The Gentle Surgeon

by Hilda Pressley

  “Lovely, thank you, Rob.”

  “You’ll have to rest it for a day or two, of course.”

  Mr. Townsend passed around drinks, while Christine related how and where she had sprained her ankle. Presently, she began to feel tired, and her mother was swift to notice.

  “Robert, I’ll give you just five minutes alone with Christine, that’s all. Come along, Ralph. Robert came to have a little talk with Christine.”

  She bustled her husband out. Robert looked at Christine and smiled.

  “I wouldn’t dare to come if I hadn’t known what a sweet, forgiving nature you have. I came to apologize for—well, for the way I’ve been behaving lately. You must have thought me one big heel—and you’d be right. I simply don’t know what got into me.”

  “That’s all right, Rob. I suppose we all have our moods. Is this what you’ve been trying to tell me in theater?”

  “Yes. But I could hardly blame you for not wanting to listen to me. The only excuse I have to offer for my behavior is that I loved you so much, I was crazy about you. Does that make sense?”

  “I think I know what you mean, Rob.”

  He rose and bent and kissed her brow softly. “Darling, I knew you’d understand. I’ve been a fool as well as a heel, and if I’ve lost you—”

  There was the briefest of knocks on the door, and Mrs. Townsend came in.

  “Off you go now, Robert. It’s high time Christine was in bed. You’ve had plenty of time to come to the point.”

  He straightened up. “Well, I was just coming to it, actually. Chris, you will let me come and see you again, won’t you? In a day or two perhaps?”

  “Why—yes, of course, Rob.”

  She was too tired to say anything else. When Robert had gone her mother helped her upstairs. Then with a hot drink, a couple of aspirins, and two shoe boxes to keep the weight of the bedclothes off her ankle, she sank thankfully down on her pillow.

  She closed her eyes and again saw the steep green and white surface of the crag, the sharp pieces of limestone rock. John, save me—I’m falling...

  She opened her eyes. She must try not to think about it. John had come. By some miracle he had come to her. She could feel the warmth of his coat—as if he had wrapped his arms around her and laid her head against his heart. The thought comforted her and she became drowsy. She dropped off to sleep and dreamed she was a child again, playing hospitals, bandaging a doll’s foot. Dolly has a sprained ankle. Send for Doctor Rob...

  A sharp pain jerked her wide awake. She switched on the light and saw it was two o’clock in the morning. There was a glass of water and some aspirin on her bedside table. She took a couple of the tablets and tried to get to sleep again, but now her brain was too active. She thought of John and wondered why he had gone so quickly. Because Rob had been there?

  Now Robert occupied her thoughts. Everything was all right again between them. He was sorry for the way he had behaved. What else would he have said if her mother had not come in and interrupted him? He seemed afraid that he might have lost her. Did he want her to marry him? Was that why he wanted to see her again? There was little doubt about it. But what of Sandra?

  Her mind went on and on. Several times she told herself she must stop thinking, must go to sleep. She would start to count, then the next minute find her mind had gone back to Robert again. She was pleased, naturally, that he wanted to make it up, and most of all that he was once more the man with whom she had fallen in love. Now they could go ahead and make plans.

  Her ankle felt much better in the morning. Mrs. Townsend phoned Matron and explained what had happened, then called in their own doctor, who prescribed a couple of days’ rest, then strapping. Both John and Robert telephoned during the day. Her mother took the calls.

  “Did Rob say whether he was coming to see me today?” asked Christine.

  Her mother shook her head. “He just said to tell you he’d be along to see you in a day or so.” She eyed her daughter keenly. “What does it mean, Chris? Are you and Rob making it up again?”

  “I think so.”

  Mrs. Townsend looked dubious. “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. Quite frankly...”

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “I should have thought John...”

  Again her mother left her sentence unfinished. But her meaning was clear enough. Christine leaned back and gazed into space.

  “Mother, I’ve told you, there’s never been any question of love between John and me. At least—”

  “Go on.”

  But Christine shook her head. “No, Mother, it’s no use. There is something between him and me, I know it. But it’s not the kind of love that leads to marriage.”

  Her mother heaved a sigh. “Well, you know your own feelings best, I suppose. Both your father and I want you to be happy. You know that.”

  “Yes, Mother, I know.”

  It was odd, but she almost wished there was a stronger feeling between John and herself. She admired him and felt more than mere liking for him. But whatever John felt for her it was not love.

  Robert phoned again the next day, asking if he might come to see Christine that evening. He was told he would be welcome. The ankle seemed so much better, Christine very gingerly tried putting it to the floor. It was still painful, but tomorrow, after the family doctor strapped it for her, she would be able to get around a little. She felt restless and would far rather be on duty than hanging around home, pleasant though it was.

  Afternoon tea in the Townsend household was roughly at four o’clock, and usually Mr. Townsend came home at that time, returning to his office until five-thirty. But on this particular day he was late.

  Mrs. Townsend looked at the clock. “Wonder what’s keeping your father today?”

  “I wonder. Will you wait for him?”

  “No. He’s bound to be here any minute. I’m thirsty. If he’s very late I can always make some fresh.”

  It was a warm, sunny day, and Christine and her mother sat on the terrace with the tea tray between them. The sky was a clear, brilliant blue with only the occasional small, snowy-white cloud. A dreamy summer afternoon that Christine and her mother were to remember for a very long time, as indeed were many other people.

  For all at once on that sunny afternoon there was a dull thud followed by an ominous rumble like an underground giant waking up from sleep. The whole earth shuddered, rattling the cups and saucers on the little table.

  Mother and daughter looked at each other, their eyes slowly widening. Christine saw the color drain from her mother’s face, and her own heart felt sick.

  The colliery. There was no need to say the words.

  “Mother, do you think...”

  Mrs. Townsend nodded, horror showing in her eyes. “It sounded like an explosion, Chris,” she breathed.

  Then the eerie wail of the pit siren filled the air with its dreaded message, going on and on and on.

  Mrs. Townsend’s hand crept up to her throat. “Your father! He’ll be down there. He’s down there. I know he is.”

  “Mother—no! You mustn’t think of such a thing.”

  Elaine Townsend rose shakily from her chair and went to the telephone. Christine struggled to her feet and followed her mother into the hall.

  “No one’s answering,” her mother said hoarsely.

  “Well, Mother, I don’t suppose there’s anyone in the office now.” After another minute or so, Mrs. Townsend replaced the receiver with a clatter.

  “I’ve got to get along there; see what’s happening. Stay here, Chris, where you can reach the phone.”

  Then Christine was alone, feeling more helpless and useless than she had ever felt in her life before. Oh, why did she have to have a bad ankle at a time like this? If only she hadn’t been fool enough to go climbing up that wretched hill. If only she could do something. Help would be needed down there.

  She put her foot to the floor again and took a few limping steps. If she could get to the pit yard the rest would be easy
. She opened the cupboard under the stairs and took a pair of jeans. There was a scarf there, too, and a pair of her mother’s gardening shoes and an old gabardine jacket.

  Christine changed and covered her hair with the scarf, then set off. There would be injured men and all available help would be needed, in particular anyone with her training.

  Her ankle was painful. Between each agonizing step she prayed that her father would be all right. It was unlikely he would be down the mine and in the region of the explosion when it occurred. And yet why had he been late? Oh, if only she could walk a little faster.

  Out in the road she looked back, hoping a car might be coming along and she could beg a lift, but at the moment there wasn’t one in sight.

  The siren was still screeching. By now the whole world must have heard it. She could imagine the scene up in the village—women running down the hill, their hearts fearful and pounding. Oh, God, please let a car come!

  A minute later, as if in answer to her plea, a car rounded the bend. Christine stood in the middle of the road and flagged it down frantically. Short of running over her, the driver had to stop.

  But when he opened the car door for her Christine recognized him as one of the deputies of the colliery.

  “Going to the pithead, Miss Townsend?”

  “Yes,” she said, dropping into the passenger seat. “I happened to be at home for a day or two. I thought there might be something I could do.”

  “I imagine there will be. The ambulance unit will be glad of your help.” He glanced swiftly down at her rig. “You—er—weren’t thinking of going down below, were you?”

  “Why, yes. There are bound to be men trapped and in pain. It takes time for the rescue team to get them out, and—”

  “I doubt if your father will let you do it. I wouldn’t want a daughter of mine to go down there.”

  “I’m a nurse, Mr. Bentley. I must do what I can. As a matter of fact we’re not sure where Father is. We were expecting him home to tea, but he was late. Then we—we felt the explosion and the siren went. My mother phoned, but there was no reply. She was so worried she just dashed out of the house to find out what was happening.”

  “I shouldn’t think he’d be down there when the explosion occurred,” the deputy comforted. “These things happen so unexpectedly, and your father doesn’t visit the workings very often. He has foremen for that. They report to him, of course, and he goes down to see things for himself on occasion, but...” He broke off. “Anyway, I hope for your sake and your mother’s that today wasn’t one of them.”

  “Oh, so do I!” she breathed.

  The siren had stopped at last. The pit yard was full of people—miners on the night shift who had hurried along after being wakened by the siren, men on the day shift who had probably just been having their meal, distraught women whose husbands and sons were down in the pit on the afternoon shift.

  Slowly the deputy’s car made its way through the crowd. Christine was thankful that Mr. Bentley drove as near to the ambulance room as he possibly could.

  Inside, she found the local doctor, a team of ambulance men and a specially trained rescue team.

  “Miss Townsend!” Dr. Newton exclaimed in surprise. “You shouldn’t be here with that ankle of yours.”

  “It’s all right, Doctor. In a way, it’s lucky. If it hadn’t been for this I wouldn’t have been on the spot and able to help.”

  “But Miss Townsend, your father—”

  “Please, Dr. Newton, let’s not waste valuable time. We don’t know where my father is. I’ve been down the pit before. I’m no stranger to it.”

  One of the rescue team approached Dr. Newton with a breathing apparatus.

  “We’d better hurry, sir.”

  “Yes, of course.” He was helped into a sort of harness with two small cylinders of air and an attached mouthpiece. “Well, if you’re determined I’d rather you come down with me now,” he said to Christine. Then, turning to the rescue man, “Could you fix Miss Townsend up with some apparatus—and a helmet?”

  In a few minutes the small rescue party moved off toward the pit shaft, complete with various kinds of equipment including stretchers, oxygen and medical supplies.

  In the cage, Christine steeled herself against the sickening downward plunge, and it was then that John came quite unbidden into her mind. She saw his face and his serious brown eyes. All at once she wanted urgently to tell him something. It seemed imperative that he should know she loved him, no matter what he thought of her. The important thing was that he should know...

  At the immediate pit bottom the atmosphere was tense. Word had come from miners nearest the scene of the location of the explosion. The small advance party set off, one behind the other.

  The sense of danger was acute as they drew nearer the scene of the explosion, and the air was thick with coal dust and smoke.

  Then they arrived at the sight Christine would never forget—men half buried beneath the avalanche of coal, others who had managed to get out of the way lying overcome with the poisonous gas. One stretcher party began dealing with the uninjured ones, taking them to the base station, a safe distance away. Others of the rescue team began freeing those men who were trapped, and as they were freed, Christine administered morphia while Dr. Newton did what he could for their injuries before they were placed on the stretchers.

  She lost all count of time as she worked on and on. Several times she had to return with one of the stretcher parties for a fresh supply of oxygen, but each time returned to the scene. She was vaguely aware that other helpers had arrived, but by that time she was feeling lightheaded and her ankle was aching sickeningly.

  Suddenly her knees gave way under her, and she felt someone’s arms lift her up. She tried to push the arms away. Whatever happened she simply must not make a nuisance of herself. There was work to do yet. There must still be hundreds of men trapped under that coal. A sea of black faces with staring eyes seemed to float into her vision.

  She seemed to recognize one of them as her father, and found her heart had shed all its tears and there was not one left. The agony was unbearable.

  It was ridiculous, but John and Robert seemed to be there, too. Robert, with his bright smile, was trying to persuade her to come away. Only John was different. His brown eyes, usually so grave and thoughtful, were angry and held fierce emotions she had never seen before.

  She felt herself being pushed and pulled between the two, and all around were the black faces of the miners, and the swirling, poisonous gas.

  Names and faces swirled around her faster and faster. There was a loud noise, then she seemed to plunge down and down into the very bowels of the black earth.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The blackness began to clear. Christine’s eyelids flickered and met a pair of brown eyes in a gentle face covered with coal dust. “John!”

  “It’s all right, Christine, it’s all right now. We had to bring you up.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry!” John smiled down at her, then glanced up at someone. “Just listen to her!”

  It was her mother standing there, looking anxious, but smiling a little.

  “Mother! Is Father...”

  Mrs. Townsend nodded. “Your father’s all right, dear. And you were wonderful.”

  “Made a nuisance of myself—having to be brought up.”

  She realized then that she was in the ambulance room. She winced suddenly with the pain in her ankle. John saw her grimace and pressed her hand.

  “We’d better get you home now that you’ve recovered a little.”

  She stared at him. “But, John, I can’t. I must get back there.”

  “Oh no, you don’t,” he said firmly. “You’ve done quite enough. In fact more than enough. We must get you home and see to that ankle of yours.”

  She frowned, then her eyes filled with tears. “But what of all those miners down there? My ankle can wait.”

  There was another exchange of glances between John a
nd her mother. John bent down and looked into her eyes.

  “Listen, my dear. Most of the work is done now. I don’t think you have any idea how long you were down there. You’ve done a truly magnificent job. It’s all but over. Robert is on the job and more rescue teams have arrived. The advance team and Dr. Newton have all come up. Now are you satisfied?”

  Rob here. Of course. He was coming to see her. But how did John come to be here?

  “Come on, darling. John will help you to the car,” her mother said.

  John lifted her up in his arms and carried her to his car outside. There was still a lot of people in the pit yard, and as John appeared there was a spontaneous burst of applause and some cheering. John must have been doing some very heroic work indeed.

  He helped Mrs. Townsend into the back seat. “How did you come to be here, John?” she asked as they drove off.

  “Simple. The hospital was notified and asked if anyone could be spared.”

  “And you volunteered, of course.”

  John smiled. “Correct. As an ‘ex-miner’ I thought I was specially qualified.” Then his face grew serious. “Actually, wild horses wouldn’t have kept me away.”

  Christine pondered this for a moment, but felt shy at probing further.

  “I suppose a lot of the men have been taken to the hospital?”

  “Yes. And I must get back there. They’ll be pretty busy.”

  Christine sighed impatiently. “I ought to be there, too. Theater must be hectic. Oh, why did I have to get this sprained ankle? John, will you strap it up for me, then I—”

  “It’s upstairs and into bed for you with a sedative,” John said firmly. “And you’re not to think of coming back on duty until that ankle is completely better. You’ve done it enough harm already.”

  Christine’s eyes widened and a ridiculous thrill of pleasure swelled in her heart because of the way he was bossing her. Her lips twitched. “Yes, John,” she said demurely.

  He glanced at her swiftly. “Sorry if that sounded domineering, but someone has to be firm with you, young lady.”

  Her spirits fell again. Didn’t he know she liked being dominated by him? That she wanted nothing more than to be taken charge of by him? But of course, why should he? John was kind and, thoughtful and was fond of her, she felt, in a big-brotherly kind of way, but he felt no other emotion toward her.