by Debra Diaz
Sometimes she thought uneasily of what her parents would say if they knew what she had done…that she was entirely on her own and living as a boarder in the home of an unmarried physician. Of course, as she’d already told herself, the war had changed the way society looked at things…necessity had been the mother of many of those changes, and now situations that might have caused scandal and outrage now hardly did more than raise a few eyebrows.
But Genny knew in her heart that her father would not approve.
She drew her blonde curls away from her face to accentuate her high cheekbones, noting in the mirror they were flushed and rosy. For some reason, her heart beat unusually fast. She heard the sudden deluge of rain as it dashed against the roof, and a crack of thunder made her jump. Shaking off her feelings of guilt, she crossed the bedroom and was walking down the hall to the stairs when she heard the front door open with a loud whooshing sound. Thinking it had been blown by the wind, she hurried down the stairs and then stopped with a jerk, staring in utter surprise.
The tall man hanging up a coat and removing his gray slouch hat stared up at her, poised on the staircase, with the same surprise. A moment passed with neither of them saying anything, though he finally nodded a greeting, which she was too flustered to acknowledge. Then Agnes rushed into the hall, drawing the man’s attention, and took his coat as he placed his hat on the rack behind the door.
“Agnes, how have you been?” His voice was deep with a pleasant resonance.
“Foin, and it’s good to have ye home, Doctor,” Agnes answered merrily. “And just in time for supper, ye are.”
“Of course he is,” came a voice from down the corridor. “Have you ever known him to miss a meal?”
Geoff appeared with his crutches, and Genny saw that his right leg was gone just above the knee. The sight shocked her a little, for she hadn’t imagined his “impediment” to be so serious.
Valerie stood behind her father, smiling. “Hello, Ethan.”
The doctor kissed Valerie on the cheek and said amiably, “I see you’ve both managed to stay healthy in my absence.” Then his eyes turned back to the stairway, meeting hers again. Geoff followed his gaze.
“Ah, Genny, come down. Ethan, this is your new assistant, Genny Stuart. Genny, this is Dr. Carey.”
This man was not elderly. Nor was he thin and hunched, with weak, squinty eyes behind a pair of spectacles, as she had expected him to be.
He appeared to be in his mid to late thirties, and must be at least two inches over six feet tall. Lean and well-defined muscles showed through the damp cloth of his shirt. The lighted hallway revealed his eyes to be a vivid bluish-gray in color, the lashes thick and dark brown, as were his brows and hair. Their expression, as they surveyed Genny, was direct and appraising. He was certainly more handsome than he had any right to be, but he seemed entirely unself-conscious, nor did he have the popular air of exaggerated gallantry. His face glistened with raindrops, and in its clean-cut lines was etched an impression of heavy responsibility, of danger faced, of determination…yet there was humor, too, especially in the fine creases around his eyes. He stood straight and alert like a soldier, though it seemed to come naturally to him for he was at the same time relaxed and at ease.
This was not at all what she had expected. It took her a moment to regain her composure. Then, annoyed at herself, she managed to say calmly, “How do you do, Doctor. I hope I shall prove an able assistant for you.”
An almost imperceptible frown had come into his face, and she knew that he was doubting her capabilities.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stuart,” he said politely, one eyebrow slightly raised. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get into some dry clothes and not hold up supper any longer.”
Genny descended the remaining stairs, and Geoff motioned for her and Valerie to precede him into the dining room. Geoff delayed entering the room for a moment, and Genny heard him speak in a low tone to Dr. Carey. Listening hard, she heard the doctor say, “She’s a little young, isn’t she?” She couldn’t hear Geoff’s reply but it must have been satisfactory, for the doctor moved away and Geoff entered the dining room, where he made the motions of seating the ladies, though he did little more than stand awkwardly by as they seated themselves.
The steaming food had already been placed on the table. On the sideboard sat two freshly-baked pecan pies and a crystal wine decanter. A huge chandelier brightly lit the room, and the flames of three long, slender candles wavered on the table. Presently the doctor joined them.
For Genny, everything seemed to go wrong. First she knocked over her water glass. The doctor leaned forward with his napkin and cleaned it up and asked Agnes for another glass. Then, as she was about to take a bite of roast beef, it fell off her fork and plopped into a puddle of gravy. The doctor pretended not to notice.
“Are you from Nashville, Miss Stuart?” he asked, cutting into the beef with such skill and precision he might have been performing some surgical maneuver.
“That’s Mrs. Stuart,” Genny corrected. She felt somewhat affronted by the detached, impersonal interest with which he regarded her.
“Oh?” Again he raised a dark eyebrow.
“I am a widow.”
“I’m sorry. Your husband was in an accident? Or was he ill?”
Genny’s mind groped for a reply. She’d always thought that when asked that question she would say he’d been ill, but doubted that would satisfy the nosy doctor. He would be sure to want to know all the medical details. “You see, my husband used to — to collect butterflies, as a hobby,” she said rapidly. “He chased them, you know, with a sort of net. I used to tell him to look out where he was going.”
Everyone seemed to be waiting with bated breath. She went on, “One day, his foot caught, on something, and he — he rolled down a hill…” Her voice trailed off and she ended rather flatly, “He broke his neck.”
“How unfortunate,” said the doctor, with a carefully blank expression.
“Genny is originally from Knoxville,” Geoff remarked, pouring more wine into his glass.
“Oh, no! I’m from Atlanta.”
“But I thought you said you went to school in Knoxville.”
“Well, I did. I went away to school.”
Dr. Carey’s gaze touched her again, briefly, and then seeming to sense her discomfiture he turned the conversation away from her. “Valerie, how are the music lessons going?”
Genny listened as Valerie told him about the various new pupils she had acquired…she was a private tutor to several children of wealthy families. It was too bad that she couldn’t quite like Valerie. The girl seemed far older than her years, and she was very reserved and quiet. Although, since Dr. Carey had been home she’d shone considerably more animation.
When they finished eating, the doctor rose and walked over to pull Genny’s chair out for her, saying, “If you don’t mind, Mrs. Stuart, I’d like a word with you in my study.”
“Please don’t be so formal, Doctor,” she said coolly, “and call me Genny.”
He said nothing and allowed her to precede him from the room, closing the study door behind them and gesturing for her to sit down. Then he sat behind the desk, opened a drawer and withdrew a pipe, which he began filling with tobacco from a pouch he took from his waistcoat pocket.
“Do you mind if I smoke?”
“Not at all.”
A few moments passed as he puffed his pipe alight. Genny looked around the room, not having noticed much about it the last time she’d seen it. Several cherry bookcases lined the walls, filled with heavy-looking, cloth-bound books. There were two marble-topped tables, one drawn up to each window, a liquor chest, and three leather chairs, two dark green and one a chestnut brown. The desk held nothing on its polished surface but an inkstand, a paperweight shaped like a ship, and a lamp. The lamp had already been lit when they entered the room.
“Have you ever held a position before, Genny?” Dr. Carey asked, with a direct and piercing look that sent her heart int
o a swift thudding in her ears.
“No.”
“I assume Geoff has told you what this job involves?”
“Yes, he has.”
“Are you squeamish?”
She looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”
“How old are you, Genny?” he asked, his eyes narrowed against a cloud of smoke.
“Twenty,” she fibbed. For some reason, twenty sounded much older than nineteen.
“And what exactly makes you think you are qualified for this particular position?”
Genny came to her feet, her eyes darkly blue and bright flags of color riding high in her cheeks. “Dr. Carey, I’m quite sure I can handle anything you might require, short of performing an operation, and I don’t enjoy being treated like a ninny. If you don’t like my looks just say so, and I will gladly leave you to find someone else more to your liking.”
He seemed vastly amused by her outburst, which did nothing to cool her temper, and though he tried not to grin she had a brief glimpse of straight and gleaming white teeth. Then he said seriously, “It’s not a question of your looks, madam, nor was it my intention to give offense. I apologize. But surely you understand that I can’t hire just anyone.”
“I was under the impression,” she said, still nettled and not knowing why, “that I was already hired.”
“And so you are. But for how long remains to be seen. I hope that when dealing with my patients you will display a bit more diplomacy.”
Genny held her tongue, perceiving this albeit quietly-uttered comment to be a rebuke.
“Will you be seated?” he asked softly, and when she stiffly complied he glanced down at his desk and seemed to have difficulty in repressing another amused smile. He lifted his eyes.
“Besides your clerical duties, there will be other tasks you will be expected to perform with as much skill and good grace as possible. I believe you’ve had little contact with the general public — ”
She interrupted, “I have not been isolated from society, Doctor.”
“I’m not speaking of society. Some of the people you will encounter in my offices will be far removed from the sort of people you have met on social occasions. I don’t cater to the wealthy. I won’t refuse anyone who needs medical assistance, and if I can’t help them I will send them to someone who can. You will meet people who are not clean, who may seem to you pathetically ignorant. I will not accept an attitude of disdain or repugnance. You will be expected to treat the dirty, illiterate street sweeper no differently than the bejeweled pillar of the community. Do I make myself clear?”
Genny nodded. But a picture was forming in her mind, and it was not a pleasant one. What had she gotten herself into?
The doctor leaned back in his chair, watching her. “I go to patients’ houses only when they’re too sick to come here and won’t go to a hospital. I just don’t have the time for it. I will need you to help me save all the time I can. I expect that soon you’ll have learned the names of most of my regular patients, and what their various ailments are.”
“Of course.”
“You may at times be called upon to use your judgment in deciding which cases have priority over others. You will learn there are some people, particularly wealthy women, who claim an assortment of disorders that are more or less imaginary. As my assistant, you may see sights that you’ve never seen before. You may be required to accompany me on some emergency. You will be exposed to blood and disease and some very distasteful scenes. The woman who worked for me previously was a trained nurse. Do you still believe yourself to have the abilities needed for this position?”
A brief silence fell while the doctor regarded her solemnly over his pipe. She sensed that this moment was a critical one. She didn’t look away from him, but lifted her chin and said clearly, “I am not unaware of the many large responsibilities associated with this position, sir. Yes, I do believe that I possess the ability to perform well in it.”
“Very well,” he said. “Be in the front office tomorrow morning, at eight o’clock.”
CHAPTER SIX
The day went well — at first.
Genny sat in a golden glow from one of the two bay windows, wearing a simple cotton print dress with the sleeves ending just above the elbows. The young man who stood before her seemed much bedazzled by the way the sunlight glanced off her lustrous blonde hair as she smiled up at him and handed him a small card.
“Mr. Morris, your next appointment is July the first. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you, and I just know you’ll be feeling much better.”
He swallowed and took the card, mumbled his thanks, and left the office.
“You may go in now, Mrs. Simmons,” said Genny.
The enormously pregnant woman struggled to get to her feet. Genny hurried over to assist the woman, who smiled sheepishly and waddled down the short hallway where the examination rooms were located.
Yes, it had been a good day. Several people had commented on how pretty she was, and how glad they were that she was to be Dr. Carey’s new assistant. One middle-aged matron had even called her, in Dr. Carey’s presence, “a dear little angel.” The doctor had given her that secretly amused look that for some reason never failed to fluster her.
Mrs. Simmons had just left and Genny was arranging the case records in a more convenient system when the door from the outside burst open and a small, frantic woman rushed in, carrying a young boy in her arms.
“Help me!” she cried. “Oh, Doctor, help me!”
Genny was stricken dumb for a moment, appalled by the sight of the boy, whose body was covered with blood. She turned to go into the hall, but the doctor was already brushing past her and taking the boy from the woman.
“He was playing on top of the barn,” the woman said tearfully. All the time she spoke the doctor was moving steadily, carrying the boy into another room, cutting off the torn trousers with a pair of scissors, swiftly assessing him from head to toe before turning his attention to the wounded leg.
“He fell on a piece of tin. We live two miles from here, but it’s five miles to the hospital. My niece told me where to find you. Doctor, I can’t stop the bleeding. I was using towels, one after another — ”
“Are you his mother?”
She nodded, and gasped as more blood came from the deep gash under the pressure of Dr. Carey’s probing fingers. The boy, probably no more than six years of age, looked dazed and very white.
“Genny.”
Vaguely she heard her name, but didn’t respond until she heard it again, more forcefully. She looked at the doctor.
“Get a blanket and cover his upper body.”
She tried to think where he had told her the blankets were. She went to the closet in the hall, returned with a blanket, and tucked it around the boy’s arms and torso, feeling the cold clamminess of his skin.
Dr. Carey had slightly elevated the boy’s feet and applied pressure to the wound. “What’s your name, ma’am, and the boy’s?”
“I’m Lena Warren and — ” The woman tried to swallow her tears. “That’s Thomas.”
“How did you get here?”
“My wagon’s outside, and that old mule’s never gone so fast! My niece came with me and she’s waitin’ outside. Oh, Doctor, will he be all right?”
“I think so. He doesn’t seem to have any other injuries. How old is Thomas?”
“He’ll be six in October.”
Some color began to return to the boy’s face. His eyes fluttered as he seemed to become aware of his surroundings.
“Genny,” said Dr. Carey, “I want you to prepare a drink for Thomas. Fill up a clean glass with water, and put into it these ingredients. They are all on one shelf, the one on the far right.” With one hand he picked up a pencil and scribbled something on a sheet of paper.
She walked into the room he used as a laboratory and somehow found the mentioned items and did as he said. She felt strange and detached, and her knees were shaking. But at least, she thought in a co
rner of her mind, she hadn’t fainted or even lost her composure. She noticed, as she walked down the hallway, that blood had made a crimson pathway from the entrance to the examination room. Her knees weakened again and she almost dropped the glass.
The child was half-sitting now, supported by his mother. The doctor took the drink from her, looked at it, sniffed it as if to make sure of its contents, and held it to the boy’s mouth.
“Take it slowly,” he said, in a low, confident voice. “You’re going to be fine, Thomas.”
Thomas drank about half of the liquid, in sips and with long pauses. The doctor had tied something over the wounded leg and had one arm around the boy.
“Can I take him home?” asked Mrs. Warren anxiously.
“Not yet. I’ll have to sew up the wound. After that he should stay in the hospital overnight so the nurses can keep an eye on him, and I’ll come and see him tomorrow. Then he should be able to go home. You’ll have to watch him carefully for a few days, and let me know if he has a fever. I’ll tell you what to watch for.”
“Thank God,” she said. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“Why don’t you and your niece go inside the house? Ask my housekeeper to give you a cup of coffee, or some tea.”
“Yes, yes I will,” said the woman. “But, sir, I haven’t got much money and — ”
“Never mind about that now. My housekeeper’s name is Agnes.”
When the woman had gone, wearily stammering her gratitude, he looked at Genny and said, “I need your help.”
She nodded, her mouth going dry.
“Just lie back, Thomas,” he said gently, easing the boy downward. “I’m going to fix your leg. You won’t feel it. I’m going to help you sleep for a few minutes.”
He busied himself at a counter, saying to Genny over his shoulder, “Make sure there’s no one else in the waiting room and lock the door. I don’t think anybody else is scheduled for today. Then come back here.”
She did as he directed, thinking irritably that he certainly seemed accustomed to giving orders. She hesitated by her desk. Last night he had seemed dubious about her abilities. Well, she would show him!