Turn of the Wheel

By Mabel Harmer

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Chapter 5

Synopsis: Elsa Breinholt leaves her native Heidelberg for America, where she is sponsored by the family of Clay Knowlton, stationed in Germany with the United States Army. She obtains work at a department store and shares an apartment with three other girls.

Elsa had looked forward with some apprehension to her first Christmas away from home. She knew that she would greatly miss their old Yuletide customs. From the crowds of people who came into the store in ever-increasing numbers, she wondered if Christmas in America was anything beyond a mad rush of gift buying and giving.

Her three roommates had all gone to their respective homes for the holidays, and each one had invited her to go with her. Since the Knowltons had urged her to come for dinner and spend the rest of the day, she had declined the others. How she regretted that decision now! Mrs. Knowlton had phoned just after breakfast that her mother had died in Arizona and they were leaving immediately to drive down.

The irony of it was that she had awakened to the feeling that it was going to be a really wonderful day. She had stretched luxuriously in bed, going over the details in her mind, savoring every one — carols on the radio — opening her gifts — dinner at the Knowltons. Then the phone had rung. It was no call to wish her a merry Christmas, or even to make a change in the time of dinner. It changed her crystal bright day into a black well of unhappiness.

She had replaced the phone slowly. Well, she could still have the fun of opening her gifts. She would make that last as long as possible. With care she might even stretch the ceremony out to last an hour. That would leave only ten more hours before the end of the day. Only ten. It might as well be a hundred.

She untied the ribbons very slowly. Even so she was down to her last box in twenty minutes. It was a huge affair, wrapped in the gayest of papers and tied with a bright red bow. The card read “From Santa Claus.” Elsa knew it could have come from no one but Burt. When it was opened she brought forth a brown velvet kangaroo. It had a startled look and a wobbly tail. Elsa couldn’t help smiling. She recalled that Burt had said Santa Claus would give her a present to pass along to someone else.

How some youngster would adore it, she thought. There was Tony, June’s three-year-old nephew. Maybe someday she would pass it on to him.

But what if right now there was some child as bereft of a real Christmas as she was? Someone who had trusted in St. Nickolas right up to that very morning and then been disappointed? There was no way now to find such a child, but she could take it up to one of the children’s hospitals. There must be an endless demand for toys among the young patients.

She would take it up herself. It would give her something to do, as well as a chance to stir up a bit of happiness. The idea made the day seem a trifle brighter, but not very much.

She waited impatiently until after lunchtime, then wrapped the kangaroo carefully in some of her leftover holiday paper and went out to catch the bus. At the hospital she walked in the door and looked around. There was no one at the reception desk but, a few minutes later, a woman came rushing back. Elsa was pleased to recognize her as a member of the ward choir.

“Hello, Sister Watkins,” she said. “Is this where you celebrate Christmas?”

“It is today,” was the reply. “And I doubt if Santa Claus was any busier last night than I’ve been today. We’re short of help, and I’ve had to double as receptionist and PBX operator. How may I help you?”

“I’ll try not to add to your duties,” smiled Elsa. “I brought up a gift, hoping there might be some child who could use it. It’s one of my own, but I wasn’t to keep it.” She took off the wrappings and held up the kangaroo for approval.

“Let me see now. Oh, I know just the lad!” Sister Watkins nodded. “Little Danny Rossiter has had no visitors today. His folks live way up in Montana. He’s had an operation on his feet, so he can’t get around yet to play. He’s in that bed over there in the corner. Perhaps you’d like to take it in. The switchboards needs my attention.”

“I’d love to. And may I stay for a little while?”

“Yes, indeed. If you have a spare story, or would care to read from one of the books, it would surely help. I doubt if any of our volunteer workers will show up today — good as they are to give us their time.”

Elsa walked into the big room. There were a dozen beds lined up against the wall. Some of the little patients were flat on their backs. Others were sitting up and a few were in wheel chairs. Most of them were engrossed in playing with the new toys they had received for Christmas.

She spotted Danny’s bed and walked over. The boy appeared to be about four years of age. Both of his legs were heavily bandaged, but he was sitting up and playing with a ball on a string, throwing it out and bringing it back again.

“Hello, Danny,” she smiled. “What a beautiful ball! May I throw it just once?”

“Yes,” he agreed quickly, evidently rather glad to give it over.

Elsa took the ball and threw it once. “That is fun,” she said, handing it back. “I brought you another gift. Would you like to see it?”

“Oh, yes!” Now his eyes brightened and he looked at her eagerly.

She handed him the kangaroo, and he gave a cry of delight.

“What’s his name?” he asked.

“I really don’t know. You’ll have to give it a name. And it’s a she. Do you see this pouch in front? That is to carry a baby kangaroo.”

“Then — her name — is Sally.”

“That’s a lovely name. How did you happen to think of it?”

“My nurse’s name is Sally.”

“Oh. She’ll be so pleased that you named your kangaroo after her. It shows how much you love her.”

Danny nodded in complete agreement.

Elsa drew up a chair and sat down. Danny was taking stock of the kangaroo, flipping the long tail, pulling the ears, punching the nose. He stuck his ball in the pouch and gave a squeal of delight.

“I expect you’ll find all kinds of things to put in there,” Elsa suggested. Danny looked about but could find nothing more so Elsa explored her pocketbook. She came out with a flowered handkerchief, a mirror, and a bus transfer. Danny stored them carefully away, as befitting rare treasures.

The baby in the next bed started to cry and she walked over. She stood there uncertainly, talking in soothing tones, but the baby merely looked up, stopped for a moment, and then cried more loudly than ever.

She wondered if she dared pick up the child. She knew that the hospital rules were strict in such matters. She decided to go back to the desk and get permission. “Would it be all right if I picked up the baby in the bed next to Danny?” she asked. “He seems so uncomfortable?”

“Surely,” replied Sister Watkins. “But put on a uniform over your dress. There are several in that closet down the hall. It’s all right to pick that one up. He’s an orthopedic case, too.”

Elsa found a uniform that was about the right size, slipped it over her dress, and went back. The baby stopped crying the minute he was picked up. She slipped a hand under the gown and rubbed the little back. “I guess you get awfully tired lying there,” she said sympathetically. “Well, so would anyone else.” She was still rubbing gently when the baby dropped off to sleep.

As she was putting the child back in his bed a masculine voice said, “I could use you over here a few minutes, nurse, if you’re free.”

For a moment she didn’t realize that the doctor was speaking to her, but a quick glance showed there was no one else around who could possibly fit the role. She walked over to another bed where the doctor was attempting to remove a bandage, greatly hampered by flailing arms and legs.

“I’m not a nurse,” she explained. “I merely dropped in. But I’ll be glad to help, if I can.”

“All you need is strength and dexterity,” said the doctor. “Try to hold on to all four appendages and pay no attention to his yells. He isn’t being hurt half that much. This is his big chance to be heard. Now, Rick,” he said to the boy, “just look at the pretty lady, and you won’t feel a thing.”

Rick stopped long enough to take a good look and then yelled more loudly than ever. “That’s what he thinks of the pretty lady,” smiled Elsa. “Do you want to see how funny I can really look?” she asked.

Rick quieted down in doubtful anticipation, and Elsa pulled up the corners of her mouth, making her nose twitch.

“Do it again,” he commanded, as she stopped for a brief rest.

Obligingly, she pulled another face while he watched in fascinated silence.

After the fourth one the doctor said, “You may relax now and look pretty again. And thanks so much. Can you spare the time and energy to help with another one?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be glad to. I haven’t another thing to do.”

“Over this way, then.” As they walked towards another end of the ward he asked, “How come you haven’t another thing to do — on Christmas Day?”

“It’s a long, sad tale,” she replied with a faint smile. “I came here last fall from Germany — alone. The only one of my family, I mean. I was invited out to dinner with friends, but they had a death in the family and had to cancel. That left me with a day I couldn’t possibly spend alone, so I came up here. I bought my way in with a velvet kangaroo.”

“Talk about silver linings!” he exclaimed. “This one turned out to be platinum for the kids and me. I’m Bruce Kirton.”

“I’m Elsa Breinholt, and I’m so glad to be able to help. I’m grateful for anything, in fact, that will help pass this day. Although it’s really turning out much more pleasant than I had dared hope.”

“For the rest of us,” he insisted. He stopped at another bed and looked down at the small, thin boy lying there. “How’s Tommy Tucker?” he asked, with a cheerfulness that Elsa somehow guessed to be largely assumed.

“Okay, Doc,” the boy smiled back.

“Mind if I straighten the brace just a mite?” he asked.

“No, Doc.” The boy’s eyes filled with tears, and Elsa had to struggle to hold back her own.

“This pretty lady will hold your hand. And I’d do anything if she would just hold mine.”

Elsa couldn’t help the blush that flooded her cheeks. “Shall I pull faces, like I did for Rick?” she asked. “I’m almost as good as a clown.”

Tommy merely nodded his assent.

“Don’t you think that blue eyes are much prettier than brown?” the doctor asked, as he turned the twisted little leg.

Elsa’s “funny face” underwent a quick transformation. How could he have noticed her eyes. He had hardly given her a sidelong glance.

Tommy’s only answer was a low moan, as he gripped Elsa’s hand more tightly. She could only grip back again. She could not even pretend a funny face now.

“You sure got a nice haul for Christmas,” said the doctor, glancing at the toys at the foot of the bed. “Don’t forget to ask Santa for a football for next year. You’re going to need one. You have to sort of make up for lost time.”

The boy’s face brightened. “I sure will, Doc,” he promised.

As they walked away, Elsa asked, “Isn’t it a bit rugged to have to give up your holiday for work as usual?”

He shrugged. “It’s all part of the job. Anyway, I was supposed to go to my sister’s place for dinner tonight. But, with half a dozen assorted relatives, in addition to fifteen or sixteen youngsters, I decided I’d just as soon come here. The well ones are harder to take than the sick ones. They all blow horns and run things on wheels. To be completely honest I wanted to go skiing tomorrow, so I’m doing part of my work today.”

“That’s what I like about you Americans,” she laughed.

“Our skiing? Surely, living so close to the Alps, you have. …”

“No. Your honesty — or rather your frankness.”

“Thanks. I have to go to one of the other wards,” he went on. “If you want to busy yourself here for another hour, I’d be most happy to have your company for dinner tonight. There are a few good places open, I suppose.”

“Oh, I’d love to!” she exclaimed. “I’ll read some stories to the children out of their Christmas books.”

“Good. I’ll meet you in the foyer at six.”

She turned away in a pleasant glow of happiness, and then some of it began to fade. Had he asked her only because of the hard luck tale she had told? Or perhaps in payment for the help she had given? Or just because he wanted some company — any company, for dinner? It didn’t matter, really. This was her only chance for Christmas, and she was going to enjoy it.

She went back to Danny’s bed. “Has Sally been behaving well?” she asked.

“She ate all my supper,” Danny replied.

“Dear me. That isn’t quite fair. You must watch out that she doesn’t just slip it in her pocket.”

“I’ll watch.”

“Would you like to have me read you a story?”

“Oh, yes! The books are over there. I’d like the one with the red cover.”

“There were at least twenty books with red covers, but she chose one and went back to read. One story wasn’t enough, of course. She saw the boy in the next bed straining to hear and moved her chair between them. She read half a dozen more stories.

It was now a quarter of six and she wanted the last few minutes in which to take off the uniform and freshen up for her dinner date.

“I have to go now,” she said, “but I’ll come back again someday and read more stories to you.”

There were audible sighs and protests, but she merely smiled and closed the book quite firmly.

She was walking over to put it back on the shelf when she heard low crying from the last bed. A small boy, with tousled blond hair, turned his face from the wall. It was twisted in pain.

“What’s the matter, Sonny?” she asked.

“I hurt,” he said, between sobs.

Elsa bent down and took one of his hands. “Where do you hurt the most?” she asked.

“My legs. They got burned.”

It was now ten minutes of six and she wanted to hurry away, but the boy clung tightly to her hand. She noticed a clown on a trapeze at the foot of his bed. She picked it up and began to put it through some of its antics. The boy stopped crying and smiled faintly.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Mike.”

“The clown likes you, Mike. He wants you to laugh at him.”

Mike tried. Then a spasm of pain crossed his face again and he seized Elsa’s hands.

She drew one free and began to stroke his head, hoping to soothe him to sleep.

“Listen, Mike,” she said soft- ly. “I have to go. Someone is waiting for me. I haven’t had any Christmas at all today and this is my only chance. I’m a long way from home — and for the first time in my life. If I don’t go now, Mike, he will think that I don’t want to go with him. And I do — very much.”

She was talking to herself, rather than Mike, who wasn’t hearing a word she said and wouldn’t have cared if he had heard.

She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes after six. Surely if he cared he would come to the door and look for her. She glanced back every few seconds, but he didn’t come. He hadn’t cared very much, after all, about meeting her. It was just one more disappointment in this wretched day. She might just as well stay here and do what she could to help this pain-wracked child.

It was nearly seven when she withdrew her hand for the last time with no protest from Mike. Slowly she walked out into the foyer to take off her uniform and get her coat. He hadn’t even looked into the ward. This was the most disappointing part of all.

A mist came over her eyes. Why couldn’t she have had just this one bit of happiness? She brushed her hand across her eyes and then her heart gave a leap. There he was, over in an easy chair, fast asleep. He had waited, after all. The relief was almost overwhelming.

Quickly she hurried down the hall for her coat. She gave her face the merest possible attention. He might awaken any minute and have no way of knowing where she was.

When she returned to the foyer, he was still there and still asleep. She stood by hesitantly. Maybe he had been up all night. Maybe he needed this sleep a lot more than dinner — or her company.

But she couldn’t just go off and leave him. She could either sit down, or else awaken him. What if she sat there until eight or nine? He would think she was an utter fool. Maybe he would be right.

She would wait just fifteen minutes. She was halfway across the room when a voice said, “Good evening, Miss Breinholt.” She turned in some confusion.

“So, you were about to walk out on me,” he continued in mock accusation. “Just like a woman. Shut your eyes for one minute and she disappears.” He glanced at his watch. “Good night! The last time I looked it was only a quarter of six. You haven’t been …?”

“Waiting? No. I had to stay in the ward and lull Mike to sleep. I supposed that you had left long ago.”

“So, I was all but cut out by a four-year-old tousle-head! Come on quickly before you get nabbed again …”

“Or you do,” she added laughing.

He took her arm and led her out to the car. At the top of Main Street he stopped. “I always have to take time out to enjoy this picture,” he said. “It’s always a delight. I guess I never grew up.”

Elsa replied with only a sigh of pleasure. Below, almost as far as she could see, stretched the lights of the holiday season. At each intersection was a great star, held up apparently by its four chains of lights. For a moment it held her spellbound. Then, she saw instead, a great castle upon a wooded hillside. Below, a splendid old bridge with fireworks bursting from it on all sides. Was there a sight anywhere in all the world that could compare with it?

That was the old. This highway of stars, the new. She had set her feet upon the new road now. She had made her choice.

Without another word, Dr. Kirton started the car down toward the highway of stars.

(To be continued)