Die großen Western Classic 32 – Western. H. C. Hollister
along the familiar street, glad she’d accepted Mum’s invitation to go to the shops. They jostled forward, careful to avoid the horses that pulled their drays and buggies along the street. The chatter of the shoppers aggravated Ethel’s unsettled mind. She usually loved London with its shops and crowds, but today seemed like an endurance race in which she’d lost sight of the finish line.
Suddenly, yells and screams of protest added to the clamour. Throngs of people began to gather, raising their arms, pushing and cursing.
“What’s going on? What are people so angry about?” Ethel asked as she craned her neck to see.
“Well, I’m not about to go and find out,” Mum said.
Ethel’s curiosity piqued. “Just move over here a bit, Mum, and then we’ll be out of the way. Maybe we can see what’s happening.”
Bobbies shoved their way into the centre of the crowd, shouting orders and threatening to use their sticks. Groups of people huddled together off to the side of the market, talking and laughing, sometimes heckling. Several people crammed in front of Ethel, forcing her to stand on tiptoe to see over their heads. Slowly, she led Mum in front of the shops, staying away from the big crowd in the middle of the market.
A lorry with high wire sides cut through the mob. A new group of bobbies jumped from it, swinging their sticks over the people’s heads and shouting mocking words that caused the crowd to shrink back. The bobbies promptly dropped the tailgate. A grinding sound resonated through the air.
A man behind Ethel grumbled, “Next thing, those women’ll want a seat in parliament.”
Ethel’s throat tightened and her heart pounded as she watched the bobbies drag some women by their hair, push and shove the rest, and throw them into the back of the lorry. They cried out, but the bobbies paid little attention to their pleas. After slamming the large doors shut, the officers climbed onto the running boards. The lorry with its passengers sped away.
Within minutes, the market had cleared of all the observers. Placards and posters with bold black letters spelling Votes for Women lay strewn across the dirty street.
Tears welled up in Ethel’s eyes. “Oh, Mum. Those poor women! What are they guilty of—speaking their minds and wanting to have an opinion? Surely we’re not that feared.”
With the afternoon spent, Ethel and Mum boarded their train and rode most of the way home to Enfield in silence. As the train chugged into the Enfield station, Ethel began to gather her bags.
“I’m going back into London on Friday for Elsie’s final medical appointment. I hope we don’t run into that hostility again. I don’t want to expose Elsie to it.”
“You’ll be fine, luv,” Mum said. “Just keep away from the square.”
Ethel knew it would take more than staying away from the square to avoid suffragists. They could appear at the most unexpected times and surprising places. Only yesterday, she’d read in the London Times that 153 women were arrested on Downing Street for rioting; one, an elderly woman, was in a self-propelled invalid chair. Ethel smiled, in spite of the horror of the incident. She would delight in being that woman’s nurse.
The sun shone brightly when Ethel and Elsie stepped down from the train onto the London platform a few days later. Elsie, petite with long brown wavy hair held back by barrettes, attracted people with her quick smile and big eyes. Ethel couldn’t help thinking that Elsie, as trusting as she was, would stand and chat with anybody, especially when she could announce she was getting new shoes.
A magician standing on a red box caught Elsie’s attention. An inquisitive child by nature, she squealed with delight when he noticed her. She laughed as she watched him work wonders with his high black hat and long silver cane. He had rabbits, doves, many flags and silk scarves. He knew his trade well. A dozen or more people applauded him, and Elsie jumped with obvious excitement. A keen child with infectious laughter—Ethel enjoyed watching her.
Standing in front of a wooden street bench, Ethel brushed accumulated dust and bits of twig off the surface. Lifting her hand to wave, she remembered how well Elsie had fared through the long six weeks of scarlet fever. She’d cried with her sore throat and headache but had tolerated the rash well. Seeing her today, jumping with joy at the magician’s tricks, made it easy to forget she was ever a sickly child.
“Come on. We’d better go,” Ethel called, looking across the street to the big clock set into the wall of the ancient stone building.
“No! No!” Elsie shouted.
“Yes, dear,” Ethel said. “Right now.”
Elsie headed toward her mother. “He is so funny.”
“Yes, that magician was very good,” Ethel said and laughed. “I don’t think I’ve seen such antics since I was a child. I’m glad you enjoyed the man with the balloons and funny hat, sweetheart.”
“Yes, Mummy. Can the funny man come with us?” Elsie asked.
“I’m afraid not, dear. He’s going to make other little girls laugh, and we need to get those new shoes before we’re off to the doctor’s office to hear how well you’re doing.”
Doctor Austin hurriedly flipped through a pile of papers in a large file as though looking for a particular one. “I’d like to take a little extra time with you, Miss Kemp, if that’s possible. I’ll try to be brief, but there’s a few things we have to talk about.”
“Oh?” Ethel looked straight at him.
“First,” the doctor raised his eyebrows, “how is Tom doing?”
“In his last letter, he told me how much he enjoys his butcher shop. He did say his cough is back, but other than that, he’s enjoying Canada.”
The doctor sighed. “I think about him often.” He frowned and put his finger to his chin. “Now for Elsie. I have the results from her last test.”
At the mention of her name, Elsie came to her mother’s side. With a puzzled expression, she looked up at the doctor.
Ethel took Elsie to a corner of the doctor’s office, gave her some blocks to play with, and then returned to her seat. “Yes, go on.” Ethel leaned forward.
“I have no doubt in my mind that the bacteria that causes scarlet fever can also initiate other conditions. Unfortunately, Elsie has developed a weak heart, and it’s something we have to watch.” The doctor raised a hand to prevent interruption. “This is not unusual. We knew there was a problem from Elsie’s initial medical examinations, but I didn’t see it as a crisis until now.”
“I thought she was coming along just fine.” Ethel pressed a hand to her chest, her own heart pounding fast.
“There’s always caution following scarlet fever or any childhood disease, as you well know. I don’t want to alarm you unduly, but now…now since my last examination, I’m certain she has a greater problem.” The doctor paused. “I’m sorry, but I feel she is at risk.”
“At risk? What does at risk mean?” Scenes of her family’s sorrow fled through Ethel’s mind when she remembered her older brother’s death 11 years ago. The doctor had told Pa that Will had fainted and then died due to a weakened heart, probably caused from an earlier bout of influenza. He was only 16 years old, with his whole life ahead of him. Ethel caught a sob in her throat. Could that happen to Elsie? Oh, God forbid it!
“Scarlet fever can stress the kidneys and the heart.” The doctor broke into her thoughts. “And we don’t know a lot about why these two organs are affected more than others. But we do know that a patient who’s had scarlet fever should have special care following the disease—especially a child. We have to admit, Elsie did have quite a serious bout. And we want to be sure she can lead a healthy and active life as she grows up.” Shuffling his papers, the doctor continued, “You’ll know all this, of course, from your nursing experience.”
“Yes, I understand. But do you think that