Tabitha

by Vikki Kestell

  Nurse Rasmussen, a solidly built woman in her early fifties, her mouth set in disapproval, examined each student until the young woman quailed. Four of Tabitha’s classmates had wilted under Nurse Rasmussen’s scrutiny.

  When she reached Tabitha, fifth in line, Tabitha met the older woman’s look with respectful composure. They stared at each other for several minutes. Each passing moment grew tenser, until Tabitha realized her mistake. She dropped her eyes in deference, but it was too late to escape Nurse Rasmussen’s ire.

  “Miss Hale, is it?”

  “Yes, Nurse Rasmussen.”

  “You are rather too old to be attempting a career in nursing, aren’t you?”

  Tabitha flinched and fumbled to find a suitable response.

  “I spoke to you, Miss Hale.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I beg your pardon,” Tabitha answered quietly. “It is true that I am older than the other students. I believe my age was discussed and taken into account when I applied to the school and my application was accepted.”

  “A pretty answer.” Nurse Rasmussen growled. “However, given your age, I expect more of you than the other students. See that you are a good example and influence. And I will have you know that I suffer no impertinence. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tabitha replied as meekly as she could muster.

  “Then do something about that hair. It is entirely out of keeping for a nurse.”

  Tabitha’s hair was tightly bound at the back of her neck, not a strand out of place. She was amazed by the instructor’s order, and the words that popped out of Tabitha’s mouth reflected her surprise.

  “In what respect, Nurse Rasmussen?”

  “Are you questioning me?” the charge nurse sputtered.

  “I beg your pardon if it sounds as though I am, ma’am,” Tabitha hurried to soothe. “I only ask what it is you wish me to do differently with my hair.”

  “The color, Miss Hale, the color. Dyeing one’s hair is an immodest, unsuitable practice for a nurse,” the woman rasped.

  “Yes, ma’am, I quite agree. However . . .” Tabitha focused on Nurse Rasmussen’s collar and nursing pin as she spoke, making sure that she did not raise her eyes to challenge the nurse.

  “However, what?”

  Tabitha took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, this is my hair’s natural shade.”

  If the other students had been submissive and cowed prior to this, they were now frozen with trepidation. Nurse Rasmussen’s cold, silent consideration lingered on Tabitha.

  O Lord! How did I manage to fall utterly afoul of this woman?

  Tabitha struggled to keep her composure—and her temper—in check.

  After staring at Tabitha for what seemed like an eternity, Nurse Rasmussen muttered, “Indeed, Miss Hale.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Tabitha nodded her head once. The senior nurse sniffed and moved to the last student in line, but Tabitha had a nagging suspicion that this would not be the last conflict she would endure while under Nurse Rasmussen’s supervision.

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 10

  December 1911

  Tabitha rubbed her sticky, tired eyes and focused on the patient charts. She was working the night shift and it was late Christmas Eve. In just an hour it would be Christmas Day. Only the sickliest patients, those so unwell that they could not spend Christmas at home, remained on this floor. And only one nurse—and a student nurse at that—was on duty to care for the nine patients in the ward.

  Most of the staff had been given the night off to enjoy the holiday eve with family. Tabitha’s shift would end at six in the morning. Of course, Tabitha had not been left unsupervised. A single charge nurse (not, thankfully, Nurse Rasmussen), was on duty to supervise this ward and two others. The charge nurse made rounds between wards every hour.

  As she studied the latest entries on the charts, Tabitha listened. The ward was still except for the breathing of sleeping patients and an occasional drowsy muttering. Then a patient coughed—a long, protracted cough—and Tabitha glanced up, her eyes now alert.

  That would be Mrs. Daniels, she told herself, the elderly woman with advanced cancer.

  The cough subsided and Tabitha turned back to the charts. During the night shift there was not as much work to do: Administer medications at the prescribed time. Clean bedpans and linens soiled in the night. Offer water to those who were weak or failing. Monitor the patients’ condition and ring the charge nurse if a patient took a turn for the worse.

  I am merely holding down the fort, she sighed, while everyone else spends Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at home.

  Tabitha had asked for a four-day pass in November to spend Thanksgiving at Palmer House. Denied.

  Earlier this month she had asked for three days to spend Christmas in Denver. That request, too, had been rejected.

  Christmas and Thanksgiving were not the only holidays or celebrations she would miss or had missed. Mei-Xing and Minister Liáng had married in early November in Denver. Tabitha had requested a three-day pass to attend the wedding. It had been her first furlough request; it had been the first request denied.

  Although she had explained her deep friendship with Mei-Xing, the secretary in the Dean’s office had not been swayed. “I am afraid your request has been denied, Miss Hale,” was all she would say.

  It wasn’t that Tabitha was still behind on her classwork or that her grades were poor—in fact, she was inching up in her class’s academic standings. But no matter how well she was doing, she consistently received the worst assignments, the more difficult or onerous jobs and shifts—what the other girls labeled “punishment duties.” Such punishments were usually assigned to students for poor academic performance, egregious clinical mistakes, or other infractions against the school rules.

  As assignments were posted weekly and Tabitha continued to be placed on “punishment duties,” the other students had pulled farther away, as though close association with Tabitha would cause her “bad luck” to rub off on them.

  I work nights so often that I miss every opportunity for a respite. To be accepted by even one of the other students. To share in any fun activities.

  Her thoughts turned back a week or so to the wonderful, spicy aroma that had filled the dormitory when she awoke one afternoon. Tabitha often snatched sleep from the only time she could spare: after classes and practicums and before her shift began. She had awoken thinking she was at home with the smells of Marit’s ginger cookies wafting up the staircase from the kitchen.

  Tabitha had traced the delectable scents to an empty box in the trash bin. Someone had received a gift box from home and had shared it around the dormitory while she slept.

  “And they did not save so much as a cookie for me!” she had mourned.

  Do not dare start feeling sorry for yourself, Tabitha Hale! She clamped her lips together and returned to the patient charts.

  Mrs. Daniels coughed again and then her cough became a spasm. Tabitha heard the woman’s whooping efforts to breathe and hurried to help her. She reached an arm behind the elderly woman’s pillow and lifted her to a sitting position until the spasm passed.

  “Thank you, dearie.” The old woman’s words rattled in her throat.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you? A sip of water?” Tabitha already had the glass in her hand.

  “Yes. Please.”

  The little bit of water set off another coughing fit and, as Tabitha held the woman and wiped away the spittle, Tabitha prayed for her. Without realizing it, she began whispering her prayer aloud.

  “Father, you see this precious woman. You have said in your word that you love her. Give her strength and courage, O God, our Father, to face what is ahead. Lord Jesus, please draw near to her, because you love her so very much.”

  She eased the woman’s thin body back onto the bed and straightened her pillow. The woman clutched her hand.

  “Why?”

  The question was only a faint, watery whisper.

  Tabit
ha bent near. “Why what, Mrs. Daniels?”

  “Why . . . why would he love me?”

  Tabitha pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down, still holding the woman’s hand. “He made you, Mrs. Daniels. You are as dear as his child. Do you have children?”

  Her patient was silent for a moment. Tabitha wondered if she had drifted off to sleep.

  “My . . . my son . . . haven’t seen him in years.”

  “I am so sorry.” Tabitha bowed her head.

  O Lord! Give me the right words!

  “Do you miss your son?” she asked.

  “Yes. Would give . . . anything to see him again.”

  Tabitha nodded. “And do you still love him?”

  “Yes.” The word was stronger, emphatic. “He is still . . . my son.”

  “Then you have your ‘why,’ Mrs. Daniels. God, who is the Father of all creation and who made each of us in his image, still loves you, even if you have been far from him for many years. He is still looking for you, seeking you, hoping you will come home.”

  “Do you . . . really think so?”

  “It is what the Bible tells us: But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. He is waiting for you to come home, even now.”

  “How?”

  Tabitha squeezed the woman’s hand. “Admit that you ran from him, that you disobeyed him. Tell him you are sorry. Ask for mercy and forgiveness because of what Jesus did on the cross.”

  “Yes . . . I-I do. I need mer—”

  Her chest was seized by another fit of coughing, and Tabitha held her upright until it passed. When Tabitha laid Mrs. Daniels down, the woman was exhausted.

  “May I lead you in prayer, ma’am?” Tabitha asked. Mrs. Daniels did not reply, but Tabitha felt a light pressure on her hand.

  “O Lord,” she prayed, her mouth near Mrs. Daniel’s ear. “I have gone my own way most of my life. I have willfully ignored you and sinned against you. Please forgive me—not because I deserve your mercy, but because Jesus paid the price for my disobedience in his death on the cross.”

  The wasted hand in Tabitha’s contracted and squeezed hers.

  “O Lord, I humbly repent and turn from my own ways. I ask that you forgive me and receive me into your kingdom. Cover me in the precious blood of Jesus and wash me clean!

  Tabitha sensed the Holy Spirit moving. “Thank you for being true to your word, true to what you have said, That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. Thank you for hearing me and saving me. Amen.”

  Mrs. Daniels stammered a weak, “I-I-I do. A-a-amen.”

  Tabitha left the woman after she fell asleep. Thank you, Lord, for the privilege of leading one of your lost sheep back to you, our great Shepherd! she rejoiced within herself.

  A few minutes later the charge nurse appeared at her elbow. “How are things, Miss Hale? Anything to report?”

  “All the patients are sleeping, ma’am. Mrs. Daniels had a bad bout of coughing a bit ago, but she is sleeping again.”

  “Very good.” She turned from Tabitha and walked with a practiced silence through the ward, stopping at each bed to listen and occasionally touch a forehead or take a pulse. She returned to the nurses’ station and nodded to Tabitha before walking on to the next ward.

  At six the following morning, one seasoned nurse and two of Tabitha’s fellow students relieved Tabitha of her duties. She wandered on weary feet across the frosty campus to her empty dormitory. Other than herself and her two unfortunate classmates, the dormitory was abandoned. The remaining students were home for the short Christmas break.

  Tabitha stripped off her uniform and collapsed into bed. “It is Christmas morning,” she muttered.

  She fell into a deep sleep thinking about Palmer House and all the fun and gaiety she imagined they were having. Marit is baking cinnamon rolls and frying sausages. The house is filled with the spicy scents of nutmeg and cloves . . .

  By the time she opened her eyes again, it was midafternoon, Christmas Day. She washed and dressed and wandered downstairs, her destination the hospital cafeteria. The cook had promised to leave a cold Christmas dinner for the hospital staff.

  When Tabitha stepped outside into the dim afternoon light, a drawling voice greeted her.

  “There you are. I had almost given up on you, Tabs.”

  Tabitha jerked at the familiar voice and her mouth fell open. “Mason?” She shook her head. “I mean, Mr. Carpenter. But what are you doing here?”

  He took her arm and urged her to walk with him. “At the moment, I am freezing to death! Good heavens, I have been waiting for you for two hours. If I do not move my feet, they will shortly be solid blocks of ice.”

  “But-but, I mean, what are you doing here?”

  He chuckled. “Well, it is Christmas after all, and Miss Rose invited me to join everyone at Palmer House for Christmas dinner—a delightful prospect, I assure you—but I just could not accept. And do you know why?” He stopped walking and looked to Tabitha, demanding an answer.

  “Why, no; I mean, should I know?” Tabitha thought she knew, but she was not going to presume to answer for him.

  “You know quite well why, Tabs. Being at Palmer House when you are not there is painfully frustrating. And the more I thought about it, the more I thought of you, here at school but alone on Christmas—a totally unacceptable situation. I decided that just would not do.”

  He tugged her forward again. “Besides, how else would I get to see your face when you open my Christmas gift to you?” He stepped up his pace.

  “Wh-what? Where are we going?”

  “Ah! I am staying at the Palindrome Hotel, and they have promised to lay on a delectable Christmas dinner—but you have slept so long that nothing will be left if we do not hurry.”

  “But I—” Tabitha pulled back on her arm and managed to bring Carpenter to a stop. “Mr. Carpenter! I cannot accompany you. I cannot, in fact, even leave campus except to attend Sunday service without a furlough from the dean. I particularly cannot accompany a gentleman anywhere.”

  Carpenter grinned. “Ah, yes. I forgot to tell you. I arrived yesterday and paid the dean a visit. I had an appointment, to be specific. I explained that I was in town to convey Christmas greetings and gifts from your family in Denver. His assistant apprised me of your schedule and when you should be available today. Er, after I made a small contribution to the school’s endowment fund.”

  “After you—” Tabitha huffed. “Oh, I see! And after you had made your ‘small contribution,’ did Dean Wellan also apprise you of the school’s code of conduct? As I said, I cannot leave the school and hospital grounds without a written furlough—and I cannot be seen alone in the company of a gentleman.”

  Carpenter’s grin widened. “Well, it seems that the dean has some discretion in these matters. I have here a two-hour pass for you, specifically to accompany me to Christmas dinner at the Palindrome.”

  He waved a sheet of paper under Tabitha’s nose.

  She grabbed it away and, stunned, read the short note. “Why, however did you manage this?”

  Carpenter snatched the note back. “I can be very persuasive, Tabs and, er, he could not very well have said no when I was waving a check in front of his face, could he? However, this pass says I must have you back no later than five o’clock in the evening, when the doors are locked, regardless of when the two-hour period begins—and it is already 3:10. Really, you’ve slept away ten minutes of our time, Tabs, so pray forgive my insistence that we hurry!”

  He took her arm again and they trod briskly along the walkway until Tabitha spied Carpenter’s motorcar idling alongside the curb. Banks jumped from the driver’s seat and opened the back door of the car for them.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Hale, and a Merry Christmas to you,” he smiled.

  “Banks! Oh! but it is lovely to see your face. You remind me so much of home, and I
fear I have been missing my beloved friends and family!”

  As she slid onto the seat, Carpenter followed, grumbling, “What am I? Chopped liver? No ‘lovely to see your face’ for me?”

  Tabitha laughed as they sped away. “Chopped liver? Ugh! I detest liver!”

  The lobby of the Palindrome Hotel was festooned with Christmas greenery, bows, and garlands. The dining room, despite Carpenter’s worries, was bustling with other Christmas diners. Before the maître d’ seated them, Carpenter had a word with Banks, who nodded and hurried away.

  Many of the women seated around them wore Christmas finery, jewels, and furs. Tabitha was more than a little self-conscious. “If I had known, I would have dressed more appropriately,” she murmured.

  “And yet, you are the most beautiful woman in the room,” Carpenter replied in a quiet voice. “You are not even aware of the heads that turned as we walked to our table.”

  Tabitha blushed and touched her napkin to her mouth to hide her discomfiture.

  Carpenter grinned and motioned to the waiter. As the waiter approached, Carpenter asked Tabitha, “I believe the chef has but one menu for this holiday dinner. Are you ready to eat?”

  Tabitha nodded. “I am famished. I worked the night shift and fell asleep directly. I haven’t eaten a thing since dinner yesterday!”

  “We are ready to begin,” he told the waiter.

  Then he smiled at Tabitha. “I am glad you have a good appetite, but I was surprised to hear from the dean’s assistant that you appear to work nights on a fairly regular basis. Is this normal for students?”

  She made a wry face. “Well, someone has to work nights. Usually, the harder shifts are spread out rather evenly. I do not understand why I seem to be assigned to more than my share of them.”

  “Oh?” Carpenter’s eyes fastened on her. He was just noticing the dark circles under Tabitha’s eyes.

  “Well, I do not mind working the night shift, except that it leaves me little time to study and sleep—but I am catching up on my studies! However, I sometimes tend to doze during lectures—and receive a scolding for it.”