Nurse Trent's Children

by Joyce Dingwell

  “David, how serious is it?”

  “Serious enough for me to have report it to the police after one more attempt to find the youngster.”

  “You believe they will be together?”

  “I’m afraid so, Cathy. That’s what makes it worse. Not in my eyes or yours either, we are glad Rita has Andrew to look after her. But in black and white print to others it’s going to look bad. Bad for Redgates.”

  “Where are you going now?”

  “To the Fletts. I should have thought of them before. It was Mrs. Flett who first gave Andrew the idea of earning a livelihood as a pastry cook. She had noticed his interest in that direction and given him the freedom of her kitchen. It was she who whispered his bent to me, and when Marsdon suggested it from a professional analysis I was pretty certain, as I said at the meeting, that Andrew had found his right niche. But this is wasting time, Cathy. Just run me around the corner to the Fletts’, then you go home.”

  “Home?”

  “They may have turned up. If they haven’t then there is nothing more you can do. After the manse I have no other place to inquire. There is only one other avenue—the police.”

  Cathy put the car in gear and went forward slowly.

  “Do you think they might camp out?”

  “Quite possibly, the young fools. They’ll freeze.”

  It was not far to the manse. Before Cathy had stopped the car properly, David was out and running up the driveway. She hesitated a moment, then turned the utility toward home.

  She had not gone long when she heard another vehicle close behind her. It tooted imperiously, then, when she didn’t pull up, it veered ahead and stopped in the middle of the road, obstructing her passage. It was a green car. It was Dr. Malcolm’s.

  She braked, opened her door and got out. The doctor was out already and coming back to her.

  “So the search is over,” he said briefly. “I rang Redgates, and Elvira told me you were scouring the countryside. I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Miss Trent.”

  When he had said “The search is over” her spirits had soared. Now she realized with a new sickness at heart that he had been looking for her.

  “I can’t waste time,” she said hurriedly. “Rita and Andrew are missing. I must get back to the home. There may be a message. They may even be found.”

  “They are found.”

  She stared at him incredulously.

  “Rita?”

  “Rita and Andrew.”

  “Where ... who...?”

  “They were sitting in an obscure corner of the local park adding up their joint resources and making their plans.”

  “Poor babies!”

  “I was returning from an emergency at the hospital and happened to see them. I judged they were out of bounds. They were unwilling to come along with me at first, but it didn’t take much to persuade them that if they were running away they might as well run on full and satisfied stomachs. Rita was very much upset. She has lost thirty shillings.”

  “Miss Watts has it,” said Cathy. She explained.

  For a moment he stopped his story to laugh appreciatively. “She’s a unique woman.”

  “Tell me about my children.”

  “They drove to my office with me, and the last I know they were eating large platefuls of pie.”

  Cathy was alarmed. “They will escape again.” She turned to get back into the truck. Immediately his arm was firm on her. “They won’t escape.”

  “You have them locked in?”

  “I suppose you could call it a lock in a way. Come back with me. I’ll explain.”

  “The truck...”

  “David can pick it up. I called at the manse just before I found you, and he told me you could not have gone far. He’s staying for a cup of tea now the emergency is over. Mrs. Flett insisted on that.”

  Cathy shut the truck door and followed Jerry to the convertible. For all his promise to explain, he did not say a word, and she did not ask.

  When they reached the office she went as though to run through to the kitchen, but with the same light yet firm arm he held her back.

  “Come this way,” he said, and they went into the little office that for weeks had been Cathy’s schoolroom.

  He put the match to the fire before he spoke again. Only when the flames leaped up did he turn and face her.

  “Before we go any further, Miss Trent, there exists in you a state of mind that you must put aside ... abandon...”

  She did not answer. She waited for him to go on.

  “You said two words a little while ago. You said ‘Poor babies.’ The pair in the next room are not that. They are grown-up. They are man and woman.”

  “A girl not quite sixteen ... a boy a year older...”

  He looked at her sadly. She did not realize it was sadness tugging at the corners of his long sensitive mouth until he spoke. “Wednesday’s children grow up quickly.”

  “Wednesday’s children?” She echoed it uncomprehendingly and then she knew.

  Monday’s child is fair of face,

  Tuesday’s child is full of grace,

  Wednesday’s child is full of woe.

  These, then, were the sad children, born into sadness, surrounded by others born into such sadness, growing up quickly to men and women so that they could leave sadness far behind them, could start fresh lives of their own.

  “We—David, Elvie, all of us—tried,” she murmured in distress at her own thoughts.

  “Yes, you have tried, but you have not recognized the salient point that those youngsters next door, although they are youngsters, have reached manhood and womanhood in their outlook on life.”

  “I tried to keep step with Rita.”

  “A lipstick does not establish a belief in maturity.”

  “I did not do it for that.” Cathy’s voice was defensive.

  “No.” His voice in his turn was a little weary. “You did it from your kindness of heart. You are very kind, Aunty Cathy, I am sure of it, but you don’t understand, and never will.”

  “Understand what?”

  “How the heart of a Wednesday’s child cries out for love. How Rita and Andrew need each other even though they are young.”

  She looked at him curiously. “You mean you believe those children are ... are in love?”

  “Why not? Love happens. It happens at fifteen, it happens at fifty. Do you believe, then, there are rules for that condition that is called love?”

  “I believe they may not know their own minds. Rita might change, Andrew might think differently...”

  “Granted. But I believe that our belief in their capability to live and love is what they mostly need. If you go now to Rita and say, ‘You are still a child, you must put such thoughts out of your mind,’ she will be gone again tomorrow. It was not just Fayette Dubois who was scaring her, it was the fact that she had left childhood yet was still considered a child. But if you believe in her, she will build on her life from now on. Andrew will, too. Why? Because they are Wednesday’s children, and they must grow up quickly to leave behind woe!”

  “You could be wrong,” whispered Cathy. “Rita has been restlesst before this. There was young Jim Jeffreys. She thrust herself at him.”

  “Because she was starved, but she won’t be anymore. She and Andrew may never come together, but recognition of her status of womanhood and her right to be in love will give her what she needs.” He smiled suddenly. “And I’ll take a bet with you, Aunty Cathy, that one day she’ll make him a damn good wife.”

  Cathy stood up. “I’m going in to see them.”

  He stood aside and let her pass.

  The children were still sitting at the table. Cathy saw they were hand in hand.

  She sat down, too.

  “Well, Rita? Well, Andrew?”

  “We were running away,” said Rita.

  “We were going to be married,” said Andrew.

  “You are too young. It would have been annulled.”

  �
�We know that now. We know we were silly.” It was Rita speaking, her eyes were alight.

  “Dr. Jerry explained it,” added Andrew. “He said why run away and hide when we can start properly and build from the beginning like other people ... people not from institutions ... people not like us...”

  Cathy said, “People not born on Wednesday.” She smiled.

  “So you are coming home to Redgates?”

  “Yes, Aunty Cathy. Dr. Jerry said when he went out to fetch you, ‘You can still leave if you like. The door is wide open. But why start like that when you can have so much more from life?’ ” So that, thought Cathy, was the lock that had kept them—the lock that was freedom, the freedom to live and to love.

  “Mrs. Flett has got me a position,” said Andrew. “I am going to work hard. I know I can do it all right.”

  “She has arranged for a course for me in cake decoration,” said Rita. “Later on Andrew will have a little shop—” her eyes were dreamy “—and I’ll put sugar roses on his cakes.”

  Then, as Cathy watched, Andrew bent across and kissed Rita. It was a light kiss, passionless, almost without emotion, a boy’s kiss to a girl at her first dance.

  Suddenly Cathy saw it all. She saw other girls of Rita’s age in pretty fluffy dresses, their young escorts stealing kisses on terraces silvered with moonlight and set for young love, scenes that Wednesday’s children were denied.

  She saw there was nothing wrong in this as there was nothing wrong in the other. Indeed, the little unstudied caress touched her to her heart.

  She got up unsteadily. “When you are ready, dears,” she managed and went out to wait in the porch.

  It was there Jerry found her, her face turned to the night.

  He did not speak. He just came and stood beside her, and suddenly his arms were around her so tightly she could not even quiver with the wonder of it. It was not a kiss of fulfillment as that other night, it was a boundless ecstasy, a relief in sheer loving from one who had been deprived of love. It was Wednesday’s child who was kissing her, not Jeremy Malcolm.

  She stood in the circle of his arms wishing suddenly she could have Jeremy’s love.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Latrobes had arrived half an hour too early.

  They were dressed in their best clothes, and when Cathy put them in the front room-and switched on the radiator they sat bolt upright on the lounge, not even putting their hands or feet toward the warming glow.

  “Pull your chair closer, Mrs. Latrobe. It’s a chilly day.”

  “I’m warm enough, thank you, Miss Trent.”

  “Can I bring the radiator nearer, Mr. Latrobe?”

  “I’m doing well, ma’am; you’re very kind, I’m sure.”

  If they did not feel the cold, Cathy did. There was a chill in her that set her teeth chattering. She wished Mrs. Latrobe did not look as she did, prim, gloved, not a hair out of place. She wondered how Denise would react to this new Mrs. Latrobe. Whenever she came to Redgates as voluntary helper, Mrs. Latrobe wore a cheerful and capacious apron, her hair escaped from its pins, her eyes warm with affection, not guarded as they were today.

  Then Mr. Latrobe—Denise had never met him. What did she expect? What had Cathy expected?

  Certainly not the tongue-tied, awkward little man sitting on the edge of the chair running his finger every now and then around the rim of his immaculate collar. How would Denise, difficult, touchy, unpredictable Denise, react to the husband of Mrs. Latrobe whom she wanted for her mommy?

  Cathy went outside, shutting the door quietly behind her. She found Miss Watts touching up the flowers in the hall.

  “What’s the matter with you, nurse?” Edith Watts was as discerning as ever.

  "The Latrobes are here. Oh, Miss Watts, it’s all going to go badly. She’s got on her best dress, a rusty brown with bugle beading. It makes her tight, unapproachable. He hasn’t any words, and he looks too shy even to smile. I know Denise. She’s a mollusk. She’ll curl up like a little snail and get into her shell.”

  “Good,” said Miss Watts, “then the Latrobes don’t get her, and it would serve the wench right. Mrs. Latrobe has to dress up sometimes, and if the child can’t accept that she’s better left alone. As for Mr. Latrobe, if he’s silent he’s silent. Better for him to stay as he is and not put on an act just to lure her love. Be sensible, Trent. These are two good people. If the girl turns them down for some temperamental reason I should say the Latrobes are well rid of Denise.”

  “I want them to have her,” said Cathy obstinately.

  Miss Watts sniffed, removed a dead bud and threw it out the window. “The cars are beginning to arrive,” she said.

  Within half an hour all the members except one were present. Mr. Bell, although he must have sensed, as the rest sensed, that Fayette Dubois would never attend again, delayed the meeting for another half hour, during which the Latrobes still sat in the front room, upright and speechless. Then he announced busily, “Shall we adjourn to the assembly room now, members? Housemother, will you show in the Latrobes.”

  The pair followed Cathy nervously and silently took their seats. Mr. Bell spoke kindly to them, as did other members, but they did not relax.

  “Mr. Bell is my name, Mrs. Latrobe.”

  “Yes, Mr. Bell.”

  “Mrs. Latrobe, you wrote to me concerning a certain matter, a matter that we are gathered here today to discuss.”

  “Yes, sir ... Mr. Bell.”

  Mr. Bell cleared his throat.

  “No need, after digesting the contents of that letter, to examine you further regarding your honest and sincere desire to adopt this child in question. You put everything very frankly and clearly, Mrs. Latrobe. I was quite touched.”

  Mrs. Latrobe did not say anything. She started fiddling with the button of her glove. Cathy suspected she was not far from tears.

  “Mr. Latrobe,” said Mr. Bell, “how do you feel about all this?”

  The little man ran his finger around his collar. “If Ellie wants it, it’s all right with me.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Latrobe, can’t you go further? Can’t you say whether you want the child yourself?”

  “Yes, sir, I want the child. We’ve none of our own. Home’s only a house without a little one.”

  “Perhaps,” suggested Mr. Bell, “You might get Denise home and wish you had chosen a boy. A man likes a boy, Mr. Latrobe.”

  “We had our boy,” said the little man, moistening his lips. “When we were wed we said we’d have a pigeon pair. Well, Jimmie arrived ... but, God’s will, he went again, and Ellie knew there wouldn’t be any other, brothers or sisters. I’m just telling you this so you’d know that no boy would take Jim’s place. It’s different with the girlie. Her place is unfilled. The corner of our hearts is ready for her.”

  It was long and elaborate speech for Mr. Latrobe. He seemed embarrassed and exhausted.

  Mr. Bell tactfully turned over some papers. “Financial position satisfactory ... home bright and comfortable ... no religious barriers...” he murmured.

  He looked resolutely up. “Housemother, bring in the child.” Cathy went for Denise. The little girl was stiff and unfriendly with shyness. Only pretty when she was lighted up, she looked today a plain sallow little thing.

  She went at once instinctively to Mrs. Latrobe. She looked her over very slowly, leaned forward and touched the rather repulsive beads—or so Cathy thought. “You’re pretty,” she said.

  “Darling, this is Mrs. Latrobe’s husband,” explained Cathy. “If Mrs. Latrobe became your mommy, he would be your dad.” Denise eyed him furtively. She had never taken much to David or even Dr. Jerry. How would she react to this quiet plain little man?

  “Hello, Denny,” said Mr. Latrobe.

  Denise did not answer. She leaned against Mrs. Latrobe’s knees and began stroking the bugle beads again. “Pretty,” she repeated, studiously avoiding looking at Mr. Latrobe. A long moment went past. It seemed they had reached a deadlock.

 
Then abruptly Miss Watts acted. She leaned forward and gave the child a gentle push. “Don’t crush your mother’s best dress, you foolish little girl, lean against your father.”

  Denise obeyed without a word.

  Presently she leaned more heavily.

  Then she climbed on his knee.

  There was silence around the table.

  Miss Marriott broke it by blowing her nose. Cathy dared a glance in Mr. Latrobe’s direction. He sat as one entranced.

  By the time Mr. Bell had turned over his papers again Denise was playing with Mr. Latrobe’s waistcoat button. Her head was against his shoulder. She gave a little sigh of content.

  “Members,” said Mr. Bell, rising and speaking rather huskily, “all in favor of closing this meeting say ‘aye.’ ”

  “Aye,” said voices, and it was over. Denise was a Wednesday child no longer. She was going home.

  The Latrobes took her with them. “We’ll call for the rest of her things later on. Do you think she wants to say goodbye to any of her friends?”

  Cathy shook her head. Denise had no friends. She knew that at brothtime her absence would scarcely be noticed. She had been such a pallid child, she made such a tiny ripple, that possibly it would be weeks before they even knew she was gone.

  She went out to the door and watched Denise climb into the shabby car. The child sat between the Latrobes and never looked back.

  Cathy waved, but it was only Mrs. Latrobe who acknowledged her.

  “There,” said Miss Watts at her side, “departs an ungrateful child,” She laughed, well pleased with the situation.

  “And there,” added Cathy with a sigh, “departs our very best voluntary help.”

  The board members were leaving. Dr. Malcolm left with them.

  “I’ll be off tomorrow,” said Miss Watts busily. “I’m flying to Melbourne to see my solicitor. Don’t look so glum. I’ll be back.”

  “It wasn’t you entirely,” admitted Cathy frankly, “it was more reaction. Now I’ve got what I wanted I feel deflated like a pricked balloon.”