Cherry Ames 05 Flight Nurse (7 page)

Cherry gave her a glass of water with a little aromatic spirits of ammonia. When her patient had revived a bit, Cherry asked:

“Is Muriel all right?”

“Yes, thank you. Fortunately Muriel— Why— How did you know my granddaughter’s name? She is not here with me!”

“Let me treat that eye first—” Cherry tried to cover her own confusion “—just a moment—”

“How extremely odd! My dear young woman, how did you know that?”

The woman’s voice was imperious, and her drawn face was full of distress. Cherry closed the door into the hall. They were quite alone. Cherry said in a low voice:

“I am a friend of your friend in America, Dr. Joseph Fortune.”

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Mrs. Eldredge gave Cherry such a look of distrust that she was confounded. Mrs. Eldredge made no sign that she had ever heard of Dr. Fortune. “Be discreet,” Dr. Joe had warned. Perhaps the woman was waiting for some further token of recognition.

Cherry continued softly, as she bathed the eye, “Dr.

Fortune wants me to aid you in your difficulty, in any way you wish me to.”

Mrs. Eldredge tossed back her head. “And what would that difficulty be?” she demanded sharply.

“About your son-in-law, Mark Grainger.” Their eyes met.

“Yes. Yes. You know, then.”

“No, I know none of the details.”

“Tell me your name, my dear.”

“Cherry Ames.”

“Yes, so Dr. Fortune wrote me. Miss Ames, I—I hope—”

“Yes?”

“Forgive me for being so upset. I have to be so very cautious. Besides, I had hardly expected to meet you under such—rather public circumstances. I do hope you’ve not spoken of my—trouble—to anyone?”

“To no one.”

“When can you come to see me—privately?”

“I can’t say exactly. I want to come, Mrs. Eldredge, but we’re terribly busy here.” Mrs. Eldredge looked up unhappily at Cherry. All the lines in her face had deepened. “I had better
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tell you now, then. I promise to keep you but a few moments.”

Cherry’s dark eyes were wide. Mrs. Eldredge’s veined hands plucked nervously at her worn, black silk dress.

“My son-in-law, Mark Grainger,” she started, speak-ing low and rapidly, “is no longer in the Army. He was, and he left.” Mrs. Eldredge shook her white head. “I don’t understand why he is not fighting for England.

But that is not all, Miss Ames. He is always coming and going, without explanation. He will be gone for days, weeks, then return unexpectedly, to leave just as suddenly. I ask him why, where? He will tell me nothing.”

“Perhaps he is doing some confidential work,” Cherry suggested, chiefly to soothe the elderly woman.

Mrs. Eldredge said with difficulty, “No. That is not so. You see, Miss Ames—one day I was straightening my son-in-law’s room and hanging away his clothing, when a bit of paper fell from one of his pockets. It was—

this is very hard to say—it was a note in German, on paper of a sort one never sees in England! The handwriting was that stiff German script, you know, not an English person’s writing. I was trying to figure out what it said when Mark came in. He snatched the paper away—he is never rude—and he was exceedingly angry!” Cherry did not know exactly what to say to this. “But your son-in-law is—is loyal to his own country, surely?” The woman bent her head. “I don’t know. That is just the question. I used to think Mark was loyal. It is 60

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hard to believe the husband of one’s own daughter—

Lucia was killed by the enemy—could—Oh, no! It’s unthinkable!”

Cherry sat down beside the elderly lady and took her hand. “Perhaps it’s only a mistake—a coincidence—or you’re imagining something.”

“No! I have gone to the telephone and had strange voices address me in German. When I reply, they immediately hang up. I have heard Mark admitting people into my house in the dead of night. No, Miss Ames, I am not imagining these things.” Suddenly she cried out in a subdued but sharp voice, “How could he? How could he? I’m so confused. I want to trust Lucia’s husband—

if only for Muriel’s sake—but how can I be loyal to my son-in-law and disloyal to my country?” Cherry thought a moment. “Does Muriel suspect?”

“The poor child is very much troubled. You see, the neighbors are wondering. They ask her cruel questions.

She adores her father. I often ask myself how to protect her from such—such a—”

Cherry cut in quickly. “Surely he would not betray his own little girl? But your son-in-law gives no explanations at all?” she asked.

“None. He simply turns a deaf ear to all questions.

Oh, Miss Ames, I’ve not told a soul but you! I—I am heartsick!”

Cherry’s lips silently formed the word that Mrs. Eldredge could not bring herself to say:
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“Spy!”

She took a deep breath. “Mrs. Eldredge, you must go home now and rest. The ambulance will drive you back.

I will come to see you on my very first free moment.

For the little girl’s sake,” she added, “perhaps we will find some way out of this.”

The white-haired lady rose wearily. “You have been very kind, my dear. I shall be waiting for you.” She walked out, head high.

Spy . . . The word echoed in Cherry’s mind. What sort of man was this Mark Grainger? Yet the little girl adored him, the grandmother had claimed, and children were extremely sensitive to grownup’s wrongdoings.

She could not reconcile these two facts. But Cherry did not doubt the truth of Mrs. Eldredge’s reports, either.

One did not breathe such accusations against a member of one’s own family unless they were inescapably true. Certainly there was not much to be said in defense of such a man. And yet if the child still loved him—

“Somehow I’m not convinced that he is a spy,” Cherry thought. “Until I can find out more, I’ll take my stand with little Muriel!”

In the meantime, she had her work, with Wade and Bunce and Flight Three, to do.

“Aunt” Cherry

three times it happened. cherry went down to the line, all packed to take off, keyed up, all ready—and then they could not go out because of bad weather. All flight orders were canceled—three times in succession.

It was exasperating. Cherry worried over the patients who had to wait. As for herself, she felt at loose ends and restless. So did everyone else. But there was plenty to take up the nurses’ time. There was hospital duty, washing of clothes and catching up on rest—blessed, needed rest—for the next flight. It was the first time that all of Flight Three was at home at the same time.

The six girls had a chance to visit, and it looked as if Lieutenant Agnes Gray was finally going to achieve a foursome for a bridge game.

“I don’t care how badly you play,” Aggie pleaded. The Flight Three nurses were sitting and lying around their 62

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barracks room, this rainy fall morning, weathered-in.

Even drill had been canceled. Everyone was waiting around to see if the skies would clear. “I would give my eyeteeth for a rubber of bridge. Cherry, what about you?”

Cherry was prone on her bed. She reluctantly opened her black eyes, and rubbed one stockinged foot against the other. “If I can play lying down, okay. Seems to me I
never
get rested.”

“Me too,” said big Elsie Wiegand from her bed.

Gwen, her red head buried in the depths of her pillow, mumbled agreement.

“Ann? Maggie?” Agnes pleaded. “We could leave out these frail flowers and play three-handed.”

“
Not
frail flowers,” Cherry yawned. “Just had heavier schedules than you.”

Little Maggie turned around innocently from the washbasin. “If you’ll wait till I finish my washing, I’ll play—if you’ll teach me.”

Ann emerged from the depths of her foot locker. “I’ll play but it has to be for safety pins. I am absolutely desperate for safety pins.”

Agnes Gray flung out her arms. “All right, no bridge!

But I have to
do
something!” Her reddish brown eyes snapped. She reminded Cherry of a fox terrier, bursting with energy. “What’ll I
do
with myself?”

“Find me some safety pins,” Ann replied promptly.

“That’s no fun!”

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Cherry propped herself up on one elbow, wound and rewound one jet black curl around her finger. “I—

think—I—have an idea.”

“Watch out, kids,” Gwen said. “Ames is having an idea. Stand back to avoid the explosion.”

“Maybe we could—how’s this sound? Maybe we could set up a barter system,” Cherry thought out loud.

“Have to get poor little Annie her safety pins. Yes, a barter system. In this whole barracks. Let’s see, two squadrons—fifty girls—safety pins—that’s it, that’s it!” She sat up excitedly. “Don’t you see?”

“No!” they chorused. “See
what
?”

“Look, I’ll show you!” Cherry forgot her fatigue, and bounced off her bed. “Aggie and Ann, we’ll start with you. Who’ll come with me to knock on doors?” Two hours later, the system was organized and in full swing. Instead of money, candy and bobby pins were the medium of exchange and estimating price. One girl in Flight Two, with a sweet tooth, offered a finger wave in return for chocolate bars—“with almonds,” she stipulated. Ann wangled safety pins in exchange for a piece of clothesline and a bar of soap. Gwen, who could fix almost anything mechanical with pliers and her tweezers, agreed to repair watches, loosen balky luggage locks, and untie knots—if the other girl would do Gwen’s ironing, a chore Gwen detested. Another nurse agreed to mend hose in exchange for two shoeshines.

Elsie Wiegand rented her typewriter for writing V-mails

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at a charge of starch for her shirt collars. Cherry needed face powder—she had spilled most of hers. But Cherry was too busy getting all this organized to do any bartering herself at the moment. Every nurse in the barracks had fun and everyone benefited. Aggie Gray, the last Cherry saw of her, was beaming at three unknown nurses across a bridge game. The only things the nurses did not swap were their pilots, although they discussed even that possibility.

The weather continued stormy. During a lull, flight orders were issued, then had to be canceled again.

Planes were grounded. Cherry wished she could have some time off, to visit Mrs. Eldredge and Muriel, instead of just waiting around. But Captain Betty Ryan, though willing personally, was under orders not to give time off to any nurse.

Finally Cherry wrote: “Dear Mrs. Eldredge, It is impossible for me to leave the base. However, I have free time just now. Would it be asking too much for you to come here, any day, for lunch or dinner in Officers’ Mess? I’d be so glad to see you. Please tell Muriel she is very particularly invited. Sincerely, Cherry Ames, Nurses’ Barracks C.”

But there was no answer next day, nor the following day. Cherry grew even more restive, wondering if something had happened to Mrs. Eldredge and Muriel.

At least the weather was clearing now. A few combat planes went out.

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“I’ve received a flight order,” Ann told Cherry breath-lessly in their quarters. “Thank goodness! I’m going out in an hour.”

Elsie Wiegand burst in. “Praise be, some action, at last! I’m going out at twelve midnight. Any orders for you, Cherry?”

Cherry shook her head. “Nothing yet.” She helped the two girls pack. She helped out on wards at the hospital. She listened to the bombers and fighters going out, haunted by their fading roar, not quite easy until, hours later, they roared home again.

She and Wade knew the boys flying those planes—Bob and Ducky, Shep and Al and Tiny. Toward evening, she would stand out on the field with Wade, anxiously counting the bombers and fighters that flew in singly, some limping like wounded birds, some triumphantly roaring down from the skies. Too often, Cherry’s count was short—one, two, three planes and their crews had not returned. Sometimes until midnight Cherry and Wade would wait on the cold blacked-out field with the anxious ground crewmen, scanning the skies, their ears alert for any distant sound of familiar engines. More often than she dared hope, a belated crew would come pounding in, sometimes radioing for an ambulance, sometimes kidding and hungry. Or, after she was in bed, she would hear a plane’s roar in the night, and Wade would tell her at breakfast, “Shep and his boys made it! Boy, what I’d have given to have been along!”

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“Quite some lads,” Cherry would reply. “I’m glad I’m here.”

This was her way of saying that the fliers’ courage renewed her own idealism. She was proud to be helping such men as these.

One doubt invariably filtered into her deeply felt bond with these men. Of what avail was these mens’

courage, their hard fighting, the deaths of some of them—if there were a spy in their midst? Suppose some spy—Cherry did not want to name him as Mark Grainger—suppose some spy were reporting to the Germans all the flights and plans of this bomber base? The enemy, forewarned, could bring their plans to nothing.

Cherry wanted very much to talk about this with Wade. Captain Cooper, for all his lighthearted fooling, had a level head and much experience. For the present, though, she had promised Mrs. Eldredge to guard her confidences.

One morning Cherry found the awaited letter in her mail. It was on rustling, square white paper, written in a fine old-fashioned hand: “Dear Miss Ames, I regret that a severe cold prevents my accepting your kind invitation to luncheon or dinner at your Officers’ Mess. However, Muriel is most eager to come, to meet you and to sit at table with the American nurses. A neighbor, Mrs.

Jaynes, will deliver Muriel to your barracks today at eleven-thirty, which should be in adequate time for luncheon. If you will advise Mrs. Jaynes at what hour 68

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