Her Mother's Hope (31 page)

Hildie sat up straight, blinking back tears, staring out the window as the vineyards and orchards flew by. She sat within two feet of her mother and felt a million miles between them.

Mama parked behind the bus station. She kept her hands on the steering wheel, the car idling roughly. “Will you be home for Easter?”

“Would you like me to come home?”

“What do you think?”

Hildie thought Mama would like it a whole lot better if she stayed in Oakland.

30

Now that probation had ended, Hildemara had moved upstairs to the higher realms of student quarters. Her new accommodations consisted of two rooms sleeping four each and divided by a bathroom with one toilet, one basin, and one bathtub. “Paradise!” She hardly had time to get to know her new roommates. Another washed out after a month, packing and disappearing quietly after a night shift.

Weeks passed in a flurry of eight-hour duty shifts, doctors’ lectures, classes, and examinations. When Hildie came down with a sore throat, Mrs. Kaufman checked her into the hospital for a tonsillectomy. It gave Hildie the excuse she needed not to go home for Easter.

Once back on her feet, she was assigned to work with Mrs. Jones on the general ward. “She’s a warhorse,” Boots told her. “Old as Methuselah. Served in the Great War and probably knows more about medicine than half the doctors in this hospital, but I’m warning you: Jones will expect you to be busy all the time. When you finish your duties, look for something to do to help out or she’ll skin, skewer, roast, and eat you alive for breakfast. Or lunch. Whichever comes sooner!”

Hildie found backs to rub, pillows to fluff, bedpans to scrub, cupboards to clean, linen cabinets to straighten.

A new patient arrived and pressed his buzzer within minutes. Hildie went running. He waved his hand frantically. “A bowl.” She held it for him while he coughed violently and gagged, spitting into it. He collapsed back. “I’m so tired of this cough.” He wheezed, his face white. Hildie made a notation on Mr. Douglas’s chart.

Another patient buzzed and Hildemara helped him with a bedpan. As she carried it to the utility room, Jones appeared. “Let me see that.” Shocked, Hildemara handed over the bedpan, wondering why anyone would want to look at such an oozing mess. If that wasn’t surprising enough, Jones lifted it and took a whiff. “Smells like typhoid to me.” She looked grim. “We’re sending a sample of this to the lab.”

“Don’t we have to have a doctor’s order?”

“He’s away right now, isn’t he? I’ll fill out the lab slip. We’ll get it down before he can make a fuss.” She took the sample to the lab herself.

The doctor stormed onto the ward and asked who she thought she was to fill out lab slips and give orders. She wasn’t a doctor, was she? Jones waited for his tirade to wind down before handing him the lab report. His face reddened. Without an apology, he handed them back. “He’ll have to be quarantined.”

“It’s already taken care of, Doctor.”

He stormed off the ward.

Boots laughed when Hildie told her about it. “She’s gone horn-to-horn with more than one doctor. She can’t abide fools, no matter how well educated. If she sees a hint of blood or pus, she’s on it. And thank God she is. Have you ever seen a doctor hang around to look in a bedpan? Ha! That’ll be the day!”

Mr. Douglas buzzed again the next morning just as Hildie came on duty. Hunched over, wracked with pain, he coughed. Exhausted, he could barely spit into the bowl she held for him. She rubbed his back and said comforting words. Jones stood in the doorway. As he flopped back in bed, gasping, she drew the curtain around the bed. She didn’t have to ask this time. Hildemara held out the bowl. Jones barely glanced at it. “How long have you had this cough, Mr. Douglas?”

“Couple of months, I guess. Can’t remember . . .” He panted.

“Too long. I can tell you that much,” his roommate grumbled. “Keeps me awake all night coughing.”

“Sorry about that.” Mr. Douglas started to cough again.

“Can’t you do something for him?” his roommate called out.

Jones edged Hildemara back from the bed and took her place. She put her hand against his back. When he finished coughing, she let him spit into the bowl again. “Try to rest. We’re going to move you to a private room.”

Hildemara wiped Mr. Douglas’s forehead while Jones read the chart hanging on the end of the bed. She put it back, eyes bright with anger. She hid her emotions quickly and patted Mr. Douglas’s foot. Motioning Hildemara away, she closed the door behind them as they left. “If that’s bronchitis, I’ll eat my nursing cap!”

“What do you think he has?”

“Full-blown tuberculosis.”

The next morning, another doctor appeared, livid and ready for her blood. “I hear you quarantined my patient.”

“I’m protecting my patients and nurses from contagion.”

“Can you read a chart, Mrs. Jones?” He thrust it in her face. “Can you read
bron-chi-tis
?”

“If Mr. Douglas has bronchitis, no one will be happier than I. But until I see his test results, I’m taking precautions.”

“You’ve overstepped your authority, and I intend to have you fired!”

His white jacket flapped as he headed down the hall. Jones turned calmly to Hildie and the two other nurses hovering at the station. “All contagion safety measures stand until such time as Mr. Douglas is removed from our ward or I’m proven wrong. Is that clear, ladies?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jones went about her business without so much as a wrinkle on her brow.

Mr. Douglas disappeared from the ward a few days later.

* * *

Tension mounted and tempers flared among the roommates. “You have a dresser, Patrice. Use it!”

“My tennis racket won’t fit.”

“When do you have time to play tennis? Would you answer me that?”

“Would you all shut up! I’m trying to study.”

“Wait until you work in pedie. That Miss Brown is a frustrated old maid. She never gives time off. I’ll be lucky if I ever have a date.”

Hildemara gave up and began studying in the library and sleeping in the upstairs sleeping porch. Nurses came and went. She often met Boots in the cafeteria. “When you graduate, you can move off grounds. We could find a little place to share, something close to the hospital.”

Boots took Hildemara to the pediatric ward her first day. “Nice and quiet, isn’t it?” She grinned. Only the soft step of their rubber-soled shoes sounded in the corridor. A cart squeaked; a door opened; another cart of breakfast trays; the metallic clink of knife, fork, and spoon; quiet voices—all the usual sounds of a working hospital. The doors to pediatrics lay just ahead.

Boots snickered as she planted her hands and shoved them open. “Hang on to your cap, Flo! You’re about to find out why this section has heavier insulation and soundproofing!”

Hildemara stopped, assaulted by the sound of howling infants. Shrill and loud, low and plaintive, tempestuous whimpers and wails struck her heart. One pitiful voice among the rest cried, “Mommy, I want my mommy!” Like a wave the word moved down the hall from room to room.

Hildemara didn’t know whether to cover her face or her ears. “I don’t know if I can do this, Boots.”

Boots grimaced. “I know it’s hard, Flo, but you haven’t been on the terminal ward yet. I cried, too. You’ll get used to it. Dry your tears, honey. Put a smile back on your face and get busy. They need you. I’ll see you later in the cafeteria.”

Miss Brown gathered the nurses and introduced Hildemara, then led them from one patient to the next on rounds. Miss Brown explained every diagnosis, treatment, and home background before talking to each patient. Hildemara’s heart broke at so many young patients—some in the tonsil ward, others in the surgical group. She reviewed an appendectomy, a hernia repair, plastic surgery for cleft palates. One child had a feeding problem, another pneumonia, another flu, and on to the long-term cases of post-polio, dystrophy, malnutrition, to the preemie room for babies in need of the most careful and specialized care. All through viewing the misery, Miss Brown smiled. She talked to each of her patients, knowing each one’s history. She patted a bottom here and stroked a forehead there. She took extended hands, squeezed a toe, picked up another little one for a gentle rocking and back rub before putting the child back in bed.

“She’s like another mother,” one of the nurses whispered to Hildemara.

A mother with nursing skills beyond the ordinary.

Later in the afternoon, Hildemara went to check on a little boy who had been badly burned. She found Miss Brown sitting by his bed, holding his hand and reading him a book. “I thought you were off duty, Miss Brown.”

“I only live a block away. Nurse Cooper said Brian asked for me.”

Hildemara wondered if she would ever be as good a nurse as Miss Brown.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Flo.” Boots sipped coffee in the cafeteria later that afternoon. “You’re doing well. Better than most, in fact.”

“I dream about my patients.”

“Well, you’d better stop that. You won’t be much use to them if you don’t get a good night’s sleep.” She put her cup down. “You’ll learn to do all you can and let go of them when you walk off the ward. If you don’t, your nursing days are numbered.”

Awakened one night, Hildemara found her face wet with tears, her heart still pounding. She had been dreaming of Brian and how his father had held him down on a floor heater.

She tried to run and stop him, but her feet had been chained. She had tried to claw free, sobbing. Wiping her face, she sat up, trembling.

The sleeping porch did little to block out the sounds of the hospital. An ambulance siren came closer. Delivery trucks came and went. A nurse tiptoed across the sleeping porch and sank onto her cot. Two others whispered.

Hildemara knew she had to stop getting so involved with her patients. How could she be a good nurse if she allowed her heart to become attached to every patient she served? She rubbed her face, exhausted, heartsick. Papa came to mind. Closing her eyes, she could see him sitting in his chair, his Bible open, his face relaxed. Papa would tell her to trust in the Lord. Papa would tell her to pray.

Curled on her side, Hildemara prayed for Papa. Then she prayed for each of her patients. Names came to her mind, one after another, a dozen, two dozen, as though God was reminding her. At the end of each individual prayer, she let them go with a simple thought. “Brian belongs to You, Lord, not me. I give him into Your mighty, healing hands. Your will, not mine, be done. . . .”

Her body relaxed. She felt at peace. Tomorrow, she wouldn’t wait until after midnight to pray. She would pray her way from one patient’s bed to the next. She would imagine Jesus walking beside her from room to room. She would do what she could as a nurse and leave the rest to God’s tender mercy.

* * *

From pediatrics, Hildemara went on duty in geriatrics. From one extreme to another, she thought, depressed at the sight of the long wards, bed after bed, filled with cantankerous old men to the east and restless old ladies to the west. No matter how hard the nursing staff worked, the place often reeked of bowel movements and urine.

Hildie found herself talking to the Lord all day.
Lord, what can I say to give comfort to Mary today? What can I do to brighten Lester’s mood?

Some patients stared vacantly while Hildie checked their vitals or changed their diapers and bed linens. Others complained or stood at windows, staring out as though trying to find some escape. Some mumbled to themselves. Those still ambulatory roamed the hallway, pausing to talk to anyone who would listen. Hildemara tried to take time, but often had to rush to some patient in more dire need. She always had so much work to do and so little time. And so many had needs.

Before breakfast trays arrived, Hildemara helped awaken and refresh patients by washing faces, scrubbing dentures, smoothing sheets and blankets she would change later. Sometimes patients didn’t want to cooperate. If she couldn’t cajole them, she left in hope they might allow her to help them later.

The head nurse took her aside. “You can’t give in, Miss Waltert. Mr. Mathers has to be moved every two hours or he’ll develop bedsores. I know he complains. I know he curses like a drunken sailor. But you cannot let that stop you from doing what’s best for him. Now, go back in there and be firm!”

She had to be like Mama.

Old Ben Tucker, a diabetic who had had his right leg amputated, became her favorite.

He often had his bed raised and table in position before she came in. He’d grin. “I’ve been waiting for you, darling. Feed me or shoot me.”

“You slept well, I take it.”

“The nurse woke me up last night and gave me a sleeping pill.”

For all his good spirits, he looked ashen. How many hours since his last pain pill? “How do you feel?”

“With my hands.” He reached out.

She pushed them down. “Behave. I need to take your pulse.”

“Go ahead, but bring it back. I need it.”

When she came on duty one morning and found he’d died quietly in his sleep, she stood by his bed, crying. The head nurse came in and put her arm around her. “Your first death?” Hildie nodded. The head nurse sighed and released her. “Dry your tears, Miss Waltert. Close his eyes. That’s right. Fold his hands. Now cover him with the sheet. Go back to the nurses’ station and call the hospital morgue.”

Work healed a wounded heart. Hildie had hours to go on the shift, and others to see, to cheer, to encourage.

Nursing wasn’t what she had expected, but she loved it all the same. She loved being part of a team that helped people get back on their feet and back to the business of living. She loved easing those who faced death. She loved feeling needed and useful. She loved serving others. She felt she had found her place in the world. She had purpose. She had value.

Despite the hard work, the anguish of seeing so much pain, the grief of losing a patient, Hildemara knew she was exactly where God wanted her.

31

When summer rolled around, Hildemara used a portion of her hard-earned savings to attend Bernie’s college graduation. Elizabeth came with Mama and Papa, Cloe and Rikki. When she asked Hildemara to be her maid of honor, Hildemara laughed joyously and said of course, then worried how she’d afford a fancy dress. Elizabeth whispered, “My mother wants me to have a big ceremony, but I want something simple.” Bernie could not have picked a better girl. When the wedding day arrived, Hildemara wore the navy blue dress with white cuffs and red buttons Cloe had made for her. She wore it again to Cloe’s graduation and got a pinch from her sister after the ceremony.

“I’m going to have to make you a new dress.”

“Please.” Hildie grinned. “I suppose you’ll be dreaming up designs for wedding dresses one of these days, too.”

“Ha!” Cloe thought marriage a boring waste of time and talent. “I have a career to build. Mama’s taking me down to the Otis Art Institute in a few weeks. I can’t wait!”

Clotilde had looked confident and happy as she strode across the stage to receive her diploma. Laughing, she’d tossed her mortarboard in the air. Her hair had darkened to wheat, and she kept it cut short in a bob that suited her heart-shaped face. Both of Hildie’s sisters had a confidence she had lacked until recently.

“Nursing seems to suit you, Hildie. You look happy.”

“I’ve found where I belong.”

“Met any guys?”

Hildie laughed. “Half of my patients are guys.”

“I don’t mean patients.”

“I know what you mean, Cloe, but I’m not looking for romance.”

* * *

Boots graduated and hired on full-time at Merritt. Hildemara still met her in the cafeteria every chance they got. “I’ll give it a year or two here, and then I’ll look into hospitals in Hawaii or Los Angeles. Might be nice to be somewhere warm and sunny all the time.” The Bay Area fog got to her.

Hildemara completed her second year of nurses’ training. When she started the last year, she received a blue SMH patch to sew onto the corner of her cap. Six months later, she removed the patch and pinned a tiny gold replica of the school in its place.

Every hour she wasn’t on duty, she studied for her upcoming examinations. The final would cover all three years of training. She gathered with the other students from her dwindling class, which had dropped to thirteen, and joined in quizzing one another on medical and surgical procedures, diseases, pediatrics, obstetrics, bacteriology, materia medica, psychiatry, measurements, and dosages.

Toward the end of her third year, the academic load lightened and began to focus more on job prevalence, requirements, salaries, professional organizations, and available college courses. Hildie thought of Mama’s push to go to UCB. Maybe she would end up taking classes there, after all.

“You must keep up with new methods and ideologies, ladies,” the General lectured. “Every year brings changes in medicine and nursing. Those who don’t keep up fall behind and eventually find themselves out of a job.”

Hildemara talked to Boots about it. “How many nurses can afford college or have the energy to attend classes after a full day’s work?”

“It’s a fact of life, Flo. Remember Miss Brown? She’s been demoted to ward nurse. No college degree.” She shrugged. “It’s a pity, but that’s the way it is. If you want a supervisory position like Mrs. Kaufman, you’re going to have to go to college.”

“I just want to be a nurse.”

“You’re a good one already.” Boots brightened. “Say. We have to get you a nice outfit before your graduation. It’s only a few weeks off.”

“I don’t have much money.” She’d always admired the way Boots dressed off duty. She always had something stylish and classy.

“Meet me Saturday morning. I’ll take you to my favorite store.”

“Boots, I don’t think—”

“Don’t argue. You are not wearing that navy blue dress again!”

They rode a city bus downtown. Boots walked along, whistling, an impish look on her face. Hildemara had to hurry to keep up. “Here we are!” Boots stopped in front of a Presbyterian church.

“A church?”

Boots took her by the arm and led her around the side. A door stood open with a sign on the steps:
Rummage Sale
.

“You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve found here. Come on!” Boots picked through the piles of used clothing with an eye to fashion that would have impressed Cloe. She put three outfits together in a matter of minutes. “One for your days off, one for afternoon teas, and one for a night on the town!” She even found a hat that would work with all three ensembles, and two pairs of shoes.

Hildemara paid for the items. “I can’t believe I just bought an entire wardrobe for under six dollars! I’m going to write to my mother. Maybe it’ll impress her.”

“A smart girl learns where to shop,” Boots told her on the walk back to the bus stop. “But don’t you dare tell any of the other girls where I go.” She laughed. “They all think I shop at Capwell’s or the Emporium!”

As it turned out, Hildemara needed all three outfits for the week of graduation. On Monday, the nursing school treated the graduates to an afternoon tea with the top brass of the hospital. The night before graduation, the hospital VIPs and alumni took the graduating class to the Fairmont Hotel for dinner. Her classmates gaped when Hildie came into the lobby to wait for their ride.

“Holy cow!”

“Get a load of Flo!”

Hildemara blushed as they gathered around her.

“Where have you been shopping?”

She shrugged, quelling the urge to laugh. “Here and there.”

The morning of graduation, Hildie went for mail call, praying Papa and Mama had written. No word. She grew more nervous as the day passed. She had written home, inviting the family to come. She’d only heard back from Cloe and Bernie and Elizabeth; all three planned to come in Bernie’s new car.

That afternoon, Hildie and her classmates cleared the dining hall of tables and lined up chairs, borrowed potted ferns and palms, and set up a makeshift stage for graduation.

“Hey!” one of the girls called, rushing in to help finish setting up. “You’ll never guess who’s speaking tonight.”

“Who?”

“Doc Bria!”

“Quick!” Hildie said in mock horror. “Someone bring in John Bones and install the alarm clock!” The girls laughed.

“Can’t you just hear him already,” another said, and she put her hand over her heart. “‘Ah, ladies, it will be my great pleasure to pour forth in my most meticulous rhetoric all the prosaic platitudes of my professional pomposity in preposterous proportions of propitious postulations.’”

They roared with laughter.

Mrs. Kaufman appeared in the doorway. “Ladies, please, keep the noise down. Others are studying.”

When it came time to dress for the ceremony, Hildie put on her white silk stockings and shoes, her new white uniform and cap with gold pin. Pulling the cape around her shoulders, she secured the mandarin collar. Nervous, she stood in the polished corridor outside the dining hall now lit with candelabras on either side of the stage. As she led her class into the room, she spotted Boots first, then across the aisle stood Bernie and Elizabeth and Cloe. She blinked in surprise when she saw Papa and then Mama, Rikki standing on the other side of them.

Mrs. Kaufman, eyes glistening with tears, handed out plaques of Florence Nightingale’s pledge, which Hildemara recited with her classmates. She received her certificate and another gold pin.

The lights came on and cheers filled the room. Rikki pressed through the crowd to reach Hildie. “You look so beautiful in white! You have to sit for me. You look exactly how I imagine Florence Nightingale. All you need is a lamp.”

Bernie had his arm around Elizabeth. “You look like you belong here, Sis.”

And then Mama stood in front of her, Papa right behind her. He smiled broadly, his hands on Mama’s shoulders. Had he pushed her forward? “We’re proud of you, Hildemara. You did it.”

Mama just looked at her. She didn’t say a word. Hildie saw her swallow hard as if words wanted to come, but couldn’t. When she raised her hand, Hildie grasped it. She couldn’t speak either, and it took all the self-control she could muster not to cry.

“She’s a grand girl!” Boots appeared and spun Hildie into another hug. “Best in the class.” Hildie made quick introductions.

“Are you coming home for a while?” Mama asked.

Surprised she had asked, Hildie shook her head. “No. I’ve been hired to join the Merritt staff. I’m back on duty day after tomorrow.”

“So soon?” Papa looked disappointed. “Mama and I thought you’d be home for a few weeks, at least.”

“I won’t be able to come home for a while, Papa. I’m fortunate to have a job so soon. I made twelve dollars a month this year, and I still need to pay Cloe for making the two uniforms.”

“One to wear, one to wash.” Cloe smiled, shaking her head.

“And I’ll have rent. Boots found a little house a few blocks from the hospital. We’re sharing expenses.”

Mama didn’t say anything, not one word, until after refreshments and the conversation died down. People began to go out on the town. “It’s getting late.” Mama looked up at Papa. “We need to start back.”

Hildie fought back the tears. “I’m glad you came.”

“We wouldn’t have missed it.” Papa hugged her hard. “Keep saying your prayers and reading your Bible.” He patted her back and let her go.

“I will, Papa.” She wrapped her arms around Mama and hugged her. “Thank you for coming. It meant the world to me.” She felt Mama’s hand on her back, and then she withdrew from Hildie’s embrace.

“You did it, Hildemara Rose.” Her smile seemed a little sad. “I hope the life you’ve chosen for yourself makes you happy.”

Hildie leaned forward and kissed Mama’s cheek. “I guess I’m about to find out, aren’t I?”

* * *

Dear Rosie,

Hildemara Rose is now a full-fledged nurse. She was the top student in her class and had the honor of leading the procession. And she did look like Florence Nightingale in her white uniform and navy blue cape. My girl stood so tall with her head high! I could imagine her standing on a battlefield with her lamp held high, giving the wounded hope.

She is not a timid child anymore. My girl knows her place in the world. I am so proud of her, Rosie. The evening would have been perfect if not for the speaker, some long-winded doctor who didn’t want to leave the podium. I had a dreadful headache and it was difficult to concentrate on what he had to say. And then the press of people made the pain worse.

I wanted to tell Hildemara how proud she made me, but I couldn’t get the words out. Niclas spoke for both of us. I asked if she was coming home, hoping I would have time and opportunity to talk with her, but she has already been hired by Merritt Hospital and will be on official duty long before you receive this letter. Not only that. She and her friend Jasia Boutacoff have found a house to rent. She is a woman now, with a life of her own.

* * *

Hildemara moved in with Boots a week after joining the Merritt nursing staff. The house wasn’t far from the hospital, so she walked every day she worked. The house felt like a palace after the small dorm bedroom, and quiet after the sleeping porch she’d shared with dozens of nurses coming in and going out. The house had a few drawbacks: a big yard to care for and a large fruit-producing lemon tree. Mr. Holmes, their next-door neighbor, said the previous tenant had driven nails in the trunk in hope of killing the tree. “Must have given it a boost of something!” Hildie sacked up lemons every week and dropped them off at the hospital kitchen.

“We’ve got to do something about the yard.” Hildie worried. “We’re going to be the neighborhood slobs.”

“Who cares? It’s the landlord’s problem, not ours. He said he’d come by and do it when he has time.”

The landlord only came on the day rent was due, and by then Hildie and Boots had learned the roof leaked and the kitchen sink had a habit of stopping up. Mr. Dawson said he’d send someone to fix it.

“When hell freezes over, he’ll fix it.” Boots called on a friend to do it, then sent a bill to the landlord. When he didn’t pay, she deducted it from the next month’s rent. When Mr. Dawson complained, Boots stood toe-to-toe with him in front of the house.

Neighbors came out to listen. Boots called Mr. Holmes to witness that Mr. Dawson had agreed to her deducting a portion of the rent for repairs. When she came inside the house, she slapped her hands together as though dusting the man off. Hildie laughed. “You remind me of Mama!”

Finally, embarrassed by the state of the front yard, Hildie asked Mr. Holmes if she could borrow his lawn mower and hedge clippers. She remembered how Papa had disdained people who “let their land go” and didn’t want to be the dump of the block.

“Sorry.” Mr. Holmes shook his head. “I don’t loan tools, Miss Waltert. Learned the hard way people don’t return them.”

“I’d buy a lawn mower and clippers if I could, but I don’t have the money.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“We’re both nurses at Merritt.”

He peered over the fence at the yard, rubbed his chin, and shook his head. “Sure is a mess. Tell you what. I’ve got an old mower under the house. I’ll sharpen the blades and grease her up a bit and you can have her. I’ll give you my wife’s old clippers. It’s clear that place you’re living in needs work. How much rent is Dawson charging you girls?” When Hildie told him, he whistled. “No wonder you don’t have anything left over. He sure saw you coming, didn’t he?”

Mr. Holmes brought the lawn mower and clippers over the next Saturday. “All sharp and ready to go.”

After an hour, Hildie sat on the front steps to rest. Mr. Holmes peered over the fence and asked how the lawn mower was working. “It’s working fine, Mr. Holmes, but I should’ve asked if you had a sickle.” Hildie wiped sweat from her brow.

He laughed. “Looks better than it did.”

“Thanks for the mower and clippers, Mr. Holmes. I’ll keep you supplied with lemons.”