“Confound it, Ephraim Hardesty! How can you stand there acting like a man without a care? I’m trying my best to live as a good Christian and the Bible tells us that we are our brother’s keeper. But as God is my witness, I don’t know how long I can keep the Banker and the Sheriff off of your front porch! You need to listen to my Offer. You know good and well that the Lord helps those who help themselves. And I’m here to help you! But time is running out on you!”
Mrs. Emily Gale stood in the Hardesty Farm’s backyard, in front of the wide back porch. The sun burned through the low, early morning clouds and, like a spotlight, reflected off the silver rims of her glasses. Sharp, almost painful reflections of light shot from her face. Her husband, Henry Gale, stood a couple of steps behind and to her left side, and from his posture seemed to be alternating between anger and embarrassment. To occupy himself he stared out over the half-grown corn in the fields beyond the barn. It was a Friday morning on the 1st of July and the dry dirt yard released small clouds of dust at the slightest movement, incredibly short-lived mushrooms sprouted and released dry spores. Hunk Dietrich sat in the truck, on the driver’s side and seemed to be deep in thought, everything but his eyes as un-moving as the rose-rusty cab. The morning had started warm and it was clear that the afternoon held more of the same. It promised the kind of heat that would fill the horizon with mirage fields of wheat and corn, only the gap below the wavering images betraying the illusion.
“I don’t rightly care a lick about what you can and cannot do, Emily.”
Ephraim Hardesty stood on the porch, behind him, the still figure of 5-year-old Ethan showed, daguerreotype through the screen door. Ephraim was not surprised by the visit, he had, in fact, been expecting it. The visit from Henry Gale and Hunk Dietrich a few weeks before in mid-June, was clearly a preliminary skirmish, intended not only to test his resolve but to gather intelligence for the upcoming battle. He looked at the woman standing in his yard, like a Spanish Conquistador standing in the middle of the first good-sized village, she was impressive with her attitude of fierce self-confidence. Detracting from this impression was the fact that she’d brought along her husband and farmhand. In an un-intended effect, the two men came across less as additional forces to enforce her Will, more looking like attendant to her presence. More Henry than Hunk, Ephraim knew that both men were not in his back yard by choice.
Ephraim tried to remember the 14-year-old Emily (Sauvage) Gale. The girl took memory-dim shape sitting next to Ephraim in the small two room schoolhouse, a near-lifetime ago. Randall’s Drugstore now stood on the spot where, years before, children were sent by parents eager for them to learn whatever might allow them to avoid a life of back-breaking labor, a life all too common among those who’d settled in Kansas at the end of the last Century. Emily had been as kind and caring as her father was difficult and given to drink. In his defense, the now adult Ephraim Hardesty thought, Philippe Sauvage was from the Old Country and, although he would give the shirt off his back to a neighbor, he was fiercely protective of his family. The Sauvage Clan, (if it could be called that), consisted of only 4 people, Philippe and his wife Eloise, Emily, and her older brother, Cyril.
Life was not kind to the Sauvages. Philippe struggled to provide for his family as a blacksmith. He had a natural gift for what, one day, would have been referred to simply as, ‘engineering’. He knew metal and he had a talent for shaping and forming it in ways that were useful. Philippe Sauvage took great pride in his work and though his customers were very appreciative of the quality and craftsmanship, many were put off by his lack of tact and charm. Parson Levine, in a well-meant effort to be charitable, described Philippe’s flawed talent as ‘explosive perfectionism’. Like many fathers, Philippe dreamed of his son joining him in the blacksmith trade. In the kind of ironic twist that’s often suspected of being fabricated just to increase the dramatic effect for re-telling, Cyril was the first (and only) Sauvage to go to college. His intelligence and ability to understand new concepts was so great that the parish priest (of St Mary’s the church that burned down in 1919, not the Hospital), through his connections Back East, arranged for a full scholarship to Dartmouth College. Unfortunately Cyril was not only a young man, he was also a Sauvage. When the drum beats of militarism grew louder in the second half of the second decade of the new Century, Cyril was unable to resist and enlisted in the US Marines. The War in Europe was ravaging France and, in that way of youth, Cyril felt the call to defend his father’s home country and carry the Sauvage name into battle. He was killed in the first day of the Second Battle of the Marne, July 16,1918.
Emily took the news of her brother’s death very hard. Her father more so, though by virtue of both culture and gender, he did not show it. He was, for all intents and purposes as mortally wounded as his son, unfortunately, his wounds took longer to kill him than did his son’s. Emily tried, unsuccessfully, to hold her family together. Eventually she was sent to live with relatives Back East, soon after a quiet August day in 1920 when her mother was killed in a tornado. Her father put her on the train in Kansas City, went back to Circe, dove into the bottle, and never saw his daughter again.
When Emily Sauvage returned to Circe Kansas, 15 years later, she was very much a different woman. She was different in all the important ways that make women different from men. Where once she’d go without, just so someone with less could, have a little more, Emily Sauvage now sought more, even when it meant that another person might then have less. After being home a short time, she found Henry Gale working for near-slave wages on a pig farm, just outside Nickerson, Kansas. With the money from an inheritance, (from her mother’s side of the family back in Philadelphia), a new last name and a burning desire to create something, Emily Gale bought an abandoned farm and set out to give it life and make it prosper.
“Well now, Emmie,” Ephraim noticed the way Emily Gale tensed when he used the childhood name. He chided himself for being cruel and continued,
“I do appreciate your efforts to keep Old Man Banker off my doorsteps, really I do. But this farm is my life and I won’t be giving up on it.”
“…and I won’t be hiding behind a fiery woman’s skirts, like a little boy, afraid a bully has found his secret and will take it all away,” stepping back into his house, Ephraim turned and looked out over the dry and dusty yard and said,
“Oh, and good morning to you, Henry!”
Ephraim locked eyes with Hunk Dietrich, still sitting in the driver’s seat and, nodded, ever so slightly. Emily Gale turned in the direction of the the parked truck, but not in time to see the answering nod from Hunk. Instead she swung on her husband,
“Clearly this man has lost what little sense that hussy of a wife of his neglected to take with her when she took off with that Bible Salesman.”
“And, as our last stop, oh my, I mean the last place we will visit on today’s rounds, Ward C,”
Dr Thaddeus Morgan said, with a look of self-satisfaction for his unintended witticism. He pushed through the double-swinging doors and was well into the Ward, before he realized he was alone. The Charity Ward appeared quite empty. ‘Of people‘, he corrected himself with quite a petulant tone, ‘these patients in the beds were…well, they were patients, not people.’ The Intern and the newly-hired nurse, who had been accompanying him on morning rounds, were nowhere to be seen.
“Well, I suppose they stopped to write notes of my diagnosis of terminal happiness for that boy in the Children’s Ward. Not that there’s to be anything useful to be learned here in Ward C. By the end of August there won’t be a patient left…”
“May I help you?”
Dr Thaddeus Morgan was a man given to spontaneous, (and grandly-emotional) outbursts whenever caught by surprise, his reaction at this moment, was anything but characteristic. He stood and stared at the tall and (a word that one would also deem uncharacteristic for Dr Morgan to assign to a person), willowy blond nurse who was standing in aisle that separated the two rows of beds. She was staring at him with what could be best described as an expression of peaceful strength.
Dr Morgan, surprised that this odd description of ‘peaceful strength’ would occur to him, remained mute,
“I said, ‘May I help you?'”
There was something about this woman that seemed familiar. This observation had the effect of restoring the rightness of the world for Dr. Thaddeus Morgan. The basis of this ‘rightness’ was the fact that this hospital, St Mary’s was his, as he was the Chief of Medical Services and this woman, by her uniform, was obviously a nurse. The natural and proper order of the universe was re-established to his satisfaction.
“What is your name, young lady? Who is your Supervi…”
Thaddeus Morgan left his authority-establishing question hanging in the air, as the intended object of his exertion of managerial Will was no longer standing in front of him. She was standing at the far end of the aisle, which could not be the case, as she had been standing in front of him and now, well, now she was not. The nurse remained where she (now) was, as still as the shadow of a mailbox.
Thaddeus’s first impulse was to demand she come back and resume her position in front of him. After all, he was in charge of the hospital, she surely would obey. Instead, while be certain to keep the tall figure, in the white on white uniform of a St. Mary’s nurse, in the center of his line of sight, he walked towards her. He thought he heard a noise from the hallway outside Ward C, but for reasons that he could not express, refused to take his eyes off the nurse as he walked the 25 feet or so to where she waited.
‘She’s waiting for me. Quite patiently, it would appear.’ the thought kept Dr Morgan company, as he walked. He thought that there was something important that he was forgetting, but it kept escaping his mind.
“I’m sorry, I must be getting forgetful in my old age. I neglected to introduce myself,”
Dr Morgan had a solid respect for his conversational skills. ‘He could talk a tree out of it’s leaves, at the height of Summer‘, professor at his Medical School once said of Thad Morgan.
“I’m Doctor Morgan. And you are?”
Thad Morgan decided that he liked this woman. She must be a new hire, although that didn’t make sense, since he personally interviewed everyone hired at St Mary’s. Everyone. From the janitor to the newest surgeon, they all met with Dr. Thaddeus at least once. And seeing this woman up close, he was certain that he’d not ever met her. And yet, there was something familiar about her.
“I’m Nurse Claire Griswold. Now that we’re properly introduced, may I ask, again, what is it you want here?”
Thad smiled. There was a directness and a total disregard for status or rank or any of the social niceties essential to the smooth operation of a hospital. He felt more at home with the situation. Even if he didn’t know this nurse, he was her superior and she would answer his question,
“I was taking the new intern and the newest nurse on rounds, for an initial orientation. I thought they were following just behind me, well, they seem to have gotten lost, which can happen here in the old wing of the hospital,”
it occurred to him, with something of a shock, that he was babbling like a 6th grade student trying to delay having to answer a question to which he should have had the answer. This Nurse Griswold was regarding him with a look that, had it been any other circumstance, he’d of been delighted, (and, not a little flustered), he suddenly realized that he was staring at this woman. Her eyes were of a pale blue that brought to mind the wrapping paper of a present he received for his 5th birthday. It was a toy medical bag, complete with a stethoscope and a Diploma with his name on it. He remembered how his mother laughed when Thad would put on the stethoscope and try to listen to heartbeats, of anyone or anything nearby. His dog, Scout, was his most frequent patient, tolerating him in that way of seeing only love in the often un-intelligible actions of the boy in his life.
“Do you enjoy being a physician?”
Nurse Griswold asked, still standing where she was, when he last looked. This last elicited more relief in Thad Morgan than he was capable of appreciating.
“Why I should certainly say so! I’m the Head of Medical Services! I’m in charge of all medicine here at St Mary’s.”
Dr Thaddeus Morgan spoke with a pride that made some men leaders, (in the eyes of those inclined to need leaders), and with a certainty that made other men charismatic preachers. It was not simply that he spoke the truth, it was the emotion that anchored his world around him and all that he felt he’d earned.
“That’s not quite what I asked you, Thad,”
She was standing closer to him than he’d realized. Her eyes seemed to require all of his attention and though he’d noted that she was tall, he couldn’t understand how it was that he felt like he was looking up into her eyes.
“Well, yes, I realize that. And no, you’re quite correct, I really do enjoy my work…”
At that moment there was a wobbling whirling sound of gum-rubber wheels and wooden clipboards pushing through the swinging doors of Ward C. Ahead of the cart that contained mid-morning medications, was a young man and a young woman. Both looked somewhat sheepish, that expression being replaced by one of surprise.
“Dr. Morgan! We looked all over for you!” Nurse Sally Rowe spoke with relief in her voice. The young man beside her chose to let her offer the explanations for their absence. Even as an intern, he recognized that sometimes it was best to allow the Nurse to take responsibility. In case things did not work out as planned.
Dr Thaddeus Morgan caught himself turning back to Nurse Griswold, but, smiling, he said,
“Well, lets not dilly dally. The work of medicine waits for no one!”
As he led the Intern and the new Nurse out into the hall, he allowed himself one quick glance around the Ward. It was as empty of people not lying in bed as he’d thought it would be, but thought to himself that perhaps he’d stop in for a quick visit, from time to time.
“Come on, doll. You know you want to, I can see it in your baby-blues”
Jack Clayton stood behind Eliza and pulled her close. Eliza found this a familiar situation, what was not familiar to the 18-year-old Sarah Lawrence co-ed and heiress to the Thornberg publishing empire, was a growing feeling of ‘wanting’. She pulled herself away from his embrace, and was surprised to hear herself think, ‘There, now I can think this through’.
A naturally sexy and attractive young woman, Eliza Thornberg understood the economy of desire, were it any of the other, more conventional form of human endeavor, her talent and ability in these matters would warrant her the title of savant.
Eliza Thornberg knew people. She especially knew, men. She knew what they wanted. And, most importantly, she knew how to use this knowledge to her advantage. What was puzzling her, at this particular moment, was what it was that she suddenly found herself ‘wanting’. This was new. Desire, she was familiar with, it was, in a non-sociologically approved term, her bread and butter. This new thing, springing from Jack Clayton telling her that he needed to return to California, to the movie studio, to the film that he was working on and his asking her to join him, that was the problem. She found herself wanting to do it. The fact that he would ask, was not a surprise. Invited to the Thornberg’s by an author whose bestseller was published by her father’s company, Jack Clayton was after the rights to make the book into a movie. He’d worked in a number of successful films as a production designer and assistant producer, but reading the book (published by Thornberg Press) knew that he could turn it into a successful film. He also needed financial backers and that was in part the reason for accepting the invitation to the June party.
That a trip to California would be fun and a desirable way to spend part of her Summer was not surprising. That she found herself really wanting to accompany Jack Clayton to Hollywood, that was surprising. The ‘wanting’ is what Eliza found disturbing in that it forced her to confront the possibility of ‘not getting what she wanted’! Until just a moment ago, she had not wanted for anything in her life. Having spent the previous few days in the company of Jack Clayton, hearing him speak causally of people who made movies that had an effect on millions of people, somehow the idea of being a part of that magical (and diabolical) process had taken root with her. This realization was morning sickness of an un-planned obsession. A dream to become… another version of the girl she had been.
“I’ll go with you, on one condition,” Eliza smiled, feeling on familiar ground.
Certain that she was in control, the only place she could escape the nagging voice in her head, the voice that whispered, ‘you don’t matter… to anyone’, Eliza turned from the window,
“You must join us in Newport in August.”
“If you promise not to invite any more boyfriends from college, I will be there with bells on,” Jack smiled confidently.
Eliza was gratified to see the man’s smile falter, something like fear fraying it, yet Jack Clayton rallied his defenses and raised an eyebrow in worldly acceptance of the always-high-stakes negotiation between men and attractive young women.
“…I want to be in a movie.”
Without waiting for an answer, Eliza Thornberg stepped the few steps back, to where she’d been, her back to the man in her bedroom. Feeling his arms again capture her, she smiled and began to consider how best to break the news to her father.
Her father needed to be approached carefully. Jack Clayton wasn’t quite the typical houseguest. Stephen Lawrence, who’d ignominiously left on the night of ‘the Afternoon Social That Wouldn’t End’, too drunk to know what he’d done wrong, was already forgotten. His failure was to not recognize the expectations he was being held to, a non-forgivable sin in the world of the wealthy and privileged. Eliza was not overly concerned, attractive and successful boys from Yale were not a rare commodity at Sarah Lawrence.
Eliza had long since accepted the reality that, while she was her father’s daughter, his first love, (now that Eliza’s mother was dead), was money. And the movie industry seemed to combine his interests. And now, with her new insight into her life’s potential, very much in her interests.