Cora and The Doctor: or, Revelations of A Physician's Wife
"O, mother!" exclaimed Emily, "I'm well enough, only a head ache," and she went to the closet to get seed cakes for Pauline.
As I returned home through the kitchen garden, to give the child a longer walk, I heard Phebe, who stood at the back door, call to Cæsar.
"Look dere now! see de young Missus. It's enough to do your old curly pate powerful sight o' good just to see her a leading dis yer baby."
Evening.I obtained permission from mother this morning to leave Pauline with her, while I rode with Frank. When the time arrived, Ann put on her bonnet, and then it was very easy to induce Miss to have hers put on for a walk to grandmamma's.
It has been a delightful day after the rain; and if my heart had been at rest, I should have enjoyed the ride. I imagined my looks troubled Frank a little, for he said he had intended taking me with him to visit one or two families in the outskirts of the town; but if I did not feel inclined, he would postpone it until another day. I assured him my health was perfectly good, and I had anticipated the calls with much pleasure. So we rode on through the village, he being more than usually social and interesting, and giving me no time to think of myself until we came to the border of the town, near the lake I have mentioned.
Here stood a number of small cottages, one story in height, with the grounds about them enclosed with low fences. I noticed one of these bore marks of more taste and refinement than the others. It had a pleasant little patch of flowers along the side of the beaten path to the entrance, while a beautiful rose bush was trained upon a trellis by the side of the door, which run upon the house nearly to the roof, and furnished a complete shade to one of the windows.
This was the home of the Doctor's patient, and I followed him to the door, which stood hospitably open. A light knock brought a modest woman to the entrance, who, in her tabby muslin cap, and her clean checked apron, appeared very neatly. She courtesied as the Doctor introduced me, and invited us to walk in. The patient is a young girl in her sixteenth year, who is gradually wasting away with consumption. Never shall I forget the bright expression of love and respect which beautified her countenance, as Frank took her hand, and tenderly inquired how she had passed the night. "I have brought you another friend," he added; "one I am sure you will love. I think I can safely promise she will be happy to do anything for your comfort." This promise I cheerfully confirmed.
Hers is a case requiring little medicine. Her sufferings are comparatively slight, except from exhausting fits of coughing. She appears to be passing gently away. The bright color which burned in her cheek had now faded, leaving her face perfectly colorless. The only relief to the marble whiteness was the long black lashes which lay upon her cheek when she closed her eyes. Propped up in her bed by pillows, she looked with her whole soul at the Doctor, who sat at her side, speaking to her of God's rich mercy. She assented to what he said by a slight inclination of the head, and sometimes repeated after him part of the verse of Scripture, he quoted, as if to impress it upon her own mind. But I could see plainly that she was under restraint by the presence of a stranger.
When he arose, she held out her hand and whispered, "will you please to pray with me?" Frank immediately reseated himself; and taking a little pocket Bible from his coat, read a few verses from the fourteenth chapter of John; and then prayed. I felt borne on wings of faith to heaven as my dear husband praised God for the love which had sent the Saviour into the world, that we might have pardon and eternal life; that we might be elevated to seats at his right hand in heaven, and be joint heirs with Christ to immortal glory and honor. He besought Jesus to bless and comfort with his Divine presence, the dear child who was approaching the dark valley; to give her the victory over sin, and death, and to receive her through faith in him into the kingdom of heaven, where her eternity might be spent in singing "Worthy the Lamb that was slain."
As I approached the bed to bid her farewell, I was struck dumb, with the heavenly smile of peace and joy which shone in every feature. Surely, thought I, she has the seal upon her forehead; she already breathes the air of heaven. I lifted her thin white hand to my lips, and bowed my head in silence; I dared not trust my voice to speak.
The Doctor called Mrs. Leighton aside and gave her a few simple directions before we left. He conducted me silently to the carriage, turned the horse down a shady lane toward the water, and drew me to him until I could lay my head upon his shoulder, when my excited feelings found relief in tears.
When I had become more composed, Frank asked, "Is she not to be envied?"
"Oh, yes! yes!" I replied, "Would, I could feel the assurance of faith and love, which lit up her face like that of an angel!"
He then, at my request, told me something of her history. Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Leighton, are respectable, pious people, who have been deeply afflicted by the loss of two daughters and one son by the same disease which is now wasting the frame of their only surviving child. Naturally amiable and intelligent she has been too much indulged by her fond parents, who cling to her as their last and best beloved.
So insidious was her disease, that, when summoned to her sick bed, Frank found no skill could save her. He therefore endeavored to direct her to the great Physician, to cure the disease of her soul.
"What was the state of her mind at that time?" I asked.
"Very rebellious. She was unwilling to hear a word of discouragement, and talked constantly of pleasures and parties, in which her mother had allowed her to mingle. She was a very handsome girl, lively and agreeable in conversation, and had excited unusual attention for one so young."
"How soon did she become reconciled to death? She seems now to look forward to it, as the consummation of her hopes and joys."
"Not for many months; but she will give you an account of the change in her feelings. I hope you will soon see her again; she has not long to stay with us."
As we passed the house on our return, we noticed Mrs. Leighton at the door watching for us. Frank, thinking she wished to call him, sprang from the carriage. But she only put into his hand a little bouquet, saying in a suppressed voice, "Caroline," at the same time waving her hand that it was intended for me. I was very much affected at the simple gift, and sent my thanks to the sweet girl. There was exquisite taste in the selection – a moss rose bud – a white rose half blown, with dark green myrtle leaves, – and a sprig of mignonette.
"It must have been hard for her," I said, "to give up this beautiful earth, she is so fond of flowers and everything tasteful."
"Ah! but she gains heaven," was Frank's reply. This suggested to me the following lines from a favorite poet, which I repeated to my husband.
"Once when I look'd along the laughing earth,Up the blue heavens, and through the middle air,Joyfully ringing with the sky-lark's song,I wept, and thought how sad for one so young,To bid farewell to so much happiness.But Christ doth call me from this lower world;Delightful though it be."We next stopped at a house of moderate size, in which the Doctor told me, four families found their home. Having tied the horse by the little gate, we entered a room on the right, where a poor man lay on a bench, or, as I afterwards saw, a long chest, upon which some quilts had been spread to make it soft. The chest was pushed to the corner of the room, so that, with pillows behind him, the invalid could sit almost upright.
Watching by his side was a very pretty woman, who, from her dialect, I perceived was Welsh. Near her was a small boy of about three years of age, sitting on a low cricket; while in a shed, opening directly out of the room, there stood a young girl of eleven, washing.
After putting two chairs near her husband, Mrs. Lewis resumed her seat and her sewing, as it was only by her industry, the family were supported.
Frank inquired particularly about the symptoms of his patient, and prescribed for his relief. He then said, "I have brought my wife, as I promised to introduce her to you." Here Mr. Lewis put out his emaciated hand, and expressed pleasure at seeing me. Frank continued, "Mrs. Lenox will come and read to you, if you wish, while your wife is busy."
The sick man regarded me with a look of gratitude, while his wife replied, "I am sure t'would be a great comfort to us both, to hear a bit of the Word. My man," she continued, "is not able to read; it makes his eyes ache badly. I have so little time, I can only repeat a verse now and then, to give us something to think of."
The Doctor asked Mr. Lewis if he had enjoyed more peace of mind since his last visit.
"Sometimes," he replied in a whisper, "I can feel willing to trust myself in the hands of God; but again all is dark, and I can't come nigh to him. He appears a great way off, and I seem to be praying into the air." As he closed, his breast heaved a deep sigh.
I became so much interested in him; and he so exactly described my own feelings, at times, that I forgot any one else was present, and said, "Oh, sir! I have often felt so; and the only way I can do, is to keep praying, until God reveals himself to me. He does hear, and he will answer if we keep asking, and if he sees we are in earnest."
I stopped suddenly, in great embarrassment, when Frank immediately added, "This is the case with most Christians. Sometimes while we are yet speaking God hears, and grants an answer of peace. Again he delays, to try our faith and patience."
"But the prayers of the wicked are an abomination," said Mr. Lewis feebly. "I can't feel sure that he has accepted me."
"Has his promise ever failed?" inquired the Doctor. "He says, 'call upon me and I will answer; knock and it shall be opened.'"
The poor man put his hand to his breast, as if in great pain. Frank feared lest we were prolonging the interview beyond his strength, and rose to leave.
"Surely you won't go without praying for me," said Mr. Lewis.
"If you feel able to attend, I will do so with pleasure," replied the Doctor. I was very much affected to see the sick man rise feebly, and kneel during prayer. He wept much, and when we arose he was so exhausted by his emotion, the Doctor and his wife were obliged to raise him to his feet. But when he had taken some drink, he became more composed, and said, "Thank you." "Come soon," he said to me, with a smile.
Mrs. Lewis followed us to the door, where Frank put into her hand a bank bill; and in addition, requested her to send to our house in the morning for some chicken broth of which he wished her husband to partake freely. Her eyes filled with tears, and she could only look her thanks.
It was now becoming late, and we returned home. I cannot help thinking how much good a pious physician has it in his power to do. He gains the affections of his patients; and they will listen to religious conversation which they would not hear from a stranger. Frank cares for their souls as well as their bodies, especially as the one commonly affects the other.
CHAPTER V
"Wretch that I am, what hopes for me remain,Who cannot cease to love, yet love in vain?" Cowper.Sabbath morning, June 14th.Dear Mother, – I must write you a few lines to tell you how happy I am. Yesterday, you remember, I was to decide whether I would conduct the family devotions when Frank is absent. My mind was so much occupied during the afternoon, I hardly thought of it; but in the evening, I retired to my closet, determined to ask for strength from one who is ever ready to help the weak in the performance of duty.
When I arose from my knees, my fear was all dispelled. It appeared almost like a privilege to do what I had so much dreaded. While I was yet speaking, God answered.
This morning, when I was dressing my little daughter, an employment in which I delight, Frank came in and inquired, "Have you thought upon the subject I proposed yesterday?"
"Yes," was my reply.
"And what have you decided?"
"I will, at least, attempt the duty." My hand trembled so much, I could scarcely button Pauline's dress; but I think he did not notice it, for he walked quickly out of the room. I was taking her to Ann for her breakfast, when he returned, and with such evident marks of strong feeling on his countenance, I looked at him anxiously.
He took my hand, and pressed it to his lips, saying, "Will you soon return to your boudoir?" I rang for Ann, and then followed him. He clasped me in his arms, as he exclaimed, "my own Cora, you were never before so dear to me. You little know what a struggle it has cost me to see the conflict in your mind, and neither say or do anything for your relief. I have blamed myself severely for expecting so much of you, my dear child. Many times yesterday I was on the point of withdrawing my request; but I hesitated. I felt sure you would decide aright, and that I should rest satisfied with your decision. It is not the first time you have set me an example. When I heard your decision, I considered it a great triumph of duty over inclination."
"But you do not know all the naughty thoughts I had," said I, raising my eyes for the first time. "I even wished," —
"My own wife," said Frank, pressing me to his heart! – "And have all these hard thoughts of your husband gone? Did you wish," he asked, turning my face to his, "that you had never left home to live with such an exacting man?"
"Oh, Frank! I never wished so; I did not say that. How could I be happy as I am, if I felt thus? I wished something worse; which I had rather not tell."
"You had better make a clean breast of it," said he, smiling.
"I wished," said I in a low tone, "that you were not quite so good; and then you would not expect so much of me."
Frank looked very much amused. "That's the last thing in the world, I expected my wife to complain of. But seriously, Cora, I have learned many a lesson from you. One of your looks of wonder, a year since, upset my favorite theory, and in the end secured to me the most precious wife in the world."
Monday, June 15th.Poor Emily! I wonder if she knew Mr. Benson was to exchange with Mr. Munroe, yesterday. If so, she did not speak of it. I never saw a man so changed; he looked as if he had had a severe fit of sickness.
"He withers at his heart, and looks as wanAs the pale spectre of a murder'd man."But his sermon was really sublime, and lifted me above myself. The text was the last verse of the forty-second Psalm: "Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God."
Trust in God, was his subject. Amid all the trials and vicissitudes of life, trust in God is the only sure source of happiness for the Christian. Trust him to bring good out of seeming ill; to make these very trials "work out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." If he withdraws the light of his countenance; if our beloved friends sicken and die before our eyes; if our worldly estate takes to itself wings and flies away; if our fondest hopes are suddenly dashed to the ground; if we are ever left to call out in agony of spirit, "Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me?" we may, by Divine grace, also exclaim, "hope thou in God, for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God."
In the pale countenance of the speaker, I could read the struggle, and the victory. I was actually startled at Emily's looks, as we turned to come out of the pew. She caught my hand to save herself from falling; and from the motion of her lips I understood her to say, "faint" though no articulate sound came forth.
I whispered, "Dear Emily! lean upon me; don't faint here; try to arouse yourself."
Never was I more thankful than when we reached the carriage and had assisted the poor girl into it, without attracting notice. There was not a particle of color in her face or lips. I drew off her gloves, and chafed her hands, while mother loosed her bonnet strings, and applied the smelling drops to her nose.
With a deep sigh she recovered her consciousness, and was ashamed and mortified that her feelings should have been betrayed even to her loving friends. She tried to conceal them with the flimsy excuse, that she arose in the morning with a head-ache, and the heat of the house had overcome her.
I wonder if Emily thinks, she really deceives us, or is she deceiving herself? In the afternoon, she declared that she was fully able to go to church; and when, at the last moment, she was forced to acknowledge herself sick, and mother was removing her own bonnet to remain with her, she insisted that she had rather be left alone, and mother very reluctantly left her.
"Poor girl!" I exclaimed, as mother related the circumstance, "my heart aches for her."
"I never saw a child so changed," said mother sadly; "I cannot but think, she regrets her hasty decision. I have never before known her to be irritable. It seems to annoy her exceedingly to have me notice her languor or want of spirits. Frank," she continued, "I wish you would persuade Emily to take an anodyne. I think the want of sleep is partly the cause of her head ache." Frank asked if she would be likely to come over to the house to tea; but mother could not tell; she was so changeable in her feelings.
I could not help thinking, Mr. Benson noticed sister's absence. He looked very sad. I was so anxious about the poor girl, that I must confess, I could not confine my thoughts to the discourse. Frank, too, was called out; and mother looked pale and troubled. Altogether, I worked myself up into quite a fever of excitement; and was glad when the services were through.
While we waited a moment in the porch for Cæsar to bring the carriage to the door, Mr. Benson passed down from the pulpit and came out. He would evidently have avoided the meeting, if possible; but mother stepped forward with much kindness and thanked him for his faithful discourses. He unbent at once, and inquired for my health and that of the family.
I told him, I was well, but quite anxious about my sister, as she had a severe head-ache which detained her at home. What could have come over the man to look so pleased that she was ill?
Fearing I had said something to compromise her delicacy, I added, "she has had the head-ache for several days." Now I think of it, I only made it worse. He spoke, as he conducted us to the carriage, of his sorrow at the intelligence, while he looked perfectly delighted.
When we reached home, Phebe met us at the door, and said "Misse Emily here, and my pinion is dere's mighty smart chance for her to have a fever if Mass'r Frank don't doctor her."
As we entered the parlor, sister started up, and looked eagerly for a moment as if expecting some one with us; and then sank back again on the sofa pillow, evidently disappointed. Could it be that she thought Mr. Benson would return with us?
Cæsar went toward the village to meet his master, and soon returned with him. The Doctor had been called to a child in a fit from indigestion. That reminds me to tell you that in accordance with his wish, I have restricted Pauline's diet to bread and milk, which she eats heartily, sitting in Ann's lap.
Emily's sickness touched the little girl's heart; I held her in my arms, and let her put her soft-hand on "Aunty's head to make it better." Frank came behind and put his on too, with the tenderness of a woman. He sat down by her side and held her head while she covered her eyes as if she feared, he would read her thoughts.
"Emily," said he, gently, "you have too much heat; I fear you and Cora have lately been unduly excited. I thought yesterday, she was going beyond her strength; and such is also the case with you. I must give you a little powder, which, I hope, will soon afford you relief; does it ache less when I hold it so?" he asked, as he pressed the throbbing head between his hands.
"Oh, yes! sometimes it feels as if it would fly to pieces."
"Poor girl! how it throbs. Cora, will you hold her head while I prepare something for her?"
He soon returned with a wet bandage, which he bound tightly around her head, and then gave her ammonia. I had finished my tea and was returning through the hall, when Cæsar answered the door bell, and to my amazement announced "Mr. Benson."
In my confusion, I ushered him into the parlor where Emily lay upon the sofa, with her face toward the wall. I hoped, she was asleep, and was just coming to my senses, and intending to invite him into the library, when he asked, "Is she then so ill?"
At the sound of his voice, Emily sprang upon her feet, tore the bandage from her head, while the light actually flashed from her eyes at what she fancied an intrusion. But perceiving his ghastly pallor, she sank back upon her seat, saying, "Frank has been making a great fuss over me, as if I were sick." Truly, one would never have thought so at that moment. She was perfectly brilliant with excitement. The fever lit up her cheeks, while her eyes even dazzled my sight.
How I pitied the young suitor! He stood where he did upon his first entrance, with his hat in his hand. His countenance changed as he gazed at her until her eyes fell; then with an air which was almost haughty, he said "Farewell! FAREWELL, FOREVER!!" and left the room.
I followed him silently to the door, my heart being almost paralyzed. He stopped, took my hand in both of his, pressed it warmly and said, "I appreciate your kindness, but you are mistaken." The last words he uttered in a cold, bitter tone, and was gone.
I started to run to my chamber, but remembering my poor, strange sister, I turned back to the parlor, where I found her prostrate upon the floor. I screamed, "Frank! mother!" and soon the whole household came rushing into the room. The Doctor dismissed the servants, and taking Emily in his arms carried her up stairs to the room, she formerly occupied.
It was some time before she revived. When she perceived where she was, her woe-begone look penetrated my heart. Poor mother! How quietly she goes about everything that ought to be done, with an expression of patient suffering! How can Emily make herself and all of us so unhappy! She lies this morning in a deep sleep, and, I hope, will awake refreshed. I have been sitting by her while mother went over to the cottage on some business. She has now returned, and I have persuaded her to lie down on the couch in sister's room. She was so anxious, she scarcely slept at all.
Dear Pauline, what a comfort she is to me! She is the most affectionate little creature I ever saw, and has already woven herself closely around our hearts. Even Frank laughs merrily at her cunning ways.
Phebe wears a turban, generally made of a bandanna handkerchief, or something equally bright. Miss thought, she too must wear one. So she watched her opportunity when Ann laid down her duster, which happened to be an old silk kerchief of similar colors to madam's turban, and tried to weave it round her head. Ann observed her unsuccessful efforts with silent amusement, and perceiving that when one side was arranged, the other came tumbling down, offered to assist her.
Pauline shouted with delight: "Mamma, see! mamma, see!!" The kind hearted girl brought the child to me. I laughed well at her grotesque appearance. Her head was top-heavy with the turban, while the dark short curls peeping out here and there made her look like a boy. She evidently thought it a good joke, and was unwilling to have it taken off. You see, we make a great pet of her; but since I began to manage her aright, she obeys instantly. Sometimes her lip quivers a little, and she looks as if she were about to burst into a hearty cry; and then, with a sigh, restrains herself.
Almost every morning, from eleven till two, I have received calls; and shall have business enough for the fall and winter if they continue. Many of them are formal and ceremonious; others, I suppose, are prompted merely by curiosity to see the stranger. I find the report of my three years' residence in Paris creates quite a sensation. People look at me as if I ought to be something more than Americans who have never been out of their native land, and appear somewhat disappointed to see in me nothing more than a simple, frank girl, just like their daughters or sisters at home.