A Girl Named Rose. Бетти Нилс

please. Mr Werdmer ter Sane will be in presently and he will wish to see you also.”

      Rose went along the corridor and opened the end-room door. Wiebeke was sitting at a small table filling in the charts, but she looked round as Rose went in and beamed at her. “You have slept? Yes? We have had a good night. Duert is still unconscious. I tell you the report now?”

      Wiebeke’s English was sometimes quaint, but understandable, besides the treatments and feeds and charts were the same as she was used to at St Bride’s, only in another language. When she had made quite sure that she had understood Wiebeke’s report, Rose bade her goodbye and set about her day’s tasks.

      She had just finished giving Duert a nasal feed when Mr Werdmer ter Sane came in. His good morning was quiet and he went at once to look and having seen the child sat down to read through the reports and charts.

      When he had finished he asked: “Have you anything to report, Nurse Comely?”

      “Nothing more than is written there, Sir.”

      He got up and went over to the cot. “Let’s see now…” He went over the small body very carefully, looking for some sign of awakening consciousness, and found none. Presently he straightened up. “I’ll be back presently,” he told her. “Mevrouw ter Brandt will be coming in this afternoon. I’d be obliged if you will be here when she comes; it will make things easier for her if she can talk to you.”

      There wasn’t a great deal to do but she needed to keep the little boy under constant surveillance. She was relieved briefly for her midday meal and soon after she returned Christina ter Brandt arrived. Her husband and Mr Werdmer ter Sane came with her. They went to bend over the cot until Dr ter Brandt said quietly: “Sit down, darling, he’s doing as well as we hoped. Sybren and I are going to have a talk in Sister’s office. Shall I get someone to send in a pot of tea? You two girls can have a chat while we are gone.”

      He laid a large comforting hand on his wife’s shoulder and smiled at Rose.

      Left to themselves, Rose brought her stool close to the cot so that she could watch little Duert. “He’s a lovely boy,” she said in her pleasant voice. “Has he blue eyes?”

      “Like his father’s.” Christina patted herself. “This one’s to be a girl with grey eyes like mine. I don’t mind what colour they are but Duert has set his heart on it.” She looked away for a moment. “You haven’t seen any sign at all?”

      “Not yet,” said Rose gently, “it’s always a long business, isn’t it? We’ve had several like Duert at St Bride’s; they took their time but they all went home fit and well.”

      Christina ter Brandt smiled rather shakily. “Bless you, what a comfort you are. You think he’ll—he’ll be none the worse?”

      “Yes, I think that. I think Mr Werdmer ter Sane thinks that too.”

      “He’s a tower of strength. You met him when you were on holiday?”

      “Well, yes. I banged on his door because we were lost and there was a fearful storm and he very kindly gave us tea.”

      “Who’s us?”

      She wasn’t sure if her companion was listening, her eyes were on her small son, but Rose went on talking comfortably, anything was better than sitting in silence. “Sadie—one of my friends. She is a dear and very, very pretty—she is marvellous with children too. She and Mr Werdmer ter Sane got on awfully well…”

      “And you don’t?”

      “Oh, yes, of course.” Rose remembered his opinion of her and went a delicate pink and Christina gave her a second look. “He’s not very easy to know,” she said casually, “plenty of girl friends when he has the time for them, but no sign of getting married. Did he fall for your friend Sadie?”

      “Well, I think he might have done if they had seen more of each other.”

      “I am glad it’s you…may I call you Rose? I think you are the sort of person who won’t get impatient if I burst into tears or have sudden hysterics.”

      “Indeed I won’t.” Rose got up and eased the small body gently from one side to the other, took the pulse in the flaccid wrist, charted it and sat down again. A tray of tea was brought in then and Rose was asked to pour out.

      “This is fun,” said Christina ter Brandt, taking her cup. “We’ve heaps of friends but I haven’t wanted to see any of them since—since…” She took a sip of tea. “But it’s great to be able to sit here with Duert and have someone to talk to who understands what’s happened to him.”

      In a little while Dr ter Brandt came back, took another look at his little son, passed a gentle time of day with Rose and took his wife away.

      They met Sybren in the corridor. “She’s a darling,” said Christina to him. “Do you know I feel quite different now she is here. She’s so sure he’s going to get better and so—so sensible and kind. When Duert is well enough to come home, she must come too, just for a bit,” and at his look of doubt, “don’t say it can’t be done because between the pair of you, you can do anything you’ve set your heart on.” She looked at her husband. “Duert, dear, please…”

      He had an arm round her shoulders. “Provided Rose will agree, we’ll get her by hook or by crook.” He looked at his friend. “Well, what do you say, Sybren?”

      “She is a good nurse and if you want her, we’ll arrange things.”

      Christina said thoughtfully, “Would you rather have had her friend—what was her name—Sadie? Very pretty, Rose tells me. And a good nurse too.”

      He smiled down at her. “Very pretty, but I don’t think we could better our Rose; unflappable and sensible and somehow slides into place without any fuss.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “We’ll have good news for you, Chrissy, just be patient.”

      Rose was patient too; perhaps the small child’s life depended on her regular frequent observations, the careful taking of pulse, checking the slow breathing, the level of consciousness. She was relieved for her meals but that was all, but she had known that already; when she went off duty in the evening she had her supper and then went for a brisk walk, sometimes by herself, more often with one or other of the nurses. They were friendly girls but she had little time to get to know them. Wiebeke she saw morning and evening, but beyond giving each other the report they wasted no time. Little Duert’s life depended on constant observation until he regained consciousness and they both knew it. For the next few days nothing else mattered.

      Christina ter Brandt came each day to sit by her little son’s cot and hold his hand while she talked to Rose. That she was happily married was evident, just as it was evident that she was whole-heartedly loved. Rose, after a few days, found herself liking her very much, just as she liked Dr ter Brandt. Two people such as they were deserved a miracle.

      Mr Werdmer ter Sane came twice a day to study the charts carefully and examine his small patient. He had little to say to Rose although he was always pleasant and careful to enquire as to her welfare, enquiries she brushed aside just as pleasantly. She was beginning to feel the lack of exercise and change of scene but she had no intention of saying so.

      It was on the fourth day, half way through the morning, that she noticed the faintest of movements and the little boy’s breathing changed slightly from slow and shallow to a steadier rhythm. She went to the phone in a flash and asked for Mr Werdmer ter Sane to come at once, and then whisked back to the cotside, taking another look before ringing Sister’s office. Only there was no one there to answer. Rose went back to the cot, took down the side and perched close to the small form. It seemed to her that the level of unconsciousness was lighter even in those few minutes. She stroked the little hand she was holding and began to sing very softly: nursery rhymes, one after the other, and was rewarded by the flicker of an eyelid. When the door opened and Mr Werdmer ter Sane came quietly in, she flapped a hand at him and went on singing “Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle”. She had a small high voice a little