by Helen Wells
IV
SECRET JOURNAL
V
SEARCH FOR THE DOLL
VI
SIBYL
VII
SURPRISES
VIII
YOUNG DR. ALAN
IX
THE DISAPPEARING WINDOW
X
INSIDE THE WALL
XI
EXPERIMENT
XII
WHAT MOLLY RECALLED
XIII
A RARE PERFUME
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 a career path.
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, BOARDING SCHOOL NURSE
CHAPTER I
Lisette
CHERRY WISHED THE TRAIN WOULD GO FASTER. SHE was still out of breath from running for it. She pressed her cheek against the window to admire the green fields and fertile farms through which the local train poked along. Cherry’s mother, who knew the headmistress of the Jamestown School for Girls from their own school days, had warned her that the school was deep in the country. Fortunately, it was not too far from Hilton, Illinois, which meant that she would be able to spend all school holiday vacations at home.
As the boarding school nurse, she would have full charge of the school infirmary. It would be fun to work with young people and a refreshing change from her last job—an unexpectedly thrilling assignment as nurse to a country doctor—something new, something different. If there was anything Cherry enjoyed, it was meeting new people. She was glad that she was a nurse because nursing, in its many branches, provided an Open sesame to new and exciting experiences—and because more importantly, a nurse can help to alleviate human suffering. She remembered what her twin brother Charlie had said jokingly when he put her on this train in Hilton:
“Don’t set this boarding school on its ear. Wherever you go, twin, you make things happen, but you bring doggoned good nursing too.”
It gave Cherry a good, warm feeling to know that her pilot brother, and her parents, too, were proud of her. They had made that clear during this past week, when they’d had such a satisfying family reunion, in their big, old-fashioned house. The week’s rest had left Cherry’s cheeks glowing rose-red and her black eyes sparkling. Even her jet-black curls shone with extra good health. She felt fully ready to tackle her new job.
She stood up, slim and tall, to stretch for a moment and noticed again the girl at the other end of the car. Only about fourteen years old, and small for her age, she was absorbed in a thick volume which lay open on her knees. The girl leafed through several pages, then as if finding what she sought, read eagerly—leafed, read, searched again. She read, Cherry thought idly, as if that book held all the answers to all her questions—whatever they were.
When the train pulled into Jamestown, Cherry noticed that the girl was getting off, too. They were the only two passengers who alighted. Jamestown consisted of a crossroads and a few stores, sheltered by magnificent oak trees. Only a few farmers, driving in for supplies, were outdoors in the heat of the afternoon. Cherry looked around for a station wagon or other car from the school, half expecting to be met. Hadn’t Mrs. Harrison received her telegram? Perhaps she should telephone the school. Then Cherry spied a sedan with a sign in its windshield: Taxi.
But the young girl from the train was already making arrangements with the taxi driver. Cherry heard her say:
“—to the school, the Jamestown School.”
Cherry approached them uncertainly. This was probably the one and only taxi in town, and in the country people often shared rides.
“I beg your pardon, but I’m going to the school, too, and since there’s no school car here, I wonder—”
“Please share the taxi with me,” the girl said at once and pleasantly.
So they stepped in and settled back. The driver started off through leafy tunnels formed by the arching oaks. Cherry and the young girl did not speak for several minutes. It was one of those ripe, golden afternoons when it feels as if summer will last forever, yet the school term would begin within a few days. Cherry was arriving early in order to get the infirmary in good shape, but what was a student doing here so early, she wondered.
Cherry glanced at the girl who had drawn away into her own corner of the seat. She was slight and pale, with a cloud of dark hair falling onto her shoulders.
“Since we’re both going to the school,” Cherry offered, “we might introduce ourselves. I’m Cherry Ames.”
The girl smiled. “I’m Lisette Gauthier.” She was rather shy. “Is this your first time at the school?”
“Yes, it is. Yours, too?”
“Yes, Miss Ames.” The girl glanced away, hugging the big book to her. She seemed to be struggling with shyness, then overcame it in a rush. “I came to the school a week early, you know.” She did not say why. “I went into Riverton to do some errands, and to visit the library. It’s bigger than the school library.”
“What an eager student!” Cherry exclaimed. “Studying before the term even begins.”
“Oh—no—I mean, yes. It isn’t exactly studying.” Lisette did not reveal what the thick book was. After that, the girl sat quiet and guarded in her corner.
The taxi drove on past gardens where the scent of flowers floated on the air. Cherry remarked on the delicious fragrance, and—to choose another safe conversational subject—she mentioned her contact with Mrs. Harrison, the headmistress and owner of the Jamestown School.
“I’ve never met Mrs. Harrison but her letters have been awfully nice,” Cherry said. “I’m looking forward to meeting her this afternoon.”
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Lisette turned and this time her smile had real warmth. “Everyone loves Mrs. Harrison. You will, too, I know you will. She’s—well, you’ll see! Can you imagine anyone else who’d let me come to the chateau a week early, and who’d even—”
The girl broke off, as if she had been about to say too much. Cherry filled the embarrassed silence with a cheerful remark about the fun of starting a new term, especially at a new school. Lisette looked at her with gratitude. Her eyes were ebony black and seemed to fill her ivory face. A funny little sprite, Cherry thought, first too shy to talk, then talking almost too much …
All of a sudden the taxi slowed, and the driver, grumbling, coasted the car to the side of the road and hopped out for a look at the motor. He poked and examined and then went to peer in the gas tank.
“But the gas gauge reads better’n half full,” he muttered.
Cherry glanced at it. So it did.
“Gauge isn’t workin’,” the driver said. “Gas tank is bone dry. I’ll have to go for gas. A mile’s walk in this broiling sun to the nearest gas station!”
He stamped off, carrying a metal container. The two girls were left alone together in the back seat of the sedan. Trees shaded them, but still it was going to be a long, warm wait.
“What wouldn’t I give for a soda right now!” Cherry said. “Chocolate for you?”
“Chocolate for me,” Lisette agreed. Her eyes danced like Cherry’s own. She glanced at Cherry with obvious curiosity, although it was apparent that she would never intrude with questions. Cherry tried to ease things for her.
“You think I’m one of the new teachers, don’t you?”
“Well, you look a little bit too young and too—”
“Too what?” Cherry laughed.
Lisette swallowed. “Too young and fun-loving.”
“To tell you the truth, I’m to be the school nurse.”
“Oh! That’s nice. I’ve always sort of wanted to be a nurse.”
“Lots of girls want to,” Cherry replied. “A lot of them really do it, too.”
“It’s a sympathetic profession,” Lisette said thoughtfully. “I always think of a nurse as a friend.”
“Well, I hope you and I will be friends.”
Lisette responded with such a glowing face that Cherry could not help but respond, too.
“I don’t think,” Lisette said very seriously, “that a few years’ difference in our ages is important.” She pretended to be busy adjusting the car window. “Do you?”
“Of course not.”
Then Lisette was telling her, as fast as the words would tumble out, about her scholarship and her family and her wonderful luck in coming to the Jamestown School.
“All my life I’ve wanted to come here! And father always wanted me to attend boarding school. A really good one! I couldn’t tell this to everybody, Miss Ames, but honestly, I’d never be here if it had been left up to my poor papa.” She said papa, French fashion. “It’s the greatest luck that I’ve a scholarship. Imagine. A year’s scholarship and my room in the dormitory, everything, a regular guest!”
“It is wonderful,” Cherry said. “I didn’t know boarding schools gave scholarships.”
“They don’t very often. It’s just that Mrs. Harrison is so generous. Not that she can afford—I mean—”
Lisette broke off short again.
Cherry’s curiosity was aroused. How did the girl know what Mrs. Harrison could afford if she was a newcomer to the school? Then, too, what was she doing here a week early? Was it because of some family problem?
“What about your papa?” Cherry asked, since it was obvious that Lisette was trying to change the subject. “What a cunning way to say it!”
“We spoke French a good deal at home in St. Louis,” Lisette said. “Especially Papa. He spoke beautiful French, although he was American-born. And he was a delightful host, and he knew dozens of funny stories, but that’s about all Papa could do. He just wasn’t a practical man. He tried hard to earn a living, but—My heavens, I am telling you a lot, Miss Ames.”
“I’ll respect your confidence.” Cherry thought the girl must be starved for companionship, she seemed to be so glad to make a new friend. “By the way, wouldn’t you rather call me Miss Cherry? It’s friendlier.”
Lisette looked pleased but suddenly shy again.
“You say your father was and had,” Cherry prompted.
“He died three years ago,” Lisette told her.
“Forgive me. You must miss him very much.”
“Yes, we do. It’s hardest on Mother. For another reason, too. She’s had to earn our living, you see—Papa only left us a tiny bit of insurance. And a collection of beautiful books of poetry,” Lisette said wryly. “Mother says one can’t be angry with a dreamer who simply couldn’t cope with life. Papa did mean well.” Lisette’s voice trailed off.
“Is your mother in business?” Cherry asked.
“She gives music lessons.”
No wonder Lisette was in need of a scholarship, Cherry thought. Teaching music was, as a rule, an uncertain way to make a small living.
Lisette was saying much the same thing, but in words chosen to save her pride. Her mother had made all of Lisette’s dresses for the coming school year—it was less expensive than buying the dresses at a shop. Lisette hoped that her mother would come to visit her at the school, but she was busy with her pupils, and then there was the matter of fare. It was clear to Cherry that Mrs. Gauthier was making a sacrifice to send Lisette away to boarding school, even with the aid of a scholarship.
“I’m going to make this year count,” Lisette told Cherry earnestly. “It’s my big chance. I must make it count.”
“I’m sure that you will,” Cherry encouraged her. “Attending a fine school is a wonderful chance for any girl.”
“No, no, you don’t quite understand. It’s something special for me! To come to this school, to the chateau, that’s what I’ve always wanted.”
Cherry wisely remained silent, touching the leaves which brushed the open car window. She knew from her nursing experience the importance of not asking questions. But she hoped that Lisette, of her own accord, would tell more. For Cherry sensed an unhappy situation here behind Lisette’s carefully chosen phrases, and she would like to help her.
“Do you suppose our driver is ever coming back?”
“I forgot to tell you,” Lisette said, “that the school station wagon is in the garage for repairs. Maybe we can beg a ride from the driver of that funny little wagon coming up the road.”
“But she’s heading away from the school,” Cherry commented.
A plump, jolly little woman was driving the horse. She wore an old-fashioned sunbonnet; a wide straw hat rested on the horse’s head, with holes for his ears to stick through. What captivated Cherry was the waves of flower scent from the wagon which held a few baskets of flowers. As the woman drew up alongside, she called:
“Whoa, Jupiter! Afternoon, young ladies! Is it hot enough for you?”
“We’ll have cooler weather soon,” Cherry answered. Lisette only managed to smile.
“You’re from Mrs. Harrison’s school, I’ll wager. I’m Molly Miller from Rivers’ Crossing—that’s more of a crossroads than a village. Maybe you’ve heard of me and my flowers? I have a real nice nursery. Been out selling bouquets today.”
“I’ve been admiring them,” Cherry said, intoxicated with the rich scents. Most of the baskets were empty but in the remaining bouquets were a bewildering variety of blossoms.
“Mrs. Miller, I’ve been brought up right here in Illinois,” Cherry said, “but I’ve never seen a home-grown bouquet with so many different kinds of flowers.”
“Oh, we pride ourselves around here on our flowers.” Molly Miller’s weather-beaten face beamed. “Now, this is a specially nice bunch—so many varieties, four kinds of roses, night-scented stock, a few zinnias, asters—”
Abruptly, Lisette leaned across Cherry to inquire, “Are those for sale?”
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“Why, certainly, young lady.” Molly Miller named a small price. In her eagerness Lisette all but seized the bouquet from her. The farm wife looked pleased.
“Why don’t you come over and see my garden and hothouses some day?” she invited them. “It’s well worth a trip, if I do say so myself.”
Cherry thanked the friendly woman, who gathered the reins tighter and clucked to her horse. As the wagon wheels started to turn, Lisette called out:
“Wait a moment—please! What’s the name of this white spray—the one that smells both sweet and tangy? It’s an odd scent—”
“Now, young lady,” the farm wife called back, “I must hurry home. But you come and visit me—like I told you—” She waved good-by to them and the horse trotted merrily up the road.
Cherry waved back, then turned to Lisette, who was rapturously smelling the bouquet. She had never seen anyone enjoy flowers as much as Lisette.
“Miss Cherry, I didn’t mean to—well, snatch the bouquet for myself, you know. I’d like very much to put them in the infirmary. Or at least half of them.”
“For the empty beds to enjoy?” Cherry commented, hoping that there were no patients yet. “No, you keep the flowers, Lisette. Thanks, anyway.”
“Look at the roses! White, fawn-colored, yellow, and those big red cabbage roses. Don’t you love roses? What do you think this strange scent can be?”
Cherry and Lisette went through the bouquet, naming each flower. They were uncertain of one special rose, and unable to identify the silvery-white spray. Whether the odd, lovely odor came from flower or leaf of the silvery spray was a question, too.
Not until they heard gasoline gurgling into the taxi’s tank did they notice that their driver was back, dusty and disgusted.
“I’d better git me one of Molly Miller’s horses,” he said, noticing the bouquet. “Sorry to keep you waitin’.”
The taxi started off again. This time, they turned off the main highway and followed side roads. Birds sang on the boughs, a brook bubbled along.