Office.”
“You don’t like me,” said Mildred Burnham accusingly.
There it was again! Cherry flung her nurse’s cape about her shoulders and hurried out into the rotunda, feeling almost guilty. She was troubled for several days, and even more troubled when Miss Reamer routinely called her to her office.
56
C H E R R Y A M E S , S E N I O R N U R S E
“How are you and Miss Burnham getting on?” the Superintendent of Nurses asked.
Cherry looked at the floor. “We’re not. Perhaps it’s my fault.”
“You are a little impatient, you know, Miss Ames. I want a more cheerful report next time—if you are to go on being a guiding senior.” Miss Reamer smiled and the talk turned to Cherry’s studies. But the worry about Mildred Burnham stuck in Cherry’s mind.
The day of the dance, when it finally came, was one long disappointment for Cherry. She worked an extremely hard eight hours on the mothers’ ward, until her head felt like a balloon and her feet seemed to weigh ten pounds each. After that Dr. Joe, in all innocence, asked her to run errands. Cherry barely made second supper and choked down her food. Then she headed frantically for lecture class. On the way, a phone call came from Obstetrical. The relief nurse was sick this evening: the hospital was short of nurses since so many had gone off to the battlefronts: would Miss Ames take over the ward in this emergency until eleven P.M.? She would, of course. Cherry went back to the ward and resumed her duties. Her whole body ached with fatigue. But hearing music drift faint and tantalizing across the yard was the worst of it. The dance had started. And Cherry had missed it—after all that waiting.
V E R Y S M A L L F R Y
57
“I don’t care,” Cherry pretended as she walked softly around the sleeping ward with her flashlight. “Who cares about a dance, anyhow, even if it is the first senior dance?”
Her disappointment grew sharper when at eleven o’clock the night nurse came to relieve her. Cherry went downstairs and stood alone in the deserted clinic. She was tired and dirty and the distant music sounded very sweet.
“Cherry!” someone hissed.
Cherry whirled around. It was Lex. He walked toward her smiling, offered her an arm, swung her into dancing position, and they were smoothly fox trotting past the examination booths.
“Lex, you idiot—what——”
“The music’s good tonight, isn’t it?” he smiled down at her. He executed a double step, off-beat, and guided her skilfully past an interviewer’s deserted desk. “Are you enjoying the dance, Miss Ames?” Cherry began to smile. “Yes, Dr. Upham, the music is good tonight.”
The distant music stopped for a moment. Lex and Cherry both gravely applauded. Then a waltz started far away, and they waltzed up and down between the long rows of empty clinic benches.
“May I have the next dance?” Lex inquired as the music stopped again.
58
C H E R R Y A M E S , S E N I O R N U R S E
“But what about my other partners?” Cherry giggled back.
“I won’t permit any cutting-in,” Lex said. A faint fox trot started, and they danced to it, their shoes sounding loud in the deserted clinic.
“You’re really a good dancer,” Cherry said.
“Thanks.” He whirled her past an instrument case.
They smiled at each other as they turned and dipped.
“In fact,” Cherry said contentedly, “this is a pretty nice dance!”
c h a p t e r v
Midge Makes Mischief
a typewritten notice was tacked on the bulletin board, on the cold morning of November first: Ames, C. . . . . . . . . . Delivery Room Jones, G. . . . . . . . . . Delivery Room That plunged Cherry into a thoroughly alien world.
But having Gwen with her was cheering. Ann was going, temporarily, to the next-door Children’s Clinic where they were shorthanded.
“Welcome to our next hurdle,” Cherry greeted the redhead on their first morning together. They were walking down the short, silent, empty corridors of Obstetrical
“You don’t like me,” said Mildred Burnham accusingly.
There it was again! Cherry flung her nurse’s cape about her shoulders and hurried out into the rotunda, feeling almost guilty. She was troubled for several days, and even more troubled when Miss Reamer routinely called her to her office.
56
C H E R R Y A M E S , S E N I O R N U R S E
“How are you and Miss Burnham getting on?” the Superintendent of Nurses asked.
Cherry looked at the floor. “We’re not. Perhaps it’s my fault.”
“You are a little impatient, you know, Miss Ames. I want a more cheerful report next time—if you are to go on being a guiding senior.” Miss Reamer smiled and the talk turned to Cherry’s studies. But the worry about Mildred Burnham stuck in Cherry’s mind.
The day of the dance, when it finally came, was one long disappointment for Cherry. She worked an extremely hard eight hours on the mothers’ ward, until her head felt like a balloon and her feet seemed to weigh ten pounds each. After that Dr. Joe, in all innocence, asked her to run errands. Cherry barely made second supper and choked down her food. Then she headed frantically for lecture class. On the way, a phone call came from Obstetrical. The relief nurse was sick this evening: the hospital was short of nurses since so many had gone off to the battlefronts: would Miss Ames take over the ward in this emergency until eleven P.M.? She would, of course. Cherry went back to the ward and resumed her duties. Her whole body ached with fatigue. But hearing music drift faint and tantalizing across the yard was the worst of it. The dance had started. And Cherry had missed it—after all that waiting.
V E R Y S M A L L F R Y
57
“I don’t care,” Cherry pretended as she walked softly around the sleeping ward with her flashlight. “Who cares about a dance, anyhow, even if it is the first senior dance?”
Her disappointment grew sharper when at eleven o’clock the night nurse came to relieve her. Cherry went downstairs and stood alone in the deserted clinic. She was tired and dirty and the distant music sounded very sweet.
“Cherry!” someone hissed.
Cherry whirled around. It was Lex. He walked toward her smiling, offered her an arm, swung her into dancing position, and they were smoothly fox trotting past the examination booths.
“Lex, you idiot—what——”
“The music’s good tonight, isn’t it?” he smiled down at her. He executed a double step, off-beat, and guided her skilfully past an interviewer’s deserted desk. “Are you enjoying the dance, Miss Ames?” Cherry began to smile. “Yes, Dr. Upham, the music is good tonight.”
The distant music stopped for a moment. Lex and Cherry both gravely applauded. Then a waltz started far away, and they waltzed up and down between the long rows of empty clinic benches.
“May I have the next dance?” Lex inquired as the music stopped again.
58
C H E R R Y A M E S , S E N I O R N U R S E
“But what about my other partners?” Cherry giggled back.
“I won’t permit any cutting-in,” Lex said. A faint fox trot started, and they danced to it, their shoes sounding loud in the deserted clinic.
“You’re really a good dancer,” Cherry said.
“Thanks.” He whirled her past an instrument case.
They smiled at each other as they turned and dipped.
“In fact,” Cherry said contentedly, “this is a pretty nice dance!”
c h a p t e r v
Midge Makes Mischief
a typewritten notice was tacked on the bulletin board, on the cold morning of November first: Ames, C. . . . . . . . . . Delivery Room Jones, G. . . . . . . . . . Delivery Room That plunged Cherry into a thoroughly alien world.
But having Gwen with her was cheering. Ann was going, temporarily, to the next-door Children’s Clinic where they were shorthanded.
“Welcome to our next hurdle,” Cherry greeted the redhead on their first morning together. They were walking down the short, silent, empty corridors of Obstetrical
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