Good Night Nurse

By Elaine Stewart

Micki had always loved being a nurse, but lately, she was feeling uninspired and unneeded. That is, until she met Opal. Opal was an eccentric elderly lady whose mannerisms and wardrobe spoke of a bygone era. She was a total stranger, and yet, her pleading with Micki for help could not be ignored. However, she had no idea the strange and dangerous situations she would find herself in. Everything Micki had believed to be absolute truth would be challenged. She found a strength within herself that she never realized was there. Only a deep-seated faith kept her from abandoning Opal and removing herself from the many dangers she would encounter on this journey. The story takes the readers on a ride with unexpected twists and turns and will take them through surprising portals and into many unexpected and unexplored places. Guaranteed to keep the reader on the edge of their seat.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781645594536

Book preview

1

Micki sat with her head in her hands. It had been one of those full moon nights. Anyone who believed that night shift nurses had it easy had, obviously, never worked a night shift. It had stormed all night and that always complicated things in their little emergency room.

The night staff had consisted of one doctor and two nurses for all the years she had worked in this ER. Always well respected, suddenly, they had added a third nurse to the crew. That would have been wonderful, except she felt she had been shoved in a corner and forgotten. The doctors who had always called out her name for assistance had stopped calling her altogether. She supposed that there were some who would be happy to get paid to just sit around all night; not Micki. For her, nursing was not merely a job, it was a calling.

Even her nurse colleagues refused to acknowledge her presence. There had recently been many occasions when she had placed a syringe with life-saving medication into another caregiver’s hand so that she didn’t have to leave the patient’s side. Instead of thanks, she was looked upon with confusion and, then, totally ignored. Her offers to help went unacknowledged. She had tried to speak to her manager, but, over and over, her requests were ignored.

Michal Michaels, RN (yes, her parents had planned the name, boy or girl), had graduated at the top of her class and could have worked almost anywhere. She had chosen Walker because she believed she could contribute more there than at a shiny new facility with the latest of everything.

Walker had been a resort hotel for the rich and famous at the turn of the twentieth century. It had been converted several times over the years, finally becoming the small hospital. The standard comment was that when you worked at this facility, you learned to do everything with nothing. Many complained, but Micki had always thrived on the challenge.

She looked up and down the hall before leaving, her heart breaking at the thought of leaving what had become hallowed halls for her. She should leave, but she had not been able to convince herself to make the move.

Micki smiled for the first time in hours as she stepped into the parking lot and walked toward her little red sports car. Almost fifty years old and single again, this had been her gift to herself. Call it midlife crisis if you want, but it was her one self-indulgence and pure pleasure.

Micki was startled when someone tapped her on the shoulder. It had been a while since anyone had even offered a handshake, and the unexpected contact caused her to whirl around in a bit of panic. Her panic quickly subsided, however, when she gazed into a pair of beautiful, sparkling blue eyes.

The woman standing before her was bent with age; her face was scored with deep wrinkles, but her eyes held a youthful quality. What was it she saw in those eyes? Hope, that was it; hope. The lady’s clothes were of quality, clean and pressed, but very outdated. Her hair was plaited into a thick, white braid that formed a crown at the top of her head.

Micki, becoming accustomed to being invisible to those around her, was surprised when the lady spoke to her. With a sweet, but weary, smile, she asked, Can you please help me find her? No one will help me, and I am so tired. I need to find her so that we can go home. Micki spoke with her a few moments and found that her name was Opal, and she was looking for her sister, Pearl.

Micki pointed her toward the hospital entrance and told her to ask at the desk. Opal reached out with her white gloved hand and, with a pleading voice, said, They told me you were the only one who would help me. Please! Again, pointing her to the hospital, Micki hurried away and got in her car.

She typically enjoyed the drive home, early in the morning on the long, straight back roads of the county, where she could put her little car in fifth gear and let her go. This morning, though, the look of hope and then disappointment in Opal’s eyes kept haunting her.

Micki had followed the same routine for years, so she was accustomed to being a day sleeper and went to bed at her usual time. She slept, but this time, her sleep was plagued with odd dreams. First, she saw two little girls, dressed in dresses, pantaloons, and high button shoes. Both had long hair that was pulled back and held with a large ribbon tied in a bow. They were dressed alike and looked too much alike to just be sisters, so they must be twins. They never let go of one another’s hand.

They turned and smiled at her in tandem; mirror images, except for their eyes. One of the girl’s eyes was a sparkling blue and the other’s an equally sparkling gray. Somehow, in her dream, Micki knew that this was Opal and Pearl. That fact seemed extremely important, and she had no idea why. Their images faded, and Micki’s sleep became more restful.

The next night in the ER, her shift, disappointedly, followed the pattern of the previous one. Every morning, she left with the thought, This is it. I’m done. But something compelled her to stay. She didn’t understand this compulsion, and she wished she knew what it was that held her there. Whatever it was, it held her with an iron fist.

Her car was parked on the far side of a big pick-up truck, preventing her from seeing the little lady standing beside her passenger door until she was right on it. She acknowledged Opal with a nod and a smile and started to unlock the car. Before she could slide into the bucket seat, there was a tap on her shoulder. Opal was standing behind her. How did she get around the car without Micki noticing?

Micki wanted to just drive away, but the look on the woman’s face held her there. There was such hope on her face, and Micki did not want to be the one to crush it. Her plea was the same, Can you please help me find her? No one will help me, and I am so tired. I need to find her so that we can go home. Sadly, the only help she had to offer was to refer her, again, to hospital administration.

That day, Opal and Pearl once again invaded her dreams. This time, they were young ladies outfitted in long day dresses; their hair coiffed in modest buns and both wearing spring hats made of straw. They appeared to be enjoying a walk in the park. They would nod at other young women accompanied by suitors, but the twins seemed content with their own company. Walking arm in arm, chatting companionably, they walked away from Micki until they faded into the distance and out of her dreams.

2

Micki was off for the next couple of nights, but, as had become her custom, she continued her daytime sleep pattern. Every time she slept, she dreamed about Opal and Pearl, their age advancing with each dream. Sometimes, there would be other people in the periphery, but the two were always together. If her dreams, which had become almost like visions, were true, the sisters had spent their entire lives together. Thoughts of Opal began to dominate not only her dreams, but also her waking thoughts.

Micki decided that, for the sake of her own sanity, she had to have a serious talk with the centenarian and see if she was truly searching for her sister, or simply senile. If she suffered dementia, she would call the police and have them take her to what, Micki prayed, would be a safe place. If Pearl was really missing, she would do her best to help locate her. What else did she have to spend her time on?

The next morning, as she crossed the parking lot, Micki spotted Opal standing next to the red car. She let her own face soften into a welcoming smile and held out her hands to the little lady, as though greeting a long, lost friend. Before Opal could, once again, make her request for help, Micki asked her if she would like to go somewhere for a nice cup of tea; a quiet place where they could talk. The invitation brought tears to the old woman’s eyes, but she declined the offer, stating that she mustn’t leave until she found Pearl.

The whole county was dotted with small lakes, and it happened that there was a lovely little lake nestled behind the hospital. It was a wonderfully quiet place for meditation, reflection, or just relaxing. Micki had sat on one of the benches many mornings after a particularly emotional shift, like the night they watched a coworker’s young daughter slip into eternity, despite their best efforts. She led Opal to the nearest bench and sat beside her.

One of the first things every nurse charts on their patient at the beginning of each shift, besides their vital signs, is their orientation times three. Did they know who they were, where they were, and what day it was; person, place, and time. Micki decided to start her conversation with Opal establishing those three things.

Opal’s expression almost made Micki laugh when she asked her if she knew her name. Her brows creased, and she looked concerned for the nurse. After all, they had spoken several times, and she was positive that she had introduced herself the first time. Nevertheless, not wanting to offend, she politely answered, Opal Jewel. Micki recognized the name Jewel. The Jewel family had pioneered and helped establish a large part of Central Florida. She knew who she was, and she knew where she was. It was when Micki asked her if she knew the date, her answer changed everything. With a hint of irritation, she squared her shoulders, looked Micki in the face and said, Today is Saturday, April 19, 1952. With her arms folded across her chest, she gave a triumphant nod. Micki’s heart broke for the confused woman; getting old could be brutal. Opal gave her hand a squeeze and reassured her that her answers should be proof that she was not crazy and that she was determined to find her sister, Pearl. Without prompting, Opal proceeded to tell of her search for her sister.

Her story unfolded, not with the meandering and confusion one would expect from a person in her mental state. On the contrary, her words were crisp and clear; well ordered. Within a few minutes, Micki was mesmerized; caught in the story’s web.

Just as she had suspected, Opal and Pearl were twins; Pearl being the oldest by a few minutes. Other than that short span between their births, they had never been separated. Their father had invested his time and finances in developing an area of South Central Florida, and, soon, he had founded a small city. This was the only home the girls had ever known.

There had been a third sister, Ruby, but she succumbed to a cholera outbreak when she was only three years old. The loss of their sibling only served to cement the twins’ relationship. Suitors had come and gone, but none could lure them away from each other. Their hearts beat in sync, their pulses keeping the exact rhythm. If one hurt, the other hurt. If one got ill, the other got ill. It had always been as if they were one person in two bodies.

They had comforted one another through the loss of, first, their father, and then their mother. Many had approached them about buying the estate they had inherited. It was on prime real estate, and they could have added considerably to their already comfortable lifestyle, but they were adamant. This was the only home they had ever known, and they fully intended to live out their lives right there.

Both women had been blessed with good health and sharp minds. But the older they got, the more they were pressured to sell their home. Things were developing quickly in that area, and investors eyed their property like hungry wolves surveying a flock of helpless sheep. One by one, however, they learned that these ladies, old and genteel on the surface, had minds like steel traps and wills of iron. They would offer tea and cakes, smile sweetly, and not give an inch to the smooth-talking prospectors.

Opal and Pearl had decided, years before that, since they had no living relatives, that they would will their property to the city historical society, with allowed uses clearly outlined. This concept was beyond comprehension to those who coveted that land for their own gain. They lived what, to most people, appeared to be mundane, almost reclusive lives. But they went about their days with peace and contentment. The world’s opinion of them had never mattered. It only took one visitor to shatter their serenity.

Not many visitors came to their door, and, since they had chosen not to install a telephone (after all, who would they call?), they were always unexpected. One early April afternoon, Pearl went to the door. She was already a bit irritated with whoever was there because they rapped on the door hard and impatiently.

The appearance of the man standing on the porch did nothing to thaw her frosty reception. He was dressed in a shiny, steel gray suit, what, at one time, had probably been a white shirt and a gaudy print tie. The thick, smelly stogie he held between his teeth only added to her distaste. When he introduced himself, he had a pronounced Yankee accent, which certainly did not endear him.

Rudely, he asked if he was speaking to Miss Pearl or Miss Opal. Still speaking through the screen door, she informed him that since they did not know him, he certainly did not know them well enough to address them by their Christian names.

With a red face, more from anger than embarrassment, he introduced himself as Vincent, adding that his last name was of no concern to the ladies. He was acting as agent for his client in Chicago and would like to speak to them about buying their property.

Pearl told him that he was wasting his time and should just move on. Before she could react, he had jerked the latch from the screen door and walked into their sanctuary. With cold eyes and deadpan voice, he told her she couldn’t know that until she and her sister had heard his offer. He bullied his way into their parlor, where Opal was sitting, reading from one of her favorite volumes of poetry.

Pearl joined her on the loveseat, and they grasped one another’s hand. They had shared many emotions in this room throughout the years—joy, excitement, disappointment, sorrow, grief—but fear was a new addition. Within a span of seconds, their sense of safety and security was gone.

Recovering from the shock of this intrusion, Opal gave Pearl’s hand a knowing squeeze and offered their unwelcome guest a glass of cold lemonade. Vincent accepted the offer and relaxed, a smug look on his jowly face. He had control of this situation and would be able to report success to the boss by the end of the day.

When Opal stepped back into the parlor, he looked up expectantly; though what he saw was not what he expected. Opal was holding an ancient pistol, and it was pointed right at his chest. The pistol was old, but old guns could still shoot and kill, and this woman’s aim was sure, and her hand was steady. Pearl stood beside her sister and ordered the intruder out of their house.

Vincent wasn’t sure how he was going to explain this to his boss, but he was certainly going to lie. There was no way he was going to admit that two little old ladies had thrown him out of their house at gunpoint. He was certain of one thing; this was not over yet. His boss was too well connected and never accepted no for an answer to anything he really wanted; and he really wanted this property.

Once the stranger was out of sight, Opal lowered the gun, and, trembling, the sisters fell into one another’s arms. When they had calmed down enough to really think, arm in arm, they walked the few blocks to the hardware store. By late that afternoon, their screen door had a more secure latch, and, again, they relaxed in the security of their little kingdom. Soon the final curtain was going to fall on the lives they had always known and cherished.

3

Vincent had always had a hair-trigger temper, and, when he woke the next morning, he was already angry. His ears were still wringing from the full-volume chewing out he had gotten from the boss the night before. The reminder that there were other influential families counting on the success of his negotiations held a barely veiled threat. He was instructed to take the gloves off.

Being ruthless had never been difficult for Vincent, but then, he had ever been tasked with being ruthless to little gray-haired ladies. He had the reputation of being a hammer for his boss. He could hear the jokes now, Vincent, slayer of the golden agers! He would do what he had to do, but this time, he would have no pleasure or satisfaction in carrying out his orders.

It took him some time, but he believed he had come up with the perfect plan; just the leverage he needed to insure success. All he really wanted to do was get back on the train and go back north. This job could not be rushed; his timing would have to be perfect. Patience had never been his strong suit,