They Called Her Mrs. Doc. (31 page)
She wasn’t sure how it all happened, but the days slowly slipped by with the routine of living. Another winter came and went, they moved on to spring, and soon her garden was growing again.
Virginia had been her mainstay. There was hardly a day that she didn’t drop by. As their custom had been over the years when the weather was nice, they took their tea on the front porch. Cassandra’s roses bloomed in the front bushes.
Her children wrote and phoned and came to call. She appreciated their solicitude—but she still felt lonely.
Her pain had been even more intense as the initial numbness began to leave. She had thought for a few terrible weeks that she wouldn’t be able to bear it. But everyone had been so kind and Virginia had always been there for the worst days, and gradually—oh so gradually—the pain began to lessen just a little.
One summer day as she knelt over a flower bed she heard young feet running over the sidewalk again and looked up to see little Cassandra Grey, one of her namesakes.
It is so good to see a child in my yard again,
she thought, and smiled warmly.
“Hello, Cassandra.”
But the girl responded with excited, breathless words. “Mrs. Doc—Herbie hurt his foot.”
It had been some time since a child had called her Mrs. Doc—had called on her for help.
“Where is he?” she asked, pushing herself up from her crouching position with some difficulty. Samuel would have fretted if he had seen her. Her old hip injury gave her a bit of trouble at times.
“He’s over by the new ’struction,” said the little girl and reached for Cassandra’s hand.
Cassandra willingly clasped the small hand in hers and went along with her to see the boy.
She could hear his crying before they arrived. There he was, curled up on the ground, his foot thrust out before him. It didn’t take long for Cassandra to spot the problem. He had stepped on a sharp piece of wood with his bare foot.
She had to carry him home. Her arms were tired and she was puffing from the exertion by the time she reached her gate, but she made it.
She lowered him to her kitchen table and got out Samuel’s black bag that had been stored for many months unused in the hall closet. She was glad that she knew what to do. How to remove the intruding item. How to properly disinfect and bandage. By the time she had the job done the boy’s tears were gone and small Cassandra was quite impressed with big Cassandra’s work.
From then on, her little patients came to her again. There was no other place to go. The town had not yet been successful in obtaining another doctor.
At first Cassandra had not cared that Samuel had not been replaced. She was still hurting too much to think of others. Then she had reasoned that it was “proper,” that no one else really could take Samuel’s place. It was fitting that his office doors should remain closed. But as the days passed and she began to heal within and also to notice the needs of the town, she upbraided herself for her selfish negligence and began to spend long hours in letter writing, fighting to get another doctor for the small town and someone to take over Samuel’s practice.
At last she found a candidate—but he wanted to drive out to see the town for himself. Businesslike, he also wanted to go over Samuel’s books. Cassandra had no idea about the books. That was one department that Samuel had handled totally on his own.
But with the young doctor coming she decided that perhaps she should be prepared to show him the accounts. The day came when she picked up the office key and walked the short distance through the town.
Folks greeted her and nodded. Children skipped along beside her. Even dogs accompanied her along the newly paved street.
She let herself in and softly closed the door, announcing, without voice, to the world outside that she was not to be disturbed.
It was the first time she had been to the office since Samuel had lain there on the cot, and it was not easy for her to enter now. But she breathed a prayer, gathered her courage, and went on with the task at hand.
The ledgers were much as she would have expected. Samuel had done well with his practice. There were a number of accounts where instead of indicating “Paid” the word was “Cancelled” instead. Cassandra was not surprised. There were a few outstanding debts, but not many. Most people in the town were conscientious and paid as soon as they could. Cassandra could see nothing of concern with the accounts, and she tucked away the ledger and rose to leave the office.
It was then that she noticed the dust. Samuel had always been quite meticulous. She knew that he would not want a young doctor to see his office so untended. She went to the cupboard where the supplies were kept and began to do some cleaning. By the time she was finished the floors were clean, the furniture dusted, the windows shining again. She was pleased with herself, even though she felt tired, and she wondered why she hadn’t thought of tidying it up earlier.
She made arrangements by phone to meet the young doctor at the office the following Monday and he came as promised.
A small man, with glasses, dark eyes and dark hair, Cassandra could see that he was Oriental but that did not surprise her. His letter had been signed “James Otikama.”
They went through the office, the books, the supply cupboards, and the young man seemed favorably impressed with what he saw.
“I agree to your offer,” he informed her and Cassandra was pleased.
As she walked home alone she felt a measure of satisfaction. She was sure that Samuel would have liked his office to be used—the people of the town to have medical care again. For the first time in many months, and for some strange reason she couldn’t explain, she felt that she was alive again.
Cassandra found that she slowly adjusted to the years without Samuel—though she never got over her loneliness. She just accepted it as a fact of life. In spite of the number of friends she had—in spite of the love and attention of family—there was no one—ever—who could take Samuel’s place. That spot—that special spot that he had built for himself in her heart and life—would forever go unfilled.
And then Virginia also left when Morris sold the drugstore to his junior partner and moved to the city. Cassandra knew that it was the right thing for them to do. Most of their family lived there. But it was still hard to see them go.
“Why don’t you come?” coaxed Virginia. “There is really no reason for you to stay on here.”
But Cassandra was still reluctant.
This is home,
she wished to say.
This is where Samuel is
.
But she just hugged Virginia and said, “Perhaps someday. I’m not ready yet.”
A few more years ticked by. Children still came to see her, bringing their scratches, bruises and pets. They still called her Mrs. Doc when they met her in the street. They still swung on her swing and played in her sandbox. They still ate her sugar cookies and drank cool milk on her back porch.
But the years were taking their toll. Her step was slower than it had been. There were times when she had to stop and lean against something for support if she moved too quickly. For some strange reason, the world seemed to spin around her at such times.
She tried not to let it show, but she knew her own kids had caught her on occasion. They came home often—to check on her, she knew. And each time they came, they had the same mission. To get her to leave the small town, her home of many years, and go to the city where they could take care of her.
She loved them for their concern. At the same time she felt agitated. Life was strange. You started out being told what to do, gained through trial and error, finally earning a chance to be on your own, and then life turned around and took it all away from you and put you right back into the same position from which you had started. Only now it was children rather than parents who tried to tell her what was best for her.
The day finally came when she knew she could hold out no longer.
“All right,” she had conceded reluctantly, “I’ll go. I’ll go this fall—right after I take in the garden.”
They exchanged glances over her head, but she was aware of them. She knew their eyes were telling one another that she no longer had any business planting a garden—or taking it in. Why, she could barely get up and down anymore. What if something happened and she couldn’t struggle back up onto her feet?
She disregarded the knowing looks and repeated her promise. “Right after the garden is cared for. I’ll let you find me an apartment and I’ll put the house up for sale.”
They had gone away triumphant—and she had retired to her bedroom to weep.
Life is so strange,
she thought one day as she sat in the living room having her daily Bible study. She had just read the account of the angel of God changing Sarai’s name to Sarah and it prompted some thoughts of her own.
“I feel like I’ve had a name change, too,” she said aloud. It didn’t hurt her to talk to herself a bit—as long as she didn’t get caught. “Oh, not just one. Many,” she went on. “Changes all along—with the changes of my life. First I was Cassie Winston. I guess I didn’t realize it at the time, but life was pretty easy—quite plush. I was a spoiled, wealthy child—and didn’t even know it. Then my name changed to Cassie Smith—and that certainly was a major change. The little girl was no longer. I had to grow up and become a woman—at least outwardly. I wanted to grow up—because I had fallen in love with Samuel.
“But he called me Red. It’s funny. If anyone else had dared to call me by that name, I would have been furious. But he called me Red and it—it felt—personal. Like I belonged to him. Me with my horrid red hair. He said it as though—as though he liked it. And that made the color easier for me to endure, too.
“But when he introduced me to others he always said, “This is my wife, Cassandra Smith. Not ‘Mrs. Smith’—but Cassandra Smith. It was as though he was allowing me to be a person. Giving me a right to stand apart from him—just a little bit.
“But even as his young wife—I was still a child in many ways. So selfish. So immature. It wasn’t until I met Virginia and wanted what I saw in her life that I decided I really wanted to grow up. Virginia did that for me. Virginia and God. I finally became Cassandra in my own thinking—not little Cassie anymore.
“And then I became Mrs. Doc. It was strange. Just the slip of a little boy’s tongue—but it was a new identity. I think Samuel was proud of it. Proud that the people would come to me. Proud that I could help him in the office. Proud that I was able to learn. He was so anxious—so patient about teaching me. He—he enjoyed me working with him. I often wondered if he didn’t feel that it was his way of paying Papa back for taking him under his wing. To have a daughter in medicine—as much in medicine as he could allow.” Cassandra paused to gaze out the window.
“And now—now I’m leaving. Going off to the city. There won’t be a soul there who’ll call me Mrs. Doc. I will likely never hear the name again. To the kids I’m ‘Mama’ or ‘Grandma.’ To my new acquaintances I’ll be simply Mrs. Smith—or Widow Smith. Oh, I hope they don’t call me that. I don’t think I could stand it.