*
The hospital was bursting with new patients that morning, and the nurses, myself included, were overwhelmed with work. The Sister Kenny method, which we were all committed to now, was so time-consuming. How much easier it would be to have our patients’ legs and arms splinted and immobile than to wrap them in wool and exercise them several times each day. But I was determined to give my young patients the best chance at recovery they could have.
We received a second iron lung late that morning. Everyone had been nervous with only the one respirator, since that was still in use by our twenty-seven-year-old patient. What if we urgently needed another one? I helped the technician set it up. The other nurses were only too happy to let the respirators be my bailiwick.
Jilly was my least needy patient. I kept popping over to her bed to give her a little time and attention in between caring for my patients with paralysis. She knew who I was, despite my mask and cap, and I could tell that she liked me, but she still cried for her mother. It wasn’t until nearly noon that I had a few free minutes. I went out to the yard and motioned to Honor to go to the window. When I saw her appear at the screen, I propped Jilly up and handed her the doll. She stared at it with openmouthed wonder, then hugged it to her chest.
“Let’s give this one a name,” I said. “All right?”
“Nursie,” Jilly said.
“Nursie? Is that her name?”
“Yes. She got a little hat like a nurse hat.”
“You’re right,” I said, realizing that the doll’s hat did look a little like my own white cap. “Nursie it is. And Jilly. Look who’s at the window.” I pointed toward the window and Jilly followed my fingers to where Honor was waving at us.
“Mama!” she shouted, and I was delighted to see her energy.
“Shh.” I laughed. “Some people are trying to sleep, Jilly.”
“Mama! I got a doll!” She held the doll in the air. “Her name’s Nursie!”
Honor nodded and smiled but said nothing. She was not about to shout across the entire ward. She gave a final wave and disappeared from the window.
“Where’s she at?” Jilly asked.
“She’s going to work in the kitchen here, honey,” I said. “She’ll be one of the people who makes your dinner.”
“Will she bring it to me?”
“She can’t do that, but she’ll be in the kitchen, cooking it with love.”
*
I had to spend a bit more time in the admissions tent that afternoon, and when I returned to the ward, I was surprised to see Henry sitting on the edge of Jilly’s bed. Since he was working at the hospital, he—like Zeke—could go anywhere he pleased, but I was dismayed to see he was wearing no protective clothing whatsoever. Ruth would have a fit if she could see him at that moment. I walked toward Jilly’s bed, and as I drew close, I could hear her giggling over something Henry said to her.
She spotted me walking toward them. “Mr. Hank brung me a color book,” she said, and I saw the coloring book and small box of crayons next to her new doll on her lap.
Henry got quickly to his feet as though he knew I was going to chew him out for not wearing a gown and mask. He gave me a sheepish smile.
“That was nice of him,” I said to Jilly. I was wearing a mask, but I hoped Henry could see my own smile in my eyes. I was so touched that he’d reached out to Jilly this way.
“I need to get back to work, Jilly,” he said to the little girl. “Next time I stop by, maybe you’ll have a picture colored for me, huh?”
“Okay,” she said, already turning her attention from him to the coloring book. She dumped the crayons out of the box and onto her sheet.
I walked with Henry toward the exit.
“Next time,” I said, “you need to put on a gown and a mask.”
“Yes, nurse,” he said with a small salute, and I laughed.
He left the building and I watched him through the screened door as he walked toward the tent wards, still under construction. His attention to Jilly had been a side to him I hadn’t seen before and I felt nearly overcome with sadness that our baby hadn’t lived. Henry would have been a good father.
*
Later that afternoon, I soaked lengths of wool in boiling water for little Carol Ann’s paralyzed legs. I used sticks to feed the too-hot-to-touch wool through the wringer, then set it on a cart and wheeled it over to her bed. She whimpered as I began laying the fabric on top of her right leg. “Too hot, sweetheart?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said.
I knew the wool wasn’t technically too hot now—not hot enough to burn—but I could imagine how, on a stifling summer day, the weight and heat and stench of the wool could be suffocating.
Two new doctors had arrived that afternoon and one of them was making his way down the row of children, examining each one. He reached Carol Ann as I was still applying the wool. Like me, he was gowned and masked.
“I won’t leave it on too long, honey,” I said as I picked up another length of wool from the cart. “She’s a bit tired of all this wool,” I said to the doctor, who hadn’t said a word to either Carol Ann or myself. I looked at his eyes, the only part of him visible between his cap and his mask, and I gasped, my hands frozen in the air above Carol Ann’s legs. His eyes were a soft, rich brown and oh so familiar.
Vincent.
66
He was as stunned to see me as I was to see him. We stood there speechless, seemingly paralyzed ourselves, until Carol Ann whimpered again and I shook myself from my stupor.
“Yes, honey,” I said, tucking the ends of the wool around her thin legs. My hands trembled. “We’re finally done. And this is Dr. Russo,” I said. The name felt so good in my mouth. If I hadn’t turned my life upside down, that would be my name now. “Dr. Russo, this is Carol Ann.”
Vincent seemed to have trouble shifting his gaze from me to the little girl, but he collected himself and began examining her. “How are you feeling today, Carol Ann?” he asked.
“Hurt,” she said.
“Tell me where.”
“My back hurts,” she said.
“She’s a brave girl,” I said. “An excellent patient.” I looked down at Carol Ann. “We’ll let the wool warm up your muscles,” I said. “And I’ll be back in a little bit to do your exercises with you.”
I started to roll the cart toward the rear of the ward, anxious to get away from Vincent. I needed to be alone. I needed to collect my thoughts and settle my nerves.
“I want to talk with you later, nurse,” Vincent said. His voice was businesslike. Abrupt. It was not a voice I’d ever heard before.
I looked at him. Looked directly into those eyes that I’d loved all my life. “All right,” I said, my own voice coming out hoarse and weak. How could I ever explain to him what I’d done and who I’d become?