by Kate Hewitt
“Yes...” Ellen had dutifully written a thank you letter, but even Aunt Ruth’s gifts sometimes felt grudging.
“And,” Rose continued, “there have been letters from your aunt and uncle nearly every week.”
Ellen recalled the dry missives from Aunt Ruth, a list of all the happenings in Seaton. Ellen had replied dutifully to each one, yet the letters were so without humor or affection that she could barely get through reading them. Yet now, listening to Aunt Rose, she wondered with a prickling sense of guilt if the feeling of begrudging duty was as much on her side as her aunt’s.
“Everything Aunt Ruth does feels as if it’s only out of duty,” she tried to explain. “And I don’t want to be a duty to anyone.”
Rose nodded and patted Ellen’s hand. “I understand that, of course. But sometimes we must think where our own duty lies. In any case, you know you are welcome back here at any time and in any season.” Smiling, Aunt Rose gave Ellen a quick, tight hug before bidding her good night.
Outside the first stars pricked an inky sky and Ellen let out a shuddering breath. She could hardly believe she was leaving, and for another new and unknown shore. She had traveled to Kingston once for an interview, and she’d been suitably impressed by the grand limestone hospital buildings, including the newly built nurses’ living quarters, with its own parlor and a lovely view of the lake. The student nurses had looked so grown-up and elegant in their red and white uniforms, their aprons and caps crisply starched.
She wouldn’t be so far from home, Ellen had told herself as she’d stood outside the nurses’ dormitory and gazed at Lake Ontario from that unfamiliar shore. If she squinted her eyes while looking out at the lake, she could almost imagine she could see Amherst Island.
The next morning Dyle put Ellen and Peter’s valises in the back of the wagon and drove them to the ferry, along with Lucas. There was quite a crowd gathered on the waterfront to see them all off, the brisk wind off the lake strong enough to make everyone keep a hand on their hat.
The round of farewells at Stella’s dock was a blur to Ellen. She sat in the ferry, crammed between a fidgeting Peter and a sober Lucas, a hatbox—with her only proper hat, another gift from the Seaton General Store—balanced on her knees, while everyone she’d ever known called out goodbyes and advice.
“Goodbye, Ellen! Keep an eye on Peter. He’s a fine fellow, but he’s sure to bring a bit of trouble!”
“Don’t step out with those university boys!”
“Don’t forget the island!”
“Make sure to write!”
Ellen smiled and waved at everyone even as she found herself seeking out Jed amidst the crowd. She felt a sharp stab of disappointment when she realized he wasn’t there. He’d stayed at home to help with the harvest, which was sensible and yet saddened her all the same. She wouldn’t see him until Christmas at the earliest.
Finally Captain Jonah told everyone to stop all their noise, and he pushed off from the dock. Still the cries and farewells followed them until the island was little more than a speck on the flat, blue-green waters.
A chilly breeze ruffled its surface as they headed into the deeper waters, and Ellen buttoned up her new short jacket, navy blue with a velvet collar and quite the smartest thing she possessed. All three of them were quiet, touched by the farewells and contemplating their separate futures.
Captain Jonah eyed them speculatively. “Don’t forget us now, hey?” he said, and Peter smiled nervously while Lucas assured him with a jaunty smile,
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
At Millhaven they boarded a train to Kingston, and once there Lucas fetched all their valises and arranged for a hired carriage; there were still few automobiles in Kingston to take them to their various destinations.
Nerves knotted in the pit of Ellen’s stomach on the short journey from the station to the hospital on King Street, and then they seemed to threaten to fly right up her throat as Lucas took her valise out and brought it up the steps of Kingston General Hospital’s Nurses’ Home. Miss Stewart, the school matron, with the starchiest apron and expression that Ellen had ever seen bustled towards her as she stood on the pillared front portico, her valise at her feet.
“Right this way, Miss Copley,” she said crisply, after Ellen had stammered an introduction. She fixed Lucas with a beady eye. “I’m afraid male visitors are not allowed in any part of the Nurses’ Home at this time, Mr....?”
“Lyman,” Lucas said with a grin, sticking out a hand the stern Miss Stewart did not take. “Lucas Lyman. And this looks a fine place indeed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lyman.” With that Miss Stewart turned her back on Lucas, effectively dismissing him, and Ellen gave him a sheepish smile, reluctant to say farewell so quickly. She had a mad urge to grab hold of Lucas’ sleeve and beg him to stay a few minutes more. It was strange but since Lucas had gone to high school, they’d grown apart just a little. It was more something sensed than spoken of, and sometimes Ellen wondered if he had been disappointed in her decision to stay on the island. No matter what its cause, she knew something had changed and even cooled between them, although right now the thought of leaving any familiar face made her throat ache.
“First day off,” Lucas promised her, “I’m taking you out to Kingston’s finest tearoom. All right?”
“All right.” The thought that she would see him soon made her spirits rise.
“Can I come too?” Peter called out the window of the hansom. He was boarding with a family on Division Street and Ellen knew she would be able to visit him regularly.
“No, scamp,” Lucas replied, “you get home cooking seven days a week! Ellen can see you another time.”
Peter pretended to scowl, and Ellen quickly kissed Lucas’ cheek. The scent of his aftershave and the feel of his stubble surprised her, and she knew Lucas must have been surprised too for he touched the spot where she’d kissed him, his eyes wide.
“Ellen—”
“Thank you, Lucas,” she said quickly, her cheeks heating at her own audacity. “I’ll write with the date of my first day off. It most likely isn’t for ages.”
“I can wait.”
Miss Stewart clucked impatiently, and the cab driver cleared his throat. With one last smile and wave, Lucas climbed into the cab and Ellen was alone amidst strangers.
“Now, Miss Copley,” Miss Stewart said briskly. “I shall show you to your room.”
*****
“You will be the twenty-second class to graduate from Kingston General Hospital Nurses’ Training School. This is both an opportunity and a privilege, and I hope you all will take your obligations seriously.”
Ellen instinctively straightened in her seat, as, with five other nursing students, she listened to the Nursing Superintendent, Miss Cothill, address them in the Watkins lecture hall at Kingston General Hospital.
“You will have many obligations here. Tomorrow your daily schedules will be given to you. As you probably know, they comprise of morning classes and afternoons of service and duty. You will have night shifts on the ward on a weekly basis and you will also do private service in patient’s homes, as need requires.” Miss Cothill paused again. She was a tall, spare woman with dark hair scraped back in a bun, but Ellen thought her eyes were kind.
They seemed to soften as she gazed at each nurse sitting in front of her. “Nursing is a strenuous and rewarding profession, ladies. You will constantly be required to work long, hard hours and give a hundred percent of yourself, a hundred percent of the time. There are no guarantees and no promises, except that if you do as I say, giving of yourself selflessly and with total commitment, the rewards will be great. There is no profession, in my opinion, comparable with that of the healer’s. Hone your abilities and use them well.”
She cleared her throat, and then began to recite the many rules required to be kept by nursing staff. Ellen knew that a generation ago, nurses had been seen, at best, as little more than domestic help, and at worst, as slatterns. She felt proud of the reputa
tion nurses had in this modern age and she hoped only to add to it in the next two years.
“Awaken at six,” Miss Cothill began crisply. “Classes begin at seven. Uniforms must be pressed and clean. Ankles, wrists, and necks must never be exposed or seen. Caps must be positioned firmly on one’s head. Hair must be knotted in a simple bun, no fancy styles allowed. Untidy appearance will result in immediate dismissal. A nurse must walk in a quiet, ladylike way, but always be brisk and efficient. When entering any corridor or hall, a nurse must stop and wait until a superior passes her, if one is walking behind her. When asked a question, a nurse must respond with the utmost courtesy. Impolite behavior will result in immediate dismissal. A nurse must always consider her patient first. She must never question a doctor’s judgment, or do anything in association with a patient without consulting that patient’s doctor. Failure to consult a physician in regard to a patient’s health or behavior will result in immediate dismissal. A nurse must be in her dormitory room, in bed with the lights extinguished, by ten o’clock unless she is on duty. Failure to meet this curfew will result in immediate dismissal. A nurse can only have male visitors on her afternoons off, and only for a period of one hour, only in the sitting room. Failure to comply with any of the aforementioned rules will result in immediate dismissal.”
Ellen’s face paled with each mention of ‘immediate dismissal’. She wouldn’t even make it through the first week—not even the first day!
“A little frightening, isn’t it?” The young nurse sitting next to Ellen whispered. Ellen looked over at the girl and smiled tremulously before quickly turning back to Miss Cothill.
“I’m Amity Carwell,” the same young nurse said, introducing herself to Ellen as they filed out of the lecture hall for lunch back in the separate dining room in the Nurses’ Home.
“Ellen Copley.”
“I do find this overwhelming,” Amity sighed. “If you want to know the truth, I don’t even want to be a nurse.”
“Why?” Ellen exclaimed, finding it hard to believe that anyone would go through such a rigorous program if she wasn’t really committed. Even as this thought occurred to her, another uncomfortable one followed on its heels, that she wasn’t sure how committed she was.
“Family,” Amity replied. “No one wants to marry me, and I don’t want to stay at home and turn into a drudge. I had to do something, and I’d rather it was something helpful and trained. I could’ve been a teacher, I suppose, but I can’t see myself droning on to a bunch of children. What about you?”
“What about me?” Ellen asked.
“Why are you here?”
Something about Amity’s frank face, her brown eyes bright and inquisitive, made Ellen reply honestly, “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Do you like nursing?”
“I think I do,” Ellen said cautiously. “I nursed my mam when I was younger, and I’ve been working for the island doctor for the last few years.”
“Island doctor? Where are you from?”
A glowing description of Amherst Island occupied the rest of their walk towards the dining room, and Ellen tried not to think about the seed of doubt so carelessly sown.
Why was she training to be a nurse? The rigors of life at Kingston General Hospital seemed far removed from her mother’s sickroom or Dr. Bandler’s country practice.
Ellen tried to imagine her future, serving in a hospital like this one, or perhaps, as some nurses had dreamily imagined, as a missionary in far-off Asia or Africa. She shivered at the thought, knowing instinctively she was not one for that kind of adventure. Besides, her prayers to God had never been more than a few words, and she wasn’t entirely sure He heard them anyway.
Yet if she wasn’t for adventure, what was she for? What did she want to do with her life? What dreams did she still nurture? Ellen didn’t have an answer. Well, she thought with weary pragmatism, she had two years before she had to make a decision.
It was silent that evening as the six junior nurses trooped up to their rooms, exhausted and a little discouraged. They had all been in classes since seven that morning, and the day had seemed twice as long as a normal one. Ellen was relieved to sit on her bed, plaiting her hair as the cool night air blew over her. Her roommate, a studious young woman named Harriet McIlvain, was already in her bed, her blankets drawn right up to her chin, her head averted. Ellen didn’t know whether she should talk to her or not; besides a terse hello, Harriet hadn’t had much to say to her so far.
A shadow fell over Ellen’s bed, obscuring the lamplight from the bedside table. Turning, Ellen saw Amity Carwell standing in the doorway looking thoroughly miserable and with a commiserating smile she indicated the edge of the bed.
“It was a rather long day, wasn’t it?”
“Endless,” Amity confessed, perching on the end of Ellen’s bed. “And I’m homesick,” she confessed in a whisper. “I didn’t think I would be. I thought I would be glad to leave. And I never expected our dormitory to look so nice—it’s grander than home by far. And yet...”
Ellen nodded sympathetically. The Nurses’ Home, with its cozy parlor, little library sponsored by the Kingston Nursing School Alumnae Association, and the comfortable rooms housing two nurses each, was lovely. She’d heard that the hospital had had such an elegant dormitory built to entice more middle class women into becoming nurses. It seemed to have worked.
But it wasn’t home, not home as she thought of it, with Jasper Lane awash in autumn fire and the smell of wood smoke in the air, the yellow-tinged birches by the pond pointing proudly to the sky, and Rose and Dyle and all the children, Jed and Lucas... but she wouldn’t think of them. She refused to give in to homesickness, not on her first day.
“It’s not home,” she said to Amity, “but we shall get used to it, I should think.”
“Our first half day off is next Sunday,” Amity said with a sigh. “It seems ages away. What are you going to do, do you think?”
Ellen thought of Lucas. She could send a note to his residence, and perhaps he would take her out to a tearoom, as he’d promised. Or would he be too busy? She didn’t like to impose on him, not when they hadn’t been friends—proper friends—for so long. Yet the thought of a familiar island face made her ache inside with longing.
“I’m not sure,” she said cautiously. “I have a friend at Queen’s. I might take tea with him.”
“Oh, a beau!” Amity exclaimed, delighted, and Ellen shook her head.
“Not at all,” she said. “He’s just a friend.” But something in her voice made Amity nod knowingly, and Ellen frowned. Lucas was just a friend. She’d never thought of him that way at all. She thought of Louisa trying to get Jed to fall in love with her, and how she’d determined not to be like that, at least when she’d just been fifteen. But she was nearly eighteen now, old enough to fall in love or even to marry, not that she ever would. In any case, nurses were not allowed to marry. If she intended to pursue this career, she would be single for the foreseeable future.
“Just a friend from home,” she told Amity firmly, yet just the thought of a beau—a proper one—left a strange, yearning ache in her middle, and she found herself once more thinking of Jed. Jed laughing at her, that mocking yet affectionate glint in his eyes, his hands on his hips and his head tilted back as he called her Miss Bossy...
She didn’t even like Jed, she reminded herself, but the sentiment seemed hollow. He might have annoyed her a time or two—or ten—but she certainly didn’t dislike him. They’d developed a friendship of sorts... hadn’t they? Or did Jed just tolerate her a little better after all these years?
A creak of floorboards alerted them to Superintendent Cothill’s presence. “Lights out,” she called out, and Amity scooted off Ellen’s bed.
“Goodnight, Ellen,” she whispered as she hurried to her own bedroom down the corridor.
“Goodnight,” Ellen whispered back. She glanced at Harriet, who was already asleep. A wave of exhaustion crashed over her and she turned down her lamp
and snuggled under the covers, too tired to wonder if she was meant to be a nurse, or if she would ever have a beau, or even if Jed thought of her as anything but the bossy girl from their childhood days.
TWO
The next few days fairly flew by in a flurry of lectures and duty on the wards. Ellen was up at six and did not go to bed until ten, the intervening hours filled with work and lectures and barely a moment of rest.
At first the junior nurses’ ward duty consisted of the lowest kind of drudgery: changing sheets, scrubbing floors, and emptying bedpans. The very first morning was enlivened by Harriet knocking a full bedpan straight across the floor while several medical students jumped out of the way, their noses wrinkled in disdain although one lifted up a hand to hide his guffaws.
Poor Harriet’s face turned bright red and then dead white as Superintendent Cothill bore down on her with a quelling frown. Ellen braced herself for a ringing set-down, but Miss Cothill simply nodded to the puddle seeping across the floor. “Clean that up at once, Miss McIlvain. And use the disinfectant.” As Harriet hurried to clean the mess, she added in ringing tones, “And in future, please do not be so clumsy.”
Ellen hurried to help her, and as she knelt on the floor she saw tears start in Harriet’s eyes. “Don’t worry, it could have happened to anyone,” she whispered. Harriet shook her head.
“But it happened to me.”
“Even so—”
“All I’ve wanted, my whole life, is to be a nurse,” Harriet whispered. “I’m not clever, you know, and I barely made my Year Eight Certificate.” She turned to Ellen with bleak despair evident in every line of her unhappy face. “What if I’m dismissed? I couldn’t bear it.”
Ellen felt a pang of something close to envy at the evidence of Harriet’s passion. She certainly didn’t feel that strongly about staying at KGH, not yet at least. “I don’t remember Superintendent Cothill saying anything about bedpans in her lecture yesterday,” she told Harriet. “Accidents happen. And your love of nursing will shine through, Harriet, no matter how many bedpans are knocked across the floor.”