The Doctor Takes a Wife (16 page)

“Is it a rich man
’
s solution for childlessness?” asked Mrs. Lowry. “I know inheritance of property or title is often a consideration.”

“Fees should not be high, in either case,” Phil told her. “Either that paid to the donor, or by the recipient. In so far as possible, the levels of ideals should be high. I mean, mercenary motives should not feature—though, to a hungry medic, even ten bucks can be a dam mercenary motive.”

Dr. Lowry grunted. “Glad to hear a young doctor talk about ideals.”

“There
’
s another important thing,” Phil told Mrs. Lowry. “I stress a minimum of paper signing.”

“Don
’
t need any at all,” said Old Doc.

“I feel the same way, sir. Since the legal father
’
s name is on the birth certificate. But there is one case on record
—
perhaps others—where the wife later decided to leave her husband, and demanded custody of the child. It was helpful to the husband
’
s case that there was a paper to the effect that the child had been inseminated with the full consent of both parties to the marriage.”

“Adding that the child henceforth was to be considered as a biologically natural child of that marriage,” concluded Dr. Lowry. Then he turned full about to glare at Phil. “Young man—have you been trying to change the subject? I still think you should go back to your hospital and get to work!” he shouted.

Phil laughed, and sprang to rescue some of Mrs. Lowry
’
s snapshots blown off the table by a sudden breeze. This done, guests arrived, and the subject was not reopened.

CHAPTER 10

Phil
might have thought about Lowry
’
s recommendation, but he
’
d signed up for a year of work—and it was even more difficult to get a release from his own conscience than it would have been from the Group. Should he abandon his project too quickly, he might regret it ... So he went on as he was, serving in the o.b. clinic, doing some surgery and lecturing. He located Min and took her to dinner; they spent that evening talking about me. Or so they claimed, later. Min had made her own friends, Phil his at the Group. Their paths seldom crossed.

But it was through Min that Phil renewed his association with Page
Arning
. Min had a signed feature in a Sunday paper, and as Phil passed through the hotel dining room that evening, he saw Page reading the article. He stopped, and touched the by-line with his finger. “I know her,” he said pridefully.

Page looked up, smiling. “Do you really? She writes well.”

He pulled out the other chair, and sat down. “D
’
you mind?”

“Of course not
.
”

He asked how her work was going. She told him. He ordered his dinner, and told her a few things about Min.

“You sound as if you liked her pretty well,” suggested Page.

“I do,” he agreed, readily enough. “In fact, she
’
s on a par with my one and only sister. Min
’
s cute, and bright
—
and a big fool at times.”

“Oh? Your sister, too?”

“Sure. I guess that goes for all sisters. We men want them to be more perfect than the girls we marry. Don
’
t you know that?”

Visibly, she drew back into her shell. “I
’
m afraid I didn
’
t,” she said primly.

“No brothers?”

“No.”

“Thought not. You
’
d know more about men if you
’
d had—oh, say four brothers.” He ate busily, as if his real interest was on the ham and sweet potatoes, and the salad bowl.

By that time Page had finished her own dinner, but she sat on, accepting a cup of fresh coffee, and talking of Group affairs.

Now and then, Phil glanced at her. Page had something on her mind. He was afraid she intended to “explain” about her story concerning the heel—and so was relieved when she finally told
him
that she wanted to ask his advice on a matter concerning her work.

He had reached his own after-dinner cup of coffee by then, and lit a cigarette. “You flatter me, Dr.
Arning
.”

When he glanced at her, he saw the white points of her teeth upon her lower lip. “I was joking,” he said swiftly.

“Yes, I know.” She swallowed unhappily—then forced herself to continue. “I know, too, that I
’
m stuffy and intense about my work.”

“Oh—”

She leaned toward him. “I am. You
’
ve always said so. And now—Friday—the Director told me the same thing.” Her face was that of a child who had tried
so
hard to be good, only to find herself punished for her efforts.

“He can be as wrong as the next guy, namely me,” Phil attempted to comfort her.

“I still have to do what he said.”

“And what was that?”

“Well—” She smiled a little now, relieved at having the brambles at last cut clear of the conversational path. “It seems there has been a mine disaster down south of the city—”

“Yes. Pictures in the paper, accounts of it on the radio.” It had been a considerable disaster, with a dozen men killed. Phil was inclined to lecture Page on her aloofness from that sort of human tragedy; it seemed a woman must feel the terror of those trapped men, the hopeless, numb fear of their wives, the stunning grief
...

He brought his attention back to her words. “The Red Cross went in at once,” she said, “and they called the Public Health Service—because there seemed to be a sort of virulent illness prevalent among the people who live farther out in that mountain district. The Ozarks, Dr. Scoles. Not your big mountains.”

He nodded. “I
’
m not snobbish about hills, Dr.
Arning
.” For some reason, his anger was beginning to simmer again. The girl had no grace or charm when talking to a man. She apparently despised the creatures, and didn
’
t seem to care if they knew it.

“The indication is that there may have been several deaths recently, caused by this disease, and the Director told me to go down-there and get the facts. We hope there may be cases of sickness still available—”

“
You
hope?”

She frowned at his sharp, loud tone. “Well, if it is an epidemic of encephalitis, we
’
d certainly want to be able to gather—”

“And I hope you
’
re disappointed!” he growled, savagely mashing his cigarette into the tray.

She sat looking at him in dismay. “I only meant—”

“I know,” he broke in. “The detached, scientific approach. It
’
s just—well—somehow shocking in a pretty girl, Page.”

“I fail to see what difference my looks can possibly
...”

“
Take my word for it, it does make a difference. Go on with your story. You are delighted to find sleeping sickness so close to home!”

“We are not delighted. But since it seems to be there
—
and it does—well, the Director has told me to go down there. He seems to feel as you do, that my lab work is not enough. I
’
m to go down and see those people, find the children who are sick, and get full data about them, and their environment. Do you remember when you asked me if that boy went barefoot, and things like that? The Director indicated the same sort of personal research—”

Now he felt a little sorry for her. After all, she was groping toward something new ... a new feeling. “It is important, Page,” he said gently.

“He said it was. I
’
m to get histories, so far as I
’
m able, about parentage, previous illnesses and so on. But the thing is, Philip, I
’
ve never done that sort of research! I
’
ve worked only with the evidence brought in to the laboratory! I don
’
t know how to proceed. I didn
’
t like to say that to the Director. You know, women have enough difficulty establishing themselves in a man
’
s world without
—
That
’
s why I
’
ve come to you for advice. You already know my secret weakness.” Her full lips trembled, and her smile was definitely watery.

He tried to give her courage with his voice.

“Sooner or later, you would have to get out of your lab, Page. It might as well be now.”

“But what if I fail?” she asked, horrified at the possibility.

“We all fail. It
’
s a sobering, but not necessarily fatal, experience.”

“You mean it will be good for me?”

He laughed at the extreme innocence of her question, and veered the discussion away from a reply. “You said you wanted advice from me
...
What sort of advice?”

“Oh—for instance,” and her face took on a look of utter helplessness, “I don
’
t even know what sort of clothes to wear. You
’
ve lived in the mountains—I know the cabins of these people cannot be reached by car. So there will be hiking—or maybe horseback. I suppose that means slacks
...”

“Jeans,” he suggested, “and flannel shirts. A leather jacket—they don
’
t tear—good stout shoes; not slippers or even oxfords, but something that ties up around your ankles. Good leather gloves, a cap that pulls snugly to your head. A knapsack rather than a brief case.”

“You
’
re teasing me.”

“Nothing of the kind! If you have to climb or scramble several miles from your car—” He looked at her. “How are you going down there?”

“Well
—
I hadn
’
t thought The Director mentioned it Friday. He said
‘
next week.
’
To go down there
‘
next week, and get data.
’
I
’
m to contact the Public Health office at Roland.”

“You could get that far by bus or train, but—surely, you aren
’
t counting on the Public Health Doctor taking you around?”

“Why not?”

“For one
thing
right now he
’
s probably an extremely busy man. For another, such data as he has would be available in his office. I gather that the Doctor wants you to make your own investigation—see the people—get blood, sputum, skin and feces samples—samples of their drinking water
...
”

She sat white-faced and still.

“That
’
s what he said, eh?” asked Phi
l.
“And the people
’
s histories, too.” He was enjoying a lively picture of this ice-maiden getting her samples from the mountain folk. How could she, with her reticence, possibly attempt—

His brown eyes softened. “Look!” he cried. “I have a car
—
Would you let me drive you down there? Maybe I could help you.”

“Oh—” Her breath left her, in a gust of gratitude.

“Why, sure. I could get away. I have my car—it
’
s no job for a girl alone. And the Public Health office has its own work to do. Why not, Page? I could tote your sample cases, and so on—boost you up a steep slope
...”

She looked at
him
thoughtfully. Strangely, a faint pink glowed beneath her pearly skin—-but maybe that was only the light from the lamp on their table. “All right,” she said softly. “If you
’
d like to. It
’
s very kind of you, Philip.”

“Don
’
t you think
...”

“We
’
re going down there as researchers. I think
‘
Doctor
’
would be better—more advisable.”

You
’
re the researcher
,
I’
m going along for the ride.
He didn
’
t say it aloud. He
’
d play the thing in Page
’
s way
—
and see what happened.

They set Wednesday morning as a tentative day of departure; Phil elaborated on his advice about clothes and equipment—and they parted at the dining room door.

On the drive down into the beautiful, wooded mountains, Phil had to voice still another word of caution to the girl at his side. “Don
’
t tie yourself to a schedule, Page. You
’
ll have to start as you
’
d drive a car on a slippery road. Go slowly until you get the feel of the situation. Mountain folk have strange reticences; they are modest and shy
—
and resent interference.”

“But why should they? I
’
m trying to help them!”

“Are you?”

“Well, certainly. If I find anything worth while to our research—”

“Oh, yes, in the large. But you
’
ll have to explain that purpose to these people. They may have no knowledge of glass, let alone slides and test tubes.”

“I shouldn
’
t have come.”

“Be realistic. You had to come, or risk losing your place in—”

She put her hands to her cheeks, and sat still and frightened.

“You
’
ll do all right,” he comforted, “if you take things slowly, and as they come
...
”

“But I like to
plan
my work.”

“All right. Plan on the unexpected. Just set aside wide spaces of time; they
’
ll fill up for you.”

Her frown melted into a smile that was positively roguish. “I suspect an o.b. surgeon would know
...”

He chuckled and swung the car into the cloverleaf turn which should put them on their final highway.

At Roland they found a really good hotel—an inn
—
with rooms available. This was an old stone building, historically important, which had been restored, and was maintained, by one of those patriotic organizations to which good women devote so much zeal.

Phil registered for himself, and handed the pen to Page, his calm manner crushing any tremors she might have felt, though she betrayed none. He asked the clerk how to get to the Public Health office.

“The hospital is down the street a block—you
’
ll find Dr. Caldwell there after one.”

He said the name
Co-well.
Phil was to find that the mountain folk had retained many tricks of speech and pronunciation from their English forebears.

Phil
’
s room was a delight of
four-poster
bed, old quilt, cherrywood chests—and a
modern
bathroom. He supposed Page was equally well accommodated. They ate a delicious lunch from blue-patterned china, served by deft
-
handed Negro waiters.

Then they proceeded to the white-frame hospital “down the street.” Page still wore her trim gray flannel suit under her fleecy top coat. Dr. Caldwell, head of the Roland County health department, was a man in his late fifties, his face deeply marked by the hard work which he did. He had keen gray eyes, a raspy voice and a sweet smile. He had foreknowledge of Page
’
s mission, but Phil must explain his presence. “For God
’
s sake, man!” cried the doctor heartily, “we sure can use an o.b. around here.”

“Harvest season?”

“Always harvest season. But I
’
d like you to help Jennie while you
’
re here. You could talk to her class of midwives, go with her—just plain help her. Will you?”

Phil was aware that Page sat silent, and neglected, in her round-backed chair. He glanced toward her. “Who is Jennie?”

“She
’
s our nurse-midwife!” said the doctor, proudly. “Oh, you have one of those!”

“Yep. But only one. However—with Jennie—her strength is as that of ten. That in the Bible, ma
’
am?”

Page smiled, remotely. “I think something of the sort is said.”

Dr. Caldwell grunted. “If you
’
re a staff o.b. from Boone, Dr. Scoles, Jennie deserves a little help from you. Lord, that woman does the work of this whole community, trains midwives, does more general doctorin
’
than I do, and manages to be psychologist, friend and preacher to our mountain folk. She
’
s black, but nobody around here notices that.”

“Is she an M.D.?” asked Page politely.

“No, ma
’
am. She
’
s what I called her—a nurse-midwife. Biggest advance in medicine since ether.”

“He
’
s right, Page,” Phil helped out. “In sparsely settled communities, the nurse-midwife is a lifesaver.”

“But I
’
ve heard
...” s
he began doubtfully.

“You
’
ve heard about grannies,” rasped Caldwell. “And every tale you
’
ve heard was probably true. But these good women—only about three hundred of
‘
em in the whole country. This state has eighteen; I
’
m more than lucky to have Jennie. They are trained as registered nurses, have a good course of Public Health nursing and at least six months of medical obstetrics.”

“That
’
s more than some doctors can claim,” growled Phil.

“You
’
re so right!” said Caldwell fervently. “Of course, Jennie herself trains common midwives—but she—well, look here now, Doctor; I
’
ll tell you how to get to Persia schoolhouse—Jennie
’
s doin
’
a clinic there this afternoon. I was aimin
’
to help her but then I got word Dr.
Arning
here was co
m
in
’
—” He nodded at Phil
’
s faint sound of apology. “Yes, sir! If you
’
ll drive over there and help Jennie
—
I
’
ll feel free to go over our records with the young lady here, and tomorrow she can get about her own work.”

Phil glanced at Page. “All right with you?”

She nodded, dimpling mischievously. “I
’
d think so. Even you think I can manage records.”

Phil chuckled. “I came along to chauffeur her over the back roads,” he told the doctor. “But I
’
d like to help your Jennie, too.”

Armed with a road map and a note which read, “Use this man. He
’
s a
bona fide
baby snatcher,” Phil set out
.
And did not return until midnight.

He often told the story later, always beginning with, “The real love of my life is a tall, raw-boned Negro woman I met in south Missouri. All other women suffer in comparison to her. She was a nurse-midwife, and I guess she was all of fifty-five, but man, oh, man!”

He found the school without difficulty, amused to discover that
Persia
was really
Perche.
The building was of good size, and the school yard was crowded with what he supposed were patients—or their families. Men and children, a lot of them colored folk, milled about, talking or just waiting. The day was gray, and chill—but the patience of these people was evident.

Inside the building Phil found a dozen women seated upon wooden benches—a
corner
of the room had been screened off by bed sheets hung on wires stretched from wall to wall. Carrying his medical bag, Phil walked with purpose to this inclosure. “Jennie?” he said tentatively.

“You
’
ll have to wait your turn,” said a soft, firm voice within the sheets.

“I know. Dr. Caldwell sent me over here—with a note for you.”

He thought the voice-owner sighed. “Just a minute
...
”

It was no longer than that when a
corner
of the sheet lifted, and Jennie herself appeared. Tall, blue-black, with gold-rimmed spectacles—she wore a white apron over a blue cotton dress; a stethoscope hung around her neck. “Yes?” she said, looking Phil over quite as critically as he had studied her.

He gave her the note. “I
’
m Dr. Scoles,” he said, s
miling
a little.

“Will you help me?” she asked.

“I
’
d like to. Tell me what to do.”

“Me tell you?”

“It looks like a busy afternoon
...”

“Yes, Doctor. It certainly will be.”

“All right. Where do I start?”

She told him. Another sheet was rigged; she talked some about the recent sickness in the County—those would be Page
’
s cases, Phil decided.

He examined the women allotted to him; Jennie said few records could be kept. “I just don
’
t have time, Doctor! I figure if something has to be give up, it
’
d better be the paper work.”

Poverty was evident; all of its diseases were there. Phil heard Jennie advise these women in all ways.

Before they were finished a baby was brought to the door; the mother had carried him for twenty-seven miles, riding in an old wagon hitched to an even older mule. The child was dying, but Jennie
’
s eyes pleaded with Phil
—
“Is it the sickness, Doctor? If
‘
tis, I shouldn
’
t take
him
into my clinic.”

He talked to the mother, and examined the baby. He said he thought it was enteritis. “Bad way
—
Have you blood?”

“Only plasma.”

Of course! No refrigeration. “I
’
ll try that,” he said briskly. But before he could get the stuff flowing, the baby died. Poor little mite
—
Slowly, Phil withdrew the needle, and put a bit of tape over the puncture.

“I
’
ll look to his mother,” said Jennie
’
s pitying voice.

There was no time for regrets. Phil moved on to the next case.

After the clinic, Jennie had a class of student midwives; she asked Phil to stay, and he sat on a bench at the rear of the room. He admiringly watched her show her pupils
—
six Negro women—how to examine a baby for abnormalities; she demonstrated a new way to make a delivery pad out of newspapers, and asked for suggestions as to the devising of incubator and baby crib. “The main thing—don
’
t countenance the baby in bed with anybody!”

Hi
s
class had begun with a hymn; it closed with one, Phil
’
s deep bass rolling out richly. “We could use you around here, Doctor,” Jennie told him shyly.

“Now what?”

“Well, I
’
ll
head
for home—” she said dubiously. It was almost black night outside.

“Think you
’
ll make it?”

Her white teeth sparkled. “It would be the first time. I take on a lot, Doctor.”

“These people are lucky to have you.”

“I love my work. I do regret not having a proper clinic. Otherwise, the Lord has set my feet in a path that pleases me.”

“What a blessing if we all could be so well satisfied!”

She glanced at him. “You
’
re not?”

He left his car in the school yard, and got in the seat beside Jennie. Her car was new; she had to have one every two years, she explained, because of the roads. They drove a mile or so, with Jennie shrewdly questioning Phil as to his work, his location. Try as he would, he sounded as if he apologized for doing so much less than she did. It was especially difficult to make the research project sound convincing, less difficult with the TV accomplishment
...

As he had suspected, Jennie had a case or two “to look in on.” He was glad because he wanted to watch this woman at her work. Their first stop was at the store
-
filling-station at the crossroads. A half-dozen houses clustered there; this was the town of “Persia Creek.” Jennie had a handful of relief checks to cash, and some supplies to purchase. This involved some paper work, though obviously she was a long trusted banker for her people. On his own, Phil bought several bags of bright, hard candies, and Jennie chuckled.