Tabitha

by Vikki Kestell

  Dean Wellan studied her with a quizzical frown. “Yes, yes. All students take their share of night shifts. I do not appreciate a student complaining over this necessity. What I do not understand is why your hours in the required specialties are lacking.”

  Tabitha drew a slow, measured breath before answering. “Sir, I was assigned and have worked nights exclusively for the last year and a half. I work six nights each week. I have not been assigned to any shift other than nights for more than a year.”

  She looked away briefly. “Of course, I worked on the floors in question with my cohort during afternoon practicums—but only as we covered those specialties in our curriculum. And, occasionally, my night shift assignment placed me on these floors. But only occasionally.”

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Hale. Perhaps I do not comprehend you perfectly. Do you mean to tell me that you have worked a graveyard shift for an entire year and a half? That you have regularly worked eight-hour nights while still attending classes and practicum clinics?”

  Tabitha shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, sir. I do not understand why I was assigned thusly, Dean Wellan, but yes. I have worked nights for the past eighteen months, even during term breaks and holidays.”

  “Six nights a week? Without a day—er, night—off? Ever?” He sounded incredulous. “To whose cohort does Miss Hale belong, Dean Gunderson?”

  Dean Gunderson’s lips tightened. “Third cohort, Dean Wellan. Nurse Rasmussen.”

  “Excessive night shifts are usually assigned as corrective measures, are they not, Dean Wellan?” one of the board members inquired. “As penalty, say, for poor performance or insubordination?” The board member scrutinized Tabitha. “Does Miss Hale have disciplinary marks against her that would explain this unusual situation?”

  Dean Wellan perused Tabitha’s record. “Well. I am surprised. Indeed, I see several notations to that effect.”

  Tabitha jerked and sat forward. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “I will read from these notations,” Dean Wellan said. “Let me see. October 1, 1911. ‘Student Hale was insolent and haughty today. She spoke back to a staff member when corrected.’ January 17, 1912. ‘Student Hale was reprimanded for tardiness.’ February 28, 1912. ‘Student Hale was reprimanded for five instances of tardiness to class this month.’ April 11, 1912. ‘Student Hale demonstrated a disregard for sanitary procedures today.’ May 5, 1912, ‘Student Hale’s performance on the surgical floor . . .’”

  He went on, listing a total of fifteen complaints.

  Forcing down the bile bubbling up from her stomach, Tabitha spoke quietly but firmly. “I have never heard these complaints, Dean Wellan. Except for the first week back after my leave of absence—a year and half ago—I have not been reprimanded or given any sort of disciplinary counseling, and I can think of no instance in which I was late to any class. Your reading of this list is an utter surprise to me.”

  She cast about in her mind for someone or something to corroborate her response. “Were these complaints lodged by several staff members or only one? Surely my instructors could verify whether or not I was tardy to classes? As I said, I had no knowledge of these complaints. Could they be the product of a single individual? Someone who has a grudge against me?”

  Dean Wellan’s expression darkened at her suggestion, but he looked carefully at the complaints nonetheless. After several minutes of examining them he pursed his mouth and slid the file over to Dean Gunderson.

  The older nurse donned her glasses and peered at the notations in Tabitha’s record. After she had read through them, she inclined her head toward Dean Wellan and they spoke in whispers. Dean Wellan huffed and shook his head at something the Dean of Nursing suggested.

  Holding up his hand, he broke off their conversation and lifted his eyes to Tabitha. “I shall need some time to look into your situation, Miss Hale.”

  “Did you find something?” she asked eagerly. Tabitha knew she was overreaching, but she was almost frantic. “Was it Nurse Rasmussen? I am convinced that she has something against me. She—”

  “Miss Hale! That will be quite enough!” The dean stared her into submission. “You do not disparage our school’s excellent staff.”

  “I apologize, sir, to you, Dean Gunderson, and to the board.” Tabitha licked her lips. “May I have permission to speak candidly before you, Dean Gunderson, and the board?”

  The dean looked to the board members and back. “Very well. In the spirit of fairness.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Tabitha took a moment to frame clear, concise thoughts.

  Lord, please help me!

  “Sir, if, as these complaints allege, my behavior has been consistently unsatisfactory over such a long period, would not you, through Dean Gunderson’s office, have been notified quite some time ago? If I understand the college’s guidelines correctly, a discipline issue that continues for more than a month is to be addressed at your level with the student placed on strict probation.

  “In my case, not only have you been unaware of these complaints, but I, also, have been unaware of them—for going on two years. Someone—I do not name or disparage that someone—but it appears that someone on the staff, rather than following school policy, has assigned me to night shifts and various other punishment duties.”

  She softened her voice. “It occurs to me that my unusual work assignment has been a deliberate attempt to prevent me from logging the required hours in the specialty nursing areas you noted.”

  Tabitha looked at Dean Wellan and willed him to hear her heart. “I beg you to believe me when I say that I had no knowledge of these complaints. However, I confess that I should have raised the issue of my work assignment with Dean Gunderson long before today. I should have asked why I was being subjected to ongoing punishment duties without due process. But I was afraid. I was afraid that my questions would be viewed as immature complaints, as murmuring or rebelling against authority.”

  She sighed. “I see now that my work assignment has created a deficit in my practical experience. And I am . . . concerned that both my work assignment and these complaints are the concerted efforts of one individual to discredit me.”

  The dean and the board exchanged troubled looks, but Dean Gunderson sat rigid in her chair, looking straight ahead.

  No one spoke for several minutes while Dean Wellan considered his response. When he did speak, his voice was gentle.

  “I must agree that there is, ah, something irregular about your record, Miss Hale. I wish you to be assured that we will conduct a thorough investigation and get to the bottom of this.

  “If,” and here his expression clouded, “as you suggest, wrong has been perpetrated against you by a member of the nursing school’s staff, we will rectify the situation to the best of our ability.”

  Tabitha nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  He paused as though he wished to say something else.

  “Sir?”

  “I only wish to say that I would not have thought it possible for a student to work an ongoing night shift . . . while still managing the heavy class load and study schedule required of our students. It is a mark of unusual tenacity and dedication that you have done so for such an extended period.

  “And,” he added in a sober tone, “it explains to me why you appear so very poorly. I assure you that this situation, one way or another, will not continue.”

  Two of the board members nodded in agreement. Dean Gunderson did not move or shift expression.

  “Thank you, sir,” Tabitha answered, but her heart was heavy. I believe you, sir, but can an investigation alter the fact that my required specialty training is incomplete? Surely nothing you can do will permit me to graduate with my class.

  “You may go, Miss Hale.”

  Tabitha raised her chin and, with as much decorum as she could muster, walked from the room.

  Dear Miss Rose,

  Oh, how I wish you were here, how I wish I could speak to you face to face and, perhaps receive wisdom from your heart! Th
ings have gone all wrong and I do not know what to do.

  I was called to the dean’s office today—before him and before the dean of nursing and the board of regents. I was told that the practicum portion of my training is incomplete. It is all because I have been assigned to night shifts for the entirety of the last eighteen months and, thus, have missed a large portion of required nursing experience.

  In addition, the dean read aloud a long list of complaints lodged in my record! I was mortified, Miss Rose, and dumbfounded. I knew nothing of those complaints, but I could see on his face that he doubted me.

  I thank the Lord that he brought the school’s disciplinary procedure to my mind. I reminded the dean how, under the school’s procedure, any ongoing complaints should have been brought to his attention after which I would have been placed on probation.

  Thankfully, he agreed with me that something was not right, and he assured me that he would look into the situation.

  I know someone has worked behind the scenes to besmirch my reputation. I do not understand why, but I believe I know who has done so. And it must also be the same person who kept me assigned to nights, knowing I would miss the required hours in several nursing specialties.

  But, Miss Rose! The fact remains that my practicums are incomplete. Whether the dean uncovers the truth or not, I am certain that I will not be allowed to graduate next month.

  Please pray for me, for I am struggling to understand why God would allow this to happen. I am grieved beyond measure that the work of Palmer House might be affected.

  Your devoted daughter,

  Tabitha

  Tabitha placed the letter in the outgoing mail box and then fell into her bed. She was spent in mind and body.

  I do not care what I miss or what goes by the way this evening, she realized. None of it matters anymore.

  She fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 13

  Tabitha awoke with a start in the dim light of early morning. Her fellow students were just rising and preparing for the day. She was confused for a moment and then panic struck her.

  Oh, no! I slept through the night! I missed my work shift!

  “Must be nice for a change, huh, Red?” The girl who addressed her had one hand on her hip and a toothbrush in the other.

  “Wha-what do you mean?” Tabitha scrambled to make up her bed and get into a clean uniform. She was so shaken that she forgot to remind the girl not to call her “Red.”

  “Why, not having to work nights for a change, of course. Must be a relief to finally be off night shift.” The girl gestured with her toothbrush toward another student who was just dragging herself into a nightgown. “Henderson, there, caught your shift last night, poor thing.”

  She pointed her toothbrush at herself. “And I am the poor sucker tonight!”

  Tabitha glanced at the student she knew as Nancy Henderson. “Henderson worked my shift last night? I was not on the roster?”

  “Of course you’re on it, just not on nights. Looks like you have a stint in pediatrics. Evenings.” She wandered toward the communal sinks at the end of the dormitory.

  I am not on nights? I did not oversleep?

  Tabitha’s schedule had, indeed, changed! In fact, the entire schedule had been adjusted. She saw her name on the revised schedule for evening shifts in pediatrics, 3-11 p.m., for the next week. Where she had been on nights, seven girls from her dormitory were scheduled for one night each.

  As it should have been all along, Tabitha noted.

  She washed, dressed, and fixed her hair with more energy than she had felt in a while and arrived at breakfast with a healthy appetite. Her day was long and busy, but she smiled every time she remembered that she would be climbing into her bed and spending the entire night there at the end of it.

  Over the next few days she continually wondered how Dean Wellan and Dean Gunderson were investigating the complaints against her and what progress they were making. Twice she thought she caught Nurse Rasmussen watching her, but she could not be certain.

  If you are behind all of my troubles, Tabitha thought, God himself will deal with you.

  She pushed down a more worrisome thought: that the Deans might not uncover any wrongdoing—and she would be dismissed from school in disgrace.

  O Lord, she prayed, please help me to give this situation to you. I know I have been unjustly accused—but how much more unjustly were you treated? You kept your peace when they accused you! If you help me, I know I can bear whatever comes of this. I so want my life to honor you. For your name’s sake, please do not allow me to be disgraced.

  She received a letter from Rose and took heart from the encouragement penned in Rose’s familiar handwriting.

  My daughter Tabitha, I hope that you will not give in to fear. If God leads and guides your way as he has promised to do, he will make that way plain. Again, I say, do not fear what “man” can do to you, for God himself will walk with you, even through fire. We have Jesus’ sure promise: “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”

  “Yes. I know you will never forsake me, Lord,” Tabitha whispered. Still she could not shake an ominous feeling, a strong sense that something else was about to go wrong. And at the end of the week, she received another summons.

  Miss Hale,

  You will report to the office of the Dean of Medicine at 1:30 to address a complaint. The charge is of a serious nature. Please do not be tardy.

  Emilia Gunderson, Dean of Nursing

  The dean’s secretary again showed Tabitha into the conference room. Dean Wellan, Dean Gunderson, and the board of regents faced her. The scene was much as it had been a week ago—with one exception: The expressions on the faces turned toward her were grave.

  Dean Wellan’s voice was stiff as he began the meeting. “Miss Hale, we have investigated the situation around your training deficit and the complaints in your records. Sadly, another issue, one much more serious, has been brought to our attention.”

  Tabitha froze at the icy detachment in his voice.

  “Miss Hale, students at this school must possess an unblemished reputation. They are required to behave according to the highest standards of virtue. We have received information from a reliable source that you have a sordid past, one that precludes you from attendance at this institution, one that I hesitate to even speak aloud in these chambers.”

  He cleared his throat. “Can you answer to these charges?”

  Tabitha could not speak. She shook her head a fraction, but she could form no words. All she could think was, O God! Would you redeem me from my past only to have it disgrace me now?

  “You do not answer, Miss Hale?”

  Tabitha looked at him and said nothing.

  Dean Gunderson’s chin dropped a little. Tabitha imagined the disappointment and humiliation the senior nurse was feeling.

  Without conscious forethought, Tabitha whispered, “Dean Wellan?”

  “Yes? What do you wish to say?”

  “Sir, I am . . . overcome at this moment. May I . . . may I have a few days to prepare a statement to you and to the board of regents?”

  Where did that response come from? Tabitha wondered.

  One of the board members expostulated, “Really, I do not see—”

  “Enough!” It was the first time Dean Gunderson had spoken, and the single word crackled with stern authority. “The seriousness of this charge should allow Miss Hale some latitude. After all, she has comported herself with honor for three years. Is all of that to be disregarded and her reputation ruined without hearing from her? I say, give her the time she requests to respond to this charge.”

  The men in the room were as startled at Dean Gunderson’s vehemence as Tabitha was. Dean Wellan surveyed the board and received several nods and one sheepish shrug in response.

  “Very well, Miss Hale.” He paged through a small book and added, “Since this is Wednesday, we will reconvene on Monday, five days from today. Will that be satisfactory?”<
br />
  He again looked for a response from the board. Then he addressed Tabitha.

  “We will hear from you on Monday morning at ten o’clock. Until then, you will continue your school and work activities as usual.”

  Tabitha left the administration building on legs that barely obeyed her commands.

  The same question swirled in her head and repeated itself. What am I going to do?

  She was surprised to feel a hand upon her shoulder. “Miss Hale?”

  Tabitha turned and blinked. Dean Gunderson’s concerned face stared back at her.

  “Miss Hale, whatever your past might have been, do not allow those men to denigrate you. What you were is not who you are today. I understand that they have a single witness who will testify against you. I suggest that you withstand him to his face.”

  “Withstand him? Do you mean lie? You are saying I should lie?”

  The old nurse’s expression softened. “Nursing has come a long way, Miss Hale, but part of its history was neither noble nor honorable. Even fifty or sixty years ago, before the War between the States, most nurses were ‘retired,’ er, whores.”

  She straightened. “We need bright, committed women like yourself in nursing today. So, yes. If you have to lie to them, do so. I will support you.”

  Tabitha could not believe what the dean suggested. “Who is this witness?”

  Dean Gunderson snorted. “A low-life reprobate with whom the school is strapped.”

  Tabitha turned her response over in her mind. “Is he . . . related to Nurse Rasmussen?”

  The dean nodded.

  “Is he a caretaker here? A groundskeeper?”

  Dean Gunderson gave only one bob of her chin.

  Tabitha sighed. Perhaps things did make sense. “Thank you, Dean Gunderson. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for your encouragement—but I will not lie.”

  She turned to go, but Dean Gunderson caught her arm.

  “Then what will you do?”

  Tabitha surprised herself by smiling. “I will pray, Dean Gunderson. I will pray. If the God of all grace wishes to save me from this humiliation, he will. I place myself in his hands.”