“All right.” Sophie sat up straighter and grabbed one of the heavy textbooks on the table. She much preferred when Miss Cantrell lectured, but put her mind to the task and read about the ligaments that cause the knee to flex and extend.
After ten minutes—and she knew, because she was keeping an eye on the clock on the mantel—she stood up, set the book back on the table, and walked toward Miss Cantrell’s bedroom. The whole way, which felt like a walk to the gallows, she tried to figure out what to say.
“Come in,” came the reply to her timid knock, and she opened the door. Miss Cantrell sat in a chair by the window, a novel in her hand.
“Miss Cantrell? May I speak with you?”
“Of course.” She closed her book and turned toward Sophie expectantly.
“I’ve come to apologize. I’ve been very thoughtless, and I didn’t realize I would make things difficult for you.” Her words felt hollow and insufficient.
Miss Cantrell sighed and motioned for Sophie to take the chair across from hers. “When you’re in a position such as I am, many things are difficult,” she began. “Dr. Russell’s work is under constant scrutiny because he and Dr. Sims and Dr. Everett are always trying new things and seeking to forward the cause of medicine. Whenever a new discovery is made in the scientific world, those who pioneered it are scorned and questioned until enough evidence exists to support it, and then they must endure yet another round of ridicule with their next discovery. And as Dr. Russell’s nurse, I am subjected to those things as well.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
Miss Cantrell shook her head. “I didn’t expect you to. It’s not something we talk about much—we simply accept it as part of the field we’ve chosen. You should, however, understand that because of this constant scrutiny, you nurses are also under the microscope, as it were, being examined and judged at every turn. Your success means Dr. Russell’s success. Your failure means Dr. Russell’s failure. His detractors would love any reasons they can find to think even less of him.”
Sophie’s face burned. “I don’t want anyone to think less of Dr. Russell, or of you. Both of you have been marvelous.”
Miss Cantrell shrugged one shoulder. “Be that as it may, and I thank you for that, the world only cares what the end result might be, and whatever bits of gossip they can pick up along the way. There are also those who are quite scandalized that Dr. Russell has a whole house filled to the brim with women. They’re certain something questionable must be going on.”
“He’s not even here a great deal of the time,” Sophie protested.
“Again, his detractors don’t care. They’re eager to see him fail, regardless of how it comes about.”
“I don’t understand how people can be so spiteful.”
Miss Cantrell laughed. “Oh, Sophie, you do see the world in its best light. That’s one of the traits I like most in you. But you’ll come to realize soon enough that jealously and bitterness are just as natural to some people as breathing. There’s no use fretting over it—that’s just how it is.”
“What a perfectly horrible way to live.” Sophie shuddered.
“I agree, but there’s not a great deal we can do about it. We must simply forge ahead.” Miss Cantrell looked down at her closed book, and then back up again. “Sophie, I don’t want you to lose your free spirit and your zest for life. Those will serve you well as you make friends and establish your place in the world. However, I need to ask you to adhere to the rules more closely during your time here. A good nurse is an obedient nurse, and your latest evaluation has concerned me.”
“Evaluation? What sort of evaluation?” Sophie’s heart was suddenly filled with dread.
“I’m sure you recall that your time spent at St. Timothy’s is not only counted toward your experience, but toward your grade.”
“I think I do recall that,” Sophie said, studying her clasped hands.
“And because of that, each doctor you assist sends us a nightly report about your aptitude and the areas in which they feel you need to improve.” Miss Cantrell leaned forward and picked up a sheet of paper from the small table between them. “Dr. Gregory requested to work with you again today to see if anything could be made of you. He says you’re incorrigible and will not listen to instruction.”
“That’s not true!” Sophie sat bolt upright, no longer feeling apologetic. “That man is a tyrant. He expects his nurses to snap to attention and be perfect tin soldiers, not caring one whit for the comfort of the patient or showing even basic humanity. Yesterday, I had the temerity to show compassion for a man while Dr. Gregory was draining a very painful abscess on his leg, and gracious. You would have thought that I’d pulled out a bottle of whiskey and was drinking in the operating room for how the doctor reacted. Although, now that I think about it, maybe getting tipsy during surgery is exactly what I should do. That procedure was rather difficult to watch.”
Miss Cantrell allowed herself a slight smile before growing serious again. “Be that as it may, you have something to prove today. Don’t waste the opportunity.”
Sophie nodded. “I’ll try. I really will.”
“Thank you. And I know you can do it. You have the instincts and the intelligence to become a wonderful nurse. You received a perfect score on your last exam, don’t forget. That’s something Dr. Gregory can’t take away from you.”
Sophie’s heart did warm at the memory. “Your confidence means a great deal to me. Thank you. And I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”
Miss Cantrell sighed. “It’s just a combination of many things, some of which I mentioned, and others that aren’t pertinent. I’ll be all right.”
Sophie closed the door behind her and rejoined the others studying in the parlor. She was utterly furious that Dr. Gregory would write up such a report, but she was determined to prove him wrong—not only for her own sake, but to be a credit to Dr. Russell and Miss Cantrell.
Chapter Four
“Good afternoon, Miss Jones,” Edward greeted her as she walked into the hospital, her dark curls bouncing with each step. “I see that you’re only five minutes late today.”
She opened her mouth as if to reply, but then merely gave a nod. “What’s our first task, sir?”
What? No flippant reply? He was almost disappointed. “We must attend to a compound fracture. The patient fell from some scaffolding while he was painting the outside of a building.”
“Miss Anderson told me that it was assisting with the treatment of a compound fracture that made her interested in studying medicine,” Miss Jones replied.
“Oh? Tell me about her experience.”
As they walked toward the operating room, Miss Jones explained the treatment the patient had undergone, and how the proper administration of carbolic acid had kept the wound from turning gangrenous.
“I too have studied the work of Dr. Lister, and his treatment is exactly what we’ll be doing today. Did Miss Anderson say how the patient recovered?”
“From all reports, he’s back to his normal activities.”
“Excellent. I’m sure you’re aware that in the recent past, many patients who suffered from compound fractures died from infection. This is a huge step forward for medicine.”
She didn’t reply, but gave another silent nod. She was certainly being quiet, and that suited Edward just fine. It did make him wonder about the sudden change, however.
Miss Jones proved to be a capable assistant as they set the bone and stabilized it for the patient. She moved quickly and even seemed to anticipate what he might need, having it ready upon request. The chatter remained at a minimum, and Edward felt his shoulders begin to relax. This was far more tolerable.
When it came time to apply the first dose of carbolic acid to the wound, Miss Jones moved in closer to the patient and gripped his hand. “This is going to hurt, Mr. Hanson, so hang on to me and we’ll do it together, all right?”
The man nodded, and when the acid hit his skin, he did buck and writhe. E
dward glanced up to see Miss Jones’ fingers turning white, they were being squeezed so hard, but she didn’t complain at all.
“There now,” she soothed as the initial pain subsided and Mr. Hanson relaxed. “You did so well.”
“Are you sure that’s necessary?” Mr. Hanson asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“Only if you don’t want your leg to turn green,” Edward snapped. Questions, questions all the time. Would they never end?
Miss Jones smiled reassuringly. “Dr. Gregory is doing everything he can to prevent infection from spreading in your leg. They’re having marvelous success with this technique. It will be worth it.”
Edward turned to the patient. “An orderly will be in to move you to a room. Try not to jostle your leg.” Then he addressed Miss Jones. “Mr. Grover in the next room needs his bandage changed, and then he can go home.”
“Very good, sir.” Miss Jones nodded and walked off, and Edward went in search of a strong cup of coffee. Suddenly, he needed one very, very much.
***
“Miss Jones!”
Sophie turned from the tray of surgical instruments she’d been organizing. Dr. Gregory sounded angry—but then again, he always sounded angry. “Yes, Doctor?”
He stormed up to her, his handsome face turning red. “Am I to understand that you told Mr. Grover he could go home?”
She blinked. “That’s right. As per your instructions.”
“What exactly were my instructions, Miss Jones?”
She smiled, hoping that would help her voice sound gentle. She would keep her promise to Miss Cantrell if it was the last thing she did. “You said I should change his bandage and then discharge him.”
Dr. Gregory pressed his lips together. “I wanted to examine his wound before he was discharged.”
Sophie took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “I’m sorry, Doctor. That wasn’t made clear to me.”
“It wasn’t made clear to you? Miss Jones, there are some things you simply must figure out for yourself. If a patient has a wound that has been treated regularly over the course of the last several days, might it not stand to reason that his doctor would like to check on its progress before the patient is sent out of sight? Couldn’t you have surmised that for yourself? I’m not your governess, Miss Jones. I shouldn’t have to tell you every little thing.”
Sophie nodded, smiling even more brightly. “I understand, Doctor. I’ll do it differently next time.”
“I certainly hope so.” Dr. Gregory gave a sharp nod. “Is this room ready for the next surgery?”
“Nearly. I was just arranging the instruments.”
“I expect to be able to start in ten minutes.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
He strode out of the room, and Sophie leaned against the table, her knees suddenly weak. Hopefully, he’d calm down before surgery began or he’d be even more impossible to work with.
Jeanette stuck her head through the door. “I heard him yelling from out here in the hall,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” Sophie replied with a grin. “It takes more than copious amounts of public humiliation to make me quit. I’m determined to soften him up one of these days.”
“I hope you’re successful. It would be good for all of us.”
Jeanette returned to helping Dr. Saul, and Sophie finished preparing the room. A moment later, the patient was wheeled in, and Dr. Gregory came back.
“I trust you’re ready?” he asked as he washed up.
“Yes, Doctor.”
“We will be stitching a laceration along the patient’s arm. I’ll need needle and thread immediately.”
“Of course.”
As they began their work on the patient, Sophie took advantage of the moment to study Dr. Gregory. When she’d first met him, she’d thought he was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen, and her opinion hadn’t changed, even though she was certainly becoming acquainted with his temper. His hair was prone to curling when damp, and when he was angry—which was most of the time—his eyes flashed like lightning. She would love to sit and stare at him sometime when he wouldn’t notice what she was doing. It might help her reconcile his personality with his looks.
She handed him the next needle, and all was going well until a moment later when he ran out of thread. “Miss Jones, you realize this is a long wound, do you not? How am I supposed to stitch such a long wound with such a short piece of thread?”
“I was trying to avoid tangling, Doctor.”
“There are ways to avoid tangling while still giving me the length of thread I need. I suggest that you ask your instructors about this before our next surgery.”
“I will. Thank you, Doctor.” She threaded another needle, giving him twice as much length, and he bent his head back to his task.
Sophie observed the careful up-and-down movements of the needle, glancing from time to time at the patient’s face. She hoped the ether was doing its job and the procedure wasn’t painful. At times like this, she badly wished she knew some magic that would remove the pain entirely.
“Miss Jones! This thread is tangled. Would you please be so kind as to fix it?”
“Of course.” She grasped the fiber and worked out the knot, then handed the needle back to the doctor, trying very hard not to become frustrated. She’d told him that a longer length would be difficult to work with, but he was determined to prove her wrong at every opportunity.
When the procedure was finished and the patient bandaged, Dr. Gregory turned to Sophie. “My office, Miss Jones. Now.”
She took off her apron, tied on a fresh one, and followed him down the hall. As soon as they entered his office, he closed the door, but didn’t bother to sit.
“Miss Jones, I have given you every opportunity to make something of yourself here, but you continuously flout my authority and do everything you’re specifically told not to do. I don’t know what to make of you, but my recommendation to Dr. Russell will be that you excuse yourself from the program immediately.”
Hot rage boiled up from Sophie’s midsection, and this time, there was no controlling it. “Dr. Gregory, you seem to have forgotten a very important fact. I am a nurse, and a nurse’s job is to nurture the patient. The word ‘nurture’ comes from Middle English and Late Latin, and directly correlates with the word ‘nurse.’ This dates back to the year 1300 A.D. Your continued attempts to keep me from interacting with the patients will always and forever fall on deaf ears because I am here to be their advocate in a frightening situation.”
She took a deep breath, realizing she was probably being very foolish, and pressed on. “Furthermore, there is absolutely nothing amiss with my nursing skills, despite your unkind report on my performance yesterday. Three times today, I covered up a mistake for you. Three times, Doctor. You asked me for a knife when you actually needed a needle, and I handed you a needle without comment. You called a patient by the wrong name, and I managed to smooth that over before anyone seemed to notice. And the tangled thread? That was on you, Doctor. Your sewing technique lost its fluidity, you made an awkward stitch, and that resulted in the tangle. I will not be held accountable for your mistakes. They are yours to own.”
His face was all but purple. “Miss Jones—”
“You needn’t worry, Doctor. I’m escorting myself from the building now. I will meet with Dr. Russell and confess my multitude of sins, and if he chooses to keep me in the program, I will take the greatest of care never to be assigned to you again.” She spun on her heel, but then turned back. “I do wonder, though, when you’re going to see a doctor.”
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“A doctor. For your headaches.”
He looked at her in bewilderment. “How did you know I have headaches?”
“You’re irritable, it becomes worse in bright light or noisy rooms, you seek solitude, you drink coffee like a fish—although, I don’t actually think fish drink coffee—and you keep pressing your temples.
In my expert opinion, I recommend that you see a doctor. Good day.” She flounced out of the office, closing the door behind her. It was tempting to let it slam, but even in her anger, she would not act so immaturely. Now she just needed to find Dr. Russell and tell him what had happened.
***
Edward sank into his chair and pressed his hands to his eyes. Thank goodness she was gone. He was ready to blame every headache he’d ever had on her, even though they had started the previous year and not recently.
They had started the previous year . . . He thought back. When had he experienced his first headache? He’d had them off and on his whole life, but they became worse when he started working at St. Timothy’s. Chances were, this environment was unhealthy for him, especially when he was expected to work with student nurses on a regular basis. He should go into private practice, where he could work with one well-trained nurse every day and end this ridiculous routine.
Miss Jones certainly had gall, speaking to him like that. Didn’t she realize that she was only here on the auspices of the doctors she worked with, and that any one of them could make life very difficult for her indeed? He’d told her that he would recommend her removal from the program, but that didn’t seem to chasten her at all. Instead, it made her angry. An angry nurse was no good to anyone, which further proved his point that she didn’t belong in medicine.
He chose to forget entirely the sparkle in her eyes or the way a hint of pink touched her cheeks just before she left. Those facts were immaterial and unimportant.
Chapter Five
Sophie stood in front of Dr. Russell’s desk in his office at Woman’s Hospital, her hands clasped tightly in front of her to stop their trembling. Now if she could just get rid of the knot in her stomach. She’d said her piece, and now she waited to hear his reply. But he hadn’t said anything for at least ninety seconds, and she was antsy for his verdict.
“Miss Jones,” he said at last, leaning back and studying her face, “you should know that out of all the nurses in our experimental program, you are the one who has caused me the most concern. You have a general air of not caring about the seriousness of medicine. Your tendency toward laughter at inappropriate moments makes me wonder if you are ready for this type of commitment, and lastly, Dr. Gregory’s report of yesterday indicates that he feels the same way.”
Cause of Conflict (Nurses of New York Book 2) Page 3
