Una couldn’t focus. When Nurse Cuddy had asked for cod-liver oil, she brought her linseed meal instead. When Una readied a bath for a patient, she forgot to add hot water, and the man yelped, stepping into the cold tub. When she came to collect the leeches off a patient, she couldn’t get them to relax their hold, realizing only once they’d gorged themselves and dropped off on their own that she’d sprinkled them with sugar, not salt. Eventually Miss Cuddy relegated her to dusting, a task she’d already completed for the day, though not with great care, and one where she could affect little harm.
Today Superintendent Perkins was meeting with each of the probationers to inform them whether they’d been approved to continue on in the training program. Una’s appointment, one of the last of the day, wasn’t until three that afternoon. She’d tried to work out whether it was a good sign or a bad one to be scheduled at the end. Was Miss Perkins meeting first with those she intended to expel or saving them for last? When Una learned Dru had a much earlier appointment, she guessed the latter. Of course, the order might be fixed in some other way or entirely at random, but Una’s insides had knotted nonetheless.
Only a month and a half had passed since her arrest. Not nearly long enough for the coppers to have forgotten her. If Superintendent Perkins booted her from the school, Una would be right back where she’d started, but with no place to go and no money to get gone.
Though she hadn’t gotten into any official trouble in weeks, Nurse Hatfield always found something dissatisfying in her work. A hint of a draft. A speck of dust in the corner of a windowsill. A bedsheet that hadn’t been pulled taut enough. Dr. Pingry hadn’t warmed to her either. Her only hope on his account was that he found her too insignificant to muster a complaint.
The only reprieve to these thoughts and the growing certainty of her expulsion came when Edwin and the doctors made their morning rounds on the ward. Then Una was harried by a different type of thought: that of their
kiss at the park two days earlier. Their lips had met for only a moment, but she’d felt the jolt of it clear down to her toes. Nothing like the stale, perfunctory kisses she’d known before. She couldn’t remember whether she or Edwin had pulled away first, only the aching desire to feel his lips again. Propriety had gotten the better of them, though (or in Una’s case, good sense), and they’d skated back to the fountain in shy silence.
She had no question now that kissing him had been a mistake. If by some miracle she did pass her probation, what then? She couldn’t very well carry on a secret affair with him. Not when she was supposed to be lying low and the mere act of talking to him could get her expelled.
The trouble was, Una had enjoyed their afternoon on the lake. More than she had any afternoon in as long as she could remember. The fresh air. The snow-capped eagle’s nest. The easy conversation. The kiss. For a brief snatch of time, she’d forgotten she was on the run from the police. Forgotten she’d been disavowed by Marm Blei and her crew. Forgotten she was a poor, Irish slum-dweller. But Una couldn’t afford to forget.
If such thoughts plagued Edwin, he didn’t show it. He hardly even looked at her during his rounds. True, Una had made a point of not looking at him either. And when their gazes did meet, his eyes seemed to smile, even as his lips did not. They were quite handsome eyes, she realized, the deep brown color of tobacco. Dangerous, distracting eyes. Today, as always, Una quickly looked away. She was almost relieved when he and the other surgeons moved on to the next ward, leaving her to worry again about her meeting with Superintendent Perkins.
When three o’clock finally arrived, Una made her way to the third floor. On the stairs, she passed another of the probationers. Una didn’t know her name but remembered sitting beside her during Dr. Pingry’s anatomy lecture. Una had tried to cheat off her slate, only to find it as blank as her own. Now, as the woman hurried down the stairs, Una saw she was crying. Undoubtedly, she’d been sacked. Una stopped but couldn’t unknot her tongue quickly enough to offer a comforting word.
By the time she arrived at the third floor, her heart beat as loudly as the bells of St. Stephen’s. Did the same fate await her? She crossed the hall to Miss Perkins’s door with slow, deliberate steps. A full minute she waited there before summoning the courage to knock.
“Come in,” Miss Perkins called.
Una entered, closing the door behind her as softly as one might lower the lid of a coffin. If she told Miss Perkins her entire family in Maine had died last week from influenza would she take pity on Una and let her stay? Maybe she should say they’d been killed by rabid wolves. Or were snowed in on account of a blizzard and forced to eat one another in hopes of surviving. Surely that was a pitiful enough fate to warrant a second chance.
She sat down in the straight-backed chair facing Miss Perkins’s desk and pulled out her handkerchief. It would be a more convincing performance if she cried.
But before she could begin her tearful story of cannibalism and wolves (the more tragic, the better), Miss Perkins reached across her desk and handed Una a sheet of paper.
“Congratulations, Miss Kelly, you’ve passed your probation. This is a contract detailing the terms of your schooling. Should you leave before your two years of training are complete—”
“I passed?”
The hint of a smile cracked Miss Perkins’s staid expression. “Why, yes.
Did you think otherwise?”
Una half nodded, half shook her head.
“You didn’t have the smoothest of starts, that is true. But you’ve earned satisfactory marks on your examinations, and Nurse Cuddy tells me you’re proficient in your duties on the ward. Moreover, the patients speak quite highly of you.”
“They do?”
“As you have undoubtedly discerned during your probation, the clientele here at Bellevue is of a . . . modest sort. Some inevitably feel looked down upon by the nurses for their want of cleanliness or gentility. But none of the patients I spoke to about you made such complaints. Indeed, many said they felt soothed by your presence.”
Una caught herself before muttering, They did?
“The program only grows more rigorous from here. And you’ll be expected to maintain the utmost decorum and obedience. It’s a mark of distinction to be counted among the Bellevue graduates and wear the school pin. Former students have found success all over the country. But you must commit to completing two years’ training and pass the final examination before such distinction is conferred.”
She handed Una her inkwell and pen. The contract was written in simple terms, outlining the program’s duration, the near-endless list of behavior expectations, the inclusion of room and board, and a monthly stipend of ten dollars. Embossed at the top of the page was the school’s seal—a crane surrounded by poppies and capsules. It was the same image, set against a backdrop of blue, she’d seen emblazoned on graduates’ pins encircled with the words BELLEVUE TRAINING SCHOOL FOR NURSES.
Una brushed a finger over the seal. It was a point of pride for the graduates to wear the pin and something other trainees—especially Dru— talked about incessantly. She imagined for a moment the way it would look affixed to her uniform. Shiny, yet modest. A glimmer of hope for those whom she encountered. A pronouncement that here was a woman who could help and heal. A goodly woman. A wise woman. A woman to be trusted.
Miss Perkins shifted in her chair, bringing Una back to her senses. She marked her name at the bottom of the page, scarcely waiting for the ink to dry before handing it back. Two years was more than sufficient time to wait out the coppers—that was her objective, after all. In the meantime, she was assured of warm food, a roof that didn’t leak, and a fancy indoor privy. Hell, she might stay the full two years and receive her diploma. That little blue pin wasn’t a token of hope, but her entry card into homes across the eastern seaboard. No more diving pockets in crowded train depots. Una would move into the ranks of high-class professional. After all, who would suspect the obliging and sympathizing nurse when a silver spoon or pearl necklace went missing? Not when she’d come from the country’s foremost training school.
Superintendent Perkins stood and ushered Una to the door. A small reception had been laid out in the medical board room on the first floor for the newly designated trainees, she told her, which Una was welcome to attend.
Una stopped in the doorway. “Thank you for having faith in me, Miss Perkins.”
She smiled again. “Just see that you continue to make good on that faith.” Downstairs, the long oak table in the board room had been pushed against a wall and covered with a swath of lace-trimmed muslin. A porcelain tea service sat at the center, surrounded by trays of cookies and tea cake. The newly initiated trainees clustered about the room in small
groups, speaking in quiet but animated tones. All six head nurses were in attendance, including Miss Hatfield, who shot Una a flinty, pursed-lipped glance when she entered. A few of the physicians mingled among the women. Thankfully, neither Dr. Pingry nor Dr. Westervelt had chosen to attend. Women from the governing board were there too, looking out of place in their frilly silk day gowns and plumed hats. Even Mr. O’Rourke, the hospital warden, had made an appearance.
Dru hurried over to Una and took her hand. “Can you believe it? We did it! Of course, I never had any doubts on your account, but I was quite certain I would be asked to leave on account of my . . . well, you know, my former frailty. But thanks to you . . .” She tugged Una to the table and poured her a cup of tea, chatting all the while. They filled their plates with sweets and joined a group of women standing beside one of the long windows overlooking the front lawn. The sun had slipped free from the patchwork of clouds covering the sky, and its light played atop the East River’s choppy waves.
Among the women was Mrs. Hobson, whom Una remembered from her admission interview. She wore a shiny, pearl-studded brooch affixed to her collar. Una couldn’t help but guess at the price it would fetch on the streets. Twenty-five dollars? Thirty if the latch was pure silver.
“You ladies must be overjoyed at passing your probation,” Mrs. Hobson said.
The other trainees replied with demure nods and polite Yes, thank yous. But Una, still eyeing the brooch, blurted out, “Happy as a safecracker in a bank.”
Everyone stopped sipping their tea and eyed her with confusion.
“Just . . . er . . . something an old acquaintance used to say. What I mean is yes, quite overjoyed, thank you.” And it was true. The day’s worry had subsided. She felt lighter than she had in weeks as if the pall of Traveling Mike’s murder might finally be lifting. She drank her tea and nibbled on a square of shortbread. What would Marm Blei say if she could see Una now, a bona fide nurse trainee hobnobbing among doctors and society women? And that slippery detective who thought her nothing more than street trash. She’d loved to see his aghast expression upon learning she’d been right under his nose the entire time. Not that she had any mind to tell him. Maybe someday, when she was rich and well-settled, she’d send them both an unmarked letter just so they’d know how much they’d underestimated her.
Mrs. Hobson padded away to congratulate the rest of the room while Dru and the others chattered about which wards they hoped to be assigned for the coming weeks. Those on the first floor had to be kept immaculately clean to keep away the rats, but the upper floors would grow stuffy and sweltering come summer. No one wanted to be assigned the basement, where the alcoholics dried out in dank, prison-like rooms.
Una didn’t care where she landed next so long as it was not another of the surgical wards Nurse Hatfield oversaw. She excused herself from the women and went to freshen her tea. As she stirred in a lump of sugar, a frazzled-looking orderly near the door caught her eye. He scanned the room, then hurried over to Warden O’Rourke and whispered something in his ear. The warden’s expression darkened. He set down his teacup, smoothed his hands down the front of his suit, and followed the orderly out.
Una watched them go, then rejoined the circle of women beside the window. The conversation had turned to speculation about the operating theater.
“Won’t it be awful with all those medical students staring down at you?” one of the women said.
“Their attention is so fixed on the surgery you could hike up your skirts and dance the cancan, and they wouldn’t notice,” Una said.
“You’ve been in the operating theater?” one of them asked. “No . . . I’ve just . . . er . . . heard about what it’s like.”
Another of the women leaned close. “And have you really seen a cancan?”
“Of course not,” Una said, trying her best to sound scandalized. “But I did see a drawing on a handbill once.”
“Is it true they really lift their skirts all the way above the knee?” Dru asked, leaning in too.
“Above the knee what, Miss Lewis?”
All of them startled at the sound of Nurse Hatfield’s voice. Dru’s cheeks went ashen. “Umm . . .”
“Above-the-knee amputation,” Una said. “We were just discussing the best type of dressing to apply in such cases.”
Nurse Hatfield narrowed her eyes. “And your conclusion?” “Well, er, the best type of dressing in these cases is—”
“One-and-a-half-inch plaster to keep the skin flaps together,” Dru said. “Followed by lint and a square of oiled silk.”
Nurse Hatfield gave a soft harrumph and walked away. The other women did likewise, casting Una sharp glances as if she were uncouth for having brought up the cancan at all.
She and Dru fell into laughter as soon as they were out of earshot.
“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, Una. How do you think so quickly on your feet?”
“Me? How does someone who until only a few days ago couldn’t stand the sight of blood know what dressing to use on an amputated limb?”
Dru shrugged. “Books, of course.” She went to get another cookie, leaving Una with her thoughts. Dru wasn’t a friend—that was against her rules—but it was nice to have someone she could laugh with.
She sipped the last of her tea and glanced out the window. The sun had disappeared behind the cloud cover, turning the once-sparkling river flat and gray. Movement in the foreground caught her attention. The movement took shape, and Una’s hand went limp, the teacup and saucer slipping from her grasp. Both shattered as they struck the floor. Her gaze flickered to the splinters of porcelain about her feet, then back to the window. Warden O’Rourke stood on the lawn near the entrance to the Insane Pavilion. With him were two men in blue wool uniforms. Coppers.
