Love by Design

by Christine Johnson

“Back to that, are we?” His lips curved into a wry smile. “Well, then, good night, Miss Fox.”

  The brim of his fedora shadowed his eyes so she couldn’t tell if he was disappointed. It didn’t matter anyway.

  She grabbed the doorknob, and then hesitated. The night could not end so coldly. Mother always said not to go to bed at odds with another person.

  “Thank you again for the medallion. It means a lot to me. It would have meant a lot to my father.” She ducked inside before he noticed how much that gift had affected her.

  The cold, hard door against her back helped calm her shaky nerves. Why did that man do this to her? No one had ever sent her emotions into such a swirling mess. At times he made her so happy that she felt she could touch the stars. Other times he sent her into free fall. That couldn’t possibly be love. Love was gentle and kind. It first considered the other.

  Dan had shown consideration by giving her the medallion and touting her contributions, but gentle and kind? He had gone behind her back to demand she not be put aboard the expedition plane. That was neither kind nor considerate.

  Dan Wagner must feel nothing for her. She did not need emotional turmoil in her life. Not now, when everything was about to change. Tonight had confirmed her decision. The ball had been her swan song. In two weeks she would leave.

  She had been accepted into the hospital nursing program.

  * * *

  Something had changed between Jen and him, but Dan couldn’t figure out what. Oh, she completed her work as usual over the next week and a half. Her organization skills didn’t waver, but she was quieter. The spunk was gone. She no longer questioned everything he said. It felt as if she no longer cared.

  “The planes never got off the ground,” he said.

  She lifted her gaze. “What planes?”

  “The ones that were supposed to bring half the diphtheria serum to Nome.”

  “Oh.” This time she didn’t bother to look up. Her pencil scratched away at the weight calculations.

  “The dogsleds got there a week ago Sunday, the day after the ball.”

  She didn’t even react to the mention of the Valentine’s Day Ball. Considering the success of the evening, with three subscribers opening their wallets, she ought to be ecstatic. The polar expedition now had the funding to ship everything to Spitsbergen.

  “I thought you were interested in that story,” he said. “Thanks to the serum’s arrival, the quarantine has been lifted. The rest of the children will survive.”

  She pursed her lips and tapped the end of the pencil against the paper. “This all weighs too much. Jack wanted the total weight under two tons.”

  “It is under two tons. I checked the calculations twice.”

  Instead of arguing, she shoved the paper toward him. “Then where am I making an error?”

  He glanced over her calculations and spotted the problem in an instant, but it wasn’t fun anymore pointing out her mistakes, knowing she wouldn’t come back at him with an equally stinging retort. “A simple transposition of numbers in this column.”

  She sighed. “Why do I have such trouble with math?”

  That surprised him. “If you can pass a navigation exam, you have a good grasp of mathematics. This is a common error, one that’s easy to spot. When the difference between your sums comes out to a number divisible by nine, then it’s probably a transposed number somewhere.”

  She looked at him dully. “I knew that, but I forgot.”

  Something was definitely wrong. “Are you feeling all right? You don’t seem your normal self.”

  “I’m perfectly normal.”

  The slight acidity in her tone made him smile. “That’s my girl. I was beginning to think something terrible had happened.”

  Instead of chastising him for calling her his girl, she managed a weak smile. “A lot is going on.”

  Now he was worried. “Do you want to tell me? Maybe I can help.”

  The old glare returned. “Can you keep our dress shop open?”

  He tried to fit together the tidbits she’d shared over the past few weeks. “The dress shop is your family’s business. Is it closing? Is that why your mother is selling the house?”

  She looked away. For a while he figured she wasn’t going to say anything, but just before he gave up, she spoke. “Ruth is moving the shop to New York, and Mother is going with her. They need to help out Sam’s mother.”

  No wonder Jen looked lost. No wonder the spunk was gone. “I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be done.” She squared her shoulders. “Change is inevitable.”

  “But it’s some months away. You said your mother wasn’t leaving until after your younger sister’s wedding. Wasn’t that in May?”

  She nodded. “But I can’t wait for that.”

  The last piece fell into place. “You were accepted into nursing school.”

  She nodded again.

  Someone eager to become a nurse would bubble over with joy. Jen looked as if she’d received a life sentence to prison. “I thought that’s what you wanted, to fly to remote areas and nurse people back to health.”

  Her head snapped up. “Maybe I do want that. Are you going to bid on the airmail route?”

  Why did she come back to that?

  “I did send in the bid,” he admitted.

  She brightened so much that he couldn’t tell her that he’d already decided to turn down the contract if it was offered. Now that Hunter had the necessary support, Dan could put all his efforts into the polar expedition.

  “By the time I finish, you’ll have an established route,” she said. “I can take flight lessons on my days off. There must be a flight school in Grand Rapids.”

  “Is that where you’re going?”

  She didn’t seem to hear his question. “I’ll ask at the hospital. Someone will know where the airfield is and if they offer lessons. Once I receive my first stipend, I’ll start lessons.”

  “You get a stipend?”

  “A small amount for necessities, but what could I need?”

  Dan could believe that. The woman wore nothing new or even in decent condition. “You do know you’re going to have to wear a uniform.” He cleared his throat. “With a skirt and starched cap.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Sometimes sacrifices must be made.”

  Dan had to laugh at the idea of her in a nurse’s uniform. The night of the ball, she’d looked comfortable in the elegant gown, but that first dinner at the Hunter’s house she had chafed in the frilly dress like a misaligned guy wire against a strut. The starched uniform would doubtless bring the latter reaction.

  “Do you think this is funny?” she demanded.

  He was so happy to hear the challenge in her voice that he took her by the shoulders. “Don’t let go of your spirit. Whatever happens, hold on to that.”

  At first she looked shocked, then her eyes widened.

  He’d felt it, too. A sizzle, like an arcing electrical circuit. It had radiated from her to him or vice versa. He wasn’t sure which. All he knew was that he couldn’t rip his gaze from her face. Those luminous hazel eyes. The expressive lips. The way she nibbled on that lower lip when uncertain, as she was doing at that moment. The unruly cropped hair and the smattering of pale freckles across her nose.

  “Jen,” he breathed, not able to say more.

  She swallowed. “I have to go.”

  He couldn’t bear to break the connection. “I know.”

  Those eyes of hers sparkled with unshed tears. Jen didn’t cry. He’d give her credit for that. Even now, when the tension between them was more than he could bear, she wouldn’t let those tears overflow. Instead she looked up at him, waiting.

  He could not hold back any longer. Her wild, sprucelike scent undid his resolve to keep h
is distance. He leaned close and let his lips drift onto hers, soft as landing on clouds. She responded, slowly at first and then with desperation.

  Through the fog in his brain came the weak cry of reason. Stop. Stop now before he hurt her. He stepped away but didn’t let go.

  Her eyelids fluttered open, but her lips were still red and parted.

  He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to give her what he’d never given another woman, but Dan Wagner had a rule. As long as he flew airplanes, he would not marry. In fairness to the women, he would not allow a relationship to progress to emotional attachment. This one had already gone too far. Hunter might be willing to leave his wife and unborn baby widowed and fatherless. He would not.

  He dropped his hands, breaking the connection completely. “I suppose it’s goodbye, then.”

  * * *

  Even though Dan was technically correct, Jen wasn’t about to say goodbye forever. Her first meaningful kiss wouldn’t be her last. She had a plan. Daring Dan Wagner was sure to get the airmail contract. Once she completed the nursing program and received her aviation license, she would join him.

  “I’ll be back during breaks.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you then.” But he didn’t say it with any conviction, probably for good reason. The first break wouldn’t be until summer or fall. By then Dan would either be in Spitsbergen for the polar attempt or back in Montana.

  “If not this summer, then when I finish the program. I won’t let you forget about having a nurse copilot on your airmail route.”

  His taut smile faded. “You sure do have dreams.”

  That clipped her wings. He had no intention of agreeing to her plan. According to the newspapers, Daring Dan Wagner never made a relationship commitment. She was a fool to think he would start now with her.

  He cleared his throat. She stared off into the air. It was the awkward farewell dance. Her rib cage felt as if it would explode.

  “I won’t see you, will I?” she whispered.

  He looked away and didn’t answer.

  What could he say? They both knew the truth. No one had to say it aloud. But he didn’t need to know how much it hurt her to say goodbye.

  “Have a good life, Wagner.”

  Then she walked out of the flight school for the last time.

  Chapter Twelve

  By the end of the first day at the hospital nursing school, Jen went into shock. She had never been in a hospital before. Every expectation was soon dashed.

  Upon arrival, the supervisor explained to Jen that she would be on probation for three months, during which time she would receive room and board but no stipend. Only if she was accepted after the probationary period would she officially enter the program and receive a small stipend to purchase necessary instruments, including surgical scissors, forceps and thermometer. There would be little or nothing left for flight training until she graduated from the program, received her certification and was hired.

  That blow nearly sent her running, but where could she go? She had arrived on the train and hadn’t the fare to return. Neither could she face Mother’s disappointment or her sisters’ scorn. Worst of all, Dan would smirk and tell her that he knew she wasn’t fit for nursing. So she swallowed her disappointment and followed the assistant supervisor to the dormitory wing.

  Her room consisted of a small cell she shared with three other nurses in training. One was a probationer like her while the other two had advanced into the program. Both of them were first-year students. Two bunks lined each wall. At the base of each was a small dresser with one drawer for each person. A single desk, which they were expected to share, sat beneath the only window. A steam radiator with no control mechanism ran underneath the desk, so the person working there roasted. An open wardrobe to hang their coats and uniforms completed the sparse furnishings.

  For three months, she was expected to work twelve-hour shifts performing the most nauseating and menial tasks, from emptying bedpans and urinals to bathing patients and changing soiled bed linens. The moans and cries of suffering patients rang in her ears. An antiseptic odor permeated the air and her dark blue uniform. The nearly silent whisper of the nurses’ rubber-heeled shoes filled the corridors. Only upon acceptance to the program would she receive the crisp white-and-sky-blue uniform and a cap. Until then she wore the navy blue skirt and white blouse she’d been asked to bring with her. A clean white apron completed every nurse’s ensemble, whether probationer, student nurse or graduate. Her appearance, including spotless starched apron and clean fingernails, must pass inspection every shift.

  At the end of the twelve-hour shift, she ate supper and then attended classes, during which her eyelids drooped from fatigue. Finally she had time to sleep, but between her chattering roommates, the brick-hard mattress and the clanging radiator, she could only manage a few hours of slumber. If the memories of the day didn’t torment her dreams, Dan Wagner scolded her for entering the program. The dreams would flee only when the watchman pounded on the door and announced the six o’clock hour. She and those roommates not working the night shift dragged their stiff bodies out of bed to face a new day.

  After three weeks, she was exhausted. Home, the flight school and even her sisters had faded to distant memories. Sometimes, when her roommates were gone, she stared out the window and tried to remember Pearlman. She couldn’t picture Dan Wagner anymore. His image had paled and yellowed, like an old newspaper clipping. How she would welcome his arrogant grin. It would bring relief from the sheer human anguish that dragged her spirits down each day. She would pull the medallion out of the drawer and run her fingers over the inscription. She hadn’t realized the night of the Valentine’s Day Ball that he had had her name inscribed on the back. That medallion became her last connection to the outside world and the dream she’d been forced to abandon.

  During her allotted time to use the desk, she watched the clouds fly by and dreamed of soaring with them until a roommate chided her to either do her homework or let someone else work. Outside the four brick walls of the hospital, people walked and conversed and went to moving picture shows. They chose where to go and what to do. Jen’s life had been ordered into a regimented schedule. Her roommates, all from Grand Rapids, occasionally ate at a diner or visited friends. Jen did not go with them. She never left the building. She couldn’t waste a nickel.

  In that third week, the supervisor scheduled her in D Ward, which was reserved for expectant mothers. Some arrived when the pains began. Others convalesced, or were “lying in,” under the watchful eye of the nurses and staff physicians. According to Mother’s last letter, this is where Doc Stevens wanted Darcy to go. It didn’t take long for Jen to understand why her friend had refused.

  The ward was cheerful compared to most, but it was still in a hospital. Those expectant mothers were often sedated in the effort to prevent seizures. One young woman, named Marie according the card hanging on the end of her bed, suffered from tremendous swelling in her extremities, nausea and headaches.

  “Just like my friend Darcy,” Jen confided to the head nurse. “At least the swelling and nausea are the same. I’m not certain about the headaches.” Though once Jen thought about it, she did recall Darcy rubbing her temple from time to time. Darcy wasn’t one to complain, though, so few would know if she suffered. She thought back to Jack’s quick departure from the Valentine’s Day Ball. Maybe Darcy was having troubles even then. “Nausea is normal, isn’t it?”

  “Early on, but it usually subsides by the second trimester.”

  Darcy was much farther along than that.

  The nurse continued, “This nausea is more severe. Marie is being treated for toxemia. It can be fatal if seizures begin.”

  A chill ran through Jen. Daddy had died from a seizure. Could Marie die? Could Darcy? “What is the treatment?”

  “The only cure is childbirth. Until then, w
e need to keep the patients calm to reduce the risk of convulsions, so don’t agitate them.”

  Jen did not ask why the head nurse believed she would agitate anyone. “What if a seizure happens?”

  “Call me or the nurse on duty at once and put a gauze-wrapped tongue depressor between the patient’s jaws so she doesn’t bite her tongue.”

  Jen drew in a nervous breath.

  “Also fetch the head nurse if you notice any changes,” the nurse continued, “such as the patient has difficulty breathing or complains of severe headache, blurred vision or pain in her upper right abdomen.”

  If not for Marie and Darcy, Jen might have taken the instructions with complete clarity. Instead, fear muddied the words until all she could recall later was to call the head nurse. Thankfully, no one suffered a seizure during her days in Ward D.

  After moving to a different ward, Jen often stopped to see Marie following the evening lecture. One of those nights, another one of the women went into convulsions. The head nurse came running, while the probationer hurried off to get the staff doctor. Marie, tranquil in her sedated state, watched with Jen as the doctor hurried in followed by an intern.

  “Get a syringe of magnesium sulfate,” he barked to the intern, issuing further instructions that Jen did not fully understand.

  Curtains were drawn, so Jen did not see what followed. A gurney was brought, and the patient wheeled away, but the next time Jen visited Marie, the woman’s bed was occupied by another expectant mother.

  “What happened to the patient in bed eight?” she asked the nurse on duty.

  “She didn’t make it.”

  “The baby?”

  The nurse shook her head.

  Jen shivered. From that day forward, she did not miss an opportunity to visit Marie, despite long days cleaning, bathing and changing beds.

  Though Jen was physically strong due to her work with the airplanes, the suffering and dying wore on her. It didn’t take long to recognize those patients who would not survive the night. When the final hours drew near, the patient was given privacy with curtains or screens. If a probationer was available, the head nurse would send her to sit with the dying patient.