Chapter 24 Two Places at Once
Two Places at Once
Viv wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her patient’s arm and pumped the inflation bulb, listening through the stethoscope
as the cuff slowly deflated, too slowly to suit her.
Earlene Jackson was a tall woman with coffee-colored skin and intelligent brown eyes. According to the paperwork, she was
forty-three years old, widowed, and had a seventeen-year-old daughter, but Viv knew nothing else about her.
Viv normally spent time chatting with new patients. People could be nervous when meeting a new doctor, and a little small
talk often helped them calm down and open up. Sometimes they shared details that could help Dr. Fran find a more accurate
diagnosis or a better course of treatment. Viv didn’t have time for that today.
Andrea had been a brick this summer, keeping an eye on the younger kids while Viv was at work. She was going to a party in
Potomac, Maryland, with some girlfriends that evening. Viv had promised to be home by four so Andrea would have time to get
ready. It was twenty to three right now, and Earlene was her last patient of the day.
As Viv jotted her blood pressure results onto the chart, Earlene craned her neck and squinted, trying to decipher Viv’s handwriting.
“I can read that the systolic is 135, but what’s the diastolic? Looks like you wrote 57, but I know that can’t be right.”
“It’s 81,” Viv said, turning the chart around so Earlene could see.
“You sure you’re not a doctor? You ought to be, with that chicken scratch.”
Viv laughed. “Nope, just a plain old nurse. And a parochial school failure. The sisters tried their best to teach me proper
penmanship, but it never took.”
Earlene clucked her tongue. “Well, if the nuns can’t give you good handwriting, nobody can. You must be a hopeless case.”
“No question about it.” Viv glanced quickly at her watch and got back to business. “Anyway, your blood pressure is elevated.
Not terrible, but a little higher than normal. Sounds like you already know that, and that you might have some medical training?”
“I’m a nurse.” Given the way Earlene tossed around terms like systolic and diastolic, this came as no surprise. But what Earlene said next got Viv’s attention. “Twenty-two years. Got my training at a hospital
in North Carolina, served in the Army Nurse Corps during the war.”
“No kidding. Me too!”
Viv smiled broadly. She hadn’t run into another army nurse in years, and she’d never met a Negro army nurse. The temptation
to put down the clipboard and trade war stories was strong, but she resisted. She absolutely had to leave by three because
she never knew about the traffic. She’d learned that lesson the hard way, missing the opening innings of two playoff games
for Nick’s baseball team. She couldn’t let it happen again.
Viv picked up her pen. “What brings you in today, Mrs. Jackson?”
“Call me Earlene. We just moved from North Carolina, so I need a new doctor.” She sat up straighter, beaming. “My daughter
is starting at Howard University in the fall. My sister has a house here in Brookland, so we’re living with her for now. It’s
nice being close to family.”
“All my family is out west, so I know what you mean,” Viv said. “My sisters and I fought like cats and dogs when we were kids,
but I’d like to think we’ve outgrown that.”
“Oh, don’t be too sure,” Earlene said, eyes twinkling. “Sondra and I can still go round and round. And let me tell you, getting two grown women to share the same kitchen takes some negotiating. Yesterday we almost got in a fistfight over the right way to cook a chicken.”
Viv chuckled. She liked Earlene. Since there wasn’t really anything wrong with her and Dr. Fran was still with another patient,
she laid the chart on the counter and pulled up a stool.
“Tell me, where did you serve during the war? I was deployed with a field hospital, started in Tunisia and then went to Europe.”
“North Carolina the whole time. None of the Negro nurses went overseas, though we all wanted to. After D-Day, thousands of
us applied to the Army Nurse Corps, but every single one was turned down. In ’41 they finally decided we could serve in segregated
wards at Camp Livingston and Fort Bragg, taking care of injured Negro soldiers. They only took forty-eight nurses, and I was
one of them. They upped the quotas later. By the end of the war, five hundred of us were serving, but only in the segregated
wards or taking care of German POWs. They wouldn’t let us anywhere near a field hospital.”
“That’s a shame. Because we sure could have used you.”
“Yes, you could,” Earlene said, lowering her chin. “Do you remember back in January of ’45? President Roosevelt threatened
to draft eighteen thousand nurses if they didn’t get enough volunteers?”
Viv bobbed her head. “The army was desperate for nurses.”
“They didn’t have to be. Right at that moment, they were sitting on applications for nine thousand well-qualified Negro nurses
who just wanted the chance to serve their country.”
Viv’s jaw dropped. Earlene nodded meaningfully, as if saying yes, Viv really could believe it. “I love my country. I could
have served. In a war for freedom, segregation shouldn’t win.”
Viv thought back, remembering how she’d felt when she applied to the Army Nurse Corps.
Though the call of adventure had certainly influenced her decision, a burning desire to serve her country had been her primary motivation.
She had no doubt that the same fire had burned in Earlene and women like her.
Viv had been so excited when her application was accepted. How disappointed and angry would she have felt had she opened that
envelope and learned that her willingness to sacrifice in service to her country was rejected because of the color of her
skin? Viv frowned to think of the injustice and insult this woman had endured. And marveled that when the opportunity to serve
finally did come her way—delayed and with limitations based on her race—Earlene had stepped up to the plate and done her part.
Had Viv been forced to walk in Earlene’s shoes, she couldn’t say how she would have responded.
“For what it’s worth, Earlene, I’d have been proud to serve alongside you. I don’t know you, but I bet you’re a really good
nurse.”
“No, I am a great nurse. Bet you are too.”
Earlene’s smile was replaced by a sigh. “I tell you, I do not understand this world sometimes. I surely do not. But at least
things are starting to change. Have you heard about the march coming up at the end of August? Dr. King is going to speak.”
Earlene didn’t have to specify which Dr. King she was referring to. Everyone had heard about the young, charismatic civil
rights leader, a minister who preached nonviolence and refused to back down despite the threats he received.
“I’ve signed up to volunteer at the march,” Earlene said. “In the first aid station. If as many people show up as they predict,
you can bet somebody will need a nurse.”
“Gosh, that’s great! Good for you.”
“I’d invite you to come along, but I’ve got a feeling you might be busy then.” She cocked an eyebrow at Viv’s very round stomach.
“When are you due?”
“October. I know it looks like sooner, but my babies are always big. Plus, my stomach muscles are shot.” Viv patted her belly
affectionately. “This is my seventh.”
Earlene’s eyes bulged. “Your seventh! God bless you. One was enough for me. How long are you planning to keep working?”
“As long as I can. Hopefully until October. I really do love this work.”
“I know just what you mean,” Earlene said. “Nothing more rewarding.”
“I won’t lie to you. It’s hard some days. My feet are killing me right now. And with six kids at home . . .” Viv’s smile faded
a little. “I feel so torn sometimes. I want to be here with the patients, but I want to be with the kids too—”
“And you can’t be in two places at once,” Earlene said, finishing Viv’s thought for her. “Oh, I know that feeling. My Joe
was killed in a car wreck when Shirley was only three. I had to go back to work at the hospital after that. But I loved the
job, and I was good at it too. Still, I missed so much when she was growing up. And we can’t ever get those years back, can we?”
The door opened. Dr. Fran stepped into the exam room and greeted Earlene, then gave Viv a quizzical look. “Didn’t you say
you had to leave at three?”
Viv’s eyes flew to her watch. It was three minutes to three.
Five minutes later, Viv climbed into her car. If the traffic gods were smiling, she could still be home by four. And indeed,
it seemed they were. She sailed down Rhode Island Avenue and zipped around Scott Circle with no problem. At this rate, she
might even be early.
But then she got to the Key Bridge.
Flashing lights of police cruisers and ambulances were everywhere. The brake lights from the stopped cars waiting to cross
into Virginia were a mile-long necklace of glowing red.
“No!” Viv cried. “Dammit!”
She pressed the brake pedal, bringing the car to a stop, and slumped against the seat.
Earlene Jackson was right; no matter how hard she wished it were otherwise, a woman simply cannot be in two places at once.
* * *
At the same time that Viv, resigned to her fate, was opening the copy of A Room of One’s Own she’d stashed in the car for just such an emergency, Bitsy was leaning against a paddock fence, engaged in a conversation
with a stranger that was turning out to be surprisingly personal.
Bitsy had arrived at the stables as Mrs. Graham and Delilah were returning from an afternoon ride. Another woman, midfifties
with bright blue eyes and short ash-blond hair, was with her, mounted on Crystal. When Mrs. Graham waved, Bitsy waved back.
“How was she?” Bitsy asked as she approached, looking Delilah up and down, paying special attention to her gait, which seemed
steady and comfortable.
“Perfect. As good as ever,” Mrs. Graham answered, then turned to her friend. “Alice, this is Bitsy Cobb, the one I was telling
you about.”