously. “Happy whatever-it-is.” A shout of delight went up when Cherry, getting excited now, held up Josie’s white satin garters.
“Got to close the door,” Gwen moaned and got up. “Want to wake up the whole place?” She weaved to the door and collapsed happily again on the bed.
“Two, you see it, two!” Bertha was explaining earnestly to Cherry. “I baked it myself. In our little dinky kitchen at the end of the hall.”
“Mm, luscious!” Cherry cried, holding up the two-layer cake for them all to admire. She lay back weakly. “How come you’re all so good to me? I’m—what’s that word?—I’m overwhelmed!”
