Saint-Sever was the chapel and cemetery that adjoined the racetrack and where Ned and many of our fallen men were buried while there was still space.
“Because this will all be taken away, thank goodness, once the war is over. And Charlotte is buried in the big American cemetery way out east.”
“Then what should we do?” Corey piped in. “I believe she was from West Virginia. Maybe something there?”
Nora paused in her knife work. “I was thinking more along the lines of using her death…now I know that sounds awful…but somehow using it to benefit others. Like to spread the word about how bad this influenza is.”
“It’s not awful, Nora. And I agree. That’s what Charlotte would have wanted. And I have an idea of something we can do. It may not amount to much,” I said.
“Time’s up!” Alice interrupted all discussion. “Move on to the next station.”
Meanwhile, an idea that had been percolating in the back of my mind started to become clearer.
After our threesome reconvened at the potato-peeling station, Corey said, “Please, Matron, what can we do?”
“We can gather our stories, all us nurses who worked with Charlotte. Write down our observations of the healthy men cut down by this invisible foe. And”—I quieted, as it was too soon to have this be heard by everyone—“make a list of people to send letters to. People in the medical community, people in government…”
“I have a diary. I can look for examples,” Nora said.
Corey picked up a fat brown potato. “I’ll have to think about it. Should we tell the others as well?”
Alice admired my evenly thin potato slices. “Very nice. Now get them covered so they don’t discolor.”
As she stepped away, I quietly answered Corey. “Not yet. I want to figure out the list and our strategy before we start anything. If we step on the wrong toes, it will all be for naught.”
Nora pretended to fasten a button on her lips, and Corey giggled and followed suit.
When all was ready, we buttered great roasting pans, then alternated layers of the hot cream mixture, thinly sliced potatoes, shredded gruyère cheese, and the sautéed vegetables, repeating until we reached the top of the pan. Then we sprinkled more cheese and some fresh thyme. Into the wood-fired ovens they went, and we all heartily congratulated ourselves on a job well done.
It felt so good to be building something, to do something different with my hands than holding a pen, a stethoscope, a bandage, or even the hand of a thankful soldier. It was good for the mind to be occupied with something so concrete, and it even helped us figure out a sticky problem.
As we started the cleanup process, Alice shooed Fred and me out the door. “I’ve got plenty of help here. You two had better get back to whatever it is you do.”
Fred and I laughed and didn’t argue with her.
“That was a great idea,” Fred said.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. And I think the nurses loved it. We’ll have to do it again.”
“Maybe graduate to a whole roast pig.” He unrolled his sleeves. “What else is on your agenda today?”
“Nothing, actually. It’s my day off, and Miss Taylor has forbidden me from entering or even thinking about entering the office.” I kept my fingernails trimmed short, but still, there was something bright green under them. I brought my hand to my nose and was rewarded with the scent of thyme. “I might have a soak in Old Sorry, then read a book.”
“Far be it from me to keep you from Old Sorry, but I was hoping you’d spend a bit of time alone with me.”
It had been such a lovely day, and I would cherish some time alone with Fred. But I had recently made up my mind to do something different, something that would inevitably take me away from him, and hadn’t thought it through enough to discuss it. Yet it would be awkward and impossible to hide from him if we were alone together. And I was not ready to share my thoughts on the letter-writing campaign.
All good reasons to beg off his invitation. But I couldn’t say no to his earnest face. I felt my relaxing bath slipping away from me. “Old Sorry can wait.”
CHAPTER 25
As it happened, Fred knew I had the evening off and had arranged for us to take the Ford into town. There were a few official errands to run, but then we would be free to have a nice dinner. I couldn’t say no to such a proposition but found myself staring out the window even as Fred chattered about the cooking class and a training class he was planning for all the surgeons in the area.
“What’s wrong, Jules? You’ve hardly said a word.”
We had arrived at a butcher shop, where we were to pick up some hams for Alice. The shopkeeper had them already wrapped in brown paper, with white string crisscrossed around them. “Merci beaucoup,” I said.
As we loaded the hams into the back, I confided, “Fred, I need to tell you something.”
“I knew something was wrong.” He looked at me, concern in his eyes.
“I’m fine. Everything is fine. It’s just about, well, the future.”
“Okay. But not here.” He tilted his head toward the truck. “Get in. There’s somewhere I want to take you.”
My stomach was growling on empty. We hadn’t gotten to eat the wonderful potatoes dauphinoise. But I didn’t want to disappoint him. “Sure. Let’s go.”
We dropped off the hams, then set out on a route that followed the Seine, going toward Paris. As it twisted and turned, we enjoyed new, spectacular views. I spied a picnic basket on the floorboards that I had somehow missed before. I leaned over to peek under its cover. “Ooh, I’m famished. Please tell me there’s food in here.”
“There is. But you have to wait, just a few more minutes.”
Stomach now loudly complaining, I was none too happy to wait. But as promised, we pulled off the road shortly thereafter. We bumped along a dirt road until we were at a clearing next to the river.
I followed Fred and the all-important basket to the riverbank.
“Here we are. Look.”
I had been watching my steps, as it would have been easy to turn an ankle on the rough path. When I looked up, I saw the most magnificent view of towering cliffs. They shone a brilliant white in the late afternoon sunshine, almost glowing. Rather like the Palisades one could see across the Hudson River from Manhattan, except much more imposing. Off in the distance, I could see what appeared to be castle ruins at the top of the cliffs.
“That’s Château Gaillard, in Les Andelys. I hiked up there once. Incredible view of the valley. We must go there when we have a whole day to spend.”
He spread a blanket and had barely opened a tin of something unidentifiable before I pounced on it.
“Wild animal,” he teased. “So what is it that you need to share with me?” He stretched out on the ground as if totally relaxed, but I knew better. The concern in his voice was so endearing, it made me even more hesitant to say what I knew needed to be said.
“Fred, I’ve become very fond of you.”
He scrunched up his face. “Fond? I don’t think I like where this is going.”
“You might not.” I put down the tin and wiped my lips.
“Is this about the nonsense Marie Curie is telling you?”
“What? You know about that? I didn’t…”
“Of course. She’s been working me over too. Listen.” He leaned closer. “I will not let that brilliant but slightly deranged woman have any influence on how I feel about you or my actions. I’ve been patient because of our positions, but you’re right. It’s time to talk about a future.”
Oh God, was he going to propose? I had to head this off. “No, love, it’s not about Madame. There are things I need to do. What I’m saying is, I am going to ask for a transfer.”
“You’re going back home?” He sat up. “Jules, I mean, I can’t blame you, but…”
“No, not home. I want
to go to Paris. There’s a position there, a more senior position…”
He drew up his knees and wrapped his arms around them. “And Phil will be there. Well, if you’ve been offered a promotion, you should take it.”
“It hasn’t actually been offered yet. But I think I have a good chance, with your blessing.”
“Ah.” His voice grew bitter. “I get it now.” He started repacking the basket.
“Fred, this has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”
“And how is that?” He rose, our dinner apparently over. “I know you’re ambitious. I actually love that about you. I just didn’t think that was what this”—he waved a hand back and forth between us—“was about.”
“Stop it. Right now.” I pushed my weary self up to a stand and followed him toward the truck. “That’s not what this is about.” I caught up with him and tugged at his sleeve to turn him around.
“All that ‘we have to be careful, rumors,’ all that crap. You’ve pushed me away and pushed me away for ages. Did you ever care for me at all?” He yanked back his arm. “I’ll give you my recommendation. And the key.” He dangled the truck key. “You know how to drive, right? I’ll take the riverboat back.”
He walked away, and I called after him, but to no avail. Then I waited as the sun set, turning the white cliffs pink. I trudged back to the truck and sat, my head resting on the steering wheel, willing for him to come back.
Maybe this was some kind of test. What was I supposed to do, run after him? Instead, I primed the carburetor, set the choke, adjusted the timing, and, the hardest part, cranked the engine starter, running back and forth between the front of the truck and the driver’s position. I was sure he was listening, even as he headed toward the river, for the telltale sounds of cylinders firing.
It was a long, lonely, and painful drive back. Each time I crunched through the gears, it felt like I was crushing my heart a little more. I reviewed my disastrous part in the misunderstanding. For I was convinced it was a misunderstanding. I hadn’t been using Fred for my own gain. Or had I? Why was I so willing to accept the guidance of a veritable stranger who had no business interfering? Why was I so hesitant to allow myself to have feelings for him? Why was intimacy so hard?
* * *
Once back in my room, I undressed. I took off my boots and regarded my scarred legs and my feet, big enough to wear men’s shoes. I stretched out in my bed, where the top of my head brushed on the metal frame. Why had God made me this way? How could Fred, or any man, be attracted to me?
Somewhere, deep inside, I knew the answer. I wasn’t meant to be like any other woman. I wasn’t a man, for whom the things I wanted to do would have been easy. I was meant to break down the wall in between.
* * *
The next time I saw Fred was at the weekly medical staff meeting. He was cordial and professional, as I knew he would be. I’m sure only I could hear the slight clip to his voice, see the distance in his eyes.
When it came time to present my regular update, I handed out more mimeographs, to the groans of all assembled.
“We must hide that machine,” grumbled Dr. Valentine.
Ignoring him, I went right into my presentation. “I hope by now you’ve all had a chance to read my suggestions for communicating the importance of isolation procedures for respiratory diseases.”
There was some nodding and some ceiling staring.
“After consulting with my nurses, they feel they want to honor our dear departed Miss Cox with a letter-writing campaign. I have given you a list of the pertinent contacts, both stateside and in theater.”
“What is your expectation here, Miss Stimson?” Dr. Valentine said. “We hardly have the time to—”
“Glad you asked. For my proposal is this: the nurses and I will draft the letters and address the envelopes. I ask merely that someone from this committee approves the drafts and signs for all.”
“Well, then, I think we can vote on that. All those—” Fred said.
Dr. Valentine interrupted. “Hold on a minute. As a senior member of the Philadelphia medical community, I want to handle those letters myself.”
As Dr. Valentine seemed to have a rather cavalier attitude toward isolation procedures, this worried me some. But this was no time to rock the boat, when things were sailing my way.
“Miss Stimson?” Fred was clearly in a mood to approve and move on.
“That’s a fine idea, Dr. Valentine. We will take Philadelphia off our list. Anyone else prefer to do the same?”
After a pause with no takers, Fred repeated, “All those in favor?”
The motion was passed unanimously. I had gotten exactly what I wanted. I stood up to leave, my business being done.
Dr. Valentine held up his hand. “Hold on a minute, Miss Stimson. We need a committee member to review and sign these letters, correct? Any volunteers?”
It was awkward standing there while they looked around at one another. Of course no one wanted to take on more work. I had planned to ask one of the doctors privately so as not to put any one of them in an awkward spot. Just as I was about to ask him right then, Fred cleared his throat.
“I’ll do it. Be happy to.” He smiled at me, rather unconvincingly.
“Yes, sir,” said Dr. Valentine. “Dr. Murphy and Miss Stimson, you are quite the team.”
It suddenly felt like the air had been sucked from my lungs. I quickly gathered my things and stepped out of the room.
Once alone, I heaved a sigh of relief. Somehow, the germ of the idea that Nora and I had envisioned was becoming my main focus. Somehow, this project needed to be developed further, and somehow, it needed to relate to my next position. Even though it wasn’t clear what that was.
After a quick round of the wards, noting nothing out of the ordinary, I headed to my office. There, I took the cover off my typewriter and fed it some paper. I had much letter writing to do.
Soon, I had a draft letter to share first with Nora.
Dear XXXX,
It is with much regret that we inform you of the recent passing of one of our nurses, Miss Charlotte Cox. She was a fearless and dedicated young woman who gave her life to caring for the sick and injured men. At the time of her death, she had been exposed to patients with symptoms of pneumonia and influenza, and it is presumed this awful disease was her cause of death.
We are writing with great urgency to inform you of the transmission of this disease despite normal prevention protocols. This influenza, unlike in previous outbreaks, is much more contagious and deadly. In addition, it seems to affect a different demographic group, that is healthy young adults. As this is precisely the group who are fighting this great war and are therefore placed in situations of unhygienic and close living quarters, we must consider additional screening and prevention measures, such as temperature taking, frequent handwashing, and facial masks for all medical personnel.
Enclosed please find a list of other preventative measures to consider.
As I clacked away at the typewriter, I didn’t hear anyone come in. As I pulled the paper from it with a loud spin of its roll, I felt the presence of someone behind me. I turned to see Fred, standing quietly, arms crossed across his chest.
“Well, hello there. I didn’t hear you come in.” I assembled two pieces of paper with carbon paper between them.
“Didn’t want to disturb you, being so hard at work.” His voice revealed nothing of his feelings, as if nothing at all had happened. “In case you’re wondering, I volunteered to help you as sort of an apology.”
“Oh? For what?” I busied my hands, rolling the next sheet of paper into the typewriter, the zip zip zip a comforting sound.
“Jules, I have no right to expect anything more than a professional relationship. It is what you’ve said all along. Well, maybe not all along. But fairly consistently.” He sat in my guest chair.
I tiptoed behind him to close the door. Gossipers be damned. “I’m sorry about that. It must be confusing. I’m confused myself.” I turned my second guest chair to face him and plopped in it, knees to knees. Tenting my hands, I said, “I wish things were different.”
“That’s what I don’t understand, among other things. You wish what were different?”
How could I explain? “My career is my calling. I have a sense of duty, a sense of being a leader and role model. I was brought up to put the needs of others first and to accomplish something important in life.”
“I know all this. I just don’t see the problem.” He pulled his pipe from his pocket and rubbed the small carving on the wood. It had been given to him by his father. “Why are you making this harder than it needs to be? Unless our feelings aren’t mutual. If they are, tell me now.”
It would have been easy to fall in love with him. Surely, I already had. Easy enough to give up nursing and become a wife. Although the possibility of children was diminishing, there was still that chance.
But he was right. If we wanted each other and careers, we could fight to make that happen. There would have to be sacrifices made and boundaries broken, but when had that ever stopped me?
But there was something else. And it was physical.
“Stand up.” I took his hand and rose from my chair, as did he. I stood toe to toe, chin to chin, and nose to nose with him. “What do you feel?”
“Confused?” He chuckled nervously.
“What do you see?”
“A beautiful woman, who at once confounds me and attracts me like no other.”
“Really?” I unbuttoned the top buttons of my blouse and pulled it down to reveal my too-broad shoulders. “How about now?”
“Shoulders I want to kiss? Where are you going with this, Two Bits?” He put his hands on my bare shoulders. “I assure you all my parts are in working order.”
“I don’t think I need to remind you of the state of my legs.”
“Is that what this is about? I don’t care…” He slipped his arms down and circled my waist.
The War Nurse Page 26