The Doctor Takes a Wife (27 page)

I saw Min wince, and the next day I sent her a bucket full. She called the hospital, and left word for me to come over that evening if convenient. It was. I
’
d expected to be thanked for all those daisies and stuff. She did thank me—she said I was “sweet.”

In my turn, I thanked Min for all she
’
d been doing for Page, and Phil He was, I pointed out with cited examples, a much better doctor for being happy at home. He had a sureness and authority which only being loved can give to a man...

“And,” I went on, taking my courage in hand, “I wish you
’
d be willing to do as much for me.”

She was sitting, as usual, on the hearth rug, hugging her knees. She turned to look at me. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” I said as calmly as I could with small atomic explosions going on in my veins, “love and affection. In short,” I looked directly at her, “I
’
m asking you to marry me, Min.”

She stared at me. She got up on her knees and looked at me from that angle. I kept my eyes steady, and my
hands in my pockets lest she see how they were trembling. “But, Whit
...”
she began in a troubled way.

“I think it
’
s quite an idea, myself,” I told her. “All ways. I need a cook and housekeeper. As for you, marrying me would be a final solution for your predicament
.
”

“What predicament is that?” I swear we might have been discussing a couple of people on Mars.

“Now, really, Min
!
”

She had the grace to turn brick-red. “I thought
—
I hoped—I was keeping all that to myself.” She looked crestfallen.

“You
’
re as deceptive as a watermelon.”

“Oh, Whit—d
’
you suppose everyone has known?”

“I didn
’
t say that. For one thing, not everyone gives a damn whether you fall in love with Scoles or not.”

She sank back on her heels again. “I
’
m not in love with him,” she said sulkily.

“Now, listen, Min. I know a rapid pulse when I see one.”

She was looking at me thoughtfully. “But not now, Whit. Here. Count it
!
” She held her little brown paw out to me.

So of course I went over and sat down beside her and held her hand between mine.

“I like Red,” she told me in an exploratory tone. She was really feeling her way along.

“You
’
ve forgotten that party you gave last summer?”

“No. But
—
I realize—just this
minute
, I realize, Whit!
—
that that
’
s all
gone. I just like him! No more cru
sh, no more
‘
adoring
’
him, even. He
’
s Red—and I like him. You believe me?”

I wanted to, of course. “I always did admire your helping Page instead of hurting her. That was big of you, Min.”

“Yes,” she agreed indifferently. “But the point is, I seem to have helped myself. If I couldn
’
t have
h
im
—
I certainly didn
’
t
want
to feel as I did about Red. But now
—
d
’
you suppose it was finding out that he was a human who could be worked on?”

“He was worth working on,” I said stiffly.

“Oh, sure, but—well, gee whiz!” She leaned back
against my arm and shoulder, and her brown eyes stared at the fire. I brushed my cheek across her smooth, glossy hair.

“There
’
s another thing,” she went on, as if she didn
’
t notice me, “I believe that all this—the new house and Page
’
s cooking and all
—
I think it
’
s probably made
Page
know that Red is human.”

“Is that good?” I asked, wanting to laugh.

“Well, in her case it is. Because now I think she really loves the guy.”

“Didn
’
t she before?”

“I don
’
t know, Whit. Maybe she was only grateful to him. For releasing her from that r
eserve, or shell, or whatever it
was she
’
d been living in. She agreed to marry him out of gratitude—but now, well, she
’
s ready to
be
married to Red. There
’
s a big difference. You know?”

“Not me,” I assured her. “I never could learn foreign languages.” She gave me a nudge with her elbow, and I put my arm around her shoulder.

“What about that marriage proposition?” I asked her. “When it
’
s for marriage, it
’
s a
proposal.
Were you serious, Whit?”

“You
’
ll never see me more so. In fact, Min, this is the last time I
’
ll ever ask you to marry me. Take it, or leave it. And if you don
’
t take it—well—
I
’
ll
give Lois a chance.”

“Threats?” she asked, her under lip stuck out. “Warning. I love you and would rather many you. But I
’
m not going to waste my whole life tagging you.
”

“You certainly could do better than the Thornhill!”

“She
’
s not half as bad as you dames make her out.”

“Oh, she isn
’
t, huh?”

“No! She likes me, she likes my house
...
”

“Has she seen it?” She whirled on me like a lighted spinwheel.

“Sure she
’
s seen it. And she likes it. She loves the color scheme—it
’
s pumpkin yellow and avocado green, you know.”

Min looked at me askance. “And no organdy curtains,” she said dryly.

“Oh, no curtains at all!”

“Whit!”

“I don
’
t have. Wait till you see.”

She gathered her muscles ready to stand up. “Let
’
s go over now,” she urged.

I held her shoulder. “Ah, no! I
’
m bribing you, young woman.”

“Dr. Lawrence Whitley,” she sputtered, “if you
’
ve let Thornhill see your house, you certainly can do as much for me.”

“I
’
m doing much more. I
’
m asking
you
to live in my house.”

Her fire sputtered out, and she put her head down to my coat sleeve. “I
’
ll like your house, too,” she muttered. “I already do—from the outside.”

“It
’
s better on the inside.” I was beginning to feel wonderful. A little firmness was what a woman needed!

“You know,” she said against the brown wool, “that marrying a girl like me—that marrying
me
—is bound to be a gamble, Whit.”

“O.K.,” I said. “We can be married in Garden City.”

That made her laugh. “Oh, Whit,” she gurgled, “you
’
re wonderful!”

Kissing Min was wonderful, too. A sweet storm of feeling built itself within me, and I wondered if she felt it. “You hear thunder?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she said against my cheek. “There
’
s some lightning, too, over there by the book case. Pretty
...”

CHAPTER
14

Min
’
s
mother died suddenly that winter, so that we were not married until Easter. Page wanted to put on our wedding, and, of course, we were glad to let her. It was not to be anything elaborate, but it was an occasion, naturally.

The Brady bungalow had been sold; Mr. Brady went to live on his son
’
s ranch near Nampa. Min had taken a couple of rooms in town. We were to be married at the church, with a reception at Phil
’
s. Page had Min stay with them for a week while things were made ready—while, in fact, Min indulged in as fine a case of bride
’
s jitters as anyone had ever seen. She could even laugh at herself.

“Orange blossoms, my eye!” she told Page as she dressed for the ceremony. “My wedding is decorated with black doubts and active dread.”

“Oh, Min,” said Page, “that
’
s silly. Whit
’
s so nice
...”

“Sure,” Min agreed. “That
’
s what the doubt and dread is about. Maybe I
’
m hurting that very nice guy—” She stared gloomily at the set of her suit skirt

“Now, listen, Min,” said Page briskly. “Remember last winter when you told me to think back to the way things were when Phil first kissed me?”

“Yes,” said Min. “Pink carnations.”

“Well, why don
’
t you do the same way today? If you
’
ll face this—your wedding, you know—remembering how you felt when that other man made love to you, so that
you—well—” Page
’
s oh-so-practical tone faded away into inept silence.

Min stared at her for a minute. The suggestion that Min use the memory of her surrender to that glamorous fly
-
boy to get her through her wedding to
me
—it was outrageous, but it also was so damned funny, such ridiculous evidence of Page
’
s
naiveté
and essential innocence, that Min roared.

And she still was shaking with laughter when she came up the aisle to marry me. But, we decided later, that was as good a way as any to approach matrimony.

It must have been, because, to Min
’
s surprise, she found herself completely happy in her marriage.

I hadn
’
t had any qualms. I knew I loved her; I knew I
’
d like being married to her.

But Min—each evidence of success in the venture pleased her and astounded her. If she fried my eggs the way I liked them, it was as much of a triumph as when she first answered a night call on the telephone.

She
’
d put the phone on her side of the bed, and she got the name, the trouble, its importance—all the details I
’
d want to know—before deciding whether I needed to leave my warm bed.

“You make a fine doctor
’
s wife,” I assured her, and she sighed with happiness at my praise.

She did make a fine wife—for a doctor, or any man. She took wonderful care of me, in all ways. Before our marriage, she had announced that she meant to keep her job on the newspaper. It would be, she declared, an anchor to windward, if she turned out to be the lousy wife she suspected.

I didn
’
t argue with her. If she found she
’
d need that outside work, well, she
’
d need it. If she didn
’
t—

I was glad but calm when, during the first month, she resigned from the newspaper. “I
’
m too busy,” she assured me, as if I were offering some protest. “I never guessed how complicated housekeeping could be. My heavens, when I remember the lofty way I used to talk to poor Page
—
I never guessed what it took to prepare three meals a day, and keep a house clean. Even in a new house, it keeps me busy, Whit.”

I grinned at her. “It
’
s one of man
’
s little tricks,” I informed her.

She sat and looked thoughtfully out of the window; the tiled roof of Phil
’
s house gleamed rosy in the morning sun. The sky was a tender blue, with the branches of the trees, and their new leaves, making a pattern of fine lace upon it.

“One of man
’
s best tricks,” she said soberly, “is to make us females think
we
manage things.”

I reached for the coffee pot and she gave me a reproachful look. “I told you I was going to make a full time job of being your wife,” she reminded me. “Including the coffee pot?”

“Including everything!”

“A five room house shouldn
’
t—”

“Keeping house is only part of it. There
’
s our place in society.”

I laughed.

“There
is,”
she insisted. “All the people who have called on me
—
Most of it was curiosity, but just the same
...
There
’
s the Medical Auxiliary, and the Church Guild
—
and the Little Theatre gang.”

“
Group,
darling. It may be a gang, but one does not say so.”

“With Lois in it, I
’
ll call it anything that occurs to me. Gee whiz, Whit, that dame was at our wedding! Don
’
t the holy bonds of matrimony mean a thing to her?”

I stood up. “You imagine things, Min.”

“I do not. The dame
’
s had her eye on you from the minute she got off the train—but if she thinks your marrying me is only one of those things she calls
phases
—
well, she
’
ll find out different.”

“Sure is marvelous,” I teased, “having two beautiful dames contending for my favor. I
’
d hardly know old Whit these days.”

She kissed me, and wiped egg from the
corner
of my mouth. “If the Thornhill doesn
’
t lay off, there
’
ll be only one beautiful dame in your life, Romeo.”

Well, of course, any man likes to be called Romeo. And I
’
d been just a
mite
worried whether marriage could fully occupy Min. So her announcement that it would, and did, made me pretty darned happy.

She kept on being busy; she kept on being happy; and she kept on being surprised at herself. Every now and then, she
’
d break off whatever she was doing to turn and look at me critically. “I just can
’
t figure it out,” she
’
d say.

I wasn
’
t hurt, or insulted. I knew my Min, and I knew what she had in her mind. But she had to explain it to Phil and Page one evening when they sat together in that red-earth patio of Phil
’
s.

He
’
d got his barbecue built, and that evening was to see the first meal cooked upon it.

I
’
d been delayed at the Clinic, escorting a lady feature writer through the place—and listening to
her
symptoms
—
but those three decided to wait for me; I
’
d be along.

Their patio looked out across the valley and the winding road up from town. They could see the foothills with the level rays of the sun washing their brown slopes with gold. They could see the courthouse beyond the trees, and the Union Pacific station at the avenue
’
s other end. They could see all the little gardens and houses along the road—we looked right down on the roof of Kenneth Knox
’
s house, the one where Phil might have tried to live with Marynelle. But I don
’
t think he ever thought about that any more.

He sat on a bench beside the trestle table, a glass of beer in his hand. Page sat on the steps, the leaf pattern of the wrought iron railing throwing a fine shadow across her face and the sleeves of her blouse. Page was noticeably pregnant, and very pretty. She
’
d cut her silver-gilt hair, and brushed it so that it turned up into bright little duck tails around her face. There was usually a warm, tousled look in her gray eyes—a preoccupation with tonight
’
s casserole, or tomorrow
’
s Red Cross duty—or last night
’
s kiss.

Min sat in one of the round-backed chairs, her moccasin dangling from one bare foot, as she earnestly tried to explain how happy she was now that she was married to me.

“But, Min, you knew he was a grand guy!
”

“Of course. I knew
that
!
But I didn
’
t know what a quiver I
’
d get just watching Whit put on those black
-
rimmed glasses he wears.”

Phil snorted.

“I mean it, Red,” she insisted. “Those little things are more important than the big ones. The way Whit puts on his glasses—and takes them off at night—”

“Oh, Min, please!” laughed Phil.

She giggled.

“But I know what you
’
re getting at. Most of us do take Whitley for granted. He
’
s so nice all the time, and dependable. Of course, Lois always recognized his appeal.”

“She sure did,” Min agreed belligerently.

“Oh,” cried Page, “that was never serious!”

Min and Phil turned to look at her in amazement. “There never was anything more serious!” Min told her.

“Damn right!” agreed Phil heartily.

“Well, maybe, before you married him
—
I know he took her to see his house, and—well—once I told her flatly that Whit was yours.”

Phil gave her a quick look, and Min laughed. “That sure helped,” she said wryly.

“Didn
’
t it?”

“I wish you
’
d sit on something softer than that stone step,” Phil urged, and Page obediently moved to the leather-seated chair. “Didn
’
t it help?” she asked Min again.

“It should have helped, darling,” Min agreed. “Only
—
our Lois likes getting another dame
’
s man much better than she likes hanging a bachelor
’
s scalp on her sagging belt.”

“Oh,” said Page, puzzled. “I see.”

“Don
’
t even try to see it,” Min urged. “It
’
s not a sight for a little girl
’
s eyes.”

“Don
’
t tease her, Min,” Phil protested.

“I won
’
t. She
’
s wonderful.”

Phil smiled at her, and hung a cigarette on his lower lip.

“I still don
’
t think Lois and Whit would ever have
...
” Page speculated.

“Look, darling,” Min broke in. “It was serious enough
that when Whit asked me to marry him, for the last time
—
he
’
d been doing it off and on for five years—he issued an ultimatum. I
’
d marry him or he
’
d marry Lois.”

“Is that why you said
‘
yes
’
?”

Phil laughed aloud, and a grin split Min
’
s face. “I guess it was,” she admitted.

“But it
’
s worked out fine,” Page reassured her.

“Lois didn
’
t think it would, however,” said Min. “I take comfort in confounding her. She decided that I
’
d married Whit from the habit of having him around; and she stood ready to offer him the consolation of genuine passion when he woke up to what had happened. That
’
s when I decided I
’
d have to defend my home.”

“What
’
d you use?” asked Phil idly. “DDT?”

“I considered it, but it was simpler to get her another man to work on.”

“Men,” Page contradicted. “The first one didn
’
t take.”

“Yes, I know.”

“
Little Gir
l
,”
murmured Phil, his eyes twinkling.

“But Knox seems to be taking,” Min defended her efforts. “Of course, it was a big help when his wife died
...
”

Page
’
s head nodded in vigorous affirmation.

“Oh, look, girls,” Phil protested.

“You look,” Min advised him. “We
’
re not being heartless. You know Mabel Knox had been an invalid ever since they came out here, and, what
’
s more, she enjoyed it. She was certain she was going to die, and, as far as I could see, that was what she wanted to do.”

“You
’
re right there,” Phil agreed. “We tried our best to help her—she did have a somewhat serious condition, but if her attitude of mind could have been changed, she might still be alive.”

“Well, that
’
s what I mean, egg-head
!
And I don
’
t think there was anything out of the way—when she did die
—
in my suggesting to Lois that we all should rally
’
round and keep Ken interested in staying here in Berilo. I pointed out that they both were interested in the arts. Lois ate that up! I invited the two of
‘
em for dinner—and just naturally kept ding-donging at them as a couple—”