Her life returned to normal in the weeks after the wedding. At least, as normal as life can be when you're less than three months away from your own wedding. She kept a list of things that needed checking, ordering or making, and crossed them off one by one: the florist, the organist, the singer, the garter, the pillow for the ring bearer.
She saw Paul several nights a week, usually at his place, and found it necessary to visit her mother once or twice a week concerning various details. At times Joseph Duggan entered her mind in a most distracting way. Then she'd put on her sweats and try to run him out of her system.
But it never seemed to work.
The one place he didn't manage to intrude was at the hospital. She loved her job and the people she worked with, and the patients, each of whom she considered a separate challenge.
The Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation Department of North Memorial Medical Center consisted of four systems: physical therapy; occupational therapy; cardiac rehab; and sports medicine, a relatively new and specialized facet of P.T. that was located in a separate building from the other three systems. But it was with those three housed within the main body of the hospital building that Winnifred worked.
She spent her days gaining the confidence of the patients to whom she was assigned, encouraging them with the often repeated phrase 'You can' and making certain they never failed in the problem she assigned them for the day, be it raising a leg one inch higher than the previous day or touching an ear to a shoulder. It was one of the things she loved about being a physical therapist, the constant challenge of gauging each person's abilities and limits, and making certain she never expected more progress than their impaired bodies were ready for.
She worked with both inpatients and outpatients, seeing them once or twice a day until they were either released or had recuperated as much use of the affected body part as possible. Because she came to know each of them personally-their temperaments, personal histories, goals and fears-there was always a grave danger of becoming emotionally involved with them herself. Sympathy was fine and necessary, but when it grew too empathetic, it clouded judgment and affected a therapist's own emotions. Thus, they were taught from the start to beware of sympathetic involvement.
It was a gorgeous day in late April when Winnie was assigned a new patient. She met Meredith Emery shortly before noon, and from the first glance at the burn-scarred ten-year-old, something within Winn's heart trembled.
The child had been standing next to her father when the first match failed as he attempted to light a backyard barbecue. When he went inside for extra matches, he forgot to turn the gas jet down. The resultant explosion burned both of them badly, but the child suffered worse, simply because she was shorter, and the flame caught her at chest and neck level, scarring her face, too.
It was the frightened, lashless, eyebrowless eyes that caught at Winnifred's heartstrings from the very first moment she looked into them. The child's eyes must have been stunning before the accident-enormous, deep brown with large pupils and such wide-open lids. A poppet's eyes.
An orderly rolled Meredith Emery down to P.T. on a gurney, which was topped by a 'rack' of canvas stretched onto an aluminum frame, much like an Indian litter. Winnifred met her at the door to the tank room and told the orderly she'd take over from there.
The child had been lightly sedated, but not enough so she wasn't capable of fear at yet another strange face, another strange stainless-steel facility, another new process for her small ravaged body.
'Hello, Meredith, my name is Winnifred. I'm going to be seeing you twice every day for as long as you're here, and together we're going to work on your arms and legs and toes and fingers and everything until you can move just like you did before and be able to run and play and go back to school. How does that sound?'
The wide doubtful eyes only stared.
'Meredith…' Winnie mused. 'That's a rather big name for a girl…' Winnifred checked her chart questioningly. 'Ten? Are you ten?' She cocked her head closer to the level of the child's.
Meredith answered with an almost imperceptible nod.
'What do your friends call you?'
'Merry.' The mouth was misshapen and drawn, and when it formed the words was transformed into a grotesque parody of a child's lips. Steeling herself, Winnifred ignored the pity that gripped her. 'May I call you Merry? My name is kind of like yours, too-a little on the fancy side, kind of puts people off sometimes. So I'd like it if you'd call me… Winn.' Where had it come from, this form of her name only Joseph Duggan used? She had never before encouraged people to call her by it, but now it soothed her as she looked down upon the unfortunate child.
Winn explained that because Merry's burns had been treated with sulfa and lanolin aeams, they must be washed off to prevent infection, then she verbally attempted to prepare Merry for the sight that often terrified younger patients: the Hubbard tank. It was a stainless-steel monstrosity, shaped rather like a nine-foot-long four- leaf clover and equipped with a whirlpool. She explained that Merry could lie just as she was, and she and the orderly would attach four hooks to the corners of the rack, then lift her into the pool, rack and all, as if she were cargo being loaded aboard a ship.
But when the hooks were attached, and the motor began hoisting the child, she screamed and reached pathetically for Winn's hand.
'Nooo! Nooo!'
'Stop!' Winn ordered immediately. The fissure in her heart widened, and she took the small hand, ordering the hoist to be lowered again. The thin hand clung. The lashless eyes cried. And Winn wanted to drop to her knees and cry herself. She soothed the child as best she could, rechecked her chart and made a quick decision.
'Have you been able to sit up yet, Merry?'
'They wouldn't let me.'
'Just a minute… I have another idea that you'll like better, but I'll be right back.' Several minutes later, after receiving an okay from the child's doctor, Winn took Merry instead into a much smaller, less intimidating tub in which the child could sit instead of lie. Merry was strapped into the swivel chair of a device called a Century lift, and upon it was raised over the edge of the stainless-steel tub, then down inside.
When the ninety-eight-degree water touched her skin, the tiny body, which had had its chemistry so drastically upset, began to shudder violently. Merry howled and broke into tears, and begged to be taken from the tank, but it was necessary to keep her immersed and agitated by the water for a full five minutes.
They were five of the longest of Winnifred Gardner's life.
When they were up, the child was swathed in dry blankets and laid once more upon her rack and gurney to be returned to her room. But as she left, her eyes clung to Winn's, still filled with tears that made Winn wish to bend low and run a soothing hand over the little girl's hair. Only Merry had no hair. It, too, had been burned in the explosion.
When the gurney rolled away, Winn stood in the silent hall, watching the door through which it had disappeared. She sighed deeply, covered her cheeks with both hands and dug her fingertips into her eyes-they were filled with tears.
At that moment Mrs. Christianson, the coordinator of P.T., stepped out of her office and paused beside the doorway.
'Winnifred?'
Winn turned around, her face burdened with pain.
'It's the child, isn't it?'
Winn roughly sieved her fingers through her hair. 'Yes, it's the child. I'm not sure I can take this one, Sylvia.'
'Of course you can. We all can when we have to. But sometimes it helps to discuss the case. We could go to lunch together.'
'I think I'll pass today, if it's all right with you. I need something more than food right now.'
Winn spent the next hour in the deserted rehab room, riding the stationary bike until her calves burned, then
