Allie Pleiter - The Doctor's Undoing

“Lots of ’em.”

“You told me this post doesn’t give you a lot of idle time. I admit it’s a wonderful idea, but Ida, it could take you a year or more before you get enough socks done.”

Ida leaned in just as Leanne’s face showed the idea coming to her, as well. “That’s why you’re going to help me. You did it once before at Camp Jackson. Now we need a much more colorful version of our band of knitters right here.”

“Volunteer knitters like we had at the Red Cross. Of course!” Leanne tapped her forehead. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that first. It’d be so easy.”

“If gals would knit for soldiers, they’d surely knit for children.”

Ida watched her friend purse her lips in thought. She knew that look. “I imagine I could have a dozen ladies lined up by tomorrow if I set my mind to it.”

“And don’t I know what you can do when you set your mind to something.” Ida grabbed Leanne’s hand. “So you’ll help?”

Leanne’s eyes sparkled. “Just try to stop me. But we’ll need details—how many girls, their shoe sizes, that sort of thing.”

Opening her desk, Ida handed her a sheet of paper. “I’m miles ahead of you. We have twenty-six girls. I told them I was inspecting their shoes for mites last night at bedtime, but I really just logged their sizes. I figure if we just divide them up into small, medium and large sizes, we’ll have it covered with only three patterns. But the yarn...”

Leanne stood up. “Don’t you worry about the yarn. Papa has enough friends in the cotton trade to get that covered. And what Papa can’t get, John will.” Leanne’s new husband, John—a decorated war hero who’d come to South Carolina to stump for war bonds after being wounded in battle—was legendary for his persuasive abilities.

“One rule.” Ida held up a finger. “Only bright, cheerful colors. No white. And not one speck of black, navy or army green.”

Leanne pulled Ida into a hug. “Not on your life. Pinks and yellows and every cheerful color I can find. I think ruffles on the edges, too?”

Ida imagined Gitch’s feet clad in extravagant yellow ruffles and could barely contain the glow in her heart. “Absolutely.”

“I can even help from Washington,” Leanne said with a sadness overcoming her smile. Leanne and John were moving soon to Washington, DC for John’s new post as a diplomatic attaché. Ida knew she’d feel the loss keenly when the couple left. She treasured every face-to-face visit with Leanne, knowing soon they’d be confined to letters and infrequent visits. They’d been partners in escapades—knitting and otherwise—for so long, Ida wasn’t sure how she’d keep her spirits up in a place like this without Leanne.

“Of course you can.” Ida tightened her grip on her friend. “Socks mail well. But it won’t be the same. I shall miss you so very much.” They’d been through desperate times together, such as when they’d fought the Spanish influenza outbreak that had almost taken Leanne’s life. Still, Leanne was glowingly happy in her new life and destined for great success in Washington with her dashing husband.

“I won’t worry about you having nothing to do here,” Leanne said as she pulled away and tucked the list into her bag.

“Do you think we need to supply patterns?”

Leanne thought for a moment. “Not if we gather experienced knitters. Scaling down to small sizes and cheerful colors will be easy for women who knit all those army socks. Honestly, this should be effortless to pull together. I’ll stop by the Red Cross on my way home and come back in a day or so with the list of volunteers.”

“I was thinking we could assign specific girls to each knitter if we can find enough volunteers. That way there would be a personal connection. I want every chance for these girls to know someone outside those gates cares about them.”

Leanne recaptured Ida’s hand. “Look at you. I never thought of you as having much of a heart for young ones, but it’s so clear you belong here. This place needs my dear Ida’s dose of brilliant color.”

Ida quoted the pledge behind her. “I shall be loyal to my work and devoted towards the welfare of those committed to my care.”

“With only the necessary amount of mischief,” Leanne added, giving Ida’s hand one last squeeze before turning toward the door. “Oh!” She dodged to the side as a small boy with a very green tint to his face tumbled into the room half held up by one of the older lads.

“Eddie ate dirt,” the older boy proclaimed, as though that were all the explanation required.

Ida didn’t even bother to ask why but simply reached for a basin with one hand as she waved farewell to Leanne with the other.

* * *

Daniel was wrestling with the midmonth invoices and bookkeeping when a knock came at his door.

“Come in.”

To have Mrs. Smiley appear at his door with a scowl was a near-daily occurrence at the Home. Her scowl today, however, seemed especially severe. It didn’t take a medical degree to diagnose the source of the schoolmistress’s current pain.

Daniel removed his glasses. “What has Miss Landway done now, Mrs. Smiley?”

That wasn’t entirely fair, but he was indeed weary of Mrs. Smiley’s litany of petty complaints. She’d yet to grace any of the nurse candidates with her favor. Indeed, Daniel could never be sure the stout woman had ever found any of the Home staff up to snuff—himself included. Still, she’d been hired by his father, and was practically as much a fixture of the place as the bricks and mortar. As a doctor, he could manage without a nurse, but he could never hope to last a day without a schoolmistress.

“It isn’t Nurse Landway exactly, Dr. Parker.”

Daniel wasn’t sure if that boded well or ill. “Well, then, what is it exactly?”

“That woman just spent the last thirty minutes trying to convince me that knitting involved mathematics. As if I should be tucking yarn and needles inside the girls’ textbooks.”

Daniel never favored sums and figures as a child, nor as a man, as his current battle with accounting accurately proved. “Is there math in knitting? I’d no idea.”

Mrs. Smiley huffed. “Well, if you want to ask Nurse Landway about it, make sure you’ve got half an hour to spare. I declare, but that woman can go on.”

“She has a certain...” He searched for the right word that would agree with her but yet still defend his new nurse. “...enthusiasm, I’ll agree.”

“I want your assurance such foolishness will not be entering my classroom.” Mrs. Smiley’s plump hands planted on her hips. “The last thing I need is those girls thinking about fiddling with stitchery when I’ve got multiplication to teach.”

“Perhaps she was just making conversation.” Miss Landway did seem eager to make friends with just about anyone. Perhaps she viewed the dour Mrs. Smiley as an interpersonal challenge.

“Make conversation? That woman has no need to dream up conversation. She has chatter seeping out of her pores, bless her heart.” Like generations of Southern women before her, Jane Smiley applied the platitude of “bless her heart” at the end of any negative judgment. Somehow considered the universal absolution of an unkind comment, to Daniel “bless her heart” simply allowed women of good breeding to be delicately mean. The opinion was confirmed by the next sentence out of his schoolmistress’s mouth. “If I want my meals in a circus, I’ll just head on down to the tavern.”

The thought of prim Mrs. Smiley hoisting a mug with the town’s multitude of sailors in a tavern was about as ludicrous as it was entertaining. But he couldn’t agree with the substance of her complaint. The truth was, Daniel was rather coming to enjoy Miss Landway’s way of livening up conversation at the staff dining table. He’d learned things about his staff since her arrival that he’d never known in the years he worked here. Yes, she could be difficult at times, and he was quite sure she’d challenge him on any number of subjects once she settled in properly. His initial reservations, however, were giving way to a reluctant admission that Ida Landway might actually be good for the Parker Home for Orphans. “What is it you’d like me to do, Mrs. Smiley?” He’d learned this to be an effective question—often Mrs. Smiley didn’t actually want any action taken, she just wanted her views to be known. Clearly and in considerable detail.