Cherry Ames 24 Companion Nurse (3 page)

COMPANION

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in the milk was needed to help mend the fractured bone. Besides, Cherry thought, Mrs. Logan looked a little spare and underweight.

“We’ll do that,” Mrs. Clark agreed. “I have a small steak for her at lunch, and broiled chicken for the evening dinner.”

“That’s fi ne,” Cherry said. She remembered to tell Mrs. Clark that the doctor would come at about four that afternoon. Then Cherry returned to her patient, who was half asleep.

Cherry let her doze while she changed into the crisp white uniform, ventilated the room, opened the borrowed nursing kit, and set up a daily chart for the patient. The doctor would want to see it, and apparently Gwen had not had a chance to do it in yesterday’s emergency.

A sleepy voice said, “Oh, I see you’ve changed into uniform. Hmm, I must really be sick if I have a nurse,” Martha Logan said. “You know, in New England where I was born and grew up and went to college, it’s considered almost a disgrace to get sick.” Cherry grinned. “In the Middle West where I come from, we have our principles, too, but not as strict as that.”

For the fi rst time Cherry saw the woman’s basic seriousness. She had already noticed in a corner the books, portable typewriter, tape recorder, notebooks, and box of pencils.

“Well, let’s start,” Cherry said, “by taking your temperature, pulse, and respiration.”
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These were about normal, but the pulse was a little slow, and breathing a bit shallow. Cherry recorded the fi gures on the chart.

The maid brought a cup of beef broth. Cherry held the cup for Mrs. Logan while she reluctantly sipped half of it. Cherry let her rest again, then washed her face and hands, brought her a toothbrush, glass of water and a basin, and after that, combed her hair.

Mrs. Clark had tried to tidy her up earlier that morning but, Martha Logan admitted, was not too expert at it. “I feel much fresher now,” she said. “Almost human again.” Cherry did not suggest a bed bath nor even changing into a fresh nightgown, since her patient felt quite weak. Cherry did ask her to move her arm into a different position on the pillows, and to move her fi ngers.

Cherry let her rest again before gently removing the dressings on her bruised, scraped legs and left arm, and applying clean gauze dressings. Mrs. Logan bit her lip, but all she said was, “The only ache I
haven’t
got is a toothache.” By this time Mrs. Clark came in to ask if she might serve lunch. Cherry coaxed her patient to eat a few bites of steak and vegetables, but Martha Logan murmured, “I only want to sleep.” Cherry let her alone, and slipped into another room to have the sandwich that Mrs. Clark thoughtfully provided for her.

“How do you think she is, Miss Cherry?”

“Weaker and more shaken up than she realizes, I’m afraid, Mrs. Clark.”

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AMES,

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“Yes, Martha never ‘pampers’ herself, as she calls it.

She has tremendous spirit,” her friend said.

Cherry had a glimpse of that spirit later that afternoon when Martha Logan talked about her children.

She had awakened refreshed, and Cherry, after checking her TPR, was giving her a back rub.

“Ruthie is almost twelve,” Mrs. Logan said, “good at sports and all her school activities. I suspect she fi nds my books dry, although she loyally reads each one as it comes out. So does her brother. Bob is thirteen, and he has a scientifi c turn of mind, a real talent as his father did—” She hesitated, and Cherry fi lled in the pause. “From their photographs, they look like fi ne children.”

“They’re good, self-reliant people, young as they are.

They were just babies when their father died.” In a direct but reserved way Mrs. Logan said Ken-neth Logan had died suddenly after a short illness. He had been a research scientist for one of the big utilities companies. Cherry thought they could not have been married very long, for Martha Logan was still a youth-ful woman. She was attractive, too—not exactly pretty, but very feminine and pleasant. Mrs. Logan abruptly changed the subject.

“Do you read much, Cherry?”

“As much as I have time for, Mrs. Logan, after keeping abreast of new medical discoveries. I love to read. I’m embarrassed to admit I haven’t yet read your books, but I shall. My friend Mai Lee is reading your latest book.”

“You’re an honest girl,” Martha Logan remarked.

“Ouch! My arm! My aching, poor old writing arm!”
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“I’ll give you a delicious tablet,” said Cherry, uncap-ping the bottle. “Try to rest. No more talking, now. No, ma’am, no reading, not just yet. You’ll feel better if you rest.” She darkened the room.

At four o’clock Dr. Merriam arrived, somewhat out of breath. He checked over his patient and conferred briefl y with Cherry. He was satisfi ed with Mrs. Logan’s progress, and had no new instructions for the nurse.

But Martha had an announcement for both of them.

“When I fl y to England next week, Dr. Merriam, I’d like to take this young nurse with me. I realize I’m in no condition to travel alone, and I understood from you she’s on vacation for a month, anyway.”

“Now just a minute!” Dr. Merriam said. “First it’s a question of whether you’ll be able to go—”

“I have an appointment to see the Carewe collection, which is harder to get, I hear, than being received at court,” Martha Logan said rather desperately. “It took me months and much effort to get a letter of admission. If I don’t keep the appointment, I may never get into the museum at all! For my next book I
must
see that collection!”

The doctor threw up his hands. Mrs. Logan turned her head on the pillows to look at Cherry. “I know this is sudden, but I generally come to a quick decision. Would you like to go? Frankly, I can’t afford to pay for both your travel expenses
and
a salary for your nursing services on the trip. The most I can pay for is your transportation, hotel, and meals—and that’s only because my publisher has been kind enough to 20
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AMES,

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advance me some extra funds. We’ll keep our travel expenses on a modest budget. No glittering luxuries, but it will be very nice. And very interesting.” Cherry took a deep breath. “Wouldn’t you rather wait a few days to think this over, Mrs. Logan?”

“No, I’m sure now about you,” Martha Logan said.

“But I want
you
to take a day or two to think it over.” Cherry grinned. “I’m sure, too. I’d be perfectly delighted to go!”

Dr. Merriam started to laugh. “I see that you two understand each other! And I see there’s no holding you back, Mrs. Logan. I reluctantly give permission.

Well, Miss Ames, you’d better get busy arranging for your trip. A week—six days, rather—isn’t much time to prepare to go abroad.”

Martha Logan said she would ask the Clarks to telephone her travel agent to make reservations for Cherry.

It would not be easy, at such short notice, to get a seat for Cherry on the same plane, especially an adjoining seat. Cancellations did occur, though, and a travel agent often could make better arrangements than a private individual.

“Have you a passport?” Martha Logan asked Cherry, who shook her head. “You’d better hurry and get one.

You’ll need your birth certifi cate.”

“I have a photostat of it with me,” Cherry said,

“because I thought I might be going to Quebec.” Americans are not required to have a passport to enter Canada, but must show some proof of American citi-zenship in order to re-enter the United States.

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“You’ll need vaccination against smallpox, and an international certifi cate of vaccination,” Dr. Merriam said to Cherry. “Call my offi ce for an appointment.

Now I must go, Mrs. Logan. Try to relax, and I’ll come in again soon.”

After the doctor left, Cherry and Mrs. Logan looked at each other in satisfaction. They laughed out of sheer exuberance.

“We’ll have a wonderful trip!” Martha Logan said.

“Young lady, for the next few days you’d better nurse me with one hand—and apply yourself to getting ready for takeoff with the other.”

“Everything will get done,” Cherry said calmly, hiding her excitement, “and I’ll nurse you with both hands.”

However, for the next few days Cherry had to move at top speed. She telephoned her family long distance that evening to tell them her news, and see what they thought of it. “Why, of course, go!” her father said, and her mother said, “Honey, I’m so happy for you!” Charlie was working in Indianapolis. Cherry tried to telephone him there. Unfortunately he was away on business, but she knew her twin would be all for her trip. Her Spencer Club friends certainly were for it. They practically danced in excitement and glee for her, and they offered to lend her uniforms, nursing kits, clothes, cameras, anything they had.

“Thanks ever so much,” Cherry said, “but Mother will mail me my nursing things and some clothes—via special handling, so they’ll come fast.” 22
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AMES,

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Early Friday morning Cherry went to the Passport Offi ce in Rockefeller Center. A clerk gave her the necessary application to fi ll out, and instructions, and promised to rush her passport through. Then Cherry went downstairs and sat while passport photographs were taken, to be called for after they were developed.

She hurried uptown and took care of Mrs. Logan, who seemed a little better today.

Mrs. Clark reported that the travel agent was attempting to make a fl ight reservation for Cherry, and thought they had a good chance. The forthcoming weekend was Labor Day weekend, and after that big holiday, the summer travel rush abated.

Cherry was giving Mrs. Logan morning care when her patient suddenly remembered something.

“We’ve got to send a cable to the Carewe Museum about you, Cherry,” Martha said. “Otherwise, they may not let you come in with me. Can you give me the names and addresses of two or three persons, prefer-ably of some offi cial or professional standing, who can swear that you’re a solid citizen?” Cherry could, but she had never heard of a private museum so fussy that visitors had to furnish character references. Martha Logan explained, “This is Mr. Carewe’s private mansion, his collection is priceless, and anyway, I hear he’s rather peculiar—” Cherry was intrigued. She sent the cable while her patient had an afternoon nap. Then two friends, Mr.

and Mrs. Le Sueuer, came to visit Mrs. Logan. They were curious about the Carewe Museum—as curious as Cherry herself.

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“I’ve heard it’s a fabulous place,” Mrs. Le Sueuer said. “But why? And why is it so hard to be admitted?” So Martha Logan explained. This celebrated collection of paintings included famous personages of several centuries, portrayed by great artists. The collection was priceless—any art museum, certainly any art dealer or private collector, would be overjoyed to own one or two of its treasures. John Carewe had inherited some of the paintings, long in his mother’s family. Being many times a millionaire and a shrewd businessman, he had augmented the collection by acquisitions—by purchases or “horse trading”—during his long lifetime.

Newspapers regularly complained that Carewe self-ishly kept for his private enjoyment a collection that should be open to public view. John Carewe retorted he felt no obligation to the public. The collection remained closed, locked up for weeks and months on end. Very rarely was the Carewe Museum open to visitors, and then only by screening applicants who sent a letter of request for admission. Very few applicants got in.

“I’ve heard Carewe is an eccentric,” Martha Logan said to the Le Sueuers and Cherry. Mr. Le Sueuer shook his head in amazement.

The Carewe collection was housed, Martha said, in a mansion on a country estate. It was guarded by a high wall, an electric burglar-alarm system, and a staff of caretakers and guards.

“An impossible place to enter without a letter of admission,” Martha Logan said, “because Mr. Carewe insists applicants furnish references, which he and his staff thoroughly check. It takes an awfully long time 24
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AMES,

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for an applicant to get an answer, because Mr. Carewe often is abroad, and he will not entrust a fi nal decision to any secretary or staff member or even his museum curator. I applied months ago. And now”—Martha Logan smiled at Cherry—“I just hope they’ll admit my nurse with me.”

Cherry hoped so, too. She also hoped the visitors would leave soon, before they tired her patient. Fortunately the Le Sueuers had another appointment, and stayed only until their friend opened the
bon voyage
present they had brought her. “Just what any writer would want—a good book,” Martha Logan said, thanking them.

Cherry left nursing duty early, with Mrs. Clark taking over, and hurried downtown to Rockefeller Center. She picked up her perfectly awful passport photos (“Even my own mother wouldn’t recognize it’s me,” Cherry thought, wincing), and brought photos, fi lled-out application blanks, and fee upstairs to the Passport Offi ce. She gave these to the same clerk, and showed him the photostat of her birth certifi cate.

Everything was in order now. He told her to call for her passport early the next week, since time was too short to mail it.

On her way home, Cherry stopped in at Dr. Merriam’s offi ce to be vaccinated. He said:

“This is as good a time as any to give you a few instructions, Miss Ames, for the trip. While you are in London, take Mrs. Logan to consult Dr. Bates—

Dr. Alan Bates.” He wrote down an address and gave
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it to Cherry. “Try to make the appointment within two weeks from the date of her accident. Dr. Bates will X-ray the arm to see whether it is healing properly. Ask him to look at those scraped shins, too.”

“Yes, Dr. Merriam,” said Cherry.