and an all-too-lively twinkle in his eyes, which he closed when the General came close.
“Very good, Miss Waltert. Good day, Dr. Turner.” As she swished out the door, Hildie breathed again.
“Check the hall,” Dr. Turner whispered. “Tell me when she’s gone.”
Peering out, Hildie watched the General stride down the hallway, pause briefly at the nurses’ station, and head for the stairs. “She’s gone.” She heard a mighty thrashing sound and turned. “What are you doing?”
Dr. Turner kicked until all the bed linens she had carefully tucked in came free. “Ahhh. Much, much better.” He grinned at her.
She wanted to smother him with his pillow or beat him over the head with the sack of peanuts someone had smuggled in. “They should have a special ward for doctors! One with manacles!” She heard his laughter as she went down the hall.
“Doc is gone. You can have Miss Fullbright now. She’s down the hall on the left.” Another private room patient who didn’t seem sick at all. Hildemara carried in her meal trays and drew water in a tub. Miss Fullbright took her time and bathed unaided each morning while Hildie made the bed with fresh linens. The woman read incessantly while a radio played classical music on her side table. The only medicine dispensed was one aspirin a day, a child’s dose.
On the fifth day, Hildie found her dressed and packing her suitcase. “I’m so glad your tests all turned out well, Miss Fullbright.”
“Tests?” She laughed. “Oh, that.” She folded a silk dressing gown into her suitcase. “Just routine stuff, no real complaint. I’m as healthy as a workhorse.” She chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m a nurse, too. A head nurse, in fact. Not in this hospital, of course. I’d have no privacy whatsoever.” She handed Hildie three novels. “You can put these in the nurses’ library. I’m done with them.” She smiled. “It’s simple, Miss Waltert. I work hard all year, overseeing a staff of nursing students just like you. I need to get away and have a little vacation now and then. So every few years, I call my friend and sign in here for a week, have a routine checkup and a good rest with room service while I’m about it.”
“None of my friends know where I am, and I get to read for pleasure.” She closed her case and snapped the locks.
“Don’t forget your radio.”
“It belongs to my friend. She’ll pick it up later.” Miss Fullbright slid her suitcase off the bed and held it easily at her side. “You were very efficient, Miss Waltert. Henny will be pleased with my report.”
“Henny?”
“Heneka and I go way back.” She leaned closer and whispered. “I think you and the other probies call her the General.” Laughing, she walked out the door.
29
1936
The six-month probation period proved grueling and heartbreaking. Keely Sullivan got washed out when Mrs. Kaufman caught her sneaking out for another date. Charmain Fortier discovered she couldn’t stand the sight of blood. Tillie Rapp decided to go home and marry her boyfriend. By the time the capping ceremony rolled around, only fifteen remained out of the twenty-two who had come with such high hopes. Mrs. Kaufman informed Hildemara that she would head the procession as the Lady with the Lamp, Florence Nightingale, the mother of nursing.
“I knew you’d do it, Flo!” Boots secured the plain white cap on Hildie’s head and helped her with the coveted scarlet-lined navy blue cape with the red SMH insignia on the mandarin collar. “I’m proud of you!” She kissed her cheek. “Keep that lantern high.”
The other nursing students had friends and family among the audience. “Where are your folks?” Boots looked around. “I want to meet that handsome brother of yours.”
“They couldn’t make it.”
Everyone had a handy excuse. Mama said it would cost too much money to bring the whole family up by train. Papa had too much work to do to leave the farm. Mama had to make plans for Summer Bedlam again. The girls couldn’t be bothered, and Bernie and Elizabeth were making wedding plans. This ceremony wasn’t like a graduation, was it? It was just the end of probation, right? Nothing that mattered. Not to them, anyway.
Cloe wrote.
Hildemara wrote back.
Papa wrote a short note.
Driven by guilt, Hildemara finally went home for a weekend. The last person she expected to meet her at the bus station in Murietta was Mama. She snapped a book closed and stood up when Hildie came down the steps. “Well, well, so here’s the grand Lady with the Lamp.”
Was Mama being snide or condescending? “It was an honor, Mama, for being top in my class.” Hildie carried her suitcase to the car without looking back. Flinging the suitcase into the backseat, she climbed into the front, clenching her teeth and swearing to herself she wouldn’t say another word. Hurt and anger boiled up inside her, threatening to spill over and spoil the short time she had to visit.
Mama got in and started the car, saying nothing on the drive home. She turned in the driveway. Hildie broke the silence. “I see you have a new tractor.” Mama parked the car, the only sign she had heard Hildie a tightening of the muscles in her jaw. Hildie stepped out, grabbed her suitcase, and slammed the door. As she headed for the back door, she noticed other things she never had before. The house needed painting. The tear in the screen door had lengthened, letting flies in. The roof covering over the sleeping porch had been patched.
Cloe swung the door wide and came charging out. “Wait until you see our room!” The bunk bed had been replaced by two single beds covered with colorful quilts, a built-in, four-drawer dresser between them. On it stood a shiny brass kerosene lamp. Hildie had become so accustomed to electric lights that she’d forgotten the porch had never been wired. “What do you think? Isn’t it grand?”
After living in the pristine environment of Farrelly Hall and the polished corridors of the hospital, Hildemara noticed the unpainted, unfinished walls, the grimy woodwork, the sandy floor. She searched for something to say. “Who made the quilts?”
“I did. Mama bought the fabric, of course.”
“Of course.” It struck Hildie then. There was no room for her. “Where do I sleep?”
“On the living room sofa.” Mama walked past her. She paused at the back door to the kitchen. “Life doesn’t stand still, you know. Now that you have your own life, there’s no reason we can’t spread out a little and enjoy the extra space ourselves, is there? There’s no law against your sisters being as comfortable as you are in that grand brick building you wrote about.” The door slammed behind her.
Hildemara wished she had stayed in Oakland. Mama had managed to make her feel small and mean-spirited. “It’s lovely, Cloe.” She fought tears. “You did a beautiful job on those quilts.” Unlike the old one Hildemara had used, these covered the entire bed. Cloe and Rikki wouldn’t have to scrunch up to keep their feet warm. “Where’s Papa?”
“Helping the Musashi boys. Their pump broke down again.”
Gathering her courage, Hildie went into the living room and sat on the lumpy old sofa. Everything looked the same, but she saw it through the eyes of her bacteriology class. Everywhere she looked, Hildie saw places where colonies could flourish: a food stain on the sofa; scuffed woodwork; sandy grit tracked in from field and barn, undoubtedly rich with manure; linoleum peeling off in one corner of the kitchen; stacks of newspapers; the
