The Beauty Doctor

by Elizabeth Hutchison Bernard

  It was Thursday morning when Abigail came into the office to find Franklin conducting a physical exam of the twins, who were sitting atop the operating table fully clothed. Franklin smiled as he turned to greet her.

  “You’re just in time,” he said. “I have my two favorite patients here, and we’re ready to take a listen to their hearts and lungs.”

  “Hello, Miss Abby,” Melilla said.

  Valencia offered a tentative smile.

  Franklin held the stethoscope to their chest, listening intently for a while. Then he had them open their mouths, stick out their tongues, breathe deeply, and cough. He used a metal speculum to look inside their noses, palpated the nasal bones, and studied the front and profile views. It all seemed very thorough, very serious. Yet Abigail knew he was only going through the motions so that he could tell Joe he had examined them and explain to him the many reasons why surgery was inadvisable.

  “Very good,” he said when he was finished. “I wish all my patients were so cooperative.”

  They looked at him expectantly.

  “You give us pretty noses?” Melilla asked.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Franklin replied. “And what about you, Valencia?”

  Valencia hesitated, glancing at Abigail before she nodded.

  “You’re sure?” Franklin asked. Abigail felt like giving him a hard kick in the shin. Why torture them like this? Why not come right out and tell them they couldn’t have the surgery?

  Valencia chewed anxiously on her lip. “Will it hurt?”

  “No, don’t worry. You two are tough. I can see that.” He gave them a playful wink. “We’ll talk some more about this later, all right?” He turned to Prudence, who had been hovering in the background. It was clear from the uneasy look on her face that she was growing fond of the girls and was concerned about their welfare. “Take them upstairs, please. We’re done for today.”

  The twins jumped down from the exam table and, whispering excitedly to each other, hurried ahead of Prudence to the back stairs leading up to Franklin’s apartment. Abigail listened for the uneven patter of their boots on the steps and then the closing of the door.

  “That certainly accomplished nothing except to raise their hopes.”

  “On the contrary, I found out what I needed to know,” Franklin replied. “And weren’t they the model patients? It’s refreshing not be barraged with questions about every insignificant little detail, which is beyond a patient’s understanding anyway. All these two wanted to know was if I’d make them pretty and if it would hurt!”

  “Well, I suppose now you can report back to Joe that you’ve fulfilled your mission,” she said, with a note of disapproval she didn’t bother to hide. “But why would you mislead them? Why didn’t you tell them that they won’t be having surgery—that it’s too dangerous for them?”

  Franklin was already putting away his exam equipment into the medicine cabinet, his back toward her. “Because I’m starting to think there’s no reason they can’t have it. They seem much fitter than I’d imagined. Their breathing is good; Valencia’s is slightly better than Melilla’s. Both of their hearts appear to be strong. I’d have to plan things out carefully. The anesthesia could be tricky.”

  Abigail was incredulous. “But you can’t operate on them. Ludwik will never allow it.”

  Franklin slammed the cabinet door shut. Dozens of bottles behind the glass doors rocked on their shelves. “Since you’re so concerned about Ludwik,” he said tersely, turning to face her, “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that I’m making a trip to Scarsdale this very afternoon to have a chat with him. Joe has assured me there’s a way to work this out, but he needs my assistance. I do hope by the time I return that you will have changed your attitude and resolved not to question me at every turn. I am the doctor here, and you’d do well not to forget it.”

  So Ludwik had been right! Franklin did want to operate on the twins. She was shocked and disappointed. She knew that the girls wanted the surgery; the idea seemed to have originated with them, or at least with their discovery of Franklin’s advertisement in the newspaper. But had anyone explained to them the risks or the intention to make public what should be a very private affair? There was something about Joe’s idea that struck her as cheap, degrading—using the girls for publicity seemed not so different from putting them on display.

  “Yes, you are the doctor, which is why Joe should have nothing to do with it. He’s putting you up to this, and it isn’t fair. Not to the twins and not to you, either.”

  “No one is putting me up to anything. I don’t know where you’ve gotten this idea that I answer to Joe. It’s simply not true. He’s got his job to do, and I’ve got mine. His is to get the Institute built and manage the business end of things. Mine is to manage patients, and that’s what I intend to do—in whatever way that I, in my best medical judgment, think appropriate.”

  She did not believe for a minute that Joe wasn’t pressuring Franklin about the twins, perhaps only to demonstrate his power. Joe seemed averse to ever taking no for an answer. But there was no point in arguing, nor did she want to ruffle Franklin’s feathers more than she already had. Not when he would find out soon enough for himself that Ludwik was not about to be persuaded. And she was certain, too, that it wouldn’t be long before he tired of Joe’s bullying.

  Franklin didn’t leave for Scarsdale until nearly two, at the last minute instructing her to clear his schedule for the next morning, the implications of which were immediately clear. He would not be returning that night.

  Though she tried not to let it upset her, it was impossible. She had known he would need to make periodic trips back to Scarsdale as plans for the Institute proceeded. She had hoped he would invite her along. Clearly, he had no such intention this time.

  As soon as the snappy red Ford disappeared around the corner, she closed up the office for the day. Perhaps it was out of spite for being left behind, though she managed to convince herself of a kinder motive as she hurried out the door, on a mission to the local five-and-dime. She had returned by three and immediately made her way upstairs to Franklin’s apartment.

  “Miss Platford!”

  Prudence had a look of surprise that made it seem as if Abigail were the last person she had expected to see. Perhaps she had assumed Dr. Rome’s assistant would have accompanied him to Scarsdale.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting, but I’ve come to pay a visit to the twins.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. Please, by all means, come in.”

  Her exchange with Franklin that morning had renewed Abigail’s indignation at the injustice of Melilla and Valencia’s situation. It was not right that they were separated from Ludwik. Besides that, she was aware that Franklin had ordered Prudence to confine the twins to the apartment—no sightseeing, not even a simple walk outdoors. She could somewhat understand. The twins were bound to attract attention anywhere they might go, and there were always those unscrupulous characters seeking an opportunity for mischief. But now that she had learned of his desire to operate on the girls, she couldn’t help wondering if the greater concern wasn’t to keep them under wraps until the launch of publicity for the Rome Institute. She could well imagine Joe thinking that way; it was always about what he wanted.

  But Franklin would not be operating on the girls. It would never happen. If sending the twins off to New York had been intended as a stalling tactic, to assist in wearing Ludwik’s resistance down, she was positive it would not work. As soon as Ludwik was able, he and the twins would be on their way—regardless of what Joe might wish.

  She entered the tiny foyer of Franklin’s apartment, with its outdated wallpaper of peacocks amid blooming flowers, surprised at how quiet the place was. Surely the girls weren’t sleeping at such an hour!

  “Where are they?” she asked.

  “They’re in the parlor, reading.” Prudence nodded toward the closed doors on the left.

  Abigail lifted up the big cloth bag in her ha
nd. “I hope they like board games. Hand of Fate is a very popular one, and the Game of the District Messenger Boy is meant to help teach children the value of work.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be grateful for the amusement. Shall I announce you?”

  “No, that’s not necessary.”

  “All right, then I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” With a parting smile, she headed down the hall to the right.

  Abigail went to the door of the parlor. She opened it quietly. The twins didn’t even look up, so engrossed were they in their books. She watched them, fascinated as always by their appearance, which seemed to her at once strange and yet perfectly natural. They wore a plain cotton frock, simple but finely sewn, with a ribbon-and-lace trim. Their hair was styled identically, plaited into long, thick braids tied with bows that matched their outfit. Lying on a large pillow, their legs stretched out in back of them, each had a book spread open in front of her on the floor.

  “Hello, girls,” Abigail said softly, not wishing to startle them.

  They looked up in unison, smiles breaking over their faces—which struck Abigail as so childishly sweet.

  “Miss Abby!” Valencia squealed.

  She crossed the room to where they lay, dropping to the floor beside them and curling her legs underneath her skirt. “I thought maybe you could use some company.”

  Melilla sighed, rolling her eyes. “Boring! We want see New York.”

  “We go to Central Park?” suggested Valencia.

  “Oh yes, please! Central Park best place!”

  The two of them regarded her eagerly, as if she might be the one to override Franklin’s pronouncement that they were to stay in the apartment. How she wished she could! “I’m sorry, girls, not today.”

  Anxious to change the subject, she pointed to the book Valencia had been reading. “Fortunata y Jacinta,” Abigail said, sure that she must be mispronouncing the Spanish title. “What’s it about?”

  Valencia giggled. “Two señoras with husbands—and boyfriends.”

  “Oh my!” Judging from Valencia’s reading material, it seemed the twins might be worldly beyond her expectation. “And your book, Melilla?”

  “Marianela,” she said, holding up the cover so Abigail could see. “About ugly girl. Her boyfriend blind, but when doctor make him see, he fall in love with somebody else.”

  Melilla suddenly looked so dejected that it made Abigail wish she hadn’t asked—or that she had a different book to offer her, something to make her laugh. “Then the boyfriend wasn’t worthy of her after all, was he,” she said, though she doubted the girl understood.

  “When Dr. Rome make nose pretty, all the boys want me!” Melilla said, her dark eyes flashing.

  “Me, too!” protested Valencia, making a face at her sister. She reached up and grabbed Melilla’s nose. With a wicked laugh, she gave it a sharp twist. “Then we marry and make babies, like Eng and Chang.”

  She was referring, of course, to the famous Siamese twins who it was told had fathered more than twenty children. Abigail had read about them and marveled at how they’d managed it. But they were men, each with a relatively whole and separate body connected by a thick band just above their waists. As for Valencia and Melilla, what effect might bearing a child have on their health? Abigail had no idea if it was even possible for them. Besides that, the twins seemed awfully young to be thinking about motherhood. Was it only that they wished so very much to be normal?

  “But will it hurt?” Valencia asked. “The nose . . .”

  Abigail hesitated, carefully considering her response. It would have been easy to frighten them both so badly that they’d likely never mention surgery again. But would that be fair? “People usually don’t feel anything during the operation. Afterward, though, your nose might be swollen and stuffy, maybe tender.”

  “See, I tell you!” Melilla gloated, sticking out her tongue at her sister. “We be pretty when Ludwik come for us.”

  “Well, we’ll see what Ludwik has to say about it,” Abigail said cautiously. “I’m sure when Dr. Rome returns from Scarsdale he’ll be able to tell us how the baron is doing.”

  “You mean Ludwik’s father.”

  Abigail’s puzzlement must have been obvious, because Melilla quickly added, “You not know? His father sick, maybe die. That why Ludwik go back to Poland.”

  It took Abigail only a moment to figure it out. Of course! No wonder they’d not seemed in the slightest bit worried about their guardian.

  “Who told you this?” she asked, though she already was sure of the answer.

  “Mr. Radcliff.”

  “And when did he say Ludwik would return?”

  “Depend on how sick is his father. Mr. Radcliff not know. But he promise we have fun in New York,” Valencia added with a pout.

  Abigail didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t tell them the truth. Not until she understood what was going on, why Joe had led the girls to believe that Ludwik would be away indefinitely. Perhaps it was only meant to be a temporary ruse, to spare them worry, and soon they would learn the facts of the situation—that Ludwik had been seriously injured but was on his way to a complete recovery. And that there was nothing to fear.

  “I’ll tell you what—we’re going to start having fun right now,” she said cheerily. “Are you ready?”

  The afternoon sped by in a flurry of activity. After they had exhausted their supply of parlor games, for which both the girls displayed a strongly competitive spirit, Valencia suggested they try baking. The three of them spent nearly two hours on a chocolate cake, which turned out surprisingly well considering all were amateurs in the kitchen. Abigail readily admitted to the girls, perhaps even a bit proudly, that she’d done her best over the years to avoid anything suggestive of domesticity.

  “You don’t want to get married?” Valencia’s eyes were wide with wonder.

  “I don’t think so.” The memory of her time with the Hennessys, and how close she had come to a life that would have stifled her every natural impulse, still brought a queasy feeling to her stomach.

  “But if someone handsome propose?” This time it was Melilla asking, and Abigail sensed there might be more behind her question than she let on.

  “Love isn’t just about the person being handsome or pretty,” she said, feeling a responsibility to impart the wisdom her greater age presumably bestowed. “It’s about what’s inside.”

  “You mean, if he nice?”

  “And trustworthy. That’s perhaps the most important of all.”

  “Like Ludwik,” Melilla said, sighing and turning back to making little chocolate roses in a circle on top of their cake. Abigail wondered for a moment whether Melilla might actually have a crush on her guardian. It would be neither unusual nor difficult to understand.

  “Oh dear, did something explode in here?” Prudence had come into the kitchen to check on them. The twinkle in her eye made it clear she was not in the least upset to find the place a mess—flour everywhere, bowls and spoons and baking pans scattered all over the counter.

  “I take full responsibility,” Abigail said, laughing. “But oh, it’s wonderful to feel like a child again!”

  “I know what you mean,” Prudence agreed, giving Melilla an affectionate pat on the shoulder.

  Despite the gaiety of the afternoon, the thought of Ludwik was ever present in Abigail’s mind. She was anxious to hear from Franklin as to how his recovery was progressing. And, though she felt rather disloyal, she could hardly wait to hear that he had failed in his mission to change Ludwik’s mind. Perhaps such thinking was against her own self-interest; but if Melilla and Valencia were ever to undergo surgery, it should not be for someone else’s benefit. It should be about them and their happiness—and only that.

  As evening approached, Abigail happened to mention that she was around their age when her father introduced her to the illustrated Gray’s Anatomy. At Valencia’s insistence, she ran down to the office to retrieve the book from the top drawer of her writi
ng desk. As they thumbed through the pages together, Valencia at first wanted to learn how to pronounce the scientific names and then proclaimed that the book was incomplete without a diagram of her and Melilla. Abigail readily agreed, and so they decided to do something about it, the twins spontaneously striking a silly, convoluted pose that Abigail sketched to the best of her ability. It hardly did them justice, but they loved it, which she thought demonstrated a remarkably healthy state of mind and proved Ludwik’s assertion that the twins were not as unhappy with themselves as others might assume. In fact, Abigail was struck by how much there was to be learned from Valencia and Melilla—about courage and hope and, yes, even beauty. She wished she had known them before being forced to play Joe’s little Socratic game of definitions that first night in Scarsdale. She would have had a better answer for him—that beauty has no definition because it’s not something tangible; it’s a feeling. That was what Ludwik had been trying to say about his photography. It wasn’t the image that mattered but, rather, the emotion it inspired.

  For Abigail, the twins already had inspired deeper feelings than she expected.

  It was nearly seven, and Prudence was putting supper on the table, when Abigail said her goodbyes. She had been invited to eat with them but declined, explaining that she was thinking of buying a ticket to the eight o’clock show at Tony Pastor’s vaudeville theater. As soon as the words had escaped her lips, she realized how thoughtless she was. Seeing the look of longing on the girls’ faces, Abigail could barely restrain herself from inviting them to accompany her. Thinking better of it, though, she pretended to suddenly remember another obligation—a visit to her elderly aunt who was quite ill, she said, hoping it would sound sufficiently dull to cause them to regard their own circumstances of the evening with greater tolerance.

  Closing the apartment door behind her, Abigail took the staircase down to the office. In the reception room, she put her Gray’s Anatomy back into the desk drawer and was about to turn out the light when she heard a faint noise at the front entrance, then a knock. She went to open the door, prepared to explain that the office was closed.