Hurricane Nurse (6 page)

They made a strange procession down the short hall to a double doorway opposite the front door. The noise from the card players was more boisterous—drunken sounding, Donna thought. Hank fumbled the key into the lock and lifted the iron bar that controlled the latch. Wind rushed in, and a damp mist. The roar that it made filled their ears. Hank went first with the lantern. Jack and Donna followed, with Melissa between them. Cliff, carrying the mattress and the rubber sheet, came last, an electric lantern in his hand. Rain came in under the roof that covered the colonnade along the patio. Driven sharply, it bit into their faces, stinging and making little rivulets. The tall palms that rose above the low one-story part of the building writhed under its force, bending as if they sought the protection of the school building. Twice, Melissa had to stop and wait for the pain that twisted her to have its way and depart. Then Hank was unlocking the door to the cafeteria and leading the way in.

The two lanterns drove back only a little of the darkness of that huge room. The counter where lines of students formed at mealtime was covered with white cloths which looked ghostly along the side opposite the entrance. The long windows on their left showed shadows of trees which seemed about to be twisted from the earth. Donna was freshly afraid. The storm beyond the windows sent a cold terror into her marrow. The dark room was something she had not really considered. She didn't see how she could deliver a baby in the half-light which the lanterns gave.

Silently she upbraided herself. Two lives depended on her. She had to see that they did not depend in vain. She pulled out a chair and helped Melissa to sink onto it.

Donna pointed out the table beside which they stood. "Put the mattress there, Cliff. Jack, we didn't bring the sheets. Take one of the lanterns and go back for them. There are two blankets in the locker. It seems to me that it's cold in here. Bring them, too."

Jack looked down at his wife as if he might be going to refuse.

"You go, like she says, Jack. You get those things," she whispered.

When he had closed the big doors behind him, she gasped out a fresh fear. "You—can't see— in here. I can't have my baby in the dark. I can't."

Donna tried a laugh and was astounded that it sounded as natural as it did. "Babies don't care whether it's dark or light, Missy. We'll put both lanterns up close to welcome the little stranger. We have light enough. You'll see."

Hank offered his lantern to Donna. "I have an idea. I'll be back in a bit. You keep a stiff upper lip, Mrs. Hartson. We're going to see you through."

Melissa bent over and covered her face with her hands. She seemed not to be conscious of either of those who remained. The groan that broke from her became a scream that tore at her throat.

"There isn't any ether, is there?" Cliff asked in a shaken voice.

Donna shook her head. "I'd be scared to use it, even if we had it. I've given ether under direction, but I'm certainly not an anesthetist, and I don't know anything about her heart or—or anything. We're just going to have to stick it out, no matter how hard it gets."

His long hands were fists. "I'm not going to 'just stick it out.'" he said. "I'm going to do something. I'll be back as quickly as I can. Jack will be along any minute. You'll be all right?"

Donna nodded, fighting off the desire to cling to his arm, to beg him not to leave her alone with the responsibility that was hers. He went out, and she put her whole weight against the door and fastened it. She felt utterly bereft.

Melissa spoke aloud. "I'm going to die. I hope it will be soon."

Earlier, the thick walls of the school building had shut out the sound of the hurricane, but now it screeched in such a high whine that Donna remembered the notes that were lost to human beings and that dogs were said to hear. Surely if that whistle went much higher it would be inaudible. For a moment, she pushed from her the words that Melissa Hartson had just said in that clear, despairing tone. Then she turned back to her patient. It wouldn't do to let the girl think that the sooner her end came the better it would be. Donna went back to where Melissa sat and put an arm about her shoulders.

"You aren't to talk like that," she said soothingly. "You're going to be fine. You have to be. What would your Jack do without you?"

"Why doesn't he hurry?" Melissa asked then, her thin hands rubbing together in a sort of frenzy. "Doesn't he know he has to get me out of this place and to a doctor? Has he gone away and forgotten me? He ought to be here with me." Her voice was only less shrill than the storm.

Again Donna soothed and comforted. "Remember, he's gone to get sheets and a blanket. It's getting colder, you know."

Melissa hugged herself at the suggestion. "I'm already c-cold. Tell him to hurry."

But Jack had hurried. He was banging on the door and calling out. Donna turned toward the sound, moving swiftly to let him in. Melissa came to her feet and screamed, the sound rising and falling, echoing in the almost empty room as Donna struggled with the lock. When at last she was able to loosen it, the door was snatched from her hands with such force that she was flung to the floor. She scrambled to her feet and took Jack's burden from him.

"You're stronger than I am," she told him. "Get that door fastened. I'll get the bed made."

Missy was pacing up and down, flinging her arms about wildly, moaning, and muttering. As Donna approached, she could make out the words: "I want my mother. Why doesn't my mother come? She would stop all this hurting. I want my mother."

Because she could think of nothing practical she could do for the girl, Donna set about making the table-bed which had been selected, pinning the rubber sheet in place, tucking the sheets with the expert quickness of much practice. Jack dealt with the door and came back to his wife, walking with her, speaking gently to her, trying to reason with her. Above the sound of their footsteps and the starched whisper of sheets, the wind continued to wail ever louder.

The bed was ready now and Donna coaxed the suffering Missy into it, covering her with sheet and blanket. As if only now had her body realized that it was cold, the girl began to shake. Her hands with their bright-colored tips reached out and clung to Jack's as if he cupped her life in his palms.

She was whimpering with a fresh onslaught of pain when there came a second knocking on the door. Donna nodded to Jack that he was to remain where he was and went to answer it herself.

This time, Hank Fincher was seeking entrance. He carried one end of a tall standing mirror, and the boy Dusty, who had been so full of insolent young maleness only a few hours before, carried the other. Each man carried still another electric lantern.

Donna allowed them to come inside, staring with some puzzlement at their burden. She could certainly use the extra lights, but a mirror? She could think of nothing less likely to be useful in a predicament such as this one.

"Where did you get that?" she gasped, struggling again with the reluctant door. "Put it down and give me a hand here."

Dusty obeyed, and received a warm smile along with her murmured, "Thank you." She turned then to Hank, her eyes big with wonder. "What on earth did you bring
that
down here for?"

He answered her last question first, tugging the heavy mirror across the floor toward the impromptu delivery table. "It came from the sewing room upstairs. Dusty, help me lift it up on that table there. No… maybe we'd better bring it closer first. Here."

Between them, they tugged the long, black-topped table to the spot Hank had indicated, then lifted the mirror to stand upon it before Hank finished explaining to Donna. "It's a trick I saw in a late television movie not very long ago. One of those biographical things. About Thomas Edison. They used a mirror and an oil lamp to make light for an operation. It looked to me as if we could do the same thing here. Dusty, bring all those lanterns over and put them in front of the mirror. A little farther out. Yep. Yep, that's exactly right."

Donna's eyes were lifted to the principal's face in pleased admiration. "Hank, that's wonderful. It makes almost as much light as the overhead ones would. I feel a million times more optimistic."

Dusty had buried his fists in his trouser pockets and was kneading his thighs, self-consciously not looking at the moaning girl almost at his elbow. "Is—is it all right if I go back out there now? I— I—" His throat seemed to have closed up and he did not finish his sentence.

Hank patted the embarrassed boy's shoulder. "Thanks, boy. You've done your good deed for the night, I guess. Sure. Go on back if you want to." He followed Dusty to the heavy door to fight the wind and make sure the latch was properly fastened.

Donna, infinitely more cheerful in the brighter light, had a new thought. "I bet there's still coffee in that big maker there. It might even be hot. Why don't we all have a cup?"

If the coffee wasn't piping hot, it was still warm, and she filled four thick cups and brought two to Missy and Jack. Hank followed with the other two, and Donna sought out a sugar bowl and opened a can of cream. Even Missy brightened as she sat up gingerly and began to sip the dark liquid.

"Coffee would be good even if you didn't like the taste of it," Donna murmured. "It smells so marvelous."

Missy smiled palely, pushing the damp hair back from her pointed face.

"There's more," Donna offered when they had finished. "Anybody?"

But no one wanted more coffee. Pain was coming down on Missy again, responsibility on Jack. Hank, almost as self-conscious as Dusty had been, squirmed on his chair, then rose and began to gather up the cups. "I'll rinse these and get back to the front. I'm in charge of things and you never know what might happen when your back is turned." He didn't want anyone to think his retreat was anything but necessity.

Donna set about timing the pains again. They were only slightly closer together than they had been. It was going to be a long, miserable night. First babies, Donna thought. Sometimes they were reluctant to come into the world.

Hank washed and dried the cups, murmured a good night and said he'd be in the front hall or his office if they wanted him. He had nearly reached the door when once more there came a knock. A voice called above the noise of the storm: "It's Cliff Warrender. Let me in."

The two men spoke briefly in the entrance and Hank slipped out. Only then did Donna see that Baby LaRue, her heavy make-up rather smeared since she had first arrived, stood in Cliff's shadow, two bottles clasped to her opulent bosom. Cliff shut out the wind, and the two came toward the now brightly lighted table just as Missy gasped, rolled herself into a cocoon and screamed.

Baby was tripping along quite like the dancer she claimed to be. "So we're having the hurricane baby right here at Flamingo this year. Honey, you'll be getting all sorts of presents for you and the young'un, and your pictures in the paper, all about how brave you've been. But havin' a baby like this isn't all beer and skittles, and that's a fact. But this nice man, Mr. Warrender, had the right idea. He's been going up and down the halls bummin' whiskey off everybody that had any. We're goin' to have you drunk as a lord in about ten minutes and you won't know what's struck you until you wake up with a head in the morning. Fetch a glass, Mr. Warrender."

"D-drunk?" Jack stuttered. "Is that all right? It won't hurt her? Or the baby?"

"It'll ease things up for her, I should think. Used to give it to soldiers when they had to amputate, or dig out bullets. What do you say, doctor?" Cliff turned twinkling eyes on Donna. "Ought to be all right, oughtn't it?"

Donna wasn't sure. She did remember a charity case when she was in training who had been brought in roaring drunk and had produced twins. She certainly didn't know anything against it. She nodded her consent.

"Sure, it's okay," Baby insisted, looking a bit tipsy herself, her bright hair slipping to one side, her mascara and lipstick smeared. "I was with a side show once. Helped a lot of them girls when their time came. Nothin' to it. Mr. W., you found that glass yet?"

It was a tall glass that he brought from the kitchen. Baby screwed the stopper out of the bottle and splashed the whiskey into the glass, then held it out to Missy. The girl looked at it doubtfully, wrinkled her nose, and shook her head. "It smells—awful."

"Drink it down, honey. Quick, like it was castor oil. We're drinkin' for effect, not the taste. Toast the little one and lay it down the hatch."

Missy took a gingerly sip and fell to coughing. Baby shook her a little. "Drink it down. I don't want to have to hold your nose and pour it into you. Quick, now."

Missy drank. Baby took the glass, filled it again and held it out. Missy was not so reluctant this time, though she coughed once more when she had swallowed it.

Again, Baby gave orders. "Lie down, now. Don't want you fallin' on the floor."

Donna and Jack helped Melissa to lie flat, and she was silent for a minute. Then she spoke thickly. "Everything looks—funny. S-somebody drew a lion up there on the ceiling. See?" A wandering forefinger pointed out weather stains on the ceiling, stains that might have been interpreted as a cloud or a hamburger, or almost anything before anyone would have thought of a lion.

"Got to get a big knife and put it under the table here," Baby went on cheerfully. "Cuts the pain, that does. And you boys clear out. This is woman's business."

As Donna had predicted, the night was long and the baby did not arrive until nearly daylight. Under the influence of the unaccustomed whiskey, Missy dozed, roused to moan and mumble, then dozed again.

Still, it was not the sort of night Donna had expected. Baby LaRue was a chatterbox but, different from many old people, she neither moaned the decadence of the present nor glorified the virtues of the past. She was full of stories of her checkered life, humorous, sad, sometimes even tragic. She told them colorfully, holding the climax until Donna sometimes found herself sitting on the edge of her chair and holding her breath. In spite of her superstitions, Baby had a good deal of practical experience with the work in hand. And best of all, she remained self-confident and cheerful. Donna found herself feeling sure that she would be able to handle anything that might come up, in spite of an occasional twinge of anxiety that complications might set in. Now and then the expectant father came, peered at his wife and went away no less worried.