by Helen Wells
Cherry and Bunce were reeling. “You’re … you’re kidding us!” Cherry gasped. They choked back their laughter, stopped fooling and got to work.
There was plenty of work on the ward. Cherry was trying to get Medical Ward in top-notch running order. The Chief Nurse and the Ward Officer both had too many duties to give them much help. That, plus the nurse shortage, kept Cherry and Rita busy. Ann and Gwen, who were assigned to the special departments of Receiving and Out-Patient, told Cherry they too wished urgently for more nurses. Cherry worked rather desperately against the day when Colonel Wylie, and probably Liaison Officer Endicott, too, would inspect her ward.
Cherry did not find the going easy. She was on duty seven to eight hours a day, with a half day off each week. On her half day off, she was too tired to wander about Panama City, curious as she was to see it. She merely went back to Nurses’ Quarters, dug her way through the double-decker beds and the welter of suitcases, foot lockers, curling irons, drying stockings, cosmetics, snapshots, pausing just long enough to pick up her book on tropical fevers, threw herself on her bunk and started thumbing through the book, picking out sentences here and there. “Yellow fever and malaria are infective tropical fevers, transmitted by the bite of a tropical mosquito. There is danger of epidemic … Malaria causes a higher sick and death rate than any other disease. Preventive inoculations … curative serum … spray oil to destroy mosquito and larvae.” Inoculations … oil spray … Dr. Joe had devised new and improved versions of those! And his serum was a brand-new type of serum!
Cherry continued to read with more concentrated interest. “Symptoms of malarial fevers are (1st stage) chilliness, shivering, face pale or livid, fingers white … (2nd stage) dry heat, skin burning and flushed … (3rd stage) profuse sweating.
“Incubation period is four to five days … breed in any still water where they can lay eggs … telltale film in water. Object … to kill larvae before they develop. Guard and treat water supply.
“Rigid quarantine restrictions on infected people. Malaria and related fevers not a remote threat. In southeastern U.S., three to five million cases yearly. Spraying and rigid inspection of all planes, ships, trains, autos, before leaving danger area.” Cherry thought of the ships of many nations lying in Panama’s harbors and shuddered at the thought of a possible epidemic. She read on “… several special forms of malaria are stamped out in developed countries. But these fevers are still present in South and Central America. They can come back to other countries easily.” Cherry shuddered again at the horrid thought of what an epidemic would be like, especially now, with a war going on—a war that must be waged with the fewest possible interruptions. Then one sentence seemed to rise off the page in burning letters——
“Severe rare form of malaria called blackwater fever must be treated with serum.”
She lay still for a while thinking about Dr. Joe and wishing that he could have had the time to continue with his malaria research and prove his serum. Then she fell fast asleep.
Cherry kept busy on the ward. She longed for her full day off and she hoped that the rest of the month would go by quickly.
“I want out—a change, some excitement,” she confided to Rita. “I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to explore the haunted house.”
Rita said quickly, “The house at the end of the lane?”
“Yes! How did you know?”
Rita frowned a little at the dressing cart she was preparing. “Have you the other scissors? Did you sterilize it?”
“Yes and yes,” Cherry said impatiently. “What about that house?”
“Oh, nothing.” As Cherry waited, Rita added, “Some silly people say there’s a ghost in there.”
“You’ll have a ghost,” Bunce said, suddenly filling the doorway, “if you don’t give Williams something to eat! He must be getting well, he claims he’s starving again!”
Rita rushed off to her patient. Bunce shuffled into the utility room and perched his lanky length on a white stool beside Cherry. “Mind if I take a break, boss? I’ve been runnin’ my legs off all day.”
“Certainly, sit down and rest, Bunce.” Cherry went on preparing the dressing cart, while Bunce obligingly handed her things.
“Talkin’ about the haunted house, weren’t you?” Cherry’s big dark eyes flew open in surprise. Bunce grinned. “Oh, I get around. I know that old house. Nobody wants to live in it. Don’t know why. Guess it’s harmless enough … unless there’s some ghosts rooming there.” Bunce chuckled.
“Well, I’m going to see it on my first free day,” Cherry decided aloud. “And if I don’t find at least one ghost, I’m going to be darn disappointed. That is, if my free day ever, ever comes!”
This month of work, though hard, was inspired because of Cherry’s soldier patients. Little by little, she was coming to know them … the boy who was as much homesick and frightened as physically ill … the middle-aged man who knew he was dying of cancer and begged to be allowed to die fighting, rather than go home … the boy from a backwoods Panama base who had not seen an American girl for a year and followed Cherry with his eyes, “because you kind of remind me of home.”
They wanted Cherry to be mother and sister and friend, as well as nurse. She found that half her nursing was kindness. The boys were wonderfully cooperative, heartbreakingly grateful and uncomplaining … the most unselfish patients Cherry had ever had. Everyone of them was determined to get well quickly, so he could return to his soldier’s work. “We can’t win the war lying here,” they said impatiently from their beds. “Besides, the Army’s got a lot of new tanks and guns we haven’t seen yet!”
As Cherry saw these men get well, and walk out sound and courageous, she was thankful that she was a nurse.
Her idealism grew, nourished by the everyday heroism of her soldiers. Her assurance grew, too, in her ability to succeed as an Army nurse. Cherry was trying hard to make a good record for herself. Perhaps some day she might win promotion to Chief Nurse—her youthful age was no handicap. It would be wonderful to be promoted! It would be proof to the world, and especially to herself, that her uncertainty about her ability to meet every test, no matter how severe, with flying colors was unfounded! Perhaps Cherry’s assurance grew a little too heady as the month neared its close. Although she was not quite fully aware that she was in a mood for overreaching herself, a faint warning ticking in her mind reminded her that she was ripe for trouble. But it was very faint.
Cherry should have known better than to let Lex and Captain Endicott meet on her ward. She easily could have steered one young man one way, and the other young man in an opposite direction. She knew she should keep Bunce, particularly, away from that inflammable combination. She knew Johnny Mae Cowan was a stern Chief Nurse.
Lex and Paul came face to face late one afternoon on Cherry’s ward. Rita was off duty, and Cherry and Bunce had been struggling all day, along with the other corpsmen, to get everything done. It had been an exasperating day. The medicines had not arrived, the hot water had been turned off, Williams’s hot water bottle had cracked and flooded his bed, three boys had to have treatments every time Cherry turned around. Now, on top of it, Captain Upham and Captain Endicott were coldly facing each other across Williams’s bed.
“You here again, Endicott?” Lex said caustically, as he looked over the charts Cherry handed him. “This seems to be your pet ward. Nurse! Why hasn’t Lazlas been getting the bland diet I ordered?”
Cherry replied indignantly, “He has!”
Paul looked at her with a sympathetic grin, inviting Cherry to grin back disloyally over Lex’s bent head. She stiffened. “Do you mind very much, Dr. Upham,” Paul said charmingly and dryly, “if Lieutenant Ames gives me my report now, or must I wait indefinitely?”
“You’ll wait,” said Lex.
“Certainly, Captain Upham,” said Paul, with the faintest tone of ridicule.
Bunce, who was making the patients comfortable for the night, was working at the next bed. Cherry heard
him say in a tired voice, “You’re all set for the night, I guess. You don’t need a back rub, do you?”
The young patient answered gamely, “Sure, I’m all right. I’m no sissy.”
Cherry whirled and shook her head at Bunce. No matter how tired Bunce was, the patient’s comfort came first. That boy had been lying there all day. Bunce should not ask the boy if he needed a back rub. He should roll him over and give him one. Lex too had heard. He glanced up with a warning nod at Bunce.
But before either Cherry or Lex could speak, Paul Endicott stepped over to Bunce at the adjoining bed.
“That’s the kind of inefficiency my department wants to know about!” he said sharply. “Why do you let this boy shirk his job?”
Cherry rushed to Bunce’s defense. Shirk, indeed! But Paul interrupted her.
“Bunce Smith’s record is already open to question. Poor performance of duty like this should be reported!” All Paul’s charm was gone, as his gray eyes, on Bunce, turned cold and hateful.
Lex said quietly, “Smith is an excellent corpsman. Everyone slips up occasionally. You seem, Captain Endicott,” Lex said bluntly, “to be maliciously looking for charges to pin on Smith.”
For a moment, Cherry thought these two low-voiced men were going to strike each other. Their faces had gone white with hatred. She hastily started giving Paul his report, frantically maneuvered Lex to a patient at the end of the room, and signaled Bunce to get on fast with that back rub. Paul walked out with his report, still sneering.
Cherry felt exhausted by the suppressed strain of that clash. She went into the utility room and limply sat down. That was quite a revelation Paul had made! Charming as he was with Vivian, he certainly was petty and unfair with his subordinate, poor Bunce. Lex, bless him, had saved the boy.
Bunce stumbled in. He flopped down on a low stool at Cherry’s feet. His youthful face was wretched.
“And I thought maybe if I worked hard, I could get to have dispensary training and be a technician, and earn a corporalcy some day!” he muttered. “Not a chance with that dressed-up taskmaster picking on me!”
“Never mind, Bunce,” Cherry patted the boy’s clumsy hand. “I’ll recommend you and I’m sure Dr. Upham will, too.” She did not mention what Captain Johnny Mae Cowan might do. The stern Chief Nurse probably would hear of this incident. Cherry dreaded that for Bunce’s sake and also because Johnny Mae would mark “poor executive supervision” on Cherry’s record.
Bunce dejectedly blinked his blue eyes. “And besides I’m awful homesick,” he confessed. “Oh, gee, Miss Cherry, I hate this war. I want to win it, quick as we can, and go home.”
“That’s it. We’ll win provided everybody works hard. And if you work, and if you keep out of trouble just a little longer, well, you’ll be a technician yet.”
For the few days left of November, Bunce was a model of deportment. It was so long since he had done any mischief that Cherry feared he was due to burst soon. She felt nearly ready to burst herself, after this crowded month of hard work. Thank goodness her day off was just around the corner. She would have her chance finally to go seeking pirates’ rubies in the sand, and maybe even a ghost in that fantastic house.
“I may not find a thing, but,” Cherry promised herself, “I certainly am going to have myself an exciting day off!”
CHAPTER VIII
A Ghost Returns
ON MONDAY, DECEMBER FIRST, THE ROSES WERE blooming, birds sang, and there was not a cloud in the sky—Panama City’s nor Cherry’s. She had been off duty since yesterday afternoon, and she was free until she started her new night duty at seven this evening. Cherry had spent the morning luxuriously asleep. After lunch, she had strolled down the famous promenade called Las Bovedas, which paralleled a crumbling granite wall along the sea.
Now, back in the main part of town, she passed the statue of Bolivar, the South American Lincoln. Under it lounged Bunce, dressed up in his best uniform, uncomfortable, hot, and grinning.
“I kind of figured you’d pass this way, Miss Cherry,” he said as he fell into step beside her. “Gosh, you walk slow … little ol’ chicken steps.”
Cherry squinted up in the sun at her lanky, long-legged corpsman. “Bunce Smith, don’t you know that an officer and an enlisted man aren’t supposed to have dates? You mustn’t be seen publicly with your boss.”
Bunce grinned amiably and stubbornly followed her into the main shopping street. He was up to something, Cherry realized, and said so.
“Who, me?” Bunce said with an injured expression. “Why, I’m just goin’ out to have a little fun. I might even do a good deed, or something brave, on my way. Uh … by the way,” Bunce stumbled a little, “where’re you going later? Going to that crazy house?”
“I won’t tell you! Why do you want to know, anyhow?” Cherry asked suspiciously.
Bunce smiled broadly. “So you are going there! No fooling, Miss Cherry, maybe it isn’t a safe place for you to go alone.”
Cherry laughed. “Don’t worry about Ames! Good-by till seven.” She marched into a department store.
Cherry dawdled pleasantly over perfume and lace and fans, which her soldier patients had requested her to buy for them. She suspected some of the gifts were for her, for the boys had specified “something a girl like you would like.” She paid for most of the things in United States currency, for some in silver balboas, and had her packages sent.
When she came out of the shops, the sun hung like a huge orange balloon over the low, flat, stone roofs. It had somehow got to be four o’clock. Cherry was very warm and thirsty. She found a sidewalk café, shaded by an awning and enclosed by pots of red geraniums. Gratefully she sat down and ordered a soda. It was a strange soda, lukewarm milk and syrup, and no ice cream at all. But if Cherry did not care much for her soda, there was someone who was staring at it with enormous, wistful brown eyes.
These fascinated eyes belonged to a nonchalant and jaunty urchin, aged about nine. Cherry stared at him; he stared at her soda. Only a pot of geraniums separated them; she took another sip, but those longing eyes would not let her drink. At last Cherry said:
“Would you like to have a soda, sonny?”
The little boy’s brown face broke into a radiant and ecstatic smile. He made a hasty bow and slid into the chair beside her astonishingly fast. “Señorita, you are mos’ kind an’ you make me mos’ happy an’ I weesh you sousands of sanks. I’ll like choc’lit.”
Cherry was not surprised to hear this urchin speak English. Many citizens of Panama City, living next door to its American twin city of Ancon, spoke both Spanish and English as a matter of course. But as the waiter departed for the soda, Cherry observed with amusement, “That’s a formal speech for a little boy.”
The urchin blinked his great eyes at her and dangled his legs from the chair. “I am of E-spanish, and I am courteous.” He was puzzled that Cherry should find his manner strange. He added politely, “The Señorita, she ees courteous also. She invite me to soda!” His eyes sparkled as the waiter set down a large glass in front of him. He pushed himself up on his chair, nestled his small head over the soda, and dreamily got to work on it. Cherry watched him, hugely entertained. Having noisily sucked up the last drops from the bottom of the glass, he wiped his mouth with a grimy little hand, and said:
“Now I do a favor. We are frands. W’at you like me to do?”
Cherry could not help laughing. The gallantry of this small tattered boy was out of all proportion to his size. “Thank you very much, you are most kind,” she struggled to match his manners, “but there is nothing—Yes, wait a minute. You can do me a favor.” She could do with some adventure after this month of hard work.
The little boy beamed. “Weeth great plasure.”
“Take me to the deserted house on the lane.”
The urchin’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, no, Señorita! I would not take any señoritas to soch bad place.”
“But if I ask you to?” Cherry persisted. “After all, we are friends.
”
“Frands, yes, and I do not weesh my frands go there.” The child looked conscientiously at his empty soda glass, then back to Cherry. “Okay, I take you almost there.”
Cherry followed the little boy along narrow side streets, and then into unpaved, hilly, even more tortuous streets. It would be almost impossible for an automobile to get through here. Cherry asked questions, but the child disapprovingly refused to talk. He led her to the lane which she remembered.
“Adios, Señorita. Thees ees bad reward for soch good soda.” And then the child turned and ran for all he was worth.
She walked forward toward the house. It was a fantastic, ramshackle old house, overgrown with vines. Trees sighed against its faded walls. Mysterious houses fascinated Cherry. She picked her way through tangled weeds and flowers, passed a topless well, a sort of cistern, and came to broken steps. The door, unhinged, stood half open.
Cherry hesitated on the threshold. After the brilliant afternoon sun outdoors, she blinked in this musty darkness. Unable to see a thing, she stepped in. She stood there, listening. There was no sound except the creakings of an old house.
In a moment or two, her eyes became adjusted to the murky light. She was in a big square room, bare of furniture, its clay walls cracked and marked, its crude stone fireplace empty. Nothing to see in here, except some old crusts of bread and a pair of ragged shoes. She walked on to the next room. Here she found a broken chair and a great bundle of old rags heaped in the corner. Nothing here, either, apparently … then Cherry tensed. She distinctly heard footsteps beyond the doorway she had come through … not ten paces away from her!
They were slow, faint, unsteady steps. Cherry heard a long-drawn-out sigh, “Ay-y-y!” It was a man’s thin voice. A shadow fell across the room where she stood.
Cherry’s heart thumped in her throat. She could not take her eyes from that advancing shadow.
“Don’t come any nearer!” Cherry thought frantically. “Oh, stay where you are … whoever you are!” She looked about desperately for an exit. But the only door was the one through which the shadow fell. She stared about looking for a window to crawl through. There was no window. She was trapped in an inside room!
