“In my opinion no one of you girls will remain in Europe three months,
at least not as a nurse. You are going over because of an emotion or an
enthusiasm--same thing! You are too young and have not had sufficient
experience for the regular Red Cross nursing. Besides, you haven’t the
faintest idea of what may lie ahead of you,” Eugenia Peabody announced.
It was a sunshiny day, although not a calm one, yet the “Philadelphia”
was making straight ahead. She was a narrow boat that pitched rather
than rolled. Nevertheless, a poor sailor could scarcely be expected
to enjoy the plunging she was now engaging in. It was as if one were
riding a horse who rose first on his forefeet and then on his hind
feet, tossing his rider relentlessly back and forth.
So, although the four Red Cross girls were seated on the upper deck
in their steamer chairs and at no great distance apart, no forcible
protest followed the oldest one’s statement.
However, from under the shelter of her close-fitting squirrel-fur cap
Barbara’s blue eyes looked belligerent. She was wearing a coat of the
same kind. The next moment she protested:
“Of course, we have not had the experience required for salaried
nurses, and of course we are a great deal younger than you” (as Barbara
was not enamored of Eugenia she made this remark with intentional
emphasis). “But I don’t consider it fair for you to decide for that
reason we are going to be useless. The Red Cross was willing that
we should help in some way, even though we can’t be enrolled nurses
until we have had two years’ hospital work. Mildred and I have both
graduated, and Nona Davis has had one year’s work. Besides, soldiers,
often when they are quite young boys, go forth to battle and do
wonderful things. Who knows what we may accomplish? Sometimes success
comes just from pluck and the ability to hold on. Right this minute you
can’t guess, Miss Peabody, which one of us is brave and which one may
be a coward; there is no telling till the test comes.”
Then after her long tirade Barbara again subsided into the depth of
her chair. What a spitfire she was! Really, she must learn to control
her temper, for if the four of them were to work together, they must
be friends. Dick Thornton had been right. Perhaps the wounded soldiers
might have a hard time with a crosspatch for a nurse. But this Miss
Peabody was so painfully superior, so “Bostonese”! Even if she _had_
come only from a small Massachusetts town, it had been situated close
to the sacred city, and Eugenia had been educated there. Small wonder
that she had little use for a girl from far-off Nebraska!
Nevertheless, Eugenia’s cheeks had crimsoned at Barbara’s speech and
her expression ruffled, although her hair remained as smooth as if the
wind had not been blowing at the rate of sixty miles an hour.
“That is one way of looking at things,” she retorted. “I suppose almost
anybody willing to make sacrifices can be useful at the front these
days,” she conceded. “But, really, I do not consider that I am so very
much older than the rest of you, even if I am acting as your chaperon.
I have always looked older than I am. I was only twenty-five my last
birthday and one can’t be an enrolled Red Cross nurse any younger than
that--at least, not in America.”
“Oh, I beg pardon,” Barbara replied. At the same time she was thinking
that twenty-five was considerably older than eighteen and nineteen, and
that before seven years had passed she expected a good many interesting
things to have happened to her.
But a soft drawl interrupted Barbara’s train of thought. Issuing from
the depth of a steamer blanket it had a kind of smothered sound.
“I am older than the rest of you think. I am twenty-one,” the voice
announced. “I only seem younger because I am stupid and have never
been away from home before. My father was quite old when I was born,
so I have nearly always taken care of him. He was a general in the
Confederate army. I’ve heard nothing but war-talk my whole life and the
great things the southern women sacrificed for the soldiers. My mother
I don’t know a great deal about.”
For a moment Nona seemed to be hesitating. “My father died a year ago.
There was nobody to care a great deal what became of me except some
old friends. So when this war broke out, I felt I must help if only
the least little bit. I sold everything I had for my expenses, except
my father’s old army pistol and the ragged half of a Confederate flag;
these I brought along with me. But please forgive my talking so much
about myself. It seemed to me if we were to be together that we ought
to know a little about one another. I haven’t told you everything. My
father’s family, even though we were poor----”
Nona paused, and Barbara smiled. Even Eugenia melted slightly, while
Mildred took hold of the hand that lay outside the steamer blanket.
“Don’t trouble to tell us anything you would rather not, Miss Davis,”
she returned. “We have only to see and talk to you to have faith in
you. Of course, we don’t have to tell family _secrets_; that would be
expecting rather too much.”
With a sigh suggesting relief Nona Davis glanced away from her
companions toward the water. The girl was like a white and yellow lily,
with her pale skin, pure gold hair and brown eyes with golden centers.
In her life she had never had an intimate girl friend. Now with all her
heart she was hoping that her new acquaintances might learn to care for
her. And yet if they knew what had kept her shut away from other girls,
perhaps they too might feel the old prejudice!
But suddenly happier and stronger than since their sailing, Nona
straightened up. Then she arranged her small black felt hat more
becomingly.
“I don’t want to talk _all_ the time, only really I am stronger than I
look. As I know French pretty well, perhaps I may at least be useful
in that way.”
The girl’s expression suddenly altered. A reserve that was almost
haughtiness swept over it. For she had been the first to notice a
fellow passenger walking up and down the deck in front of them. She had
now stopped at a place where she could overhear what they were saying.
The girls had agreed not to discuss their plans on shipboard. It seemed
wisest not to let their fellow passengers know that they were going
abroad to help with Red Cross nursing. For in consequence there might
be a great deal of talk, questions would be asked, unnecessary advice
given. Besides, the girls did not yet know what duties were to be
assigned them. They were ordered to go to a British Red Cross, deliver
their credentials and await results.
So everything that might have betrayed their mission had been carefully
packed away in their trunks and bags. Moreover, in the hold of the
steamer there were great wooden packing cases of gauze bandaging,
medicines and antiseptics which Judge Thornton had given Mildred and
Barbara as his farewell offering. These were to be presented to the
hospital where the girls would be stationed.
Now, although Nona Davis had become aware of the curiosity of the
traveler who had taken up a position near them, Eugenia Peabody had
not. So before the younger girl could warn her she exclaimed:
“Hope you won’t think I meant to be disagreeable. Of course, you may
turn out better nurses than I; perhaps experience _isn’t_ everything.”
There was no doubt this time that Eugenia intended being agreeable, yet
her manner was still curt. She seemed one of the unfortunate persons
without charm, who manage to antagonize just when they wish to be
agreeable.
At this moment the stranger made no further effort at keeping in the
background. Instead she walked directly toward the four girls.
“I chanced to overhear you saying something about Red Cross nursing,”
she began. “Can it be that you are going over to help care for the
poor soldiers? How splendid of you! I do hope you don’t mind my being
interested?”
Of course the girls did mind. However, there was nothing to do under
the circumstances. Barbara alone made a faint effort at denial. Eugenia
simply looked annoyed because she had been the one who had betrayed
them. Mildred showed surprise. But Nona Davis answered in a well-bred
voice that seemed to put undesirable persons at a tremendous distance
away:
“As long as you did overhear what we were saying, would you mind our
not discussing the question with you. We have an idea that we prefer
keeping our plans a secret among ourselves.”
Yet neither Nona’s words nor her manner had the desired effect. The
stranger sat down on the edge of a chair that happened to be near.
“That is all right, my dear, if you prefer I shall not mention it. Only
there is no reason why _I_ should not know. I am a much older woman
than any of you, and I too am going abroad because of this horrible
war, though not to do the beautiful work you expect to do.”
At this moment the newcomer smiled in a kind yet anxious fashion,
so that three of the girls were propitiated. After all, she was
a middle-aged woman of about fifty, quietly and inexpensively
dressed, and she had a timid, confidential manner. Somehow one felt
unaccountably sorry for her.
“I am traveling with my son,” she explained. “You may have noticed the
young man in dark glasses. My son is a newspaper correspondent and
is now going to try to get into the British lines. He was ill when
the war broke out or we should have crossed over sooner. There may
be difficulties about our arrangements. After his illness I was not
willing that he should go into danger unless I was near him. Then his
eyes still trouble him so greatly that I sometimes help with his work.”
She leaned over and whispered more confidentially than ever:
“I am Mrs. John Curtis, my son is Brooks Curtis, you may be familiar
with his name. I only wanted to say that if at any time I can be
useful, either on shipboard or if we should run across each other in
Europe, please don’t hesitate to call upon me. I had a daughter of my
own once and had she lived I have no doubt she would now be following
your example.”
Actually the older woman’s eyes were filling with tears, and although
the girls felt embarrassed by her confidences they were touched and
grateful, all except Nona Davis, who seemed in a singularly difficult
humor.
“You are awfully kind, Mrs. Curtis, I am sure,” Mildred was murmuring,
when Nona asked unexpectedly:
“Mrs. Curtis, if your son has trouble with his eyes, I wonder why I
have so often seen him with his glasses off gazing out to sea through a
pair of immense telescope glasses? I should think the strain would be
bad for him.”
Half a moment the older woman hesitated, then leaning over toward the
little group, she whispered:
“You must not be frightened by anything I tell you. Sailing under the
American flag we of course ought to feel perfectly safe, but you girls
must know the possibilities we face these days. I think perhaps because
I am with him my son may be a little too anxious. However, I shall
certainly tell him he is not to take off his glasses again during the
voyage. You are right; it may do him harm.”
A few moments later Mrs. Curtis strolled away. But by this time Nona
Davis was sitting bolt upright with more color in her face than she had
shown since the hour of her arrival.
“I do hope we may not have to see a great deal of Mrs. Curtis,” she
volunteered.
“Why not?” Mildred asked. “I thought her very nice. I feel that my
mother would like us to be friends with an older woman; she might be
able to give us good advice. Please tell us why you object to her?”
The other girl shook her head.
“I am sure I don’t know. I don’t suppose I have any _real_ reason. You
see, I don’t often have reasons for things; at least, not the kind I
know how to explain to other people. But my old colored mammy used to
say I was a ‘second sighter.’”