Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  Dr. John Hastings lived in rooms at the rear of his office. He lit the lamp in the small living room, and she saw his quarters were much like the man. They were plain and furnished comfortably, but no more. He took off her coat, smiled, and gave her a kiss.

  “You’ll be wanting some warm tea,” he said.

  “That sounds nice,” she agreed.

  He made the tea in his best bachelor tradition, while she stood and watched in wonder. When the teapot was ready he placed it on the table with a comforter over it.

  “A present from my sister,” he said. “She lives in Dundee now. I have some of her shortcakes.”

  From a tin he produced the rich, crisp shortcakes. They did well with hot tea. He eyed her fondly, saying, “I worry about your enduring the long journey ahead.”

  “Let us just get away from London quickly,” she begged him.

  “A carriage will come for us at dawn,” he said. “We’ll have breakfast before that. We’ll go to the nearest stagehouse and pick up a stage for the North.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Some days. We’ll stop in Edinburgh along the way before going to the Highlands.”

  She was trembling. “It has all happened so suddenly. I can’t believe I’m escaping George and we are together.”

  His stern face was sympathetic. “Just so long as you get a good night’s rest.”

  “What about you?”

  “Packing my medical things neatly will take most of the night.”

  “But you also need rest!”

  “I can sleep in the stage,” he said. “I have much to do. I have made plans to turn my practice over to another Scotch doctor. His present quarters are nearby. A letter has to be written to him with a list of my patients, and some details about treating them. Also there will be letters to the landlord and a few others. Finally, I must pack my medical books and drugs.”

  She suggested, “Let me help.”

  “It is a task no one can do but I. I’ll give you a powder so you may sleep.”

  He showed her into the bedroom with its narrow, iron bed. After kissing her goodnight he went off to begin the work he’d told her about. She undressed and slipped between the cool sheets of the Spartan bed. She studied the flickering flame of the candle on her bedside table as the potion began to work.

  She was sure her father would forgive her. She did not care about George. Rachel would not have blamed her had she known. The idle tongues of London would flay her! But she did not care. The candle flame blurred as her eyes closed in sleep.

  “Joy!” John Hastings was calling out her name and gently shaking her awake.

  She opened her eyes and saw he was standing by her bedside, fully dressed, with a cup of hot tea for her. “This will help you wake,” he said. “We must hurry.”

  “Thank you,” she said sleepily, and drinking some tea.

  He looked dreadfully weary. “It was a long night.”

  “You had no sleep at all.”

  He smiled. “A doctor gets used to such nights. I’ll sleep as soon as I sit in the coach. I can nap anywhere.”

  They had breakfast, and a rosy dawn showed at the windows. Shortly after, the carriage arrived. Several trunks and bags were loaded onto it. Then John locked the door of his office and placed a cardboard sign on it, directing his patients to the neighboring doctor.

  He stared at the door with its sign in the dawn, and sadly said, “Then it’s goodbye to all this!”

  She worried. “I have spoiled it all for you.”

  He smiled at her. “I’ve been wanting to leave for a year. But I could not go without you!” And he took her arm and led her to the waiting carriage.

  In ten minutes they were at the Bull and Horse, a famous coaching inn located in Aldersgate Street. The yard was filled with coaches being loaded. John took charge of transferring their things to a coach — one of gleaming brass, and painted black and brown. Four gray horses were harnessed to it, and a stable boy held the bridle of one.

  John promised her, “We’ll reach Birmingham tonight. Then on to Liverpool, Carlisle, and finally blessed Scotland and Edinburgh!”

  They boarded the crowded vehicle, and she found herself seated next to a bearded clergyman. The guard came by to see if the stage was filled, and blew his post horn to make sure no one was being left behind. A youth with yellow hair rushed to take the last seat. The driver cracked his whip, and the horses whinnied and were off quickly!

  Joy felt great relief to know they were leaving London. She knew as soon as George found out she was not at Berkeley Square, he would begin a search for her. Probably the first place he’d look would be John Hastings’s house! Well, he would find them gone!

  A weary John smiled at her. “Do you mind saying goodbye to London?”

  “No!”

  “I’ve never been happier,” he said squeezing her hand. Then he let his hat slide over his eyes, and slumped in his seat. Within a short time he was asleep, his head on her shoulder. She felt utterly happy.

  CHAPTER 4

  The young doctor slept for most of the long, morning ride. They made a brief stop at Stratford for lunch. Selecting a spot away from their fellow passengers, they sat under a tall elm outside the inn courtyard, and enjoyed rich cheese sandwiches and a tawny port.

  Joy smiled at the man she loved as he leaned against the tree trunk. “This is Shakespeare country. I wonder if he ever knew this spot?”

  “Since it’s close by an inn it’s very likely he might have,” he said.

  She asked, “Wasn’t it in Twelfth Night he wrote: ‘Love sought is good, but given unsought is better!’ ”

  “ ‘By tale of history, the course of true love never did run smooth,’ ” John quoted in reply. “I know it’s Shakespeare but I have no idea of the play.”

  Joy said, “I would like to read all his plays.”

  “You can do it when we reach the Highlands,” he said. “I’ll find a set of Shakespeare in Edinburgh, and I’ll also see that you read our Scots poet, Robbie Burns.”

  “I like the poems of Robert Burns,” she said. “He is grand but not near so grand as you, dear John!” And she leaned over and kissed him. They were in each other’s arms when the post horn sounded, and they had to scramble up and rush to the stage.

  It was dark when they reached The Golden Crown in Birmingham. The food was excellent, as John had predicted. After dinner they retired to a clean, small room on the third floor. John lit a candle and she sat down on the feather bed — the first bed they were to share.

  Joy was filled with loving excitement in the knowledge that the moment for the consumnation of their passion had come. Her fingers trembled as she went about the irksome unsnapping of her dress. John came to her and helped; after a few moments she stood naked before him.

  He smiled as he removed his vest, saying, “I have always felt the female form a work of art, and your body leaves nothing to be desired.”

  He stripped and advanced to her. She could not help noticing how lean and muscled his slim body was. He took her in his arms and held her close as they had a first experience of each other’s bodies. Then he gently lowered her to the bed, and they became one.

  When she opened her eyes the next morning, she found he was already awake, and raised on an elbow as he gazed at her. He said, “I have something for you.” And he produced a broad, plain, golden wedding band. “I would like you to wear this. It was my mother’s ring.”

  Tears of happiness filled her eyes. She removed the golden ring with its mounting of fine diamonds which George had given her, and in its place slipped on the plain wedding band which John had offered. She felt it properly sealed their relationship. John kissed the hand with the ring on it.

  The stage continued to Liverpool, Carlisle, and finally Edinburgh. She had never visited the fine, old city before, and looked forward to their several days of exploring it. John proved a dedicated guide as he took her to Edinburgh Castle, which stood guard over the great city. They
visited St. Margaret’s Chapel and made a pilgrimage along the Royal Mile between the Castle and Holyrood. They strolled hand in hand as he told her that in 1561, Mary, the young, widowed ex-Queen of France, and Queen of Scotland, had made her entry into the city along that very street.

  When they reached the Palace of Holyrood, he took her to the portrait gallery with its paintings of the Scottish Kings. And he explained that in 1745 Bonnie Prince Charlie held a famous dress ball in this place, attended by all the notables of the city.

  She liked hearing all these things, and had pleasure in the pride he clearly felt for his country. Scotland was a place apart to him. And she was beginning to have a deep affection for this hardy Northland. They visited the Stewart Bank, and she drew money from the account her father established for her, and bought a wardrobe suitable for the Highlands. John was not happy about this, but she explained that her father wanted her to have this money.

  Their time in Edinburgh was a delight. They dined well, and John kept his promise of buying a complete set of Shakespeare; and added to it the works of Sir Walter Scott. Then they had to be on their way again. They set out in a small stage, with fewer passengers than the one in which they’d journeyed from London. After an overnight trip they reached their destination: Invermere. It was a village on the Loch Stay. The people living there were either fishermen or lumbermen. John had learned the old doctor who’d been there for years had died and no one had come to take his place in the remote area. He had been assured the village would welcome them.

  And welcome them it did! They arrived on a cold, rainy afternoon. The stage let them off at a modest, thatched cottage which had been the former doctor’s house. Standing on the front steps to welcome them was the Presbyterian minister, the Reverend Robin Miles, and a plain, young girl with a thin face, and dull, brown hair parted in the middle. The girl was in her midtwenties. Later they were to learn that the minister had picked her out as their housekeeper, because she’d shown an interest in nursing and was the youngest midwife in the district. Her name was Heather McLaren, and she had lovely, large brown eyes.

  The Reverend Robin Miles introduced himself and the girl, and showed them through the cottage. He was a little man with a round, weathered face. His head was completely bald, but he wore thick, white side-whiskers. He strutted proudly ahead of them in his shabby black suit and leather leggings. “The furniture is plain,” he said. “But you will see the house is spotlessly clean.”

  “We are well pleased,” John said.

  Reverend Miles beamed. “The villagers are happy to have you here. And it is nice you have a young, attractive wife. Are you by any chance a nurse, Mrs. Hastings?”

  She blushed at being called Mrs. Hastings, but quickly said, “Only in a modest way, I fear. But I intend to perfect my nursing under John’s training.”

  “Excellent,” said the old man in the clerical collar and suit. “I’m my own farmer. I milk my cows, and when my late wife was with us, she churned our butter.”

  John turned to the plain Heather, who had been standing shyly by, and asked her, “You do midwifery?”

  She nodded. “The old doctor taught me.”

  John nodded approvingly. “What about general nursing?”

  “I have done some,” Heather said.

  “We’ll soon make you a professional,” John said with a smile. “We can’t waste your talents solely on housework.”

  Reverend Robin Miles wondered, “Do you think the cottage will be large enough?”

  “For a start,” John said. And turning to Joy, he suggested, “There is the small room on the other side of the kitchen which can be Heather’s. This large room will be our living room and dining room. The large room off the dining room will be our bedroom. And the three smaller rooms at the front of the house will be used for my practice. The room by the front door can be our office. The others can be an examining room and room for surgery or hospital patients.”

  Joy said, “We will be cramped for personal space but we can manage.”

  John gave her a grateful look. “I’m sure we can.”

  The clergyman asked, “Can I pass on word that you’ll start taking patients tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon,” John said. “We’ll need the morning to properly settle in.”

  “I’ll let them know,” the clergyman said. He started for the door and then paused to add, “By the way, Jock Monroe, who lives with his brother and sister in the house nearest this one, will be your handyman. He has agreed to cut your wood and do any chores.”

  “You seem to have thought of everything,” John said, seeing the little man on his way. “We are most grateful.”

  The next morning the handyman, Jock Monroe, presented himself. He was a large, good-looking man with curly, blond hair. He had a broad face and a ready smile. He was friendly in his rough fashion. John had him install shelves for their many books, and build an outhouse attached to the rear of the cottage, so neither Joy nor Heather would need to go outside in the severe wintry weather.

  Joy soon discovered the big man was shy and actually gentle. He had been brought up to the rough life of the woods and fishing, but he had a certain inborn quality about him.

  As he knelt working at the bookcases Joy took time to ask him, “Have you ever been beyond the village, Jock?”

  “I have not,” he said. “It is my great ambition to see Edinburgh one day. I hear it is a bonnie place. I mean to take the girl I’m engaged to there on our honeymoon.”

  “What is her name?”

  “Rose.”

  “And when are you two going to be married?”

  “As soon as I have a cottage built and ready,” Jock said. “I’ve already made a start on it.”

  “Fine,” Joy said. “And what is your Rose like?”

  He smiled shyly. “I don’t mean to boast but she’s the fairest lass in Invermere. Black hair she has, and sharp black eyes and a face like an angel. Courted by many but I won her. And the new schoolmaster, Jack Taggart, has lately tried to get her to change her mind and marry him! But she’d have no part of him!”

  “Then she must be truly happy with you.”

  Jock nodded. “Aye. I guess she is, though I hardly deserve her.”

  Later, Joy asked Heather about the girl. Heather’s plain face showed distaste as she replied, “If you mean Rose Stewart, she’s not worthy of Jock. She’s flighty and puts on airs! No help at all to her mother!”

  Joy smiled. “Jock seems to adore her. I expect a pretty face and figure counts a lot with a man.”

  Heather shrugged. “It seems to count more than anything. And she is a kind of shallow beauty. A girl has much to be thankful for if the Lord has chosen to give her looks. I know well from the lack of them.”

  Joy put an arm around the girl. “You are not all that plain. You have lovely eyes. And you must remember a man may tire of a pretty face but a woman with inner beauty can always command his heart.”

  “It’s not a joy to be a female and ugly,” Heather sighed.

  She studied the girl’s forlorn expression. “One can do wonders by changing their clothing and hair style. You must try hard to be attractive. You have a nice, slender body.”

  Heather said, “I’d rather be useful than a beauty with no ability.”

  “You are most useful, Heather,” she assured her. “I don’t think we could manage with you.”

  And this was true. Joy soon learned that Invermere was a world in which everyone knew everyone else; even if they were not friendly. The most personal secrets and sorrows were soon known by all. The small world had kindness, but it also held narrow cruelty.

  The concerns of the village were the fishing catch, the lumber yield, the garden crops, and the prices of food and clothing. There was little room for luxury. One had to keep busy to stay alive. News of the outside world came with the weekly stage delivery of letters and newspapers.

  John Hastings summed it up for her as they sat at dinner, the first Saturday night af
ter their arrival in the village. He smiled sadly and told her, “It’s a world of croup, frostbite, pneumonia and the measles, chicken-pox, mumps, and lung fever. People visit the doctor chiefly in childhood and again in old age. The others come only when they’ve had some sort of accident.”

  Joy said, “But this is the life you longed for.”

  “It is,” he agreed. “And I still feel the same way. I will be able to build a good family practice. Unhappily the people are backward, filled with ignorance and suspicion, especially of medicine.”

  “Did you not expect that?”

  “I did, but I still don’t like it.” He reached over and took her hand in his. “Any regrets?”

  “None,” she smiled. “But I would like to learn nursing and get to know the village better.”

  He smiled. “We’ll manage both those things for you. I will begin your instruction in nursing tonight. We’ll start with simple hygiene along with something about splints and bandages. Tomorrow we’ll take a stroll through the village and stop at the smithy, the general store, and others. I’ll also take you to see the gray waters of Loch Stay. There is no loch more angry. And I have no doubt they’ll be patients out there to be seen.”

  “If it is stormy they must wait,” she worried. “I do not fancy your risking your life on the stormy waters! What would become of me?”

  “You’d manage,” John said. “If sickness strikes I must do my duty and go over there.”

  “Let’s not talk about it!” she protested.

  No more was said. That night John spent the best part of three hours teaching her the basics of nursing. And the next day he took her on the promised walk. It was a bright day and almost warm. She was captivated by the quaint main street with its small shops. But the sheer majesty of the cliffs, and the turbulent waters of the Stay truly thrilled her.

  Glancing at him, she said, “There is a beauty here!”

  “Wild and rugged though it may be.”

  As they continued their stroll along the cliffs they were met by a young man in a plaid suit and cap. He had a boyish face, it was not weathered like those of the local people. On his arm hung a pretty girl looking embarrassed. The young man halted and introduced himself as the schoolmaster, Jack Taggart.