from the debris and scrambling to her feet and her full height. “I’ll take a lower berth, conductor. And a larger. Ah, well, I’m getting used to this.”
It was true that Bessie’s cot had collapsed under her on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. The girls had been sympathetic at first but by now, even the Chief Nurse had to admit, Bessie’s predicament was just plain funny. The girls put two cots together and after that, Bessie slept on those. The two cots survived her but Bessie announced that the crack where they joined, in spite of the thick padding over it, was leaving a permanent ridge down her spine.
“Remember the princess and the pea in the fairy tale?” Bessie joked, “That’s me, just a delicate little thing!”
Bessie stumbled and fell in the stream. The girls fished her out and peeled her wet, tight uniform off her.
Then they found that all her other clothes were in the laundry, and none of theirs were big enough to fit her.
Bessie spent the rest of that afternoon in a uniform borrowed from one of the infantrymen. It was the oddest fit ever seen on Island 14.
B E S S I E
101
“I look like a comic valentine!” Bessie declared, giggling. “My patients are going to get a good laugh out of this!” They did, too, and Bessie did not seem to mind.
But Bessie did not show up at Mess for supper that night, Cherry noticed.
That night, for all her enjoyment of Bessie’s antics, Cherry had more serious matters on her mind. This was the evening when she had “made time” to spend with the wounded airman.
Cherry had been to see him briefly, several times each day, with Captain Willard. The doctor had said,
“Exhaustion—flier’s nerve strain,” and prescribed sedatives so that the tense man could fall asleep. Cherry saw to it that he had plenty of milk and good food when he awoke. She assigned Ann, who was calm and cheerful, and a dependable corpsman, to look after this patient.
When Cherry tiptoed into the flier’s quiet isolation tent that hot evening, she whispered to Ann, “How is he?”
Ann shook her head. “He won’t talk. I wish he would talk! I try to encourage him to get things off his chest, but he hasn’t said a syllable. It seems hopeless.” She turned over the chart to Cherry and prepared to leave.
Hopeless. That was the word Mrs. Flanders had used, too, when Cherry asked her what she thought of 102
C H E R R Y A M E S , C H I E F N U R S E
the patient’s condition. Neither Ann nor Bessie Flanders were persons to use that word without thought.
After Ann had left, Cherry sat down by the flier’s bedside and studied him. He had a finely modeled face, smooth satiny brown hair and brows, a nervous, sensitive mouth. He was in his early twenties. Even with his eyes closed. Cherry saw in his face uncommon intelligence and feeling and dignity. His shoulder was heavily bandaged. X-rays showed that the shoulder would require an operation. Cherry was delicately examining the bandage when she had the curious feeling that he was staring at her. She turned slightly. His dark blue eyes, heavy with fatigue, were open now and looking at her.
“Hello,” Cherry said, mustering up a poise she did not feel. “Are you feeling better? You look better,” she said untruthfully.
His gaze did not flicker. Had he understood her?
“Gene,” Cherry said gently. “You know Charlie Ames in your crew. I’m Charlie’s sister, Cherry.” Still there was no reply, no sign of response, though those heavy-lidded eyes registered perfect comprehension. There was a terrible silence in the tent. The footsteps outside seemed to come from another world.
“Gene,” Cherry insisted, fighting down her own fear
“It’s me, Charlie’s sister. It’s Cherry. Don’t be afraid.” But it was not fear in those eyes that followed the slightest bend of her head, the smallest quiver of B E S S I E
103
expression on her rosy face. It might have been memory, lost and dim, which dropped a screen of
It was true that Bessie’s cot had collapsed under her on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. The girls had been sympathetic at first but by now, even the Chief Nurse had to admit, Bessie’s predicament was just plain funny. The girls put two cots together and after that, Bessie slept on those. The two cots survived her but Bessie announced that the crack where they joined, in spite of the thick padding over it, was leaving a permanent ridge down her spine.
“Remember the princess and the pea in the fairy tale?” Bessie joked, “That’s me, just a delicate little thing!”
Bessie stumbled and fell in the stream. The girls fished her out and peeled her wet, tight uniform off her.
Then they found that all her other clothes were in the laundry, and none of theirs were big enough to fit her.
Bessie spent the rest of that afternoon in a uniform borrowed from one of the infantrymen. It was the oddest fit ever seen on Island 14.
B E S S I E
101
“I look like a comic valentine!” Bessie declared, giggling. “My patients are going to get a good laugh out of this!” They did, too, and Bessie did not seem to mind.
But Bessie did not show up at Mess for supper that night, Cherry noticed.
That night, for all her enjoyment of Bessie’s antics, Cherry had more serious matters on her mind. This was the evening when she had “made time” to spend with the wounded airman.
Cherry had been to see him briefly, several times each day, with Captain Willard. The doctor had said,
“Exhaustion—flier’s nerve strain,” and prescribed sedatives so that the tense man could fall asleep. Cherry saw to it that he had plenty of milk and good food when he awoke. She assigned Ann, who was calm and cheerful, and a dependable corpsman, to look after this patient.
When Cherry tiptoed into the flier’s quiet isolation tent that hot evening, she whispered to Ann, “How is he?”
Ann shook her head. “He won’t talk. I wish he would talk! I try to encourage him to get things off his chest, but he hasn’t said a syllable. It seems hopeless.” She turned over the chart to Cherry and prepared to leave.
Hopeless. That was the word Mrs. Flanders had used, too, when Cherry asked her what she thought of 102
C H E R R Y A M E S , C H I E F N U R S E
the patient’s condition. Neither Ann nor Bessie Flanders were persons to use that word without thought.
After Ann had left, Cherry sat down by the flier’s bedside and studied him. He had a finely modeled face, smooth satiny brown hair and brows, a nervous, sensitive mouth. He was in his early twenties. Even with his eyes closed. Cherry saw in his face uncommon intelligence and feeling and dignity. His shoulder was heavily bandaged. X-rays showed that the shoulder would require an operation. Cherry was delicately examining the bandage when she had the curious feeling that he was staring at her. She turned slightly. His dark blue eyes, heavy with fatigue, were open now and looking at her.
“Hello,” Cherry said, mustering up a poise she did not feel. “Are you feeling better? You look better,” she said untruthfully.
His gaze did not flicker. Had he understood her?
“Gene,” Cherry said gently. “You know Charlie Ames in your crew. I’m Charlie’s sister, Cherry.” Still there was no reply, no sign of response, though those heavy-lidded eyes registered perfect comprehension. There was a terrible silence in the tent. The footsteps outside seemed to come from another world.
“Gene,” Cherry insisted, fighting down her own fear
“It’s me, Charlie’s sister. It’s Cherry. Don’t be afraid.” But it was not fear in those eyes that followed the slightest bend of her head, the smallest quiver of B E S S I E
103
expression on her rosy face. It might have been memory, lost and dim, which dropped a screen of
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