Courage in a White Coat

by Mary Schwaner

  Dear Mrs. Kinney,

  . . .You will have guessed that the enclosed Cecil Bruner rose buds are from the bridal bouquet. It was a lovely wedding, beautiful in its dignity and simplicity. Several have remarked that it was one of the most impressive weddings they ever saw.

  For the previous fortnight Dorothy had looked like a lighted candle, but the day of the wedding her eyes were like jewels glinting from an inner light.

  Her corsage was of exquisite Carl Bruner buds and maiden-hair fern. How I did wish that you might see her in her radiant joy and loveliness. A Parisian dressmaker couldn’t have designed a gown to suit her more perfectly, yet Dorothy cut and made her gown herself in less than a week!

  Of course the staff and some of the patrons of the hospital are rather cut up about Dorothy’s marriage. They just never thought she would get married and they recognize the great skill she has professionally and are aware of the blessing of healing which she has brought to many so it will take them a little while to adjust their thinking to the new situation. It was all so unexpected. They hadn’t even expected the engagement, although I believe some of the missionaries expected or even suspected an engagement.

  Because Dorothy’s own home has been such a happy one, it isn’t at all strange that she should want to make another such happy one. Part of her professional efficiency is due to her innate womanliness and understanding of home relations. If you could see her great joy you would know that the love of which it is born is a gift of God, even as her medical skill is a gift of God. She has used the one to His glory and I think she will use this new gift also to His glory.

  Then there is Fred’s side, too. His love for Dorothy and need of her are counterparts of her love for and need of him. He is a man of God and worthy of her love.

  Seeing Dorothy’s great happiness some of the staff are more reconciled to her decision to change her career. If you could but witness this you would lose any lingering regret that you may have had because Dorothy has given up the profession in which she has been so signally successful, for that calling upon which God first bestowed His blessing and upon which our Saviour too set His seal.

  Affectionately yours,

  Marie Holmes

  Dorothy tucked away her copy of the letter Marie had written to her parents. The hard knot it left in her stomach would not settle. Yes, she knew that the missionary board did not allow missionary wives to work in the field. They were to be the husband’s helpmate, but to pursue work of their own simply wasn’t done.

  Reading Marie’s words had brought that stunning reality home, even though she’d been worrying over it for weeks. Perhaps that’s the way things had always been done, but surely she could find a new path, a new way to exercise her healing art without breaking trust with the missionary board.

  Dorothy Kinney, M.D. had become Dorothy Chambers, M.D. That’s all. Marriage did not erase those letters from behind her name. She was a physician. Fred didn’t love her less because of her medical skills, and he wouldn’t love her more if she left them behind. He embraced them as a most essential part of her.

  And that was the most essential hurdle, knowing how Fred would feel if she kept working. The world would come to accept it if she just quietly kept working about the compound. She’d dealt with stubborn attitudes before. She could do it again.

  Not even marriage was going to make her hang up her white coat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  WEDDED BLISS

  July 7, 1936 — Shillong, India

  From Fred Chambers

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Kinney,

  I am tempted to address you as “Mother and Dad Kinneykin” as we do here in Assam, but until I know whether I am to be accepted “within the gate”, it seems proper to forego that pleasure. I told Dorothy I considered you, Dr. Bruce, as my friend but after “stealing” your daughter I am not sure of my status. However, I am sure since you know Dorothy as you do, that even you cannot blame me for falling hopelessly in love with her. I never even dreamed that such a lovable lady existed.

  How can I express my boundless gratitude to you for the great blessing you have given me? In the copy of the letter I wrote to my Mother you will get some idea of how deeply I recognize Dorothy’s love as a gift of God. When I realize more and more the sweetness and purity of the love she gives me it makes me search my very soul and cry to God for Grace to be even in a measure worthy of it. It is the highest honor to have her love and next to that I count it a high privilege to be so related to your family. I shall never cease to be mindful of the great responsibility entailed by the high privilege and will always strive to be worthy so far as I am able.

  I recognize that it is no light matter for one of Dorothy’s professional success to lay aside her career for the love of a man and home. I must confess that it creates a certain sense of fear about my heart as I realize the great responsibility that is mine to see to it that her trust is not misplaced; that her hopes are never disappointed; that her freedom and opportunity for self expression and development are never impinged; and that her usefulness to the Kingdom of God is never limited but rather increased. Only the Grace of God can make possible the measuring up to that responsibility.

  I am sorry I have not had the pleasure of meeting you, Mrs. Kinney, but . . . after all, you are Dorothy’s Mother and that tells so much. Trust you both will forgive me for marrying your daughter before obtaining your consent, but when one is driven by a great love, he may forget some of the conventional things of life. Already I have come to know something of the wonderful home Dorothy had and of the great love you bear toward her. I give you my word that the best I can give her I shall consider not equal to what she deserves, and surely you cannot possibly love her more than I do – just in another way.

  This is such a feeble effort to express what I feel so deeply but I trust to your understanding and the future to make it plainer.

  With deepest gratitude for your unspeakable gift,

  R. Fred Chambers

  “Wowzers!”

  Fred’s eyes popped as Dorothy took a twirl in her evening clothes. They’d been honeymooning in Shillong for four weeks now, and were finally ready to take their twosome public. They might have waited even longer, but an invitation to Government House was too intriguing to ignore.

  Dorothy tacked an elegant pose onto the end of her final twirl. Her wedding dress adapted perfectly to the evening’s need, ornamented by a sparkling brooch in her hair and a brilliantly black evening wrap.

  “Ready, Mr. Chambers?”

  “Yes, I believe so, Mrs. Chambers. But...on second thought, I’m suddenly feeling very...very...exceedingly woozy.”

  “Oh dear! What is it? Are you ill?” Dorothy rushed to him and pressed a hand against his forehead. Fred seized the opportunity to capture her at the waist and draw her close.

  “So woozy, in fact, that there is nothing for me but to stay home and allow the famous Doctor Chambers to attend to me.”

  Dorothy laughed, delighted with her new husband’s clever wiles.

  “Now don’t you just wish,” she smiled slyly, then marched to the door and waited for him to escort her to their evening’s destination. “What will it be, Mr. Chambers? Dinner at Government House? Or Castor oil?”

  Fred blanched and Dorothy grinned. And both gave up the idea of locking themselves away forever and accepted the fact that it was high time they got out into the world again.

  The drive was mystical under a star-blessed sky. Every grove and bough was alight with fireflies—more than either of them had seen in a lifetime, and the drive up to the front entrance of Government House was stunning. A valet took the keys to park the Tuttles’ car, borrowed for this auspicious occasion, and the Chambers were invited into the grand hallway by a butler or footman or whatever the liveried servant might have been called. Whatever he was, he clearly had just stepped out of a storybook.

  “Footman, dear,” Dorothy whispered, “I think that one is a footman.�
� She shifted her gaze across the foyer. “That one over there, in the grand tails and, well, rather haughty look...I think that must be His Excellency.”

  “You’re sure that’s not the butler?”

  Dorothy clucked her tongue and cast Fred a sideways glance. “Hardly,” she whispered.

  And just as she turned back, the fellow crossed the hall, back ramrod straight, white gloves more pristine than any glove had a right to be, and bowed slightly. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. and Mrs. Chambers?”

  Dorothy swallowed her chuckle and allowed Fred to preen as they followed the butler into the receiving room.

  Ten or eleven couples were already gathered there, and Dorothy soon realized she and Fred were to stay where they were as each of the guests randomly revolved about the room, taking their turns to greet the newlyweds.

  The British Aide-de-Camp, stunningly outfitted in his most formal uniform, was the first to greet them. He chatted for a moment, then took up a position next to Dorothy and proceeded to introduce each couple as they came to extend their welcomes and best wishes, each greeting seemingly more eloquent than the last.

  Richly woven carpets cushioned her feet as she stood in the most elegant room she’d ever seen and watched Fred chat with British dignitaries as if he’d known them all his life. He was witty. Charming. Intelligent. Insightful. Brilliant. Her husband was indeed the most engaging fellow in the room.

  August 5, 1936 - Shillong

  The dinner was at 8:15. After being received by the Aide-de-Camp we were introduced to some of the guests who had arrived, and then taken into the drawing room to wait for His Excellency and Lady Keane. The men were shown the plan of the table (there were eighteen present) and were told where to sit, and whom to take in to dinner. I was asked to stand in a certain place and was told that His Excellency would take me in to dinner. (I was somewhat surprised). His Excellency and Lady Keane came in shortly, were introduced and greeted the guests, and then he and I went in to dinner—heading the procession, and the others followed. I found out afterwards that it is apparently an English custom that a bride takes precedence over other guests, and therefore I was “it”.

  Had a lovely dinner, and the table was elegant to say the least. His Excellency was most charming, and I had the English Padre on the other side of me and he is a very entertaining person and most likeable.

  After dinner we retired to the drawing room (or the women did) and had coffee. Then the men joined us, and we talked, sang, etc. Then His Excellency and Lady Keane left about 10:30, and later, Mrs. Higgins (the Valley Commissioner’s wife in Gauhati who was a guest at Government House) whispered to me that as the bride and guest of honor, we could leave anytime, and that it was more or less up to me to start the procession, so being rather weary from the day, we took our leave then.

  We are still glad that we are missionaries and do not belong to the official class.

  Fred stood aside and watched His Excellency escort Dorothy in to dinner. She’d been quiet. Restrained. Naturally elegant. The most radiant woman in the room. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, and he was not unaware that others had kept looking her way throughout the evening, as well.

  August 1936

  Dear Motherkin— (Fred used the endearment so common in India when addressing his mother-in-law)

  Must write this to you for Dorothy could not. Last night at the dinner, she and I were seated at opposite ends of the long table. The dessert was served and I took one taste of mine and then laid my spoon on the plate and just sat and enjoyed looking at my wife. She was absolutely the loveliest person I have ever seen, framed by the two pink (burning) candles. Her hair was so nicely arranged, her wedding gown is such a lovely silver and made her throat and neck so white. Then her black evening wrap over that just added another touch to the beauty of it all. And above all, there is a beauty in Dorothy’s eyes that just shines out and gives me a thrill that nothing can compare with.

  Well, I was just sitting there enjoying Dorothy and forgot all about everything else and was called back to my surroundings by discovering that Dorothy was concerned about my not eating my dessert and had decided that I had not been given a spoon and was ordering a bearer to bring me a spoon. After the guests had gone and I confessed to what had been going on, we had a good laugh about it.

  “Tell me, Wife, what made you think I’d lost my spoon?”

  “Well, you weren’t eating your ice cream. I may not know everything about you, Husband, but I do know you love ice cream more than anything in the world.”

  “Used to love ice cream more than anything in the world.”

  “Oh? Oh. Oh my.” Dorothy blushed. “You do say the sweetest things.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  GET YOUR GLAD RAGS ON

  August 1936

  Neither Fred nor I can get over Dad’s saying what he did about having told Mother months ago that he wished something like this would happen. Well, it all goes to prove what we believe—that it is all part of a Plan. If only we didn’t have to be separated for the next few months, it would be perfect, but even then I think that it is worth it to have had this perfect month here together.

  I am finding that married life is even better—lovelier, more satisfying, and more beautiful than I had any idea it could be. Fred is such a dear, and we seem to be well suited to each other.

  Fred is such a dear.

  How impossible it was to distill her remarkable new husband into one mere word. Yes, he was dear. And winsome and thoughtful and inspiring and devoted and wise and stalwart and spiritual and...

  Dorothy sucked in a breath and sought the discipline to focus on the day’s cases. She was in Gauhati again. And Fred was six hours away. In Jorhat. And that’s the way it had to be until Alice Randall finally wrapped up her furlough and got herself back to Gauhati. Dorothy refused to leave the hospital without a surgeon, and Dr. Randall seemed to be dragging her feet in returning. And the board was doing little to encourage her to make haste.

  It was easy to let her fears magnify each small setback, but Dorothy refused to believe that Alice wouldn’t return to her post. Because if she didn’t, if the worst happened, Dorothy knew it would be up to her to continue to fill the Satribari post until a replacement could be found. And that could take a year. Or more. Living separately with only fleeting weekends here and there with her exceedingly dear husband seemed an impossible thing to survive.

  Her heart roiled with apologies to Alice for every bit of head-butting they’d engaged in over the past few years. Compatibility was not something they could claim, though Dorothy was at a loss to know why. But they were both professionals. She prayed that Alice saw it that way and would not knowingly make Dorothy and Fred’s separation last any longer than absolutely necessary.

  Try as she might, a clear picture of what life with her Fred would be like refused to materialize for Dorothy. No amount of imagination could clarify it for her. Waking up to his smile every morning. Making curtains for the windows of his...of their...bungla. Listening to his message when he preached on Sunday mornings. Watching him mentor the boys. Those things she could imagine. But what would normal married life feel like? That was something she could scarcely fathom.

  Imagination was something Dorothy had always employed in most inventive ways throughout her life. When it came to designing better arrangements for the hospital wards, or ways to make the most of the scant time she had to see patients in the hill country, her imagination flourished. Everything and everyone benefited when Dorothy unleashed her imagination.

  Until now.

  Now imagination merely conjured childish pictures. They might once have seemed very realistic, but now that she’d had those blissful weeks in Shillong with the love of her life, she knew her imagination had failed her. Life with Fred was going to be beyond wonderful. Beyond fulfilling. Beyond imagining.

  August 19, 1936 — Dorothy’s letter home

  Have good letters from Fred every da
y, but would give anything if we could be together and not have to write. He plans to come down next week end—a week from now, and I am so anxious for the time to come. Hope to go to Jorhat the middle of September for a few days, but the way the European cases are stacking up, it looks a bit doubtful. Still hoping. We are just as much in love as ever, and even more so.

  August 26, 1936

  Fred comes Friday morning, and I am more excited about it than I was when he came down before the wedding. I guess our case is fatal for we seem to be falling more and more in love all the time, and I have never spent such a long two and a half weeks in my life as I have in the past two and one half since he went to Jorhat. Guess I wouldn’t make a good wife for a traveling man. Mother, how did you ever stand it, (and I think Fred would say, “Dadkin, how did you manage to stick it out.”)

  Stick it out was such an understatement. How did one survive it is what Dorothy wanted to know.

  But no one had a ready answer for her.

  The English and American female medical missionaries with whom she shared her work were not married. And missionary wives were not allowed to engage in professional endeavors. The English and American wives of government emissaries were no help in providing answers, since they enjoyed a unique and somewhat cosseted life. There was not one married professional woman in her sphere, and it was the married professional to whom Dorothy wanted to pose her questions.

  She wanted to be prepared. She wanted to make Fred proud of his new wife. But with her imagination deserting her, Dorothy was forced to tread unarmed into the unknown.

  It made her anxious, and to quell the anxiety Dorothy did the only thing she knew how to do. She threw herself into her work.

  There was no stopping Dorothy now. She knew that even though it was weeks—even months—before she could set up housekeeping in Jorhat, the time would be up before she knew it. So she filled each moment with all the things she felt would leave the women’s hospital on the best possible footing.