“I’ve noticed that you work better with patients on a one-to-one basis, while not under the watchful eye of a supervisor. You have a relentless spirit that is lathered in compassion, as well as a good intuition for reaching the souls of those in your care while tending to their physical needs. That is why I chose not to place you in a hospital setting.”
Gwendolyn’s face revealed her surprise, for many of her peers had already left for institutions across America, and she figured she’d follow suit.
“You are surprised?” Constance said. “One cannot throw all nurses into the same pot. Skills and personality play a big part in my decision.”
Gwendolyn wished she’d stop beating around the bush. If not a state hospital, then where would she go after spending three intense months of serious study. She bit her lip. As much as she’d like to claim victory by displaying the fruits of the spirit, her lack of patience often raised its ugly head to destroy her witness.
“There is a family in Kentucky who have suffered great loss during the Civil War. Their one and only son lost his memory in combat, somehow escaped the camp hospital, and then wandered off to a town nearby, where he lived the life of a beggar. A woman apparently watched out for him, to make sure he didn’t starve.”
“That was kind of her,” Gwendolyn said.
“Many principles and boundaries have been tested this past decade,” Constance said. “The patient’s father, Thomas McAlister, discovered his whereabouts quite by accident while on a business trip. The lad was brought home, but the family is at a loss as to how to restore him back to his former self.”
“We both know that may never happen. The workings of the mind are unpredictable at the best of times,” Gwendolyn said.
Constance Harrow closed the file and sighed. “Yes, well, the affluent among us tend to believe money can perform miracles. It’s your job to do the best you can, and perhaps seize an opportunity to point them to the Lord who specializes in total healing.”
Gwendolyn let out a long breath. “I am God’s servant and will try my best.” She wanted to scream—what a waste of her newly-developed nursing skills.
“Since his return to the McAlister plantation, Daniel shows little interest in taking his rightful place as the future heir to their huge operation, and the family would like the aid of a nurse.”
“But he has no injuries—what will I do?”
“He did have serious injuries to his left side, which continues to hinder him from walking with a proper nobleman’s gait; his father’s words, not mine.” She chuckled slightly, and continued. “He will need exercise, but you should target his inner-man, Nurse Gwendolyn. Daniel McAlister is an emotional victim of combat, unable to or uninterested in adapting to life after the war.”
Gwendolyn’s brow lifted, and the woman attempted to appease her. “We did cover studies in the science of psychology. Perhaps this duty will more satisfy your definition of a nurse.”
“Yes, we did, Miss Harrow.” Gwendolyn sighed, realizing that the woman was probably right in giving her an emotionally ill patient. Aiding doctors in bloody operations in tents lined with dying men during the war had left her feeling nauseated. She’d never succumbed to fainting but had hoped to overcome the weakness in her new job posting. She supposed she could easily put that skill development off for a while.
“My dear, I’m afraid I am sending you into the young McAlister’s lion’s den. Surgeons in Kentucky have done all they can to heal his wounded leg, so physically, he is coping, but there are complications. Thomas McAlister is reluctant to share to what, exactly, those complications are. His family cannot cope, and they are in need of the help of a nurse with a strong backbone who will not buckle under the lad’s demanding ways. Depression does strange things to one’s mind, especially our war heroes, and I’ve watched you do miracles with such patients.”
Constance inhaled while studying Gwendolyn. “What do you think, Miss Peters? Are you up for the challenge?”
Gwendolyn swallowed the lump forming in her throat. To serve in a home with such sadness… She’d witnessed soldiers who had crawled inside themselves and refused to let anyone past their defences. She was barely one week out of school and the ripe old age of nineteen, far too young, in her estimation, to face such mysteries of the inner-man.
“I do have three younger brothers who have tried to bully me for years. I suppose the training I received there will help in this situation.”
Constance Harrow pushed back her chair and stood. “Exactly. I have every confidence in you. The family is hoping for a full recovery, and you’re the best to prepare them for the worst-case scenario, should the Good Lord continue to withhold the lad’s memories. Good luck, Nurse Gwendolyn.”
She reached her hand out, and the young woman gripped it with fresh strength. She was a graduate of the notorious Harrow School of Nursing.
“I won’t fail the Academy’s reputation, Ms. Harrow,” Gwendolyn said.
“I’m sure you won’t.” She offered one of those rare smiles and continued. “Be sure to use that firm handshake when you greet Thomas McAlister, the father who will pay your wages. You will gain his confidence immediately.”
“When do I leave?”
The woman passed Gwendolyn an envelope. “The train to Kentucky pulls out tomorrow afternoon. I trust that is ample time for you to pack?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be on the train,” Gwendolyn said. “Any last nuggets of advice?”
“Just be yourself and tend to the man’s physical, emotional, and spiritual needs, if allowed the privilege. I will send the McAlisters a wire, informing them of your time of arrival. Good-bye. I shall miss you, child.”
And just like that, Gwendolyn’s future was sealed. When the door closed behind
