--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Elsie C. Carroll collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 21 number: 6 published: 1918-04 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Elsie C. Carroll, “The Miracle,” *Improvement Era* 21, no. 6 (April 1918): 509–514." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2106unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2106unse start_page: 509 end_page: 514 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1918-04) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2106unse publication_year: 1918 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1918, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Miracle The Miracle By Elsie C. Carroll "Hello, Utah. How's the case?" Doctor Jarvis turned at the genial greeting of a fellow interne. He had just stepped into the elevator to go down to number 246 at an urgent call from the nurse. He looked half envyingly at Doctor Burton's clean-shaven, untroubled face before he replied. Burton, it seemed to Jarvis, had a knack of getting along without the dif- ficulties and worries which seemed always lurking upon his own trail. "I'm afraid the case is hopeless," he replied, despond- ently. "How is yours?" "Fine and dandy. You remember my last draw was the old gent from Texas. Well, he's out on the porch this afternoon. Expects to start home next week. I'm celebrating my luck to- night. Don't you want to go to the show with me?" Jarvis shook his head. "I'd better wait until I have some luck of my own before I celebrate," he said, grimly. They had stepped from the ele- vator. Burton walked down the hall with Jarvis toward num- ber 246. "Oh, cheer up, old man. Don't take that case so to heart. What if you do lose it? Gregory told me this morning that all the men on the staff had been in and given it up. You don't expect to do more than the old guns, do you?" "Of course not. But it's my case, and in a way I'm respon- sible for it. Besides, think of my two cases before! Isn't that a record for a fellow competing for that vacancy on the staff? If I could get a glimpse of your lucky star I might be able to cel- ebrate once in a while myself. But as it is, well, I've about de- cided I'm a failure, Burton." "Oh, come off! We all know you're still in the race, and besides the rest of us don't have all the luck. I'd be willing to lose a case or two if I could have that little Nurse Blakes- ley to work with. You ought to see the elephant who hands me bandages." This last was in an undertone as they neared room 246. Jarvis opened the door noiselessly, while Burton passed on down the hall. The nurse looked up as the young doctor entered. "There seemed to be a weakening of the pulse, Doctor," she explained briefly. "And I had promised to let you know if 510 IMPROVEMENT ERA there was any change." Miss Blakesley looked sympathetically at the anxious face of the young interne. She was not as old in years as Harold Jarvis, but she was a good deal older in hospital experience, and her heart went out in sympathy to this young man in his first test cases upon which so much to him at least depended. Besides, she liked this open-faced, hard-working Westerner from the first day he had come into the hospital. She wanted him to succeed and it was hard to see him failing. Jarvis took out his watch and counted the patient's pulse- beats. "Yes, it is slower," he admitted, reluctantly. "Has she been more delirious than usual this afternoon?" "I think not. For nearly a half hour she has lain as quiet as you see her now." Harold Jarvis gently placed the woman's thin hand back upon the coverlet and slipped his watch into his pocket. He stood for a moment with his head dropped forward, looking down at the white, drawn face on the pillow, but seeing some- thing quite different. He was remembering that touching scene in the waiting room the morning Mrs. Clayton had come to the hospital. Her three little children were there with the aged aunt, who was to care for them during the mother's stay in the hospital. He remembered how they had clung to her and how she had promised them she would soon be home. Then she had turned to him and begged, "You will see that I keep that promise, won't you, doctor?" None of them had thought the case serious at that time. A slight operation should have been all that was necessary. But fhen, that dreaded fever had set in with baffling complica- tions which even the best doctors on the staff seemed unable to understand. The little mother who had seemed so deter- mined to live when she came to the hospital, now seemed de- termined to die in spite of all that modern science and medicine could do for her. In her delirium she had forgotten the little ones waiting for her to come home; she remembered only her dead husband and begged continually for him to come and take hrr away. "Nearly two beats slower than it was this morning;" Doctor Jarvis said the words slowly, as if more to himself than to the white-clad nurse on the opposite side of the bed. He was think- ing of little Philinda Boliske, his last patient, who had died across the hall a week ago, and of the young workingman, in- jured in a fall, who had died in Ward F, three weeks before that. They were his patients! And he was competing for that va- cancy on the staff ! It seemed almost as if fate were against him. Surely no one could have worked harder than he had during the four years since his matriculation in the medical college. THE MIRACLE $11 He was older than most of the fellows, too, and had supposed his broader experience would count for something. It had seemed to until recently. He remembered those early struggles when he had had to endure the half-scornful banter of such men as Burton and how later his capacity for hard work and ability to stay with a problem until its completion had won their re- spect and friendship, though his old nick-name still clung to him. He had passed the hospital examination with honors, and when the board had announced that the vacancy on the staff caused by the resignation of Dr. Hampton would be filled from among the internes, he had high hopes of landing the position. It was just what he had been working for, and looking forward to during all those long years of preparation. He had been told by his teachers many times that he was especially fitted for hospital service. He had thought so himself. It was the kind of work he liked best. But in spite of all these things he was failing! He had lost three cases within a month! No other interne had such a deplorable record. He was a failure! That thought with the realization that a precious life he was expected to save, was at this moment slipping away from him, made him dumb with misery and discouragement. Harold Jarvis was still somewhat of a boy in his emotions, and his lips trembled a bit as he turned from the bed toward the door. The nurse who had been watching him furtively, for- got to be professional. She stepped forward and touched his arm. "I'm so sorry, Dr. Jarvis," she said, simply. "We all know how hard you have worked and that you have done everything that could be done." He turned and looked at her, remember- ing what Burton had said. He had not realized before that she was far more than a merely capable nurse; that she was a wom- anly woman as well. He was touched by the unaffected sympa- thy in her voice and eyes. "It's kind of you to say that, Miss Blakesley, and I want to tell you how I appreciate the splendid help you've given me all through. You're certainly some nurse, and I'm glad you don't have to know how it hurts to fail." "Oh, don't say that, Dr. Jarvis! This doesn't mean you ve failed. And besides, she— she may— live yet. There have been such things as miracles." But Jarvis shook his head. "You know as well as I, that it is only a matter of hours. There is nothing more that I can do. However, I shall come back in a half hour. I've been in the lab. all morning trying to find some clue in a blood analysis. I'm going out for a breath of air now. He smiled grimly as he turned again to the door. "Oh, it's nothing but just plain failure, Miss Blakesley, 512 IMPROVEMENT ERA and — well, you see it's a bit hard, because I've been thinking all along that I was cut out for success." Dr. Jarvis was wrapped in gloomy thoughts as he walked slowly down the broad gray steps toward the street. As he paced back and forth along the pavement in front of the som- ber building, he forced his mind to go over every detail of the case. Had he missed something important in the history? Had the diagnosis been wrong or incomplete? Had there been any- thing neglected in the treatment? While he was still pondering these perplexing questions he became aware that two children were walking close behind him and that he was the object of their conversation. " 'Course, it's him. I know it is. Don't you know he was all like that, with his head tipped a little too much to the front. And that mole on his cheek — I remember that plain as anything, 'cause it looks just like a apple seed. Sure it's him, but you ask him, June." "Oh, I'm afraid. He looked awful kind when he was talkin' to mama that day. I didn't think I'd be afraid, but I am, Harry, honest I am. He looks fierce enough to eat us up." Though the little girl spoke in an undertone her words were quite audi- ble. "You're the oldest," the small lad argued. "But you're a man. Ladies hadn't ought to go around speakin' to gentlemen first." This rebuttal seemed to have the desired effect. Dr. Jarvis felt a timid twitch on his coat sleeve, and turned about questioningly. The faces of the children were strangely familiar. He gazed at them a moment, then his heart failed him. They were Mrs. Clayton's children. He felt as if he were a criminal standing before a judgment seat. "You're the doctor, ain't you?" the lad ventured bravely. "June and me come to ask you when our Marna'll be home." Jarvis opened his lips but they were dry and refused to speak. "It's been most a month since she come here and wer'e get- tin' awful lonesome and baby Bess is teethin', and Aunt Fanny says she can't keep us much longer." Little June found her courage. Her small, rough hand slipped into Jarvis' as she ended her plea, "Won't you please hurry and make her well, Doctor?" Harold Jarvis felt as if he were sweating drops of blood. This was too much! What could he say? How could he tell them that no power on earth could make their mother well and that she would never come home to them? In that moment of agony the words of the nurse came to him. "There have been miracles." Oh, for a miracle now! Suddenly there flashed before the young man's mind an The miracle 513 incident of his childhood. He had not thought of it for years. Indeed, in his struggle to make a place for himself in the world he had almost forgotten his childhood and the things for which it stood. But that vision now was as vivid as any picture he had ever seen: The little bedroom in the shabby old farm house at home; his mother, her face drawn and white, holding on her lap his baby sister who had been ill for several weeks. The child was as white as death and her breath was coming in little gasps. He saw himself and his brother and other sister standing near, holding fast to one another's hands. Mother had called them and told them that little Alice was going away. Then his father had entered the room. He had a bottle of oil. He had knelt beside the mother, anointed the baby's head and blessed her, asking God, if it was his will, to spare her life. Jarvis felt again the thrill of the strange, holy silence which had filled the room. They all had stood watching as if held by a magic spell. Pres- ently the baby's breath had begun to come easier. After awhile she had opened her eyes and nestled against the mother's breast for nourishment. He remembered how the tears had streamed down his mother's cheeks as she had turned to them and said, "God is going to let baby stay with us! Let us thank him." That was a miracle! A miracle he had seen with his own eyes. Strange how he had forgotten it! He suddenly realized how far he had grown away from that old simple life of his childhood. How far he had grown away from any feeling of dependence upon God. He longed in that instant, for the old faith and assurance. Miss Blakesley was right. There had been miracles ! Might there not be miracles still? Because man's power had grown greater in the world was no reason why God's should have grown less. Suddenly he found himself looking upon the universe from a new angle. He needed God as he had never needed him be- fore. He had been trying to assume burdens which belonged to God. The children stood looking at him wonderingly. Why did he not answer their questions? What made that strange look in his eyes? At last he pressed June's hand and patted Harry on the back. "I hope your mama will be able to come home — soon. I I — believe she will! " Then he turned and hurried up the broad, gray steps and disappeared into the hospital. Very quietly, but with a new look in his eyes, Doctor Jarvis entered room 246. The nurse looked up. There was both sym- pathy and reluctance in her voice as she said: "I'm afraid, Doctor, she has gone into the coma." Doctor Jarvis crossed to the bed. 514 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Miss Blakesley, a little while ago you said there had been miracles in the world. I wonder if there can't still be miracles. I have done all in my power to save this woman. It does not seem right that she should die. I am going to ask God to do what I am unable to do." He knelt upon the floor beside the bed. In reverent awe the white-capped nurse dropped on her knees beside him. The man's deep voice sent up an earnest plea to the Great Physi- cian of human souls. When he had finished there was a deep hush in the room. The doctor still knelt at the head of the bed. The nurse re- mained beside him, softly weeping. Presently the patient stirred. It was ever so lightly, and the two watchers held their breath. The waxen eyelids fluttered, and raised from the dark eyes. The pale lips moved. Doctor Jarvis bent forward eagerly to catch the words: "The children — I want — to go — home to — the children."