“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.
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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[60] 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.
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“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[62] 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[63] 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[64] 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[65] 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[66] 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[67] 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[68] 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:
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“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[70] 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.’”