The Doctor Takes a Wife (23 page)

But Page did not understand. She just sat there, her face as puzzled as a child
’
s. “What is it you want me to do now?” she asked, then shook her head apologetically. “I think you must realize, Min, that I
’
m—I
’
m not very good at figuring out things like this. Human relationships are a closed book to me. I just barely can see that you
’
ve presented a mathematical problem involving a triangle—”

Min laughed. “If it were mathematics, you could solve it, couldn
’
t you?”

“Yes, I could,” Page agreed. “But as it is—a matter of people
—
Why, Min, I don
’
t even understand why you came to tell me this.”

“That may be the hardest part of the problem, darling. Because I don
’
t know, either. I guess
—
I
hope
it was to give us both a sporting chance. I was afraid you might not know how things stood. You
’
re right, you don
’
t seem too quick to understand human shenanigans. You might not have realized that things were in—well—a delicate state of balance.” She was looking up at the clock, rather than at Phil
’
s young wife. “It
’
s a little like those three ball weights up there; they go
‘
round, and dip and go up, just exactly balanced, one against the other. But it wouldn
’
t take much to throw one of
‘
em out of kilter—and there
’
d be hell to pay in that glass dome, wouldn
’
t there?”

“The clock would stop,” said Page seriously, “or at least, not keep good time.”

“Yeah,” drawled Min. “That
’
s what I mean.”

Page watched her silently.

“It might not be a world-shaking thing,” said Min, “if that pretty clock stopped—or if one more marriage blew up. But—in our world, in our little glass canopy—it would be pretty big.

“I
’
m sorry I fell in love with Red. I
’
m sorry he had to be the one guy I shouldn
’
t fall in love with—but since I know both things are as stated, I feel that it
’
s up to you and me to decide what we should do about the whole mess. For there
’
s an awful good chance, Page, that Red and I may do the thing we should
not
!”
She clamped her lips together, and stood up, hitching at the belt of her skirt.

“But is this something we can decide?” asked Page. “What if Phil
’
s in love with you?”

Min sighed. “Oh, you know how men
are...”

“No,” Page broke in. “That
’
s what I don
’
t know. Eight months ago, Phil told me that he loved me, and he married me. But now, if he loves you
—
Does he?”

“He could,” said Min. “That
’
s why I
’
ve come a-runnin
’
, you sap. And this time
I
’
ll
let that word stand
.
Gee whiz, Page, you surely know how helpless men are
!
”

“I thought it was the women who are helpless.”

“Well, you
’
re wrong. Though, of course, human relationships of this sort are delicate in all their parts. You know, it
’
s the easiest thing in the world to fall in love. A girl need only concentrate on the way a white shirt collar looks against a man
’
s brown throat—and I understand men get the same results from a tight sweater—but that
’
s where the easy part stops. To stay in love is much harder; it can
’
t be a matter of an occasional sultry look or a glamorous gesture. You
’
ve got to work at the thing. And keep working. Else the whole thing goes
poof!

“Now, I
’
ve gone through the first stage with Red—and you must have, or you
’
d not be Mrs. Scoles. But the thing is, which of us is going on to do the rest of it, the keeping him in love—the studying what pleases him, what irritates him and what hurts. You know, I presume, that you can put a man out of love with you by the way you chew your food, or disregard his vanity.”

“Maybe,” said Page in a small voice, “I
’
ve already done that. I
—
Sometimes, Phil—he used to be so sweet and thoughtful. He knew my faults, but he seemed to understand them. But, lately—”

“He
’
s turned into a husband,” said Min. “A different species from a lover.”

Color flamed in Page
’
s cheeks, and Min smiled at her. “You ought to use more makeup,” she said in a detached tone, then resumed the main discussion. “I wouldn
’
t worry about that kind of change in Red. Most men, after a few months of marriage, become sort of matter-of-fact. I
’
ve noticed it a thousand—well, anyway, a dozen times. He gets pretty dam casual—without being so. He just doesn
’
t always express his feelings, which may be deeper than they were when he was courting you. Sometimes, he may get downright ugly, and yell at you.” She glanced at Page, who nodded.

“But that may be only the result of little irritations that have come up at the hospital during the day; he can
’
t yell at his patients, you know, so he comes home and yells at you. And if you don
’
t let him, he may go out and find some dame who
will
let him. I don
’
t know why being the goat for a man
’
s temper should mark a loved wife, but it does seem to be that way. And that
’
s what I mean
a
bout things being in delicate balance for you and Red—and me.”

“In science,” said Page thoughtfully, “we learn the disastrous effects of one tiny miscalculation. We know that the loss of a whole project can be caused by one neglected step. So I think I know what you mean, Min. I can
’
t just sit back and
be
Phil
’
s wife, I have to work at it.”

Min nodded, though somewhat grimly. She began to walk about the room, glaring at the gilded bric-a-brac on a heavy table; she read the titles of the imprisoned books. “Gibbons, yet,” she growled. She came to stand before the fireplace, and scowled at the red and yellow roses wedged into the glass vase.

“Why red and yellow ones?” she demanded crossly.

Page blinked. “Mrs. Whitehill brought them
in...”
she explained vaguely.

Mrs. Whitehill was my landlady, and her name only seemed to increase Min
’
s irritation.

(Afterwards, she explained that she had only half
-
expected understanding from Page. “Did you want her to just step out, and give Phil to you?” I asked her. “I guess I did, being really a
dog
!
”)

Min went over to twitch at the lace curtains; they were faintly dusty. “Of course.” she said bleakly, “one sure solution would be for you to start a baby.” She turned against the sunlight to look at Page. “That would sew Red up, but tight!”

Page
’
s blush was too distressed even for teasing—and it com
pletely
squelched that idea.

“Then,” Min continued, “I could leave Berilo again
...”

“Oh, you can
’
t do that!” Page cried. “Your family and friends are here—your home and your work.”

“Yeah,” said Min. “And don
’
t forget Red. He
’
s here, too.”

“Well, for that matter,” Page flashed back at her, “so is Larry Whitley!”

Min looked at her oddly. Anger was becoming to Page; it not only put color into her cheeks, it brightened her eyes. “Are you in love with Red?” she asked rudely.

“Of course, I
’
m in love with my husband.”

Min fished in her pocket for her cigarettes and lighter. “That isn
’
t just what I mean,” she murmured. “But assuming that you do love him, in the way I did mean—you know, hot flashes, an urge to run quick and touch him”
—
she cocked an impudent eyebrow at Page—“could you face the thought of marrying another man, Page? Not just standing up and saying
‘
I do,
’
but actually marrying him. Sharing the intimacies of marriage—the little ones more than the big ones. You know what I mean—using the same tube of toothpaste, tweezing your eyebrows with him around—could you do
those
things with anybody but a guy you loved?”

She had a lot of other instances to cite, but a sniffling sound from the leather chair made her turn. To her complete dismay, Page sat there crying. Tears poured down her cheeks and fell in dark spots upon the pink chambray of her bosom.

Min was horrified.
‘
Hey!” she cried. “Don
’
t do that! Page, honey—”

(“I know now,” he told me solemnly, “how men feel about weepy women. My one and only thought was to get her quiet!”)

It took a little time. Sobbing, and sniffling, her handkerchief a sodden mess, Page confessed to Min that her marriage was not working. She
’
d tried so hard! She did love Phil, and she thought any intelligent woman should be able to keep house for a man
—
“But I can
’
t even talk to him any more,” she wailed. “Why, one night, he positively swore at me.”

“What in the world had you said to him?”

“Nothing, really. He just used the word
tubercular
where he should have said
tuberculous
—and I showed him the difference.”

“Oh, dear Aunt Jane!” moaned Min.

Page looked at her, completely fuddled. “But, Min, he was wrong.”

“I
’
ll bet he was, and I
’
ll bet you were right. But listen to me, Page. Don
’
t you know that the only really intelligent woman is the one who knows less than the man she
’
s talking to? Don
’
t you know
that
?”

Page sat, forlornly shaking her head.

“It
’
s true!” Min hammered at her.

“I know it
’
s true.”

“So he swore at you. Go on, what else happened?”

“Nothing, that time. We just were sort of mad at each other for a few days. But that
’
s only one of the things that I don
’
t do right, Min. Take this Little Theatre business he gets such a bang out of. I
’
m interested—but I can
’
t act, and I know it. I
’
m too stiff and self-conscious. And the whole crowd—well, I just don
’
t fit in. I remember the first time Phil and I went out to dinner in Berilo.
I
wore a hat
!”

It was as if she had confessed some mortal sin, but Min didn
’
t laugh. “Phil should have told you, before you started out,” she censured him.

“He does tell me,” Page said fairly. “Or tries to. And I just don
’
t like to wear pants
—
He says I have to when we go up to McCord, or to the Lodge—”

“Well, sure, Page. In the mountains
...”

“That
’
s another thing. The mountains just plain scare me to death. They
’
re beautiful on the horizon, but close-up
—
One particular time I think of, last March, Phil wanted to drive up to Idaho City, just to show it to me—and it had been raining. There were big rock spills down across the road, and we went through rushing water, and the mountains just
leaned
toward us—and—well—I made him turn back.”

“Oh, dear,” breathed Min.

“Yes,” said Page earnestly. “I knew I
’
d done the wrong thing. So, the next time—we
’
d been invited to the Lodge with the Lowes
—
I didn
’
t say one word. But it wasn
’
t any good because that was the time Johnny Kling slapped me on the back and—”

Min laughed. “I heard about that. He said he had icicles hanging from his hat.”

“Well, I didn
’
t like it. And when I don
’
t like a thing, I
’
m afraid I show it.”

“They only mean to be friendly.”

“Maybe. But that whole week end went wrong. The other women were all Marynelle
’
s friends, and I know I didn
’
t imagine their cattiness. They
’
ve kept it up, too. Their talk always runs on the theme,
‘
I can
’
t imagine Phil
’
s marrying you, after Marynelle!
’
”

Min laughed sympathetically. “I
’
ve heard
‘
em. But I don
’
t believe that need bother you, sweetie. I mean, I don
’
t think you need waste a minute being jealous of Marynelle. That marriage would never have lasted.”

Tears again misted Page
’
s eyes. “It doesn
’
t seem that mine will last either,” she said mournfully. “Take what you
’
ve just told me
—
Phil wouldn
’
t be noticing other girls if I were making him a good wife. Of course, some of the things he knew when he married me. He knew I was—well—reserved. I
’
d been hurt by another man, and I
’
d built up such a habit of frigid reserve, and for so long,
that I can
’
t get rid of it all at once. I—I—” She got up, almost desperately, and went to stand at the window, her back to Min who had seated herself on the couch again; she spoke across her shoulder, in little breathless spurts of sound.

“I love Phil,” she blurted. “I love him—just
terribly
. And I can manage to show
him
that I do—when he comes to me—The big scenes, the sweeping passion
—
I can do that. But—” She was still for a long minute. The sunlight left her hair, and the blue shadows of evening crowded into the big room.

“The little intimacies,” Page whispered. “Those—are beyond me. I—” She turned to look at Min. “This house is too big. If, from the first, we had had to share a bedroom—but here
—
There are six bedrooms upstairs—and I have my own—and Phil has his. The first time he walked into my room without knocking, he saw that I was startled
—
and he
’
s not done it again. Oh, I don
’
t know
—
I can
’
t tell you—once I got provoked when he used my fountain pen. Little things like that. I
’
m no good at sharing such things. In St. Louis, he wouldn
’
t let me act this way. But here—he has his work, and his friends. Whit, and you—”

“Yes,” said Min morosely.

“I had thought
—
I gave up my work to marry him and come out here, and I thought I could help him somehow with his work—but I don
’
t seem to have any chance of doing that. I suggested working in the lab; he said it would mean putting another girl out of her job, and it would. Besides, I
’
m not trained as a medical technologist.
’
My mind isn
’
t one bit of good in his work
—
I don
’
t understand people, and he keeps telling me that I don
’
t. I
’
m jealous of his work. Why not? He brings it home, and takes it to bed with
him.

“If, by some miracle, I manage to broil a decent steak, he
’
s just as apt to let it get cold while he reads a book on the RH factor—and I
’
ve had him get out of my bed to prowl around the yard, fussing over some woman and her baby.”

“But, Page—”

“I know. I married a doctor. I was the one to insist on his coming back to be a practicing doctor. I know all that, but just the same, I
’
m jealous when he thinks only of his doctoring, and his patients. And what patients! Phil and I have had some real quarrels over the fact that all his women patients fall in love with him. Of course, I don
’
t
blame
them. He
’
s so da
rn
—so da
rn
wonderful in a starched white coat, and when he smiles
—
Why, they stop me on the street to gush about his smile!”

Min laughed, and Page looked at her resentfully. “I don
’
t like it,” she muttered stubbornly.

“I don
’
t guess any o.b.
’
s wife likes it, dear.”

“What do you mean?”

“I strongly suspect that all women fall in love with their obstetrician—whether he
’
s Phil, or some fat guy, or an old bozo with a beard. I
’
m certain they do if the man
’
s at all attractive. And I mean they really fall in love. It isn
’
t only because he
’
s been so kind—the dames go the whole show. Each one wants him to blow in her hair, to tell her she
’
s a knockout, and ask her for a date.”

“And I
’
m supposed to like that sort of thing?”

“No, I wouldn
’
t say that. But it must be a state most of the wives learn to handle.”

“The same way I
’
m supposed to handle your telling me
you
’
re
in love with my husband,” Page concluded.

“Yes
...”
said Min unhappily.

Page looked at her thoughtfully. “I wonder how Phil would take this discussion.”

“He
’
d hate it. And crawl under the rug. Men can
’
t take emotional facts laid out cold and stark. You never want to be
‘
frank
’
about such things with a man. It scares him to death.”

Page smiled a little. “Your candor was a little startling to me, too,
”
she admitted. “As well as your generosity. I appreciate that, Min. Not many women would give a girl that fighting chance you mentioned.”

“I couldn
’
t help myself,” growled Min. “I deserve no credit. I don
’
t want to be big, Page. I
’
d like nothing better than to grab Red Scoles for my own, and slam the door in your face.”

“Why don
’
t you?”

“I can
’
t, I tell you. I keep remembering the way you two took care of me when I needed it—in St. Louis—and
o
n that ghastly drive back here to Berilo—and my conscience gets in my way. I had to come here and talk to you—and give you an even start.”

Page sighed. “That would be just fine—if there were any hope that I
’
d know what to do with it.”

“Well, gee whiz
!
” cried Min, really exasperated. “You
’
ve got everything you had when you caught Phil in the first place. Your brain, and your looks—of course, that feed sack you
’
re wearing doesn
’
t do much for you.”

“You mean, it should be a tight sweater?” said Page quite seriously.

“Where
’
d you get that dress, anyhow?”

“I bought it in Trish Layne
’
s Cotton Shop.”

“You stay away from Trish. She advises
me
to wear black! Biggest compliment the gal ever paid me. Same with you—bundling your beautiful figure into all those puckers and gathers!”