Every waking moment, she worked and reviewed details on how to do throat irrigations, barium enemas, Murphy drips, and concise and acceptable case reports. Boots called her a workhorse. “You look pale, Flo. What did I tell you about getting some meat on your bones? Ease up a little or you’re going to end up sick.” She slung an arm around Hildie’s shoulders as they walked to the hospital.
“Miss Waltert,” the General breathed into her ear. Hildemara’s head snapped up and heat flooded her face, but no one laughed. Everyone sat in some state of exhaustion, trying to keep her eyes open and listen to Dr. Herod Bria’s history of medicine. His monotone voice droned on and on. Hildie glanced surreptitiously at her pocket watch and groaned inwardly. Quarter past nine. Old Bria should have finished his torturous, meandering lecture fifteen minutes ago, and he was still going strong, referring to a pile of notes still to go through.
A soft yelp sounded behind her as the General pinched Keely. The sound made Dr. Bria look at the clock on the wall instead of his mound of notes. “That’s all for this evening, ladies. My apologies for going over time. Thank you for your attention.”
Everyone made a rush for the door, crowding through. Boots, a night owl, was waiting in Hildemara’s room to see how her day had gone. Hildie sighed and nudged her over so she could sprawl on her bed. “And to think, I used to love nursing history.”
Keely grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste. “That old geezer loves to hear himself talk!” She disappeared out the door.
Boots gave Hildie a catlike smile and purred. “Perhaps our beloved Dr. Bria needs a lesson in punctuality.”
The next evening, while Hildemara struggled to stay awake and attentive, Dr. Bria lectured until an alarm went off so loudly all the students jumped in their seats. The tinny-sounding bell continued to jingle as the General stormed across the room, yanked the sheet cover off John Bones, the dangling human skeleton, and tried to pry the clock from its pelvis. Bones clacked and clattered as the skeleton danced.
Mouths twitched, muscles ached with control, but no one laughed when the General held up the clock and snarled, “Who did this?” They all looked around and shook their heads. The General marched up one aisle and down the other, studying each face for signs of guilt.
“I beg your pardon, Dr. Bria. Such rudeness . . .”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Kaufman. It is nine o’clock.”
Mrs. Kaufman dismissed the class and stood at the door, surveying each girl as she slipped by. Hildie hurried downstairs and ran along Probie Alley, her rubber-soled shoes squealing to a stop at her door.
Boots was lounging on her bed. “Ah. Class let out on time tonight.” She laughed.
“You did it.”
She gave Hildie a look of wounded surprise. “Would I do such a thing?”
Hildemara closed the door quickly before giggling. “I don’t know anyone else around here that would play a prank like that.”
Keely ducked in and closed the door quickly. “Shhhh. The General is standing at the foot of the stairs.”
Boots sighed. “Oh, boy. My goose is cooked.”
They were surprised to hear a deep belly laugh. It faded quickly, as though someone was heading upstairs at a run.
“Well, what do you know?” Boots drawled. “And here I thought the General’s face would crack if she ever smiled.”
“It’s fine to have compassion, Miss Waltert, but you must keep a professional detachment.” Mrs. Standish stood outside the closed door of a patient’s room. “You won’t last otherwise.” She squeezed Hildie’s arm and walked away.
Even Boots warned her not to become too attached. “Some will die, Flo, and if you let yourself become too close, you’ll break your heart over and over. You can’t be a good nurse that way, honey.”
Hildemara tried to keep a distance, but she knew her patients had other needs beside physical, especially those who had been in the hospital for longer than a week and had no visitors. She felt Mr. Franklin’s hot glare as she changed his soiled sheets. “Fine way to treat an old man. Load him up with castor oil and then fence him in.”
“It was that or leave your plumbing stopped up.”
Surprisingly, he laughed. “Well, from where I sit, you got the raw end of this deal.”
Boots worked a ward with her. “Check on Mr. Howard in 2B, Flo. He’s a cotton picker, always at his dressings.” From there, Boots sent her to check vitals on Mr. Littlefield. “Cheer him up. He’s got his feet braced against getting well.” When Hildie came on duty the next morning, Boots told her she had to report to a private room patient. “He’s been here a week. Another face might cheer him up.”
“What’s his story?”
“He’s a doctor, and he doesn’t like hospital rules.”
Hildie’s mouth fell open when she found her patient standing buck naked at the window, grunting and swearing as he tried to pry it open. “Can I help you, Dr. Turner?”
“How does a man get some air in here?”
“The nurse opens the window as soon as the patient gets back in bed.” She stepped by him and managed to pull the window up a few inches. “How’s that?”
After checking his vitals and writing on his chart, she went out for his lunch tray.
“Meat loaf!” He groaned loudly. “What I wouldn’t do for a steak and potatoes!”
When she returned for his tray, she found peanut shells all over the floor and a half-filled bag in his side table. She swept them up while he napped.
The next morning, she gave him a bed bath and changed the sheets. He clung to the railing. “Are you trying to topple me right out on my head?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
He laughed over his shoulder. “I’ll be more cooperative tomorrow.”
And he was. He sat in his flimsy hospital gown, his ankle on his knee, while Hildie hurriedly stripped his bed.
“What is going on, Miss Waltert?” The General stood in the doorway. Dr. Turner’s foot slapped down on the floor. “Is this how you make a bed? By having a poor, sick patient sit in a breeze?”
“It’s the way he wanted it, ma’am.”
“Well, he doesn’t have a say. We don’t want you to get pneumonia, Dr. Turner, now, do we? Get back in bed!” She glowered at Hildie as she marched out the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to inspect.”
Hildemara rolled Dr. Turner from one side to another as she pulled the sheets taut and tucked them in firmly. By the time Mrs. Kaufman returned, Dr. Turner lay on his back, hands folded on his chest like a corpse in a coffin, and an all-too-lively twinkle in his eyes, which he closed when the General came close.
“Very good, Miss Waltert. Good day, Dr. Turner.” As she swished out the door, Hildie breathed again.
“Check the hall,” Dr. Turner whispered. “Tell me when she’s gone.”
Peering out, Hildie watched the General stride down the hallway, pause briefly at the nurses’ station, and head for the stairs. “She’s gone.” She heard a mighty thrashing sound and turned. “What are you doing?”
Dr. Turner kicked until all the bed linens she had carefully tucked in came free. “Ahhh. Much, much better.” He grinned at her.
She wanted to smother him with his pillow or beat him over the head with the sack of peanuts someone had smuggled in. “They should have a special ward for doctors! One with manacles!” She heard his laughter as she went down the hall.
“Doc is gone. You can have Miss Fullbright now. She’s down the hall on the left.” Another private room patient who didn’t seem sick at all. Hildemara carried in her meal trays and drew water in a tub. Miss Fullbright took her time and bathed unaided each morning while Hildie made the bed with fresh linens. The woman read incessantly while a radio played classical music on her side table. The only medicine dispensed was one aspirin a day, a child’s dose.
On the fifth day, Hildie found her dressed and packing her suitcase. “I’m so glad your tests all turned out well, Miss Fullbright.”
“Te
sts?” She laughed. “Oh, that.” She folded a silk dressing gown into her suitcase. “Just routine stuff, no real complaint. I’m as healthy as a workhorse.” She chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m a nurse, too. A head nurse, in fact. Not in this hospital, of course. I’d have no privacy whatsoever.” She handed Hildie three novels. “You can put these in the nurses’ library. I’m done with them.” She smiled. “It’s simple, Miss Waltert. I work hard all year, overseeing a staff of nursing students just like you. I need to get away and have a little vacation now and then. So every few years, I call my friend and sign in here for a week, have a routine checkup and a good rest with room service while I’m about it.”
Room service? Hildie thought of Mama’s comment about nurses being nothing more than servants.
“None of my friends know where I am, and I get to read for pleasure.” She closed her case and snapped the locks.
“Don’t forget your radio.”
“It belongs to my friend. She’ll pick it up later.” Miss Fullbright slid her suitcase off the bed and held it easily at her side. “You were very efficient, Miss Waltert. Henny will be pleased with my report.”
“Henny?”
“Heneka and I go way back.” She leaned closer and whispered. “I think you and the other probies call her the General.” Laughing, she walked out the door.
29
1936
The six-month probation period proved grueling and heartbreaking. Keely Sullivan got washed out when Mrs. Kaufman caught her sneaking out for another date. Charmain Fortier discovered she couldn’t stand the sight of blood. Tillie Rapp decided to go home and marry her boyfriend. By the time the capping ceremony rolled around, only fifteen remained out of the twenty-two who had come with such high hopes. Mrs. Kaufman informed Hildemara that she would head the procession as the Lady with the Lamp, Florence Nightingale, the mother of nursing.
“I knew you’d do it, Flo!” Boots secured the plain white cap on Hildie’s head and helped her with the coveted scarlet-lined navy blue cape with the red SMH insignia on the mandarin collar. “I’m proud of you!” She kissed her cheek. “Keep that lantern high.”
The other nursing students had friends and family among the audience. “Where are your folks?” Boots looked around. “I want to meet that handsome brother of yours.”
“They couldn’t make it.”
Everyone had a handy excuse. Mama said it would cost too much money to bring the whole family up by train. Papa had too much work to do to leave the farm. Mama had to make plans for Summer Bedlam again. The girls couldn’t be bothered, and Bernie and Elizabeth were making wedding plans. This ceremony wasn’t like a graduation, was it? It was just the end of probation, right? Nothing that mattered. Not to them, anyway.
Cloe wrote.
The folks want to know when you’re coming home. We miss you. We haven’t seen you since Christmas.
Hildemara wrote back.
No one missed me enough to come to my capping ceremony. . . .
Papa wrote a short note.
Your words sting, Hildemara. Do you really judge us so harshly? Mama works hard. I can’t leave the ranch. Come home when you can. We miss you.
Love, Papa
Driven by guilt, Hildemara finally went home for a weekend. The last person she expected to meet her at the bus station in Murietta was Mama. She snapped a book closed and stood up when Hildie came down the steps. “Well, well, so here’s the grand Lady with the Lamp.”
Was Mama being snide or condescending? “It was an honor, Mama, for being top in my class.” Hildie carried her suitcase to the car without looking back. Flinging the suitcase into the backseat, she climbed into the front, clenching her teeth and swearing to herself she wouldn’t say another word. Hurt and anger boiled up inside her, threatening to spill over and spoil the short time she had to visit.
Mama got in and started the car, saying nothing on the drive home. She turned in the driveway. Hildie broke the silence. “I see you have a new tractor.” Mama parked the car, the only sign she had heard Hildie a tightening of the muscles in her jaw. Hildie stepped out, grabbed her suitcase, and slammed the door. As she headed for the back door, she noticed other things she never had before. The house needed painting. The tear in the screen door had lengthened, letting flies in. The roof covering over the sleeping porch had been patched.
Cloe swung the door wide and came charging out. “Wait until you see our room!” The bunk bed had been replaced by two single beds covered with colorful quilts, a built-in, four-drawer dresser between them. On it stood a shiny brass kerosene lamp. Hildie had become so accustomed to electric lights that she’d forgotten the porch had never been wired. “What do you think? Isn’t it grand?”
After living in the pristine environment of Farrelly Hall and the polished corridors of the hospital, Hildemara noticed the unpainted, unfinished walls, the grimy woodwork, the sandy floor. She searched for something to say. “Who made the quilts?”
“I did. Mama bought the fabric, of course.”
“Of course.” It struck Hildie then. There was no room for her. “Where do I sleep?”
“On the living room sofa.” Mama walked past her. She paused at the back door to the kitchen. “Life doesn’t stand still, you know. Now that you have your own life, there’s no reason we can’t spread out a little and enjoy the extra space ourselves, is there? There’s no law against your sisters being as comfortable as you are in that grand brick building you wrote about.” The door slammed behind her.
Hildemara wished she had stayed in Oakland. Mama had managed to make her feel small and mean-spirited. “It’s lovely, Cloe.” She fought tears. “You did a beautiful job on those quilts.” Unlike the old one Hildemara had used, these covered the entire bed. Cloe and Rikki wouldn’t have to scrunch up to keep their feet warm. “Where’s Papa?”
“Helping the Musashi boys. Their pump broke down again.”
Gathering her courage, Hildie went into the living room and sat on the lumpy old sofa. Everything looked the same, but she saw it through the eyes of her bacteriology class. Everywhere she looked, Hildie saw places where colonies could flourish: a food stain on the sofa; scuffed woodwork; sandy grit tracked in from field and barn, undoubtedly rich with manure; linoleum peeling off in one corner of the kitchen; stacks of newspapers; the splattered, sun-bleached kitchen curtains; the cat sleeping in the middle of the kitchen table, where everyone ate.
If there was one thing Hildie had learned in the past few months, it was what people didn’t know could hurt them.
Papa came in through the front door. “I saw Mama drive in.” Hildie ran to him, hugging him tight. “Hildemara Rose.” His voice rasped with emotion. “All grown-up.” He smelled of horse manure, engine grease, dust, and healthy perspiration. Hildie cried at the pleasure of seeing his smiling face. “I’ve got to get back to work, but I wanted to welcome you home.”
“I’ll go with you.” Hildie followed him across the street, waving hello to the Musashi girls working in the field. While Papa worked on the pump, she told him about her classes, patients, doctors, the girls.
He laughed over Boots’s prank with John Bones. “You sound happy, Hildemara.”
“Happier than I’ve ever been, Papa. I’m where God wants me.”
“I’ll be done here in a while. Why don’t you go see about helping your mother?”
Mama brushed off her offer. “Just let me do it myself. I can get things done a lot faster.”
Cloe had to study. Rikki had gone off somewhere to draw another picture. Bernie was in town with Elizabeth. Hildie sat on the sofa and read one of the old movie magazines Cloe collected. Several pages had been torn out. Hildie tossed it aside and looked at another. Same thing. Gathering up the old magazines, she took them out to the burn pile in the pit Bernie had dug last year. Cats wandered everywhere. Did they still live on mice in the barn? Or did Mama feed them excess milk from the cow she’d added to the menagerie?
Hildie went back inside to e
scape the heat. She missed the cool sea air that blew in across San Francisco Bay. She felt uncomfortable sitting in the living room while Mama worked in the kitchen, back rigid, hands flying about her tasks. Hildie didn’t know what to say. Silence and inactivity grated on her nerves. “I can set the table, can’t I?”
“Please!”
Hildie opened the cabinet and took out the dinner plates. “This plate should be thrown away.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“It has a crack.”
“So what?”
“Cracks are breeding grounds for germs, Mama.”
“Put it back in the cabinet if it’s not good enough for you.”
Angry, Hildie took the plate out the back door and threw it into the garbage hole.
When she came back inside, Mama glared at her. “Are you happy now, Hildemara?”
“At least no one will get sick.”
“We’ve been eating off that plate for ten years and no one’s been sick yet!”
Bernie came home and hugged Hildemara. “Not staying for dinner, Mama. I’m taking Elizabeth to the movie.” He leaned in toward Hildie. “Want to come with us?”
She was sorely tempted. “I’m only here for a couple days, Bernie. I’d like to spend it with the whole family. Tell Elizabeth I said hi. Maybe next time.”
Everyone talked through dinner, except Mama. Cloe talked enough for two people and Rikki wanted to know about nurses’ training. Hildie told them about the capping ceremony and her new uniform. She didn’t say anything about being Lady with the Lamp or top of her class. She hoped Mama would say something, but she didn’t.
She lay awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling. When she finally dozed off, Mama came into the kitchen and lit a lamp, keeping the wick low as she moved around on tiptoes, filling the coffeepot, making rolls, beating eggs. Papa came in, pulling up his suspenders. They whispered in German. Hildemara kept her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. As soon as they both finished breakfast, they went out to do chores. Nice that Mama let Cloe and Rikka sleep in. Hildie had never enjoyed that privilege.
Marta's Legacy Collection Page 31
