They Called Her Mrs. Doc. (6 page)

“Dr. Sawyer seems like a nice young man,” Mrs. Winston noted, changing the direction of the conversation.

Cassie flushed slightly, thinking of the blond head and the twitching mustache and nodded her head without comment.

“Too bad he is already engaged,” her mother commented.

Cassie’s hands went still in her lap.

“She is waiting for him back in Toronto. They are to be married as soon as he has finished his internship.”

So that’s that,
thought Cassie, immediately shifting her thoughts back to Dr. Corouthers.
I’m as fickle as Abigail,
she chided herself and managed to prick her finger. “Ouch!” she exclaimed, her finger quickly moving to her lips.

“Remember your thimble,” spoke her mother. “That is what it is for—to guard your fingers.”

It was not much of a prick, but a little drop of blood was dotting the end of her finger.

“I suppose you will have to lay aside your work for tonight,” her mother said, and added, “but you don’t need to run up to your room. I like to have your company. Why don’t you read by the fire—or just sit and chat.”

Cassie had never been invited to sit and chat with her mother in the drawing room before. Oh, they had enjoyed little visits in her bedroom or on the porch swing when she had been younger. But then the years had seemed to send them both separate ways. Cassie had done her chatting with Abigail, and her mother had shared afternoon teas with lady friends. Now for some reason it seemed right that they share time together. Cassie laid aside her sewing but did not pick up a book.

“Have you decided what you would like to do for your birthday?” asked Mrs. Winston.

Cassie had spent many hours weaving elaborate plans of how she would celebrate her eighteenth birthday. She was about to begin spilling it all out to her mother when she realized just how childish her intentions had been—like something she might have wished to do when she turned twelve.

“Not really,” she responded, stirring restlessly in her chair.

“Well, we have a couple weeks yet. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“I—I think I’d just like a—quiet dinner,” Cassie surprised herself by saying.

“A quiet dinner?” Mrs. Winston sounded surprised. “With your father’s friends?”

“No. No,” said Cassie quickly. “Just us.”

Mrs. Winston nodded. “I’m sure that can easily be arranged,” she agreed, though her brow puckered slightly. “With Abigail?”

“I—I don’t think so. Not for dinner. Perhaps—perhaps in the afternoon we could have some of my school friends in for tea.”

Mrs. Winston smiled. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she enthused. “I will begin making the arrangements right away.”

Cassie knew from years of experience that the “tea” would be done with an elegant flair. Her mother enjoyed afternoon teas and Cassie’s friends were bound to be impressed.

The tea was perfect. All her friends told her so. Attractive gifts helped to make her little party a day to be cherished in memories.

The family dinner party was just as successful. Her mother and father both seemed pleased that she had chosen to have a family celebration. Even her brothers were quite awed and entered wholeheartedly in the spirit of the event.

I am now eighteen,
thought Cassie later that evening as she unpinned her long tresses and let them spill over her shoulders. Then she lifted up the new emerald-green silk from her parents and studied her image in the mirror.

Mama is right. It does suit my coloring
. She had noticed that her mother had not said “red hair and freckles” but “coloring.” It sounded so much better.

But the hair was still just as red, she noticed, though the gown did enhance her green eyes.

“Mama says the freckles are fading,” she told her reflection, “but they are still there. I can see them. One here, another here, and one there—and there.”

Cassie turned from her mirror, not wanting to count any more freckles.

“Abigail says she’s heard of women who cover them up with face powder,” she continued her soliloquy. “I must see if I can find some the next time I am shopping.”

And feeling a little better about her appearance, Cassie carefully hung her new dress in the wardrobe and prepared for bed.

Dr. Corouthers must know that I am now eighteen,
Cassie thought in frustration. Her father’s guests had been to dinner and were now ensconced in her father’s study discussing medical things again. Cassie felt a bit of annoyance that no sign of an approach had been made to her father.

She had purchased the face powder and had come to an understanding with her mother as to how much a proper young lady might be free to use—but still the gentleman had not asked if he could call.

It’s my red hair,
she fumed silently.
He does not find it at –tractive.

“I noticed that Dr. Corouthers pays you fine compliments,” her mother spoke, interrupting her dark reverie.

Compliments, yes,
Cassie wanted to respond,
but no inquir
–
ing if he might call. I am beginning to think he is just a flirt.

Instead, she answered demurely, “He is a pleasant conversationalist,” then turned their conversation to other things.

Cassie was about to lay aside her sewing and retire for the night when her father entered the room. His brow was slightly puckered as though he had been caught off guard on some matter. Mrs. Winston looked up with concern in her eyes. He flashed a plea for help in her direction and then turned to Cassie.

“There is a young man in the library waiting to speak with you,” he said, puzzlement on his face spilling over into his tone.

Cassie rose to her feet, sharing her father’s confusion.

“He asked me if he could—but I said you are now of age and should speak for yourself,” Dr. Winston went on.

Cassie stood bewildered, unsure whether to sit back down or move toward the door.

“Well, don’t keep the young gentleman waiting, dear,” Mrs. Winston urged, and Cassie looked at her mother to see a soft smile playing about her lips.

Cassie paled, then flushed. Her fingers trembled and her knees shook.
It has come. Dr. Corouthers is finally asking if he might call.
She’d had no idea that it would catch her so by surprise when it finally did happen. She had considered herself prepared. But now as she moved forward on wooden legs, her mouth dry and her cheeks flaming, she wondered why she had ever wanted him to ask in the first place. She wasn’t ready. Not really.

But the die had been cast. Her father had not even answered on her behalf, which would have saved her much anguish. Oh, if only he had said a yes or a no, Cassie was sure she would cheerfully have consented to either.

She stopped in the hall, halfway between the drawing room and the library, and willed her pulse to stop racing and her breathing to return to normal. She practiced a few little smiles, hoping that they were demure, yet encouraging. She drew a big breath and proceeded to the library. Hoping that her cheeks were not flaming or her hands moist with perspiration, she pushed the door gently open, her warm smile firmly in place, and saw a man quickly rise to his feet.

She was facing Mr. Smith.

Chapter Six

Courting

Cassie’s smile quickly faded. She paled, then blushed. “I’m—I’m dreadfully sorry. I thought—” She could not finish her statement. She obviously had misunderstood the entire situation.

Mr. Smith realized that something had gone amiss.

“Your father didn’t tell you?” he asked softly, moving forward in case she needed a supporting hand.

“No. No, he—well, yes, he—he did say that someone was—was waiting,” fumbled Cassie.

“Ah-h,” said the perceptive Mr. Smith, his head lifting back. “But you didn’t expect it to be me. Is that it?”

Cassie could feel her cheeks coloring again. She scarcely knew how to answer, but she had been taught to be honest. “Yes. Yes,” she stammered, “I really wasn’t expecting it to be you.”

“I’m sorry,” he responded quickly. “I—I do hope that you aren’t too dreadfully disappointed.”

Cassie sensed his embarrassing position. She shook her head and reached a hand out to him. “Oh, it isn’t that—that way. It was just that I never—I never considered that you—that you might—might—?” She had no way of completing the statement.

“You thought that I could sit at the dinner table week after week, month after month, and not see for myself what an attractive and intelligent and pleasant young woman you have become?”

His flattery caught her totally off guard and she trembled. “It’s just—just that you are always so—so studious—so serious about—about your—your work, that I didn’t think—”

He smiled, and Cassie was reminded again of the attractiveness of his smile and how it completely transformed his face. Her head was reeling, her body taut. Suddenly she felt the need to sit down. She was glad a chair was close by. He eased it under her as she began to sink. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder. She wondered if he was about to call her father.

“I’m—I’m fine,” she managed, swallowing to try to take the dryness from her throat.

“Catch your breath for a moment,” he cautioned. “Just take your time. Deep breaths. Now another. There. Another. Good. Your color is coming back nicely.”

Cassie took some more deep breaths and the room stopped its spinning. He watched her closely for a few moments before removing his hand from her shoulder and walking a few paces away.

“I’m sorry,” he said again as he turned to face her. “I—I didn’t realize that any young lady would be so shocked that a gentleman would request to call.”

He smiled again and Cassie wondered how she could ever have considered him plain.

“It’s—it’s just—just that—”

“I know. You thought I had interest only in my work,” he repeated teasingly.

He sat on the edge of her father’s broad desk and smiled at her again. She had never seen a person’s eyes look so alive—so—so enchanting. But then she had paid little attention to his eyes. They were always hidden behind his wire-framed glasses.

She managed to nod her head and return a little smile. It was not demure. It was not particularly encouraging. It was a tentative offering of friendship—a sharing of a common experience and a little joke.

“Can we start over?” he asked candidly, and she was able to laugh and nod her head in agreement.

He stood again, his brow puckered slightly in seriousness. She noted that his fingers clasped and intertwined nervously. Suddenly she felt nervous no longer. His own agitation had eased hers.

“Shall I go out and come back in?” she asked with a teasing lift to her voice.

He responded with a nod of his head, and an amused look slightly curved his mouth. “Would you?” he asked.

“Of course,” she replied. She stood to her feet and gave him a smile that turned shy as she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

She stood for a few minutes trying to calm her racing heart, trying to get her trembling hands under control, then reached to push the door open, placed the nervous smile back on her face, and entered the room.

“Miss Winston,” he said, advancing toward her and reaching for her hand. “I thank you for agreeing to see me.”

She could not keep her smile from becoming soft laughter. He shared the joke, then continued. “I know I have done nothing in the past to show my feelings—but I have grown to admire you—and—” He paused long enough to draw in a quick breath. “I would be honored if you would allow me the privilege of calling.”

“I—I would welcome—would be happy to—” Where were all the nice little speeches she had rehearsed so carefully for just such a moment? She felt like a schoolgirl again, tripping over her tongue in embarrassment. But he didn’t seem to notice. The pressure of his fingers on her hand had increased.

“So it is agreed,” he said with apparent relief. “I was afraid you might not consider me. I have not yet graduated. But I have just learned that my internship is to be served in Ottawa. If I didn’t—didn’t take advantage of my opportunity now—I—would most surely lose you to another. I couldn’t risk that—you understand.”

Cassie removed her hand and stood trembling. What had she done? What was he saying? “I—I haven’t agreed to marry you,” she stammered bluntly. “I just—”