“No sense having two homes,” Jennie overheard him say to Josiah.
“Dr. Jennie is taking good care of you.” It was the first time he had referred to her as “doctor” or acknowledged that she was good for his father.
“We take care of each other.”
Without knowing, the gathering became a funeral preparation for Jennie’s father. He was three years older than Josiah and died of a heart attack the afternoon of the party. Jennie learned that day that her mother had been born in the same year as Josiah. She seemed much older than Josiah, especially on that day of great loss.
The funeral was barely passed before they learned that Fergus’s wife suffered with a fast-acting cancer. It felt as though her family was disappearing. She’d already lost sisters and a brother, a daughter. And Douglas to drink. She vowed to cut back her work efforts and be with the girls and Josiah more—and did for a time. But she couldn’t seem to set aside her sense of urgency to accomplish all she could for her patients, her family, her late-in-life response to choose joy.
As though called to it, Jennie volunteered to meet with patients at the new state asylum, Hawthorne’s hospital at last moved to Salem. A new doctor, Fraser, was a specialist in diseases of the brain among other things and was now the dean at the medical college. Jennie moved back and forth between the two cities but mostly lived in Portland. They let the apartment go when Jennie learned that Charles Pickett had taken one in a building on the same street. They might have seen Douglas in passing if they’d stayed, but it didn’t seem wise to be in that proximity to Charles Pickett, and who knew if Douglas was still with him or not?
Instead of the apartment, they stayed in one room of the office above the pharmacy when Josiah came to town. Jennie kept a supply of herbs and oils in her office, but the dosages of the purchased powders and pharmaceuticals were already measured out and more convenient. They still needed to keep them safe. Break-ins and thefts were a common concern for pharmacies and doctors’ offices.
“I want you to have a gun when you stay here alone.” Josiah had taken her to the back of the farm where he’d posted a target. “Hold the Pepperbox like this.”
She was uncomfortable with the revolver, but it comforted Josiah to know that she could fire it, so she practiced. “I’d probably faint if I ever had to use it and the would-be robber would take it away and use it on me.”
“With a little confidence you’ll be fine.” He stood behind her, arms around her shoulders, over her hands. “Your arms are thin as knitting sticks. Are you losing weight?”
“Just tell me what I’m supposed to be doing.”
She had moved the buttons on her waistbands and vowed to take more time to eat a midday meal she often skipped to make notes before her afternoon patients.
She’d paid her $300 medical society membership fees for that year and the next, and to her great joy, Callie returned and reopened her Portland practice. They talked through the night about her coursework, and her enthusiasm for healing and helping women. “It’s so good to have you back,” Jennie said. “I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you too. The camaraderie of women can’t be spoken of highly enough. Even when we have to catch it in snatches. There’s an intuitive quality to a woman’s world, don’t you think?”
They gabbed on about that until Jennie literally fell asleep on Callie’s shoulder. She woke Jennie to tell her to rest on her daybed rather than making her way back to her room. She had never slept like that before, simply nodding off and staying that way.
A few nights later, she was alone in the office-apartment when she heard the window to her office door break. She reached for the weapon but could barely hold it. She knew the person was in the office and might not even make his way to her room at the back. He’d be looking for morphine or laudanum. She kept a very small supply in the locked cabinet. I’ll stay huddled here, use the gun only to defend myself. She pointed it toward the door.
She heard voices. There must be two.
Even before she could distinguish the second, she knew it would be Douglas. After all this time, it comes to this.
“What are you doing?” She’d gotten courage to stand in the doorway.
“Mama, I didn’t think you’d be here. It’s my mother.”
The second person responded with inebriated mumbling. Neither was armed as far as she could tell.
“I repeat. What are you doing here?”
“Getting drugs, Mother, what else?”
“Oh, Douglas.”
“‘Oh, Douglas,’” he mocked. “Go back to bed or take care of your patients or whatever it is that consumes you. We’ll be gone in a minute.”
“I—I can’t let you take that. It’s harmful.”
“But useful. Makes you feel any better, I won’t imbibe, I’ll sell it to buy my liquor.”
His accomplice laughed again. “I’ll take it and so will you, you liar.”
“We’ll be out of here and you can report it as a robbery. You’re not going to use that gun and you know it. That old man made you get it, didn’t he?”
She lowered the weapon, could barely breathe as she watched them smash the cabinet glass and grab the laudanum and morphine. They overlooked the opium tincture. They left and Jennie crumpled to her knees. What could I do? What have I not done? This was the mantra of a mother with an addicted son.
In the morning she notified Fergus of the robbery. She hesitated to say it was Douglas who had done it, but in the end she told him and gave him Dougie’s last known address. Fergus told her after checking that it was an empty apartment. No one there.
“Put your time into things you can affect now,” Josiah advised when she lamented this latest encounter. “I know your heart is breaking, but you’ve done all you could for Douglas, a long time ago.”
“And I failed.”
“But you turned that failure into improving the lives of others. Maybe one day someone will get through to him when we couldn’t.”
“Thank you for sharing the blame, but it’s all mine.”
“It belongs to Douglas and his choices.” He patted her back. “Work on those scholarships. Maybe one of them will find a cure for drink and drugs. But now come sit with me and we’ll gaze out onto the garden while our girls play duets.”
It was good advice. When feeling powerless, rest; then return to your passion, to whatever first inspired your dreams. Plunge in. Life is so short.
They held additional teas and events for the scholarship account, opening their Salem home for the fetes. Ariyah proved the “perfect” party planner for their endeavors and helped the Society reach its goal of one thousand dollars. Callie and Jennie began the process of accepting applications and interviewing interested parties. Most of their applicants were married, and Jennie wondered how many of them, like her, had once dreamed of being a doctor before they became wives and mothers. How many of them looked to bring solace as a way to mitigate a family member’s untreatable wounds.
“We need to set a date for personal interviews for the scholarship,” Jennie told Callie one mid-January morning in 1887. They were at the association’s reading room, the applications spread before them. “We could grant three this first year.” The price for a term was $50 and they hoped that the interest on the endowment would continue to allow offering at least two more each year. They’d continue to fund-raise as well.
The smell of dusty books and a freshly oiled table made Jennie cough, and she stood to move farther from Callie in case she was catching a cold. Rain drizzled outside and their umbrellas sat like red and yellow tents in the foyer, drying off before the next foray into the mist.
“Why are you holding your stomach?”
“Am I? Habit, I guess.” She sat back down. “I have a pain now and then. Nothing significant.” She looked at the papers. “Let’s set the date and ask the Association secretary to send them out.”
“Excellent. We’ll choose the candidates and set the appointment times. I’ll take the list
to the Association.”
“Good.” She coughed and sighed. “For some reason, I’m tired today.”
“Today.” Callie laughed. “I marvel that you aren’t always tired, changing hats from mother to wife to doctor.”
“You do the same thing.”
“Not the wife part. And I take more time off. I’m not consulting at the asylum nor teaching classes nor helping with the annual bazaar each year at First Methodist Church. That event alone would wear me out and you do it every year.”
“You volunteer at the women’s prison and the women’s suffrage gatherings.”
She ignored Jennie. “Nor do I have evening hours every night of the week. You might consider cutting back to one evening a week. You don’t need the money.”
“But those are the times when poor and working women can come in, the washerwomen and the shopkeepers. Otherwise it means taking time away from work and they need that pay.”
“Well, it’s no wonder you’re tired. You’ve barely time for yourself. You encourage that in your classes, don’t you? You should listen to your own advice.”
“The classes are for expectant mothers, of which I am not.”
“Are you sure?” They both laughed at that.
“Actually, I’ve entered the transition, I think.” Jennie hesitated, then said, “I’m having some spotting.”
Callie leaned back in her chair. “Young for that, don’t you think?”
“I’ll be forty-four this November.”
“Still. Any other symptoms?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t checked whether an aching back and a constant feeling as though I’ve eaten a watermelon are indicative of the change. Maybe a little bladder pausing. No chills or feelings of skin-heat though.”
Callie frowned. “Who do you see for your own doctoring again?”
“I haven’t been to a doctor since Josie was born.”
“What?”
“I haven’t been ill, so why would I? Don’t bully me now, Callie Charlton. I’ve taken herbs and whatnot.”
“What’s that old adage, ‘A doctor who treats herself has a fool for a patient’?”
“It’s not that bad. I just haven’t had time nor the need.”
“We should have a look though, don’t you think?”
“Not really. When would I find the time?”
“I’m serious, Jennie. You’ve lost weight since I’ve been back and you didn’t have any to spare. Now these symptoms, for how long?”
She held up one finger.
“A month?”
“A year.”
“You come to my office next Tuesday.” She already had her appointment book out. “Between your last appointment and those evening hours. I’ll see you at 5:00 p.m. Don’t forget.”
Jennie didn’t forget. She also didn’t tell Josiah. Sometimes a person knows without knowing.
“Dr. Cook in San Francisco. You could write to her. But Dr. Fraser agrees with the diagnosis.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about Dr. Cook. Specializes in uterine cancer.”
Jennie’s mind swirled with what Callie had told her, though she had suspected. Still, cancer wasn’t a word anyone wanted to hear in connection with their own bodies, nor someone they loved.
“Do you want me with you when you talk to Josiah?”
“No. No, I’ll tell him.” Though she didn’t know how. “How much time do you think?”
Callie’s voice cracked. “Six months.”
“Six months.” She took in a deep breath. “Not much time at all. I’ll need to make up a will. Arrange for the girls. Josiah—he’ll be devastated.” She halted in her race of words. “We always thought I’d outlive him. We joked about it.” She felt nauseous, the rush of reality surging through her from her abdomen to her throat.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. Oh, that’s an odd answer, isn’t it, given the diagnosis?”
“Worse question,” Callie said. She put her hand on Jennie’s. She’d been sitting next to her to tell her. I’ll remember to do that when I must give bad news to a patient. Callie’s presence felt warm as fresh bread. She looked at her through tears and nodded. Speechless.
She gave a little more information about how the diagnosis was made; being technical helped bring Jennie back from the puddle of emotion. They arranged for when they’d meet again so she could write her will.
“Will you have Charles Winn draw it up?”
“No. I’ll draw it up, have it witnessed, and I’ll have my brother manage it.”
Callie agreed to witness it and said she’d talk with Dr. Fraser as well.
“February 1. Good. That gives me a week to talk with Josiah.”
“I really will go with you.”
Jennie shook her head. “No. I can do this. We’ll go through this together. Two have always been better than one.”
“Which is why I’m more than willing to be there. He’ll have questions.”
“Maybe later.” She straightened in her chair, tugged her skirt over her bony knees, crossed her ankles, and leaned back, hands clasped in her lap. “Now let’s look at those applicants and do what we need to do to prepare for their interviews.”
“Jennie, maybe you should—”
“No, now. I want to do this. I have to do this before I die.”
40
Two Are Better Than One
They planned to interview three women and no more, hoping each would be a recipient and they wouldn’t need to tell two or three no after they’d gotten that far, having filled out applications, provided references and their essays of why they wanted to be a doctor. Two had already found physicians to read with, but one, Mrs. Melvin, had not. Her reference was Jennie’s brother Fergus, who had been in business with her husband, owning a butcher shop, all before Fergus became a police officer. He praised her kindness, her good business sense, how neighbors came to her for healing potions and pastes she made herself. Her essay of why she wanted to be a physician had impressed both Callie and Jennie with her line “to heal a broken world, broken spirits, broken bodies, and bring them back to health.” She’d added a line that made them curious too. “And once, a woman helped me in a difficult time and I want to pass that on.”
“I wanted to heal broken spirits and broken bodies too. I didn’t think that doing that would heal the universe,” Callie said.
“It helps knit the fruits of the Spirit into the fabric of the world,” Jennie offered. ‘“Love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, and temperance.’ That’s what we try to bring to the profession, isn’t it?” Temperance. Something Douglas lacked. But maybe she did too, always pushing, always busy. Perhaps she spun too much.
They would interview the applicants on a Friday, the second week in February. But first Jennie needed to talk with Josiah and the girls. And then, write her will. She hoped Josiah would agree to what she wanted to do.
“We need to talk.” The girls would be home on the weekend, so Jennie had time to think of what she’d say to them. She needed Josiah to help with telling them. She picked up her knitting needles as they sat in the parlor, Jennie across from him as he sat on Elizabeth’s settee that, like other furnishings, fit perfectly in their new home.
“So . . . I talked with Callie a few weeks ago. I told her about the bloating and inflammation. Some other issues.”
“Like your coughing and losing weight.”
“I think that’s a cold coming on. Or I thought that.”
“You’ve worked yourself to a frazzle, Jennie girl.” He leaned back, his arms behind his head, elbows out, ankles crossed before him as his long legs stretched into the parlor. He was still a handsome man, at this moment trying to look relaxed, but she could see by the tension in his eyes that he knew something was coming.
“I know. Well, that’ll be changing.”
“Good.”
“Not good.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re a very successful businesswoman in ad
dition to being a fine, fine physician, Jennie. Taking time off will be good for you.”
“I had a little physical exam with Callie a few weeks ago and she referred me to Dr. Fraser, you remember him?”
“Dean, isn’t he?”
She nodded. “A very good doctor across the board and his most recent interest has been in diseases of the uteri. He’s a surgeon as well. And . . .”
“Come over here where I can hear you better.” He patted the spot on the settee next to him. She complied, but she kept the knitting with her. Something about the soft feel of the yarn and the grip of the bamboo needles was comforting and she needed comfort.
“And . . .” She took a deep breath. “I have cancer, Josiah. I—they give me six months, maybe. I’ve apparently had it for a while.”
“What are you saying? Six months? Surely not.”
“I’m going to beat you to the pearly gates.” She kept her voice light, for him, for her. Tears spilled.
He took his handkerchief, a big farm one the size of a table napkin from his pocket, and wiped her eyes. He no longer leaned back lounging. His arms were now around her. “Can this be true? Are they sure?”
She nodded.
“We can get another opinion? Treat it.”
“I’ve written to Dr. Cook in San Francisco. I haven’t heard back. There isn’t much hope, I’m afraid. Or time for treatment if one were available.”
He sat stunned for a time. “What about the girls? What do we tell them?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. I—I want you to hear this in just the right way, Josiah. I think I should ask my brothers, David and George, to act as their guardians until they’re of age.”
“George travels so much. He’s in France now, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but he corresponds. David’s a lawyer and a judge accustomed to managing these sorts of things.” I’m speaking of the aftermath of my death as “these sorts of things.” “You’d still be their heart holder, their father. I want to save you from the details of the estate and all.”