A muffled response. Hildemara had barely looked up from her book while Keely got herself dolled up for a date with some young doctor in training.
“Probies do not date, Miss Sullivan! Get your mind off men and onto nursing.” More muffled words from Keely. “I don’t care if you have a date with the apostle Paul! If you leave this residence without permission, take your possessions with you because you won’t be allowed back in. Do you hear me?”
Everybody in Probie Alley heard the General.
Keely came back into the room, slammed the door, and sank onto the bed in tears. “I’m so sick of her snoopervising. I had a date with Atwood tonight.”
“Atwood?”
“He’s that cute intern on the obstetrics ward we’ve all been swooning over. Well, everyone but you, I guess. He’s going to think I stood him up!”
“Explain to him tomorrow.” Too tired to care, Hildemara put her book on her dresser, rolled over, and fell asleep dreaming of sutures, knives, instruments, and a frustrated doctor standing over an unconscious patient and shouting at her, “He’s not even shaved and prepped!”
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
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.
“
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. “
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,
