Island Hospital (5 page)

Sheila shivered and reluctantly looked at her watch. It was later than she had expected. She was about to retrace her steps when she saw a new trail opening. There was a sign and a crude arrow saying: TO THE LANDING. Sheila took her bearings. It might be a short cut. Her feet sank into the soft moss without a sound and already it seemed to be twilight in the forest. There was a rush of wings that made her heart jump as a pheasant flew through the trees in front of her. A small squirrel scolded her and a wren twittered its warning from the bracken. Sheila began to wonder whether she had been unwise to try a new route. The silence of the wilds began to close in around her. Her heart beat
faster and she found herself straining her ears for civilized sounds.

All at once it seemed lighter as the trees began to thin out and she caught a sudden glimpse of sea below her. Sheila let out her tightly held breath and relaxed a little. If she could see water, she must be nearly home. The trail began to wind down the slope and many fallen rocks made progress difficult. Sheila scrambled along as quickly as she could, having no idea of what lay between her and the hospital. She worked her way around a point of rock and to her delight the hospital lay just a little below and ahead of where she was.

She emerged from the screen of bushes that separated her from the shore and stared at her destination. Between her and the hospital landing stage stretched a sheet of water that lapped at the overhanging cedar trees, and above the cedars the rocky cliffs rose almost sheer until they were lost in the tree tops. The remains of wooden steps led down to the water’s edge and only a few broken struts and posts remained of what might have bridged the gap between her and home. She slithered gingerly down along the rotting planks and with a stick tried to plumb the depths. It was no good. She would have to go back. She shivered at the thought as she looked toward the darkening woods. She began to retrace her steps and was hesitating at the foot of the slope when she heard whistling. She stood still and tried to determine its direction. It seemed to be coming from below her, but only the empty sea mocked her. She couldn’t face that dark forest, so she summoned up her courage.

“Who’s there? Can you help me?” Her voice sounded very small.

The whistling stopped abruptly and she could hear the dripping of water.

Sheila felt time running away endlessly as she waited for the whistling to begin again, but there was only silence. She stole a look over her shoulder at the woods darkening into twilight behind her. Desperation sharpened her voice as she called again.

“Who’s there? Can’t you hear me?”

There was a merry laugh as a canoe came silently into view around the point. Alan Greenwood’s hair was very red against the soft green of the cedar boughs.

“Hello up there! Are you stuck?”

Sheila almost forgot that she was glad to see him. “The water’s too deep,” she said shortly.

Alan leaned on his paddle. “Can’t you swim?” There was a mocking smile on his face.

Sheila tried desperately to control her temper. After all, she wasn’t rescued yet. “I haven’t got a bathing suit with me. I only went for a walk.” Her tone was meant to be disarming.

Alan made no attempt to hide his amusement. “I forgot. Sweet English girls don’t go swimming in their birthday suits.” He swung the canoe in closer. “Hop in. It’s a bit cold to make you swim after sundown. I’ll let you off this time.” His smile was maddening. “Take it easy. Canoes are a bit temperamental.”

“I know,” Sheila said crossly.

She promptly slipped on a piece of wet moss and landed in a heap in the bottom of the canoe, making it rock violently.

Alan recovered his balance with an effort. “I thought I told you to take it easy! I might have known you’d never seen a canoe before!”

Sheila picked herself up. Anger was seething in her but she made one more attempt to put things right.

“I was brought up with canoes, and I slipped,” she said coldly, and scraped the offending green moss off her shoe and dropped it overboard.

Alan regarded her heightened color with contemplative eyes. “Could be.” He dipped his paddle into the water and sent the canoe gliding effortlessly forward. “What would you have done if I hadn’t come along?” he asked curiously.

“Gone back by the path,” Sheila said determinedly. But she was unable to restrain a shudder as she glanced at the trees now black against the evening sky.

Alan whistled. “Proper Girl Guide and everything! Does your book of trailcraft tell you what to do when you meet a bear?”

Sheila stared at him, every trace of color gone from her face. “A bear?” she whispered. “I never thought of bears!”

Alan nodded and she thought she could see contempt on his face.

“They come down after salmonberries and other wild bush fruits, and they can be nasty if
...”
he paused deliberately.

Sheila shivered as she remembered eating that wild raspberry. Had
there
...

Alan completed his sentence with a wicked grin.
“...
if you get between them and their cubs.”

A sudden change of mood struck him as they neared the hospital landing. He turned on her angrily, biting out his sentences through set teeth.

“You silly little fool! Going off like that without telling people where you were going? What if you’d turned back along that trail? Ten to one you would have missed the turning in the dark and gone blundering through the woods! The whole harbor would have had to turn out to search for you ... men who had already earned their night’s rest ... men whose womenfolk have more sense in their little fingers than you appear to possess! Bah! You make me sick
...
the sooner you get back to England the better. It can’t be too soon for me! I’ve got work to do, and it’s not acting nursemaid to
you
...
”

CHAPTER THREE

For a moment Sheila was too startled by Alan’s outburst to do more than stare at him. Then anger flooded her.

“I never asked you to be a nursemaid!” she flung at him. “I only asked for help. I’m sorry I even called out.”

Alan looked at her grimly. “I might have known you would be childish as well. Not content with taking chances that would jeopardize the smooth running of the hospital you profess to serve, you can’t even take a reprimand.”

Sheila tried to speak calmly. “That’s not fair! I haven’t asked for favors, and if you give me the chance, I’ll say I’m sorry. I didn’t stop to think. I only went for a walk
...
”
Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t getting anywhere. Alan was still looking at her without sympathy or understanding.

He was silent for a moment. “I know you’re new. I know you haven’t been in Canada before. If you only realized that you’re in the Canadian wilds and not next door to Hyde Park, you might get along better. You’ve got work to do. So’ve I. How about taking yours a bit more seriously?”

“But I am. You’re not being quite fair. I was off duty.”

“There you go again! What do you expect life to be? A ladylike game where everything is played to rule? If that’s what you’re looking for, you’d better take the very next boat back to England. You won’t find that here. Off duty or on duty you still belong to the harbor, and running risks is not part of the program. Okay? Or do you want to go back? Vancouver can use nurses if you don’t want to go all the way.”

Sheila sat very still. She mustn’t lose her temper. She mustn’t let this red-headed doctor sweep her into the destruction of her plans.

“I have no intention of returning to England or even of going to Vancouver. I came here to work and I intend to stay and fulfil my contract. I’m sorry you have such a poor opinion of English nurses ... at least of me ... I’m sorry I’ve put you to any trouble.”

Alan Greenwood startled her by bursting into laughter. “My! My! Aren’t we hoity-toity?” He edged the canoe into the landing place. “Out you get, and try not to upset it this time!”

Sheila got out nimbly enough. She stood there for a moment looking at him, her gray eyes very bleak in the half-light. She looked very lost and very alone.

The man in the canoe softened his voice a little. “Don’t do it again, there’s a good girl. Tell dear Joyce I’ll be late for supper.” He picked up his paddle. “For goodness’ sake, think next time.” He was gone with an angry thrust that shot the canoe out from shore before Sheila could think of a single word in reply. She watched the dim shape until it was swallowed up in the shadows, then turned and made her way up to the hospital. Matron and Clare had already started supper.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said meekly as she slipped into her place.

Clare’s eyes were watchful. “H’mm. Where did you get to?”

Sheila explained and the other girl relaxed visibly. Sheila made no secret of the ending of her adventure.

Joyce Painter chuckled. “A good thing you didn’t have to swim for it. Even out here in the wilds that wouldn’t have been a conventional homecoming. I hate to admit it, but that young man was right. If you do get the wanderlust, just mention to someone the general direction you intend to take. I don’t want to frighten you, but you don’t have to go far off the beaten track before you’re in a sort of no-man’s land where, apart from the occasional trapper, only the song of the bird and the cry of the beast is heard.” She glanced across at Clare. “Remember that silly tourist who wanted to see the waterfall and took the short cut across the windfall?”

Clare nodded and explained to Sheila. “A windfall is a fall of timber, either caused by a storm or a fire or bad logging operations
...
fallen trees lie in all directions. You walk along the log feeling safe, then miss your footing and disappear into the abyss. If you’re lucky enough you crawl out again and manage to scramble up through the breaking branches, breathing pine needles, and gain your log again. If you strike your head or break your leg
...
” she paused dramatically, “
...
future explorers might find some interesting bones.”

Sheila began to feel not at all hungry. She was used to walking and had often gone rambling, but these Canadian wilds were something quite outside her experience. They were so vast, so empty of people, and the trees were so tall. She was thankful when the meal was over and she was left alone by the fire. For the very first time she was beginning to wonder whether this adventure might prove rather more than she had bargained for. Memory struck her and slow anger began to stir in her veins as she remembered Alan’s scolding speech. How dare he call her a silly little fool! No one had bothered to warn her that there was any danger in just taking a walk, and he had no right to speak to her like that. He could have explained gently.

She stood up and walked across to the great window. The flicker of light from the flashing buoy in the outer harbor cut through the darkness, and a few stars dotted the deep blue curtain of the sky. A faint silvery glimmer showed briefly across the water and then brightened swiftly as the moon sailed into sight around the shoulder of the mountain. Sheila sighed a little. Would that moon be shining on English fields soft with early summer? Would it be lighting up the white counterpanes of the ward where she had worked so happily as Staff Nurse?

A dark object appeared in the silver pathway that led to the moon. Sheila stared at it fixedly and then smiled grimly as she realized it must be Alan’s canoe. She watched the slender craft glide forward and saw the glistening drops dripping from the paddle. Alan was only a dark shape against the silver backdrop. Not even his red hair could compete with the light of the moon. She heard footsteps and turned to see Clare, her green eyes shining like jade as the moonbeams caught them.

Together they pressed their noses against the window.

“I wonder where he’s been,” Sheila said dreamily. Her anger had surrendered to the glory of the night.

Clare shrugged indifferent shoulders. “Probably yarning with some of the fishermen around in Fisherman’s Cove.” She went on to explain. “The fishing boats take shelter there at night, it’s handy for them to go out early in the morning. They can slip through the cut in their rowboats if they want anything from the store.”

[ Sheila looked blank until she remembered that the “cut” was a shallow channel made by the fishermen through the reefs and the neck of land that jutted out to form the outer harbor.

Clare was talking again. “I don’t know what he sees in them. They’re a rough lot and most of their boats are pretty squalid. Ugh!” Clare wrinkled her little nose. “To think I used to like fish.”

A voice from behind startled them. “What a pity! I brought you one for breakfast.”

Sheila and Clare turned to see a smiling Alan waving a large salmon under their noses.

“I didn’t know you had a river here,” Sheila observed.

There was a burst of laughter. “What do you want a river for,
Sheila?” Clare and Alan were looking at her with amusement.

Sheila felt at a loss. “Don’t you catch your salmon in rivers, then?”

Alan’s voice was full of kindly condescension. “No, we catch Pacific salmon in the sea. They’re not like your Atlantic salmon. We leave the salmon in the rivers for the bears to catch.”

Sheila felt that this hadn’t been her day. She spent a few minutes in friendly chatter to show she bore no ill will and then said goodnight. Alan and Clare made no attempt to detain her. Sheila noticed that Clare seemed relieved at her departure.

Sheila went slowly down the corridor. She could detect no difference in the way that Alan spoke to either of them, unless he was more inclined to tease her. Yet Clare seemed to assume a proprietorial manner as soon as Alan was in sight far out of proportion to any gesture he might make. Sheila’s mind went back to what the First Officer had told her, but she had seen little actual proof of any such attachment. In fact the only time she had seen Alan look unhappy was at some action of Clare’s. He didn’t behave like a man in love, but merely as a man who was somewhat impatient of women and unwilling to allow them more than a small role in his particular world.

Sheila sighed as she shut her own door. Alan had made her angrier than any man she had ever met. The experts might say that hate was akin to love, but Sheila didn’t believe a word of it. She looked restlessly around her little room. She didn’t feel like reading. Her glance fell on her writing pad. She would write to Patsy Martin.

After all, Pat had been her best friend, and not even all those thousands of miles could separate them in more than body. Her pen flew over the paper as she tried to put into words all that she had seen and done since she landed in Montreal. All the irritations fell away as she wrote. She realized that already Canada meant something to her and she couldn’t criticize it even to Patsy. She found herself describing Alan and forgot that she had been furious with him not so long before. She ended:

“...h
e may be tough with us, especially with me, but he’s one of the gentlest men imaginable with his patients, and they think he’s wonderful and will take anything from him whether it’s pain or a scolding. I find him hard to take sometimes, but I suppose to a Canadian some English people haven’t a clue, and I suppose some of the things I do seem daft to them even if they’re quite in order at home. Don’t forget to write soon
...
make it airmail so I won’t have to wait too long. Remember me to Sister. She may have been a beast at times,
but she was always a fair one.”

Sheila put down her pen and looked at the pile of pages and smiled ruefully. She would have to pay at least double to send all that. She felt much better now that she had put everything down on paper. That small trace of homesickness had vanished and she wouldn’t take the next boat home now even if it was hooting in the bay below her.

The new day dawned with a brightness and crispness that made her spring out of bed with eagerness. She had a feeling that something was going to happen today; whether good or bad was too soon to tell, but at least it couldn’t be quite as aggravating as yesterday.

She felt very neat and efficient as she went through the door into the ward. She was beginning to get used to the fact that there were no proper nurses for her to supervise. She had to admit that Matron had made good use of her material, and always seemed to be able to provide extra help when they were busy.

Sheila went into the little office and read the brief night report. It bore little resemblance to the detailed notes that she had learned to do in her own hospital, but she had to admit that all the necessary facts were there.

Matron came in as she finished, and all at once the small room seemed much smaller. It wasn’t because Joyce Painter was a big woman, but there was a restless energy about her this morning that seemed to drain all the oxygen out of the air. She prowled around, unwilling to sit down in the chair Sheila had vacated, touching the bottles waiting to be refilled, adjusting the little bouquet of wild, creamy-colored dog-tooth violets, so different from the English ones. She glanced through the open door to where two of the part-time nurses were making beds.

She smiled grimly. “I see they’ve both turned up this morning. Just wait until next month when the hotels reopen. They’ll vanish like the snow on the peaks. They can make so much extra with tips and so on.”

Sheila stared at her. “But I thought they were nurses.”

Matron laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “They’ve had some hospital training, granted ... the older ones did their two years in service hospitals during the war as a sort of voluntary war effort. They come flocking to us once the cold weather sets in and the tourists have gone. When nothing else is handy enough for them to do, they help us out for the extra money to tide their families over when the fishing is poor, or the logging camps have moved too far away.” She looked at Sheila and the softness went out of her face. “I trust you’re not finding the job too much for you already? I’m afraid we haven’t got a fresh supply of probationers for you to run around.”

She paid no attention to Sheila’s startled denial and moved aimlessly around the room. “Come on, Sister Griffiths. We’ll turn out the end ward and make it look like something out of the
Nursing Mirror
.”

She tore off down the corridor, Sheila rushing frantically at her heels. She had done her share of cleaning in her “pro” days, but she had never touched anything like this. Patients were moved into side wards or sun porches, walls were washed, and curtains were shoved into the washing machine. Matron herself put them through the wringer and hung them out on the line, not paying the slightest bit of attention to the splashes of wet on her once immaculate uniform. Sheila glanced ruefully down at her own bedraggled apron with its hemline damp and dirty from the work she had been doing.

Not even Alan Greenwood was exempt. He had come in to do a round and instead found himself at the top of a rickety stepladder wielding a paint brush.

Clare steadied the ladder. “That’s it, Alan. You’re doing fine.” She let go of the ladder, which lurched, but paid no attention to his protests. “You’ll be all right once you’ve got your sea legs,” she informed him heartlessly. “Put some more in the corner. I can still see green.”

Alan stopped moving his brush. “How about doing it yourself, since you’re such an expert, eh?”

Clare gestured cheekily at him. “I was only telling you for your own good. Matron might make you do it over again and you wouldn’t like that, would you, now?”

She rushed off to help Matron, who was being equally energetic at scrubbing the floor with a deck scrubber. “Come on, girl, you can start polishing at the far end. It should be dry now. Put plenty of polish on and let it soak in. Perhaps Doctor Greenwood might help us swing the polisher when he’s finished swilling the paint around,” she added dryly, with a glance in Alan’s direction. She didn’t miss the unspoken protest on Clare’s face, but merely moved the deck scrubber a trifle more energetically.

Sheila, who, in a rash moment, had admitted that she could sew, was making endless bedcovers out of gay chintzes.

The ward was finished at last, the patients moved back, and even they were quick to admit that the result was well worth the disturbance.

Matron looked around the redecorated ward with its soft yellow walls, blue curtains, and new bedspreads, and nodded her satisfaction.

“That’s it for this year, anyway.” She looked at them all. “I’m off to Vancouver on the evening boat. You can come if you like, Clare.” She marched off to throw some clothes into a case. After a momentary hesitation Clare followed her.

Sheila was oddly disturbed by the look in those green eyes, which had rested first on her and then on Alan Greenwood.

He stared moodily after them for a moment. “Looks as if we’re left holding the hospital, Miss Griffiths. I’ve got a patient to see up the inlet. I’ll try to be back before dark. I’ll leave Jim with you in case the water wheel misbehaves. All right?”