Hurricane Nurse

by Joan Sargent

  Hank put down his half-full coffee cup and went after her. He'd have to find the resident custodian, who, he hoped, could do something about the matter.

  Cliff dished up eggs, added buttered toast, and set the plate down on the corner of Donna's desk. Behind them, Poague snored softly.

  Donna yawned daintily behind her hand, and Cliff, bringing his own plate to join her, grinned down at her. "Surely you aren't bored? We've offered you quite a variety of entertainment already and the storm's young yet." He glanced at the watch on his wrist and went on. "We've about seven hours before it reaches its height."

  "You've had recent reports? The electricity came back on?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "Battery radios. I brought one with us. It's over there on the shelf. See?"

  She remembered now that she had heard music when she first came into the room, soft, quieting music, but she had only half-heard it and had grown so accustomed to it while she was attending Mr. Poague that she had not been conscious of it since. Now that it was called to her attention, she realized that it was playing one of the Viennese waltzes, and she hummed a bar or two along, then laughed. "Is this a table? My mother was always most certain that no lady sang at the table. Or hummed, for that matter."

  "It was a most pleasant sound, in any case." Cliff grinned. "And wouldn't it be painful to be the complete lady all the time?"

  "If that's your theory, then you won't mind my stretching and yawning a bit." She smiled back at him, though she didn't follow her suggestion. "Thank heaven for paper cups and plates and forks and spoons. No dishes to wash. You know, you're a very thoughtful man."

  His grin deepened. "I was sure I'd improve on acquaintance. That explains my persistence. Isn't there a teachers' restroom with a couch on the second floor?"

  She nodded. "But how did you know?"

  "I made a speech at P.T.A. the day they decided to raise money for that room," he explained. "Now if you'll get the key from Fincher, you can lock yourself in and sleep a while. I'll take coffee to Baby LaRue and the new parents and lie down here where I can wake if Poague needs me."

  Donna looked at the sleeping man, longing in her eyes. "I don't believe he'll need anything for a while, but I ought to check in with Baby La Rue. She'll be needing her sleep, too."

  "That one?" Cliff raised one eyebrow humorously. "She doesn't close her eyes from the time she gets here until she leaves. It's the excitement she lives on the rest of the year. The new baby will be her conversation piece until the next hurricane."

  "She does, too, close her eyes," Donna contradicted good-naturedly. "She nods in her chair and wakes up brighter than a button. I'll bet she's asleep now. Or telling that boy stories about the life of a stripper, stories that'll make his eyes pop out."

  "One or the other, probably," he admitted. "In any case, you go get a few hours' sleep. You can spell Baby when you've had your sleep out."

  She nodded, and stumbled drowsily off and up the stairs.

  Donna waked and looked about her, wondering where on earth she could be. The dingy little second-floor room was not entirely familiar to her, the first floor being more her beat. The twilight that the storm produced at nine in the morning would have turned usual surroundings into something strange. She sat up, her mind feeling clumsy and unusable. Outside the draped window, all the devils of hell seemed to be screaming. She moved toward the window and pushed aside the tasteless cretonne curtains, peering into the out-of-doors where driven rain turned the world to a muggy gray like dirty cotton.

  Only then did her mind clear sufficiently for her to remember the night before, the refugees she had registered, the Hartson baby, Vickers and Poague, Cliff and Hank. Her shoulders ached, and she stretched and circled them trying to loosen them. She pulled the curtains together again, shivered at the menace of the weather and went into the lavatory to ready herself as well as she could without a change of clothing for the day to come.

  Three hours before, she had eaten what for her was a hearty breakfast, but she was surprisingly hungry. Freshly combed hair and new lipstick had made the menace of the storm seem less imminent. She hurried down the stairs with the idea of raiding one of the boxes that Cliff had brought in the afternoon before for an apple or an orange.

  She had reached the third step from the bottom when she saw the thin, bent figure of Dr. Ward, pacing the hall, puffing a pipe, his hands clasped behind a thin, sharp rump. She stood for a moment watching the old man and thinking of him and his wife. She had thought yesterday that they were fine old people and that she would make time during the storm to know them better. She went after him, half-running, just missing children playing hopscotch on squares they had marked off with school chalk.

  Even so, if his long strides had not been slow ones, she might not have caught up with him. She was short of breath when she drew up at his elbow. "Good morning, Dr. Ward. I hope you slept well, you and Mrs. Ward."

  He turned, doffed his worn felt hat, took his pipe from his mouth and smiled widely at her. "Indeed we did, Miss Ledbury. Those were fine beds you were kind enough to supply for Maggie and me. A splendid night we had, for all the noise the wind made."

  He shortened his steps to match hers. "You mind the odor of tobacco, Miss Ledbury? All these years it has sickened my poor Maggie so I take a walk while I enjoy my pipe. Take a walk and do a stint of thinking."

  Donna looked at him brightly. "I don't smoke myself. I guess I think too seriously of my health. But I don't mind the odor of tobacco at all. My father smokes just such a pipe as yours. One of those with a dip in the stem."

  He studied the pipe for a moment. "Bought it years ago when I was studying in Germany. It's been my good companion for many years. Like Maggie." His eyes twinkled under bushy white brows. "Hate to have to choose between them." He put the pipe again in his mouth and blew out a cloud of odorous smoke.

  Donna smiled at this joke which she was sure must have been a very old one between the professor and his wife. "How long have you and Mrs. Ward been married, Dr. Ward?"

  He looked at her proudly. "Sixty-four years. The very same woman, all those years. Monotonous, isn't it?"

  "They'd probably think so in Hollywood, Professor. But I have a notion you and Mrs. Ward still find each other exciting."

  The twinkle of humor that until now had characterized the old man for her entirely disappeared. Donna saw that he was indeed old, his fleshless and almost translucent skin clinging to his beautifully shaped bones. His fine, scholarly eyes seemed to lose something of their bright blueness. He took his pipe out of his mouth and studied her face, but with the air of one who did not see it. After a while, he spoke.

  "Exciting? Perhaps. I'd use the word stimulating. You've no idea the arguments we have. Not quarrels, mind you. Arguments. And usually we come out thinking generally what we went in thinking, yet altered, too. My Maggie was beautiful when I married her. She is beautiful still. We never had children, and that has been a sorrow to us both, but she's been everything I ever dreamed as a wife, and more. Maggie Ward is a wonderful woman. I didn't deserve her."

  Donna murmured a sound that indicated interest.

  He went on, more as if he were thinking than talking to someone else. "Only, now I worry about her. I'm an old man. My heart—it's served me well and longer than anyone had a right to expect. But it's tired and sometimes it falters. When it decides to rest, who's going to look after my girl? There's very little money and she no longer can walk. We've had so much that I ought not to fret, but fret I do. Even if she's taken care of physically, after sixty-four years—she's going to be very lonely. Very, very lonely."

  Donna searched for some comfort to offer him. Hadn't Hank said that the Wards were nearly ninety? Dr. Ward was too intelligent a man to brush off with a shallow remark that they might live years yet. Even if she had thought of something to say, her throat was too choked to say it. She simply stood there, her eyes fixed on his parchment-like face.

  He shook off his mood with an actual shak
e of his shoulders and put on his twinkle once more.

  "There, child. I had no right to burden your young shoulders with my troubles. I should have talked, instead, about the new life that began here last night. A little girl, I believe. What have they named her?"

  Donna forced a smile that was only surface deep. "I haven't heard since she was born, but last night her mother told me Jacqueline. Not for the first lady, it seems, but for the baby's father, who is Jack. They're just children, Dr. Ward. Babies themselves."

  The old man nodded slowly, puffing on his pipe. "I didn't marry very early. I begrudge those years that I might have spent with Maggie. Perhaps I'll go and tell them that. Maybe it will help them to use what they have wisely."

  Again, he seemed to have slipped away into his thoughts. Donna walked softly away, but she had not really left him. His voice went on in her ears and the mood he had created held her so strongly that she did not notice that the children had left off playing hopscotch and turned to tag; that the mothers, looking tired and a bit bedraggled, stood in knots talking; that the card game in the room across from the principal's office had reorganized and was as noisy as ever.

  Chapter VIII

  She found Cliff and the injured Mr. Poague both sleeping in her office. Her sensitive fingertips told her that Poague had a fever but that it was slight so she did not waken him to measure it. Even had it been soaring, there was little that she could do to bring it down, and it was her opinion that sleep would do more for him than any treatment. She was about to tiptoe out when Cliff roused, sat up and grinned at her.

  "How's a fellow going to impress a girl when he's unshaven and bleary-eyed, I'd like to know? I meant to shave before you came back."

  She laughed softly so as not to disturb the sick man, and looked down at her rumpled uniform. "If I'm the girl you're trying to impress, I don't think you need worry. I look as if I'd slept in my uniform. Which I have, of course."

  "That brown design gives you a hint of realism, too." He pointed out a bloodstain on her skirt.

  "We look like something strayed from a war movie," he decided.

  "I don't. I'll have you know that I've washed my face, combed my hair and put on a fresh face," She felt gay, feminine, flirtatious. What was there about Cliff Warrender that made her more woman than simply person?

  He ran his long hands up and back on his jaw, making a sound like two pieces of sandpaper rubbed together. "In that case, I'd better hunt up the men's room and do something about my appearance. You do look blooming. Not at all as if you'd just had three hours' sleep."

  She nodded, her expression more grave. "I've been talking to Dr. Ward. Or listening to him talk about his wife. Isn't it beautiful to hear of two old people who have very little else but such a wealth in each other? Or do you know the Wards?"

  He nodded. He, too, had grown serious at the thought of the old couple. "I've known them ever since I was small. Mrs. Ward used to give me cookies and Dr. Ward would quote great men to me and chide me about my unseemly habits. Very gentle chiding, I hasten to add. They lived in the same apartment house with my father and me, and it was the cleanest, pleasantest place I ever saw. Shabby and full of books, but it had something. Something great."

  "Love, I think," she murmured. "Those two love each other. You might think, after all these years, it would just be habit. But I'm sure it's not."

  The man on the cot groaned and turned without waking, but he had been disturbed.

  "You go see about that shaving," she suggested. "I want to change my uniform—and we're bothering him." She went and tucked the blanket once more about Poague's shoulders.

  Cliff nodded, opened his suitcase, and took out his shaving kit and a clean shirt and started out. In the doorway, he turned again. "Where will I find you in about twenty minutes?"

  "Here, I guess. I was going to fix myself something to eat. Since the groceries are yours, I guess I might stretch that to something for two. And after that, I want to check on the new mother and baby. Come along?"

  He beamed on her. "I'd love to come along."

  The wind was so strong in the portico that Cliff and Donna clung to each other and to the wall to keep from being blown down. The door, when Jack opened it for them, was instantly blown out of his hands and slammed back against the wall. The man and the girl came into the room and stood dripping from the rain that had whipped against them as they crossed from the larger building. Suddenly Cliff grinned.

  "I should have left my yesterday's shirt on, and you your uniform. We're going to have to be hung up to dry."

  Donna brushed this unimportant item aside. "How are you all? Everything all right?"

  Jack rubbed his red eyes. "We were all four asleep when you knocked. I guess we're okay."

  Missy leaned up on one elbow and pushed her tangled hair out of her face. "We're fine. Isn't my baby beautiful? Have you ever seen a lovelier one?" She looked thin and pale, but there was a light in her eyes which, Donna was sure, had never been there before.

  The usually voluble Baby LaRue had been dabbing at hair and face, smoothing down the bosom of her dress. Her make-up was more streaked than ever, so mottled that even some of the real Baby showed through. But her spirits seemed as perked up as when she had arrived the night before.

  "You ought to let a lady know you're coming in time for her to wake and complete her toilette," she chirped. "Miss Ledbury, how's my boy?"

  It took Donna a minute to remember the parrot. "I—I honestly don't know, Miss LaRue. I should have looked in on him this morning, since you were standing watch for me, but I seem to have had other things on my mind. I'll see to him when I get back to my office. I can't understand why he wasn't complaining earlier."

  Baby looked anxious for a moment. Then her face cleared. "It's dark in there. Toby probably thought it was still night. I'd never forgive myself if anything has happened to him."

  Donna changed the subject. "Have you had anything for breakfast?"

  Baby nodded as if the repast had been a banquet planned for the gods. "Coffee. And milk. I like it better fresh made hot, but a lot of folks think there's nothing to equal iced coffee. Of course, this wasn't iced, either. I found some meat and bread in the refrigerator, too. We were lucky. We've eaten."

  "You were lucky," Donna assured her. "The cafeteria superintendent was supposed to take everything out of the refrigerator. She must have forgotten something at the last minute. There are probably canned soups locked away in the pantry. Hank ought to have the key."

  Jack Hartson looked embarrassed. "I know we were supposed to bring our own food, but I didn't think about anything but getting Missy to the doctor, and I didn't even do that."

  Baby turned on him sternly. "You just as good as, Sonny. Me and Miss Ledbury did all right by you and your girl, and you can't say we didn't."

  He flushed deeply. "I—I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. You were wonderful and we'll never forget it."

  Cliff had been studying the big, drafty room. "Missy, are you warm? Is the baby warm? It was hot yesterday, but with the rain and the wind—"

  "The baby's warm," Baby LaRue, still a little belligerent, announced. "I got her in a bottom drawer from a cabinet in the kitchen and she's all wrapped up in towels. She's fast asleep."

  "Just the same," Cliff went on thoughtfully, "I think they should be moved to the main building. It's quite possible that they might be cut off from the rest of us, and some sort of crisis might arise."

  Jack and Missy began to look alarmed. "But I've had the baby," the girl said. "What could happen now?"

  Cliff gave her his encouraging grin. "Nothing under ordinary circumstances, and I'm certainly not expecting anything. But I have heard of infections setting in, and you must admit these weren't ideal circumstances. Or babies sometimes get sick. If you were the mother of seven, you'd know what to do, but this is number one. We'd all feel better, I should think, if we were together. Miss Ledbury can't stay here. She has patients in the main building."

  "T
hen we'll move back," the young husband decided crisply.

  "That's the problem," Cliff went on doubtfully. "We had the mischief of a time crossing the portico. If there hadn't been the wall to brace ourselves by, I'm sure we'd have been blown over. Even so, we were soaked, and it doesn't seem to me that would be good for Missy and the baby."

  Worriedly, the boy ran his hand along his unshaven jaw. "Yeah. And there's no way to dry them out. I shoulda got her to the hospital. Folks said we weren't old enough to get married and I reckon I haven't looked out for her very good."

  Once more, Missy raised herself on her elbow and spoke sternly. "Jack Hartson, you just shut up. We've been happy, haven't we? And we've had a roof over us and enough to eat and you've been going to night school to learn a trade. I'm a heap better off than a lot of women, and the baby's just as happy as if she had an antique cradle at the White House. And I'm not going to get an infection. I promise. Baby's not going to get sick, either. We'll just stay here and Miss LaRue will help us. Everything's going to be fine. You'll see."

  The boy nodded somewhat glumly. "Yeah. I reckon that's the best we can do."

  "I wish I'd thought to bring the cot you slept on last night," Donna said to Cliff. "I know you weren't comfortable with only that blanket between you and the springs, and Missy's back is going to ache pretty badly with no springs at all."

  "I could go get it," Jack suggested eagerly.

  Cliff looked at his watch. "I have a better idea, I think. Listen and see how it sounds to you. The eye of the hurricane is due to pass here at about eleven. We'll know, for the wind will stop blowing. Well have a very few minutes, but I'd think enough time to get across the portico before it starts again. But we'll have to have everything ready and start immediately. It won't do to be caught out there when the storm starts again on the other side of the eye. That'll be where it's strongest. All the old hands say stay inside, I know, but we may have five minutes."