“Not more than I was to see her. I didn't know she was in town. Not a soul had mentioned it—you nor Grandfather nor Grandmother.”
The housekeeper answered without turning her head. “Guess we had so many things to talk about we forgot it,” she said. “Yes, she's been here over a week now. High time, from what I hear. The poor old parson has failed consider'ble and Maria Price's housekeepin' and cookin' is enough to make a well man sick—or wish he was. But he'll be looked after now. Helen will look after him. She's the most capable girl there is in Ostable County. Did she tell you about what she done in the Red Cross and the hospitals?”
“She said something about it, not very much.”
“Um-hm. She wouldn't, bein' Helen Kendall. But the Red Cross folks said enough, and they're sayin' it yet. Why—”
She went on to tell of Helen's work in the Red Cross depots and in the camp, and hospitals. It was an inspiring story.
“There they was,” said Rachel, “the poor things, just boys most of 'em, dyin' of that dreadful influenza like rats, as you might say. And, of course it's dreadful catchin', and a good many was more afraid of it than they would have been of bullets, enough sight. But Helen Kendall wa'n't afraid—no, siree! Why—”
And so on. Albert listened, hearing most of it, but losing some as his thoughts wandered back to the Helen he had known as a boy and the Helen he had met that forenoon. Her face, as she had welcomed him at the parsonage door—it was surprising how clearly it showed before his mind's eye. He had thought at first that she had not changed in appearance. That was not quite true—she had changed a little, but it was merely the fulfillment of a promise, that was all. Her eyes, her smile above a hospital bed—he could imagine what they must have seemed like to a lonely, homesick boy wrestling with the “flu.”
“And, don't talk!” he heard the housekeeper say, as he drifted out of his reverie, “if she wa'n't popular around that hospital, around both hospitals, fur's that goes! The patients idolized her, and the other nurses they loved her, and the doctors—”
“Did they love her, too?” Albert asked, with a smile, as she hesitated.
She laughed. “Some of 'em did, I cal'late,” she answered. “You see, I got most of my news about it all from Bessie Ryder, Cornelius Ryder's niece, lives up on the road to the Center; you used to know her, Albert. Bessie was nursin' in that same hospital, the one Helen was at first. 'Cordin' to her, there was some doctor or officer tryin' to shine up to Helen most of the time. When she was at Eastview, so Bessie heard, there was a real big-bug in the Army, a sort of Admiral or Commodore amongst the doctors he was, and HE was trottin' after her, or would have been if she'd let him. 'Course you have to make some allowances for Bessie—she wouldn't be a Ryder if she didn't take so many words to say so little that the truth gets stretched pretty thin afore she finished—but there must have been SOMETHIN' in it. And all about her bein' such a wonderful nurse and doin' so much for the Red Cross I KNOW is true. . . . Eh? Did you say anything, Albert?”