exactly a bustling metropolis. Surely there were plenty of women eager to snare a handsome doctor?
He shuffled her papers and then tucked them into one of his messy desk drawers. âTerrence in counseling is always warning me about hiring redheads. Too lippy, he says. Too feisty.â Warden Crawford stood, laughing again, extending a hand to her across his desk. âWe could use a little more fire around here. This isnât a place for the faint of heart, which makes me think youâll fit right in, Ms. Ash.â
Phew . She had the job and she could breathe again and stop clutching her rain bonnet like a life jacket.
âThank you, sir. Really, thank you. And, itâs true, you know. I want to help people.â
âDonât we all?â he murmured, a cold, intense light brightening his gaze. âDonât we all.â
For the first time in her life, Jocelyn felt like she not only had a purpose but a clear-cut course, too. She saw little of the doctors for the first few weeks and even less of Warden Crawford. Assigned to simple, straightforward tasks, Jocelyn began to wear holes in her shoes from making frequent trips up and down the first and second level patient halls, changing sheets, delivering tiny paper cups of medicines, and swapping out, disinfecting, and returning bedpans. Gradually she began to recognize the faces underneath the little white paper hatsâthe other nurses were cordial, but none of them came close to her friendship with Madge.
Madge, who still managed to find time to flirt with orderlies and doctors alike; there was no telling how she did it. For her part, Jocelyn could barely scrabble together a spare minute to eat lunch.
But that was all right. She had expected hazing, but instead Nurse Kramer assigned her some of the calmer patients. In particular, Jocelyn liked Mrs. Small in 214âher dementia had progressed to a point where her stories varied day to day, but every once in a while the old woman described the fishing trips she used to take with her husband, and Jocelyn would listen intently, giving the patient a sponge bath or trying to coax her to eat breakfast. She would wonder where Mr. Small was now. Had he died before her or had he abandoned this gentle soul? Jocelyn had watched her own grandmother succumb to a similar disease, and she was the only family member whoâd botheredtrying to talk to her in the hardest days of her illness. The days when her grandmother would forget who Jocelyn was, sometimes becoming so afraid that she grew violent.
It had pushed Jocelyn into nursing, that sense of injustice, that conviction that nobody, no matter how hurt or ill or old, deserved to deal with something like that alone.
Jocelyn checked the visitation schedule every morning and at the end of every shift, but nobody ever came to see Mrs. Small. It was disappointing every time, she thought tonight, closing up the bound schedule and giving a polite smile to a passing nurse. Mrs. Small could at least look forward to Jocelyn listening to her stories and laughing in all the right places.
By the time Jocelyn reached the dormitory level, Madge was already asleep in their room. Jocelyn mustered the energy to shrug out of her uniform, splash a little water on her face in the communal bathroom, brush her teeth, and shuffle back to their room. A stack of books sat unread next to her cot. As soon as her head touched the pillow, she was deeply, darkly asleep.
She thought the screams were in her nightmares until they grew so sharp and loud her head split open in pain.
The nursing dormitories lay between the floor for doctors above and the floor for miscellaneous staff and orderlies below. Sandwiched between them, Jocelynâs nights had until this point been restful. She flew up and out of bed as if jerked by a puppet masterâs strings. The screams came again, just as shrill and clear now that she was awake. She had counted herself lucky to be roomed with Madge,
He shuffled her papers and then tucked them into one of his messy desk drawers. âTerrence in counseling is always warning me about hiring redheads. Too lippy, he says. Too feisty.â Warden Crawford stood, laughing again, extending a hand to her across his desk. âWe could use a little more fire around here. This isnât a place for the faint of heart, which makes me think youâll fit right in, Ms. Ash.â
Phew . She had the job and she could breathe again and stop clutching her rain bonnet like a life jacket.
âThank you, sir. Really, thank you. And, itâs true, you know. I want to help people.â
âDonât we all?â he murmured, a cold, intense light brightening his gaze. âDonât we all.â
For the first time in her life, Jocelyn felt like she not only had a purpose but a clear-cut course, too. She saw little of the doctors for the first few weeks and even less of Warden Crawford. Assigned to simple, straightforward tasks, Jocelyn began to wear holes in her shoes from making frequent trips up and down the first and second level patient halls, changing sheets, delivering tiny paper cups of medicines, and swapping out, disinfecting, and returning bedpans. Gradually she began to recognize the faces underneath the little white paper hatsâthe other nurses were cordial, but none of them came close to her friendship with Madge.
Madge, who still managed to find time to flirt with orderlies and doctors alike; there was no telling how she did it. For her part, Jocelyn could barely scrabble together a spare minute to eat lunch.
But that was all right. She had expected hazing, but instead Nurse Kramer assigned her some of the calmer patients. In particular, Jocelyn liked Mrs. Small in 214âher dementia had progressed to a point where her stories varied day to day, but every once in a while the old woman described the fishing trips she used to take with her husband, and Jocelyn would listen intently, giving the patient a sponge bath or trying to coax her to eat breakfast. She would wonder where Mr. Small was now. Had he died before her or had he abandoned this gentle soul? Jocelyn had watched her own grandmother succumb to a similar disease, and she was the only family member whoâd botheredtrying to talk to her in the hardest days of her illness. The days when her grandmother would forget who Jocelyn was, sometimes becoming so afraid that she grew violent.
It had pushed Jocelyn into nursing, that sense of injustice, that conviction that nobody, no matter how hurt or ill or old, deserved to deal with something like that alone.
Jocelyn checked the visitation schedule every morning and at the end of every shift, but nobody ever came to see Mrs. Small. It was disappointing every time, she thought tonight, closing up the bound schedule and giving a polite smile to a passing nurse. Mrs. Small could at least look forward to Jocelyn listening to her stories and laughing in all the right places.
By the time Jocelyn reached the dormitory level, Madge was already asleep in their room. Jocelyn mustered the energy to shrug out of her uniform, splash a little water on her face in the communal bathroom, brush her teeth, and shuffle back to their room. A stack of books sat unread next to her cot. As soon as her head touched the pillow, she was deeply, darkly asleep.
She thought the screams were in her nightmares until they grew so sharp and loud her head split open in pain.
The nursing dormitories lay between the floor for doctors above and the floor for miscellaneous staff and orderlies below. Sandwiched between them, Jocelynâs nights had until this point been restful. She flew up and out of bed as if jerked by a puppet masterâs strings. The screams came again, just as shrill and clear now that she was awake. She had counted herself lucky to be roomed with Madge,
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