And then, just as the big clock on the wall indicated five, though the clouded sky outside gave no hint that it was time for day to begin, the baby was born—as easily as the nurse had ever seen one come into the world.
"A little girl," the old stripper crooned. "Life's a hard thing for a woman, but I guess it's got its good times, too. Want I should give her a little tap to get her started off right?"
She held the nearly scarlet bit of humanity up by the heels and gave her a gentle slap. A healthy howl answered.
Donna grinned. Tired as she was, she felt a sense of triumph. Baby LaRue grinned back at her, her hair more awry than ever, her make-up remaining only in small patches over her wrinkled face. She, too, was plainly tired, but her eyes were bright and excited. "What'd you reckon her to weigh?" she asked.
Donna laughed. "I wouldn't guess, but I'm pretty sure there are scales in the kitchen. You might go and find out."
She herself took up a towel, went into the kitchen and drew the last of the warm water from the tank into a bucket and went back to clean up her patient.
She was only half through when Jack appeared, pale, his boyish beard dark and patchy, his eyes full of vicarious suffering. The baby screamed from the scales in the kitchen and he asked in a shaky voice, "Is she—are they—all right? What's the baby crying about?"
"Your wife's fine," Donna assured him.
Miss LaRue appeared from the kitchen, the new arrival wrapped in a thick white towel. "Wouldn't you yell if you'd just come from a safe, warm place into a world like this one and didn't know, in spite of how mixed up everything is, how much fun there is in living? You've got a little five-pound girl, Papa. And she's perfectly beautiful."
It wasn't until some fifteen minutes later that Jack remembered the message he had come to bring. "There's been some fighting over there. A man's got pretty well cut up. Can you come and stop the bleeding?"
Donna hoped that, in the excitement, the new father hadn't let the warrior bleed to death.
There were two men needing medical attention in Donna's office. One was pale and bloodstained. The other's face showed several abrasions and a swollen eye that would undoubtedly blacken as the day moved on. Donna sighed. She was as tired as she used to be when she had first started her training, worked her regular stint in the hospital, attended college classes and nodded over her open books as often as she studied.
But here was more work to be done. Neither of the men seemed familiar to her, and she decided that Mary Hendley must have registered them. Cliff was bent over the bloody patient, a thumb pressed above a cut on his arm. Hank had found a square of unbleached domestic that the last year's nurse had used in teaching first aid and was hunting for something to make a tourniquet.
The man with the bruised face was talking steadily.
"Well, we was playin' cards, peaceful as anything. Sure, there was arguments, off an' on, but peaceful, just the same. We was drinkin' some, too, but just friendly like. Worst enemy any of us had couldn't a-called one of us drunk. An' then this so-and-so—he's a Republican, see?—starts in cussin' the President, who's young, sure, an' makes mistakes, but is doin' the best he can, which is pretty darn good in my book. Well, he—" he indicated the bleeding Republican with a thumb turned half back to his wrist—"started in cussin' the boy for everything he's done since he took office, an' I got tired of it and told him to shut up and play cards. That was what started it. That desk, I reckon it was the teacher's and it ain't the most convenient card table I ever seen, neither, got turned over and busted open some an'—"
The rise and fall of his voice made an accompaniment as Donna took over adjusting the tourniquet and binding three lesser knife wounds.
"Fighting's one thing," Cliff interrupted the flow of words, his voice stern, "but did you have to use a knife? We're going to have to turn you over to the police, Vickers, when the storm is over. You know that."
The ardent Democrat began to whine. "There was five of us in it, Counselor. I ain't the only one. And he was in it as much as anybody." Again the double-jointed thumb indicated the man on whom Donna was working.
"You were the one with the knife, Vickers. But we'll have to take both of you in, I guess. Poague's right badly hurt. We can't just pretend it didn't happen," Hank countered. "Mr. Warrender and I are in charge here. We're supposed to keep order, among other things."
"But you ain't the police, neither," Vickers insinuated.
Cliff snapped out his words. "Ever hear of civilian arrest, Vickers? We're quite within our rights, holding you for the police."
Vickers shrugged and grinned. "Well, it ain't nothin' but assault—aggravated assault, maybe. I been in the pokey enough to know a few words of law myself. Reckon I oughtn't try to get ahead of a smart lawyer like you, Mr. Warrender."
Donna had finished with Poague, who hadn't said a word. Now he looked up at her and spoke in a weak voice. "I ain't gonna die, am I, Nurse? There was an awful lot of blood, and there ain't no doc in the place. But you're smart. You'll know if I'm gonna die?"
The girl shook her head at him. "I couldn't promise, but I'm pretty sure you'll be here to get drunk and fight during the next storm. Cliff, will you help him over to the cot? Now you— Mr. Vickers, isn't it?"
"Great God, Miss," Vickers spoke in duet with Donna, "he ain't in no serious condition, is he? I never meant to hurt nobody. A fight, sure, but nothin' serious."
Donna didn't answer, but descended on him with iodine and applicator. She had hardly touched his raw face when he began to scream like a wounded animal.
"You let me be, Nurse. My face been beat up worse'n this a heap of times an' got well all by itself. You just leave me be." He lurched to his feet. "You got my knife, Counselor, and you got my liquor, Teacher. I'll be around when the storm's over, an' I rather be in a nice safe jail than have a woman with stuff like that there turned loose on me. Burns like fire, it does. I'll be okay, lady." He sidled out of the door, both hands held defensively before his face.
The two men chuckled. "He will, too," Cliff said, then turned to Donna. "How are things in the cafeteria?"
She sat down and brushed her red hair out of her eyes. "Everything's fine in the cafeteria. Those two children have themselves a five-pound baby girl and, as nearly as I can tell, mother and child are doing well. Even Pop may recover. I left Miss Baby LaRue in charge. She's a pretty efficient character, that old lady."
Cliff chuckled again. "The midwife looks sort of beat. Think some coffee would help? And maybe scrambled eggs and toast?"
Donna sighed. "It sounds heavenly, but not right now. I wouldn't move for a rajah's millions."
Cliff laughed. "Oh, I meant to prepare the sumptuous meal. I'm a pretty fancy cook, really. I live in an apartment and do at least two meals a day. Breakfast coming right up. You sit there and breathe deep. Join us, Fincher?"
Hank looked from Donna to Cliff. His mouth hardened with determination. "Yes, I'd like that. It's been quite a night for all of us. I'm not as tired as Donna. What can I do?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all," Cliff told him, all expansive host.
And there would have been three of them if a dark woman with a foreign accent hadn't appeared, puffing with her haste, and announced, "Mister Teach', the toilet down that way, she is runnin' over and spillin' on everything."
Hank put down his half-full coffee cup and went after her. He'd have to find the resident custodian, who, he hoped, could do something about the matter.
Cliff dished up eggs, added buttered toast, and set the plate down on the corner of Donna's desk. Behind them, Poague snored softly.
Donna yawned daintily behind her hand, and Cliff, bringing his own plate to join her, grinned down at her. "Surely you aren't bored? We've offered you quite a variety of entertainment already and the storm's young yet." He glanced at the watch on his wrist and went on. "We've about seven hours before it reaches its height."
"You've had recent reports? The electricity came back on?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Battery radios. I brought one with us. It's over there on the shelf. See?"
She remembered now that she had heard music when she first came into the room, soft, quieting music, but she had only half-heard it and had grown so accustomed to it while she was attending Mr. Poague that she had not been conscious of it since. Now that it was called to her attention, she realized that it was playing one of the Viennese waltzes, and she hummed a bar or two along, then laughed. "Is this a table? My mother was always most certain that no lady sang at the table. Or hummed, for that matter."
"It was a most pleasant sound, in any case." Cliff grinned. "And wouldn't it be painful to be the complete lady all the time?"
"If that's your theory, then you won't mind my stretching and yawning a bit." She smiled back at him, though she didn't follow her suggestion. "Thank heaven for paper cups and plates and forks and spoons. No dishes to wash. You know, you're a very thoughtful man."
His grin deepened. "I was sure I'd improve on acquaintance. That explains my persistence. Isn't there a teachers' restroom with a couch on the second floor?"
She nodded. "But how did you know?"
"I made a speech at P.T.A. the day they decided to raise money for that room," he explained. "Now if you'll get the key from Fincher, you can lock yourself in and sleep a while. I'll take coffee to Baby LaRue and the new parents and lie down here where I can wake if Poague needs me."
Donna looked at the sleeping man, longing in her eyes. "I don't believe he'll need anything for a while, but I ought to check in with Baby La Rue. She'll be needing her sleep, too."
"That one?" Cliff raised one eyebrow humorously. "She doesn't close her eyes from the time she gets here until she leaves. It's the excitement she lives on the rest of the year. The new baby will be her conversation piece until the next hurricane."
"She does, too, close her eyes," Donna contradicted good-naturedly. "She nods in her chair and wakes up brighter than a button. I'll bet she's asleep now. Or telling that boy stories about the life of a stripper, stories that'll make his eyes pop out."
"One or the other, probably," he admitted. "In any case, you go get a few hours' sleep. You can spell Baby when you've had your sleep out."
She nodded, and stumbled drowsily off and up the stairs.
Donna waked and looked about her, wondering where on earth she could be. The dingy little second-floor room was not entirely familiar to her, the first floor being more her beat. The twilight that the storm produced at nine in the morning would have turned usual surroundings into something strange. She sat up, her mind feeling clumsy and unusable. Outside the draped window, all the devils of hell seemed to be screaming. She moved toward the window and pushed aside the tasteless cretonne curtains, peering into the out-of-doors where driven rain turned the world to a muggy gray like dirty cotton.
Only then did her mind clear sufficiently for her to remember the night before, the refugees she had registered, the Hartson baby, Vickers and Poague, Cliff and Hank. Her shoulders ached, and she stretched and circled them trying to loosen them. She pulled the curtains together again, shivered at the menace of the weather and went into the lavatory to ready herself as well as she could without a change of clothing for the day to come.
Three hours before, she had eaten what for her was a hearty breakfast, but she was surprisingly hungry. Freshly combed hair and new lipstick had made the menace of the storm seem less imminent. She hurried down the stairs with the idea of raiding one of the boxes that Cliff had brought in the afternoon before for an apple or an orange.
She had reached the third step from the bottom when she saw the thin, bent figure of Dr. Ward, pacing the hall, puffing a pipe, his hands clasped behind a thin, sharp rump. She stood for a moment watching the old man and thinking of him and his wife. She had thought yesterday that they were fine old people and that she would make time during the storm to know them better. She went after him, half-running, just missing children playing hopscotch on squares they had marked off with school chalk.
Even so, if his long strides had not been slow ones, she might not have caught up with him. She was short of breath when she drew up at his elbow. "Good morning, Dr. Ward. I hope you slept well, you and Mrs. Ward."
He turned, doffed his worn felt hat, took his pipe from his mouth and smiled widely at her. "Indeed we did, Miss Ledbury. Those were fine beds you were kind enough to supply for Maggie and me. A splendid night we had, for all the noise the wind made."
He shortened his steps to match hers. "You mind the odor of tobacco, Miss Ledbury? All these years it has sickened my poor Maggie so I take a walk while I enjoy my pipe. Take a walk and do a stint of thinking."
Donna looked at him brightly. "I don't smoke myself. I guess I think too seriously of my health. But I don't mind the odor of tobacco at all. My father smokes just such a pipe as yours. One of those with a dip in the stem."
He studied the pipe for a moment. "Bought it years ago when I was studying in Germany. It's been my good companion for many years. Like Maggie." His eyes twinkled under bushy white brows. "Hate to have to choose between them." He put the pipe again in his mouth and blew out a cloud of odorous smoke.
Donna smiled at this joke which she was sure must have been a very old one between the professor and his wife. "How long have you and Mrs. Ward been married, Dr. Ward?"
He looked at her proudly. "Sixty-four years. The very same woman, all those years. Monotonous, isn't it?"
"They'd probably think so in Hollywood, Professor. But I have a notion you and Mrs. Ward still find each other exciting."
The twinkle of humor that until now had characterized the old man for her entirely disappeared. Donna saw that he was indeed old, his fleshless and almost translucent skin clinging to his beautifully shaped bones. His fine, scholarly eyes seemed to lose something of their bright blueness. He took his pipe out of his mouth and studied her face, but with the air of one who did not see it. After a while, he spoke.