The Doctor Takes a Wife (25 page)

“But that
’
s what I mean,” Min resumed briskly.
“
We have to deal with facts as they exist. Red is married to you, Page, not to me. And you live in a House of Usher that never had the grace to fall!” She began arranging the dishes upon the table. “The first lesson a reporter learns,” she instructed us, “is to take a circumstance as it stands, not as we wish it were—though, of course, you can select items, the way I
’
m doing with these dishes. My thought is to choose one or two of your cabinets and a reasonable amount of dishes, and then forget the rest of the ju
nk
—
including the dead bodies. Of course, we
’
re going to have to take that monstrous stove into our calculations, I suppose.”

She broke off, her eyes glazed. Something was happening inside that busy brain. Suddenly she turned on Page and me as if we
’
d done something! “You big lugs!” she cried. “Why didn
’
t you remind me that the
first
thing Page must do is to get out of this big house?” Her blue sandals did a pirouette there on the brown linoleum. “Look at it! Only thing bigger and uglier this side of the Rocky Mountains is the Dewey Palace Hotel in Nampa. And that
’
s a curiosity, not a home for a bride!”

She started for the door. “Come on—we
’
re going house hunting!”

Page stood frozen. Things were moving too fast for her.

“Min!” I commanded.

She glanced over her shoulder. “You know I
’
m right, Whit!” she said firmly. “Page may be full of errors, but Red bought this house. And she should—you know she should!—refuse to live in the thing!”

I saw that she was right. Except for cherubs on the dining room ceiling, the house did look like the Dewey Palace Hotel. Phil had been crazy to buy such a thing, and he must know that by now.

So it wouldn
’
t take much, I suspected, to persuade him to buy, or build, a smaller place. We both knew the sort of house he liked; we
’
d heard him describe it, particularly when arguing with Marynelle over the jewel-box she
’
d selected.

We spent the rest of that evening looking at houses up on the benches. Min said a red-earth patio was the most important feature to look for. And when we found one with that sort of thing (people were living in it, but that didn
’
t bother Min), both girls regarded the place with proprietary eyes.

I offered to go in and tell the owners they were about to lose their home.

And they were, too, because when we showed the house to Phil, he remembered his dream, and talked about it until I got sick of the subject. The place wouldn
’
t have needed a roof or a gutter—that dirt patio, along with the peeled logs, the old, worn bricks, and a really gorgeous view of Table Rock, sold Phil.

I kept mentioning the attractive little place next door, all cedar shakes and flagstone, and he said, “Well, for God
’
s sake, buy it, Whit! I want this one.”

So I bought my house, and he bought his—and we both got done up nice and brown—but we liked it. Phil kept marveling to me about Page
’
s being pretty darn cute, to go out on her own and find just the right house!

And I was just smart enough to keep my head shut; I could see that Min
’
s scheme stood some chance of success, and its success was very important to me personally, because I had a few schemes of my own—only I was going to have to be much craftier. Min suspected I was up to things, until I said flatly (that time I played it smart!) that my place was going to be bachelor hall. No woman—she, or Page, or any woman—was going to hang organdy curtains at my windows!

And I stuck to it, with Min occasionally giving me a puzzled look. “Don
’
t you like what we
’
re doing at Red
’
s?” she once asked me in a troubled way.

“I like it,” I answered.

Though I still kept
‘
em out of my place, I did like the way Red
’
s was shaping up. It wasn
’
t a big house—and not new, as mine was. His place had originally been the dwelling on a small fruit farm, with the acreage gradually sold off, at a whopping profit, as the city stretched itself out to the upper “benches” which surrounded the old, main part of the town known as the Valley.

We selected certain pieces of furniture from the Spring Street house, and then Phil sold the rest of that junk heap. It took us three months to get the new house furnished and painted—and what Min called “established.”

The two girls did most of it, scrubbing, and painting
—
outside as well as in. For three months, Phil and Page camped out in the place as well as they could, and seemed to enjoy doing it Page wore nothing but the pedal-pushers which she
’
d adopted as a compromise between skirts and jeans; I said I liked them, and was ch
o
ked up to notice that Min began to wear them, too.

Well, I did like
‘
em. The wearing of breeches is certainly one style the women did not adopt to please men. The pedal-pushers were not tight, and the girls looked cute in
‘
em. Generally, Page wore her yellow hair in two pigtails, and now and then she and Min earnestly discussed the really slick hair cut she was going to get
...
when they had time.

After the three months—and it took all of that, what with Phil
’
s being busy at the Clinic, and the girls inexperienced—life seemed to settle down for Phil and Page into the pattern common to all young married couples
—
it was the one they should have known earlier, but, of course, that had been impossible in that house on Spring. And, of course, as that marriage grew more and more solid, I grew more and more hopeful about myself and Min.

By cold weather the new place was snug and clean and attractive. A big living room and a deep fireplace, with books lining the opposite wall—a sunny dining room, a sparkling kitchen and a big, airy bedroom with windows which had the same view of mountains and valley that the patio did. There were two smaller bedrooms. One was called the den, the other the guest room—but I could see nursery plans in prospect.

Phil mentioned that plan, obliquely, to me one day as we fussed over a balky X-ray machine. Not that we knew how to fix the gadget, but we wanted a complete diagnosis on what ailed it.

I
’
d not thought, of course, that Phil was blind to what Min was up to. I don
’
t think Min was as outspoken to him as she was to Page, but he
’
d known, from the first. Her scheming amused him, and he liked the idea behind her plans. I truly think the guy was relieved that Min had not let the two of
‘
em cook up a storm. He liked Min, and could so easily have fallen in love with her—

But it was better this way, all around.

The technician told us, again, and in a worried way, that the Westinghouse people
promised
24-hour service
...

Phil drew off his gloves, and glared at her. “Then what are we waiting for? Why don
’
t you call them and request such service?” he asked coldly.

“I
’
d be glad to, Doctor
!
”

“Well, do it then!”

I laughed at the way she scurried for the telephone.

Phil grinned, too. “Women!” he snorted. “My whole life
—
hag ridden! Nurses and technicians here—Min at home—” He glanced at me sidewise.

“You can always tell Min to tend to her own business,” I suggested, checking switches to see that we
’
d turned them all off.

“Got the idea last night,” Phil puffed, reaching for the compression pillow which had fallen behind some racks, “that Page was about to attend to that little chore.”

“Huh?” I didn
’
t believe any such thing.

“She definitely has a mind of her own, you know.”

“Oh, sure.”

“I didn
’
t mean that!” he snapped. “But you
’
ll find out
—
and so will Min—that when Page Scoles sets out to do a job, she
’
ll finish it.” He let the air out of his pillow with a hiss. “And I don
’
t think Min
’
s going to be the one to decide when we have our first baby.”

“Now, look, Phil—”

“I know she means well, Whit. I
’
m glad she
’
s got Page interested in housekeeping and has managed to make her feel at home here in Berilo. But there are a few things a man wants to do for himself. And I believe Page knows
that,
where I
’
m not so sure about Min.”

There wasn
’
t much I could say. Because I wasn
’
t so sure, either.

Phil
’
s house was built in an ell, with the tiled roof extending over the open
corner
. This made that stretch of hard-packed earth which he called a patio; the tiles
’
weight was supported by peeled-log poles. The girls had found some old captain-chairs, and a couple of sturdy tables to set out there. Phil had plans for a barbecue to be built the next summer. Almost the first thing we
’
d discovered was an old well against the
corner
-angle of the house; Phil risked his hands building up a brick enclosure for this treasure, and he rigged poles, a rope and a bucket. He tested the water; the well was evidently spring-fed. By November he was all set for Indians.

His next project was the setting of a wrought-iron railing at the side of the three steps which led up into the kitchen; I was relieved when he didn
’
t do the smith-work himself, though he did fool around with mortar and stuff in a way highly risky for a surgeon.

I asked Min if she thought giving them one of those charcoal braziers for Christmas would keep him from further brick work, and she said no, but I could try.

“No use his having a barbecue,” I fussed. “I
’
ve a good one, came with the house—right next door—”

“A man wants to give his own parties in his own house with his own wife doing the work,” Min pointed out, with a bitterness that attracted my notice.

I looked at her quizzically.

“Oh, yes!” she answered my look. “Now it gives parties. He knows Page can
’
t cook!”

“Isn
’
t it time she learned?” I suggested.

“Ye-es.” Min was dubious, and so was Page. But her doubts were what Min needed to become firm on the matter. A woman had to know how to cook, she argued, even if she did hope to have servants—a fleeting hope in Berilo. Some of the big homes had servants—Mexican, or Chinese—but white women were too much at a premium as wives for the ranchers and loggers and construction
-
gang workers to need to work long anywhere but in their own kitchens.

So, every wife had to know how to keep house and cook. Page would have to know. Min would teach her. I made raucous sounds at this, suggesting that Min herself had a thing or two to learn—

“All right,” she agreed cheerfully, “we
’
ll both learn.”

I hung around closely enough to discover the system she used. It was simple—they
’
d start with a basic meal, and practice and practice until they were perfect. By Christmas time, Page was able to agree to their having the party which Phil wanted to give. Yes, a buffet dinner, if he wanted
...

Her baked beans and tossed salad and apple dumplings were a huge success; her coffee was marvelous.

After the gang left, Min and I helped clean up; we wanted to enjoy the post-mortem. Phil was so pleased that he set to washing dishes on his own initiative. His whole manner was proud and enthusiastic. “I knew folks would like you,” he told Page,
“w
hen they got to know you.”

“They liked me tonight,” Page said sensibly, “because I can cook. I bake good beans.”

Phil turned, dripping soap suds from his elbows, to look at her. “Honey
...
”

“It
’
s all right,” Page assured him. “It
’
s important to be a good cook. That
’
s an essential of life and cannot be by-passed.”

Min smiled at me, over the stack of plates I gave her.

“If you
’
re going to be a scientist,” Page was going on, “and only a scientist, you can escape those things. But since I
’
ve chosen to be a housekeeper, I have to—well
—
be
one!”

Phil took a deep breath and studied her face. “Do you regret the change?” he asked hesitantly.

“Oh, no,” said Page. “Besides, it wasn
’
t a
change.
I
’
m still everything I was as a scientist—and now I
’
m a housekeeper, too. At least,” she smiled up at him demurely, “I can bake beans.”

He leaned over to kiss her cheek. “You sure can, Honey. And for a Boston boy, you could not learn a better thing.” He announced this as though it were the most amazing coincidence.

“Why,” Min demanded, when I was driving her home, “does the big sap think it was
beans
she chose to learn about first?”

“Was it her choice?”

“It was hers. I
’
ve not forced any of this on Page, Whit.”

She hadn
’
t, I was ready to agree. It had never been a matter of deep-laid plots, or extravagant schemes; most of the things Min and Page did were done openly and frankly.

I especially recall the hilarious evening when the two girls discussed clothes, and make-up—and experimented with the latter to the amused horror of the two incredulous doctors who were watching them. Page
’
s eyes, it was decided, were her important feature. They dominated her face, and so must be played up.

Min declared that they were chameleon eyes—not gray
—
and she argued her term with Phil! Sure they were!

Their color depended on what Page was wearing, or her mood. Sometimes they were blue-gray, sometimes green.

“Ye-es,” Phil agreed, “I
’
ve noticed that.”

“And she should select her make-up to match.”

“What happens,” I suggested, “if she starts out for the evening in a green-eyed mood, with make-up to match, and turns blue-gray about ten o
’
clock?”

“Oh, Whit!” cried Min, exasperated.

“Well, I don
’
t understand it either,” Phil supported me.

The girls ignored us. Min
’
s eyes were a simple matter of being brown, with complexion, eyebrows and hair to match. Besides, it seemed that her mouth dominated
her
face.

“And what comes out of it dominates everything and everybody else,” I muttered. But I was still ignored. Phil grinned at me, and I winked back and shrugged.

Page
’
s eyelashes, Min was deciding in a world-shaking tone, were nice and long, and the eyes themselves slightly almond-shaped. A touch of blue eye shadow was a good thing—we men let our pipes go out, watching them experiment to determine the amount of this gooey stuff. But mascara
...
Only a faint touch, and that only for special occasions.

“Yeah,” said Phil. “Around the house, it
’
d be falling in the soup.”

“That isn
’
t it!” said Min sternly. “A girl needs some special touch for special occasions—to attract notice!”

“Maybe I don
’
t want my wife attracting notice!” Phil bristled.

“It could be
your
notice she attracts!” Min pointed out.

Phil subsided. Yes, it could be—

The girls went next to the fascinating matter of pancake make-up and powder base. I was deciding that I
’
d never again growl over having to shave every day. If it took all that to be a woman—

“Downright deceitful, too,” Phil put in. “No wonder men are surprised in the women they marry.”

“A lot could be said on the other side of that subject,” Min reminded him.

“Aw, Min!”

“I
’
ll venture to state that Page never saw you with a beard stubble until after you were married.”

“Oh, yes, I did, though,” said Page. “In fa
c
t, I fell in love with him and agreed to marry him under just those conditions.”

“You see?” Phil swaggered. “It wasn
’
t a matter of the face lotion I used. Ten to one, I
’
d love my wife without that pancake, too.”

Page was studying her face in the hand mirror. She and Min were sitting on the Navajo rug before the fire. Page had one side of her face made up with a heavy suntan color, the other half was a glowing pink.

“This reminds me,” she said in a thoughtful tone, “of some work I did one summer when I was getting my Master
’
s. I had to earn some money
...
” She glanced up at me. “I wangled my education,” she explained gravely. “I can
’
t exactly say that I worked my way through—unless you say
work
in the slangy sense
—
I got through mostly on scholarships.” She stopped and looked away, obviously uncertain about whether she ought to continue.

“Everybody understands, darling,” drawled Phil, “that brains are a physical handicap to be apologized for, and carefully concealed.”

Page flushed. “Well, sometimes they are!” she said spiritedly.

“What did you start to tell us?” I prompted.

She nodded. “Oh, yes. It was about—” She began to smear cold cream on her face, rubbing the two pancake colors into a clownlike mask. Then she took the whole thing off with a series of Kleenex sponges—her main interest however being held to her account of that summer
’
s work when she “was getting her Master
’
s.”

I watched Page closely as she talked; Min was watching Phil. Afterward she told me that now she saw why Phil had married the girl; Page was really remarkable.