"I still can't believe you have to wear that hideous thing," Roz said as she looked at Daphne in her nurse's uniform. It was a simple, long white dress with a tight collar and long, halfway puffy sleeves. Her white laced up boots showed vaguely underneath.
"I've had a lot worse. One of the hospitals I worked at near Manchester made us wear these ridiculous little white hats that stuck up like one of those paper boats children make," Daphne said back, looking at herself in her mirror.
She had just moved to America a little over two months ago and she lived in a small apartment building. It wasn't much to look at on the outside, it was three stories tall and was made of bricks painted white, but on the inside it was rather nice, with hardwood floors, plenty of space per flat, a good-sized fireplace, and many large windows. It was rather inexpensive as well, so it was no wonder that almost every space was filled up. Roz Doyle lived across the hall from Daphne, and they had met when she had first moved in and had quickly become friends.
"Oh yes," Daphne continued. "And they had us put our hair up in buns every day. We could never wear our hair down like this." She ran her fingers through her almost elbow-length free-flowing dark hair. "I hated it that place to the foundation. It's one of the reasons I moved here."
Roz nodded. She herself was wearing something she had just bought the day before yesterday, a dark green dress in a style that had been in the department store windows and had been selling like mad for weeks. She couldn't help but feel guilty standing next to Daphne, a woman who worked her tail off as a nurse and had exactly three good dresses and a few blouses and skirts.
"I don't know how you stand it," Roz said to her, then smiled. "You need to find yourself a rich man so you'll never have to work again."
Daphne sighed. "I don't exactly have all the opportunities in the world to find one." She sat down next to Roz on a wooden bench she had against the wall.
"Even the wealthy get sick."
"Date a patient? Are you joking?"
"Why not?"
"It's got to be against some sort of rule. And not only that, it's rather strange in itself."
"Fine. I'm just saying, if you find a husband that's well-to-do enough, you can stop wearing that ugly dress day after day."
"Can we talk about something else, please?"
"Yes."
They were quiet for a moment, until Roz said, "You're not walking to work again, are you?"
"Roz, what choice do I have?"
"It's less than thirty degrees out! You can take my wagon today if you'd like; it'll get you there faster."
"I like walking, and besides, you're going to need your wagon. You just told me you're going shopping today."
"Right."
"I've got to go." Daphne got up and, put on her coat, grabbed her bag, and opened the door. "Goodbye, Roz. See you tonight?"
"Sure. Goodbye, Daphne."
She and Roz walked out of the door and locked it from the outside, then walked down the hallway and down the stairs.
When she was out in the cold winter day, she began to wonder what she would do at the hospital until that evening. Though she did treat people on occasion, most of her job was to be what her colleagues called a "smiling nurse"- someone who kept the patients company or greeted them whenever she found the time. Her boss would give her certain people to sit and talk with each day until they were released or in some cases, died. The last one she had had left the hospital yesterday, so she would probably given a new someone today.
After she had reached the hospital, she spent about two hours visiting patients. The last one she made was to one of her favorites, a kind man who sadly was only a few days away from his death.
"Hello, Mr. Morris," she said upon entering his room.
"Well, if it isn't Miss Daphne," he said with a smile. "Come here, my girl."
She went to his bedside and bent down so he could kiss her on the cheek.
"How are you doing today?" she asked him.
"Very well, thank you. And how are you? Got yourself a husband yet?"
She sighed and chuckled a little bit. "No sir, I'm afraid not."
"Well, you'll get one. The kind, warm-hearted ones always do. That's why I'm very surprised Miss Josephine's married."
Daphne laughed. "Yes sir, most of us are."
"And how are they down in the children's ward?"
The man asked the same question every time.
"Very well, sir."
"Very good, very good. Now, Miss Daphne, if you don't mind I'm going to take a nap."
"Goodbye, Mr. Morris. I'll come by again tomorrow if I get the chance."
She went out of his room and began to walk down the hallway until she almost ran smack into her boss, Mrs. Thompson.
"Daphne!" she exclaimed upon seeing her. "I was just looking for you. We have a new girl in the children's ward, we think she's got some sort of illness but we're not sure what yet. The doctor is going to have a look at her soon. The poor thing just fainted dead away while she was at school this morning. See after her, will you?"
"Of course, ma'am. What's her name?"
"Juliana Crane. Her father is a doctor up at Oakwood Mental Hospital. She lost her mother last winter."
"Oh dear," Daphne whispered, thinking about if she had lost her mother at a young age. "I'll go over there straight away."
And with that she began to walk towards the children's ward on the other side of the hospital.
When she arrived, she recognized the new girl in the room right away.
The children's ward was really one big room with several beds separated by white curtains on both sides.
Juliana sat there in her bed looking very scared, her green eyes darting around the room nervously. It broke Daphne's heart.
"Hello there," she said as she sat down at the end of the girl's bed.
"Hello."
"I'm Daphne. And you're Juliana, aren't you?"
"Yes ma'am."
"How old are you?"
"Ten."
"Well, I'm going to be here with you for as long as they keep you here."
"How long will that be?"
Daphne sighed. "I'm afraid I don't know, dear."
"Is my papa going to be here soon?"
"Oh, I'm sure he will be."
They sat in silence for a moment until Juliana asked, "Where are you from?"
"Manchester, England."
"I don't think I've ever met anyone from England before. Is that how all English people talk?"
She laughed. "Most of them, yes."
Daphne suddenly knew just what to do.
"Juliana, do you like stories?"