Part 5

Ralph threw away the blade of grass. “Of course I can’t do much with the small forests I own. But I’ll do everything I can. When I get back to Saskatoon, I’m going to start the largest project of timber cutting and reforestation I can possibly undertake. You see, Jeannie, Canada and Norway are practically the only countries in the world who can produce wood pulp. If the job is up to us, then we’ve got to do it.”

Jean nodded solemnly. “Then that’s what you were doing in Norway,” she said.

“Well, I had to go there, anyway, on business. But you can be sure that I checked on the story of their wood pulp supply pretty carefully. It isn’t too good. They do what they can. But Canada is so much larger and has so many more forests.”

Jean suddenly giggled. “I’m intrigued with the idea of your being a lumberjack.”

Ralph smiled. “I’ll be one; you’ll be one. The children will be chopping timber as soon as they learn to crawl!”

She shook her head. “You know, dear,” she said, “we all have to contribute to this life in the way we’re best equipped.”

Ralph nodded. “That’s true,” he agreed.

She smiled in spite of herself as she said, “I’ll be glad to buy myself a pair of spiked hightop boots and become a lumberjack, if you say so. But there is something else I can do better.”

“And that is?” he asked.

“I’m almost ashamed to tell you now,” Jean confessed, “because I’ll be consuming paper rather than making it.”

Ralph chuckled. “That’s what it’s made for. Now, tell me.”

Jean told him of the plans which Dr. Barsch had made for her. How she would take a correspondence course in art after they were married, and how, when she finished her course, she would contract to do sketches of operations at a nearby hospital for the medical publishers.

Ralph thought about the plan for a few minutes. “It’s a very good idea,” he said gravely.

“You see, medicine and improved operative techniques are important, too,” Jean said slyly.

Ralph chuckled. “I can’t deny you,” he grinned. “You know, there’s a small hospital about five miles from the ranch. It’s a very good one, and I know the board of directors there very well. I think they’d like the idea. I’m sure we can arrange it.”

“Then you don’t mind my working after we’re married?” she asked.

Ralph shook his head. “One of the reasons I fell in love with you, Jean, is that you seem to thrive on being busy. There’s something so sturdy about you and your family. Take your father, for instance. I saw a lot of men when they came out of the Army in bad shape. But I never saw one who was more miserable because he couldn’t be working from dawn to dusk every day.”

Jean sighed. “He’s like a different man now that he is working again. Poor Dad! None of us even suspected how hard his invalid days were on him till they were over.”

Ralph nodded. “You haven’t told me all the details of this new job,” he said.

“Well, it’s very simple,” Jean explained. “You see, two years ago the town decided to back a veterans’ housing project. Dad offered to be the architect for the project. After years of inactivity, he was nearly out of his mind. And of course he was terribly interested in anything to help the young men and their families.”

“Of course,” Ralph said. “I remember that part. He was just starting the assignment when I went abroad.”

“It’s taken two years to complete the project,” Jean said. “There were some difficulties. A lot of people didn’t want low cost housing in town. And then some ... well, I think they’re just plain bad people, were afraid the project might attract new people to the community. You know, minority groups and,” she giggled, “even non-New Englanders.”

“But the project did go through,” Ralph said.

“Oh yes,” she cried. “Those foolish people were definitely in the minority themselves. It finally was accomplished in the good old New England tradition of a town meeting. The few ignorant objectors were laughed and hooted right out of the meeting, too.” She smiled at the memory.

“But to get back to Dad,” she continued. “After he had finished designing the houses for the project, he was swamped with orders. And eager as he was to fill them, he was very intelligent. He insisted on very regular checkups with Dr. Daley, our internist at the clinic. But everything went just fine. He seemed to get better all the time. So now he’s opened his own office, and he’s busy all the time.”

“That’s marvelous,” Ralph said. “I can’t remember ever seeing your father look so well.”

Jean smiled tenderly. “I guess that about brings you up to date.”

Ralph put his arm around her. “Good,” he said. “Now, let’s talk about us. Seems to me I hear wedding bells in my head. How about you?”

Jean giggled. “My, what a tender proposal!” she teased.

Ralph drew back in mock horror. “But I’ve _already_ proposed!” he protested. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”

Jean laughed. “As if I ever could forget,” she admitted frankly.

“But I think we ought to set a date.”

“Let’s see,” she said, deliberately teasing him. “I’ll have to check my appointment book, but my plans go something like this. I will be graduated late this summer. And then, as far as I know, I haven’t anything special planned.”

“You, ma’m, are an idiot!” Ralph laughed. “Very well, we shall plan a fall wedding--”

“Right here in Elmhurst,” Jean continued.

“You bet! Where else?” he wanted to know. Then he became serious. “I’m glad you’re going to be so busy this summer,” he added. “Because that will make the time pass more quickly for us both.”

Jean grabbed his hand. “You’re going away again,” she said suddenly.

“Only for a little while.”

“Oh, Ralph!” she cried.

Ralph squeezed her hand. “This time, only for a few months. I have to go to Ottawa, of course, to make my report to the government on my trip abroad. After all, they sent me. I have to account for their money.”

Jean nodded miserably.

“And then I have to look up the government contractor for my wood pulp. Jeannie, I must get that arranged so that I can sleep easily at night.”

She nodded. “I understand. I mean, my mind understands. But this silly old heart doesn’t understand one little bit.”

Ralph drew her to him and kissed her. “That silly old heart you’re wearing these days is mine, you know. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t understand. I wouldn’t want it to.”

9. Polio Claims a Victim

Ralph stayed for the rest of the week and life for Jean was one grand whirl. Then Jeannie drove him to town and put him aboard the Boston train. As she turned the car around and headed slowly for home, her heart grew heavy. She tried to blink back the tears as she told herself that they would be apart for only a few months this time. But by the time she reached home, she was openly crying.

Doris was standing on the front porch when she drove up. Jean turned her head away, but Doris, who had already seen the tears, put her arm around her sister’s shoulder. Jean reached up and squeezed Doris’s hand. Without saying anything, the two sisters shared a moment of complete sympathy.

Finally Doris said, “Jean, this is terrible, but the hospital called and wanted you to come right over. It’s mean to make you go right out when you feel this way....”

Jean grinned at her sister. “Work is the best cure for what ails me, you know. What’s up?”

Doris shook her head. “They have a polio victim,” she said flatly.

Jean gasped. “Polio!” she cried. “But this is only May! The polio season shouldn’t start for another month, at least!”

“That’s what they told me,” Doris said dully.

“Thanks, dear,” Jean replied. “I’ll go right over.”

Jean dashed up to the emergency ward as soon as she reached the hospital. Ted and Sally were bent over a small, frail boy, whose body was horribly rigid.

“We’ll be lucky if we can keep him out of the iron lung,” Ted muttered as he worked over the boy.

Jean ran her cool hand across the boy’s feverish forehead. The tiny victim began to mumble.

“There, there,” Jean whispered. “Try to relax.”

“Take it easy, son,” Ted said.

The two girls made him as comfortable as they could, while Ted worked on his muscles. For hours the spasms continued, and then gradually they began to subside. Finally the boy went to sleep.

“Will he be crippled?” Sally asked.

Ted shrugged. “It’s way too early to tell.”

“Who is he?” Jean asked.

“We don’t even know that. Found him down at the railroad track. Mr. Berger found him as he was driving by and brought him right over.”

Jean gazed down on the dirty, tear-stained face. “He’s so young,” she murmured.

“Not more than ten,” Ted agreed. “He might be a little older, of course. He looks as if he hasn’t had a decent meal in months!” He sighed. “He was brought in in ragged clothes which we had to cut off and burn in the incinerator.”

“Can we bathe him now?” Jean asked, looking at the dirty boy.

“Yes, but be careful. He’s still having some pain,” Ted answered.

By morning, the new patient was resting more easily in fresh, clean garments. His face and body were clean, but his hair was still matted and dirty. He awoke around seven to find Jean sitting by his bed.

“Good morning,” Jean said cheerfully. “Feel better?”

The small boy let forth a stream of profanity.

“Still hurts, eh?” Jean asked. “Well, the worst is over. You’ll feel better from now on.”

“Get out!” the boy ordered. “Get, and leave me be!”

Jean shook her head and smiled. “Tell me your name, will you? I’m Miss Craig. Now, who are you?”

The boy looked up at her, his dark eyes flashing. “None of your business!” he snarled. “Who was that old nosey what brought me in?”

Jean bent over the child. “You’re a very sick boy,” she said. “Mr. Berger found you down at the station. He saved your life.”

“Thanks for nuttin’,” he said. “I gotta get outta here. I gotta get to Boston.”

“When you are well, you can go to Boston. Is that where you live? Your parents’ home?”

“Naw, I gotta pal in Boston.”

“Where’s your home?” Jean asked.

“None ’a’ your business!”

Ted came in and sat down beside the child. “Good morning,” he said briskly.

The boy swore at Ted.

“I still don’t know his name or where he’s from,” Jean said. “He won’t tell me.”

Ted nodded. “Riding the rails?” he asked the boy.

“What’s it to yah?” the boy asked.

Ted shrugged. “Well, we’ll send out an alarm. His parents are probably frantic.”

“He was on his way to Boston,” Jean offered. “You might concentrate on towns south of here.”

“You gonna call the cops?” the boy asked with terror in his eyes.

Ted nodded. “Something like that. We can’t let your parents worry about you.”

The boy turned his face to the wall. “They won’t worry. Skip it. But jest don’t call the cops.”

Ted patted him gently on the shoulder and went to the door. “I’ll see you in a few minutes. Take it easy.”

“Drop dead,” the boy said and made a rude noise.

Ingeborg came in to relieve Jean around eight o’clock, and Jean decided to go home for breakfast. When she arrived, she tossed her jacket over a chair and wandered listlessly into the kitchen where her mother was washing the breakfast dishes.

“Any more food for a prodigal child?” Jean asked wearily.

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Craig said. “Why don’t you go out on the porch? It’s such a fine day, I have Jack out there. He’ll be glad of the company.”

Jean wandered out to the porch and sat down beside Jack. He lay in the porch glider enjoying the balmy May breezes.

“Hi, Jack,” she said wearily.

“Pretty bad, was he?” Jack asked.

“Well, not as bad as some, I guess,” Jean answered, nibbling on a piece of buttered toast. “Ted seems to think he’ll need some therapy to prevent crippling. But we kept him out of the iron lung.”

“What’s he like?” Jack asked. “A real young kid?”

Jean shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “He wouldn’t give his name or address or what he was doing in town, or anything. He just swore at us.”

“Jeepers!” Jack exclaimed. “How do you like that!”

“We think he caught a freight train into town from the south. He did say he was going to Boston.” She sighed. “His parents must be worried to death.”

Jack looked thoughtful. “Polio catching?” he asked finally.

Jean shook her head. “No one knows. Why?”

“Oh, just wondered. This kid ... you think he was riding a freight? I mean, he looked sorta ... poor?”

Jean nodded. “He was dressed in very ragged clothes when they found him.”

She finished her breakfast and went up to bed. She felt defeated and lonely. She grinned wryly at herself, realizing that she was discouraged about the boy more intensely because she missed Ralph so much. Slowly she climbed into bed and pulled the light blanket around her shoulders. After fretting and worrying for an hour or so, she finally fell asleep.

Back at the hospital, Ted and Ingeborg were still trying to get information out of the boy. But after blasting them both with profanity, he merely turned his head to the wall and refused to say anything. Finally the phone rang, and Ingeborg reported that Mrs. Craig was calling.

“Jack has been talking to me,” Mrs. Craig said to Ted over the phone. “He wants to see your polio patient.”

Ted stared at the phone. “Why on earth?” he asked.

He could hear Mrs. Craig chuckle softly. “Jack believes he can find out who the boy is,” she said.

Ted was still puzzled. “I still don’t understand,” he said.

“You probably don’t remember how Jack came to Elmhurst, Ted,” Mrs. Craig laughed.

“But of course I do. You told me the night we brought him to the hospital.” He paused. “I’m beginning to see, Mrs. Craig.”

“That’s right,” she said. “Jack feels that he may be able to talk to the lad in his own language.”

“I’ll send someone right over to bring him here!” Ted cried. “That boy! He really gets me! Now how would a youngster that age realize these things?”

Mrs. Craig laughed again. “My Jack is a pretty smart youngster,” she said bluntly and with pride.

“I should say he is!” Ted cried. “Now why didn’t I think of that? You tell him we’ll be right over for him!”

Jack was brought straight up to the emergency ward and placed a good distance from the stranger’s cot. He propped himself up and turned to Ted and the others. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll handle this.”

Ted nodded and motioned to the others to follow him. They stood just outside the door to listen.

Jack looked over at the pathetic figure on the cot. He hesitated. His natural outgoing affection battled with his ideas of what he must do. At last, he willed himself to speak roughly.

“Why don’t you drop dead?” he said.

The boy looked around.

“Think you’re pretty tough, don’t you?” Jack baited. “You ain’t so much!”

The boy stared at him.

“I hear you rode a freight into town.”

“Yeah,” the boy admitted.

“So did I. Some fun, eh?”

There was a long pause.

“Who are you?” the boy finally asked.

“What’s it to yah, punk?” Jack replied. “I don’t go ’round handin’ out my monicker to every stray what asks for it.”

“Okay,” the boy said, admiration creeping into his voice. Then he changed abruptly. “What you doin’ lyin’ down? Get outta here!”

“I’m sick, too,” Jack said. “I gotta stay in bed.”

The patient looked at Jack closely. “Take good care of yourself, pretty boy,” he taunted.

Jack shrugged. “Yeah, I will, thanks. I’m a guy who oughtta take care of hisself. I’m important.”

“You ’n’ who else?”

“Jest me. Wanna make somethin’ of it?” he scowled at the boy.

The child’s eyes opened wider. “Okay, so you’re a big shot,” he said grudgingly. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?” Jack snapped.

“Timmy. Timothy Lester.”

“I never hearda yah,” Jack said loftily. “Where you from?”

“A bigger place ’n’ this dump,” Timmy said. “New York.”

“Yeah?” Jack let a note of admiration creep into his voice. “Yeah, really New York? What do your folks do?”

Timmy made a face. His lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly as he said, “I ain’t got folks. We was in a fire. I was the only one didn’t get killed.”

“Aw, gee,” Jack said, his quick sympathy overcoming his acting.

“It’s okay. I gotta pal in Boston. He said any time I wanted tah leave home I should look him up. He has a racket up there. Pretty good dough, I guess,” Timmy said.

“You in trouble with the cops?”

Timmy made a face at the mention of the law. “Naw,” he said, finally. “But I jest hate ’em. I never even had a chance to square myself wid ’em. The other guys said I was too little to heist stuff yet.”

“You ain’t got no relatives? Nobody?”

“That’s right,” Timmy said proudly. “Now, shut up. I’m sick a talkin’.”

Jack pulled the bellcord by his bed, and Mrs. Craig and Ted and Ingeborg came back. “Okay,” Jack said. “I wanna go home, now. But I’ll be back,” he said menacingly. “You give the gang at the hospital trouble, and you’ll hear from me ... plenty!”

“Aw, dry up,” Timmy retorted.

Out in the hall, Ted and Mrs. Craig were both triumphant. Ted shook Jack’s hand. “That was a masterful bit of acting, Jack, old boy,” he said.

Jack turned his head away. “I’d like to go home. I don’t feel very good.”

Mrs. Craig put her hand on his forehead to see if his temperature had risen. He brushed it away.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” he said huskily. “That poor little guy! Jeepers!” his voice rose, “what kind of a chance does he have, anyway?”

Mrs. Craig nodded. “I know, dear.”

Jack patted his mother’s hand. “You heard the terrible way I talked to him. I hated to do it. But he thought I was just passing the time of day. Rough talk, lying and stealing ... they’ve been his school books. I know. I can remember myself at his age.”

Mrs. Craig ran her fingers over Jack’s head. “Maybe it’s just as well that he landed here. Maybe someone can do something for him, now.”

Jack caught Ted’s coat sleeve. “One other thing, Dr. Loring,” he said. “Don’t talk to Timmy about cops or missing persons bureaus. The one thing a kid in his fix is scared to death of is being sent to some home. That’s what cops mean to him right now. He probably has orphanages and reform schools all mixed up in his twisted mind.”

10. Kit at the Capital

In Washington, D. C., summer was well under way. The gentle breezes from the South warmed the city. A few weeks later, the capital would be sweltering in southern summer heat.

Frank Howard gazed out of the window of his office. From his desk he could just see a corner of the park where Washington’s monument and the Lincoln Memorial faced each other across the glassy pond. He smiled absently at the small, full, Japanese cherry trees lining the park.

Across the room sat Leslie Merrivale, Frank’s partner. He, too, studied the cherry trees, but his face was grim. “I never can see those things in bloom without shuddering,” he said.

Frank turned away from the window and laughed.

“I know what you mean, Les,” he answered. “I used to feel the same way. The trees were a gift from the Japanese, and the beetles were an unwitting gift from them. It’s strange how you keep connecting the two in your mind.” He shuddered slightly as he thought of the fierce battle entomologists all over the country had waged against the destructive insects from Japan.

Leslie grinned. “I tell you, I don’t know why people go into this work. Spring is supposed to be a happy time of year. Everything comes to life. Old people feel better. Young people fall in love. Babies stop having colds. And entomologists know that it’s time to go to work. How many larvae do you reckon are concealed in that elm down there?”

Frank shrugged and lit his pipe. “It’s time you went on a field trip, Les,” he said. “You’re getting finicky. What’s the matter? Don’t you like bugs?”

Leslie shook his head in mock despair. “You know what I mean. Sure, I love to study the little crawling things. But every year, after all the work we do, just to see those blossoming trees and plants and to know they’re infested with insects of every type imaginable--it’s a little discouraging.”

Frank blew out the match and drew on his pipe. “It should encourage you to see the blossoms. As long as they come out, we know we’re all right. There still is a good balance. Cheer up, man. People are supposed to be happy in the spring.”

Leslie studied his partner’s face. “You’re happy enough for both of us today,” he commented dryly. “But then we’re all not lucky enough to be in love.”

Frank nodded. “Yes,” he said slowly. “That’s true. Spring is a great time for sweethearts.”

“And,” Leslie continued, “those of us who are in love aren’t all lucky enough to have their young ladies come halfway across a continent to see us.”

Frank chuckled. “You flatter me, Les,” he said. “Kit Craig is coming to Washington on business.”

Leslie threw down his pencil. “Now tell me, Frank, what sort of business does a college girl have? I thought their lives were full of beaux and football games and parties and as few studies as possible.”

“Oh, no. This is serious. Kit is president of her college’s historical society. There’s a big convention in town this week, and Kit will be here to represent Hope College.” Frank smiled fondly as he thought of Kit and of how seriously she would take her mission.

His partner turned back to his work. “Well, you’re pretty lucky, old man,” he said.

Frank nodded silently as he gazed out of the window. Then he glanced at his watch and admonished himself for wasting time. Picking up a report which lay on his desk, he began to study it. He shook his head from side to side as he read it and then he jotted down notations in the margin.

Elm blight again! The first signs were being seen on a midwestern campus. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he scanned the report further. Saving elms would be a major project for the country this summer.

Frank phoned the laboratory and asked them to send for samples. It was almost a futile gesture, he realized. The year before, the labs were full of samples of rotting elm branches, all destroyed by the same insect.

“Les,” he said to his partner, “have the same order about the elm blight inserted in all bulletins. If we can get the towns and farmers to spray their trees early, we may save them. It’s our only chance. You can’t kill the beast once he’s imbedded in the tree, but you can prevent him from attacking in the first place.”

Leslie made a note on his desk memo pad. “Nature gets you at every turn,” he muttered. “First you discover D.D.T., and then she discovers a little creature which won’t succumb to the treatment.”

“It’s the balance,” Frank said philosophically. “Maybe there’s a reason we don’t understand.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Leslie said skeptically.

They worked in silence for the next hour. Then Frank glanced at his watch again and stood up. “I guess I’ll call it a day,” he said. “Kit’s train gets in at six, and I want to clean up first.”

“She must be some girl,” Leslie marveled, “to drag you out of this office before dinnertime.”

Freshly shaved and bathed, Frank drove his convertible into the Washington terminal at ten minutes to six. He neatly avoided the row of taxicabs standing before the entrance and found a parking place. Hurrying, he pushed his way through the milling crowds on the concourse and went into the waiting room. He looked at the schedules on a blackboard near the exits to the trains. Kit’s train was on time. Nervously he adjusted his tie.

The train was announced, and Frank moved forward with the crowd to the exit. He could see the open platform and an excited group of young people running towards the doors. In spite of himself he felt a thrill of pride when he saw their happy, enthusiastic faces. Here were boys and girls from all over the country gathering in their nation’s capital. Some for the first time. He was proud of his country which had sponsored the happy youngsters. And he was proud of his beautiful city which had so much to offer them.

Then he spotted Kit. She was surrounded by a group of boys and girls, laughing and chattering and waving to passers-by. She looked radiant with her short dark curls bouncing in the breeze and her large eyes flashing. Frank felt proud and yet as shy as a schoolboy as he ran forward to the gate to meet her.