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

When the rest of the servants retired, he remained, and the Doctor asked him, "Well, my good Cæsar, how have you enjoyed the day?"

"Oh, Mass'r! dis yer pears like good old times when old Mass'r live. Dem good old days, berry!" Cæsar wiped his eyes with his coat sleeve as he left the room; and his was not the only eye moistened by this allusion to the past.

I don't know as I told you that Cæsar and Phebe were purchased by Squire Lenox from the south, where they were about to be sold separately. He brought them to the north, where, of course, they are free; and they have ever since constituted an important part of the family. Taught to read and write, they have for many years been members of the same church with their master and mistress.

Monday Morning, June 8th.

Frank has just left me for his morning calls. He came in from the garden when Cæsar brought the carriage to the door, and not finding me below, he sprang up the stairs to bid me good bye. Pauline looked up quickly and pointed with her finger to direct my attention, saying, "dere Frank."

We both laughed heartily. He patted her cheek, "So little miss, she's mamma; and I, only Frank. I rather think you'll have to take me for a papa for want of a better;" then turning to me, "it would sound oddly enough. Now to you the name mamma seems natural as life, only it makes you rather rosy." He bade mother and daughter good bye, and ran away in haste.

I am constantly haunted by the thought that she is in some way connected with my school-mate Pauline De Lacy. I have in vain tried to remember if she had a married sister whose child this may be.

But I must leave this subject and finish my story about Cæsar and his wife. It was a great trial to them when mother and Emily left the old homestead, even to go across the garden to their cottage-home, and they desired to go with them. But mother overruled their objections and retained Ruth, their only child, a capable girl of twenty.

I believe Cæsar trembled not a little at the idea of a new mistress, who he feared would disturb the harmony of the family. I have, however, gained his good will. He treats me like a toy which he is exceedingly apprehensive of injuring.

As for Phebe, such is her pride in the glory of "our folks," that as I am a Lenox, the wife of Mass'r Frank, nothing can be too good for me. I think, she likes me better because I am young and inexperienced in household affairs, and, therefore, shall not be likely to interfere in her department. There is, indeed, no occasion for me to do so. She has been well and thoroughly trained by mother, and is fully competent to perform the duties of her station, while Ann, the chambermaid, is equally so in her appropriate sphere.

To tell you the truth, I did not know exactly what was expected of me. One day last week, I waited upon madam in the kitchen and in a very hesitating manner began to say something about dinner, when she soon interrupted me, "Laws, missus, don't you, honey, trouble your precious head 'bout sich kind. I'se feel shamed to look Mass'r Frank in de face, and den pears like make me blush to have it told down town; little young missus spending her blessed time in de kitchen."

I presume, I looked, as I felt, delighted to be relieved, and was running away, laughingly, when she continued, "Dere missus, go long, please, and play on de pianny." I came gladly away, but spent the time writing in my journal. Now I have enough to occupy me in the care of my little Pauline.

After Ann had put her to bed last night, Frank showed us the little parcel given him by the landlady. It contained part of a letter addressed to a domestic, giving strict directions concerning the child. It was written in French, in a delicate female hand, but gave no clue as to the name or place of the writer. A mother's heart evidently dictated it, from the numerous directions about clothing, diet, and the like. The packet contained, in addition, a child's dress, with elaborate embroidery upon the neck and sleeves; also a pair of coral and gold sleeve clasps to match the necklace.

Many conjectures were formed by Emily, respecting the parentage of the child, after which the articles were returned to Frank to be locked up safely among his treasures. His sister mischievously recommended him to deposit them in a certain trunk, containing nothing but old letters, saying, with an arch look at me, "I suppose now they are worthless."

The Doctor deigned no reply. This amused Emily so much that she whispered to me, loud enough for him to hear, "Oh, the deceitfulness of man! He tries, beneath that solemn look, to make you believe that he doesn't value those letters above rubies. I'll manage very differently if I ever get in love, which to be sure, is very unlikely. I should wish my husband to tell me once in half an hour that I was dearer to him than all on earth. I've no doubt Frank feels as I do, for each one of those letters used to make him bright for a week; and he hurried the poor carpenters and masons, as if his very life depended on our moving away from the house as soon as possible."

"Emily," called Frank in a serious tone, looking up gravely from the book he was reading, "did I not hear something of an exchange of pulpits between Mr. Munroe and Mr. Benson?"

It was now Emily's turn to be silent. She hesitated, blushed, and finally retired from the room. After she left, Frank asked mother, "Do you think Emily loves Mr. Benson?"

She replied, "I really cannot tell. Beyond his coming often to the house, and Emily seeming rather pleased with his visits, I know nothing." —

Sister has just returned from town, where she has been to make purchases for Pauline's wardrobe. Now I must drop my pen, and go to work with my scissors and needle.

Tuesday, June 9th.

Though very busy, I must write a few lines while Pauline is asleep. Emily and I went to the garret this morning – the receptacle for all things not in use, and found a great supply of playthings for Miss Pauline. Among them are a large wax doll, and her furniture, which with sister's permission, I shall lay by for future use. With a basket of these toys, the dear child has amused herself on the floor, while mother, Miss Proctor, Emily and myself have been plying our needles. We have one suit nearly completed, and shall take her to ride in it this afternoon. We are to go in the double carriage, and after procuring the young Miss a suitable covering for her curly head, we are to drive as far as Waverley, the parish of Emily's friend, though this part of our plan has not yet been disclosed to her ladyship.

Evening.

The doctor was summoned to a patient after tea, but will, I think, be back soon, when I must devote myself entirely to him. Do you know, dear mother, he is trying to make me think him jealous of the young lady I have honored with my protection; really, he says my thoughts are so full of Pauline that I have hardly looked at him for two days. I believe after all he is as bad as Emily, and wants me to tell him "every half hour what a darling he is." I must look to this, for I think I have been to blame, and he shall see my heart is large enough for both. He knows, however, he occupies his full share in my affections.

I remember once before my marriage hearing him say to a lady in England, he would never accept half a heart; no, hardly one that had loved before. He wanted the fresh and warm gushings of affection. She inquired if he had such a heart to give in return. He answered proudly, "I shall ask for no more than I can bestow."

I hear the carriage, and will run to meet him.

Wednesday, June 10th.

Last evening, Frank laughed, as I stood at the door, and said jocosely "I suppose Miss Lenox is asleep, and that you are glad even of my company when you have no other."

Though he was laughing, the tears instantly filled my eyes, and I said, "Oh, Frank! you know how much more I love you than all the Paulines in the world." I spoke earnestly for I thought his words implied a distrust of my love.

His manner changed at once, and very tenderly taking my hand, he led me to the sofa. He turned my face to his, which I had vainly endeavored to conceal. "Now, my love," said he, when he had kissed away the tears, "let us have a full understanding."

"Yes, but I want you to forgive me first, if you think I have been too much absorbed with Pauline."

"My sweet wife, you have never offended me. It is I who ought to ask forgiveness for making you weep. Perhaps you will think me selfish; but I want you to promise to ride with me every day when I can be at liberty, and to leave Pauline with mother, or with Ann. When I am not at liberty, Cæsar will take the large carriage and drive you all, Miss Lenox junior among the rest. Will you promise this?"

"With great pleasure; but why not take her with us; she would be quiet?"

"Because, I want to take you to visit my poor patients. I have laid out a great work for you, Cora, and if I do not mistake, you will love it. Then it will be a good discipline for Pauline, to have you leave her occasionally. By the way, have you settled the question with her who shall be mistress?"

I looked at him in wonder. "I have noticed several times," said he pleasantly, "when your wishes and hers were at variance, that you yielded to her, instead of insisting that she should yield to you. Now, my dear Cora, as we have taken this child, we are responsible to God for her proper government and education. She is not a mere plaything which can be thrown aside at pleasure. She has a soul to be fitted for happiness or misery. Have you thought of this? Have you counted the cost, the care, and effort, and patience which all this requires?"

"Yes, Frank, and I have prayed for wisdom to guide me. I know well I am not fitted for such a charge."

"Then, dear wife, I have no more to say. I will do anything to cooperate with you; and if you enter upon it with such a spirit you will have both Divine help and reward."

I thank God, dear mother, for such a kind husband; so faithful to point out my faults, and so ready to help me overcome them. He feared I did not realize the care and responsibility of the work I had undertaken. I intend at once to commence a course of reading on education. Heretofore I have thought little upon the subject; only that children should be taught to be obedient, truthful and affectionate. Now I understand why Frank wished me to allow Ann to put Pauline to bed. The child cried every time I left her, and would only be satisfied with my waiting upon her in person. I had in two or three instances yielded to her for the sake of peace, without realizing that the principle was wrong, or that she was forming a bad habit. Frank saw she grew more and more imperative in her demands and hence thought it necessary to speak to me of the exposure.

I believe I have not given you an account of our ride to Waverley. We were about a mile on our way, when, whom should we meet but the very Mr. Benson on horse-back, and going to the cottage. I whispered to Emily that we could easily return and leave her at home while we continued our ride. But to this she would by no means consent, and turned indifferently to the window the opposite side of the carriage, where she was intently occupied with the prospect, which in that place consisted of a fine growth of forest trees.

Mr. Benson addressed some words to me, and then rode round to ascertain what was so charming in the opposite view. I really pitied the poor man, for Emily was almost rude to him. I don't yet understand them; but I think I can see that he is a little wanting in tact, and does not quite understand all the crooks and turns in a woman's heart.

Frank very politely invited Mr. Benson to accompany us, who said it would give him pleasure to do so, if agreeable to our company. He looked at Emily; but she deigned no reply, appearing wholly engaged in a frolic with Pauline.

I began at once to be very polite, determined to do my part toward making amends for Emily's indifference, which I saw pained him. It is difficult conversing from a carriage with a gentleman on horse-back; but as we rode slowly, I endeavored to be very interesting, until after a time the young clergyman, perceiving he had no attention from the object of his special regard, resumed his place at my side.

I really like Mr. Benson, and should be glad of him for a brother. I cannot help thinking sister likes him too; when he is not talking with her; for I noticed she kept Pauline very quiet and listened with interest to our conversation. When we returned home, I earnestly invited the gentleman to remain and take tea with us, and had to bite my lips to keep from laughing to see Emily's amazement at the turn affairs had taken.

The suitor, after looking very much embarrassed, as if expecting an invitation from another, accepted mine, and we entered the house. Mother stood quietly by. I suppose she is determined to leave Emily to act for herself. When he consented to remain, she said, "now you will excuse us;" but I insisted they should fulfil their engagement to tea, when, at least, one of the company became decidedly more cheerful. "I wish he wouldn't speak to Emily again this evening," was my thought, as he continually tried to engage her in conversation.

Notwithstanding all my efforts, the evening passed away slowly; the Doctor having been called out soon after tea. The occasion ended sadly for the poor suitor, who, toward the close of it, requested a few moments' conversation with Emily. In this interview, she decidedly refused him, and then cried all night after it.

Foolish girl! But I persuaded her to unburden her heart to me. She confessed, she did not know whether she loved Mr. Benson or not. Many traits in his character she admired; but others suggested serious objections. The latter, however, I could not induce her to name, and indeed, I doubt whether she had herself any distinct idea of them.

After a pause, during which I tried in vain to think of something which would comfort her, she looked at me earnestly and said, "Cora, tell me truly, don't you think he's rather soft?" "I think," I replied, trying to conceal my mirth, "that he has a very strong affection for you; and that sometimes it would be more pleasing to a delicate, modest girl, if he did not exhibit it so openly."

"That is exactly my feeling, but I couldn't express it. Yet what is the use of talking?" she asked, with a profound sigh; "the question is settled, and there the matter rests."

CHAPTER IV

 
"From the light ills of infant age.
Up to the plague's destructive rage,
Pains come and go at thy command,
True to the sceptre of thy hand." East.
 

Thursday, June 11th.

When the Doctor left for his morning duties, he said, "Please bear in mind, Cora, that you have engaged yourself to me for the afternoon."

"For life, I understood it," said I, trying to speak gravely.

He was much pleased, and turned back to give me another embrace, and whispered, "my darling," in such a loving tone, that my heart felt very warm all the forenoon.

I wish I could describe to you the view from my window. It rained all night, and this morning was very foggy; but now the sun is beginning to dispel the mist; and the mountain – oh, it is beautiful! I keep stopping to look, and to inhale the balmy air. Now I can see the summit quite distinctly; the sun is shining upon it, while the fleecy clouds roll off and settle on the lake, from which they arise in thick mist.

Before we left our room this morning, Frank gave me a subject for thought which rather troubles me; but I think I know what you and dear father would advise; I know also what is right; but courage, courage is wanting. We are constantly liable to be interrupted while engaged in family devotions; or Frank is away at the regular time. He asked, this morning, as a great favor to himself, that I would, in such cases, call the family together and read prayers.

I started at the proposition, and was about to say, "I cannot," when he said, "do not decide hastily. Think upon the subject, and tell me to-morrow." After a pause, he continued, "the time of a physician is not at his own command. I may be called away day after day; and our family services lose half their interest and profit through the want of regularity."

"How was it before I came?"

"Mother always conducted the service in my absence."

My mind was in a perfect tumult. At breakfast I thought I had found a good excuse; at least, it then appeared so to me; and I tried to be cheerful and to dismiss the subject. After prayers, as my husband was leaving the room, I detained him; "Frank," I asked, "don't you think I'm too young? – Cæsar, Phebe and Ann are so much older than I am. Does it appear to you quite proper?"

"Well," said he, coming back and shutting the door, "I didn't think of it in that light. You are rather young, to be sure; only eighteen the fourth day of February." I was surprised that he remembered the exact day. "How soon do you think you will be at the proper age?"

I had thought, when he commenced, that he certainly considered this a valid excuse; but the moment he asked that question, though there was not the slightest touch of irony in his tone, yet I felt mortified in the extreme, and the blood rushed to my very forehead. I turned quickly away, as Emily entered the room.

And now what can I do? My heart almost stands still at the bare thought of it; I, who have never audibly lifted up my voice in prayer to God, save only in the presence of my little Pauline. I cannot do it; and I think my husband almost hard to ask it of me. He is always so calm and self-possessed, he little knows how my heart throbs.

Noon.

As Frank has not returned, I will add a few lines. I have taken Pauline for a walk through the garden, and made a call upon mother and sister. How we all laughed when the little thing lisped "grandmamma," in obedience to my wish. Before we came out, mother remarked that I looked quite pale. I longed to ask her advice, but conscience whispered, "you already know your duty;" and I concluded to say nothing about my trouble. "Emily," I replied, "can sympathize with me; she is looking very unwell."

As I spoke, her face and neck were covered with a burning blush. "Emily is not well," said mother gravely; "She scarcely eats at all."

"O, mother!" exclaimed Emily, "I'm well enough, only a head ache," and she went to the closet to get seed cakes for Pauline.

As I returned home through the kitchen garden, to give the child a longer walk, I heard Phebe, who stood at the back door, call to Cæsar.

"Look dere now! see de young Missus. It's enough to do your old curly pate powerful sight o' good just to see her a leading dis yer baby."

Evening.

I obtained permission from mother this morning to leave Pauline with her, while I rode with Frank. When the time arrived, Ann put on her bonnet, and then it was very easy to induce Miss to have hers put on for a walk to grandmamma's.

It has been a delightful day after the rain; and if my heart had been at rest, I should have enjoyed the ride. I imagined my looks troubled Frank a little, for he said he had intended taking me with him to visit one or two families in the outskirts of the town; but if I did not feel inclined, he would postpone it until another day. I assured him my health was perfectly good, and I had anticipated the calls with much pleasure. So we rode on through the village, he being more than usually social and interesting, and giving me no time to think of myself until we came to the border of the town, near the lake I have mentioned.

Here stood a number of small cottages, one story in height, with the grounds about them enclosed with low fences. I noticed one of these bore marks of more taste and refinement than the others. It had a pleasant little patch of flowers along the side of the beaten path to the entrance, while a beautiful rose bush was trained upon a trellis by the side of the door, which run upon the house nearly to the roof, and furnished a complete shade to one of the windows.

This was the home of the Doctor's patient, and I followed him to the door, which stood hospitably open. A light knock brought a modest woman to the entrance, who, in her tabby muslin cap, and her clean checked apron, appeared very neatly. She courtesied as the Doctor introduced me, and invited us to walk in. The patient is a young girl in her sixteenth year, who is gradually wasting away with consumption. Never shall I forget the bright expression of love and respect which beautified her countenance, as Frank took her hand, and tenderly inquired how she had passed the night. "I have brought you another friend," he added; "one I am sure you will love. I think I can safely promise she will be happy to do anything for your comfort." This promise I cheerfully confirmed.

Hers is a case requiring little medicine. Her sufferings are comparatively slight, except from exhausting fits of coughing. She appears to be passing gently away. The bright color which burned in her cheek had now faded, leaving her face perfectly colorless. The only relief to the marble whiteness was the long black lashes which lay upon her cheek when she closed her eyes. Propped up in her bed by pillows, she looked with her whole soul at the Doctor, who sat at her side, speaking to her of God's rich mercy. She assented to what he said by a slight inclination of the head, and sometimes repeated after him part of the verse of Scripture, he quoted, as if to impress it upon her own mind. But I could see plainly that she was under restraint by the presence of a stranger.

When he arose, she held out her hand and whispered, "will you please to pray with me?" Frank immediately reseated himself; and taking a little pocket Bible from his coat, read a few verses from the fourteenth chapter of John; and then prayed. I felt borne on wings of faith to heaven as my dear husband praised God for the love which had sent the Saviour into the world, that we might have pardon and eternal life; that we might be elevated to seats at his right hand in heaven, and be joint heirs with Christ to immortal glory and honor. He besought Jesus to bless and comfort with his Divine presence, the dear child who was approaching the dark valley; to give her the victory over sin, and death, and to receive her through faith in him into the kingdom of heaven, where her eternity might be spent in singing "Worthy the Lamb that was slain."

As I approached the bed to bid her farewell, I was struck dumb, with the heavenly smile of peace and joy which shone in every feature. Surely, thought I, she has the seal upon her forehead; she already breathes the air of heaven. I lifted her thin white hand to my lips, and bowed my head in silence; I dared not trust my voice to speak.

The Doctor called Mrs. Leighton aside and gave her a few simple directions before we left. He conducted me silently to the carriage, turned the horse down a shady lane toward the water, and drew me to him until I could lay my head upon his shoulder, when my excited feelings found relief in tears.

When I had become more composed, Frank asked, "Is she not to be envied?"

"Oh, yes! yes!" I replied, "Would, I could feel the assurance of faith and love, which lit up her face like that of an angel!"

He then, at my request, told me something of her history. Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Leighton, are respectable, pious people, who have been deeply afflicted by the loss of two daughters and one son by the same disease which is now wasting the frame of their only surviving child. Naturally amiable and intelligent she has been too much indulged by her fond parents, who cling to her as their last and best beloved.

So insidious was her disease, that, when summoned to her sick bed, Frank found no skill could save her. He therefore endeavored to direct her to the great Physician, to cure the disease of her soul.

"What was the state of her mind at that time?" I asked.

"Very rebellious. She was unwilling to hear a word of discouragement, and talked constantly of pleasures and parties, in which her mother had allowed her to mingle. She was a very handsome girl, lively and agreeable in conversation, and had excited unusual attention for one so young."

"How soon did she become reconciled to death? She seems now to look forward to it, as the consummation of her hopes and joys."

"Not for many months; but she will give you an account of the change in her feelings. I hope you will soon see her again; she has not long to stay with us."

As we passed the house on our return, we noticed Mrs. Leighton at the door watching for us. Frank, thinking she wished to call him, sprang from the carriage. But she only put into his hand a little bouquet, saying in a suppressed voice, "Caroline," at the same time waving her hand that it was intended for me. I was very much affected at the simple gift, and sent my thanks to the sweet girl. There was exquisite taste in the selection – a moss rose bud – a white rose half blown, with dark green myrtle leaves, – and a sprig of mignonette.

"It must have been hard for her," I said, "to give up this beautiful earth, she is so fond of flowers and everything tasteful."

"Ah! but she gains heaven," was Frank's reply. This suggested to me the following lines from a favorite poet, which I repeated to my husband.

 
"Once when I look'd along the laughing earth,
Up the blue heavens, and through the middle air,
Joyfully ringing with the sky-lark's song,
I wept, and thought how sad for one so young,
To bid farewell to so much happiness.
But Christ doth call me from this lower world;
Delightful though it be."
 

We next stopped at a house of moderate size, in which the Doctor told me, four families found their home. Having tied the horse by the little gate, we entered a room on the right, where a poor man lay on a bench, or, as I afterwards saw, a long chest, upon which some quilts had been spread to make it soft. The chest was pushed to the corner of the room, so that, with pillows behind him, the invalid could sit almost upright.

Watching by his side was a very pretty woman, who, from her dialect, I perceived was Welsh. Near her was a small boy of about three years of age, sitting on a low cricket; while in a shed, opening directly out of the room, there stood a young girl of eleven, washing.

After putting two chairs near her husband, Mrs. Lewis resumed her seat and her sewing, as it was only by her industry, the family were supported.

Frank inquired particularly about the symptoms of his patient, and prescribed for his relief. He then said, "I have brought my wife, as I promised to introduce her to you." Here Mr. Lewis put out his emaciated hand, and expressed pleasure at seeing me. Frank continued, "Mrs. Lenox will come and read to you, if you wish, while your wife is busy."

The sick man regarded me with a look of gratitude, while his wife replied, "I am sure t'would be a great comfort to us both, to hear a bit of the Word. My man," she continued, "is not able to read; it makes his eyes ache badly. I have so little time, I can only repeat a verse now and then, to give us something to think of."

The Doctor asked Mr. Lewis if he had enjoyed more peace of mind since his last visit.

"Sometimes," he replied in a whisper, "I can feel willing to trust myself in the hands of God; but again all is dark, and I can't come nigh to him. He appears a great way off, and I seem to be praying into the air." As he closed, his breast heaved a deep sigh.

I became so much interested in him; and he so exactly described my own feelings, at times, that I forgot any one else was present, and said, "Oh, sir! I have often felt so; and the only way I can do, is to keep praying, until God reveals himself to me. He does hear, and he will answer if we keep asking, and if he sees we are in earnest."

I stopped suddenly, in great embarrassment, when Frank immediately added, "This is the case with most Christians. Sometimes while we are yet speaking God hears, and grants an answer of peace. Again he delays, to try our faith and patience."

"But the prayers of the wicked are an abomination," said Mr. Lewis feebly. "I can't feel sure that he has accepted me."

"Has his promise ever failed?" inquired the Doctor. "He says, 'call upon me and I will answer; knock and it shall be opened.'"

The poor man put his hand to his breast, as if in great pain. Frank feared lest we were prolonging the interview beyond his strength, and rose to leave.

"Surely you won't go without praying for me," said Mr. Lewis.

"If you feel able to attend, I will do so with pleasure," replied the Doctor. I was very much affected to see the sick man rise feebly, and kneel during prayer. He wept much, and when we arose he was so exhausted by his emotion, the Doctor and his wife were obliged to raise him to his feet. But when he had taken some drink, he became more composed, and said, "Thank you." "Come soon," he said to me, with a smile.

Mrs. Lewis followed us to the door, where Frank put into her hand a bank bill; and in addition, requested her to send to our house in the morning for some chicken broth of which he wished her husband to partake freely. Her eyes filled with tears, and she could only look her thanks.

It was now becoming late, and we returned home. I cannot help thinking how much good a pious physician has it in his power to do. He gains the affections of his patients; and they will listen to religious conversation which they would not hear from a stranger. Frank cares for their souls as well as their bodies, especially as the one commonly affects the other.