by Helen Wells
Contents
FOREWORD
I
THE ODD MAN
II
EMERGENCY HOSPITAL
III
VAL’S SKI SCHOOL
IV
TROUBLE WITH TONI
V
A DISTURBING SURPRISE
VI
RESCUE PATROL
VII
CHERRY CROSSES A BORDER
VIII
THE MYSTERIOUS PRISONER
IX
DANGEROUS JOURNEY
X
THE SECRET OF SPIRIT MOUNTAIN
XI
GOODBYE, SNOW BUNNY
Foreword
Helen Wells, the author of the Cherry Ames stories, said, “I’ve always thought of nursing, and perhaps you have, too, as just about the most exciting, important, and rewarding profession there is. Can you think of any other skill that is always needed by everybody, everywhere?”
I was and still am a fan of Cherry Ames. Her courageous dedication to her patients; her exciting escapades; her thirst for knowledge; her intelligent application of her nursing skills; and the respect she achieved as a registered nurse (RN) all made it clear to me that I was going to follow in her footsteps and become a nurse—nothing else would do.
Thousands of other young readers were motivated by Cherry Ames to become RNs as well. Through her thought-provoking stories, Cherry Ames led a steady stream of students into schools of nursing across the country well into the 1960s and 1970s when the series ended.
Readers who remember enjoying these books in the past will take pleasure in reading them again now—whether or not they chose nursing as their life’s work. Perhaps they will share them with others and even motivate a person or two to choose nursing as their career.
My nursing path has been rich and satisfying. I have delivered babies, cared for people in hospitals and in their homes, and saved lives. I have worked at the bedside and served as an administrator, I have published journals, written articles, taught students, consulted, and given expert testimony. Never once did I regret my decision to become a nurse.
During the time that I was publishing a nursing journal, I became acquainted with Robert Wells, brother of Helen Wells. In the course of conversation I learned that Ms. Wells had passed on and left the Cherry Ames copyright to Mr. Wells. Because there is a shortage of nurses here in the US today, I thought, “Why not bring Cherry back to motivate a whole new generation of young people? Why not ask Mr. Wells for the copyright to Cherry Ames?” Mr. Wells agreed, and the republished series is dedicated both to Helen Wells, the original author, and to her brother, Robert Wells, who transferred the rights to me. I am proud to ensure the continuation of Cherry Ames into the twenty-first century.
The final dedication is to you, both new and old readers of Cherry Ames: It is my dream that you enjoy Cherry’s nursing skills as well as her escapades. I hope that young readers will feel motivated to choose nursing as their life’s work. Remember, as Helen Wells herself said: there’s no other skill that’s “always needed by everybody, everywhere.”
Harriet Schulman Forman, RN, EdD
Series Editor
CHERRY AMES, SKI NURSE MYSTERY
CHAPTER I
The Odd Man
CHERRY AND HER FRIEND MARIE SWIFT FOLLOWED THE headwaiter along the sunny terrace. A lunchtime crowd filled most of the lakeside tables at the outdoors café.
With a little bow the headwaiter seated the two girls near a man alone, handed them menus, and said, “I will send the waiter to you. Enjoy your lunch, mesdemoiselles.”
The sun shone on their table, sparkled on Lake Lugano and on snowy mountaintops. “Now you see why I love living in Switzerland!” Marie said.
“It’s lovelier here than anywhere I’ve ever been,” Cherry replied, but her attention wandered. She sensed that the man at the next table was watching them. She raised her bright dark eyes from the menu for a good look at him.
How odd-looking he was. He looked out of place—too somber for this holiday café—with his stiff brown mustache, and dark scarf flung around his neck. He self-consciously stared into his plate of soup.
Marie noticed him, too, and murmured to Cherry, “Look at his watch.”
On his sturdy wrist the man wore a large, wafer-thin watch with a complicated dial, to show the hour, minutes, seconds, day of week, date, and other information that Cherry did not recognize.
The waiter arrived at the girls’ table but they had not decided what to order.
Marie said to Cherry, “Let’s make this a special lunch to celebrate your new job. It will probably be our last restaurant lunch together for a while.”
“I’ll be sorry to leave,” Cherry said. “I’m having a wonderful visit with you.”
The man at the next table could not help listening as she and Marie chattered along lightly. They had already done all their serious talking the past week. They had caught up on news of their friends and old classmates in the Spencer Nurses’ Club. They had explored Marie’s new life here in Lugano, with its blue lakes and hills in the warm south of Switzerland. Here, as the wife of a young Swiss citizen, she was Cherry’s hostess.
And they had eagerly discussed Cherry’s new job.
Last autumn, Marie had written to Cherry asking if she would like to spend two to two and a half months in the ski resort of Eagle’s Peak. A physician specializing in Orthopedics, whom Marie knew, would need a temporary replacement while his nurse was away on family business. Cherry had resigned from her doctor’s office nurse job in New York and here she was, looking forward to starting on her new job high up in the Swiss Alps.
“Young ladies, do you wish to order now?” the waiter asked.
The two girls ordered. Then the man at the next table called the waiter and said importantly:
“Bring me your very best dinner, please!”
“Yes, sir.” The waiter showed him the menu. “We have several choices, sir.”
The man painstakingly studied the menu, asked the waiter for advice, then made a hesitant choice.
He was a country cousin sort of man, Cherry thought. That showy, costly watch he was wearing did not fit in with his sober, self-conscious air. Any more than he in his heavy suit fitted in with this warm holiday town. He seemed to be working hard to enjoy himself, to behave like a man of the world, and to spend money as if—from the rather grim look of him—he had not had to count pennies all his life. In a way, Cherry felt sorry for him.
The headwaiter came by, smiling, and distributed picture postcards of the restaurant. Cherry and Marie thanked him, and started addressing theirs to family and friends. But when the headwaiter offered picture postcards to their neighbor, the man said:
“No, thanks. I do not need any.”
“Who has need of a picture of our café? But if you wish to write to your friends, sir, we will be happy to mail your cards for you.”
“No, thank you. No,” the man said. The headwaiter shrugged amiably and walked away. The dowdy man called him back. “You are right, like everyone else I do want to send a postcard,” he mumbled.
He accepted just one postcard. Instead of addressing it, he slid it under the breadbasket. Cherry and Marie exchanged glances. Cherry wondered whether the man had no one to write to.
Marie Swift giggled as she wrote. “I’m sending this postcard to my husband, right here in town.”
“I’m writing mine to my favorite date in New York and my mother in Hilton, Illinois,” Cherry answered, “promising to send them lots more picture postcards.”
The man alone listened and watched them almost longingly. He did look lonesome, Cherry thought. And he seemed shy, too awkward to make friends easily. Unless someone spoke to him first, he might not talk with anyone during his entire holiday, except waiters and a hotel clerk. Though his heavy, solemn manner gave him a middle-aged air, he was only about thirty-five years old. He looked strong and healthy, and was powerfully built.
The waiter
served the girls’ lunch, and set heaped plates before the man opposite. The two girls eyed his conglomeration of rich foods with some doubt. He gobbled his meal with enjoyment. His plates were almost empty when a colorfully dressed little man walked up to him, holding out a toy mountain climber on a rope.
“Pardon, sir, but I believe this souvenir dropped out of your pocket.” Before he could reply, the little man worked the toy and the tiny figure climbed up the rope so drolly that both men laughed.
Cherry whispered to Marie, “He didn’t drop anything, did he?” Marie shook her smooth blond head and whispered back, “An excuse to talk.”
“No, I don’t think it is mine,” the man said. “If you found it—” But the newcomer interrupted, entertaining him with the toy, saying affably:
“See how fast our man can climb down, too! Wish I could climb that well! But then I’m not a Swiss. As you are—as I presume you are, sir…. No, I’m an American from the flatlands of Kansas. Everyone calls me Shorty—not here, though. I don’t know a soul in this town except for my boss. And am I lonesome! Mind if I sit with you?”
“I am alone here, too,” the shy man said. “Yes, join me.” He pulled out a chair for Shorty to sit down.
“I feel lonesome today of all days, because it’s my birthday,” Shorty said. “No one to celebrate with me. Unless you’d join me if I order a little birthday cake?”
The awkward man seemed pleased and interested. “You now have me to wish you a happy birthday, and so I do. As for a cake, you must excuse me, I do not eat sweets. But may I toast your health with a cup of coffee?” He summoned the waiter.
“Very kind of you, sir. Thanks for your good wishes. By the way—” Shorty took a bulging billfold from his pocket and thrust his card at the man, who read aloud:
“ ‘Samuel Clark.’ Happy to know you, Mr. Clark. My name is Jacob Lenk.”
Shorty reached across the table to shake hands. “Are you here on a holiday?” Shorty asked.
Cherry saw how the lonesome man’s eyes shone, and how eagerly he talked as his new friend Shorty asked him about himself, his work, his plans.
“Yes, this is my vacation before I start to work in a new location,” Jacob Lenk said. “I will still be with the same firm—the Gold Ribbon Watch Company.”
“Oh, yes, Gold Ribbon,” Shorty said. “Home office in Berne, in the north.”
“Yes, I have always worked for them in Berne. Now they are transferring me to our factory in the Jura region near Geneva.”
“I’ve heard Gold Ribbon is a very fine company,” Shorty said.
“Leaders in their field,” Lenk said proudly. “Look!” He displayed his elaborate wristwatch. “My company gave me this watch, and also arranged for me to have this credit card, in view of my long, good service. Possibly I should not boast, but—”
“Congratulations!” Shorty said. “I sure hope you’ll like it at your new place. When do you have to be there?”
Cherry wondered whether Lenk was being pumped for information.
Lenk told the stranger, “I report week after next. On a Monday morning.”
“And you, of course, plan to be there. Or will you maybe treat yourself to a few more days’ vacation?” Shorty asked, all flattering attention.
“To tell the truth, Mr. Clark, I thought I’d report to work a few days early. Because, well, details to take care of when you relocate,” Lenk said. “Anyway, I am not having such a good holiday here.”
“Ah, that’s too bad,” Shorty said. “Have you taken the boat ride? The Neptune Line runs a three-hour sail every morning and afternoon that’s grand.” He chatted on, then after a few minutes stood up to go.
Jacob Lenk’s face showed his disappointment. “You’re not going? Surely not so soon? We have only just become acquainted—”
“I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Lenk—may I say Jacob?—but I have to run. Boss is expecting me. Maybe we can meet later today, or tomorrow. Where are you staying?”
“At the Pension Fleury.” Lenk gave the street address. “I will look for you. Happy birthday to you again.”
“Thanks for the coffee and everything. I’ll treat you next time. See you!” Then Shorty was gone, toy and all.
“I wonder,” Cherry said, “whether that sharp little man will ever go to see Jacob Lenk.”
Marie was skeptical, too. She started to talk about Cherry’s job as ski nurse, as if eager to change to a pleasanter subject. Meanwhile, Jacob Lenk morosely finished his meal, then called for the check.
Before the waiter could reach him, Lenk slumped over his table. He moaned and pressed his hands against his abdomen as if in pain. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Cherry and Marie immediately went over to him. He leaned heavily on his table. Marie supported the man’s head. Cherry took his pulse, saying gently:
“Tell us how you feel. We’re nurses.”
Lenk gasped. “I haven’t felt right all morning. Last night I ate seafood—spicy sauce, I could not tell—whether fresh or spoiled. And now I ate such a mixture. I feel wretched!”
That meant not just an upset stomach but food poisoning. There was also a possibility of appendicitis, Cherry knew, since there was abdominal pain.
The headwaiter rushed up. “The gentleman is ill?”
“Yes. He needs a doctor right away,” Marie said. “I’ve been working as relief nurse for Dr. D’Adamo on Via Nassa. The doctor is usually in his office now. Could someone help us take this man over there?”
“Of course, of course!” the headwaiter said. “I know Dr. D’Adamo. If there is anything more we can do for this poor man, let us know.” He summoned a husky young bus boy, and instructed him to take the stricken man and the young ladies in a taxi to the doctor’s office.
In the taxi Jacob Lenk said thickly, “I am glad—if I have to be sick—to find you two young nurses. To be alone is bad enough. To be alone and sick is frightening.”
“We won’t desert you,” Cherry said. “We’ll wait at the doctor’s to find out how you are, and if we can help.”
“I am ashamed. I should not tell you I am frightened,” Jacob Lenk muttered. “But you see, I have a chronic illness—yes, serious—but I do not wish to bother you further by talking about that.”
The bus boy escort said abruptly, “We’re here,” and the taxi halted.
A woman and two children were already in Dr. D’Adamo’s waiting room. His office nurse said he was with a patient. In a few minutes the doctor came out to look at Jacob Lenk. He was exhausted and dizzy by now.
“Come in, sir,” Dr. D’Adamo said, “and I’ll examine you.” He signaled for Marie and Cherry to wait outside. He and his nurse helped Jacob Lenk into a treatment room.
After a while Dr. D’Adamo sent them word by his office nurse.
“Mr. Lenk has food poisoning,” she said. “Doctor used a stomach pump, so Mr. Lenk is out of danger now. He’s weak, though, and resting. Doctor wants him to stay here and sleep for an hour or two, then go home. Is he a friend of yours, Marie? Or of—” The nurse smiled at Cherry.
Marie introduced Cherry Ames to Rose Dupuy. “He’s just an acquaintance of ours,” Marie said. “We’d like to help him if we can.”
“I found a room key marked 405 in his pocket. Do you know at what hotel he lives?” Rose Dupuy asked. Fortunately they did. Rose said she or Dr. D’Adamo or a helpful taxi driver they knew would take Jacob Lenk back to the Pension Fleury.
“He’s to sleep, and not to have any food until tomorrow,” Rose Dupy said. “Doctor wants to see him here tomorrow and possibly run some tests. He thinks Mr. Lenk will be well enough by then to come here by taxi.”
The next evening Cherry and Marie still felt concerned about the sick man. They telephoned Dr. D’Adamo’s office to inquire. Rose Dupuy answered. “Yes, Mr. Lenk was here, and he’s much better,” she said. “Doctor wants to see him at nine tomorrow morning.”
“About the food poisoning?” Marie asked as Cherry listened in.
“No, that’s under cont
rol,” Rose Dupuy said. “He wants to see Mr. Lenk about some chronic condition. I don’t know what it is. We have been so busy that doctor hasn’t given me any instructions or notes yet for this patient.”
Marie thanked the office nurse and hung up. “That’s rather troubling,” she said to Cherry. “Do you remember Mr. Lenk telling us he has a serious illness that he doesn’t want to talk about? I feel sorry for him.”
“So do I,” Cherry said. “Let’s pay him a short visit. It’s no fun to be sick and alone in a strange town.”
“I’m for it,” Marie said, “but we can’t go any more today. My darling husband will be here any minute now, and so will the friends we’ve invited for dinner.”
So they planned to visit Jacob Lenk tomorrow at his pension, sometime after his morning appointment with Dr. D’Adamo. However, at ten o’clock the next morning a neighbor asked Marie to help for an hour or two with a sick child. Then, a little before noon, Dr. D’Adamo telephoned Marie’s house. Cherry answered.
“Where is your patient, Jacob Lenk?” Dr. D’Adamo asked. “He hasn’t come in this morning. He didn’t send me word—didn’t cancel—he wasted some of my time.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. D’Adamo,” Cherry said, “and I’m surprised.” Jacob Lenk had seemed to be a reliable, conscientious man. “Doctor, I am going over to his pension for a visit. If he needs you, I’ll let you know.”
“Good. I hope Mr. Lenk is all right. Thank you, Miss Ames.”
Cherry left a note for Marie, then walked along the hilly streets to the Pension Fleury. Lenk’s hotel was a boxlike stucco building surrounded by a small garden. A boy of about twelve sat reading there. The boy’s and Cherry’s eyes met as she went in.
At first Cherry stood blinking in the entrance hallway, so dark after the sunshine. She waited unnoticed by the gaunt clerk at a worn counter. He was absorbed in counting a roll of bills, and he looked slyly pleased.
Cherry cleared her throat. He looked up, startled, jammed the money in his pocket, and said crossly:
“Good morning. What do you wish?”