by Debra Diaz
Ethan rose and walked over to stand beside the window, holding onto the bowl of his pipe. “Have it your way.”
Geoff slowly relaxed into a chair. “Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about me. It’s Valerie. I think it would mean a lot to her if you took her to the social.”
Ethan looked out the window. “What do you mean by that — exactly?”
“If you were a different kind of man, Ethan, I’d have Valerie out of here before you could turn around. I know you don’t think of her that way. But she cares a lot about you.”
“As you well know, Geoff, I’m old enough to be her father.”
“She’s every bit as old as you are, in her head! She always was, even as a child. Look, Ethan. I’m more grateful that I can say for everything you’ve done for us. Letting Millicent and me live here after we lost everything, helping me get through law school. I don’t want to ask you for any more favors. I just thought…you might want to escort Valerie, this once.”
Ethan didn’t answer at once, and Geoff said, “It’s Genny, isn’t it?”
Ethan looked at him with unexpected sharpness. “What?”
“Do you have feelings for Genny?”
Ethan laughed. “Is that what this is about? Genny’s as much a child as Valerie, even if she is several years older. You’ve been frank with me, Geoff, and I’ll be just as direct. I don’t want Valerie to see me as anything but a friend. An old friend. And if anything ever happens to you, you can rest assured she’ll be taken care of.”
“I know that. I owe you more than I can ever repay.”
“You don’t owe me anything. We’ve known each other all our lives, Geoff. It wasn’t your fault that war came, and…things happened.”
“I just can’t go to that church social. And she really wants to go. If you’ll take her this once, Ethan, I’ll not ask again.”
Ethan looked at him and smiled slowly. “All right. But just this once. If I show up at too many of those things, it’ll ruin my reputation.”
* * * *
That night Genny put out the lamp and got into bed, conscious that the summer’s heat now lingered into the nights. She’d been away from home for almost a month. She tried not to think about her family, but sometimes she couldn’t stop herself. What did they think about her? Was her father trying to find her? Sometimes a terrible sense of remorse weighed down upon her at night when she lay in her bed, suffocating her more cruelly than the heat, and at those times she would make herself think of something else until she fell asleep from pure mental exhaustion.
She continued to justify her actions by telling herself she had no other choice. If her father had had his way she would now be Mrs. Lloyd Grayson, mother to a bug collection! As for what happened with Slade Malone, she believed she’d successfully blocked it out of her consciousness.
Genny liked her new home and her job. She wasn’t lonely; she’d met lots of young people at church. Mr. Charles Spencer, to whom Geoff had introduced her this morning, had exhibited a decided interest in her. Still, there was a part of her that wanted something more, and it affected her from her bodily senses clear through to her soul. And whenever that feeling struck her, she thought of Ethan Carey.
I can’t be in love with him, she thought bewilderedly. He’s so old. We have nothing in common. I don’t know anything about him, really.
Her mind skirted around the issue. For some reason she felt a little frightened of Dr. Carey.
Men are all alike, she reminded herself. Not to be trusted. Especially the good-looking ones! True, Dr. Carey had so far acted the gentleman toward her, but who knew what he was like away from his house, away from his practice. Former soldier, world traveler — a man like him must have had considerable experience with women.
Well, he wasn’t going to have any “experience” with her. She would see to that.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Genny stood on the wide front porch the following Saturday afternoon, her arm looped around one of the brick pillars, and watched as Ethan and Finney hitched two horses to the handsome, well-sprung buggy. A large, ornate barouche also occupied the carriage house, for use on more formal occasions. Dr. Carey’s house was the last on this side of the street. The open lot at the end had been enclosed as a pasture for horses, four of which belonged to the doctor; the others belonged to various neighbors.
Agnes brought out a picnic basket and placed it in the rear of the buggy. “There be enough to feed an army!” she said, in her usual, jolly way.
“Thank you, Agnes.” Ethan finished checking the horses and came up on the porch. Genny turned to find his teasing gaze upon her.
“And where is the estimable Mr. Spencer? From what I hear, he was so captivated by your charms I supposed he’d be here ere the break of day.”
“Here he comes now,” Genny replied, spying a horseman approaching the house. “And I’ll thank you, sir, to keep a civil tongue in your head.”
Valerie came out onto the porch, looking quite happy for once, with a rosy tinge of color in her cheeks. Soon they were all ensconced in the open buggy. Charles Spencer wore a frock coat and high collar and hat, and appeared to be genteelly sweltering. Ethan, hatless, wore only trousers, a plain white shirt and waistcoat, and no cravat. His coat lay on the seat beside him.
“There won’t be any preaching today, will there?” Ethan asked, with mock apprehension.
“No, I don’t think so,” Valerie said, beside him.
He guided the two, high-stepping horses around a pothole in the street. “I hope,” he said gravely, “that I won’t be obliged to witness a case of the jerks today.”
Genny leaned forward in her seat. “What are you talking about?”
“That’s a rather crude thing to call it, isn’t it?” Charles seemed to cut himself off in mid-sentence. He’d been about to add, “sir.” He didn’t want to appear juvenile.
“Crude, perhaps, but apt, I assure you.” Ethan twisted his head to look at the younger man. “Have you ever seen such an exhibition, Mr. Spencer?”
“Certainly not,” said Charles haughtily. “Our denomination has never subscribed to that behavior.”
“What behavior?” Genny asked.
“It’s a malady,” Ethan explained, “that seems to affect both saint and sinner, and it’s called, by some of us more uncouth laymen, the jerks. It was rather common early in the century, though it rarely happens now.”
“Well, just what is it?” Genny persisted.
“The first, and I hope the only case I ever witnessed happened at a religious camp meeting just outside the city. They wanted a doctor to be on hand. At first I couldn’t imagine why, and then…well. Right in the middle of the sermon a hundred or so listeners suddenly gave a series of ear-piercing screams and dropped like stones to the ground. They lay there for hours, not moving, barely breathing. Then they leaped up shouting Hallelujah and gave such moving orations on the majesty of God that those who hadn’t been previously affected would drop to the ground, and the thing would start all over again. I never saw anything like it.”
“But why is it called the jerks?”
“Because — and this happened to some but not all — after they jumped up their heads started jerking from side to side. So fast that their faces were just a blur. Sometimes their entire bodies would be bent back and forth until their heads nearly touched the ground. I talked to a fellow who had just recovered from such a fit and he assured me it was the happiest moment of his life.”
Genny gazed at him for a moment, then at Valerie, who looked very sober, and at Charles, who sat in stony disapproval.
“You’re making that up,” Genny accused.
“Indeed, madam, I am not. And besides the jerkers there were the singers and the dancers and the barkers. The barkers were those who had a particularly violent case of the jerks, and made grunting noises with the movements of their heads. I once heard about an old fellow who was in the woods in prayerful meditation and was seized with such an attack, so he grabb
ed hold of the nearest solid object. Someone saw him and he was later accused of barking up a tree.”
“Ethan,” said Valerie, in mild reproof, “you shouldn’t make fun. Some people believe those are manifestations of God.”
“I’m not making fun, Valerie, I’m only telling you what I saw. They’re manifestations, all right, but of what I’m — ” Ethan turned his head and said, “Speaking of hysteria — what the blazes is that?”
“Ooohoo! Val! Valerie!”
They all turned to see another buggy rapidly approaching as they started up the driveway to the church. A young woman hung over the side of the vehicle, waving frantically. Genny thought instantly of Clarissa.
“It’s Fanny Taylor,” Valerie said quickly. “You met her once at the house, Ethan.”
The other buggy drew up alongside. “Hello, Dr. Carey,” said Fanny coyly. “Hello, Charles. How are you Valerie — Mrs. Stuart?” Then even before Charles could doff his hat she took a deep breath and began chattering. “Isn’t it just such a beautiful day? I’m supposed to meet Bobby Jeffreys. He’s coming with his mother — she’s something of an invalid, you know. I think you once treated her, Doctor — she has rheumatism, poor woman, and — ”
Fanny’s excited voice accompanied them up to the tall-steepled, red-brick church, whereupon she caught sight of the mentioned Mr. Jeffreys and hurried away to give him the benefit of her conversational talents. Ethan helped Valerie to disembark from the buggy as Charles assisted Genny.
The event was being held in a grove of cedar trees some distance from the church. Tables covered with red and white-checkered tablecloths, and long wooden benches had already been set up. Most people seemed to know Dr. Carey and greeted him warmly. He and Valerie were in the midst of all the activity, while Genny and Charles somehow ended up at a table with the elderly church members, mixed in with a few solemn-faced younger adults. Genny tried not to look wistful as a concert of laughter rang out across from them.
She decided then and there that she didn’t like Charles Spencer, for he had a very superior air about him that she found annoying. And he had a passion for hunting that rivaled Lloyd Grayson’s enthusiasm for his abhorrent hobby.
Valerie brought them their share of the food Myrtle Mae had prepared, and went at once back to the center of fun. Genny munched the fried chicken, picked at the potato salad and declined the chocolate cake. The comfortable breeze became a stiff wind, swirling up the tablecloths and carrying off the napkins and anything light enough to fly. The old folks at her table waited patiently while she and Charles picked everything up. Squeals and shrieks of laughter came from the other tables. Children ran and played through the trees and across the lawn.
All at once, she heard rapid hoof beats pounding across the grass and turned to see a man on horseback racing toward Ethan’s table. He dismounted in a flash, drew Ethan aside and began to talk to him earnestly. Genny watched, not recognizing the man as a patient. Ethan looked concerned, and then she saw his gaze shift and land briefly on her.
Oh, no, she thought, in guilt-laden frenzy. He’s from my father. My father has found me.
She stood white and still as a statue. Then she became aware of the voices around her and heard someone say, “That’s Jim Simmons. Mrs. Simmons’ baby must be on the way.”
Genny almost collapsed with relief. She knew then what Ethan’s look had meant…he wanted her to come with him in case he needed help. And she was more than ready. She excused herself to Charles and swept past him to approach Ethan and Mr. Simmons.
The man had already leaped back onto his horse and galloped away. Ethan said in a low voice, “Mrs. Simmons’ baby isn’t due for another two weeks, but she’s apparently in labor. Her husband thinks there’s something wrong. Will you come with me?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” He stepped forward and took Valerie’s hand. “Will you let Charles see you home? I’m sure Miss Taylor or anyone else will give you a ride. Genny and I have to go.”
Valerie nodded, trying not to show her disappointment. Ethan said goodbye to the others around them and led the way to the side of the church where the carriages had been left. Genny felt an invigorating sense of importance as everyone watched them hurry away.
“It may be a difficult birth,” he said. “I hope you’re up to it.”
“Oh, I am,” she said confidently, though she wondered if she really meant it.
* * * *
The breeze stirred the curtains in Mrs. Simmons’ narrow, high-ceilinged bedroom. She lay in her bed, a small woman, though the great mound of her middle made her appear large and cumbersome. Her nightgown was already stained with sweat, and the black hair around her face was damp and curly. Her eyes clearly revealed her fear, though she attempted to smile as Ethan sat down beside her and took her hand.
“Try to relax, Beth,” he said gently.
“Oh, Doctor, I’m so glad you’re here.” Her breath came in gasps. “The baby’s early — and —and —” Her face contorted with pain and a cry escaped her lips.
Ethan began giving instructions to Genny in a low voice: go to the kitchen, heat water, bring up water and soap, get clean towels. She listened carefully and hurried away to do as he said. She found Mr. Simmons pacing downstairs. He directed her to the small kitchen, and when she returned to the bedroom with several thick towels, Ethan had completed his examination and was talking to Mrs. Simmons in a low, reassuring voice.
He glanced at her as she came in. “Genny, sit up here with Beth, please. There’s a basin of water beside her. Keep her cool.”
Again she did as she was told, aware that her hands were shaking. She had never been a victim of such pain, nor…until now…a witness to it. The woman’s head rolled from side to side, and she kept clenching her hands and moaning softly. When the pot downstairs had had time to boil, Genny raced down to pour it into a bucket and bring it upstairs. Ethan poured some into another basin that held various instruments, then when it had cooled a little used some of it to wash his hands, which he’d already done at least once. Then he approached the bed and gently pulled up Mrs. Simmons’ nightgown. Genny averted her eyes and blushed furiously.
“Beth, your baby’s in the breech position. I don’t want you to worry — it just means things are going to take a little longer. I want you to listen to me very carefully and do everything I tell you to do. Don’t start trying to bear down yet, although you may feel as though you need to. Wait until I tell you. All right?”
“Yes, Doctor.” The woman tried to smile.
Time passed swiftly and night began to fall. Ethan told Genny to light only the lamp near him, and only a candle at the head of the bed, in order not to add to the heat of the room. During the brief intervals when Mrs. Simmons became more restful, Genny asked her about her family, if there were other children. She learned that the Simmons had recently moved to Nashville from Kentucky, and there were no friends or relatives nearby. This would be their first child.
Ethan had rolled back his sleeves and the lamplight flickered over his muscular forearms. The air in the room became stifling. He removed his vest and a dark patch of perspiration began to show where his shirt opened at the throat. Genny felt the wetness that ran over her own face and neck. She continued to dampen cloths and wipe Mrs. Simmons’ face and upper chest.
At last Ethan looked up and met Genny’s gaze. His face seemed very dark in the shadows, and his eyes very light. She obeyed the silent command his eyes gave and moved down to stand beside him.
“I’m going to need your help,” he said, too quietly for Mrs. Simmons to hear. “I want you to wash your hands very thoroughly, and when the time comes I want you to apply pressure here, over the pubic bone. Lightly, like so.” As he demonstrated he said, “And stop looking so mortified, for it’s all perfectly natural. Except that it’s a breech and that can be — ”
A tiny foot became visible. “Go now. Soap and hot water.”
She flew down the stairs, scrubbed her hands an
d flew back up. She was shaking all over. When she reached Ethan’s side an entire leg was showing and another on its way. Beth Simmons was pushing now, with unearthly groans that tore at Genny’s soul. The small legs rotated and the baby’s bottom appeared.
How could he be so cool, with so much at stake, and two lives dependent on his skill and competence, when Genny was ready to scream and run sobbing from the room? She wasn’t aware of it then, but a great respect was born in that moment for men and women who dedicated their lives to the saving of other lives. As for herself, she wanted with all her heart to be elsewhere, and hoped never to witness such a scene again!
As time went on she was forced to forget her sense of modesty, and certainly Mrs. Simmons had long since forgotten hers. She helped hold the woman’s knees as Ethan encouraged her to bear down, stop, breathe, bear down hard. The baby had advanced very little and Genny wondered why he didn’t just pull it out. It seemed the logical thing to do. But he only supported the little body and waited with infinite patience; then she saw his face change. For the first time she sensed tension, and saw the slightest furrow of his brow.
He said, very low, “The cord is coming out before the head. This could cut off the baby’s air. I want you to go and find several pillows or cushions, or anything I can use for elevation. If this doesn’t work, I’ll have to make an incision.”
She nodded and left the room, concealing her horror at this new development. She returned with some pillows she’d yanked off a bed across the hall.
“I’m going to lift her up,” he said, “and when I do, slide the pillow under her hips.”
Genny obeyed, not even embarrassed by Ethan’s casual use of the word “hips” (any area below the waist was always delicately referred to as the “nether regions”). Mrs. Simmons’ voice came to their ears, hoarse and weak, “How much longer, Doctor, how much — ”
Ethan said calmly, “Everything’s under control, Beth. You’re doing fine.”