The Doctor's Undoing (5 page)

Grimshaw blinked, his face splitting into a smile that looked somehow alarming on his lanky features. “I thought it rather cute, truly. Seems a shame how a spot of kindness gets so poorly repaid.”

Ida hadn't expected his reaction. “Why thank you, Mr. Grimshaw. But it seems to me you are doing the paying.” She cast a glance at Loeman, now wincing as he gingerly swiped the cake of soap across his knuckles. It stung, no doubt about that, but keeping wounds clean was absolutely essential in this moist heat. “I hadn't thought about there being siblings in here.”

Grimshaw's features softened further. “Loeman's one of the sadder cases, actually. His pa's been out of work so long they just couldn't feed them any longer.”

Ida's jaw fell open. “Do you mean to say Meredith and Tony's parents are still living? They're not actually orphaned but
abandoned
?” The thought practically knocked her against the hallway wall. “It's a wonder Tony hasn't slugged the whole world.”

“He's working on it. This wasn't his first fistfight. That's why I came down so hard on him.”

Ida could only sigh and stare in at the poor boy. He looked her way for a fraction of a second—likely imagining she and Grimshaw were out here devising hideous forms of punishment—then returned to his painful task.

“I still think it was a fine thing you did. I know Mrs. Smiley will give you no end of grief for it, but I'm glad to see a kindness paid, no matter what the cost.”

After a weekend of awful consequences, the man's encouragement warmed Ida's sore heart. “It's mighty kind of you to say so, Mr. Grimshaw.” She glanced up and down the hallway, again aware of how stark the buildings were. “I'm just so aching to put a dash of color into this place. Children should live in cheerful rooms, don't you think? Happy, color-filled places?” It seemed an odd thing to say to a man who seemed a study in black and white every day.

“It's a nice thought, Nurse Landway. Although I could have done with a little less red today.” He peered at a bloody smear on his cuff. “Do hope they can get this out in the wash,” he muttered to himself before returning his attention to Ida. “I must get back to the library, where the boys are learning chess. Please do send Tony back there when he's done here. While the laundry may not be possible, I'm quite sure Mr. Loeman can play chess with one hand.”

Ida put her hand on the infirmary door. These boys needed some place to channel their energy, but she doubted chess was going to fit the bill. What a complicated minefield of a place the Parker Home was turning out to be.
You're going to have to help me find my way, Father
, Ida prayed as she eyed the scowl still filling Tony Loeman's face.
This place makes the army look easy!

Chapter Six

I
da raised the frame and set it gently on the nail Mr. MacNeil had placed in the wall above her small desk. She looked back at Leanne Gallows before she adjusted the frame so that it hung straight.

“Perfect,” Leanne said, smiling. “I like the yellow matting—the room needs it.”

“It does.” Ida stepped back to admire the brightly framed copy of the “Nightingale Pledge.” Ida, Leanne and hundreds of nurses before and since them had recited these words at the pinning ceremony that officially welcomed them into the profession. The piece had been framed in a formal cream matting, but last night Ida had salvaged a few inches off the hem of her yellow curtains and redone the mounting. She'd made a promise to herself to add one bit of color to her world every day, even if it was something as small as a hair ribbon. “And here I thought the army had gotten me used to drab.”

“It's not that bad, is it?” Leanne looked around and shrugged. “Well, then again, I suppose it is. Seems sad to ask children to live like this.” She clearly caught the look in Ida's eyes, for a smile turned up one corner of her mouth. “Which is why you're plotting something, aren't you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Maybe I should remind you about the bit in there about abstaining from mischief,” Leanne teased, crossing her arms over her chest. Leanne had given Ida no small amount of grief over the line in the pledge that read “I shall abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous,” to which Ida had no small amount of trouble adhering.

Ida sat across from her friend. “Socks can hardly be counted as mischief.”

“I thought you told me an actual fistfight had broken out over those baby booties.”

“Well, yes,” Ida admitted, “but we can't blame that one on the socks. In this awful weather, boys are going to be spoiling for a fight no matter what—the booties were only an excuse. I just hadn't thought through the implications.”

Leanne laughed. “Imagine that.”

“I'll have you know I have Dr. Parker's approval on the idea as long as each girl gets the same number of socks at the same time.”

“I've heard of the Parker family, but I don't really know them. What is Daniel Parker like? You've been here a whole eight days. How have you found your new employer?”

Ida didn't have to think much before replying. “Whopping serious.”

Leanne laughed. “I imagine half the world strikes you as overly serious. So, then, is the good doctor somber serious, or dedicated serious?”

“A bit of both.” Ida looked in the direction of Dr. Parker's office. The angle of the buildings was such that she could see the windows of his office from her own office windows. She had come down here well past midnight Sunday evening, having forgotten a book she wanted to review, and found his light still on. She knew he left the compound now and then, but other than that he seemed to be continually at his post. “I believe he views his work here as a vocation. He seems to bear the burden of all these youngsters mighty personally. You'd think they'd be fond of him for it.”

Leanne cocked her head to one side. “Aren't they?”

Ida fiddled an unruly curl escaping from her pinned-up hair. “They like him, but it doesn't really seem to go much beyond that. It's not as if they are afraid he'll harm them in any way, but they don't look to him for affection—to give it or to receive it. I expect I've gotten more hugs in my week here than that man gets all year. Those little arms can't reach past all that authority to get to the man on the other side, if you ask me.”

“Well, I suppose it takes a certain amount of command to keep a place like this from chaos. Soldiers mostly do as they are told. Not so with children.”

Ida leaned in. “That's just it—they
do
obey like little soldiers. Take suppers, for instance. The meals here are deathly quiet. Makes me skittish to hear only the sound of so many little mouths chewing. If I could tell Dr. Parker one place to lighten things up, I'd sure start with the meals.”

“Will you? Start telling him where to lighten things up?”

Ida blew out a breath and sat back in her chair. “I just won the sock skirmish—or so I think. I might need to ponder when to wage my next battle.”

“An army fights on its feet.” Leanne recited the saying often quoted by Red Cross knitters as they had stitched up socks for the boys overseas. “So now you're going to start the brightening campaign with a rainbow of little socked feet?”

“Lots of 'em.”

“You told me this post doesn't give you a lot of idle time. I admit it's a wonderful idea, but Ida, it could take you a year or more before you get enough socks done.”

Ida leaned in just as Leanne's face showed the idea coming to her, as well. “That's why you're going to help me. You did it once before at Camp Jackson. Now we need a much more colorful version of our band of knitters right here.”

“Volunteer knitters like we had at the Red Cross. Of course!” Leanne tapped her forehead. “I can't believe I didn't think of that first. It'd be so easy.”

“If gals would knit for soldiers, they'd surely knit for children.”

Ida watched her friend purse her lips in thought. She knew that look. “I imagine I could have a dozen ladies lined up by tomorrow if I set my mind to it.”

“And don't I know what you can do when you set your mind to something.” Ida grabbed Leanne's hand. “So you'll help?”

Leanne's eyes sparkled. “Just try to stop me. But we'll need details—how many girls, their shoe sizes, that sort of thing.”

Opening her desk, Ida handed her a sheet of paper. “I'm miles ahead of you. We have twenty-six girls. I told them I was inspecting their shoes for mites last night at bedtime, but I really just logged their sizes. I figure if we just divide them up into small, medium and large sizes, we'll have it covered with only three patterns. But the yarn...”

Leanne stood up. “Don't you worry about the yarn. Papa has enough friends in the cotton trade to get that covered. And what Papa can't get, John will.” Leanne's new husband, John—a decorated war hero who'd come to South Carolina to stump for war bonds after being wounded in battle—was legendary for his persuasive abilities.

“One rule.” Ida held up a finger. “Only bright, cheerful colors. No white. And not one speck of black, navy or army green.”

Leanne pulled Ida into a hug. “Not on your life. Pinks and yellows and every cheerful color I can find. I think ruffles on the edges, too?”

Ida imagined Gitch's feet clad in extravagant yellow ruffles and could barely contain the glow in her heart. “Absolutely.”

“I can even help from Washington,” Leanne said with a sadness overcoming her smile. Leanne and John were moving soon to Washington, DC for John's new post as a diplomatic attaché. Ida knew she'd feel the loss keenly when the couple left. She treasured every face-to-face visit with Leanne, knowing soon they'd be confined to letters and infrequent visits. They'd been partners in escapades—knitting and otherwise—for so long, Ida wasn't sure how she'd keep her spirits up in a place like this without Leanne.

“Of course you can.” Ida tightened her grip on her friend. “Socks mail well. But it won't be the same. I shall miss you so very much.” They'd been through desperate times together, such as when they'd fought the Spanish influenza outbreak that had almost taken Leanne's life. Still, Leanne was glowingly happy in her new life and destined for great success in Washington with her dashing husband.

“I won't worry about you having nothing to do here,” Leanne said as she pulled away and tucked the list into her bag.

“Do you think we need to supply patterns?”

Leanne thought for a moment. “Not if we gather experienced knitters. Scaling down to small sizes and cheerful colors will be easy for women who knit all those army socks. Honestly, this should be effortless to pull together. I'll stop by the Red Cross on my way home and come back in a day or so with the list of volunteers.”

“I was thinking we could assign specific girls to each knitter if we can find enough volunteers. That way there would be a personal connection. I want every chance for these girls to know someone outside those gates cares about them.”

Leanne recaptured Ida's hand. “Look at you. I never thought of you as having much of a heart for young ones, but it's so clear you belong here. This place needs my dear Ida's dose of brilliant color.”

Ida quoted the pledge behind her. “I shall be loyal to my work and devoted towards the welfare of those committed to my care.”

“With only the necessary amount of mischief,” Leanne added, giving Ida's hand one last squeeze before turning toward the door. “Oh!” She dodged to the side as a small boy with a very green tint to his face tumbled into the room half held up by one of the older lads.

“Eddie ate dirt,” the older boy proclaimed, as though that were all the explanation required.

Ida didn't even bother to ask why but simply reached for a basin with one hand as she waved farewell to Leanne with the other.

* * *

Daniel was wrestling with the midmonth invoices and bookkeeping when a knock came at his door.

“Come in.”

To have Mrs. Smiley appear at his door with a scowl was a near-daily occurrence at the Home. Her scowl today, however, seemed especially severe. It didn't take a medical degree to diagnose the source of the schoolmistress's current pain.

Daniel removed his glasses. “What has Miss Landway done now, Mrs. Smiley?”

That wasn't entirely fair, but he was indeed weary of Mrs. Smiley's litany of petty complaints. She'd yet to grace any of the nurse candidates with her favor. Indeed, Daniel could never be sure the stout woman had ever found any of the Home staff up to snuff—himself included. Still, she'd been hired by his father, and was practically as much a fixture of the place as the bricks and mortar. As a doctor, he could manage without a nurse, but he could never hope to last a day without a schoolmistress.

“It isn't Nurse Landway exactly, Dr. Parker.”

Daniel wasn't sure if that boded well or ill. “Well, then, what is it exactly?”

“That woman just spent the last thirty minutes trying to convince me that knitting involved mathematics. As if I should be tucking yarn and needles inside the girls' textbooks.”

Daniel never favored sums and figures as a child, nor as a man, as his current battle with accounting accurately proved. “Is there math in knitting? I'd no idea.”

Mrs. Smiley huffed. “Well, if you want to ask Nurse Landway about it, make sure you've got half an hour to spare. I declare, but that woman can go on.”

“She has a certain...” He searched for the right word that would agree with her but yet still defend his new nurse. “...enthusiasm, I'll agree.”

“I want your assurance such foolishness will not be entering my classroom.” Mrs. Smiley's plump hands planted on her hips. “The last thing I need is those girls thinking about fiddling with stitchery when I've got multiplication to teach.”

“Perhaps she was just making conversation.” Miss Landway did seem eager to make friends with just about anyone. Perhaps she viewed the dour Mrs. Smiley as an interpersonal challenge.

“Make conversation? That woman has no need to dream up conversation. She has chatter seeping out of her pores, bless her heart.” Like generations of Southern women before her, Jane Smiley applied the platitude of “bless her heart” at the end of any negative judgment. Somehow considered the universal absolution of an unkind comment, to Daniel “bless her heart” simply allowed women of good breeding to be delicately mean. The opinion was confirmed by the next sentence out of his schoolmistress's mouth. “If I want my meals in a circus, I'll just head on down to the tavern.”

The thought of prim Mrs. Smiley hoisting a mug with the town's multitude of sailors in a tavern was about as ludicrous as it was entertaining. But he couldn't agree with the substance of her complaint. The truth was, Daniel was rather coming to enjoy Miss Landway's way of livening up conversation at the staff dining table. He'd learned things about his staff since her arrival that he'd never known in the years he worked here. Yes, she could be difficult at times, and he was quite sure she'd challenge him on any number of subjects once she settled in properly. His initial reservations, however, were giving way to a reluctant admission that Ida Landway might actually be good for the Parker Home for Orphans. “What is it you'd like me to do, Mrs. Smiley?” He'd learned this to be an effective question—often Mrs. Smiley didn't actually want any action taken, she just wanted her views to be known. Clearly and in considerable detail.

Apparently this was the present case, for she blinked and huffed again, caught up short at the request for a suggestion. While the schoolmistress was never short of opinions, she rarely had suggestions. Miss Landway, on the other hand, seemed to boast an endless supply of both. “Mind she knows her limits, Dr. Parker.”

“Indeed I will, Mrs. Smiley.” It was, in truth, a valid suggestion. Daniel had already concluded that guiding Miss Landway to see her proper boundaries and not to step on toes would be the key to her fitting in on the staff. He switched the subject. “How is Miss Forley doing in her studies these days? I know she was having some trouble earlier.”

Nothing puffed up Jane Smiley like the accomplishments of her charges. “Exemplary. Once Donna put her mind to it, she caught on quickly. I've even asked her to tutor one of the younger ones having trouble with subtraction.”

Daniel hoped Donna Forley would be one of the Home's success stories. After losing her mother to illness at an early age, Donna was raised by her father and an aunt until the war, when battle and influenza took them both from the poor child. Life had dealt Donna a terrible hand indeed, and she'd been withdrawn and near starving when she had come to the Home. Now, at sixteen, she was blooming into a confident young woman ready to take her place in the world. She'd managed to establish bonds with the other children, crafting siblings when no blood family existed. Daniel took great satisfaction in the fact that many of the Home's “graduating” classes became makeshift siblings to each other in the outside world. Father had told him, “The Home makes families out of need, not blood,” and it was true.