RIGHT AFTER LABOR DAY, GIRLS BEGAN TO ARRIVE IN A rush at the Jamestown School. They poured in in ones and twos and threes, traveling together if they were old pupils, but the majority of them were brought by their parents. Laughter and chatter filled the house, and girls overflowed into the dormitory building and on the sunny grounds. Their noisy reunions reminded Cherry of her own festive times with her Spencer Club crowd, though Mr. North referred to them as “the stampede.” Mrs. Harrison declared everyone would actually settle down, once classes began. In the meantime, she beamed like a girl herself, introducing all the new people around, including Cherry. The first day or two of the new term resembled a house party, what with comparing snapshots of summer vacations and trying on one another’s new clothes and nobly “getting along” with one’s assigned roommates.
Not every girl was happy. Cherry suspected that some of the smiles were bravely put on for a front. Cliques began to form. The leaders of inner circles were on the whole too well mannered to leave any girl out—Mrs. Harrison would not have permitted such unkindness. Even Sibyl Martin, who was sophisticated for sixteen and the most glamorous girl in the school, took time out to be sweet to the freshmen. But the going was hard for shy girls, especially for the new students. Of these, Cherry was most concerned about Lisette.
The curious thing was that Lisette herself did not seem at all concerned. If she had been homesick, as little Mary Gray obviously was, or if she had drawn a difficult girl for a roommate, Cherry might have understood, but there seemed to be no reason why Lisette Gauthier should hold herself aloof from the other girls. That was a sure way to make people say, “Who does she think she is?” and get herself disliked. Yet Lisette wore a thoughtful, almost sad air. It was not simply unfriendliness, then.
Cherry was tempted to drop a word of warning to her. “I don’t want to speak out of turn, though,” Cherry thought. “Wish I could understand what’s going on in her secretive little head.”
Cherry was disturbed by an incident which she witnessed when the first classes were over for the day.
She was so busy putting the infirmary in tiptop working order and getting acquainted with the girls who popped in, that she hardly left the infirmary except for meals. However, she had to consult with the cook about diets for several girls whose weight needed watching. On her way through the sitting room, she glimpsed Lisette puttering in the conservatory. Two girls were with her. Cherry paused to say hello, then listened in disbelief.
“I think you’re mean, Lisette,” said Betty Taylor, who was as agreeable as she was freckled. “You could at least tell us the name of that flower.”
“I told you, I don’t know its name.” Lisette was barely short of being rude. “Nancy, please give back the trowel. I need it for transplanting. Please!”
Teasingly, Nancy wriggled away and put the trowel on the farthest ledge. Lisette had to walk over to get it. She was devoting all her spare time to bringing indoors several garden plants to protect them from coming autumn frosts. Cherry wished that Lisette would pay more attention to getting off on the right foot with her classmates and making friends.
“Lizzie’s in a tizzy,” Nancy remarked, and Betty Taylor smiled an impish, freckled grin. “That is Sibyl’s opinion of you, if you must know. Lizzie, we forgive you. Come out and knock some balls across the net with us. It’s more fun with three than two.”
“Sorry, but I’m right in the middle of transplanting these flowers, can’t you see?”
“Oh, nuts. A few old flowers aren’t so terribly important as all that.” Nancy plucked a flower and stuck it in her mouth. “Look, kids, I’m Carmen.”
Lisette looked as if she could murder them with pleasure. Cherry decided that if she was going to step in, this was the moment.
“Can you spare a rose for the infirmary? Hello, Carmen.” She grinned at Nancy, then at Betty. “Don José, I presume? I’m feeling a bit like Florence Nightingale myself.”
“That’s a cute nurse’s cap,” Betty said. “Is it your school cap, Miss Cherry?”
“No, this is the conventional cap. Lisette, if you’d go outdoors with these girls, they might stop calling you Lizzie.”
“But, Miss Cherry, I told you I have to make this year count! These flowers are important to me. Of course I’d like to play tennis with them—”
And Lisette remained in the conservatory.
Maybe, Cherry thought, she was an unsociable genius, or just plain contrary. Whatever Lisette’s basic personality, she was less lighthearted than the other girls. Cherry was puzzled, too, by Lisette’s almost slavish devotion to growing flowers.
Her name came up in the faculty sitting room, too. Cherry dropped in there on Thursday evening for a visit and some advice. Mrs. Harrison had requested her to write a set of rules on good health practices for the school paper. Cherry had done so and now wanted the instructors’ comments. Everyone said, “Fine,” and insisted that the new nurse stay and chat. Cherry was glad of a chance to become better acquainted with the aristocratic and learned woman, Mrs. Curtis, who taught English and literature. As usual, Mlle. Gabriel was knitting and talking, flitting from topic to topic. Mr. Phelps, who taught mathematics, glanced at her over his chess game with Mr. North as if he could not take Mademoiselle too seriously. But she could make Mr. North chuckle, and that was an achievement.
“—so I say afterward, of course in private, to my student, ‘My dear child, if you ever visit Paris, never, never try to speak French. Because, ma petite, you would break the ears of true Frenchmen. Your accent? Extraordinary!’”
“Did she weep?” asked Alex North. “I keep a blotter handy for female tears.” He winked at Cherry.
“Ah, but one student I have, she is a gem! What beautiful French! Do you all know little Lisette Gauthier?”
“The moody one,” said Mrs. Curtis.
“The different one,” Mlle. Gabriel pounced.
“She is a bright and alert girl,” Mrs. Curtis said impartially. “She stands rather apart from the rest, though.”
Cherry ventured to say, “Lisette takes a little knowing, don’t you think?”
“Ah, yes!” Mlle. Gabriel beamed at her. “Lisette is not all on the surface; she is a serious one. She must read much, particularly in French. She has an unusual command of the French language—yes, yes, Alex, it’s true she is of French descent. But she tells me she has never been to France or French Canada. She has stuffed herself with description of the lovely French countryside.” Mlle. Gabriel said wistfully, “She pointed out to me a bergamot tree in the garden.”
Lisette and her garden! Cherry was about to ask where the rare citrus tree stood, when, from the hall, came a shriek and a crash of someone falling. The instructors rushed to open the door. The nurse sped to the scene of the accident first.
Tina, the elderly maid, evidently had climbed up on a stepladder to change a light bulb, caught her heel in a rung, and now lay twisted in pain on the floor.
“Don’t touch her, anyone,” Cherry cautioned.
She eased Tina’s shoe off and released her foot. With gentle, skilled hands she probed to see whether Tina had had an electric shock, and whether any of her brittle bones were broken. Cherry carefully rolled her over on the floor to unpin Tina’s left arm. She must have tried to brace herself, stiff-armed, then fallen on the arm with her entire weight. Under the skin Cherry felt the sharp point of a splintered bone. Tina’s forearm was broken.
“It hurts!” Tina moaned. “Oh!”
“There, there, we’ll make you comfortable,” Cherry murmured. She saw Mr. North and Mademoiselle, watching. “Mademoiselle, will you please telephone for the doctor to come at once?”
The arm was swelling rapidly. Since they must not risk moving Tina until a temporary splint was applied, Cherry hurried into the infirmary. But applying a splint would take time. First she caught up a blanket, chose a mild sedative, and brought it along to Tina with a glass of water.
“This will help the pain, Tina.” Cherry administered the sedative and covered her with the blanket, keeping her warm to combat shock. She managed to ease the hovering instructors out of the way, and requested that someone notify Mrs. Harrison. She bent down and smiled encouragingly at her patient.
“Feel better?” The wiry little woman nodded. “If it starts hurting very badly again, tell me. The doctor will be here soon.”
Cherry went back to the infirmary and searched in haste for wooden splints; her hands shook. Silly to be tense about her first patient on a new job! She had taken care of fractures before. It was just that working in an unaccustomed, sparsely supplied ward, for a doctor whom she had not yet met, was trying. Her main concern, however, was for her patient. Cherry located splints but they were too short.
Well, she would have to make do with a pillow or blanket, folded rigid. Cherry folded a blanket to many thicknesses, making it long enough to reach beyond Tina’s forearm, padded it well with sterile cotton, and returned with it to the hall. Kneeling beside the woman, she put the cotton side next to Tina’s arm, and firmly but gently secured the splint to the arm with gauze bandages. Cherry worked fast, and cautiously; she did not want the sharp ends of the broken bone to move and do further damage.
“There! Now it’s safe to move you.”
Mr. North and Mr. Phelps, at the nurse’s direction, carefully picked Tina up. With Cherry holding the splinted arm motionless, the men carried Tina to one of the infirmary beds.
“Now I’m going to make you some hot tea, Tina, and then I want you to sleep.”
Half an hour later her patient was dozing. Lisette had heard of the accident and come in to ask Cherry if she could help. She couldn’t, but it was thoughtful of her to offer, Cherry thought. The headmistress had looked in and left. Still the doctor had not arrived. Wasn’t he coming tonight? Mrs. Harrison had said he had a very full practice. Perhaps Dr. Wilcox would not come until morning.
Cherry was settled in a chair, watching her patient carefully, when very late someone tapped at the infirmary door. Cherry softly went to the door. There stood, to her surprise, a young man.
“I’m Dr. Wilcox,” he said.
“You’re Dr. Wilcox? I beg your pardon—” He looked little older than herself—just about old enough to be an intern, if that. Cherry felt confused. Mrs. Harrison had said that Dr. Wilcox was an elderly man.
“Didn’t someone telephone for Dr. Wilcox?” the young man asked. He was, Cherry noticed for the first time, carrying a physician’s satchel.
“I’m the new school nurse, Cherry Ames, sir—uh—Doctor.” She held the door open for him. She had better observe the medical courtesies, in any case.
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Harrison told me about you on the telephone,” the young man said cheerfully. He glanced over at Tina, who was asleep. A little color had returned to her cheeks. “Mrs. Harrison told me a lot of interesting things about you, Miss Cherry Ames.”
“Well, she didn’t tell me about you!” Cherry said impulsively. “I hope you won’t think me rude, or presumptuous, Mr.—Dr. Wilcox, but I expected to see a much older man.”
The young man grinned. “That’s my father. He’s Dr. Horton Wilcox and I’m Dr. Alan Wilcox. Just recently completed my internship and my father asked me to assist him. His practice has grown too large for one man. Father is really the school doctor, but I often come over here to help out.”
So that was what Mrs. Harrison had started to explain the other day when Mary Gray had interrupted. Cherry felt sure that the students preferred this engaging young man to any other physician. Dr. Alan was so young and vigorous that his presence acted as a tonic. Besides, he had sparks of mischief in his eyes, for all his professional manner. Probably all the girls were half in love with him. Cherry liked him herself and smiled at him. Dr. Alan smiled right back. Then they got down to work.
“The patient seems to be resting comfortably,” the young doctor said. He and Cherry moved over to the bedside. “What happened, Miss Ames?”
“A fall resulting in a fracture, Dr. Wilcox. As you see, I put on a temporary splint.” Cherry watched anxiously as Dr. Alan very gently examined the splint. She hoped that he approved of what she had done, for she wanted to merit this young man’s respect.
He seemed satisfied. He asked what else Cherry had done, and when she reported giving a mild sedative he seemed satisfied about that, too.
“I’m afraid that we’ll have to wake our patient.”
Cherry did so, took Tina’s pulse, which was normal, and bathed her face and hands. While the nurse did this, Dr. Alan opened his kit and laid out his instruments and wooden splints. Cherry rolled over the enamel table for his use and assisted him. Strangers though they were, they worked together smoothly right from the start.
Dr. Alan confirmed that it was a simple fracture. He found Tina in good condition and not uncomfortable. He examined the arm carefully for any break in the skin or any sign of infection, found none, then very, very gently felt the arm to learn approximately what the type (or pattern) of the bone dislocation was. Cherry waited to learn whether he would want Tina taken to the hospital tonight, but Dr. Alan said, “With good nursing care, this can wait until morning.”
Tomorrow at the hospital the arm would be X-rayed, Tina would be given an anaesthetic, then the bone would be manipulated and set into place, and finally a plaster cast put on the arm to immobilize it while the bones knit. For now, Dr. Alan cradled the broken arm in a sturdy wooden splint which was gauze-covered. Cherry bandaged this splint into place.
“Getting tired, Tina?” Dr. Alan patted her free hand. “Try to have a good, long sleep. Nurse Ames will put you into bed and give you a warm drink. More mild sedation as she needs it, Nurse. I’ll write out instructions. I’ll come back tomorrow, about nine. And, Tina, don’t worry about how soon you’ll be able to work again. I’ll explain to Mrs. Harrison.”
Doctor and nurse withdrew to the far end of the big room for instructions about Tina and a few moments of discussion.
“You’re a very good nurse, Miss Ames.”
“Thank you, Dr. Wilcox.”
“You’d better call me Dr. Alan. Everybody does, so as not to confuse me with my father.” He grinned easily. “In that case, don’t you think I could call you Miss Cherry?”
“I think it could be arranged, Doctor.”
“I wish I had a good nurse like you to help me out with my other patients in emergencies.” He explained that he could not afford a nurse of his own yet. “Do you suppose Mrs. Harrison could spare you occasionally? It’s awfully hard, way out here in the country, to get an R.N., and in serious cases—”
Cherry understood him. “If it’s an emergency, yes. I would be willing to ask Mrs. Harrison for permission to leave the school grounds. Of course I can’t predict what she’d say. I do have to be available here at all times,” Cherry said responsibly, “or at least not far away.”
He looked impatient. “We’d only be in this immediate area and my car can make plenty of speed when necessary. What I mean is—if Mrs. Harrison could let you go, and she’s always considerate—would you be willing to help me?”
“I’d like to very much!”
“Fine,” he said. “Good night, Miss Cherry. I’m really awfully glad to know you.”
Cherry watched his tall, husky figure disappear quietly down the staircase, and admitted that she was pretty pleased to meet Dr. Alan herself.
Next morning Cherry fed Tina breakfast, left her in Mademoiselle’s care, and since Tina’s condition was good, went down to breakfast herself. When the girls heard that the young physician would be coming in to see Tina, there was a great deal of excited chatter. The most excited laughter came from Sibyl Martin’s table.
The older girls were always laughing and whispering knowingly, Cherry noticed, with Sibyl the focus of their admiring eyes. This morning she wore a bright yellow sweater which emphasized her red-gold hair. Cherry had to admit Sibyl had style, in a flamboyant way. Half a dozen semiprecious bracelets dangled on her wrist as she gestured. Her family, Mrs. Harrison had told Cherry, doted on her and gave their youngest daughter anything her capricious heart desired. Sibyl had not stopped by the infirmary as yet, so Cherry went over to her table for a moment to introduce herself.
“I’m the new nurse, and you’re Sibyl Martin, aren’t you? I’d so much rather meet you girls outside the infirmary.”
Sibyl certainly could be charming. “Have you time to sit down, Miss Cherry, and have another bite with us? We’ve all been longing to know you—this is Cora, and Francie, and Susan—” The girls smiled and looked very carefully at Cherry’s well-cut uniform and dark curls. “We decided you’re—oh, dear, I shouldn’t say cute, should I? But our last nurse was a bore. So fat. Ugh.”
Cherry chatted for a few minutes, then stopped in for a moment at Mrs. Harrison’s office. As usual it was full of flowers from the garden. The headmistress was already busily at work at her desk.
“Oh, good morning, Cherry! How are you this fine morning? How is our poor Tina?”
“Tina is resting well, Mrs. Harrison—” Cherry reported on Tina and on Dr. Alan’s visit and arrangements to take Tina to the hospital. She did not think this was the right moment to mention his request for the school nurse to aid him occasionally. She did mention that Dr. Alan recommended buying a small sterilizer for the infirmary but, surprisingly, Mrs. Harrison said it was out of the question. Cherry wondered why—the school put on few frills but seemed comfortably off. Mrs. Harrison murmured about “repairs for this old house.” Cherry did not press; she would simply have to improvise.
“Dr. Alan will be here at nine this morning, Mrs. Harrison.”
“I want to talk with him myself, I think.”
“Yes, Mrs. Harrison.”
Before time for his visit, Cherry helped her patient to dress for the drive to the hospital. She expected that Dr. Alan would arrive in his car, not an ambulance, in this case. Then Cherry read over her patient’s chart, to make sure it was complete for her report to the doctor, glad that Tina’s TPR (temperature, pulse, respiration) were normal, and gave Tina a midmorning glass of orange juice. From the infirmary they heard a car pull up in the driveway. It was exactly nine o’clock.
A minute later Dr. Alan tapped on the infirmary door and entered.
“Good morning,” he said, all business. “How’s our patient this morning?” He smiled at Tina, then Cherry.
Cherry made her report, out of the patient’s earshot, and gave him the chart. Dr. Alan asked a question or two, then said, “Very good.”
“Mrs. Harrison would like to see you, Doctor.”
While he went downstairs to talk to the headmistress, Cherry gently helped Tina down the stairs, supporting her a little. As Dr. Alan emerged quickly from Mrs. Harrison’s office, Cherry assisted the patient into the waiting car.
“Thanks, Miss Cherry,” he said. “We’ll have Tina back here in a jiffy—I’ll instruct you then.”
The car moved off, and Cherry watched them go with a small sense of disappointment. There had been no chance to get better acquainted with Alan Wilcox on this visit. But it was ridiculous to feel disappointed! After these busy hours, Cherry felt at loose ends, that was all.
“What shall I do with my precious free hour?”
She decided to explore the house a bit. Classes were in session, and, except for a few girls who were studying in the upstairs students’ room, almost everyone was in the other buildings. The old house was quiet.
Cherry paused beside the grand staircase, noting a closed door up there on the halfway landing—a closet perhaps. She paused to listen to footsteps running up some other flight of stairs. She suspected that, like many an old mansion, this house had concealed stairways, hidden rooms, and deep, secret cellars. Her nose for mystery had led her into many adventures, but never into an old house like this one.
The chiming of the grandfather’s clock led her into the library. The room seemed to be empty, but when Cherry turned around an instant later, she saw Lisette kneeling behind a table, her ear pressed to the wall.
“Lisette! What are you doing?”
Lisette was just as startled to see Cherry.
“I—I’m looking for something I dropped—a pencil,” she said lamely.
“Haven’t you a class?”
“This is my study hour, Miss Cherry. You won’t report me, will you?”
“Of course not! But what were you—?”
Lisette fled. Cherry stood there with her mouth open, watching the girl streak up the stairs. She must be headed for the students’ room, where she belonged during a study hour.
A dropped pencil indeed! Lisette had not carried notebook or pencils with her, in fact, no books at all. Cherry scanned the wall and the floor where Lisette had been searching, but saw nothing unusual. What was the girl looking for? Or rather, had she been listening for something?
Cherry thought about Lisette several times in the next day or two. She had glimpses of that pale face framed in its dark cloud of hair, that small stubborn figure moving aloof from the noisy merriment of the other girls. Lisette took no part in the samba line which started one morning in the shower room, nor would she play charades in the evening on the lawn, and even at mealtimes she did not laugh with the other girls at her table. “She thinks we’re idiots,” Nancy said cheerfully
Cherry was not so sure. She thought Lisette looked rather wistfully at the other girls at times. Then why didn’t she try to make herself agreeable, instead of wandering away into the garden or conservatory?
The other girls resented Lisette’s aloofness. Because of it, trouble flared up Sunday evening, right outside the infirmary door.
Cherry had left the door open. Sunday evening was a pleasant relaxed time, after a week end of seeing family and friends at the school. Bursts of talk drifted in to Cherry about “Isn’t he the dreamiest?” and “I could have died in my old blue,” and “What a cake!” More sophisticated remarks came from Sibyl Martin and her clique, as they loitered on the stairs. “Oh, don’t be so romantic. For a boy who’s really been around, I think he’s terribly—” Cherry could not hear Sibyl finish the sentence, for it was whispered. A gale of laughter followed. The other girls asked Sibyl excited, muffled questions. Some mischief was afoot, probably with Sibyl the center of it.
A cluster of girls moved past the infirmary doorway. Sibyl called out sharply, “Lisette! Where are you going in such a hurry?”
Cherry knew that Lisette’s room was on this floor, hers and another newcomer’s. So was Sibyl’s room.
“Lisette! You took my bracelet, didn’t you? The lapis lazuli one.” Sibyl said calmly, “Come on, Lisette Gauthier, I don’t think it’s a very funny joke.”
Cherry saw Lisette stop in surprise.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sibyl.”
“I’m afraid you do. I wish you’d return my bracelet. My family gave it to me and it is quite valuable.”
“I didn’t take it. I don’t take other people’s things. Don’t you dare accuse me falsely!” Lisette cried.
“Falsely? You snoop around this house a lot. Everybody knows it.”
There was absolute silence. No answer came from Lisette; she did not deny that she had been prowling.
Cherry was appalled, and sorry for Lisette. A new girl was no match for Sibyl. Lisette had to fight her own battles, right or wrong, but it was hard to believe this strangely serious girl would steal. No, it was not like Lisette, as far as Cherry knew her. But the way Lisette wandered through the house was incriminating, at least on the surface.
Cherry was not surprised when Lisette came into the infirmary late that same evening, complaining of a headache. Her eyes were watery, as if she had been crying. She insisted it was only a cold.
“I must have caught it in the garden last night,” she added.
“What were you doing out in the garden at night? You know there’s enough dew to be really damp.”
“I’ve been going out nearly every night—rules or no rules—to see the night-scented stock. You know they give their fragrance only at night. They smelled wonderful!” Lisette said, sniffling. “Especially last night.”
Had Lisette only been in the garden last night? Had she also been in Sibyl’s room? Sibyl had been out to the village movie with Cora and Francie last evening, Cherry heard, but she kept her question to herself.
“Hold still while I take your pulse and temperature. Why, Lisette! You’re really ill. I’m going to keep you in here for the night.”
Lisette, usually so self willed, did not argue. She obediently went down the hall to her room and returned in a few minutes bringing nightgown and robe. She seemed relieved to have Cherry tuck her into one of the crisp, cool beds. Cherry gave her an aspirin tablet with a glass of orange juice, brought from the kitchen, and placed a light blanket on the bed.
“We’ll nip that cold in the bud.” She did not tell Lisette that she probably had flu. “Extra rest is the best way. Comfortable?”
“Yes, Miss Cherry.” Yet Lisette continued to sit up against the pillows, robe drawn around her thin shoulders. Cherry did not insist that she lie down at once. Patients sometimes wanted to talk.
Cherry sat down in the armchair and waited, making herself busy with the patient’s chart.
“Miss Cherry? Are you writing about me?”
“Yes. Your temperature, pulse, respiration, and so on, to show the doctor when he comes to see you tomorrow.”
“What do you write down under ‘and so on’?” Lisette giggled but could not keep up the pretense.
There was a pause.
“Don’t you want to lie down now?”
“No. Miss Cherry? May I ask you a crazy sort of favor?”
Cherry thought Lisette was going to mention the missing bracelet, and said, “Of course.”
“I wish very much that you’d bring me some of those garden flowers. Please? I’ll tell you exactly the ones I want—a silver spray, a sprig of stock, the fawn roses but only one or two, and a China rose—”
Cherry started to smile at this exorbitant fondness for flowers. Then she saw the intent expression in Lisette’s eyes. The girl’s passion for flowers was extraordinary! Cherry felt almost troubled.
“Would you get them for me? Please?”
“Yes, I’ll get them for you first thing in the morning.”
Lisette was at last content, and slept.