Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  “We spent Boxing Day with your mother, and I may say that Lady Susan was in her usual selfish mood. Rather than being grateful that I had bundled up little Richard and risked his catching cold to be with her, she did nothing but mourn her forlorn widowhood! However, I have become a dutiful daughter-in-law, and sat meekly and listened to her lamenting. Chiefly for the love of James who winked at me often behind her back. We had a good laugh about it on the way home!

  “Another New Year! They say the Queen is blissfully happy with her new husband, Albert. I can only say my own happiness will match that of anyone. Though I will except you and John since I know you are especially devoted. Your husband, Sir George, attended one of the many dinner parties at which we were present. He is thin and looks unwell. He is still using a cane. Do write me soon. Your loving sister, Hilda.”

  Joy put the letter aside with a sad smile. Hilda did not try to depress her, though the news of her husband was surely worrisome. There was no letter from Nancy so she guessed her friend was too busy with her new baby and Christmas to write. She hoped that Nancy’s poet husband was showing more interest in her.

  A pneumonia patient moaned from the cottage’s hospital room. She was an elderly woman, whose deafness made her more difficult to treat. Heather spent a good deal of time with the old woman, who appeared to be making a recovery.

  John was calling on those too ill to visit the cottage. He returned after four, just as it was getting blue and cold outside. When he joined Joy in the kitchen, she shared the letters with him.

  They were discussing the letters when their conversation was cut short by the sound of voices from the front. This usually signified some emergency, so it was no surprise when there was a loud, urgent knocking on the door. She went to the door and opened it to a lumberman. There was a concerned look on his red, bearded face. He said, “There’s been a bad accident in the woods! We’ve brought the lad in!”

  “I’ll get the doctor,” she said and went back to summon John.

  When she returned, four men were bearing a litter with a blanket over it into the tiny bedroom. Only when the men lifted the accident victim from the litter did she see that it was Jock Monroe!

  “Jock!” she gasped.

  The big man could not hear her. He was unconscious. Midway between the knees and thighs of his legs, an area was crushed and bloodstained.

  One of the men told John, “He was working alone. The tree must have fallen towards him. A giant one! He was pinned to the ground in that freezing temperature for hours before we found him. It’s a miracle he’s not dead!”

  Another of the men staring in awe at the mangled legs spoke in a low tone, “Maybe better dead!”

  John’s face was taut and white as he turned to her and asked, “Where’s Heather?”

  “Here, Doctor,” Heather came beside him. When she saw the accident victim was Jock she went deathly pale.

  John spoke crisply, “Everyone leave the room. We three will remain. I’ll cut away his trousers and see how badly off he is.”

  Heather glanced at the lumbermen, who needed no urging to leave now that they had done their duty by their friend. Once Heather closed the door on them, she returned to be of what help she could. Joy removed the unconscious man’s upper clothing while John and Heather cut the trousers from the mangled legs. At last they undressed the big man.

  John said sharply, “Bring a lamp over. I must make a thorough examination.”

  Joy brought the lamp, and in a whisper asked, “How bad?”

  “Bad!” he said grimly. “Hot water, Heather!”

  Heather hurried out to the kitchen for the hot water. Joy stood at John’s side. “What can be done?”

  He sighed. “The circulation has been cut off below the injury point. His lower legs are frozen. The complication is gangrene. Almost a sure sentence of death.”

  She gazed at his tormented face. “Isn’t there any hope?”

  John looked at her. “There’s one hope. I could try and I might even succeed. But he wouldn’t thank me and you won’t encourage the treatment.”

  “What treatment?”

  “I have a choice,” John said sternly. “I can let him die or I can amputate both legs above the damaged area!”

  Tears flooded her eyes. “Oh, no!”

  “I told you.”

  “That is the only way?”

  “Yes,” he said in a dull voice. He turned, and went to the window to gaze out at the early evening darkness.

  She remained by the victim. His breathing was so faint it could barely be observed. She asked, “Can he survive such a major operation?”

  John shrugged, his back to her. “I don’t know. His legs are numbed from being frozen. There wouldn’t be much pain. He is a strong man. I could inject opium at the nerve points before I operated. I can do the operation. But I don’t know how I’d face him if he recovered.”

  Heather came in with a pitcher of hot water. “What now?”

  John gazed at the girl. “You must know what has to be done.”

  Heather bit her lower lip and nodded. In a hushed voice, she said, “I helped the old doctor once. That time it was a leg and arm on one side that had to be removed. The man died.”

  John said, “Jock cannot live unless I amputate. And he may not survive the operation.”

  Heather was crying. She said, “If it must be done.”

  He said, “You know what I’ll need.” As Heather vanished he turned to Joy. “You’d best leave! You’ve never been through anything like this and you’re fond of Jock. Heather and I can manage.”

  “You’re trying to save him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I must help. Let me do what I can!”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure,” she said in a taut voice. And thus the ordeal began. John worked with a swiftness and purpose she’d never seen before. The bones were badly crushed, but still needed to be sawed. That sound made Joy grit her teeth and pray she would not faint.

  Heather looked ill as she used a napkin to remove the sweat which kept flowing from John’s temples. At last the long operation came to an end. The leg stumps were neatly bandaged. Heather and Joy took turns watching over the unfortunate Jock. Heather insisted on taking the first watch, and Joy went out the the kitchen where she found John seated with a whiskey bottle in one hand and a half filled glass in the other.

  He gave her a look. “I’m going to get drunk.”

  “Go ahead.”

  He gulped down the liquor in the glass and coughed. Then he filled the glass again. “If I’m lucky I’ll sleep. Should there be a need for me, you’ll be able to wake me. And I’ll be able to do anything that is required. Though I don’t think he’ll live out the night.”

  “I’m praying for him,” she said. A knock on the front door startled her.

  John said, “If it’s the woodsmen tell them. Ask them to be quiet.”

  “I will,” she said and went to answer the door.

  Jock’s friends were gathered outside, and she told them the dreadful truth in a low voice. Horror showed on their faces. These were strong men who needed their strength to wrest a living from the forest and sea. For them a crippling mutilation was worse than death. Shaking their heads and muttering, they melted away.

  The elderly Reverend Robin Miles came forward. He looked sad as he said, “I heard what you told them just now. May I come in. I’d like to help in any way I can.”

  “You might talk with John,” she said. “And I’ll try and rest. I have to spell Heather at the bedside. John badly needs someone to talk to.”

  “I understand,” the little clergyman said, and he came inside.

  John was still helping himself to whiskey as they joined him. He said, “No reading club tonight, Reverend.”

  Reverend Miles said, “You’ve done well, John. Jock is now in the hands of God.”

  John asked, “Join me in a drink?”

  “Thank you,” the temperance-minded Reverend
Miles said, and sat to take the offered drink. Joy left them discussing the vagaries of fate, the frailty of man, and the unseen hand of God. She knew that with the company of the clergyman, John would drink less.

  It was the start of a tense waiting period when none of them knew whether Jock would live or die. And none of them dared think which might be best. They tried to continue their daily routines, but the strain on them was great.

  Jock came out of his comatose state and at once went into a delirium. John fought to control the infection which had brought on the fever. Finally Jock calmed, and one morning opened his eyes. He stared at John and spoke his name. Heather and Joy came to the room, and were also recognized by the accident victim. Then John gave him a strong sedative, and the big man went back to sleep. He had yet to learn that his legs had been amputated.

  John said, “He’s going to get well. I’m almost certain.”

  “Yes, I think he is,” Joy agreed in a small voice.

  John eyed her sternly. “I must be a doctor first and his friend second. I must somehow get him back to health and show him how to cope with what has happened to him.”

  “Can you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Joy went to the kitchen, leaving her doctor husband in his office. She heard the sound of sobbing through the partly open door of Heather’s room. She hurried to the girl and sat on the bed with her.

  “It is going to be all right,” she said. “He will live. John feels sure that he will recover.”

  Heather lifted a tear-stained face to her. “It’s not that I’m worried about, ma’am. It’s that he doesn’t know! What will happen when he knows?”

  She found this hard to answer. At last she said, “I can only hope John will be able to make him realize his life was worth saving.”

  “The doctor is a good man,” Heather said. “But it will be hard to make Jock understand.”

  Joy was also deeply worried. She tried to recall cases where men who had suffered similar types of injury went on to lead useful lives. But the only examples which came to mind were those who had been wounded while fighting under Wellington. Many of them had been able to find desk jobs, or write or paint. None of these avenues were open for Jock.

  So they lived with a new tension: how would the big man react when he learned he was crippled? By some kind miracle John was at the lumberman’s side when he first became aware of what had happened. His cry of despair could be heard through the cottage and tore at the hearts of Heather and Joy. Then, by John’s account, the big man lapsed into silent weeping.

  It was then that John began the mental treatment which was as important to his patient as the skillful surgery.

  Jock wept and said pitifully, “I’m finished! I’m but half a man!”

  John countered with, “Bloody nonsense! If you were half a man you’d be cut clear down the middle. You’ve all your body except your lower legs which had to be removed to save your life.”

  “I cannot work again,” the big man lamented. “I will not be able to earn my keep!”

  “Listen,” John said, “I’ve talked with the blacksmith. He’s an excellent harness maker. He is going to make you leather shoes lined with lambs wool to fit over your stumps. With them, and suitable crutches, you’ll be able to make your way about as well as anyone. In the winter you can fit barrel staves on your shoes, like the runners of a sled. You’ll be able to coast more swiftly than any man can run.”

  “Can I chop a tree? Operate a fishing boat?”

  “Why not?” John said. “You must divert all the strength lost in your missing legs to your arms. You must make your upper body so strong you can learn to do almost anything.”

  Jock looked somber. “Words are easy.”

  “And actions are harder,” John said sternly. “And you have always been known as a man of action. Think about it!”

  Joy felt this was the greatest victory of her husband’s medical career. From that hour on Jock began his recovery. Heather was always on hand to assist him in any way — a glow of happiness on her face.

  John arranged for some of Jock’s friends to visit. He coached them in how to behave and what to say. And to their credit they worked hard to help in their jolly rough way. Their visits did the crippled man a great deal of good. Little Reverend Robin Miles also visited, and presented Jock with a copy of Gulliver’s Travels, which he had bought in Edinburgh.

  The clergyman said, “I want you to have it, lad. It’s a bonny story and you’ll be amazed by it and find yourself laughing as you read it.”

  “You’re a good man, Reverend,” Jock said, his broad face glowing with pleasure.

  “We can discuss the book at one of our reading meetings,” the Reverend Robin Miles said.

  Jock read the book and enjoyed it. His spirits improved, he was able to make mild jokes about his injury. The smith came and measured the stumps with Joy’s help, so he could begin work on the round, leather shoes.

  The smith winked at him and promised, “Only the best leather and wool will go into them, lad. I’ll vouch they’ll outlast a dozen pair of ordinary shoes.”

  “They’d better,” Jock said jovially. “Once I’m started I intend to keep on the move to make up for all this while in bed.”

  All appeared to be going well, but there was one problem. Jock’s betrothed, Rose Stewart, had not come to visit him. As his confidence grew and he became impatient to get around, he began to worry.

  He asked Joy, “Is it not time Rose showed herself? She must know I’m no longer in pain and wish to see her. The doctor says I’ll be able to work and earn. I have plans for Rose and me.”

  She said, “Rose probably wants to give you plenty of time to recover.” Privately, she worried about other reasons.

  “Do me a good turn and send for the lass,” Jock pleaded. “I want her to see how well I am. I don’t want her thinking of me as a poor cripple.”

  Joy consulted her husband, “He’s asking for Rose.”

  John looked concerned. “I guessed this would happen.”

  “And?”

  “I’m worried,” he said. “Jock is making a fine recovery. I’m afraid the attitude of that silly Rose may set him back.”

  “Talk to her.”

  “I’ll try,” he said with a sigh. “But she is so selfish and shallow, I doubt if I’ll be able to reach her.”

  Heather had the same reaction when she heard the doctor would see Rose. She said, “It’ll do no good. She has no thought of marrying Jock now. She’s been going out regularly with that schoolmaster.”

  “Then she cannot really love him,” Joy said bitterly. “He is a fine man. And despite his injury he will be able to earn a living, marry, and have a family.”

  “Rose has been wanting an excuse to jilt him,” Heather warned. “She has never tried to send a message or a bit of food to him during his recovery. She’s only worried about giving back the ring. If she could keep it, her precious schoolmaster would be saved from buying another.”

  Joy said, “She can’t be that bad!”

  But Heather’s words turned out to be all too true. John went to see the girl and explained what she must do to bolster Jock’s spirits. Rose grudgingly promised to make the visit. John left with a warning that Jock was impatient to see her.

  However, it was not Rose who came to the cottage that evening but Rose’s mother. She was a stout woman, with small, greedy eyes and graying hair. She made a grim figure in bonnet and tightly-corseted suit.

  Joy let her in and asked, “Where is Rose?”

  Mrs. Stewart glared at her. “She asked me to come. She’s a sensitive girl.”

  Joy felt her anger rise. “And Jock is a sensitive man who has gone through a great deal. Rose is his betrothed and she has neglected him. He wants to see her not you.”

  “This has been a bad shock for her.”

  “But I hope she does plan to come.”

  Mrs. Stewart hunched uneasily. “I expect she’ll see him one day. But she wan
ted me to come first.”

  “Jock’s recovery could depend on her.”

  The stout woman looked scornful. “How can you get back legs that have been chopped off?”

  Joy made a sign for her to lower her voice and in a hushed tone replied, “You must not say such things! Jock will be able to manage with special shoes and crutches.”

  “Support a wife and him with no legs!”

  Joy made a quick decision. She told the woman. “I don’t think it wise to let you see him. Tell Rose we’ll be expecting her soon.”

  “Rose wanted me to see him!”

  Joy hesitated. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “But be careful what you say.”

  She led the stout woman to Jock’s room. His face lost some of its bright glow when he saw his visitor was Mrs. Stewart. But with his usual good nature he said, “Good evening, Mrs. Stewart. It’s kind of you to come and see me. I was hoping Rose would come.”

  “I know,” the woman said grimly, her eyes fixed on the spot in the bed where his stumps ended.

  Jock went on, “I’ve done a lot of thinking about Rose. It would do me good to see her. To be able to talk with her.”

  Mrs. Stewart repeated stolidly, “She asked me to come.”

  Jock nodded. “I expect she has one of her headaches tonight. That’s what it is. Tell her I’m sorry and to be sure and come when she can.”

  The stout woman hunched and then said, “Rose can’t bear the idea of you being the way you are! She’s going to wed the schoolmaster!” Then she rummaged in her pocket, and produced a small, velvet box. She hurled it on the bed. “There’s your precious ring back! We don’t owe you anything!” And with that the stout woman turned and stalked out of the room.

  Joy stood caught between rage and sorrow. John was out and Heather was in her room, not wanting to be visible when Rose called. Joy made herself pick up the box and open it to study the small diamond ring inside. Then she placed it on Jock’s bedside table.

  She said, “You’ll be wanting it for someone else.”

  He looked at her in silent misery and then told her in a low voice, “You’re a kind woman, but there’ll be no one to ever want a cripple like me!”