Hidden Jewel l-4

by V. C. Andrews

  Sophie took me to the kitchen where we found another, much younger nurse talking with the intern. He was sitting with his back to us, and she was leaning against the counter. They were laughing when we entered.

  " 'Scuse me," Sophie said and did a small curtsy. "We got to start on the juice."

  The nurse smirked and moved away from the refrigerator. I saw from her name tag that she was Mrs. Crandle. She had light brown hair trimmed at the nape of her neck, hazel eyes and a firm mouth that dipped with annoyance at the corners. She wasn't unattractive, but her nose was a little too sharp and too long. The intern spun around in his chair and smiled widely when he saw me.

  "Well now, who have we here?" he asked.

  "She's the new nurse's aide," Sophie explained. "Her name's Pearl."

  "Well, hello," he said. "I'm Dr. Weller. My mother always thought I should be a doctor because of our name. Get it? I make people weller." He laughed, but Mrs. Crandle grimaced as if it pained her to hear his joke again.

  "Hi," I said. He rose to his full five feet eleven inches and extended his hand. He widened his smile to show me his very white and perfect teeth. His dark eyes sparkled wickedly when I put my hand into his. He folded his fingers over it quickly. His skin was as fair as mine, though in contrast to his dark hair, it made him look a little too pale. His strong chin sported a devil's cleft and another dimple in his right cheek flashed in and out apparently at will.

  "About time we dressed up this place," he said, still grinning from ear to ear. He shot a look at Mrs. Crandle, who raised her eyes toward the ceiling.

  "Just what we needed," she remarked, "another thing to distract you from your work."

  "Don't mind her. I'm never distracted from any-thing I put my mind on," he said, keeping his gaze fixed on me. He dropped his eyes slowly and raised them with a look of appreciation. "That's the sexiest nurse's aide uniform I've seen," he added.

  "There aren't any that fit me better, but . . ." I began, feeling my face grow warm as my cheeks turned crimson.

  "Hey, I didn't say this doesn't fit you." He laughed. He was still holding my hand.

  "We've got to start bringing the juice to the patients," I said.

  "Sure." He flashed another amused smile and released my hand.

  "She gonna be a doctor too," Sophie bragged.

  "Is that right?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "Not a nurse, a doctor?"

  I looked at Mrs. Crandle who had turned back to me sharply when he asked the question.

  "I think nurses are just as important," I said, "but I'm interested in practicing medicine outside the hospital too."

  "Oh? Very ambitious." He frowned, putting ripples in his forehead. In a deeper voice he asked, "How are your grades in school?"

  "I was class valedictorian," I said.

  He raised his eyebrows. "Impressive. We better watch our p's and q's, Mrs. Crandle," he joked.

  "I would say you should watch the whole alphabet and not just the p's and q's," she remarked. "I have an I.V. to hook up. Don't you have anything to do, Doctor?"

  "Whoa," he said. "Yes, I do. Well, good luck, Pearl. Please don't hesitate to ask me any questions," he said and reluctantly followed Mrs. Crandle.

  "He's always making jokes," Sophie said. "Mrs. Crandle says some of his patients will laugh them-selves to death. Can people do that, laugh themselves to death?"

  "I don't think so," I said. She looked unconvinced, but nodded and then showed me where everything was located. I loaded my cart and began my rounds. There were two elderly women in my first room, one of whom was on a heart monitor; a man with a broken leg in the second, and a woman in her thirties undergoing tests for a stomach problem in the third. Her name was Sheila, and she was obviously very nervous and concerned. "I have to fast for a day," she told me. "Tomorrow morning I'm having another test."

  "What's wrong with your stomach?" I asked.

  "I get terrible pains right here whenever I eat," she said, pointing.

  "They're looking at your gallbladder?"

  "Yes. How did you know? Did the same thing happen to you once?" she asked hopefully.

  "No. I just know that's where it is and that's where you would feel pain if it was acting up. But that doesn't have to be the reason," I added quickly.

  "I know," she said sadly. "It could be something else. It could be something far more serious."

  "Don't get yourself upset. Wait for all the reports. Most of the time, our imaginations make more of it than it is," I told her. I had overheard our doctor say that to Mommy once when Pierre and Jean both came down with a bad case of whooping cough. Sheila smiled, and I fixed her bed and made her more comfortable.

  When I turned to go on to my next room, I saw Dr. Weller standing in the doorway, a slow grin forming around his lips. He stepped back into the corridor as I emerged with the juice cart.

  "I overheard what you said." He leaned toward me. "If Mrs. Winthrop heard you giving patients medical advice, she would send you right home."

  "I didn't give—"

  "You let her believe it might be her gallbladder. Uh-uh-uh," he said, wagging his forefinger. Then he laughed. "It's all right. Chances are very good that you're right. Actually," he said, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms, "you did a smart thing deciding to work in the hospital during your summer vacation. You'll pick up a lot just hanging around and listening."

  "That's what I thought, too," I said.

  "You know, I'm studying and learning every day myself. I'm interning here under Dr. Bardot. He's constantly testing me." He smiled. "I bet you can help me," he said, nodding with a thoughtful look.

  "Me? How?"

  "You can be my study partner. You know, ask questions, test me on stuff. Do you have a heavy social schedule?" he asked.

  "Social schedule?"

  "Do you punch a clock with a boyfriend, too?"

  "Oh. No, not anymore," I said.

  "Good. Maybe you'll give me some time, then. I promise you'll learn a lot too," he added. "And I don't mean just medical information. I can fill you in on what to expect, how to prepare your applications, interviews. Ifs getting harder and harder to get into a good medical school in this country, you know. There are a lot of valedictorians out there competing for the same spaces," he warned.

  I thought a moment. Learning about all this was why I had wanted to work here.

  "Okay," I said. "Do you study during breaks?"

  "Oh, no. We'll do it after work. I don't live far from here. It's a small apartment I took near Tulane University. That's where I attended premed and med school. You expect to go there?"

  "I might, yes," I said.

  "Fine. I'll fill you in on all the nitty-gritty. What's your shift tomorrow? Same as today?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm free about the same time. We can start right away—if that's all right with you, that is," he said.

  I hesitated. I liked the idea of working with an intern, but why had he chosen me and so quickly? "Wouldn't you rather work with someone who is already a medical student?" I asked.

  "They want to study only what they need." He smiled again. "Hey, I won't bite you, and even if I did, I'd treat the wound," he added and laughed. "But if you think you'll be uncomfortable or—"

  "No, it's all right."

  "Great. And don't worry about getting home afterward. I'll see to that. I'll even make you dinner, if you like. Nothing fancy, of course. I'm not living on a doctor's salary yet. Fact is, and you better know it now, interns are medical slaves. But we all gotta pay our dues. See you later." He winked and walked down the corridor.

  I wondered if I had agreed too fast to help him. He was already an intern. I probably wouldn't under-stand half the questions. Surely I would just be wasting his time and my own, I thought, but then I thought, He should know that, and yet he still wants me to help him.

  "This isn't exactly a place to daydream," I heard someone say. Mrs. Crandle was standing in the door-way of my next room.


  "Oh, I'm sorry," I said and hurried on.

  Sophie wasn't exaggerating about the problems we could encounter as aides. An elderly man in room messed his bed, and I had to clean it up. I must have swallowed a hundred times and held my breath for an hour before I was finished. Mrs. Crandle made me wash down the bed frame and scrub the floor around the bed as well.

  Sophie and I had to run down to the laundry and carry up fresh linens. I emptied a half dozen bedpans and cleaned bathrooms. I thought my first day at the hospital would be relatively uneventful and just the sort of work I had expected, but shortly before my shift ended, Mrs. Conti, the elderly woman in room 200, had a heart attack. Mrs. Crandle called for a Code E Blue, and Dr. Weller came running from the other end of the corridor. I watched them wheel in a defibrillator. Another doctor came from the third-floor cardiac care unit. They worked and worked, but Mrs. Conti's heart had stopped dead and didn't start again.

  Her roommate, Mrs. Brennen, cried hysterically and had to be sedated. There was a flag of mourning on everyone's face. Mrs. Conti had been dozing when I had delivered her juice and had barely opened her eyes when I returned to freshen her water pitcher and see if she needed anything. I had seen and heard her heart monitor, and Mrs. Brennen had told me that Mrs. Conti had been upstairs in the cardiac care unit for ten days before being brought down to the second floor.

  "Why wasn't she still upstairs?" I whispered to Dr. Weller when he emerged after the failed effort to revive her had ended.

  "They sent her down two days ago because she had made enough progress and they needed room for another patient." He shrugged. "Can't always predict it," he said and then flashed a challenging smile. "Still want to be a doctor?"

  I looked back at the room in which the dead woman still lay. Her family didn't know yet, but I was sure she would soon be mourned and missed. When I envisioned the saddened children and grandchildren, I felt anger boil in the base of my stomach. If I had been her doctor, she wouldn't have been moved out of the cardiac care unit.

  "More than ever," I replied.

  He tilted his head back and laughed. "Maybe you're the real thing. Something tells me I've found the right study helper." He looked back at the room and sighed. "Gotta go do the paperwork," he said. "That's a part of being a doctor you'll soon learn to hate too."

  Maybe I was naive, but I thought there was no part of being a doctor I would hate.

  I hadn't done all that much, but when my shift ended, I felt exhausted. Most of it was from the tension of starting the work and the emotional strain that resulted from seeing someone die. I changed back into my street clothing and left the corridor with Sophie. She and I stepped into Mrs. Morgan's office to punch out.

  "How did you do?" she asked and looked at Sophie. "She did fine, just fine," Sophie said quickly. "She didn't throw up once."

  Mrs. Morgan smiled. "Well, that's an accomplishment. Here is your regular card. Punch in when you begin your shift and punch out when you end, and remember to buy some white shoes," she reminded me.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Sophie and I left the hospital. The humidity hadn't diminished a degree, but the sun had gone down enough to lower the temperature.

  "My mother says I'm lucky because I work in an air-conditioned hospital," Sophie said as we started down the driveway.

  "What does she do?"

  "Laundry."

  "What about your father?"

  "He works in the Quarter. He's a cook. I got two younger sisters still in school and a brother who's in the army. What about you?"

  "I have twin brothers, twelve years old. Where do you live, Sophie?"

  "On the other side of the Quarter. I take the car to Canal Street."

  We waited for the streetcar together.

  "How long have you worked in the hospital?" I asked her.

  "Little more than a year."

  "Don't you want to return to school? There's a lot more for you to learn," I said.

  She dropped her eyes quickly. "Can't," she said. "Gotta work."

  "Why? Doesn't your father make good money as a cook?" I knew good cooks in the Quarter were valuable.

  Sophie shrugged. "Maybe," she said. "We don't know for sure."

  "What? Why not?"

  "He doesn't live with us," she told me just as the streetcar came around to our station. She hurriedly boarded, I sat beside her, and we both looked out the window as the car rattled down the track. "He doesn't even come to the house anymore," she continued. "He just sends some money around from time to time. If I want to see him, I have to go down to the restaurant, but he never has time to talk much."

  "I'm sorry," I said. When the car approached my station and I stood up, Sophie looked very impressed.

  "You live in the Garden District?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "I never even walked down here," she said.

  "Maybe one day you can stop off and have dinner with me," I suggested.

  "Really?" Her smile faded. "I usually gotta get right home to help Mama."

  "Maybe you can work it out," I suggested. "See you tomorrow. Thanks for helping me get started. Bye."

  "Bye," she called.

  When I got home everyone wanted to hear about my first day at work. The twins made faces and groaned when I described some of the cleanup work I had to do, but when I told them about the death of Mrs. Conti, the twins' eyes lit up with interest.

  "You saw a dead woman?" Pierre asked.

  "Yes."

  "Did you touch her?" Jean said.

  "No."

  "Did she smell?"

  "I think we can change the topic until after dinner," Daddy said. "Don't you, Pearl?"

  "Yes, Daddy."

  I went on to tell them about Sophie, but the twins weren't interested in anything except Mrs. Conti, When I told Daddy about Dr. Weller, he sat back and looked at Mommy.

  "He just met you and he wants to make you dinner?" she asked.

  "I guess because we aren't going to study until after work. Why?"

  Daddy looked troubled.

  "I'm sure he's just impressed with Pearl, and since she's shown an interest in medicine . . ." Mommy said.

  Daddy thought for a moment and relaxed. "I suppose you're right, Ruby. You usually are when it comes to people. Your mother's going to have a new exhibition in two weeks," he added proudly. "And your picture is going to be part of it."

  "That's wonderful, Mommy."

  We talked about Mommy's artwork, and after a dessert of crème brûlée, Daddy took me to buy some soft-soled shoes, and Mommy went to work in her studio.

  "Well," Daddy said in the car, "after being on the front lines, what do you think?"

  "I think I want to become a doctor even more, Daddy." He nodded. "What really stopped you, Daddy?" I asked again. I knew his family had the money to put him through medical school and that he had been a very good student.

  "My family was upset with me, especially after your mother became pregnant. I was very upset with myself for leaving Ruby, and for a while I was self-destructive. I drank heavily while I was in Europe, and I wasted my time and talent. And then . . ."

  He paused and I saw how his eyes focused on a memory. "And then I heard that Ruby had married Paul. I soaked myself in self-pity, cut classes, and wasted time. Suddenly one morning there was a knock on my apartment door. When I opened it, I found your aunt Gisselle standing there. For a moment I thought she was Ruby. They had such identical faces. I let myself imagine, and your aunt Gisselle encouraged my illusions. The rest you know. Gisselle and I were married, and I returned to work in the Dumas enterprises.

  "That's why I am so happy you are pursuing the career I cast aside," he said, turning to me with tears burning behind his eyelids. "I know you will be a wonderful doctor, Pearl."

  "I'll try, Daddy," I said, my heart aching, my throat closing as I swallowed my tears. "I'll try."

  After we returned home, the twins pleaded with me to tell them more about Mrs. Conti and what it was like to
see a corpse. I finally pulled out some of my books on anatomy and let them look at the pictures. They were fascinated with what was inside their bodies, but Jean was upset about it as well.

  "I'm glad we have skin covering everything," he remarked. "So I don't have to look at it."

  Pierre laughed, but I closed the books and lectured both of them about how wonderful the human body was. "The human body is. one of the most perfect creations in the universe" I explained.

  "If it's so perfect, why do we get sick?" Jean demanded.

  "It's perfect but not invulnerable," I said.

  He grimaced with confusion.

  "She means you can't stop the germs from flying up your nose or into your mouth," Pierre said. "Unless you walk around with your nose plugged up and your mouth taped shut. But then they could get in your ears, right, Pearl?"

  "So we'll plug up our ears," Jean said.

  "Then you can't hear."

  "So we always get sick," Jean concluded sadly.

  "But that's why we need doctors, right, Pearl?" Pierre asked.

  I smiled. "Yes, Pierre."

  "Couldn't the doctors stop Mrs. Conti from dying?" Jean asked.

  "She was old. Her body was tired."

  "She was worn out, like our tricycles," Pierre explained.

  Jean nodded, and then he suddenly burst into a flashbulb smile. "We'll need a doctor living with us and keeping us from getting too sick all the time. We'll have Pearl!"

  I laughed. "It will be a while yet, Jean."

  "And she won't be living with us. She'll be grown up and married with her own children," Pierre explained.

  Jean's smile faded.

  "But I promise. I'll always look after you two," I said, which restored the brightness to Jean's face. "Now go up and get ready for bed. Everyone, especially a young person growing a foot a day, needs rest."

  "Or else those organs in your body will shrivel up," Pierre threatened. Jean's eyes widened and he turned to me.

  "No, they won't," I assured him. "But go on." They jumped to their feet.