Nurse Hilary

by Peggy Gaddis

  “Filled to the brim and running over with venom,” said Mrs. Middleton.

  “That, of course,” Hilary admitted reluctantly. “But behind all that she’s terrified and bitterly lonely.”

  Mrs. Middleton eyed Hilary curiously.

  “Terrified? Of what? She’s lonely because she makes herself so unpleasant that people can’t abide being with her, but terrified? That I don’t get.”

  “Well, I don’t either, not yet, but the fear is there,” Hilary insisted. “It’s as though she were in a trap and couldn’t see any way out. I probably sound like a fool, but somehow I felt very sorry for her.”

  Mrs. Middleton drew a deep breath and patted Hilary’s arm lightly.

  “You’ll do, my dear. I should have known Ellen’s daughter would,” she said contentedly. “Now all we have to do is try to keep you here. Come along and meet some of the others—the pleasant ones!”

  Chapter Five

  Before the end of the week, Hilary had settled in so completely that she was beginning to feel at home. The guests liked her, responding to her warmth and friendliness, and the routine was so well established that late one afternoon one of the ward maids came to call her to the front office, to receive a new guest.

  “It’s Miz’ Middleton’s afternoon off, and everybody else is busy, and Ethel, at the switchboard, said I was to call you,” announced the smiling maid.

  Hilary went quickly down the long corridor toward the lobby, and saw a little group standing waiting for her: two women in their mid-thirties, smartly dressed and groomed; two men a few years older, equally well-tailored. And in the centre of the group was a small, slender, white-haired woman in her early seventies. Her clothes were smart, expensive, well-chosen. But somehow Hilary felt that she was not quite comfortable in them; that the black and white tweed coat, above a neat black crepe frock with filmy lace at the throat, a small, fashionable hat perched on top of neatly waved, faintly “blued” hair, were all too new and foreign to the woman’s own taste. She held in both her hands a capacious and handsome black suede bag, and Hilary’s discerning eyes saw that the gloved hands were shaking as they gripped the bag. Beneath the smartly unbecoming hat, the faded blue eyes held panic.

  “Good afternoon,” Hilary greeted them with a friendly smile that took in the entire group. “May I help you? I’m Miss Westbrook.”

  “Thanks, that’s very good of you,” said one of the men, coming forward. “I’m Jud Barton, and this is my wife, and my sister Jill and her husband, Elliott Fleming, Miss Westbrook. And this is my mother, Mrs. Barton. We were notified that you had a vacancy here and we might bring Mother to stay awhile and see if she likes it.”

  The old woman spoke swiftly, and because of the panic in her faded eyes, Hilary was startled at the smooth composure with which she said, “Oh, I’m sure I’ll love it here, Juddy. Such a beautiful place.”

  Hilary gave her a warm, friendly smile and put out her hand.

  “I know we can make you comfortable here, Mrs. Barton.” Her voice held such kindness that a bit of the terror faded from the blue eyes. “I only hope we can make you happy. We’ll try very hard to do just that.”

  “Could we please see her room, Miss Westbrook?” asked Jill.

  “Of course. Will you come this way, please?” Hilary led the way down the corridor to a door which she opened, and stood aside to let the four enter the room.

  But the old woman stood huddled in the doorway, her hand clinging tightly to Hilary’s, her eyes moving swiftly from corner to corner of the small, elegantly furnished room, the deeply carpeted floor, the door that stood partly open into a neat and comfortable bath.

  “Why, Mother, there’s a TV set,” Jill Fleming said eagerly.

  “Now you can watch all your favorite programs without anybody to interfere,” said Jud Barton with false heartiness as he watched his mother anxiously.

  “Oh, it’s lovely, just lovely,” the old woman said in that amazingly smooth, composed voice; like a docile, well-brought up child given a present it does not want.

  “And you can invite your friends in to tea—She can, can’t she?” Jill Fleming broke off to ask Hilary.

  “Of course.” Hilary smiled. “There’s a very nice recreation room down the hall opposite the lobby, and tea is served there every afternoon. There’s a color TV set there, and games, papers, magazines, and books.”

  “You see, darling?” Jill’s eyes were big with tears, though she was smiling determinedly. “You’ll be happy and comfortable, and we’ll come to see you and bring the children. You’ll see, it’s going to be fun!”

  Mrs. Barton gave them a hardy smile, and Hilary was deeply touched at the realization of the effort it must have cost her.

  “Now, stop fussing, children, and run along,” she ordered them firmly. “You’ve got a long drive ahead and—oh, do drive carefully.”

  She held up beautifully during the leavetaking, and Hilary walked back down the corridor with the four.

  “It just about kills me to turn her out like this. Oh Jud, how could we? How could we?” Jill Fleming burst out softly, and her husband put his arm about her and drew her close.

  “Now, listen, honey, we’re not turning her out! We’ve been all over this for the past six months,” he reminded her, a hint of anger in his voice. “We all agreed she could no longer live alone in that big old house of hers. We tried it with companions and housekeepers and it didn’t work. We’ve done the only thing we could; we’ve found the finest place in the state, maybe in the South. Anyway, you saw her room; you see the surroundings. Isn’t that better than her being all alone and lonely in that big old barn of a house? And you know how miserable she was when she came to visit us; she couldn’t wait to get home ...”

  He looked beyond at several old ladies and old men who were coming down the corridor toward the clubroom, laughing and chatting, and turned his wife around to face them.

  “See? These are the people who will be her friends,” he told her. “People of her own generation, whom she will understand and who can understand her and who’ll never be bored by her. Oh, you know we all got bored with her sometimes; that’s natural and inevitable. But now...”

  He looked up at Hilary and tried to grin, but the effort was not too successful.

  “We love her dearly, Miss Westbrook, and we honestly want her happiness above everything else in the world, and that’s why we’ve brought her here. Please don’t think we are—turning her out, will you?”

  “Of course not, Mr. Fleming,” Hilary told him quite sincerely. “This place was built and is maintained just for people like your mother. And we’ll take the very best care of her, I promise you.”

  Jill drew a long, hard breath, mopped her eyes with her husband’s handkerchief, and asked Hilary, “The brochure did say there was a doctor in constant attendance, didn’t it?”

  “Of course,” said Hilary. “Would you like to talk to him? I’ll see if he’s free, if you’ll just wait here?”

  They stood huddled in a little group, while Hilary went into Dr. Marsden’s office and closed the door behind her.

  Dr. Marsden looked up at her, and a faint frown touched his lean, dark face.

  “Yes, Nurse?” he managed to keep his voice from sounding impatient, but she realized it was an effort.

  “A new patient—” she began.

  “Not a patient, Miss—Westbrook, isn’t it?” he corrected her, and there was a faintly sardonic tone to his voice. “A new guest.”

  Hilary’s eyebrows mounted ever so slightly, but she answered him coolly, “I’m sorry. A new guest, Mrs. Barton, has arrived. Her family would like to talk to you, to assure themselves she will be well taken care of.”

  Now Dr. Marsden’s scowl was frank, as he ran his fingers through his hair that stood up in a crew-cut above his brown face.

  “Bring them in, Miss Westbrook,” he yielded. “You’d better see about getting the guest settled. I’ll talk to the family.”

  “Yes, Do
ctor,” said Hilary.

  She smiled at Mrs. Barton’s family as they trooped in, closed the door gently behind them and went back to room 312.

  She tapped lightly at the door, heard a murmur she took to be permission to enter, and opened the door to find Mrs. Barton perched miserably on the edge of the deeply cushioned, well-upholstered armchair.

  “Have they gone?” she asked huskily.

  There was depth of misery in the old voice that struck at Hilary.

  “They’re talking to the doctor,” she answered gently.

  Mrs. Barton still wore the absurdly unbecoming but very fashionable hat, held her gloves and her handbag. She had not even removed her coat, and as she looked up at Hilary there was something so piteous in her eyes that Hilary wanted to weep in sympathy for the homesickness that was already sweeping over the little creature.

  “They’re good children,” said Mrs. Barton, her voice low and shaken. “They love me and they want the best for me. But they worried so about me living all alone, I couldn’t make them believe I liked it. They kept saying, ‘But, Mother, suppose you were taken sick in the night, suppose you had an accident, suppose the house caught fire’—as if I wouldn’t have sense enough to telephone for help if I needed it!”

  Hilary waited, letting her talk out the ache in her old heart.

  “I hated to leave my garden,” said Mrs. Barton huskily. “Oh, of course there’s nothing much showing in it now. It’s too early. But the forsythia is in bloom, and oh, it’s so lovely. I’m glad I didn’t have to leave when the iris was in bloom! I’m—famous for my iris. I win all the prizes at the flower show with it. I have hundreds, every known variety and ...” Suddenly the tears came, and she wept like a heartbroken child, while Hilary knelt beside her and put her arms about her and held her close.

  At last Mrs. Barton pulled herself erect, her face raddled by tears, fumbling helplessly in her capacious bag for a scrap of a lace-trimmed handkerchief that was completely inadequate.

  Hilary went into the bathroom, wet a wash cloth in cold water and brought it back. Smiling, she mopped the old face and heard Mrs. Barton offer apologies for the tears.

  “I almost never cry,” she stammered. “It’s just that—that everything seems so strange.”

  “Of course it does, but you’ll soon get adjusted. You’ll find friends here, and the first thing you know you’ll be having a wonderful time. You wait and see,” Hilary promised her, with a determined gaiety she hoped sounded more convincing in Mrs. Barton’s ears than in her own.

  Mrs. Barton clung to her hand for a moment, looking up, tears swimming in her eyes.

  “Don’t let them come back. They mustn’t know I’ve been crying,” she pleaded. “Tell them—oh, tell them I am taking a nap before supper. But don’t let them come back, please.”

  “Of course not, if you’d rather they didn’t,” Hilary said. “Would you like a maid to unpack for you?”

  Mrs. Barton looked honestly startled.

  “Land no!” she protested. “I’ve never had anybody unpack for me in my life except at Jill’s, and her maids are so—well, snooty! I’d much rather do it for myself.”

  “Well, if any of the maids here tries to ‘snoot’ you, you let me know, won’t you?” Hilary smiled hearteningly. “We don’t allow that! We want our guests to be happy and contented, as well as comfortable.”

  Mrs. Barton managed a smile which was faintly damp around the edges.

  “You’re mighty nice. Do you work here all the time?” she asked hopefully.

  “All the time, and the little button right here will turn the light on over your door. And when I see that light on, I promise you I’ll come running!”

  “That’s comforting to know,” Mrs. Barton confessed, and the smile now was a little more convincing.

  Hilary returned the smile and went out.

  Chapter Six

  Dr. Marsden came from his office, saw Hilary and called to her. She followed him back into his office and stood waiting.

  “Sit down, Miss Westbrook,” he ordered curtly, and Hilary obeyed him. “Have you ever done any work in geriatrics, Miss Westbrook? Gerontology?”

  “You mean in the diseases of the aged? No, Doctor.”

  “Then I’m wondering whether you are going to be happy here, Miss Westbrook.”

  Hilary squared her shoulders and her chin came up.

  “Are you asking for my resignation, Doctor?” she asked coolly.

  “Not at all, Miss Westbrook.” His tone was equally cool. “You’re a competent nurse, I’m quite sure. It’s just that geriatrics requires a rather specialized study. I’m wondering if perhaps you aren’t wasted here, since very few of our patients require anything but supervisory care. And of course the most important part of that care is that they not be coddled. It tends to create self-pity, which is an evil disease in itself, one that doesn’t respond to treatment very readily.”

  Hilary studied him for a moment, her chin still tilted, her brown eyes measuring.

  “I’m quite sure that you are saying all this because of something I’ve done or said—” she began.

  “Not at all,” he interrupted her brusquely. “It’s just that this is the first time I’ve been able to discuss the job with you. The clinic keeps me pretty busy and, of course, no doctor likes to waste his time and whatever skill he may have in treating the entirely imaginary ills and ailments of a lot of elderly people who have very little to amuse themselves with except the belief that they are ill.”

  Hilary said deliberately, “Then if you feel that way about your work here, Doctor, it seems to me you should be the one to resign.”

  For a moment there was a glint of anger in his blue eyes, and they became steely gray rather than blue.

  “On the contrary, Miss Westbrook, I feel that my time here is very well spent, since there are forty elderly people whom I can study, and whose needs I may be able to diagnose, so that later I can be helpful to people who are unable to afford such a luxurious ‘nursing home’ as the Retirement Club,” he told her. “Does that answer your question?”

  “I wasn’t asking a question, Doctor, not of you. I wouldn’t dare, because you’re a doctor,” she told him sweetly.

  Now there was no mistaking his angry resentment. For a moment gray-blue eyes met brown ones, and neither would lower.

  “Very commendable of you, I’m sure,” he said dryly at last. “Of course you are very well-trained and very competent and the Club is very fortunate in having you here. But I must insist that you do not coddle the guests.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not quite certain just what you mean by ‘coddle’, Doctor,” she said quietly, her eyes still angry.

  “I think you do,” he answered. “I mean, they must not be encouraged to feel sorry for themselves.”

  “Why should they? They couldn’t possibly have a more beautiful or luxurious place to live. The ones who should feel sorry for themselves are the ones in sub-standard nursing homes, living on Old Age Assistance checks that don’t allow them a nickel for a plug of tobacco or a box of snuff; those in the County Home, or crowded in with young relatives who don’t want them and have no room for them.” She had spoken more warmly than she had meant and, suddenly aware of that, she broke off swiftly and color poured into her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  He was studying her with renewed interest, obviously not at all resentful of her emphatic speech.

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” he admitted frankly. “One of the things that interests me about this place is just how much of the froth and frivolity is really necessary for the health and well-being of the patients—guests, I meant.” He gave her a grin that was surprisingly boyish and wry. “Mr. Ramsey insists we never speak of them as patients, or even refer to them as old or even elderly. They are Senior Citizens and honored guests. I suppose he’s impressed that on you?”

  “I’ve barely met him,” Hilary admitted, and found herself, to her secret surprise, not
disliking this man so much after all. “But Middy—I mean Mrs. Middleton—suggested I could get my mouth washed out with soap and water if I so much as breathed the word ‘old’ out loud.”

  Dr. Marsden laughed, and it was a very pleasant sound.

  “Middy’s a great one, isn’t she?” he said. “The place couldn’t operate without her. It would come apart at the seams. Though that, too, is something we mustn’t say out loud, since Mr. Ramsey is quite sure he is the one holding it together.”

  And then, as though suddenly realizing how unprofessional and unethical any criticism of the Administrator must sound, he ended the interview by standing up.

  “That will be all for now, Miss Westbrook.” He was once more the brisk doctor in charge. “I’ll have Mrs. Barton brought in for a complete physical tomorrow, though from the medical history her family furnished when they placed her application I’d say she was completely sound for one of her age.”

  Hilary said politely, “Yes, Doctor. What time shall I bring her in?”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” he countered. “One of the practical nurses can look after her. She isn’t exclusively your patient, remember, so you mustn’t feel responsible for her.”

  Hilary colored slightly.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that she seems very timid and unaccustomed to strangers. I thought perhaps since she seems to like me ...” she defended herself.

  “But you see, Miss Westbrook, that’s one of the things we must fight against,” he pointed out. “We want our pa—guests to be self-reliant, able to stand on their own feet, not to depend on any one person among the staff.”

  Hilary set her teeth hard, counted mentally to ten, managed a faint smile and a colorless voice in which she said, “Yes, Doctor.”

  The door closed behind her and she stood in the lobby, her hands tightly clenched, her eyes closed, while she swallowed her resentment at Dr. Marsden’s manner and his ideas.