Nurse in White (8 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Marcella Harris
poked
her head into Ellen’s room soon after two o’clock that afternoon on the chance that Ellen might be awake. Ellen was. Much to the girl’s annoyance, Ann’s persistent talk about men and marriage kept recurring and followed fantastically into her dreams. She lay now, wondering just how much, if any, of Ann’s nonsense had even a grain of truth in it. Lady X was lovely, even in her emaciated condition. Her eyes did brighten when Cy came into the ward—Ellen had noticed and rejoiced this very night at the awakening of her interest in people. And no matter how ritzy Lady X proved to be, she could do much worse than marry a rising young doctor. In Ellen’s opinion there could be no grander life for a girl, no matter what her station, than to marry an ambitious young man and match her step with his on his climb to success, if, of course, matrimony was her goal. Unconsciously, Ellen sighed. Why, she couldn’t imagine, for she wasn’t the least bit unhappy in the thought that her own goal when reached meant a lifetime of hardship, sacrifice and probable loneliness.

The thin, ugly yet attractive face of Dr. MacGowan crowded young Dent out. Ellen found her heartbeat quickening. What a surprise the man had proved to be! Imagine going to Scotland with him!

Ellen Gaylord, you’re the world’s prize idiot,
she scolded herself.
You’ve been bitten by the same bug that’s making Ann impossible. MacGowan wouldn’t look at you that way and even if he did, you couldn’t possibly fall for him and you know it. You have ambitions
,
my girl
,
I know; but you’d never marry a man just to satisfy them
.
Better leave such things to Ann Murdock and her kind.

“It’s a grand afternoon, Ellen,” Marcella said as she came into the room. “Let’s go to a matinee and have dinner downtown. I feel like a spree and I have ten bucks burning a hole in my pocket.”

“Thank you, Marcy, but I promised myself I’d go skating this afternoon. I was over at the park on Sunday and the ice is wonderful. Come with me. The air will do you good—more good than sitting in a theater. The dinner appeals to me, but I’m out of sorts. I want to go off by myself and meditate or maybe just sulk. I’d be poor company for you, darling, but thank you all the same.”

“Okay,” Marcella said good-naturedly. “Some other time. I feel in the mood for a slinky society play with a wholly indigestible dinner after it. S’long. See you in church—sometime.”

Ellen donned skiing pants and a warm plaid jacket and started for the little park on the outskirts of Brentwood. Head up, eyes straight ahead, she strode along, skates across her shoulders, arms swinging rhythmically, thoughts still chaotic. No doubt it was foolish of her to be angry with Ann. Ann had always been frivolous and meddlesome and Ellen had never ceased wondering that she had chosen nursing of all professions, and yet Ann was a very good nurse. No doubt it was as Ann had said, the hospital provided board and lodging and there was always the chance of a wealthy patient falling in love with his nurse or, perhaps, a doctor—not just any doctor, but a specialist, losing his heart to her. Ann knew her own decorative value and felt it was worth a trial, especially as there was always Tip Waring in the background if she couldn’t do better. Now apparently, Tip had grown tired of waiting. Why didn’t Ann stick to the planning of her own future instead of trying to mess up Ellen’s life?

Snow crunched under her feet, the air was stimulating—like cold spiced wine. Her blood tingled. She quickened her pace. In a little while the lake would be crowded with school children and she felt that she needed quiet. A voice hailed:

“Out for the Olympics, Nightingale?”

Ellen swung around. Cyrus Dent fell into step and lifted her skates to his own shoulder. Pointedly, Ellen said nothing.

“Two minds with but a single thought—or words to that effect. Ever stop to think how we enjoy the same things—have the same tastes? In other words, sort of suit each other? Ouch! That one went foul,” as Ellen’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I mean, we sort of feel the same way about things. Take this for instance. I felt sort of low in my mind today and thought that a dose of fresh air on ice was indicated. You felt the same way, no doubt—though probably being you, you didn’t happen to be low in your mind—if any.” He chuckled and turned a teasing glance her way. Ellen was walking fast, eyes front, chin slightly elevated, mouth grim. “I meant to ask you last night to forget your horrible habit of obeying cruel and inhuman rules and give me a date, but we were interrupted. Why is it that someone always feels it his duty to butt in on our rendezvous?”

Ellen gasped. How dare he? Dr. Dent went on as if he had not heard that gasp. He wondered just why Ellen gave such a fillip to his life at Anthony Ware. An imp of mischief seemed to take possession of him when he was with her and made him do and say the outlandish things he knew would bring an angry flush to her cheeks and a gleam to her usually placid and, he thought for a young and beautiful girl, too serene brown eyes.

“Let’s take the farther entrance—less apt to meet people we know—more privacy.”

“Privacy is what I came out for,” Ellen said shortly and instantly regretted it. How silly to let him think he had the power to annoy her! If Ann hadn’t put a lot of foolish ideas into her head maybe she wouldn’t have felt so edgy this afternoon. After all, she and Dr. Dent had to meet from time to time although she avoided him—(not too successfully)—whenever possible. But they were both interested in Lady X, weren’t they? She drew a long uneven breath, sat down and smiled less frostily as he deftly laced her skating Shoes. Probably he had had lots of experience as a lady’s man. His bare blond head bent low over his task and she had an idiotic impulse to smooth back the slightly rumpled waves. Horrors! She clenched her hands tightly in her lap. What a thing to have happen! Determinedly she put it out of her mind. “This air should be good for foggy brains, if any,” she laughed, in his own vein.

“Pardon? Oh—yes, yes—sure.” Cy seemed preoccupied all at once. He tied her laces and quickly changed his own shoes.

The lake was nearly deserted this early in the afternoon and Ellen sighed with pleasure as they swung along over the shining surface. She hoped and prayed they wouldn’t encounter a soul they knew or who knew them. She didn’t feel like talking today nor like doing any explaining tomorrow. Queer, how Ann had upset her!

“There’s something I want to ask you, Nightingale,” Dr. Dent said when they reached comparative seclusion at the head of the little lake. “Something I want to talk over with you, er, get your opinion—”

Ellen’s heart turned over. Was it true what Ann had said?

“Er—by the way, er, what was Mac hobnobbing with you about right after I left last night? D-did he say anything about me—us?”

Ellen’s lip curled in disdain. So that was it? He feared a reprimand from the chief of staff. “What do you mean? About our—your—your—persistent annoying—pestering—er, intruding, er,” she floundered. “Oh, he’s far too big to notice anything so entirely insignificant, and I’m sure you’ve been very careful not to get caught.” She spoke coldly. “Please don’t let’s talk. I’m tired and I came out here to relax.”

“All right, go ahead and relax. No one’s stopping you, but just the same, I’m going to tell you my news and you’ve got to listen, for this is one time when a rendezvous of ours won’t be interrupted, I’ll guarantee that if I have to brain anyone who butts in. And it is a rendezvous, my dear Nightingale, whether you call it that or not. I’ve been willing you to come out here since last night—freeze that off if you can. You’re here, aren’t you?”

Ellen tried to draw her hands away but could not without exerting force and that she disdained to do. She bit her lip, drew a deep breath and forced her nerves to steadiness. He shouldn’t upset her!

“All right—go on—tell your big news if you must have an audience.”

“Do you know, I adore your enthusiasm, Gaylord. It’s so refreshing,” he chuckled mockingly.

Ellen refused to answer.

“I’ve had two jobs offered me, Nightingale, believe it or not. I bet you had no idea I was in such demand, now did you?”

Ellen still said nothing. Two? She had already heard of one.

“One is with Dr. Blakley, the noted psychiatrist, you know—in Boston. Of course you’ve heard of him—who hasn’t? Swell offices, wealthy clients and the prospect of taking over within ten years. How’s that for an offer?”

Ellen laughed scornfully. “Why, doctor, how thrilling! It was made for you. Aren’t you the fortunate one! And when do you take this deluxe practice, er, position?”

“It was offered me last summer when I finished at Bellevue, but I wanted six months or more under MacGowan before I decided on anything definite.”

“I don’t imagine MacGowan’s example has been much help to you—he’s not your type—”

“You’d be surprised,” Cy retorted. “The other,” he went on unperturbed, “is of course not to be considered for a moment. You see, Doc Howard, out home, wrote offering me his practice. He’s getting old and lame and wants to retire. That’s a laugh. Does a general practitioner ever retire?” he laughed gleefully as if the picture he conjured was vastly amusing. “Good joke, eh, Nightingale? Imagine the old family doctor refusing to drive twenty miles just because Johnny Jones gets the stomachache from eating green apples! Ha, ha! Why don’t you laugh, woman?”

“It isn’t in the least funny, Dr. Dent.”

“My word, gal, you are low!” He shook his head, then went on. “Imagine me as a general practitioner, Nightingale! Doc’s been chief medico out there for forty years. Oh, he’s made a living—possibly a bit over; said surplus being used to finance a few of the town’s derelicts from time to time—what a life!” Again he laughed derisively, throwing back his handsome head in a way Ellen always found exasperating. “Not for me. Mac thinks the Boston job worth considering. I might do worse and then again I might do better. What do you think about it, Nightingale?”

They had stopped beside a group of low-hanging willows and Ellen raised bright, unfriendly eyes to his.

“Grand, doctor! When do you leave?”

Dent chuckled again and Ellen longed to slap him.

“Oh, not until spring—May; perhaps, or June. So you like the idea of Boston? I was sure you would. How our ideas coincide! We’re the same type, remember—under the skin.”

“We are not,” Ellen denied hotly.

“Oh, yes, we are, Nightingale. Didn’t you just urge me to take the Boston job? You believe in taking life by the smooth handle whenever possible just as most of us do, don’t you? ‘Soft jobs and easy money’ should be carved on the escutcheon of all us moderns. All this talk about life of sacrifice is just a pose—don’t I know it? Oh, you need not glare at me like that, darling. I know you think you’re sincere but you can’t fool me. You’re an open book to Cyrus Dent, M.D.”

“You’re impossible!” Ellen whispered stormily. “I’m not looking for an easy job and I despise anyone in our profession who is. It would be just like you to take the Boston job—go and take it! Marry a rich girl who can give you prestige, and live the life of Riley, and see if I care. You’d never do anything as a general practitioner. That job calls for a real man—a big man. A man willing to forget all about ease, money and fame if he can bring healing to the sick and comfort to the suffering. You couldn’t do that, Cyrus Dent—you’re too light—too fickle—too—too—mercenary. Anyway, you’d be a failure if there was real work to be done and you know it. Playboy!”

“Whew!” gasped the young man. “How you do go on! I always said you were too emotional—too temperamental to spend your life among the sick, and time—good old time—has proven me indubitably correct. Okay. Listen to this, Nightingale. Know the reason why I can’t take that job out in the sticks? Go into general practice? Don’t answer, please. I know what you think or intend to say, which isn’t always the same thing, I’ve noticed. I can’t go because you see I should need a helpmeet, as the Scriptures say. One who is willing to go into exile with me and to—” he grinned wickedly again as he stared down at her “—protect me from my female patients. An understanding girl—possibly even a trained nurse or at least one who wouldn’t fly off the handle if I stayed out all night with a sick—man.” He emphasized the noun.

The breath seemed snatched from Ellen’s lungs. She felt completely deflated and slightly dashed.

“Oh, my intentions would be quite honorable, I assure you, my good woman. I’d expect to marry her. She might do worse at that, or couldn’t she? Of course it all depends on one’s point of view. And of course this is all hypothetical. If I go to Boston it won’t be so necessary. In fact, I might even be more popular among the dear things if I remained single. Ah, me, it’s a pity you dislike me, but—do you? I somehow think you don’t, and I think you’re—well, a nice girl, in spite of your disposition, which is sort of tacky to say the least. But I’m sure that could be remedied. Well, what do you think of the idea, Nightingale?”

Ellen found to her annoyance that she was trembling. “I—I—I think you—you’re—” she began when she could control her voice.

“Now don’t say you don’t approve of that, either!” he said quickly. “Think about it, lady. It’s not such a bad idea. Perhaps, given a chance, I could sell it to you properly.”

Ellen stamped her foot angrily, which was unfortunate, for she slipped and would have gone down ignominiously if he hadn’t caught her—caught her and held her close for a long minute before she tore herself away.

“I’m not getting out for three—possibly four months,” he went on, slightly breathless. “Anything can happen in four months. However, Nightingale, I’m glad I told you—that we have had this talk in spite of your exuberant enthusiasm—your joyous hilarity, and I’m sure that from now on you’ll not
be quite
so cold and aloof—so exaggeratedly indifferent.” He laughed softly for a moment, then quickly stooped and kissed her squarely on the mouth.

“0-oh—oh!” Ellen cried, unable to decide whether she was more angry than astonished or more astonished than thrilled. What was the matter with her, anyway? It wasn’t her first kiss by any means, but never before had she been so upset. Hypothetical, was it? The talk of marriage may have been but the kiss was not—that, she knew. Hypothetical, indeed! How silly she was! That job of general practitioner was phony—his idea of a joke. If he had been hinting that she might consider the job of “helpmeet” as he called it, he could get the idea right out of his system. Her pulses steadied. She should give up her precious dream to act as a prop for Cy Dent to lean on! Not in a million years! Braddock had hinted at a possible affair with one of the country-club crowd. That was his dish. Let him marry money and then he could buy all the help he needed and patronage, too. Boston? Of course he would take that job. He intended to all the time. She bit her burning lips. Darn him!