Angel of Mercy

“Hettie, stand still and let the seamstress do her job.”

“There’s just something about it I don’t like,” Hettie said.

Mrs. Steward sighed. “Really, dear, you must learn to be less particular. Come stand back on the stool and let Miss Fletcher note the alterations.”

Henrietta Steward briefly turned back to the full-length mirror, trying to envision, without much success, how her hair would look in one of those newfangled styles she had seen in her sister Ida’s fashion magazines. Not that it mattered anyway; her mobcap veil would cover her hair. As she critiqued herself, Hettie swayed slightly, keenly aware something was amiss. Maybe it was because the fashion of the dress wasn’t, well, fashionable. It certainly would not have been Hettie’s first choice, but it was respectable and presented her well in society, so her parents approved.

She placed a hand on her chest. The lace on the dress’s neckline was encroaching on her throat, giving the persistent and constant feeling that she was choking while the buttons near her wrists felt as tight as manacles. Hettie attempted to inhale when her mother once again ordered her back to the stool.

Hettie obeyed, returning to the centre of the room, and stood facing her mother and sister, Mabel, while Miss Fletcher took additional measurements and pinned fabric.

The clock on the mantle struck eight, and Hettie glanced at it, reminding herself she had to leave within the hour. “After the wedding, I’m going to miss going to the hospital every day.”

Mrs. Steward sighed again. “Working as a nursing sister was very noble of you, and you received the education your father believed you deserved. But it’s time to allow a man to take care of you now. It’s one of the benefits of marriage.”

“Building a life with the one you love is the only benefit of marriage,” Hettie said. “Mrs. Bartlette works.”

“I don’t know where you get these ideas. Mrs. Bartlette is a widow with four children still at home.”

Hettie glanced at Mabel for help dealing with Mother, but her sibling was silent.

Amelia Bartlette, Mrs. Bartlette’s closest friend and Hettie’s future mother-in-law, did indeed have four children at home – four adult children. Both Hettie and Mabel suspected Mrs. Bartlette worked outside the home because she enjoyed it and took fulfillment from it although they had no idea why someone would take fulfillment from being a charwoman when she could so easily have chosen to be a seamstress or a tutor or even a shop girl. It seemed very menial.

“Hettie,” Mabel said, “you won’t be thinking about Royal Victoria when you see how handsome Geoffrey looks. And besides, I’m looking forward to spending time together again.”

The bride-to-be smiled, remembering the days when she and Mabel were girls. They did spend much of their precious free time together, playing as children and discussing boys and fashion as teens, but that time had dwindled to nearly none at all in recent years. She didn’t want to risk hurting Mabel’s feelings by disagreeing, so for the time being, she decided to discontinue her debate with Mother.

“Yes, I look forward to that as well,” Hettie said, still smiling.

Mother looked pleased. “Good. See, all is well that ends well. Simply keep your priorities top-of-mind and you’ll never miss working.”

Hettie thanked Miss Fletcher and went into a back room to change into her nurse’s uniform. The moment she crossed the threshold her smile faded. Why did I have to be such a coward and dropped the debate? she thought. What does it say about my character if I can’t stand up for my right to have a career? Was I simply frightened of being impolite? Why can’t a woman have both a husband and a career? Why must I be forced to choose between the love of my life and my life’s passion?

Hours later, her shift over, Hettie walked out of Royal Victoria Hospital, pausing to adjust her nurse’s veil and smooth her coat when she saw her fiancé Geoffrey Bartlette waiting for her on the sidewalk,. He was punctual, as always, ready to escort her to the Bartlette house where Hettie kept her bicycle during the workday.

Their eyes met, and Hettie left the covered porch and skipped down the white staircase to where he waited, a delighted smile on his face. Her haste startled the birds that had settled for their daily slumber on the trees and bushes of the hospital’s grounds, and she laughed as some took flight while others chirped in alarm.

He kissed her gently when she reached the sidewalk, and they began to stroll arm-in-arm toward Ross Street. Then, as he did every evening, he asked about her day.

“I’m feeling very sentimental about this place. I’m going to miss it,” she said over the din of car engines and horses’ hooves.

“I know, but we’ve been through this before,” Geoffrey said. “If it were my decision, I’d allow you to work until we have children, but I can’t do that, Hettie. Some people – outside of our families – think it’s a bad match for a man to marry a woman more educated than himself. If you continue to work, people will think I can’t support us.”

Hettie gave him a sympathetic, knowing glance. She knew what he meant without an explanation.

Geoffrey had wanted to continue his education and become the first person in his family to finish high school, but instead that honor was going to go to his sister, Maeve, a blow to both his pride and masculinity. And, sadly, it was all beyond his control. In 1906, when he was sixteen, Geoffrey’s father died, and the priority switched to helping Geoffrey’s mother and siblings pay the mortgage and other expenses. He had managed to talk his way into a position at a law firm, and spent his days filing, typing, running errands and doing anything else the solicitors found it beneath themselves to do. The position had been previously held by a woman, yet another blow to his masculinity, and the low pay reflected that. From there on out, education had become a luxury, a luxury for other people, like the Stewards.

Hettie had completed high school before spending three years in Toronto attending a competitive nursing college. Geoffrey had been forced to stay behind, the entire time being the patient, supportive fiancé, never once voicing his dreams. It flattered his ego to know that she loved him despite the fact he was an uneducated clerk and she could so easily attract someone with pedigree and status.

Even though Hettie was aware of all of this, she did not understand why it mattered if a married woman worked outside the home. She had no doubt she could be both a dutiful wife and a dedicated employee.

“I have good news,” he said, interrupting her just as she opened her mouth to speak. “I’ve found us a place to live. It’s in H Block, of course, near Mama. I’d like you to go with me tomorrow to see it.”

Their eyes again met, and she noticed his green eyes were shining. He looked proud of himself. Could she really start a disagreement with him now that his mood was so buoyant?

“Yes, set it up and we’ll go look. I’m eager to see it.” She paused and when he didn’t immediately respond said, “Freddie told me the most interesting piece of gossip this morning.”

“Do we have to talk about your brother right now? I wanted to tell you more about the flat.”

Hettie swallowed hard and nodded, her face beginning to feel flush. “Of course. My apologies.”

“It’s all right, Hettie. It’s just sometimes it seems like your mind is elsewhere. Only one more month left, and we’ll be spending the rest of our lives together.”

Hettie felt her stomach turn. The phrase “the rest of their lives” seemed so final. There had never been another person in the world she wished to marry, yet she was equally passionate about nursing, and no one seemed to understand that. Her life would not feel complete without Geoffrey or nursing. She wanted both. She needed both. If only there was a way…

Geoffrey coughed, and Hettie tightened her grip on Geoffrey’s arm. When she did so, she could feel his ribs through his thin coat. Geoffrey was of average height, but he had been ill throughout childhood and was perhaps a bit on the skinny side. She would soon fix that in no time, she told herself, by cooking him nutritious meals. As for his clothes, which were not as nice as her father’s and brothers’, she would improve that area of his life as well. Geoffrey needed her, she knew; he needed her to erase all the bad memories and experiences of his formative years. Isn’t that the role Mother kept telling her a good wife filled?

“I don’t mean to seem distracted or distant, Sweetheart. But I’m not like those silly girls who when planning a wedding think of nothing else. I have patients to tend to at work. Freddie and I are spending as much time as we can together, and Father insists we keep up-to-date on events overseas so we can discuss them at dinner.”

“I don’t care about European politics.” Geoffrey pointed. “Do you see that?”

The setting sun behind Barrie’s buildings cast strips of orange brightness and gray shadow on the city.

Hettie laughed. “It looks like a painting. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.” Geoffrey ushered Hettie off the sidewalk and into Queen’s Park. “You might be a bit late for that political debate tonight.”

Far enough into the park that passersby could not see them, Geoffrey pushed Hettie against a tree and kissed her passionately for several minutes. When he finally pulled away, they were both breathing heavily.

“See,” Geoffrey said, “there’s another thing that happens in a month. We can finally be together without chaperones or fear of being caught. Without running across Freddie and his girlfriend in the barn.”

Hettie giggled and felt her temperature rising. “I want that more than anything.”

“Good.”

Geoffrey kissed her again, this time more quickly, and when he pulled away, he led her deeper into the park. Spring flowers were blossoming, and he stopped at a collection of yellow lilies. She was expecting a bouquet, but he only picked two, explaining that the flowers represented them. Hettie lifted the buds to her nose, letting their faint aroma fill her nostrils.

The couple looked at one another and smiled.