Together we went to the Manitoba Medical College for the four hours of lectures that were our training before we were sent out into the community as home nurses. The women in charge of this crash course recognized Elizabeth Weaver (Baz's mother) as a doctor's widow and were especially welcoming to her.
"One would think," Elizabeth joked later, "that my husband's medical training was communicable, transmitted to me by marriage."
We were issued white arm bands with green crosses to show the public that we were volunteer nurses going crucial work. That very day, Elizabeth was assigned to a family of newcomers in the North End, a young couple with two preschool children. She returned home exhausted but exhilarated.
"Neighbours helped the couple when they were first stricken," she said. "The people of that area have really banded together, but they need outside help now that so many have fallen ill. This young man and woman had high fevers at first but their temperatures are down, now and I think they'll make it. They held my hands and said 'Thank you,' one of the few English expressions they know. They're lovely people and it's such a pleasure to hold a baby on my lap again."
The following morning she packed a hamper of food and bed linens to take with her. "I thought of giving the children Baz's toy horses and teddy bear, because they have nothing, " she said, "but I just can't."
I put my arm around her. "We may want those toys in years to come, when Baz comes home."
I was annoyed at the Emergency Nursing Bureau's delay in placing me. It was against the Bureau's policy to send a young girl where there were five or six ill persons, as it might be too much for her to deal with. Nor could young ladies go at night to poor neighbourhoods, nor care for delirious men, who might do something violent or improper. How silly and prudish! I was twenty-two, a married woman. As for being out at night, male volunteers drove nurses to their assignments, so what was the problem?
When Mrs. Weaver got home that day, however, I had exciting news. The Bureau was sending me to care for a war widow with two children. When we were discussing my assignment, to start the following day, the telephone rang, and to my surprise it was [my brother] Henry. ....Marta [our stepmother, had the flu...
"I'll be on the next train," I told Henry.
...
On the train, the passing countryside blurred as I thought of Marta...I couldn't lose another mother. Lily Kate and Francie, who had taken me under their wings and taught me so much, were so far away and we hadn't been in touch for months...I still had Elizabeth Weaver and Keira Waite to take a motherly interest in me and I was fond of both, but neither was a substitute for Marta. I couldn't lose her!
