They Called Her Mrs. Doc.

by Janette Oke

  They chuckled together; then Virginia continued. “Well, I think it is much the same with God. Many believe that He exists—and well they should. The evidence is all around us. But they don’t know Him. They have never had a—a personal friendship with Him established. They’ve never become a part of His family.”

  Cassandra’s frown deepened.

  “We can’t grow—we can’t lean on Him—we can’t find His peace until we know Him himself. That is the starting point. Once we are a part of His family, we get to draw on the benefits. Do you see?”

  “I—I think I’m beginning to understand what you are saying. But—but, how does one—how does one—get in?” asked Cassandra lamely.

  “By realizing that He is more than our God. He is our Savior. We need to admit that we aren’t fit to be a part of the family because of our sinfulness. Then we accept the fact that He has done something on our behalf to care for that great need.”

  “You mean Christ’s death?”

  “Yes, His death. In substitute for us. He took our place.”

  “I taught that lesson to the Sunday school class just last Sunday,” admitted Cassandra. And in defense she continued. “And I believed what I was teaching. I wasn’t being a hypocrite.”

  “Of course not. But did you—did you apply it to Cassandra Smith? Did you feel a great surge of—of thankfulness that He had done that for you? Did your heart nearly burst with the joy of knowing that because He died, you could stand before God with a clean record—and heart? You will not need to face the embarrassment—the penalty—of judgment.”

  Virginia’s eyes were shining. Her cheeks were aglow with the marvel of the forgiveness of which she spoke. Cassandra looked at the beauty of the radiant face before her and shook her head slowly.

  “No,” she said in almost a whisper. “No, I didn’t. I really didn’t feel a thing. I—I just repeated facts that I’ve known from childhood.”

  “Then tell Him,” said Virginia. “Bow before Him and claim His great pardon. Let Him know that you want to be His child—that you accept His—His gift of—of infinite measure. Thank Him for His unconditional love and—and accept His conditional forgiveness.”

  “Conditional?”

  “Conditional on only one thing—your receiving of it.”

  At the question in Cassandra’s eyes, Virginia went on. “Believe! Repent! That’s what He has asked of us. When we meet those conditions—we become His—a part of His family—then—then we have our base for growing in Him. We are the branches—drawing strength and nourishment from the Vine. Then we have the right and privilege of drawing on His resources. Once we really know Him—we are heirs to all of His heavenly treasures—and—and He is so rich—so rich with all good things. Even more than the king of England.” She smiled, then added, “Love, joy, peace, patience, goodness. Oh, so much. He wants to shower good gifts upon His children.”

  Cassandra leaned back in her chair and studied the face before her. She shook her head slowly. She had heard preaching all her life—but she had never heard a sermon like the one her new friend just delivered. There was something about Virginia, a fervor that assured Cassandra the young woman knew intimately that of which she spoke.

  Cassandra nodded her head slowly. Restlessly she reached to gather the teacups. She had a lot of thinking to do. A lot of praying. Maybe Virginia was right.

  “Did you know that one can know God—personally?” she tentatively asked Samuel as they prepared for bed that evening.

  Samuel’s head came up and he lifted a hand to brush back the straying lock of brown hair.

  “You didn’t?” he said in disbelief.

  Cassandra felt her cheeks grow warm. “I—I thought I did,” she managed to respond, “but today I discovered—that I didn’t. I really only—only knew about Him. I—I wasn’t really—one of the family,” she finished lamely.

  Samuel did not accuse or argue. He looked at her evenly, willing her to go on and share her heart.

  “Virginia and I had a chat,” she continued. “She—she helped me to see the difference.”

  Samuel nodded.

  Tears began to form in Cassandra’s eyes in spite of her resolve not to shed them. Samuel moved quickly and took her into his arms. She wept in silence for a few minutes before she could continue.

  “I am now,” she informed him. “A member of the family, I mean. It—it really does make a difference. I—I think that I will teach the children—well—differently now.”

  Samuel continued to hold her, running his hand up and down the small of her back. Now and then the hand lifted to pat her shoulder.

  When he felt that she had finished speaking—and weeping—he leaned to kiss her hair, then her cheek. “I’m glad, my little Red,” he whispered against her ear. “I’m so glad. I—I should have realized—as the spiritual head of the home—I should have shared more about my relationship with Him. I’m so glad that Mrs. Foigt was sensitive enough to …” He let his voice trail off and kissed her again.

  But Cassandra had more tears, this time of joy. “Oh, Samuel,” she said with happiness radiating from her tear-streaked face, “it couldn’t have happened at a better time. Our baby will have a mother who knows the difference. Now I can teach her the truth.”

  “Him,” laughed Samuel and drew her closer.

  Not all Cassandra’s lessons in spiritual growth were learned easily, but it did help her to know that she could draw strength and help from beyond herself.

  She still disliked the dust and dryness of the little town. She still became frustrated and edgy when Samuel spent hours of his evenings and Sundays with patients rather than with her. She still found the frank tongue of Mrs. Clement difficult to accept. And her temperament, the one that she received along with her red hair, did not change—only altered.

  “I wish I wasn’t so quick to respond,” she said to Samuel one day as she put down her groceries and reached to remove her bonnet.

  He lifted his eyes from the paper he was scanning. He had just finished spending the night with a patient and had come home midmorning for a cup of coffee and a breather.

  “Mrs. Clement met me in the store and said I looked like I was expecting twins. Right out. Right in front of other customers and—and Mr. Willis.”

  Cassandra felt her temper rising again at the very thought. She saw Samuel’s eyes drop to her growing body. He smiled softly.

  “Well, you needn’t smirk,” cut in Cassandra angrily. “It doesn’t please me to—to look like a—like a walking pork barrel.”

  Samuel’s smile widened in spite of his effort to hide it. He pulled the paper up a bit higher in hopes of concealing his humor.

  Cassandra was silent for several minutes as she rather noisily deposited her grocery items in the kitchen cupboards.

  When the last item had been put away, she drew a cup from the cupboard, poured herself some of Samuel’s coffee and eased her heavy frame onto a kitchen chair.

  “I hate looking this way,” she said before she took her first sip. “And when someone makes—makes bold mention of it—right in public—well—it—it made me very angry.”

  Samuel laid aside his paper and reached for her hand.

  “So you are wishing God had used a stork, after all?” he said gently.

  Cassandra sighed deeply, nodded her head, and then managed a little smile. “It would have been nice,” she admitted.

  They sat in silence for a moment, each deep in thought, each drawing warmth from the coffee.

  “So—,” asked Samuel at last, “did you embarrass yourself with a come-back?”

  It was a frank, honest question.

  Cassandra sighed again. “I—I almost did. I would have,” she admitted. “I started to speak. I was—was really going to give Mrs. Clement a piece of my mind, but—but Virginia entered the store—at just that moment and she—she heard. I think she sensed my inner feelings and how near I was to lashing out. Maybe she saw my red face and knew of my anger. I don’t know. But sh
e looked at me. Just looked at me and she smiled and gave me just a tiny little nod—like she understood perfectly and I—I bit my tongue. Then she walked straight over and stood beside me and she—she looked even bigger than I did—and she—she didn’t seem to be the least embarrassed about it. And she said as sweetly as you can imagine, ‘Wouldn’t it be grand if we both had twins?’ and she smiled right at Mrs. Clement.”

  Samuel could not hold back a chuckle.

  “We walked home together and I—I told her what I thought of Mrs. Clement and her crude tongue. By then we could laugh about it. A little. But I still was angry.”

  “I’m sure that Mrs. Clement didn’t mean—”

  “That’s what Virginia said. She said, ‘She’s not mean, Cassandra—just—brutally frank,’ and we had a good laugh about that as well.”

  Samuel patted her hand. “Well, I’ve got to get back to the office,” he said, rising from his chair. “The patients will be stacked up three deep if I don’t.”

  “You look tired,” noticed Cassandra, her concern switching to her husband. “You’ve got to get some sleep, Samuel. You’ve been working day and night. You can’t do that for long. You’ll wear yourself out.”

  He leaned to kiss her. “I’ll try to get home early tonight,” he promised and reached for his hat and black bag.

  When another letter arrived from Abigail, a wave of homesickness washed over Cassandra as she slit the envelope and looked down on the familiar script.

  From the very opening line the letter bubbled—just as Abigail had always done.

  “I am going to be married,” and Cassandra could almost hear her say the words. Shriek the words would have been a more apt description.

  “He is wonderful. No, he is not an attorney, and yes, Father was not too happy at first. But Mother worked on him until he gave us his consent, if not his blessing.

  “He is a reporter for the local paper and such a dashing, wonderful, exciting person. I still can’t believe that he picked me. He must have had the choice of dozens of girls.”

  And on and on went Abigail’s letter.

  “I do wish you could be my matron-of-honor. Is it at all possible that you could come?”

  Cassandra looked down at her growing front and chuckled softly, but inwardly her heart ached to be able to go home to see Abigail, to see her family, to experience some of the pleasures of her past. Tears made it difficult for her to finish the letter. When she was done she folded it carefully and placed it back in the envelope. Then she reached for her bonnet. She needed a chat with Virginia. She needed someone who understood her, to share in a few minutes of prayer.

  “Virginia is in labor.” Samuel said the words with total calmness as he leaned through the back door and spoke to Cassandra, who stood at the stove preparing the evening meal. “I may not make it home for supper,” he continued.

  But Cassandra had wheeled around to face him, her eyes big, her face drained of color. Virginia was in labor. Virginia was about to have her baby. Cassandra still had three months to go. Now she would be pregnant all alone.

  “Is—is everything all right?” she finally managed to stammer.

  “As far as I know. Morris just came to fetch me. I’m going over now. I’ll let you know if I get the chance.”

  He closed the door and Cassandra turned back to the stove to remove another meal that would not be eaten.

  The door opened again and she heard Samuel’s voice. “Do you want to come?” he asked her.

  Cassandra had conflicting thoughts. She would love to go to Virginia. With all her heart she wanted to reassure her friend. On the other hand, she had always hated sickness, pain of any sort, and the sight of blood almost put her on the floor. She paled. “I think I’d better not,” she responded and Samuel nodded and closed the door again.

  But it was a long evening for Cassandra. She tried to do needlework, tried to read, tried to pray, but her attention span was short. She paced the kitchen, paced the front veranda, paced her bedroom where the small trunk rested that was gradually filling with new baby things.

  She twisted her wedding band, wrung her hands, and worried the fringe of her light shawl. But the long hours crawled on and on.

  “Oh, why doesn’t he come home?” she fretted. “Or at least send word?”

  Darkness fell. She knew she should be in bed, but she also knew that she wouldn’t sleep. At last her agitation drew her from the house. Clasping the shawl tightly about her shoulders, she set off down the dusty little sidewalk to find out for herself how things were going for her friend.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Offspring

  There was no one to answer her soft rapping, so Cassandra let herself in. She could detect the smell of antiseptic as soon as she entered. It made her stomach turn and she reached for a chairback to steady herself.

  Everything seemed hushed. She could not even hear movement, and for one awful moment she feared that something had happened and everyone had deserted the little dwelling.

  Just as she was about to panic she heard a groan and then soft, encouraging words. She recognized the voice as that of Samuel’s. He was still there. He was busy with Virginia. The baby had not arrived. She should not have come.

  She was about to turn and leave as quietly as she had come when the room beyond the little kitchen seemed to come to life. There was an exclamation of three excited voices and then Cassandra heard a strange new sound. Was it a baby crying?

  Samuel’s voice rang out clearly then. “You have a new son. A nice big fellow. Congratulations.”

  And then the voice of Morris. “It’s a boy, Virginia. Another boy. Thank you, God. Thank you.” The new father sounded close to tears.

  Cassandra lowered herself onto a kitchen chair, leaned her head on her folded arms, and began to weep.

  When Samuel came to the room with the new baby wrapped in the softness of a towel, he found her there. Surprised at discovering her, he asked quickly, “Are you all right?” He wished he could go to her. But the baby needed his full and immediate attention.

  Cassandra burst into fresh tears, but she managed to shake her head.

  “Virginia has a fine new boy,” Samuel went on, hoping to divert her attention. “Do you wish to see him?”

  Cassandra sat upright, dabbed at her eyes and nodded her head. She did want to see Virginia’s new baby. She rose from her chair and crossed to where Samuel had lowered his bundle and was working over the baby, who still protested his new surroundings.

  But Cassandra was not prepared for what she was about to see. All babies that she had seen had been clean and pink and dressed in soft gowns of white cotton and lace. This one was nude. Nude and red and covered with blood and an ugly film of—of something. She felt her stomach heave again.

  “What’s wrong with him?” she managed to blurt out before she reached for the support of the chairback.

  Samuel’s head came up. “Nothing,” he replied quickly. “He’s—perfectly healthy.”

  “But he—he looks so—”

  “Oh that,” and Samuel laughed. “That’s how all babies look when they enter the world. That’s God’s protective blanket.”

  Cassandra managed to make her way back to the chair. She feared that she was going to get sick.

  She sat holding her head and waiting for the nausea to pass.

  “This is Anthony Daniel,” Samuel informed Cassandra over the cry of the infant. “He isn’t too happy with his new world right now, but he’ll feel much better once we get him cleaned up and back to his mama.”

  And Samuel continued doing whatever it was he was doing to the infant, talking to the wee boy as he worked, pleased with the healthy baby, the world in general, and his profession in particular.

  “I won’t be long now,” he said to Cassandra. “Wait and say hello to Virginia. I’ll call you as soon as she is ready.”

  Cassandra managed a nod, but she wondered if she would be able to walk into the medicinal-smelling bedroom and greet her f
riend.

  Then Samuel bundled the baby, tucked him under his arm, his hand supporting the tiny head, and headed back to the bedroom.

  Cassandra could hear the “ohs” and “ahs” of excited exclamations as the proud parents carefully examined their new son.

  “Look! Look!” cried Virginia. “He’s sucking his fist.”

  “It’s his thumb. He’s got his little thumb right in his mouth. Look at that, would you. Look here, Doc,” said Morris excitedly, “Anthony Daniel is already sucking his thumb.”

  Cassandra heard chuckles and cooing and knew that the whole room had already forgotten the ordeal of the preceding hours.

  “Cassandra is here,” Samuel said at last. “I think she is anxious to see you and the baby.”

  Samuel could not have known the falsehood. Her very appearance in the house seemed to prove his statement. Cassandra knew that the time had come for her to draw strength from beyond herself and visit the room used for delivery, or else pass out on the kitchen floor.

  She breathed a quick but sincere prayer as Samuel’s footsteps approached, and rose shakily to her feet. She was ready to give hearty congratulations to Virginia.

  Cassandra continued to receive letters from home, which she always answered immediately. If her mother detected a change in her attitude over the months, she did not make comment. Cassandra herself did not realize how much difference her submission to God and her friendship with Virginia was influencing her outlook on life.

  When Cassandra’s turn came to deliver, Samuel was making a house call in the country. Though Cassandra did not know exactly where he was, she had been given strict instructions to get word to Morris at the drugstore via one of the neighbor children, should she feel the least twinge of labor. Unknown to her, Samuel carefully reported his whereabouts to Morris several times during the day so that he could always be found quickly.