by Helen Wells
Cherry remained silent, pretending she didn’t see Peggy trying not to cry.
“That was less than a year ago,” Peggy Wilmot said. “Sometimes it feels like ten long years since I’ve seen Art, and sometimes it seems like yesterday.”
Now she was alone. She had her parents, but they lived in California. Her brother, living in Florida and working for a firm that built parts for rockets and missiles, was busy with his work and his own family.
“Well, there’s one good, hopeful thing, at least, in all my troubles,” Peggy said. “It’s surprising—” But instead of going on, she turned her head against the pillow, as if too tired to talk more. “Miss Cherry,” she murmured, “could you have someone bring me the mail from my house? I’d ask my neighbors, but they’re away on vacation. My mail is in the letter box on the porch, you don’t need a key. Today and every day? It’s terribly important.”
Cherry promised. She had no right to ask prying questions, but she could not help wondering what was so important in this young woman’s mail. She wrote down Peggy Wilmot’s address, then covered her patient lightly and left the ward.
After a very quick lunch in the hospital cafeteria, Cherry returned to the classroom. Midge was there; Cherry gave her Peggy Wilmot’s address and asked her to bring the mail from the porch letter box. Then she resumed teaching the volunteers.
“I want to stress, class,” Cherry said, “that today’s all-day session is preliminary training. Tomorrow you’ll report to wherever you are assigned—Records Room, Clinic, X-ray, ward duty, whatever—and there the supervisor will give you specific training. But there are some general things you all must know.”
Cherry discussed the hospital setup, emphasizing how various hospital departments worked together. She talked very seriously to the class about hospital ethics. Since all of these young volunteers would come into contact with patients, Cherry talked about the psychology of a sick person.
“How do you treat a person in bed?” Cherry said. “You do not talk about his illness to him. Be kind, but don’t be oversympathetic. You’re here to get him out of the hospital, mentally. Talk to him about the things he can do, now; encourage him to feed himself and dress himself. Talk to him about what he will do when he’s strong again.
“Don’t just let him sit or lie there, keep him active,” Cherry said. “Interest him with the book cart, or bring him today’s newspaper, or play a game of checkers with him. And when the patient becomes ambulatory, or can get around in a wheelchair, you Jayvees will take several patients outdoors to the hospital garden. Of course you’ll be supervised by a nurse. You must never, never take anything upon yourself without orders.”
Cherry went on to stress another point.
“You must always say on the phone, ‘Such-and-such department or ward, volunteer speaking,’” Cherry said, “juniors must sign in and sign out of the hospital. You absolutely must come when you promised to, and on time.”
The class was staring at her so soberly that Cherry smiled and said now they would have a little graduation ceremony. Dr. Fortune and Mrs. Streeter came in to commend the twenty young people, tired by now in the late afternoon. They held a graduation in miniature, but everyone was thinking of tomorrow when they would receive preventive inoculations against infectious diseases and start on-the-job training.
Wednesday morning Cherry reported to Orthopedics at eight. Midge and Dodo were already there, in uniform. Cherry smiled at their freshly scrubbed faces and their eagerness. Midge had a pile of mail for Peggy Wilmot. Cherry said that could wait a few minutes while she introduced the two new ward volunteers around—first to the head nurse, then to Nurse Corsi, the P.N. who took care of convalescents, then to the patients. Liz knew Midge and Dodo slightly from Hilton High School, though they were not in the same class. “Wish I could be a Jayvee,” Liz said from her bed. Everyone was glad to see the two young girls in their striped pinafores; their youth was like a tonic for sick people. Miss Julia Greer said:
“I am glad to have you on the ward, Midge and Dorothy, and I know you’ll to prove your worth. When you do, then I’ll accept you as a part of our nursing team. Come to the nurses’ station and you’ll see what I mean.”
The nurses’ station was a desk just outside the ward door; here were a telephone, callboard, bulletin board with the day’s orders, various reports. Here the head nurse met daily with her two R.N.’s and the P.N. to give each team member her written assignments for the day. It was important, Miss Greer explained to the two young newcomers, to be aware of the relationship of every team member to each patient. Miss Greer gave no definite assignments to the Jayvees.
Midge and Dodo exchanged a glance that said: “The head nurse doesn’t trust us.” Cherry cleared her throat rather loudly, and the two girls changed their aggrieved expressions to a professional air.
CHERRY AMES, JUNGLE NURSE
TITLES BY HELEN WELLS
Cherry Ames, Student Nurse
Cherry Ames, Senior Nurse
Cherry Ames, Army Nurse
Cherry Ames, Chief Nurse
Cherry Ames, Flight Nurse
Cherry Ames, Veterans’ Nurse
Cherry Ames, Private Duty Nurse
Cherry Ames, Visiting Nurse
Cherry Ames, Cruise Nurse
Cherry Ames, Boarding School Nurse
Cherry Ames, Department Store Nurse
Cherry Ames, Camp Nurse
Cherry Ames at Hilton Hospital
Cherry Ames, Island Nurse
Cherry Ames, Rural Nurse
Cherry Ames, Staff Nurse
Cherry Ames, Companion Nurse
Cherry Ames, Jungle Nurse
Cherry Ames, The Mystery in the Doctor’s Office
Cherry Ames, Ski Nurse Mystery
CHERRY AMES NURSE STORIES
CHERRY AMES
JUNGLE NURSE
By
HELEN WELLS
Copyright © 1965 by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.
Copyright © renewed 2008 by Harriet Schulman Forman
Springer Publishing Company, LLC
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Springer Publishing Company, LLC.
Springer Publishing Company, LLC
11 West 42nd Street
New York, NY 10036-8002
www.springerpub.com
Acquisitions Editor: Sally J. Barhydt
Series Editor: Harriet S. Forman
Production Editor: Carol Cain
Cover design: Mimi Flow
Composition: Apex Publishing, LLC
08 09 10 11/ 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wells, Helen, 1910–
Cherry Ames, jungle nurse / by Helen Wells.
p. cm.
Summary: When her friend Bob “the millionaire intern” Barton offers Cherry Ames a temporary assignment to help establish a health clinic in a small village in Kenya, she sees it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but soon realizes that something is amiss.
ISBN-13: 978-0-8261-0433-5 (alk. paper)
ISBN-10: 0-8261-0433-9 (alk. paper)
[1. Nurses—Fiction. 2. Clinics—Fiction. 3. Medical care—Fiction. 4. Smuggling—Fiction. 5. Kenya—History—1895–1963—Fiction. 6. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.W4644Ceif 2007
[Fic]—dc22
2007035810
Printed in the United States of America by Bang Printing
Contents
FOREWORD
I THE TOWER OF LONDON
II JET TO AFRICA
III NAIROBI
IV NGOGO
V DIAMONDS AGAIN
VI KANDI
VII THE ORANGE AIRPLANE
VIII THE PRETTY PEBBLE
IX VISITORS
X THE YELLOW STON
E
XI THE TEST TUBES
XII ADDING IT UP
XIII LONG JACK ROBERTSON
XIV THE END OF THE STORY
Foreword
Helen Wells, the author of the Cherry Ames stories, said, “I’ve always thought of nursing, and perhaps you have, too, as just about the most exciting, important, and rewarding profession there is. Can you think of any other skill that is always needed by everybody, everywhere?”
I was and still am a fan of Cherry Ames. Her courageous dedication to her patients; her exciting escapades; her thirst for knowledge; her intelligent application of her nursing skills; and the respect she achieved as a registered nurse (RN) all made it clear to me that I was going to follow in her footsteps and become a nurse—nothing else would do.
Thousands of other young readers were motivated by Cherry Ames to become RNs as well. Through her thought-provoking stories, Cherry Ames led a steady stream of students into schools of nursing across the country well into the 1960s and 1970s when the series ended.
Readers who remember enjoying these books in the past will take pleasure in reading them again now—whether or not they chose nursing as their life’s work. Perhaps they will share them with others and even motivate a person or two to choose nursing as their career.
My nursing path has been rich and satisfying. I have delivered babies, cared for people in hospitals and in their homes, and saved lives. I have worked at the bedside and served as an administrator, I have published journals, written articles, taught students, consulted, and given expert testimony. Never once did I regret my decision to become a nurse.
During the time I was publishing a nursing journal, I became acquainted with Robert Wells, brother of Helen Wells. In the course of conversation I learned that Ms. Wells had passed on and left the Cherry Ames copyright to Mr. Wells. Because there is a shortage of nurses here in the US today, I thought, “Why not bring Cherry back to motivate a whole new generation of young people? Why not ask Mr. Wells for the copyright to Cherry Ames?” Mr. Wells agreed, and the republished series is dedicated both to Helen Wells, the original author, and to her brother, Robert Wells, who transferred the rights to me. I am proud to ensure the continuation of Cherry Ames into the twenty-first century.
The final dedication is to you, both new and former readers of Cherry Ames: It is my dream that you enjoy Cherry’s nursing skills as well as her escapades. I hope that young readers will feel motivated to choose nursing as their life’s work. Remember, as Helen Wells herself said: there’s no other skill that’s “always needed by everybody, everywhere.”
Harriet Schulman Forman, RN, EdD
Series Editor
CHERRY AMES, JUNGLE NURSE
CHAPTER I
The Tower of London
IT WAS A FOGGY DAY IN THE HISTORIC CITY OF LONDON. Curling wisps of mist, blown in from the River Thames, washed up against the windows of the double-decker bus as it lumbered along the twists and turns of celebrated Baker Street.
Sitting in the front seat of the top deck, Cherry Ames peered through the haze at the old stone buildings that lined the street, and wondered if one of them might be the famous 221-B where Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson had their rooms. Because of the fog, it was impossible for Cherry to see the number plates over the doors. It was from 221-B that the great detective set out at all hours of the day and night to solve the robberies and murder mysteries that always seemed to baffle the police.
Cherry had been involved in so many mysteries herself that Holmes, with his long, plaid cape and deerstalker cap, seemed almost real to her. For a fleeting moment she wondered if she might run into another mystery when she got back home. But she quickly dismissed the thought. Hilton, Illinois was such a quiet, typical Midwest town that it hardly seemed likely.
It was Cherry’s last day in England. For the past month, as companion nurse to the American writer, Martha Logan, Cherry had traveled all through the English countryside. But now her temporary assignment was finished—as was the research that Mrs. Logan had been doing for a book—and at last it was time for both of them to return to the States, and for Cherry to get back to her job at Hilton Hospital. Even in a prosperous American town like Hilton, there never seemed to be enough nurses.
So, on this final afternoon in London, she was having one last fling at sightseeing.
The bus turned from Baker Street into Oxford Street, which was crowded with big department stores and small shops, and, in spite of the weather, jammed with people. Londoners were so used to fog, Cherry thought, that it took a real pea-souper to keep them indoors. Taxis, cars, trucks, and buses were crawling along bumper to bumper.
Then, as they emerged into Trafalgar Square, the fog began to lift, and Cherry could plainly see the statue of Lord Nelson standing on top of its towering pedestal. Up Ludgate Hill the bus went, past the magnificent dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral, and through a maze of narrow streets to the jumble of weathered gray-stone buildings that is known as the Tower of London.
Cherry had read all about the Tower in a guidebook and was determined to see it in a leisurely way. She knew that it was a living symbol of English history. William the Conqueror had built the original tower, and later kings had added other towers and moats and walls. In these grim dungeons, Anne Boleyn and the Earl of Essex had lost their heads to the executioner’s ax; and Sir Walter Raleigh and a long list of other famous people whose names fill the history books had spent dreary years in prison. Now the Tower was a national museum that contained many of England’s most precious relics, including the priceless Crown Jewels.
Cherry alighted from the bus, stared for a moment at the Grenadier Guard, who, in a bright-red coat and tall bearskin hat, was marching stiffly up and down before the main entrance, and then she went in through the arched stone gateway.
For the next hour, she lost herself completely in the fabulous exhibits, wandering from room to room amid a crowd of other tourists. Most of them she recognized as fellow Americans, not only by their accents as they spoke to each other but also by the cameras hung around their necks.
In one room she saw what was probably the most curious exhibit of all. Two mannikin knights were seated side by side on mannikin horses, both dressed in suits of shining steel armor. One of the knights was trim and slim; and the other was hugely fat. Cherry couldn’t suppress a giggle when a guide explained to the crowd that both suits had been made for King Henry the Eighth—the first when he was a boy of nineteen, the second when he was a middle-aged man who had indulged himself too freely at too many banquet tables.
Behind her a man’s voice, distinctly American, seemed to echo her thoughts. “The old boy should have watched his calorie intake,” the voice said. “He should have had a good nurse looking after him. Somebody like Cherry Ames.”
Cherry wheeled around, her eyes as wide as saucers, then she laughed.
“Well, for goodness’ sake!” she gasped. “If it isn’t Bob Barton, the millionaire intern!”
Bob grinned. “In the flesh,” he assured her. “But what in the world are you doing here in London? I didn’t think nurses ever had time for European vacations.”
“It’s a long story,” Cherry said. “And I was going to ask you the same thing. The last I heard, you had finished your internship and were doing resident work.”
“Well, mine’s a long story too. But if you’ve had enough sightseeing, I’ll take you some place and buy you tea and a crumpet and we can tell our long stories to each other.”
“That,” Cherry declared, “is the best offer I’ve had today. Besides, my feet are killing me from tramping over these hard stone floors.”
“Then face about and quick march,” Bob said, affecting an English accent, “and Ho for the Blue Bird Inn!”
Cherry had met Bob Barton a year or so before, when she had been on a special private-duty assignment at St. Luke’s Hospital in New York, and he had been serving the last few months of his internship. His father, she had learned, was one of the richest
oil-well operators in Texas. But Bob had passed up the idle life of a millionaire playboy for a more satisfying one in medicine. The other interns at St. Luke’s had jokingly referred to him as the “millionaire intern,” and Bob had gone along good-naturedly with the gag. But Cherry had soon learned that beneath his lighthearted, wisecracking exterior, Bob Barton was one of the most dedicated young doctors she had ever known.
The Blue Bird was an old-fashioned inn in East-cheap, only a short walk from the Tower. Its oak paneling glowed with the patina of age, and Cherry guessed that the oaken chairs and tables were nearly as old as the inn itself.
“All of a sudden I’m hungry,” Cherry said. She pointed across the room to where a chef in a tall white cap was carving a loin of beef. “May I have a cold beef sandwich instead of just a crumpet?”
“You name it and it’s yours,” Bob said. “They didn’t kid me about being a millionaire for nothing.” He ordered for both of them.
When the sandwiches and steaming mugs of tea arrived, Bob said, “All right, give. What is Cherry Ames doing in London?”
As she ate her sandwich and drank her tea, Cherry explained all about the assignment that had brought her to England.
“But now it’s over,” she added. “Tomorrow morning, bright and early, Mrs. Logan and I are flying back to New York.”
As she talked, Bob’s face had grown serious. “Look here, Cherry,” he said. “You asked me for my story, and I am now going to tell it at some length. And when I’m finished I’m going to ask you to do one of the most important things you have ever done in your life.”
Cherry’s brow wrinkled in curiosity. But she kept silent as Bob went on talking.
