Cora and The Doctor: or, Revelations of A Physician's Wife
A few have called whom I like exceedingly; who entered into conversation upon subjects profitable and interesting. You, my dear mother, have spoiled me for enjoying the society of persons who cannot talk, except of individual character and conduct; as for instance: "I suppose, your husband has told you of the trouble in Squire Lee's family. He attends there, I believe."
"No," I replied.
"Ah, indeed! Well, Lucy has had to break her engagement with young Mansfield just to please her brother, who is no better than he should be." I remained silent simply because I had nothing to say, and was glad when the entrance of other company put a stop to such gossip.
Of the more select class, are Mr. Munroe, Mr. and Mrs. Marshall, Miss Proctor, – Frank's favorite, – and I must not forget Friend Estes, who frankly said, "I came, my dear, to see thee out of the regard I have for thy husband."
I rather think, she was well enough acquainted with human nature to know, that she was making her way directly to my heart.
"How is Susan, thy mother?" she asked. I stopped and hesitated a moment, before I remembered that the Friends always use the first name. She was overflowing with love and good-will to everybody; and before she went away we grew so friendly, that she kissed me twice and said, "I must bring Jotham to see thee, my dear" – "Cora," I said, seeing she hesitated for the name, – "and thou wilt come with thy husband for a visit to our house." She warmed my heart finely by her praise of Frank.
After all, there are a great many pleasant people in the world. I wish, you could see how kindly her deep blue eyes looked out from her drab poke upon your Cora. Your heart would come across the water to meet hers.
The more I see and hear of Miss Proctor, the better I love and esteem her. She is truly a "Dorcas," in whom the sick and afflicted always find a friend and helper. She has been an efficient aid and cooperator with Frank in his gratuitous practice.
Speaking of this class, I must relate to you an incident, Emily told me. A short time since, when Frank had fairly established himself in his profession, and had collected a good practice, a young physician came to the place, rather to the annoyance of some of his brethren of the profession, who took no pains to call upon him. The Doctor, however, embraced the first opportunity to visit him at his office, to which there was little more than a showy sign, announcing to the public that "Dr. Clapp, Physician and Surgeon, was ready to extract teeth and cut off legs at the shortest notice, and for the lowest price imaginable."
Frank entered into conversation with this young son of Æsculapius, and found, he was well learned in his profession, and had high recommendations from his professors as to his qualifications for his office. My good husband encouraged him to persevere, and offered to recommend him wherever it was in his power.
"I shall never be displeased," he added, "if I hear, you are taking my practice, except in the case of my poor patients. Most of these have grown up with me, and I flatter myself, I am, with them, an exception to the general rule, 'a prophet is not without honor, save in his own country.'"
The sequel to this visit is quite romantic. Dr. Clapp, who is about twenty-four years of age, walked to the window, where he vigorously plied his handkerchief, as if afflicted with a sudden cold. After this operation he was relieved, and came back offering his hand to Frank. He said, or tried to say, for his voice was rather husky, "Your kindness, Dr. Lenox, inspires me with new life and courage. I am yet waiting for my first patient." Then, encouraged by Frank's kind interest, he unburdened his heart, and asked advice with regard to a little private affair of his own.
It appears that, like a great many foolish young men, (I don't say it was foolish in his case, not knowing the circumstances,) he had fallen in love, while in college, with "the most amiable girl in the world." That was five years ago, so that their courtship had been quite protracted. To the ardent lovers, at least, it had seemed sufficiently so.
Harriet Phillips, who, at the time of their engagement, was but fourteen, had now arrived at the mature age of nineteen years, – "Quite old enough," he added, with an inquiring look at the Doctor, "to take charge of a family."
The decided tone in which Frank replied, "Certainly," gave the suitor new courage. To marry, or not to marry, that was now the question; and the judge who was to give the important decision, acknowledged that he found himself in rather a novel predicament. However, he shielded himself as many judges do, behind general principles. He acknowledged the great propriety of a physician being a man of family, and as soon as he could support a wife in comfort, he certainly advised him to marry.
"This," said Dr. Clapp, "is exactly the way I view the subject."
The young man soon after returned the call in the Doctor's absence. With a frankness which seems rather peculiar to him, he told Emily all the first part of the interview, and more than hinted at the latter; so that she, who has a considerable share of curiosity, coaxed Frank to tell her the rest, saying, "I'm sure Dr. Clapp wants me to know about it."
Now she says, "I shall advise him to bring his Harriet without delay. I fancy, he thought her old enough when he saw you at mother's levee. Besides Frank is so much older than he is."
Emily insists that I do not look more than sixteen, and that I keep blushing like a girl of twelve. I wish I could break myself of this habit; but the more I try, the more the blood will rush to my face. It is very disagreeable, and sometimes places me in awkward situations.
But to return to my story, Dr. Clapp intends to profit by the excellent example set him by an elder brother of the cloth, and will soon be joined in the bands of Hymen to his beloved Harriet, – when he will bring her to the goodly town of Crawford, here to make up to her, by every means in his power, for the trials and sacrifices, she has, for a series of years, been called upon to make as the eldest sister in a large, and not very prosperous family.
Poor Emily, I wonder when she will laugh again, as she did when she related that to me. I must go and see if she is awake. I have not heard the least sound from her room all the time I have been writing. Ann carried Pauline about the garden until she went to sleep, that the house might be quiet.
CHAPTER VI
"Nought shall prevail against us, or disturbOur cheerful faith, that all which we beholdIs full of blessings." Wordsworth.Tuesday, June 16th.Last night when I sat writing busily, a hand was put upon my paper. Starting up, I saw Frank with one of his very grave looks. I hastily shut my desk. "How is Emily?" I asked quickly.
"Emily is asleep; and I thought you were, long ago. I really must restrict you to certain hours of writing. Do you know how late it is?" He held his watch toward me, and to my amazement it was near midnight.
"I took no note of time," I replied, "I was so absorbed in writing. It is almost like talking with my own dear mother."
"Well," said Frank, touched a little, I suppose, by my sad tone, "you shall write as much as you please, only don't take the time from your sleep."
Tuesday Noon.Dear, dear father, mother and sisters, how happy you have made me by writing so soon. Frank came home in the middle of the forenoon, and beckoning me out of Emily's room into my own, stood with his hands behind him, and asked, "How many kisses will you give me for something I have brought you?"
He looked so pleased and mysterious, I couldn't think for an instant what it could be. When I did, I gave a bound behind him, and caught the letters before he was aware. "But," he said, "I won't be cheated in that way. I'll sue you." I told him, I would give him a thousand kisses after I had read my letters. My hands trembled so much with joy and excitement, that I had difficulty in tearing off the covering; when such a dear packet presented itself, I almost danced with delight.
Frank looked as pleased as I did. I made him sit down while I read dear father's letter, the last in order; when I had finished, Frank said, "I must tear myself away, and hear the rest after dinner. My patients will wonder what has become of me." – "But," he added with a very demure look, "can't you pay me part of my bill, and let me endorse it on the account?"
I sprang up, and with my arms around his neck, gave him such a shower of kisses, as certainly he never had from me before; and I sat down quite out of breath.
"There, now, I've found out what you can do!" he said, laughing merrily, "you have kept me on very short allowance heretofore; I never supposed you capable of such exertions." He then slipped quietly into Emily's room, and soon I heard him drive away.
Isn't he a darling, mother? though I fear, it won't do to tell him so, for he is getting really to think too much of himself. He used to be so grateful for the least favor shown to him; and thought it such a privilege to be allowed to kiss my hand. Now he grows more exacting in his demands; and nobody knows what he'll expect after this.
He heard of the arrival in New York of the packet ship "Eleanor," and has been watching the mail for my letters. – Cæsar happened to-day to go to the office before him; but Frank drove rapidly home to have the pleasure himself of giving them to me. All this Cæsar was delighted to tell me, while his eyes shone like two stars through a cloud.
The whole family sympathize with me in my joy at hearing from my dear, sweet home. Even Emily brightened up a little, as I read mother Lenox part of Bell's letter. She lies quietly in bed, and says she is free from pain; but she cannot make the least exertion without fainting. Frank says, she has a slow fever. The cottage is shut up; and Ruth has come over to aid Phebe while mother and sister are here. I feel very glad that Emily's sickness occurred here. Mother says, it was all wisely ordered. I know, she feels relieved at night by this arrangement.
Tuesday evening.Frank says, I may write half an hour, to pay for my liberality to him this morning; and he will sit up and read his papers. This has been an eventful day to me; – first my letters from home; – then I had a note from Mr. Benson, informing me, that, situated as he was, (with regard to Emily I suppose), he could not give proper attention to the duties of his profession, and that as tutor and companion, he had accepted an offer made him some months ago, but then declined, of going to Europe with a young man.
What will Emily say? I shall not be the one to tell her. I read the letter silently, and then passed it to my husband. He looked very, very grave, almost stern.
"Cora," he asked after a long pause, "do you think, Emily has trifled with the affections of this young man? Women seem to have an intuitive perception on such subjects."
"I think that she loves him far more than she will acknowledge; but I don't believe, she ever gave much encouragement to his suit. When I have been present, she has treated him with indifference, almost with rudeness. Perhaps I ought not to express a mere suspicion; but I have thought, Emily's conscience troubled her on account of the manner in which she treated him. From her casual remarks, I fear, she dismissed him rather haughtily."
"Worse and worse," exclaimed Frank, with such severity, I was almost frightened. "For one situated as she is, with regard to wealth, to conduct herself in such a manner toward a gentleman of his worth and education is really unpardonable. It would sting him to the quick; and I respect him all the more for the course he has pursued. If she were poor and friendless, it would not be half so censurable. But for her to take advantage of her station to insult him – pshaw – I cannot bear to think of it."
"Oh, Frank! don't speak in such a severe tone. I was wrong to say what I did."
"Well," said he, hastily withdrawing his hand from mine, "I wish, she were as ready to acknowledge her faults as you are."
"But it may be all my suspicion. I may not have understood her aright."
"What did she say?"
I replied reluctantly, for he was already much excited. "She did not say so in words. Only I received the impression, that she had given him to understand, she was astonished, he should presume to think, she would be the wife of a poor country clergyman."
"Cora," exclaimed Frank, starting up and walking across the room. – I burst into tears. I had never before seen him so excited; and I had no idea, he could look, or speak, so severely. It makes me almost cry even now to think of it.
Frank just now says, "my love, you've exceeded your time;" so good night, dear mother.
Wednesday, June 17th.My husband told me last night that a packet was advertised to sail for Liverpool, and that probably it would need ballast, and therefore it would be a good opportunity for me to send my journal. It amuses him that I find so much to write about. He little imagines how much I write respecting him, my lord and master. He has never asked to see it; he has too much delicacy to do that.
Emily had a comfortable night; and mother slept quite well, and feels refreshed. I asked Frank, if Cæsar would be at liberty to take me to ride this morning.
"Certainly," he replied, "I hope you will call upon him whenever you wish. He will be proud to drive you." So I dressed my little miss in her best suit, and having taken her in for a morning call upon aunt Emily, we started off in the cool of the day. I wanted to return before the time for Pauline's "siesta."
As we drove down the hill, I asked Cæsar if he knew where Caroline Leighton lived.
"Oh, yes Missus! I goes dere berry often for Mass'r Frank."
"And do you know where Mr. Lewis lives?"
"De man what's dying wid consumption?"
"Yes."
"Well den, I knows dat too. Where you go first, Missus?"
"To see Caroline." As we rode on, I asked, "Can you spare the time from your work to wait for me, and let Pauline sit in the carriage? I don't like to be in a hurry when a person is sick."
Good Cæsar's face fairly shone as if freshly anointed; and he replied, "I 'spects so, Missus. Mass'r Frank told me, allus leave ebery ting, when young Missus wants to go. Mass'r Frank sets mighty store by young Missus."
Just then we stopped at the gate; and I was prevented the necessity of replying to the complimentary speech, which, however, being the conviction of his large, honest heart, gave me more pleasure than almost any one, I ever received. He let down the steps and lifted me out as if I were a wax doll. I verily believe he wanted to take me in his arms and carry me to the house, as he would Pauline. She wished to go with me; but he sat in the carriage holding her in his arms, saying, "mammy come back."
I had brought with me two beautiful bouquets, one for each of my sick friends. With Caroline's in my hand, I knocked gently at the door of her apartment, though I could have entered, as the doors were open to admit the fresh air. She turned her head at the sound, and was very much pleased at my early call. She said, she would ring her little bell for her mother; but I told her on no account. Indeed, I was glad, she was alone.
I laid off my bonnet, saying as I did so, "You see, I intend making a long call." I then took a tumbler, and having filled it with water from the pitcher on the table, I put the flowers in it and set them near her.
She smiled, and seemed pleased that I made myself so much at home. I drew a chair to the side of the bed, and taking her thin white hand in mine, asked, "do you feel strong enough to talk with me a little?" She bowed assent.
"Does it not seem hard for one so young to be called to die? Do you feel willing to give up this beautiful world, your mother and friends?"
"Heaven is far more beautiful;" and she added, with a devout expression, "my Saviour is there."
"How long, dear Caroline, have you loved the Saviour?"
With a deep sigh, and a look of profound sorrow, she replied, "Only a few months. Oh, what a hard heart mine has been! – to turn for so long a time from a loving Saviour."
"Can you, without exerting yourself too much, tell me about the change in your feelings?"
"Hasn't the Doctor told you?"
"No, he said perhaps you would do so."
She closed her eyes for a moment, and then gave me the following account. "I lived a life of gayety and pleasure. The world looked bright; not only the things of nature, to which you referred, but gay people, fashion and pleasure in every form. I suppose it will do no harm for me to say now, that I was praised for my personal beauty, and for my graceful manner. But I forgot that "we all do fade as a leaf." Yes, I forgot it, though I had lost two sisters, since my remembrance.
"In the unwearied pursuit of worldly enjoyment, all other things faded from my mind. Yet there were times when conscience sounded an alarm, and the thought that perhaps I too should be cut off, as my sisters had been, in the morning of life, made the blood stagnate in my veins, and my heart cease to beat.
"I was a regular attendant at church, and one of the prominent members of the choir. But I never listened to the sermons. I studiously avoided hearing them; especially when they treated of death, the judgment, and eternity. I have often sat in church, very devout in the eyes of those about me, but engaged in making all my plans for the coming week; and then quieted myself with the thought that I had not sinned half so much, as if I had heard the sermon, and not profited by it. I was often praised for my regular attendance. Alas! He who looks into the heart knows I went to the sanctuary far more to exhibit myself, to hear people say of me, 'how handsome! what a fine voice!' than to worship my Maker, who had bestowed these gifts upon me.
"About a year since, I took a violent cold upon my lungs. I had previously felt languid and unwell, but would not acknowledge it to mother, lest I should be kept from singing school, and places of amusement. Soon after this, the Doctor was called, and never was there a harder or more rebellious heart than mine, when he, in the kindest, most fatherly manner, told me that the disease would probably prove fatal. It was not in the power of man, he added, to effect a cure. He said that possibly I might be better, and live for years; but the disease was upon me and could not be shaken off.
"That was the thought that twinged every nerve in my body. I hated my Creator for making me sick. I hated my physician for telling me of it. I hated my parents and every one who believed it. But oh! I hated myself more than all, when I began to see a little into my own heart.
"I had always been called amiable; and I believed myself to be so. But now I was actually frightened at the tumult of hard and angry thoughts in my awakened soul. In the night, I frequently awoke, trembling with affright; an angry God seemed ready to consume me with his fierce wrath. This state of mind continued with some abatement for several months; and the conflict of my feelings operated injuriously upon my health.
"One day your husband came in, when he could stop longer than usual. He sat down by my bed and tried to talk with me. But I would not speak. I pretended not to hear what he said. Some of his words, however, arrested my attention, and without intending it, I turned my face toward him. He understood the whole of my hardness and guilt. He asked me if I had ever realized how great was the love of Jesus, who left the blessedness of heaven, to suffer and die for us, and who having made atonement, now endures neglect and reproach from the guilty souls, he came to save. It is human, said he, when man offers a favor to his fellow, and is treated with neglect and scorn, to withdraw the offer. But the Divine Lord who endures indifference, ridicule and contempt, still says, 'Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'
"Oh, those blessed, blessed words! I listened as if I had never heard them before. Was I not weary with wrestling with the Almighty? Oh! was I not heavily laden with sins, more than I could bear? Why may I not come? For the first time, tears of real penitence filled my eyes, and with a subdued voice, I said, 'Will you pray for me?' He did pray, as he had done many times before; but I never heard till then. He wept as he besought God earnestly in my behalf. God in mercy answered.
"When he arose, Christ had taken my burden, and I was at rest. I had never disbelieved the Bible. But now its truths came home to my heart, and I was made free.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, almost in rapture, "the goodness and long suffering of God, to me a poor lost sinner."
The excitement of speaking had carried her beyond her strength; and as she lay with her hands clasped, and eyes closed, she looked so pale, I feared she had fainted. But she presently opened her eyes, while a heavenly smile played around her mouth. I kissed her forehead; but I could not speak.
Her mother, not hearing the bell for some time, looked into the room to see if she were asleep; but perceiving me, she returned to her work.
"Dear Mrs. Lenox," said the sweet girl, "you'll pray with me." I hesitated. "For your husband's sake, please."
I could not deny her, but saying I would return after a moment, I left the room. I had seen from the window that Cæsar had difficulty in keeping the horse quiet on account of the heat and flies. I told him to ride on a short distance and call for me in about ten minutes.
When I returned, and was about to close the door, Caroline said "no one will disturb us, and the room is very warm."
With my hand in hers, and my face on her pillow, I for the first time addressed my Heavenly Father in presence of a fellow creature. But I was not embarrassed. He who looks from above, put words in my mouth and was near me.
As I arose and stood by the bed, I was startled by the moving of a shadow; and turning quickly to the door I saw my husband standing on the steps with his face buried in his handkerchief.
Passing through this part of the town to visit a patient, he had stopped this morning instead of returning here this afternoon. I do not think he heard me; and if he did, I ought not to feel ashamed, when I dared speak in the presence of the High and Holy One. But I must confess it. I felt for the first time in my life sorry to see him.
"How came you here?" he asked in surprise.
"You forgot you gave me permission to ride out."
"And Cæsar, where is he?"
"There," said I, pointing to the carriage, which was just stopping at the gate. "You must not talk much with her," I said smiling. "But you may talk a little to her if she will be very quiet. I fear she has already had too much company." Promising to visit her again as soon as possible, I went with Frank to the carriage, when he returned to his patient. I found Pauline struggling hard to keep her eyes open, and on consulting my watch, concluded to postpone my call upon Mr. Lewis until another day. So I merely left the flowers in passing, saying to his wife that I would endeavor to make him an early call.
"He has been lotting upon seeing you, maam. He says of the two, you better understand his feelings, seeing you've had the same." We hastened home, where the sleepy girl was glad to drink some milk and go to bed.
And now, dear mother, with remembrances of affection to the dear home-circle, I close this part of my journal, which I hope will interest you. I intend writing to Bell and Nelly in answer to theirs just received.
Thursday, June 18th.I gladly resume my journal; I feel lost without my writing. Emily appears really better. Of course she knows nothing of Mr. Benson's intended departure. I have not been able to learn when he sails. He only says in his note, "as soon as his arrangements can be made." Emily seems indifferent to every thing; and, when mother and I talk cheerfully, turns her face away. But I have seen the tears trickle through her fingers when she thought herself unnoticed. To-day, however, she is brighter, and though not by any means as she once was, she appears to have made her mind up to some course; and to feel better for her decision. But this is mere suspicion. Time will show whether I am correct. This afternoon she sat up in the easy chair more than an hour, and amused herself with Pauline, who looked at her very seriously at first, as if she did not quite understand all these changes.