Blind Promises (2 page)

“Yes, I know,” Dana groaned. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “It all happened so quickly; she was drinking….”

“They told me everything. But, darling, why did you let her drive? Didn’t you realize what might happen?”

Dana felt her face stiffen. “Yes, but…”

“Of all the stupid things to do, and you might have just taken the keys from her in the first place.” The brown eyes so like her mother’s were accusing. “Why in the world did you let her drive, Dana?”

Dana couldn’t even manage a reply. She reached blindly for the buzzer and pushed it. A minute later, a nurse came to the door.

“Will you show my aunt the way out, please,

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Nurse?” Dana asked tightly, not looking at Aunt Helen, who was obviously shocked.

. The nurse knew what was going on from one look at her patient’s drawn face.

“I’m sorry, but Miss Steele can’t be upset; she has a concussion,” the nurse said firmly. “Will you come with me, please?” .

As if she’d just realized what she was saying, Helen’s face was suddenly white and repentant. “Darling, I’m sorry….”

But Dana closed her eyes and wouldn’t look or listen. The nightmare wasn’t ever going to end, it seemed, and she wondered vaguely if everyone blamed her for her mother’s death. She turned her face into the pillows and cried like a child.

Her minister visited that night, after the funeral was over, and Dana poured out her heart to him.

“And it’s my fault; even Aunt Helen said it’s my fault,” she confessed.

“It’s no one’s fault, Dana,” he said, smiling quietly. A gentle man, he made her feel at once comforted and secure. “When a life is taken, it’s only because God has decided that He has more need of that life than those attached to it here on earth. People don’t die for no reason, Dana, or because it’s anyone’s fault. God decided the moment of death, not any one of us.”

“But everyone thinks it’s my fault. I should have stopped her-I should have tried!”

“And if you had, there would have been something else,” he said quietly. “I strongly believe that things happen as God means them to.”

“I can’t see anything,” she confessed wearily, “ex-

cept that my mother is gone, and now I have no one. Even Aunt Helen hates me.”

“Your aunt was literally in tears over what she said to you this morning,” he corrected. “She wanted to come back and apologize, but she was afraid you wouldn’t let her into the room. She was upset; you know how Helen is.”

“What am I going to do?” Dana asked him, dabbing at fresh tears.

“You’re going to go on with your life,” he said simply. “That life belongs to God, you know. Your profession is one of service. Isn’t that the best way to spend your grief, by lessening the pain for others?”

She felt warm inside at the thought, because nursing was so much more to her than a profession. It was a way of life: healing the sick, helping the injured, comforting the bereaved. Yes, she thought, and smiled. Yes, that was how she’d cope.

But it was easier said than done, unfortunately. In the days and weeks that followed, forgetting was impossible.

After the first week, time seemed to fly. Dana made the rounds on her ward, pausing to see Miss Ena, who was being difficult again. The thin old lady had demanded her injection a full hour early, but Dana only smiled and fluffed up the pillows with her usual efficiency.

“Now, Miss Ena,” she said with a quiet smile, “you know I’m not going to ignore Dr. Sanders’s order, and you shouldn’t ask me to. Suppose I have one of the volunteers come and read to you until it’s time. Would that help?”

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Miss Ena’s sour face brightened just a little. “Well, I suppose it would,” she said reluctantly. She shifted her thin body against the pillows with a sigh. “Yes,” she said in a softer tone. “Thank you, it would help.”

“I know hospitals are hard on people who are used to gardening and walking the woods and pruning shrubbery,” Dana confessed, laying a hand on the thin shoulder. “But in a very little while, you’ll be back on your feet and doing what you please. Just keep that in mind. Believe me, it will help the time pass much more quickly.”

Miss Ena smiled faintly. “I’m not used to being laid up,” she confessed. “I don’t mean to be disagreeable. It’s only that I hate feeling helpless.”

“I know,” Dana said quietly. “No one likes it.” She fluffed the pillows again. “How about some television now? There’s a special country music awards program on,” she added, knowing the elderly woman’s fondness for that kind of music.

The old woman’s face brightened. “That would be nice,” she said after a minute.

Dana flicked on the switch and adjusted the channel, hiding a smile from Miss Ena.

Several weeks later Dana was called into Mrs. Pibbs’s office, and Dana knew without asking what the reason was.

“I’d like to forget this, Nurse,” she said, lifting the letter of resignation that Dana had placed on her desk early that morning as she came on duty. “Nursing has been your life. Surely you don’t mean to throw away all those years of training?”

Dana’s eyes were troubled. “I need time,” she said quietly. “Tune to get over Mother’s death, time to sort out my priorities, to get myself back together again. I…I can’t bear familiar surroundings right now.”

Mrs. Pibbs leaned back with a sigh. “I understand.” She pursed her lips and frowned. “If it’s a change of scene that you need, I may have a suggestion for you. A friend of mine is looking for a private-duty nurse for her son. He lives in some godforsaken place near the Atlantic Coast. He’s blind.”

“I hadn’t thought about doing private duty,” Dana murmured.

“You will have to support yourself,” Mrs. Pibbs reminded her. “Although the salary will be good, I must warn you that it won’t be all tranquility. I understand that Lorraine’s son has a black temper. He was an executive, you know, very high-powered, and an athlete to boot. He’s been relegated to the position of a figurehead with his electronics company.”

“The blindness, is it permanent?”

“I don’t know. Lorraine is rather desperate, however,” she added with a tiny smile. “He’s not an easy man to nurse.”

Mrs. Pibbs had made it into a challenge, and right now Dana needed that.

“Perhaps,” she murmured, “it would be just what I need.”

Mrs. Pibbs nodded smugly. “It might be just what Gannon needs too.”

Dana looked up, “Is that his name?”

“Yes. Gannon van der Vere. He’s Dutch.”

Immediately Dana pictured a small man with a mus-

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tache, very blond, as memory formed the one Dutchman she’d ever had any contact with-Mr. van Ryker, who’d once been a patient at the hospital. She smiled, softening already. Perhaps he could teach her Dutch while she helped him adjust to his blindness. And in helping him, perhaps she could forget her own anguish.

That night she was combing her long platinum-blond hair when Jenny came whirling in, hairpins flying as she rushed to get out of her nurse’s uniform and into a dress.

“Not going out tonight?” Jenny asked from the bathroom.

“Nowhere to go,” Dana replied, smiling into the mirror. “I’m having a quiet night.”

“You always have quiet nights. Why don’t you come out with Gerald and me?”

“No, thanks, I’d rather catch up on my sleep. I’ve been called out on cases twice in the past three days. How did that little girl do - the one with pneumonia that Dr. Hames admitted?”

“She’s responding. I think she’ll do.” Jenny came back out in a green-and-white-striped dress with matching green pumps. “Say, what’s the rumor about you quitting?” she asked. Jenny had never been one to listen to gossip without going to me object of it to get at the truth. It was the thing about her that Dana admired most.

“It’s true,” she said reluctantly, because she liked her roommate and would miss her. “I’m waiting to hear about a job Mrs. Pibbs knows of, but I have officially resigned as of next Monday.”

“Oh, Dana,” Jenny moaned.

“I’ll write,” she promised. “And so will you. It won’t be forever.”

“It’s your mother’s death, isn’t it?” Jenny asked softly. “Yes, I imagine it’s rough to be where you’re constantly reminded of her. And with the situation between you and your family…”

Dana’s eyes clouded. She turned away. “I’ll be fine,” she managed. “Have a good time tonight,” she added on a bright note.

Jenny sighed as she picked up her purse. “Can I smuggle you something when I come in? A filet mi-gnon, a silk dressing gown, a Rolls, a man…?”

Dana laughed. “How about two hours’ extra sleep to put in my pocket for when old Dr. Grimms calls me down to help him dress a stab wound and tells me his entire medical background before he sends me away?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jenny promised. “Good night.”

“Goodnight.”

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Mrs. Pibbs was waiting for Dana in her office the next morning after she’d listened to the report and was on her way to catch up on some paperwork.

“I’ve just talked to Lorraine,” Mrs. Pibbs said with a faint smile. “She’s delighted that you’re going to come.”

“I’m so glad,” Dana replied. “Has she told Mr. van der Vere?”

“Only that a nurse is expected, I understand,” the older woman replied. “It’s better not to give the enemy too much information about troop movements.”

Dana blinked. That old Armyt nurse’s background popped up every so often in Mrs. Pibbs, and she tried not to giggle when it did. Surely that was a strange choice of words for a new patient. And what a very strange way to describe her impending arrival at the van der Vere home.

“Troop movements?” she asked.

“Just an expression,” Mrs. Pibbs said uncomfortably. “Get on with your duties, Nurse.”

Dana stared after her. A pity she didn’t have time to

think about that unusual description, but the doctors were due to make rounds shortly and there wasn’t a minute to spare.

The week went by quickly, and before she knew it, the stitches were out of her face and she was on her way to Savannah by bus. She liked to travel cross country, preferring the sightseeing that way to airplane flights, during which she could see little more than clouds. It was early spring and the landscape was just beginning to turn green across the flat land, and she could still gaze at the architecture in each small town the bus went through. It was one of her hobbies, and she never tired of it.

The styles ranged from Greek revival to Victorian to Gothic and even Williamsburg. There were split-levels, ranch-style homes, modern, ultramodern, and apartment houses. Each design seemed to have its own personality, and Dana couldn’t help but wonder about the people who lived in the houses they passed-what their lives were like.

Halfway across the state, she finally succumbed to drowsiness and fell asleep in her seat by the window. The driver was announcing Savannah when she woke up.

She took a cab out to the van der Vere summer house. The driver followed the directions Mrs. Pibbs had given Dana, and Dana’s eyes took in the jagged boulders of a new development along the beach until they drove farther and turned into a driveway lined with palms and shade trees and what looked like flowering shrubs; it was the season for them to bloom.

The house was fairly large, built of gray stone and overlooking the Atlantic, so ethereal that it might have been an illusion. Dana loved it at first sight. ‘It’s beau-

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tiful, she thought, with flowers blooming all around it and the greenery profuse.

She paid the driver and went up the cobblestone path to the door, pausing before she rang the doorbell. Well, she told herself, it was now or never. Self-consciously she tugged a lock of her loosened hair over her cheek to help conceal the scar. Bangs already hid the one on her forehead. But the worst scars were those inside, out of sight….

The door opened and a small dark woman with green eyes stood smiling at her.

“You’re Dana Steele?” she asked softly. “Come in, do. I’m Lorraine van der Vere; I’m so glad to meet you. Was it a long trip-were you comfortable?” she added in a rush, moving aside to let the taller woman inside.

Dana compared her own gray suit with the woman’s obviously expensive emerald pantsuit and felt shabby by comparison. It was the best she had, of course, but hardly couture. If what Mrs. van der Vere was wearing was any indication, the family was quite wealthy.

“I brought my uniform, of course,” Dana said quickly. “I don’t want you to think…”

“Don’t be silly, my dear,” Lorraine said kindly. “Would you like to go upstairs and freshen up before I, uh, introduce you to my son?”

Dana was about to reply when there was a crash and a thud, followed by muffled words in a deep, harsh voice. Probably a servant had dropped something in the kitchen, Dana thought, but Mrs. van der Vere looked suddenly uncomfortable.

“Here, I’ll show you to your room,” she said quickly, guiding Dana to the staircase with its mahogany banister and woodwork. “Come with me, dear.”

As if I-had any choice, Dana thought with muzzled

amusement. Mrs. van der Vere acted as if she were running from wolves.

The room she was given was done in shades of beige and brown, with creamy curtains and a soft quilted coverlet in a “chocolate and spice” pattern. The carpet was thick, and Dana wanted to kick off her shoes and walk through it barefoot. She took her time getting into her spotless, starched uniform. She’d wanted to put her hair up, to look more professional, but she couldn’t cope with the pity in Mrs. van der Vere’s eyes if those scars were allowed to show. She left off her makeup-after all, her poor patient couldn’t see her anyway-adjusted her cap and went downstairs.