by Dan Ross
"You'll have to admit that Tranquility Place is different."
"I still believe I can do some good there. And so can you if you want to."
"Dr. Werner does not encourage individualism or offer any incentive to his associates."
"Since you know that, you can work quietly to achieve some results."
There was amused irony evident in the reaction of the young doctor. "How long do you think Dr. Werner will allow you to remain on his staff?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Perhaps not long. I know he didn't like my standing up to him about Frank."
"I would have expected him to dismiss you then and there," Ken said. "You spoiled his plan for blackening Frank's record."
"Why did he show such tolerance?"
"You have worked in top hospitals and had fine training. He needs people on the staff like you. It looks good when he makes his report to the board."
"I'm not staying on to cover up for him," she said with asperity.
"But your being there will help him."
She sighed. "It's very disconcerting. Are all private mental hospitals like Tranquility Place?"
"Many of them are, to some degree or other. If I were the relative of a patient, I'd be very cautious in selecting a hospital."
"So would I," she agreed heartily.
The young man studied her with a hint of shyness. "I expected you to be disgusted with me after I told you my story."
"I'm not."
"Thanks," he said quietly. "I have the feeling that it was a lucky day for me when you arrived."
She smiled. "I can't think why, though I'd like it to be true."
"At least now you know about all of us."
"What about Frank Burns?" she asked.
"What about him?"
Jean's manner was earnest. "He must be helped. And you can do it."
He frowned. "How?"
"I can't outline any particular method, but he should be roused out of his apathy and encouraged to get out of there."
"He seems resigned to being a mental cripple."
"It's a kind of self-destruction," Jean complained. "He doesn't need treatment for any mental illness. He has to make up his mind to leave the hospital."
"His mother wants him there. She's afraid she can't control his actions on the outside. She's paying Werner well to keep him as a patient, and he won't be willing to lose that revenue without a struggle."
"If Frank wants out, he can't be held down. He's as sane as any of us."
The young doctor nodded. "I'll grant you that. But he's sort of fallen in with the plot against him. I don't think he cares any more."
"There might be a way to make him care," Jean said with meaning.
His eyes narrowed. "So you do have an idea?"
"Perhaps," she said. "He and Peggy Chase are very fond of each other. They're probably in love. You could use her to lever him into wanting to be free."
Ken looked interested. "That's an angle."
"It could be a strong one."
"But it would have to be approached cautiously."
Ken warned her. "A false move could spoil everything."
"I'm aware of that," she said, her voice becoming eager as she grew more excited about the plan. "Peggy Chase shouldn't be in there either. It's not a healthy atmosphere for her. You could begin by hinting that, and suggesting that she might be harmed by remaining there."
"The thought being that they both might leave at the same time and help sustain each other on the outside."
"Have you a better idea?"
"No." he admitted. "I like it. But I'm not sure it will work. There are many things to fight along the way."
Her eyes were shining with the hope that her idea offered. "Isn't it worth a battle with Dr. Werner?"
"Maybe, and maybe not," he said, not fully convinced.
"It has to be," she enthused. "If you could save those two, it would justify your being there, give you something to build on when you move to another hospital and really resume your career."
Ken stared at her. "You believe that will happen?"
"I can't see you staying at Tranquility Place for the rest of your life."
"As we both know, there are other private hospitals just like it where the welcome mat would be out for me."
"That would be defeatism," she said. "And however badly you've been hurt, I can't see giving up."
"Thanks," he said shortly.
"Will you try helping Frank and Peggy?"
"I'll give it some thought," he said, making no definite promise. "What about you?"
She smiled ruefully. "Haven't I already made a start by defending Frank this evening?"
"I'll have to give you some points for that," he was forced to agree. He looked at his wristwatch. "I suppose we had better be getting back to the citadel, or we'll become targets for gossip."
"Perish the thought," she said, imitating his mocking tone.
"It's nice having an attractive girl to confide in again," he said as he signaled the waiter for the check. "I didn't mention that there was a girl I was going to marry. I lost her as well when everything crashed."
"I'm sorry," Jean said sincerely.
"Probably the best thing," he said. "I doubt if we were really in love."
The waiter came and Ken paid him.
Jean and Ken bundled up in their warm clothes and went out of the restaurant. It was a fine, clear night with a sparkling array of stars overhead, a crispness in the air, and a light covering of snow on the trees and buildings, giving them a special beauty. Ken held her firmly by the arm to help her over the few patches of ice and snow on their way to the car.
The drive back to the hospital didn't take long. Jean was in a special state of elation, confident that her ideas for saving the two young people would work. At the wheel, Ken seemed less tense than he had been earlier in the evening. When they reached the parking lot, he didn't attempt to get out of the car immediately. Instead, he turned and gave her an admiring look.
"You're a pretty wonderful person, Jean," he said.
"Nonsense!"
"I mean it," he insisted. "In the short time you've been here, you've managed to do a few important things. Maybe one of them has been to make me realize that I've been enjoying my hurt."
"As long as you realize that," she said.
"From now on, I'll try to be a little less self-oriented," he said with a smile. "But I warn you, some of my interest will be transferred to you."
She looked at him with tender eyes. "I like you, Ken," she said in a quiet voice.
"And it could be that I'm in love with you," he told her, and took her in his arms for an ardent and lasting kiss.
She finally pushed him away gently. "Let's not scandalize the hospital," she teased him slyly. "Or give Dr. Werner any excuse for discharging us. We have work to do."
Ken laughed. "You make us sound like conspirators!"
"Aren't we?"
"I suppose we are," Ken said with one of his charming smiles. "We won't be for long if the good Dr. Werner finds out."
That night marked the beginning of a new relationship between Jean and Dr. Ken Hastings. It also began a period of hope for her in her new position, which at first had seemed like a completely disastrous go Psychiatric Nurse choice. She was now convinced that even at Tranquility Place she could function successfully as a nurse and as an individual.
This adjustment on her part made things easier. She was unable to get Dr. Firth Breton to keep up-to-date infirmary records, but she did force him to send her some sort of information, even if it was a day or two late. The other details she tried to find on her own.
Dr. Werner was discreetly polite but not friendly in his conversations with her. She had an idea that he suspected that she had found out the truth about the way the hospital operated, and did not approve. But at least there was a kind of truce between them.
Fortunately, Steve Abrams' concussion had not proven severe, and within a few days he was up and around again. The tense you
ng man seemed to have no remembrance of the violent incident or how he had come by his injury. Jean saw him in the hospital on several occasions, and he always was quiet and friendly.
She did notice, however, that there was always an orderly not too far from him, a tall, husky man named Morton. He had a slablike face and cold eyes, and a reputation for being rough and surly when it wasn't required. Jean didn't like his type, but had seen no actual abuse of his power so far.
Since the evening when she had defended him against Dr. Werner, she had made a good friend in Frank Burns. The hippie-type millionaire had heard what she had done in his behalf, and he was quick to show his appreciation. Peggy Chase was also grateful to her. Jean was less interested in their gratitude than in the success that Ken Hastings might have in helping them.
She knew he was spending some extra time with both of the young patients. And she was positive that Dr. Werner did not know the approach Ken was taking with them, or he would have been furious. He was much more concerned about keeping two wealthy patients on the hospital roster than with curing them.
It was her hope that Ken would persuade both Peggy and Frank to try to leave the institution. Getting out wouldn't be easy, but she was sure it could be managed, especially if Ken spoke up in favor of it.
Meanwhile, things at the mental hospital went on at an even pace. One afternoon, when Jean was returning from the infirmary with some reports she fairly had to pressure out of the careless Dr. Breton, she heard a moan from one of the recreation rooms off the corridor.
The sound was so agonized that she halted and pushed open the door, which had been only partly ajar, to find the brutal-looking Morton facing a doubled-up Herman Maxwell. The gray-haired man groaned again as she came into the room, and Morton turned to gaze at her uneasily.
"What is going on here?" she asked.
Morton scowled. "He brought things in here from the therapy room. It's against the rules."
Jean looked at the still-suffering Herman Maxwell, who was bent with pain, and gave the orderly a sharp glance. "What sort of things?"
"Some of those vases he makes," the orderly said sullenly.
"What harm was there in that?"
Morton shrugged. "It's against the rules. When I told him they had to go back, he made a lunge at me. So I hit him."
She was shocked. She shifted her gaze to the slight frame of the former lawyer. It was apparent that he offered no threat to the burly guard, so she couldn't see any reason for Morton's having delivered that ugly blow to his stomach.
She asked the gray-haired man, "Why did you try to attack the guard, Mr. Maxwell?" She knew well enough that underneath a meek exterior, some mental cases often were extremely dangerous.
Herman Maxwell, still pale from pain, looked anything but dangerous. In a tremulous voice, he said, "I didn't attack him. He knocked one of my vases out of my hands. I'd brought it in here to paint a design on it. And he broke it. You can see." He indicated the broken vase lying on the floor not far from where they stood. Jean hadn't noticed it until he pointed it out.
She felt a surge of anger, but managed to present a cool exterior. She asked Herman Maxwell, "And you didn't try to strike Morton?"
He looked crushed. "I don't know," he said in a hopeless voice. "I may have lashed back at him because he broke the vase. I don't remember. He didn't have to dash it out of my hands."
Jean's sympathies were now all with the ex-lawyer, but she didn't want to make this too clear. She turned to a still-scowling Morton. "Did you have to be so rough?"
"I didn't mean to break the thing," he said with disgust rather than with regret.
"But you did. And Mr. Maxwell wasn't guilty of any important infraction of the rules, was he? It was only a small thing."
Morton glared at her. "I have my orders. I carry them out."
"I'll discuss this with Dr. Werner," she told him, then turned to Herman Maxwell. "I want you to come to the infirmary with me and see if you're badly hurt."
"I only hit him with a light punch." Morton spoke up in his own defense at once.
She gave him a cutting look. "You can explain that to Dr. Werner later."
She led the trembling Herman Maxwell from the room and accompanied him to the infirmary. There she had Dr. Breton give him a thorough examination. The stout doctor expressed the opinion that the elderly man had not suffered any serious harm, but she still was concerned.
Back at her own desk, she asked Head Nurse Moore whether Dr. Werner was in his office. "I have something I want to ask him," she explained.
The senior nurse gave her a troubled look. She seemed to be in a perpetual state of nerves, and her ravaged, lined face showed it. "I think he just arrived. I heard him on the phone a moment ago. I don't know whether you should bother him or not."
Jean was in a rebellious mood. "I don't think he'll mind." She didn't have the awe and timidity of the medical chief that Head Nurse Moore displayed.
She left the office and went down the corridor and knocked on Dr. Werner's door. He called out for her to come in, and glanced up with a questioning look on his face as she entered.
"Yes, Miss Shannon?" His tone indicated that he was asking what trouble she was bringing him now.
She stood before his desk. "I think that Morton committed an act of brutality against one of the patients a little while ago."
He arched his eyebrows. "Go on. Explain."
She told him about Herman Maxwell. "I think it was a stupid and needless incident. Morton could have avoided it. And he certainly needn't have struck that old man."
Dr. Werner eyed her bleakly. "He may have thought that Maxwell had a concealed weapon and was going to attack him with it."
"Why would he think that?"
"It happened with a patient once before. We had chisels then for wood carving. The orderlies were supposed to keep a strict watch on the patients and be particularly careful that each sharp tool was accounted for and taken from the patients before they left the therapy room. Of course, one of the patients was too sly for the orderlies—these people can be clever when they like—and got out of the room with a chisel. Later he attacked an orderly with it and inflicted a bad wound. I imagine Morton remembers that."
The seemingly plausible story caught her off balance. "I'm sure Mr. Maxwell wouldn't be guilty of anything like that," she said.
"Who knows?" Dr. Werner asked.
"And at any rate, Morton shouldn't have struck him such a hard blow. It was needless cruelty on his part. I told him I would report this to you."
Dr. Werner sighed and stared down at his desk. "I wish that you had simply come and told me the story without taking it upon yourself to discipline Morton first."
"I didn't discipline him," she said. "I simply reproached him for what I considered cruel and bad judgment."
"Same thing," Dr. Werner said. "Now you force me to take sides. And I dislike interfering with an orderly. Our men are carefully chosen, and they know our rules. I feel they should be allowed to carry out those rules as they see fit."
"I was upset and angry," she admitted.
He gave her a cold smile. "With your long experience in mental institutions, I should think you'd have much better control of your feelings, Miss Shannon."
"I think I reacted in a normal manner," she retorted.
"Which is less than satisfactory when you are working under such abnormal conditions," the senior doctor said. "Think it over, Miss Shannon. I'll speak to Morton, but I feel the matter has been bungled before I can even attempt to settle it."
Jean left the head doctor's office seething with anger. She had come to lay a complaint against what was obviously a brutal abuse of power, and had received a personal reprimand for her trouble. Somehow she got through the rest of her afternoon's chores, and later, after dinner, she cornered Ken Hastings in his office and told him about it.
The handsome young psychiatrist listened with interest, and when she had finished, he said, "That's typical of the way Werner fa
ces up to problems. He always tries to find a way of avoiding them."
"Has he some reason to fear Morton? Is that why he won't reprimand him?"
"I wouldn't say so," Ken told her. "But he finds it easier to close his eyes to Morton's known brutality than to discharge him and have the bother of finding a replacement."
"But that's dreadful for the patients," she worried. "And it gives the other orderlies an excuse to be cruel, too."
"Fortunately, Morton is the only rotten apple in our barrel," Ken said. "I'll have a talk with him. Every so often I have to let him know that I'm watching him."
"I wish you would warn him," she said.
Ken smiled ruefully. "I'll be tactful, but I'll let him know."
"How are you making out with Peggy and Frank?" she asked.
"Fair," he said. "I think I've managed to make them restless. Frank is the more apathetic, though. If he stays here much longer, I'm afraid he'll lose the will to face the outside world at all."
"Which is exactly what his people want," Jean said grimly. "How can his mother have a desire to destroy him?"
"Even mothers can be selfish," Ken said. "She's thinking of herself, and of the disgrace and expense he might cost her if he gets out and starts associating with hippies and protestors again. Nothing strikes her as being worse than that."
They were alone in his small office with the door closed. Jean looked at Ken with shock. "Not even the destruction of a fine, sensitive young man like Frank?"
"She considers Frank mentally unsound. She's made herself believe it."
"But he isn't!"
"I know."
She frowned. "You'll have to keep after Peggy. That girl can be his salvation if she wants to be."
Ken offered her a peculiar smile. "I have an idea that there is another girl who might have an even stronger influence with him."
Her eyes widened. "Who?"
"You."
"You're joking!"
"Not at all," he said. "Ever since you fought Werner for him, he's idolized you. During our chats, he always brings up your name. And more than once."
"But he's in love with Peggy!" she protested.
"He likes Peggy and depends on her. But I'm not positive that he loves her," Ken said carefully.
"Well, he certainly can't be thinking any more seriously of me than I am of him," she said. "We are almost strangers."