GI Brides (51 page)

Somehow Powelton seemed to have taken on a new character—silent, subdued, solemn, and a bit anxious. Dale rather liked him in his new role. He seemed almost attractive now.

Upstairs Dale and Corliss made lively work of putting the rooms in order, one on each side of a bed, smoothing the covers neatly. Corliss seemed never to have tried bed making before and said she thought it was almost fun.

Then they got themselves ready and started for the hospital.

Dale could not help pitying Corliss as she glanced at her while they went up in the elevator. Corliss’s hands were gripped viselike and stuffed so tightly into her chic little suit jacket that the knuckles showed through the material. Poor child. She was frightened again. It wasn’t just fear for her mother’s safety, was it? She had never
seemed
really to love her mother, although that mother had always given her everything she wanted. But it seemed more a fear of possibilities, gruesome things, like suffering and death.

Corliss’s lips were closed tight, her teeth even shut tight, making her soft little mouth into something firm and hard. And her eyes were frightened eyes.

She slipped over to stand by the girl and slid her hand inside one firmly stiff young arm. “Don’t worry, Corliss,” she whispered. “It’s going to be all right pretty soon, I’m sure.”

Corliss gave her a troubled searching look. “Are you
sure,
Dale?” she asked fearsomely.

“Yes, I’m quite sure,” said Dale reassuringly.

Then they were at the doorway of that long room filled with beds, and sick or dying people in those beds. Corliss gripped Dale’s hand as they walked down to her mother’s bed, gripped it so hard that it hurt, but her pursed lips let out no sound. Corliss had really grown a lot in the last twenty-four hours.

The sick woman lay, almost as yesterday, not seeming to notice anything, until the nurse came up.

“Well, here are your family come to see you, Mrs. Huntley,” the nurse said in a pleasant tone, and the white image in the bed turned her eyes toward them and looked them over oddly as if they were strangers.

The sick woman’s quick, bright eyes surveyed them one at a time, and there came no welcoming look, nothing but critical survey.

“You haven’t got your tie put on right, Powelton,” was the first thing she said.

The boy’s hand went quickly to his tie, but his face got painfully red, and he cast a quick deploring look around to see if the nurse or anyone else had noticed his mother.

“Do you feel any better, Mother?” asked Corliss in an unsteady little voice, so evidently trying to say the right thing, as if she must have thought it out beforehand.

“Better?” snapped her mother. “Why should I feel better? Have I got any reason to feel better? Stuck away in this awful white room? My arm all tied up, my face all tied up, and I can’t do anything about it. What does it all mean, Powelton? Why have you let them do this to me? After all, I’m your mother, you know.”

The boy got white around his mouth and, stooping, tried to explain in a gentle voice that surprised Dale: “Mother, there was an accident, and you got hit by an automobile. They had to bring you to the hospital, and they are going to make you get well. You just be patient, and you’ll feel better pretty soon.”

“Oh, you think you can lecture me, do you? Why, you’re nothing but a child! I guess I know when to be patient, and this isn’t the time for that. I’ll have them know I won’t be kept in this hospital
ward.
I can afford to pay for a private room if I’m really sick, but I don’t think I am. They have just got me all tied up this way to amuse themselves, those doctors and nurses.”

She chattered on meaninglessly, showing that she was not altogether herself, and then her eyes caught a glimpse of Dale, and she fixed her with a hateful glance. “Oh, so
you
thought you had to come, too, did you? Well, you can
go
! I don’t want you hanging around and gloating over me. And if you do anything unkind to my children before I get back I’ll see that you pay for it, do you understand?”

But Corliss, coming close, whispered earnestly, “Oh Mother, Dale’s been wonderful to us. She’s just as sweet and kind as can be! She’s taking care of us.”

And Powelton came closer on the other side. “Dale has been awfully good to us,” he said firmly. “She has taken us home with her and made us just as comfortable as can be. She couldn’t be better. You must not talk that way about her. She is sweet and kind.”

“Oh, she
is,
is she? Well it’s the first time in her life, then,” snapped the woman on the pillow. “But she’ll turn you out when she gets ready. Don’t trust her.”

Then the nurse came near and said in a low tone, “She doesn’t rightly know what she is saying yet. She’s still under opiates, somewhat, and hasn’t got back into the world yet. But I think the next time you come she’ll be more like herself.”

Oh,
thought Dale sadly,
she’s quiet like herself. You just don’t know her, that is all.
But aloud she said: “Of course. I know.”

The invalid’s sharp eyes had closed, and the visitors began to think it was time for them to leave, but suddenly she opened them, and looking straight at her son, she snapped, “I want to see my lawyer. You go down and explain to him what they are doing to me, keeping me here in this ward, and tell him to come right up and get me out of here. Do you understand?”

The young man looked at his mother disapprovingly. “I don’t think the doctor would approve having your lawyer come to see you now. You will have to wait till you are better. Just be patient, Mother. It will all come right.”

“Oh, you think you can
manage
me, do you? Why, that’s ridiculous! Nurse! Help me get up. I’ve got to get out of this bed right away.”

The nurse came quickly, administered some medicine, and said gently, “Just you lie still for a little bit, Mrs. Huntley. Everything’s going to be all right.”

Then the sick woman turned her eyes toward her daughter. “Where are you going now, Corliss?”

“Why, I think maybe I’ll play a little tennis,” said Corliss with a quick understanding. “You take a nice little sleep, Mother, and then we’ll come and see you again.”

Already the medicine was taking effect, and they were able to slip away without further talk, but the nurse followed them to the hall to reassure them. “You know she’ll be quite different from this in a few days. You needn’t feel worried. The doctor seemed to think she was doing as well as could possibly be expected yet.”

They got themselves silently out of that hospital and down into the sunlit street, their faces utterly sad and disheartened.

“Now,” said Dale suddenly when they were out from any chance of being overheard, “I think we’ve got to plan to do something pleasant, don’t you? It wasn’t a cheerful session today. In fact, I was afraid it would be just that way, because I’ve heard before that when people have had concussions and shocks they are very vague in their minds. But they come out of it. Don’t you worry. In fact, the head nurse told me that things were going very much as the doctor had hoped, and he thought if nothing further developed later that we might be very comfortable about the patient. So, the idea is to try to be as cheerful as possible. Have you any suggestions? How about it, Corliss? You said something about playing tennis. Is that what you’d like to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Corliss with a desolate look. “I don’t suppose Pow will be willing to. He said the last time we played that I wasn’t playing as well as I used to, and he was fed up with playing with me.”

Powelton turned, annoyed. “I didn’t say just that, Corrie. I said we ought to try and get some others to play with us. I said you were getting stale just playing with me and that if we had a foursome you’d get back to your game.”

“Well, isn’t that the same thing?” said Corliss sullenly.

“No,” said the brother quietly, “not quite. But anyhow, now, I’m glad to play.”

Dale wondered what had come over Powelton, but she smiled encouragingly. “That’s fine of you, Powelton,” she said, “but if you want a foursome I think I could find one for you. In fact, I might play awhile myself if we can’t find anybody else, and I’m sure Dick Netherby would help out. He’s young, but he’s rather a wizard at the game, I understand. Anyway, let’s try it. I’ll call him up and see if he’s free.”

Neither of the cousins was particularly overjoyed at the idea of strangers, but they were on their good behavior just now, it seemed, so they said nothing except, “Oh, all right.” And Dale went to the telephone. When she came back, she said it was all right, that Dick could come, and he was going to bring over another racket for her to use, so they would all be able to play.

“Who is this Dick?” asked Corliss rather grimly. “Is he just a kid? Because kids can’t really play our game.”

“Wait till you see,” said Dale, smiling. “They send for him everywhere to play because he’s really a sort of champion. But suppose we come on and eat our lunch now and be ready when Dick comes. He may not be able to stay long this time. He’s working somewhere in the late afternoons.”

So they went in to the nice lunch that Hattie had ready for them, and the atmosphere became a trifle less doleful.

But Dick as a tennis player turned out to be a great success. He arrived early, and they heard his sharp whistle while they sat waiting for him. They went off happily together, Corliss studying this bright-faced homely boy with the engaging grin and wondering why it was she couldn’t seem to make him look at her admiringly, the way the high school boys at home did. But there was a sort of dignity about Dick that, in spite of his youth, made him seem older than he really was.

Hattie watched them going off together, Dale swinging her racket as cheerfully as any of them, and she said to herself,
Miss Dale, she is a real livin’ saint, that’s what she is! Just fancy her goin’ off to play with them brats after the way they treated her before this.

I
t was a golden day in the late fall, and as they started out for the tennis courts, the leaves of the trees seemed just beginning to flame into deeper color, especially the maples, some of which had brought out a lovely coral pink that seemed almost as if they were trying to aim at the new fall fashionable shades. Dale took it all in, to paint it over again in words for David when she had an opportunity to be by herself and write him again. Up in a tall tree a little bird was voicing its joy in the continued mildness of the weather and announcing its intention of going south soon for the winter.

Somehow the problems of the immediate future grew less staggering to her mind as she went out into the sunshine to try and help two other despairing souls to keep their footing in their new uncertain world.

But there was something else besides the sunshine and the singing of the birds that gave Dale a song in her heart as she went out for a real playtime; and that was her love, going somewhere—out into danger, far away from her—but
loving
her, with a love that she felt would last even into another life, if God willed that he might not come back in this one. But oh, how she prayed that he might come back! And so David in mind went out with her, and she thought much about him and perhaps played better because of her thought of him.

That afternoon set the pace for a steady life for the two, little more than children, who were suddenly cast upon the mercy of an up until then unloved cousin. They all had a good time, even the girl who was giving up her time and thought to help the two cousins.

They came home to another good dinner. Hattie was all for what her young mistress was doing, now. These wild young visitors were showing some sense and allowing themselves to be led in right ways. Well, she would help all she could. So the dinner was full of little pleasant surprises that only Hattie knew how to make, and yet it had not been costly, either in money or ration stamps.

That evening Dale got out a large jigsaw puzzle, and so well had she proved herself an equal in tennis playing that the other two were interested to inspect the puzzle. Before long they were all working away happily at it, spurred on by trying to get their portions finished as soon as their cousin finished hers, which proved to be some contest, for Dale was skillful at jigsaw puzzles as well as tennis.

Dale hustled them off to bed at ten, realizing she had a letter to write yet before she slept and wondering if Corliss would repeat last night’s act again. She asked her if she would like to sleep in her room again, but Corliss sheepishly declined. Dale had caught a glance between the brother and sister, showing that the brother had been making fun of his sister for what she did the night before, probably scolding her. “I’ll be all right,” she said with a pale little smile, and then added, “but thank you just the same.”

“All right,” said Dale in a matter-of-fact tone, “but come in anytime, night or day, when you feel you need company.” And a smile passed between the two girls that was far different from any glance they had ever shared before.

The jigsaw puzzle, left on the table in a corner all night, proved an incentive to get up early the next day and go at it, and Dale began to feel that if she could just keep these two busy and a little interested, half her problems would be solved.

So the days fell into a pleasant routine—the visits to the hospital beginning each day, sometimes another in the late afternoon, all brief and bringing very little satisfaction.

As the mother recovered, more and more she fell into the habit of bewailing her fate and somehow trying to blame Dale for her accident. If Dale hadn’t been so trying, she said, she was sure she would never have gotten so confused as to let herself get run over.

Dale avoided such issues as much as possible and responded by bringing a few lovely late blossoms from the garden, until Aunt Blanche waved them away one day and called them weeds. “Take those weeds away!” she snarled disagreeably. “They give me the creeps. They make me sneeze, and they might have worms on them.” So then Dale brought a few roses from the florist’s and made Corliss give them to her mother. But it made little difference in the woman’s attitude. She was determined to complain. She took a dislike to all the nurses and demanded others. She kept up a continual outcry about being put in the ward and kept demanding a private room. But no private room was given her. There was the same excuse, “We have no private room to spare. The private rooms are now occupied by two or three patients at least, because of war conditions.”