Have you had any bleeding?”
Flora only looked at me piteously out of mute eyes and moaned again. As I knelt there, I reached down my hand to steady myself and felt something against my knees, a glass object of some sort just under the edge of the bed. I brought it out for a closer look and then asked gently, “Did you drink this whole bottle of Mr. Peckham’s Syrup, Flora?” She hesitated, then nodded and moaned again. I stood. “I’ll need a large glass of water mixed with a heaping tablespoon of baking soda and a basin of some kind for Flora to be sick in. Mr. Peckham’s Syrup needs to come up.” Behind me, Miss Cartwright turned without a word and exited. Flora took my hand and squeezed it hard, whether in protest or understanding I couldn’t tell.
“The stuff won’t hurt you on the way up, Flora, but it will continue to cramp you like this if we don’t get it out.” Leaning closer to her, I said quietly, “I know what you thought you were doing, Flora, but Mr. Peckham’s Syrup won’t have any effect on the baby. All it will do, in the quantity you drank, is make you as sick as you feel right now. We’ll deal with the baby sensibly when you’re feeling better.”
Crea, standing on the other side of the bed, met my look. “Do you really understand?” she asked obliquely.
“I think so. Desperation makes people do desperate things, things they wouldn’t think of doing under normal circumstances if they could see any other way out of their situation.”
“You don’t blame her?”
“She’s a child herself. How old is she? Fifteen?”
“Fourteen.”
“I don’t blame her, Crea, but that’s why I’m here, to help women find ways out of desperate situations, to help them through those hard times you mentioned.”
“I didn’t know you were a nurse.”
“When you get to know me, you’ll find I’m a lot of things. A nurse is just one of them.” We exchanged brief smiles before Flora moaned again and a woman appeared at the door with soda water and a large pan. After that we were busy, with nothing to smile about for the next hour or so. The doctor appeared just as Flora shuddered and retched one last time, then lay back down, exhausted and still very much pregnant.
“What happened here?” the doctor asked us.
Wrapping the bottle nonchalantly in a towel before rolling down my sleeves, I replied, “I’d guess some kind of food poisoning. She must have eaten something that didn’t agree with her delicate condition. She and the baby will be all right.” He came forward to examine Flora, and Crea and I stepped out of the room into the hallway.
“I’ll take that,” Crea told me, reaching for the basin.
“I can handle the slops as well as you,” I responded tartly, “in spite of my college education and society family.” My words made her grin.
“It isn’t becoming in a woman like yourself to be so touchy, Johanna. You’ll have to grow a thicker skin if you intend to spend more time at the Anchorage.”
Holding my unpleasant burden out in front of me, I answered, “My skin is plenty thick enough, thank you, but my sense of direction could use some help. Where do I dump this?”
Laughing a little under her breath, Crea went ahead of me down the hall and then descended some steps that led to a small water closet.
“We have indoor plumbing” was all she said and opened the door with a flourish and a grin.
Sitting on the train on the way home, I decided I liked Crea O’Rourke and thought we might even become friends. She had taken the wrapped empty bottle from me without a word and disposed of it, coming to the front door later as I was putting on my coat to tell me, “The doctor says Flora will be none the worse for wear.”
“Good. Who will watch her tonight?
“I will.”
I looked at her curiously. “Do you live at the Anchorage, Crea?”
“It’s my home.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
“We’re both women of mystery, then.”
I laughed. “There’s
Flora only looked at me piteously out of mute eyes and moaned again. As I knelt there, I reached down my hand to steady myself and felt something against my knees, a glass object of some sort just under the edge of the bed. I brought it out for a closer look and then asked gently, “Did you drink this whole bottle of Mr. Peckham’s Syrup, Flora?” She hesitated, then nodded and moaned again. I stood. “I’ll need a large glass of water mixed with a heaping tablespoon of baking soda and a basin of some kind for Flora to be sick in. Mr. Peckham’s Syrup needs to come up.” Behind me, Miss Cartwright turned without a word and exited. Flora took my hand and squeezed it hard, whether in protest or understanding I couldn’t tell.
“The stuff won’t hurt you on the way up, Flora, but it will continue to cramp you like this if we don’t get it out.” Leaning closer to her, I said quietly, “I know what you thought you were doing, Flora, but Mr. Peckham’s Syrup won’t have any effect on the baby. All it will do, in the quantity you drank, is make you as sick as you feel right now. We’ll deal with the baby sensibly when you’re feeling better.”
Crea, standing on the other side of the bed, met my look. “Do you really understand?” she asked obliquely.
“I think so. Desperation makes people do desperate things, things they wouldn’t think of doing under normal circumstances if they could see any other way out of their situation.”
“You don’t blame her?”
“She’s a child herself. How old is she? Fifteen?”
“Fourteen.”
“I don’t blame her, Crea, but that’s why I’m here, to help women find ways out of desperate situations, to help them through those hard times you mentioned.”
“I didn’t know you were a nurse.”
“When you get to know me, you’ll find I’m a lot of things. A nurse is just one of them.” We exchanged brief smiles before Flora moaned again and a woman appeared at the door with soda water and a large pan. After that we were busy, with nothing to smile about for the next hour or so. The doctor appeared just as Flora shuddered and retched one last time, then lay back down, exhausted and still very much pregnant.
“What happened here?” the doctor asked us.
Wrapping the bottle nonchalantly in a towel before rolling down my sleeves, I replied, “I’d guess some kind of food poisoning. She must have eaten something that didn’t agree with her delicate condition. She and the baby will be all right.” He came forward to examine Flora, and Crea and I stepped out of the room into the hallway.
“I’ll take that,” Crea told me, reaching for the basin.
“I can handle the slops as well as you,” I responded tartly, “in spite of my college education and society family.” My words made her grin.
“It isn’t becoming in a woman like yourself to be so touchy, Johanna. You’ll have to grow a thicker skin if you intend to spend more time at the Anchorage.”
Holding my unpleasant burden out in front of me, I answered, “My skin is plenty thick enough, thank you, but my sense of direction could use some help. Where do I dump this?”
Laughing a little under her breath, Crea went ahead of me down the hall and then descended some steps that led to a small water closet.
“We have indoor plumbing” was all she said and opened the door with a flourish and a grin.
Sitting on the train on the way home, I decided I liked Crea O’Rourke and thought we might even become friends. She had taken the wrapped empty bottle from me without a word and disposed of it, coming to the front door later as I was putting on my coat to tell me, “The doctor says Flora will be none the worse for wear.”
“Good. Who will watch her tonight?
“I will.”
I looked at her curiously. “Do you live at the Anchorage, Crea?”
“It’s my home.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
“We’re both women of mystery, then.”
I laughed. “There’s
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