Cora and The Doctor: or, Revelations of A Physician's Wife

The Court then adjourned till Thursday morning at nine o'clock, it being already past two o'clock, P. M.

Thursday Morning, November 7th. The court met pursuant to adjournment. At nine o'clock the sheriff and his attendants came into the Court, but without the prisoners. Great excitement was manifested. He communicated with the Judge, who exhibited strong emotion, and who, when the sheriff had opened the Court, announced the death by suicide of Joseph Lee, and the dangerous illness of Oscar Colby.

Monday, November 11th.

So ended this horrible tragedy. I intended to have taken notes, but my all-absorbing interest in the trial prevented me. Indeed I forgot even my intention to do so. The night of Tuesday, I could not close my eyes in sleep; but lived over and over again the exciting scenes of the day, while the loathsome, purple face of Joseph and the haggard visage of his companion were ever before me.

My dear Lucy was seriously indisposed when we called for her, on our way to the trial, and was glad to remain at home. Allen too bore the marks of the excitement and suffering of the day before, and said he would not willingly go through another such day for all the property in Crawford. But he was destined to a far greater trial during the day on which he had entered.

I have copied from the daily papers a full account of the trial, merely adding to it from my own memory. But now I shall endeavor to explain some circumstances connected with it which have not yet been made public. You will remember that in the report of Wednesday morning, Mr. Willard abruptly left the court-room, after requesting Mr. Marshall to cross-examine the witnesses. The following statement he made to Allen Mansfield, the Doctor, myself and some others after the trial. I will relate it nearly in his own words.

"It would hardly be supposed," he said, "that I could sleep much at that stage of this exciting trial. I tossed from side to side during the night, and as I reviewed the testimony, came almost to the conclusion that the counsel for the defence would destroy the affidavit in the minds of the Jury and get the case. I thought, if I could only find the second will or some clue to it, this would relieve my embarrassment. I became so much excited by the new train of thought, that I arose from my bed, dressed, and commenced a vigorous walk across my room.

"Plan after plan for obtaining it or some trace of it was thought of and rejected. Morning dawned; and the duties of the day left me no time for farther speculation. But my midnight thoughts prepared me for what followed, and when I went into Court, a light dawned upon me. It was connected with a circumstance with which you are already acquainted; namely, with the anxiety which Colby had manifested to have his clothes brought to him in the jail.

"During the examination of one of the first witnesses, it suddenly occurred to me to inquire of the jailer whether he had ever mentioned any garment in particular. I left the court-room for that purpose, and was soon at the jail. I began cautiously by asking whether the prisoners had been rendered comfortable during their confinement. To this, the jailer replied, 'far more comfortable than they deserved. They are ungrateful rascals. Notwithstanding the pains I have taken with Joseph's meals, in consequence of the wishes of his brother Mansfield, yet he was always cursing and swearing in the most shocking manner.'"

"And how was it with Colby? I asked.

"I can't say that he did precisely the same. I've nothing to say against him except that he was always complaining of cold and sending for more clothes. I have sent twice, and I told him that I wouldn't be bothered with sending again; so I gave him a shawl to put over him.'

"Did he ever mention any particular garment which he wished?"

"'Yes indeed. It's vests he asks for. The first time, the man forgot about the vest, and brought an overcoat or something of that sort; but the next time he got one.'

"Well," said I, trembling with a mere suspicion that I had got a clue that might lead to the discovery. The jailer seeing me much interested, went on.

"'The very next day, he wanted another vest; and I refused downright to send again.'

"Did he specify any one in particular?"

"'Yes; he said he wanted a new checked satin one, hanging in his wardrobe.'

"I had heard enough; and bidding the jailer good morning, I stopped at the court-room only long enough to take a sheriff, and proceeded to Lee Hall. Without imparting my suspicions to my companion or to the keeper of the house, I merely told them that I wished once more to examine the room occupied by Mr. Colby; and notwithstanding the doubt of finding anything new, expressed by the keeper, I walked straight to the wardrobe, and took down every vest hanging there.

"After laying them upon the bed, I proceeded, (not very deliberately, I confess) to examine the pockets and to see if I could discover any inner pockets. But no, the keeper standing by said, as I laid one down after another, 'them are clothes has all undergone a thorough castigation, and there ha'n't nothing been found in 'em.'

"Hardly knowing why, I took up again the thick black satin vest, and walked to the window. My heart almost stopped beating, as I saw that a slit had been cut in the lining, and carefully sewed up again. Quick as lightning, I cut the thread, put in my fingers, drew out the very document of which I was in search, and the note of hand within it. I sprang full two feet from the floor, as I discovered the treasure, and my companions echoed and reechoed my shout of delight. I hastened to the court-room with my important rebutting testimony," said he with a smile, "and you know the result."

Allen Mansfield was so excited during this relation that he had to sit down two or three times, and then forgetting himself he started from his seat. When Mr. Willard had finished his remarkable story, he found that his circle of hearers had greatly increased since the commencement of his narrative. Not only Mr. Marshall, the Attorney General, the Counsellors for the defence, and a score of Reporters but the Judge from the bench had pressed around him to learn how so important a mystery had been revealed. He then received the warm congratulations of all his associates at the bar, for his success, and at the favorable termination of the suit.

Mr. Mansfield begged the Doctor and myself to communicate the result of the trial to Lucy. We did so, but found her suffering so severely from nervous excitement, that my husband judged it wiser to avoid particulars, and merely to inform her that the suit had resulted in her favor. A deep sigh, with the words, "Oh! my poor brother Joseph!" were all her reply.

It was now past three o'clock, and I hastened to my babies, and communicated the sad story to mother. In consequence of losing my sleep the previous night, I did not rise till quite late on Thursday morning. When I went below, a man was just leaving the hall; and as Frank shut the door after him, I heard him say, "Oh! how shocking!" He immediately prepared to go out.

"My dear husband," I said, "something dreadful has happened, I perceive by your looks. Don't be afraid to tell me. I fear Lucy" —

"No! No!!" said he, interrupting me, "I have heard nothing from her. Don't be alarmed. I shall soon be back."

He had been gone nearly an hour, when a messenger came in great haste for him to go to Mr. Mansfield's – Lucy was in a dreadful swoon. I ran down to inquire more particularly, and to direct him to go to the office for the Doctor, when he told me the horrid catastrophe. Joseph Lee had been found dead in his cell, having hung himself from a large hook driven into the wall and used to hang up a coat or a hat.

With mother's advice, I proceeded immediately to Mr. Mansfield's, where I found every thing in the utmost confusion. Servants were running to and fro; some crying, some trying to soothe others, while Emily and her sweet little brothers were the only ones who remained calm. I stopped a moment to speak to them in the nursery, when the dear girl said, "I'm trying to keep my brothers quiet, because mamma is very sick."

I hastened to their mother's chamber, where my husband was leaning over his patient, applying the most powerful restoratives, while her agitated husband and Mrs. Burns were putting stimulants to her hands and feet. Not a pulse throbbed – no sign of life appeared. The Doctor repeatedly held a small mirror before her face, but was unable to discover the least breath. But at length, with a deep sigh from her over-burdened heart, she very gradually recovered her consciousness.

All stood back from her view except her physician. Poor Allen, with tears streaming down his cheeks, dared not show himself. The sufferer was soon able to take a little camphor and water, and without letting her see me, I returned to the children. Summoning the nurse, I told her if she would dress her young charge, I would send for them to pass the day with my little ones; and not waiting for my husband, I returned home.

That was on Thursday morning, the time appointed by the Judge, for the prisoners to receive their sentence. When the jailer went to carry them their breakfast, he ascertained that one of them was beyond the reach of any earthly tribunal. He had rushed unbidden, into the presence of his great Judge. Hastening to the other cell, and almost fearing to enter, lest he should find him in a similar condition, he ascertained that he was raving incoherently from a fever, and hastily sent for the Doctor. His disease proved to be a violent congestion of the brain; and it still remains very doubtful whether he will recover.

A coroner's jury was called to sit on the body of Joseph, and rendered a verdict of death by suicide. The Doctor says he cannot see how he could have succeeded in his attempt. He had hooked his cloak around his neck, and then hung it upon the hook on the wall by one of the eyes which fastened it together. He had been dead some hours, and probably terminated his life soon after dark, though from the examination it appeared that he must have been a long time in the agonies of death. His face was almost black, and his hands tightly clenched. So died Joseph Lee! The vast wealth of which he had so unrighteously possessed himself, what now was that to him? It would only fill his soul with enduring agony and remorse.

Friday, November 22d.

Emily Lenox Mansfield, with her twin brothers Charlie and Harry, have this morning left us to go home. I feel quite lonely without them. Emily is a most engaging child of six years of age. Her eyes filled with tears as she parted with Pauline, who has been extremely kind and obliging to her little visitors. I promised that she should soon spend a day with them, now that their mother is getting stronger. Mrs. Mansfield was very ill for several days after hearing of her brother's dreadful end. She recovered from one fainting fit only to fall into another. I think Frank became really alarmed at last; but she is now much better, and able to sit up two or three hours in a day.

She has never asked a question about the result of the trial, and is still unacquainted with the shocking detail. The Doctor fearing lest she should hear of it suddenly, told her yesterday of the death of Oscar Colby, which occurred night before last. My husband has visited him twice every day in his cell, hoping to find an opportunity, if his reason should return, to point him to his crucified Saviour. But alas! no such season presented itself. The poor man never appeared to be conscious, not even for a moment, after he was found so ill the day after the trial.

One fact will interest you much. The distillery is closed for ever. Mr. Mansfield intends to convert it into a large warehouse.

Lee Hall is undergoing repairs, and early in the spring, I suppose we shall lose our loved neighbors, who will go to the old homestead. Jacob Strong and Sarah Brown will go back with them. Mrs. Burns and Maria Keyes have always remained in the family. I believe I express the feelings of the whole community when I say, that I am delighted that such persons as Mr. and Mrs. Mansfield have come into the possession of so valuable an estate. I know, they feel themselves to be but stewards, and that they will hereafter be called to render an account of their stewardship.

CHAPTER XXXII

 
"All is not here of our belov'd and blessed, —
Leave ye the sleeper with his God to rest!" Mrs. Hemans.
 

Wednesday, October 15th, 1845.

My dearly loved mother, – How can I express words of sympathy to you, when my heart is so full of grief on my own account, from such a loss as I can never experience but once, the loss of a father.

To lose a parent under any circumstances is a heavy affliction; but to lose such a father, and to be unable to administer to his comfort, by his sick bed; to receive and treasure the words of love and wisdom which fall from his lips, – to hear his last prayer, and receive his last blessing, is indeed a sorrow heavy to be borne. You, my dear my only surviving parent, have one source of comfort, which though it may at present aggravate the loss you have sustained, will yet be an unspeakable blessing to you; and that is in the precious memories of your dear husband. These remembrances of the past, how will you live in them after the first poignancy of your grief has abated; how greatly will they sustain you.

I can truly say, that not one unpleasant word, not one unholy expression comes up to disturb the hallowed remembrance of my dearly loved father. On the contrary, every hard feeling is softened, every unkind thought subdued, when I think of his meek, loving spirit, and recollect his words of love toward all mankind. "Dear, dear father! And shall I never see thee more? never more gaze into thy mild blue eyes, and see the looks of parental fondness beaming there – never more feel thy warm embrace, or hear thy gentle voice say, 'my daughter!'"

 
Ah! in the midnight hour I see thee oft,
And hear thy voice —
Thy mingled words of love and tenderness.
And thou dost point me to the promis'd land,
Where now thou dwell'st —
The better land of never ending bliss.
 

My dear mother, if anything earthly could alleviate a sorrow like mine, it is the hope, though yet faint, that I shall ere long look upon your dear face and from your own lips hear the answer to the many questions my heart yearns to ask. Do not disappoint me. Have I not a claim upon you for a few years? I can anticipate one objection you will feel in leaving the spot consecrated as the resting place of your beloved husband. But, dear mother, he is not there. He is with his Saviour, and the throne of grace is as near us in America as in England.

My dear Frank is almost as earnest in this request as I am, and will meet you in New York, if Isabel or Nelly will go with you to Liverpool and put you in charge of some one coming direct to that place. I long to show you my treasures. Pauline you will love as if she were your own; and Nelly's face is wreathed in smiles at the name of grand-mamma Gordon. Franky is a merry, joyous little fellow, who wins his way to every heart. He holds out his arms to any one who comes in, and never was the old adage, "love begets love," more true than in his case; for many persons who are not in the habit of noticing children, are so well pleased at the readiness with which the child concludes them to be friends, that they are never weary of praising him.

CHAPTER XXXIII

"In the joy of a well ordered home, be warned that this is not your rest;

For the substance to come may be forgotten in the present beauty of the shadow." Tupper.

Tuesday, August 6th, 1850.

We were rejoiced, dear mother, to hear of your safe arrival at home, and the hearty welcome you received from your children and grand-children.

With Isabel's four, and Nelly's two little ones, you really have quite a flock. I wish they could all be together once. I long to have my children acquainted with their English cousins.

Pauline is quite inclined to commence a correspondence with Isabel's Ernest. You were so much pleased with her perfect simplicity and artlessness of character, I will relate a little incident which occurred since you left. The Doctor and myself were invited to a small party at Mr. Mansfield's, and as has often occurred of late, Pauline was included in the invitation.

She met there quite a number of young ladies of her own age, as well as many older persons. In the course of the evening music was called for, and some of the young ladies were requested to play upon the piano or harp. Misses upon whom hundreds of dollars had been expended for instruction in music, and who had been daily practising for many years, now refused to gratify their parents, or friends, by an effort to play.

One young lady "couldn't think of it," and with a great affectation of modesty, "never could play if any one was by." This same young lady in the course of the evening, not only did play, after being sufficiently urged to do so, but laughed so loud that her rudeness arrested the attention of all present. Another young miss had a "very bad cold;" the cold however subsided after sufficient pleading to sing from a young gentleman near her.

But I was intending to speak of my simple-hearted Pauline. She appeared much astonished at the unwillingness to oblige, which these young girls manifested; and when one of the company said, "here is a young lady, who, I think, will give us some music," she very gracefully walked to the piano-forte, pleasantly saying, "I shall be very happy to oblige you." She played, by her own selection, some simple pieces which she accompanied with her sweet voice.

The lady was moved to tears, while the young people crowded around her, eagerly asking for more. She willingly complied, and played one piece after another as they were selected for her, and with such beauty of expression and even brilliancy in the execution, that I was not only delighted by her sweet manner, but proud of the success of my first pupil.

Mrs. Marshall sat near me, and said with tears in her eyes, "My dear Mrs. Lenox, you have a great treasure in that lovely girl," (and so indeed I have.) "I hope," she continued, "that the young ladies will endeavor to imitate so worthy an example."

Wednesday, August 7th.

I have given the children a holiday, on account of the intense heat. I am richly repaid for all my care in the education of Pauline, by the aid she is to me in the care of her sister and brother.

Franky loves her as a teacher, even better than he does me. I fear, he sometimes imposes upon her good nature and her great love for him, by his inattention and restlessness during school-hours. But I really cannot blame them such a day as this, with the thermometer at ninety degrees in the shade.

There is a great deal of sickness in the town, and the Doctor has a number of cases of typhus fever. I think such cases have occurred every year about this season. He now realizes the benefit of so efficient a partner as he finds in Doctor Clapp, whose days of leisure have been long ago forgotten, or only remembered to be sighed for. He has removed to a pleasant residence down in town, and his good wife finds ample employment in the training of her numerous little flock, leaving her culinary department, in which she was so skilful, to the aid which her husband's abundant means enable him to provide.

Thursday, August 8th.

The heat still continues unabated. I should be inclined to call myself sick, if it were not for my anxiety for the Doctor, who appears to me to be quite unwell, though he will not allow it to be anything of importance, but only the effect of riding in the heat. I do believe physicians make the very worst patients, and dread the taking of medicine more than any other class of persons.

Saturday, August 10th.

We have had a most refreshing shower, which has cooled the heated air. But it does not appear to have revived my poor husband, who though still suffering from a most violent head-ache, yet persisted in going to visit a few of his sickest patients. I am really very anxious, and will set up my authority when he returns. We have long ago settled the vexed question of obedience; I am to obey him when he is well, and he is to obey me when he is sick.

Sabbath, August 11th.

My authority was unnecessary. Dear Frank came home at noon, pale as a ghost, and went willingly to bed. I sent for Dr. Clapp without consulting him, and a powder which he administered has somewhat relieved the pain, so that he is now asleep, while I sit by him.

Monday, September 2d.

Oh! how much of fear, anxiety and engrossing care has been crowded into the few days which have intervened since I wrote the above.

I have taken my pen, as I sit by the couch of my husband, to relieve my swelling heart. The night succeeding the first call of Dr. Clapp, Frank was perfectly wild with delirium. I was obliged to call Cæsar to help me keep him in bed. He did not know us, and supposed we were trying to keep him from getting home. Oh! how my heart ached, as he entreated to be allowed to go home, saying again and again, "my wife will be so anxious."

Sometimes for a minute, he seemed to recognize mother, and then would talk to her in the strangest manner, thinking her a patient or somebody else. Notwithstanding all the skill of his physician, the unceasing watchfulness of friends, or the action of medicine, my dear, dear husband rapidly grew worse. Indeed Dr. Clapp said, he must have had a settled fever for a week before he took his bed. Early on Monday morning, the twelfth ultimo, our kind Doctor sent to the city for Dr. J – , an eminent physician, to come to Crawford for a consultation.

He arrived by the next train of cars. I watched their looks, and hung upon their words, as if they had the power of life and death in their hands. I knew that Dr. Clapp considered my dear husband a very sick man; but oh! I did not realize till then, that there was hardly a hope of his recovery. Dr. J – looked very grave, and when his brother physician in a low voice, pointed out some of the symptoms, he shook his head.

I went silently from the room; I could contain myself no longer. They soon retired to consult upon the case, after which I begged them to tell me exactly what they thought of their patient. Dr. Clapp turned hastily away, while Dr. J – pressed my hand, saying, "My dear madam, we are all in the hands of God."

I almost gasped for breath, as I tried to say, "but you think he will live, oh! say that he will live."

The kind Doctor put his handkerchief to his eyes, as he answered, "while there is life, there is hope, but I ought not to deceive you."

"Oh!" said I, while weeping bitter tears, "I can't hear you say that I may not hope."

Dr. Clapp wrung my hand, and wept aloud, "I shall lose the best friend I ever had," said he, while I sank back almost fainting into a chair. Dr. J – sat down by me, and tried to compose my feelings, saying that I should be ill myself, and that my dear husband had lived a useful life, and was prepared to enter upon his glorious inheritance; but every word cut deeper and deeper into my heart, convincing me that they had given up all hope. I pressed my hand to my head which seemed to be flying off, and rushed from the room. I flew to the farther end of the house, to a room the most remote from that where lay my sick, and as they thought, my dying husband. I threw myself upon the bed and wept aloud. My heart was in a dreadful state of rebellion against my Maker. The most awful thoughts came into my mind; but I drove them hence; "Why should I lose my husband? I do not wish to live without him. I cannot give him up," was the language of my unsubmissive heart. But all at once the thought of my horrible ingratitude to my heavenly Father, who had bestowed upon me such a companion, and who had allowed us to live together so many years, struck me dumb. I arose from my bed, threw myself upon my knees, and plead earnestly for pardon, and for a submissive spirit. I knew, I felt, I confessed that I had made an idol of my dear Frank, and I cried fervently for a spirit to say,

 
"The dearest idol I have known,
Whate'er that idol be,
Help me to tear it from thy throne,
And worship only thee."
 

Long and severe was the struggle with my hard and undutiful feelings. But the answer came at length, and with tears which were no longer bitter, I arose and was enabled by divine grace to say, "The Lord gave and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord." I felt a sweet peace in giving him, whom I best loved to my Saviour, and it seemed but a very short time before I should go to him and dwell with him, where there would be no more sorrow, and no more parting, but where all tears would be wiped from our eyes.

When I went back to the sick room, however, and saw the pale, haggard countenance, the sunken eyes, and heard the labored breath, my heart sunk within me, as I realized that he would soon pass from my sight, without one parting word, one farewell kiss. As I stood gazing at him, the inspired passage occurred to me, "In whose hands our breath is, and whose are all our ways." I then remembered that God had power to restore the emaciated form before me, to new life and vigor. The thought that it might be his will to give my husband back to me, even from the borders of the grave, sent the warm blood throbbing through me. I again poured out my heart in prayer to God, not for myself, but for the life of my husband. I renewedly dedicated him to God. I cried out, "Oh! my heavenly Father, give me his life."

Dear mother also was besieging the throne of grace in his behalf. But he lay unconscious of the agonized hearts throbbing near him, anxiously watching every breath he drew.

Dr. Clapp was to be with him through Monday night. Mother besought me to try to sleep. I wondered if she thought I could ever sleep again? But I only shook my head. The crisis was rapidly approaching. I saw that not a sigh, or a groan escaped the notice of our kind physician; but I was calm. I even wondered at myself. A strong, but invisible arm was put round about me to strengthen me, and I leaned upon it to sustain my drooping spirit. The night passed slowly away, the morning began to dawn; not a word had been spoken for the past hour. Dr. Clapp sat with his fingers upon the wrist of his patient, where he could scarce feel the fluttering pulse. Ever and anon he would take the candle from the table, hold it before the face of the pale sufferer, and then silently shade it again.

At length he arose, and putting his fingers upon his lips, to enjoin perfect silence, he withdrew from the room. Nothing could be heard but the ticking of the watch and our own loud breathing. It seemed a long, long time that the Doctor was absent, and when he came in, I saw he had been weeping. In an agony of grief my very soul yearned for one more look, one more word of love. I hardly dared to uncover my face. When I did so, the Doctor was wetting his patient's lips with a sponge. Then he sat down again, with his fingers upon the pulse.

What had come over the man? I wiped my eyes to see clearer. His whole face was lit up with an expression, to which it had for many days been a stranger; but I dared not hope. Again and again the sponge was dipped in the cup and applied to the parched lips, and still we sat, as though we had no tongues, or knew not how to use them, when feeling that I could not breathe, I silently arose and left the room. The kind watcher followed, and leading me down stairs to the library, shut the door, and in a husky voice said, "My dear Mrs. Lenox, the crisis has passed, and your husband still lives."

I started from my chair. "Compose yourself, my dear lady," he continued. "There is hope that he may recover," and our sympathizing friend wept tears of joy.

But for me the reaction was too great. I felt myself falling to the floor. When I recovered Pauline was bathing my temples. Dr. Clapp had left the room and returned to his patient. I speedily recovered and followed him, and was softly stepping toward the bed where mother sat holding her beloved son by the hand. But the physician saw me and motioned me back. I withdrew into the hall, where he soon joined me, and leading me away from the door, said, "Your husband is now conscious, and will recognize you. Can you compose yourself? The least excitement may be fatal to him."

After a moment, in which I tried to hush the loud beating of my heart, and to breathe a prayer for strength, I said, "I think I can," and we again entered the room. I walked silently to the bed, and looked at my darling Frank. His eyes were closed and his face closely resembled death; but when he feebly opened his eyes, the light of reason beamed thence, and he knew me. I kissed his forehead and almost flew from the room. My heart was filled with the most delightful emotions of gratitude and joy, "and though my voice was silent, being stopped by the intenseness of what I felt, yet my soul sung within me and even leaped for joy." The emotion was so intense as to be nearly allied to pain. I pressed my hand to my heart to keep it from bursting. I heard a gentle step, and my sweet Pauline sat by my side, and drawing my head to her breast, sought to soothe my agitated feelings. She had been weeping. "Dear mamma," she whispered, "I am so happy, I have been trying to thank God for making dear father better."

"My love," said I, "will you thank our heavenly Father for me?" As we sat, she breathed out her heart to God like one who was used to going to him, as to a tender father. I pressed her to me and thanked God for so great a treasure.

Wednesday, September 4th.

I was proceeding with my writing, the day before yesterday, supposing Frank to be asleep, when he put his hand upon mine, and said, "my love, you have wept quite enough."

While scarcely conscious of the fact, I had been continually wiping my eyes, to enable me to see the page. Many tears I see have fallen upon my paper.