Island Hospital (15 page)

Perhaps she had got it all wrong. It was better not to make too much of it. Was Alan convinced that she was a soft little thing because she made a fuss about a few kisses? A man who could swing from kissing one girl to another didn’t deserve grieving over. To think that she had been feeling sorry for him until Clare had let the cat out of the bag. Sheila’s paddle stopped in midair ... Clare
was
telling the truth, wasn’t she? She tried to recall those blurred moments before she had regained consciousness, but there was nothing concrete enough to help her.

Sheila edged the canoe as close to the shoreline as she could and gave herself up to the joy of guiding her craft. The water was deep right up to the edge here as the bottom shelved sharply. She could see the rocks disappearing into the pale shadowy depths. A mink sunning himself on a ledge drew back his teeth in a snarl and slipped into the water with hardly a ripple. A great Northern Raven stirred on his bough and croaked a greeting. The wavelets from her paddle lapped against the drooping cedar branches with a gentle
sw
i
sh. As she went through the gap into the outer harbor she could see several fishing boats trolling on the edge of the swell, their tall poles dipping. Sheila could hear the faint tinkle of the bells on the fishing lines. Small waves were running in from the sea beyond and the canoe began to bob up and down. If only she didn’t have to go back ... if only this journey need never end, that she might paddle on and on across the sun-dappled water that lay at the foot of the hills dark green with the trees that might now fall toll to the great six-foot saws of the loggers.

At last she glanced regretfully at her watch and turned the canoe back towards the hospital. The sun was disappearing in a haze of gold and the fringe of firs on the outer pass stood out with the black simplicity of a Japanese print.

She dallied on her return journey. She wanted the others to have finished dinner before she got back. It would be easier that way; no questions; no conversations to carry on as if nothing had happened.

It was almost dusk as Sheila edged the canoe alongside the float. It took only a moment to pull it up on the rollers and to turn it over. Jim had gone and the
Sea Witch
tugged at her mooring ropes like a slim white ghost.

She slipped quietly through the growing darkness. The sweet scent of the flowers in the little rockery drifted to her on the warm night air. The great window was dark, so the rest of the staff must have had their dinner and gone. She found Mary in the kitchen washing up.

“Ah, there you be, Miss Griffiths. I was wondering where you’d got yourself to. Sit yourself down and I’ll bring it right in.”

“Can I have it in here, Mary? It will be quicker.”

Mary smiled. “Suit yourself, Miss Griffiths. I’ll just finish these dishes while you’re eating. Everyone is in a great hurry tonight getting ready for all those vaccination injections tomorrow.”

Sheila stared. She had a
l
most forgotten. She couldn’t ask
Matron t
o
release her now. She couldn’t go and leave the others to cope with the emergency. As soon as she had made her decision she felt better and began to eat with a newly discovered appetite.

To her great relief there was so much to do in the morning she almost forgot that
anything
had happened yesterday. Certainly Alan and Clare gave no sign of remembering when she went into the dressing ward to give them a hand after she had finished the routine ward work.

Alan greeted her cheerfully. “I’ll supervise your first efforts and then leave you to it. Run along, Clare, and tell Mary I’ll be ready for that coffee in five minutes.”

Clare had gone without hesitation, and after the first attempt Sheila found herself vaccinating the waiting patients with the skill of a veteran.

“That’s the idea ... just carry on like that. Put the names and addresses in that book.” He looked around the room. “You’ll find about ten more patients in the hall when you’ve done this lot. Tell ’em to come back in eight days and warn those who haven’t been done before that their arms will be mighty sore.”

Sheila stifled a big sigh when he had gone. She had come in all braced for an embarrassing ordeal and no one had shown the slightest evidence that it was different from any other day. It jolted her in a way that nothing else would have done, and she forgot her self-pity in the
harassing
days that followed. At last the queues began to ease up finally and dwindled to a trickle. They had been lucky in the weather as well; no strong winds to make the journeys down the inlets treacherous and impossible.

Alan straightened up and put on a dressing. “That’s it, Johansen. Come back in eight days to let me have a look. If it gets very painful, ask the boss to lay you off the axework for a day or two.”

The burly logger got to his feet, his heavy boots scraping on the tiled floor. “That be all, Doc? Seems to me little enough to prevent something like smallpox, but you know best. I’ll be telling the missus and the kids to come next. They be a bit feared like.”

Sheila laughed. “So they made you come first!”

At last, not more patients were waiting, and Sheila made the final entry in the book.

Alan looked at the fair head bent over her task. “It’s time we did those outlying districts, Sheila. I was going to send George with you, but his arm is rather painful. Jim will run us around. I’ve had a word with Matron.”

Sheila’s hand remained poised a brief second over the entry she was making. She didn’t dare look at Alan as she kept her voice calm. “That will be nice.”

Not for an instant would she admit to herself that her heart might be beating faster than usual. Shutting the book with a decisive slam Sheila stood up and began to clear away the debris of their afternoon’s work. She tried to ignore Alan’s presence and was pleased when he began to fidget under the sting of her indifference. The memory of Clare’s words was still etched far too clearly on her
mind
...
words that had told her all too plainly that Alan was the man whose kisses had suggested that he cared, and yet had kissed another girl only five minutes before. The thought made her cheeks grow warm and she crossed to the cupboard in the corner to get some more gauze.

“Don’t you want to come, Sheila?”

To her strained attention it seemed that there was a pleading note in his voice which she firmly ignored. “It will make a nice change.”

She heard him take a quick breath and waited for the storm, but none came. She turned, but Alan had gone, and only the distant slam of a door suggested that she had ruffled him.

Some savor had gone out of the day and she finished her work conscious of a let-down feeling that didn’t make sense. Her head ached and her eyes felt heavy. She was furious that Alan still had the power to disturb her. She was more than pleased to have a case in the labor ward that kept her busy until long past dinner time. Coping with a very young and very nervous mother left her no time for feelings of her own.

It was a pale and very weary Mrs. James who smiled wanly at Sheila. “Is she all right, Nurse? Can’t say I’m happy until I’ve had a good look myself.”

Sheila gently unrolled the shawl so that Mrs. James could see that toes and fingers were all complete.

Mrs. James sank back on her pillow gratefully. “Tell Bill when he rings up later, Miss Griffiths. He’s a worse fusspot than I am. Maybe he’ll be better after we’ve had three or four.”

Sheila laughed. “Ambitious, aren’t you?”

Mrs. James raised sleepy eyelids. “Makes it easier.” She glanced at the tiny head in the crook of her arm. “Can we call her after you? Saves upsetting the relations that way.”

Sheila felt a prickle of tears. “I’d be very proud if you do. It’s Sheila.”

Mrs. James nodded. “I like
that
...
”
Her eyes closed and she slept, while her very new daughter looked around with curious blue eyes and sucked at her fists with loud smacks.

Sheila felt too tired to eat the meal that Mary had left on the hot plate, and contented herself with a cup of tea and some toast. She leaned back in her chair. Her whole body ached and it was an effort to walk as far as her room. It was a very warm evening and even the breeze blowing in from the outer harbor did little to make sleeping comfortable. Sheila finally drifted off into uneasy slumber full of disturbing dreams. She seemed to be searching for someone down endless corridors and every time she almost caught up with the person, someone else would fling a suffocating blanket over her. She struggled to free herself and woke up drenched with perspiration and shivering.

By the time she had collected her sense enough to change her nightdress and get herself a drink, dawn was breaking over the mountain peaks. Sheila propped herself up on her pillows and watched the morning star fade into the paling blue of a new day’s sky and golden streamers foretell the sun’s arising.

She found it difficult to rise and meet another day’s round of duty. She was almost dressed when she remembered, and her pale face flushed, making the dark circles under her eyes less apparent. She had almost forgotten. She was going with Alan round the islands. But there was no joy in her heart as she packed an overnight case and left her heavy outdoor things laid out ready to put on.

She was late for breakfast and the others had finished and left. Mary looked at her with concern. “You don’t look too good, Miss Griffiths. Sure you all right?”

Sheila nodded. “I’m just tired, Mary. It was too hot to sleep.” She made a pretence of eating her breakfast under Mary’s watchful eyes and pushed her chair back thankfully. “Thanks, Mary.”

Sheila went through to the dressing ward to get the treatment trays ready for the morning’s round. Her left arm throbbed and felt curiously stiff. She reached up to the top of the cupboard for another tray and gave a little cry as a sharp, shooting pain shot up her arm.

“What’s the matter, Sheila?” Clare came over and took the heavy tray from her. “I say, you do look like yesterday’s leftovers.”

Sheila pulled herself together. “Just a fuss about nothing,” she said shortly. “I’m all right.”

There was an odd little smile hovering around Clare’s mouth and a speculative look in her eyes. She crossed quickly to the door at the sound
o
f footsteps.

“Alan, come here. You’d better take a look at Sheila’s arm.”

Alan came through the door rubbing his eyes. “Oh, but I’m tired. What’s up?” He glanced at the two girls.

Sheila found herself without words. Dimly Clare’s purpose was beginning to filter through, but the other girl had spoken before she could think of anything to say.

“It’s Sheila’s vaccination taking. Look at that arm! hadn’t I better ask Matron if I should go instead of Sheila?” Clare’s small face was as innocent as early morning.

Alan didn’t touch Sheila’s arm. It was obviously swollen. “Get on to Matron, Clare, and then put Sheila’s arm in a sling for her.” He looked at Sheila with still-sleepy eyes. “Sorry about that. But you wouldn’t be of much use like this. Favor it as much as you can.” His face became serious. “Good thing we had you done,” he said shortly, and went out of the room without another word.

Sheila could have wept with frustration. She didn’t really want to go on this trip, she told herself crossly, but she hadn’t bargained for not being able to go. She submitted to Clare’s ministrations in silence. She was even unwilling to admit that her arm felt much more comfortable resting in the support of the sling.

Clare looked at her in considering silence for a moment or two. “You won’t like what I’m going to say, but if you have an ounce of sense you’ll listen. You haven’t been in this place long enough to realize what being shut off from the outside world does to people. It’s bad enough for us, but the men find it much harder to take and it hits them in different ways. Why, even old Doctor Graham ... and he must have been nearly 60 ... was giving me looks that certainly weren’t fatherly before we were half way through last winter! You’re taking Alan too much to heart.” She ignored the stiffening of Sheila’s body and went on relentlessly. “He’s good
fun...
exasperating as all get
out...
but his kisses don’t mean a thing.” She looked at Sheila and her green eyes were as cold as ice. “Take it from me. After all, I have known Alan a long time.” She turned on her heel and left the dressing ward without a backward glance and no relenting in her heart for Sheila’s very obvious misery.

It took Sheila rather a long time to pull herself together. She was thankful to be busy with her trays. Putting out dressings and forceps and pouring out medicines was such a familiar task that her hands did it without conscious thought. It was only when she discovered that she had one tray too many that she realized how shattering Clare’s little sermon had been. The part that hurt most was t
h
e fact that she deserved some of it.

After all, how well did she know Alan? She had worked with him for a comparatively short space of time and had known a warming interest as he told her something of his plans. She had spent one solitary evening with him in Vancouver, had quarreled violently with him on more than one occasion, had been insulted
by him ...
praised
b
y him ... and they had laughed together. It didn’t add up to very much, Sheila admitted miserably. Clare must be right after all.

Sheila went forth to start the morning’s work. If the patients noticed her pale face and her weary eyes, they accepted the fact that
her
vaccination was
the reason. Matron
had just admitted a very ill woman with acute nephritis and was busy giving her hot packs. Sheila knew a surge of admiration as she watched the older woman give an exhibition of nursing skill that it would be difficult to equal. By the time Matron had finished, her patient was perspiring freely, but propped up on pillows with hair neatly brushed, a cool compress on her forehead, and sipping eagerly at her fruit juice, she looked the picture of comfort, quite different from the unhappy woman admitted a bare two hours before.

Joyce Painter smoothed the corner of the bed and surveyed her work with satisfaction. “How’s that, Mrs. Ellison?”

The woman let out a heartfelt sigh. “That’s heavenly, Matron. A while back I couldn’t have cared whether I lived or not. Now ... I feel heaps better already.” A frown hovered on her brow. “Is it serious, Matron?”

Joyce smiled and all the confidence in the world was conveyed in that gesture. “Do what we tell you, and we’ll have you back on your feet in no time at all.”

Sheila and Matron finished the ward together and some of the ache went out of Sheila’s heart as she helped to make their other patients as comfortable as Mrs. Ellison. There could be nothing so comforting as seeing patient after patient lifted above her illness by the sheer force of a woman’s personality, and that was exactly what Joyce Painter managed to do. They even forgot they were ill as she soothed their tired bodies and inspired them with overpowering desire to be well again. Even Sheila felt revived by the older woman’s example and knew she was over the worst of her resentment toward Clare.

Clare had been right about her arm, but it had been the calm way in which she had directed Alan’s attention to it and had forced the inevitable decision upon him that had hurt. Now, however, she could look forward to their return without blind anger flooding her judgment.

There was a ring at the side door and Matron went to answer it. She could hear two voices arguing and then her attention was called elsewhere. When she came back Matron was in one of the side wards. Sheila wondered what was happening, then the older woman came to the door.

“Send out an emergency call for Doctor Greenwood. Say we’ve had to admit a possible perforated duodenal ulcer. When you’ve done that get the operating room ready.”

Sheila went into action swiftly. Soon a message was singing along those telephone wires strung so precariously from tree to tree, to recall Alan. Somewhere along the coast someone would spot the
Sea Witch
and that urgent message would be delivered. How far had they got? Clare wouldn’t be
pleased
...

Sheila went through the familiar routine of preparing for the emergency operation. There was something soothing about being busy and the instruments felt pleasantly cool to her hands as she arranged them in the sterilizer tray. Matron came in as she was laying out the last of the sterile trolleys.

“Good girl. Doctor Greenwood is on his way back ... the message has just come through. So this will be one operation we won’t have to tackle without him.”

Sheila looked at her in astonishment. “You mean you would operate?”

Matron laughed grimly. “I’m always expecting that day to arrive. In wartime we weren’t always given the choice. Thank goodness we’ve been lucky so far. It’s something to keep in mind, though. It makes an operation more interesting if you watch
why
a surgeon does something rather than
what
he does.”

Sheila completed her task and arranged the instruments with thoughtful precision while Matron got the anesthetic machine ready.

The door was flung open and Alan stood there, breathless as if he had run all the way. “How’s the patient?”

Matron looked at him calmly. “He’ll be ready for his second bottle of plasma pretty soon. He’s still in shock, but his condition has improved since he came in.” She glanced at Sheila. “We’re ready when you are.”

A slow smile spread across Alan’s face. “So I see. I’ll get myself changed and give you a hand with the patient.”

Sheila was scrubbed up and threading her needles when Alan came back. He stood behind her for a brief instant.

“How’s the arm? I wish you’d been able to come,” he said softly and went over to the scrubbing-up sink before she could be sure that she had heard him properly.

With angry determination Sheila subdued the treacherous tremor in her fingers. Why on earth had he reminded her of that just when she had managed to convince herself that anything he said or did would be of no special importance? She forgot it in the busy session that followed. She was remembering Matron’s point and found herself watching Alan’s hands, working out the reasons for what he was doing.

Alan finished putting in the deep tension sutures and started to take the first of the skin sutures from Sheila’s hand. “Can you finish putting these in for me? We brought back a possible forceps delivery and I expect Clare is about ready for me. Okay?” Sheila glanced at Matron for approval and, upon receiving a nod, went ahead with her careful stitches.

Matron smiled at her. “Well done. I can’t see why more surgeons don’t let their staff sew up. After all, it’s a woman’s job, and few surgeons ever look at home with a needle. Just one of those old established customs, I suppose.”

Sheila put the dressing on firmly and pulled down her mask. “I know. Sometimes I wish I had gone in for medicine, but then when I see some good nursing, I’m glad I’ve stuck to it.”