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“Unequaled,” she heard her own voice repeat Professor Ward’s appraisal of her, using the word as an agreement, a pledge, a threat, and a promise all rolled into one. A worry line creased his forehead, but other than that he remained cool. Perhaps for the first time, she saw him completely—not as her love, not as the mate who completed her, but as a vain and aging man. A seaman whose sextant had enabled him to navigate this course many times before; an actor who’d returned again and again to the same role, employing the same props for each performance. “You’re far too kind. I’m sure you’ve known many like me before.”
“Oh, no, Miss Wills. You are special,” the dean continued, oblivious to everything save his own agenda. “Unless you face a spectacular reversal of fortune during your final examinations, Miss Temple assures us you are certain to graduate as your class’s valedictorian.” He raised his hand and pointed at her. “So you make sure to stay on course. Don’t go letting spring fever or the sight of some young buck turn your head.”
“No, sir,” Jilo responded.
“Fine,” the dean said, shifting his weight and pushing a bit back. “You have given this institution your best work, and we four have spoken. We all agree that we would be remiss if we didn’t band together and address the issue of what should come next for you.” He looked from her to his colleagues. Taking their silence as assent, he continued, “With that in view, we’ve invited you here to discuss your future.” He nodded toward Professor Ward. “I understand from Lionel that you have ambitions in the field of medicine.”
“Yes, sir, I do.” Jilo shifted forward on her seat, sitting up straight. “I believe more opportunities are available to me today than any of my sister graduates since the inception of this institution.” Enthusiasm overtook her, causing her to slide out of her seat and stand. “As you may know, three years ago the American College of Surgeons admitted its first Negro female into its ranks. My dream, no, my intent is to follow in her footsteps. I hope that you—”
“Miss Wills,” the dean said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender, “I have been apprised of your goals.” One hand waved her back into her chair. He waited for her to slip onto the seat, wiping his hand across his mouth as he seemed to consider how to proceed. “I do so admire your youthful passion.” His lips puckered, then bunched up into a reassuring smile. “But I worry that your youth and your passion may in fact work against you. Here, at this institution,” he raised his hands palms up and gestured widely around as if to take in the entire campus, “we seek to ingrain confidence in our girls. However, we must also educate them in regard to the greater world in which we find ourselves. Inject a bit of reality into their dreams.” Nodding, as if in agreement with himself, he tilted his head to the side. “It is true that a few women have succeeded in obtaining medical degrees. Some have even begun to practice medicine. But they are curiosities, the bearded ladies, if you will, of the medical profession. Medicine is, after all, a man’s profession.”
“Any man would refuse treatment from a woman doctor,” Professor Charles broke in.
“Then I will treat women . . . and children.”
A look that straddled the line between amusement and irritation rose up on the dean’s face.
“Miss Wills,” the registrar spoke for the first time. “I assure you,” she said, pushing her thick spectacles back up the bridge of her nose, “women would be no more inclined to seek out care from a female doctor than would a man. Important issues such as a person’s health shouldn’t be left to a woman’s discernment.”
The dean nodded approvingly.
She and Lionel had spent hours together, speaking of her dreams, discussing the changes that were coming about in the world. He had supported her. Encouraged her. In spite of her feelings for him in this present moment, she turned to him for support.
He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her pleading eyes. “You must understand, Miss Wills”—she felt a chill creep across her heart at the sound of her lover’s voice speaking her name in such a formal, removed tone—“medical schools have a limited numbers of seats available for incoming students. Only a fraction of those seats are open to Negro students. You have to place your community’s needs before your own unrealistic dreams. Even if you could make it into medical school, even if we supported you in this effort, you have to understand that you would be stealing that seat from a deserving male student, a student who could actually help the Negro community.” His hand reached up to straighten the knot of his tie. “Besides, you’re a young woman. You will undoubtedly choose to marry, and children will follow. You’ll have to stop working at that point. So your entire career would last how long? Two years? Perhaps five? This type of education is a waste on a woman.”
She stared at him. Frozen. Knowing without a doubt that these were his true thoughts, and before, he had only spoken the words she’d wanted to hear. She turned back to the dean, “But I could help—”
“Miss Wills,” the dean said, his tone harsh now. As if realizing he’d gone off message, he drew a deep breath. “Jilo,” he said more kindly. “We seek to help you reach a more realistic goal. Miss Temple has kindly looked over your transcript and compared your course of studies with the requirements of our nursing program. Miss Temple?”
The registrar cleared her throat. “Yes, that is correct. With a little creative interpretation on the part of Professors Ward and Charles of the coursework you’ve completed, we are delighted to offer you a degree in nursing.” She paused. “Of course, you’ll have to be tutored on certain practical aspects of patient care, dressing and cleaning wounds and the like, but your friend Mary has volunteered to get you caught up by graduation,” she said, tugging on the white gloves she was wearing, as puffed out and pleased as a preening chicken. “I hope you are aware that we would not go to this trouble for just any student.”
“But I don’t want to be a nurse.” Jilo said, and the room fell silent as Miss Temple’s face formed a sour pucker.
“The French have a saying,” Ward broke the silence, leaning forward and turning toward her, “roughly translated, it states that one must learn to put a little water in his wine, meaning one must ground his ambitions in reality.”
“And if I choose not to accept this nursing degree?”
“Well, young lady, that would be a mistake . . .”
“It will be my mistake to make,” she interrupted the dean, no longer caring if she lost his goodwill.
“In that unfortunate occurrence, we will, of course, issue you the bachelor of science you have earned, but it is our opinion that you will find it to be of very little practical use in the real world.”
What she wanted was to tell them all to go to hell. But she held her tongue and began to calculate the odds of this game. The nursing degree would get her into the medical field. Perhaps she could find a true mentor once she was in a hospital setting, someone who would see her value and help her to achieve her dreams. It wouldn’t be a direct route, but without this institution’s support, it might be the only one available to her.
“All right,” she said. “I will accept the nursing degree you offer.”
The dean slapped his palms happily down on his desk and pushed himself up. “I told you all she was a smart girl, that she’d see the reason.” He beamed at her as he held out his hand in an apparent offer to shake hers.
She wrapped her arms around herself. “May I be excused?”
As she made her way back to the boarding house, Jilo began to regret her capitulation, very nearly turning back and forcing her way into the dean’s office to make one more attempt to reason with him. Or maybe she should circle back to Lionel’s house later. She could throw herself at his feet, prostrate herself before him, beg him to step up to the promises he’d made in the past.
But that son of a bitch had betrayed her, and not just by making her a link in what she now guessed was a career-long chain of girls. He had manipulated her into thinking he believed in her. In her dreams. In her capabilities.
When she arrived home, Jilo eased the door open and closed it quietly behind her. Not wanting to talk to anyone, she did her best to creep past the pastor and his wife, who were deep in a discussion about the house’s finances, and flitted past the archway that opened onto the sitting room. She found the stairs and mounted them, carefully avoiding the steps that squeaked.
As she made her escape, it occurred to her that she wasn’t taking these precautions because she wasn’t in the mood to see a single living person. The truth, it pained her to realize, was that she felt ashamed. After years of har
