Blessed Assurance (5 page)

Hiding her worry over a problem she had no solution to, Jessie swung her stocking feet down and sat up, the bed ropes creaking under her. She spoke lightly, “How did you get so bossy?”

“Been watching you.” Susan grinned.

This unexpected “sass” hit Jessie's funny bone, lifting her heavy spirits. She tried to pout comically, but went into giggles instead. “Oh, Susan, what would I do without you?”

 

Uneasy, Jessie sat on the back porch, watching. Facing her, with his back to the white-washed shed that housed her goat and chickens, her bad penny, Mr. Smith, rolled up his sleeves and then patted the leather baseball glove on his hand. “Throw it, Linc. Right into my glove,” Lee urged.

His back to her, Linc wound up and threw the soft ball. To Jessie,
it seemed a feeble imitation of what she'd seen that day of the first White Stockings game.

Still Mr. Smith lunged forward and caught it. He grinned broadly at Linc. “That was a good try. Next.” Smith moved forward a few paces. He sent the ball back in an easy toss.

“Got it!” Linc did a bouncy jig.

Jessie celebrated, too, with a smile. With a dark shawl around her to ward off the lingering April chill, she sat sipping her cup of sweet tea while she inwardly experienced a civil war of emotions over the man in her backyard.

Half of her couldn't help rejoicing. This was the very first time a man had offered to play ball with Linc. Linc's face had glowed with enthusiasm when Mr. Smith arrived after supper with a baseball and a leather glove. Jessie had felt the excitement herself.

How many times in the past years had she suffered silently along with Linc, as they glimpsed a father and son playing catch in a park? She never intended to marry again, so having a man willingly spend time with Linc had been an unanswered prayer.

But the other half of her was galled. Why did it have to be this man? Lee Smith used his handsome face and glib charm entirely too much. No matter what she said to him, he always had a smooth reply. And having a handsome, eligible man around would only lubricate the jaws of the neighborhood gossips.

She watched, trying to get the better of her antipathy to this stranger who had forced his way into their lives. Though she'd warn Linc that as Mr. Smith became acquainted with more people he'd probably have less time to play catch, why shouldn't she let her son enjoy tonight? Why shouldn't she enjoy watching him experience it?

Over this joy hung the unresolved, knotty problem of little Ben's illness. What if the next time this type of crisis occurred, a child died? The worry was like a steel band around her head, tightening. Jessie wasn't a doctor. All she knew was what Margaret had taught her.

“Mrs. Wagstaff?” Susan stepped out on the back porch. “You got a caller.” Dr. Gooden strode forward.

“Dr. Gooden?” Jessie nearly dropped her teacup.

“Mrs. Wagstaff, I wanted to see if you were well after staying awake all night.”

“I'm fine. Please won't you take a seat?” Jessie motioned to another chair.

“Thank you. I can stay only a short time.” He sat down and smiled at her.

“Would you care for some tea?” Jessie hoped she didn't appear as flustered as she felt.

The doctor nodded and Susan went in to get it.

Her gaze ran over him. He had an honest face, a firm chin.

“I can't thank you enough for your help last night. You saved little Ben.” Impulsively Jessie reached for his free hand.

He gripped her hand briefly. “That was my reason for becoming a doctor. Too many children die and we have no inkling even of what causes the diseases. Sometimes I feel like a man stumbling in the dark.”

This man didn't speak in polite nothings, treating her as a mere woman who wouldn't comprehend serious matters. Just as Will had thought her worthy to be included in his work for abolition.

Coming through the back door again, Susan cleared her throat. “Pardon me, Mrs. Wagstaff, you was napping this afternoon when Caleb called to say little Ben is drinking the rice water fine.”

“Good.” The doctor accepted the heavy white mug.

“Who's Caleb?” Mr. Smith's lazy voice intruded.

Jessie turned an unwelcoming glance to him, then felt a twinge of guilt.
This man had come on his own to pitch to Linc.

She forced herself to answer in a perfectly polite tone. “Caleb's the minister's son. He often brings us messages.”

“Got an eye for Susan, eh?” Smith winked at Susan.

Susan suppressed a grin. “Can I get you a cup a tea, too, sir?”

Lee bit back a groan of dismay.
Barley water at Pearl's. Tea at Jessie's.
He'd never thought he'd drink such pap.

“If you're not partial to tea, there's buttermilk in the icebox,” Jessie offered.

Lee swallowed hard. “I'll take tea, thanks.”

Linc had followed Lee and stood beside him. “May I have buttermilk? Please?”

Susan turned back to the kitchen.

“I'm Lee Smith.” Lee held out his hand to the stranger. He didn't like the man on sight.

Jessie said, “Dr. Henry Gooden, Mr. Lee Smith.”

Dr. Gooden shook hands with the man.

“Who is this young fellow?” Gooden asked, nodding to Linc.

“This young fellow is Jessie's son, Linc.” Lee ruffled Linc's hair. The boy smiled up at him. Glancing at Jessie, Lee saw his implied intimacy with Linc irritated her. He'd done it to goad the good doctor, but it had come so naturally, so easily that he'd surprised himself. He'd never taken an interest in a child before.

“Lincoln,” Jessie said, sounding very formal, “make your bow. This is the doctor who helped little Ben last night.”

Linc bowed, but stayed close to Lee.

Jessie went on. “Mr. Smith has just arrived in Chicago.”

“Indeed?” The doctor sipped his tea.

Lee leaned back against the porch railing. “Indeed.”

Linc leaned against the railing, mimicking Lee.

“Did you find work today, Mr. Smith?” Jessie asked.

“I did. I'm clerking at an office downtown,” Lee lied.

Susan came out bearing another cup and a glass of buttermilk. Before Lee's eyes, Linc downed the glass in one long, noisy draught.

Lee found himself laughing out loud. “Slow down, sport. You'll get the colic drinking that fast.”

“Yes, sir.” Linc looked up at Lee. “Can we play some more?”

“I thirst and I need my tea,” Lee said. “Go practice your pitching form.”

“What's that?” Linc demanded.

“Practice throwing the ball
without
the ball.” Lee sipped his hot tea.

“Linc, it's nearly time for you to wash up for bed,” Jessie cautioned.

“Aw, Mother,
please
. I need practice. We're playing ball at recess now and I gotta do better or I won't get picked.”

“Just a little longer, then.”

Before his mother had finished her sentence, Linc scrambled off the porch. Lee sipped the sweet tea. Tea wouldn't have been his first choice, but it was wet and tasted better than barley water.

“Jessie!” Miss Wright clumped out onto the porch. “That boy needs to get up to bed. And you need to get to bed early yourself.”

Out of politeness, Lee stood up straighter, then gritted his teeth. Dr. Gooden also rose. Jessie quietly introduced him to Miss Wright.

Miss Wright's greeting to the doctor was as unwelcoming as any Lee could have hoped for. “Well! It's about time someone helped this woman. She can't go on staying out all hours nursing. She'll ruin her health.”

Dr. Gooden bowed. “I must be leaving.”

Wise man,
Lee said to himself. “I'm afraid I must be going as well.”

The evening came to an abrupt halt. Irritated by Miss Wright's high-handedness, Jessie wished both gentlemen good night. Then she and Linc climbed the steps to their attic room. Fatigue and a headache had dogged her all day. Now her arms and legs felt as though they had been weighted down with wet sand. But her mind was busy with Miss Wright's words: “It's about time someone helped this woman.”

Susan bustled up the stairs behind them.

“Oh, Susan, I though you agreed to help Miss Wright get to bed. I just don't have the strength tonight.”

“She told me to help you first. You set while I watch this boy wash up—”

Linc protested, “I can do it myself.”

Grinning, Susan swatted Linc's behind.

Jessie began slipping pins from her hair. Why hadn't she thought of a doctor for Susan's friends before? Surely she could persuade some kind doctor to treat them. At this thought, a load of worry floated off her.

After Linc said his prayers, Jessie preceded Susan behind the dressing curtain where Susan undid the buttons down the back of Jessie's dress, then loosed her corset laces. Jessie sighed at the sudden release. Jessie pulled on the worn cotton gown, and slid between the cool sheets she hadn't slept between for two nights. She wanted to whisper her thoughts to her friend, but was suddenly too tired to speak.

Susan stopped beside Jessie's bed. “Your nights nursing and days working be over. From now on, I'm gone to take better care a you.” Susan patted Jessie's arm and left.

Jessie yawned. One last lucid idea flitted through her mind.
She knew just who to ask for help.

Jessie, standing opposite her guest, glanced once more around her immaculate parlor with satisfaction. Her parlor gave her confidence.
I can do this.

With a smile, Dr. Miller, her family's long-time physician, accepted the thin china cup of coffee from her.

“Thank you for stopping before starting your rounds today.” Jessie sat down across from him. The tied-back, floor-length bouffant rose curtains she'd made herself fluttered slightly with the warm breeze. “The lilacs will be blooming—”

“Jessie, please,” Dr. Miller chided her with obvious affection. “Are you ready to let me know why you sent Linc over with a note asking me to stop by? I've known you since the day you were born and when you get nervous you chatter.”

She blushed and smiled. “I don't know why I'm nervous. I know when I explain the situation you will want to help.” Despite her brave words, she quivered inside. Five years ago when she had begun to help Susan's friends, she had crossed an invisible line. The War Between the States had brought about emancipation and citizenship for Negroes. But little else. She cleared her throat. “You know Susan?”

“I've seen her around your house. Yes.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“When I got to know Susan's people, I found out that they have no one to provide medical care—”

“Your dear mother has told me that you have been helping them. True Christian charity.”

She drew herself up. “But I'm inadequate, Doctor. I use everything my late mother-in-law taught me about nursing the sick. But it's not enough. They need a doctor.”

Dr. Miller set his cup and saucer without clatter onto the small round table. “Jessie, you don't know what you're asking me.”

“I only want you to accept Susan's people as patients. They aren't beggars. They would pay—”

“I cannot help them directly.” He moved forward on his seat and reached for the wallet in his back pocket.

Jessie touched his arm, halting him. “Why?” Her pulse sped up.

He frowned. “If it becomes known that I'm treating blacks, I'll lose all my white patients. It could destroy a successful practice it has taken me thirty-five years to build.”

Her fingers tightened around his arm. “Doctors volunteer to go to the mission field—”

“That's all right in foreign parts, but not in Chicago.” He stood up. “You don't understand the depth of the feeling here that colored people should've stayed where they belonged.”

Jessie rose to her feet. Temper flashed red-hot through her. “Do you mean Africa? The slavers didn't allow them that choice.”

He took a five-dollar bill from his wallet and laid it beside his discarded cup. “That's to buy medicine. Good day.”

He strode out, leaving Jessie standing in her parlor. She heard him close the front door firmly.

“Well, that's that.” Susan stalked into the room with her arms crossed over her breast.

“I'm stunned. Dr. Miller is one of the kindest men I know.” His refusal had felt like a door slammed in her face.

“To white folks.”

Jessie'd known she'd been taking a chance. She'd never asked anyone else to cross the invisible color line and join in her work. What she needed was a man with a larger vision. “Maybe I was meant to meet Dr. Gooden,” Jessie said in a thoughtful manner.

“You think he might help my people?” Susan's doubt on this was clear in her tone.

“The Lord doth provide. Let's invite Dr. Gooden to dine with us Friday.”

 

Dr. Henry Gooden stood on the front porch of the Wagstaff House, wondering if he would find here what he had been looking for. A young woman of color answered the door. “It is Susan, isn't it?” Dr. Gooden handed her his hat.

“Yes, sir. Will you step into the parlor, please?” Susan showed him to a chair, then curtseyed. “I'll tell Mrs. Wagstaff you're here.”

From the comfortable wing-back chair, Henry examined the parlor. The oak floor and woodwork gleamed in the lamplight. Everything else also spoke of a notable homemaker.

“Dr. Gooden, I'm so happy you could come.” Jessie swept in, her hand outstretched to him.

He stood, took her hand, bent to kiss it. The scent of lavender floated from her. He smiled. “For the invitation, I thank you.”

“Please have a seat.”

As he waited for her to sit first, he gazed at her with admiration. She lowered herself delicately into her chair, then perched on it like a lady with her spine held straight, not touching the back of her chair.

“Have you had a busy day, Doctor?”

He liked her question, the perfect social start to a conversation. Tonight, she was dressed all in black, and though simple, it was cut in the latest mode with the skirt swept toward the rear to a modest bustle. “A day of usual cases. But I never tire of it.”

“I understand.”

Her two quiet words touched him. This woman did understand. Nodding, he smiled at her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the old woman coming toward them.

“Who is this you're sitting with?” the old woman barked.

Deferentially he stood up.

The old woman glared at him. “That doctor? What is he doing here again?”

“Miss Wright, I've invited Dr. Henry Gooden for dinner.”

As he bent over the old woman's hand, she grumbled, but the old woman said no more. His hostess was definitely the mistress of her home.

“Mother?” Linc scrambled into the parlor. “Dinner is served.”

Jessie rose. “Lincoln, please tell Susan we're coming right in.”

Henry wanted to offer his arm to Jessie, but good manners dictated he offer it to the elderly spinster first. When she rebuffed him, he entered the dining room with Jessie's hand featherlight on his arm.

The dining room impressed him as the parlor had. “The carving on your sideboard, it is beautiful.”

“My late husband's father was noted for his fine woodworking.”

“He was an artist.” Dr. Gooden seated Jessie at the head of the table and waited while she introduced him to her other two boarders. The young blonde was a treat to behold, but the redhead was mutton dressed as lamb. While Jessie still wore widow's black, the widowed schoolteacher was arrayed in pink ruffles instead of tastefully in some sober hue.

At the foot of the table at Jessie's request, he gave the blessing. “God, thank you for this home and this meal. Amen.”

“So you have family?” Miss Wright asked tartly.

“My mother lives in Cleveland with my older brother and his wife.”

“Sir, what made you become a doctor?” Miss Greenleigh, the young blond lady, asked him.

“When I was only eight, my sister nearly died. With the diphtheria. A doctor saved her life. After that, I became his shadow.”

“You began your avocation early, then?” Jessie asked.

He liked the way her voice sounded so sure, so confident. The meal went on just as he'd hoped, good food in a genteel setting. He ate his final bite of sweet rhubarb pie with light whipped cream.

Susan came through the curtain. “Mrs. Wagstaff, could Lincoln be 'scused from the table now?”

“Why?”

“Mr. Smith is here. He wanta know can Linc come out and play ball?”

Henry was pleased to see that though Linc eagerly sat up straighter, he did not bolt from the table. Only when Jessie nodded, did the boy disappear in a flash behind Susan.

Mrs. Bolt stood up. “Dr. Gooden, perhaps you'd be interested in attending a temperance meeting with me tonight?”

He shook his head. “So sorry, ma'am. Already I am involved in much charity work.”

“Very well.” Her mouth primmed up.

“Perhaps Mr. Smith would like to accompany you,” Miss Wright said piously.

“Why I hadn't thought…I'll ask him.” Mrs. Bolt headed for the curtain and disappeared through it.

The old woman snorted.

Miss Greenleigh shook her head as she rose. “Miss Wright, that was very naughty of you, but I have time to read a while tonight. Would you like to hear more of Dickens?”

“Aren't you going to visit that sister of yours this weekend?” Miss Wright asked with a growl.

“No, I'm relaxing this weekend.”

“Well, if you haven't got anything else to do. I could stand a chapter or so.” Sounding disgruntled, the old woman got up and the two of them turned toward the parlor.

Jessie smiled. Having Miss Greenleigh in her home was a true blessing.

Jessie rose. “Would you mind spending the evening on the back porch? I should support Linc in his efforts to master baseball, his passion these days.”

“In this balmy weather, it would be a pleasure.”

Jessie inclined her head. Just as she'd hoped, everything about the meal seemed to have mellowed the doctor. When he offered her his arm, she stiffened but accepted it without demur. She had invited this man tonight to ask him for his help, but she had overlooked the fact that he might misinterpret her intentions. Did he think she was pursuing him? Her mouth went dry.

They walked down the steps. Mrs. Bolt hurried past them, her mouth in a grim line.

The doctor murmured, “Mr. Smith preferred a game of catch to a temperance meeting?”

“I suppose so.” As Jessie led him around the side of the house, she recalled racing over this same walk with little Ben limp in her arms. This man had saved Ben; she would never forget that debt.

Ahead in the twilight, Mr. Smith stood behind Linc moving Linc's arm forward, obviously demonstrating how to pitch. Linc with a man who cared about him. For a second she wished she could rest her hand on Mr. Smith's arm in silent thanks.

No matter how his cocky attitude grated on her, she owed him so much. His nightly visits had given her son an extra bounce to his step these days. And she'd heard Linc bragging about “his friend Mr. Smith” to the neighborhood boys. Only the presence of Dr. Gooden held her back from the emotional pull that now drew her to Mr. Smith.

Then she saw Dr. Gooden smiling at Linc. This man had a kind heart, too.

Lee called to them, “We meet again, Doctor. Good evening, Mrs. Wagstaff.”

Jessie nodded.

The doctor replied, “Mr. Smith.”

Lee didn't let the doctor's unwelcoming tone bother him. As Linc babbled to Lee about the ball game that day at school, the doctor was seating Jessie on the porch.
I don't want to miss a word Dr. Gooden says to Jessie.
“Okay, Linc, tonight you go stand with your back to the shed and I'll stay here, close to the porch.”

Listening to the doctor trying to charm the Widow Wagstaff would make an entertaining evening.

The doctor cleared his throat. “Mrs. Wagstaff, you recall our discussing the possible causes of milk fever?”

Lee grinned to himself. How many men after dinner would discuss milk fever with a lady?

“Yes, I've often wondered why milk is good for children Linc's age, but harmful to infants.”

“And the factor of the time of year is significant also, don't you think? Milk fever comes with the warm weather.”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever heard of Louis Pasteur, a French scientist?” Dr. Gooden asked.

Lee answered silently,
Yes, I have. What about him?

“He believes disease is spread by bacteria. A microscope, have you ever seen one?”

“I know what it is.”

Now Lee's interest had been caught, too. What was the man's angle?

“Looking in the microscope, Pasteur has identified bacteria, which he says are alive and cause disease. He has experimented with heating milk to boiling. With thirty minutes boiling, all the bacteria in the milk are destroyed.”

“Then if mothers boiled the milk before they gave it to their babies, they could destroy the bacteria which causes the diarrhea?” Jessie sounded excited.

Good question, Jessie.
Lee caught the ball and tossed it back to Linc.

“But what about the warm weather? How does that make the bacteria worse?” Jessie's interest came across clearly.

Lee strained to hear the answer to this question. He had to admit the widow knew how to delve into a subject without dithering about the constraints of polite conversation.

The doctor's voice showed his excitement at Jessie's interest. “Look around you. When the weather warms, everything grows. Why not bacteria?”

Lee caught another ball. “Good pitch!” He tossed the ball back to the boy.

“A lot of physicians,” the doctor said, “don't want to deal with all the new ideas in this century or bother to read the foreign journals.”

“That's wrong.”

“At least short-sighted. I want to direct a hospital that trains doctors in the latest discoveries, newest medicines. The old doctors won't change, so teaching new doctors must be my goal.”

Lee heard the enthusiasm in the man's voice and pitied him. His passion for the innovative would make him an easy target for lesser men.

“I knew when we met you were different from other doctors.” Jessie leaned forward, her voice eager. “I believe you were sent to me by God.”

“Me, how?”

You walked right into that one, Doc.
Lee grinned and tossed a faster ball back to Linc, who yelped happily as he caught it.

“Will you consent to be the doctor to Susan's people?”

Silence fell on the porch.

Lee grimaced to himself.
Go ahead, Doc, talk your way out of this one.

“This is a deep concern of yours, isn't it?” Dr. Gooden asked.

Tell her you can't do it, Doc.

“I was terrified that night. My skills are inadequate and I haven't found them someone who has the skills they need.”

“But, why are you responsible for them?” Dr. Gooden asked.

“My husband, Will, worked for abolition. He enlisted in the U.S.
Sanitary Corps to succor wounded soldiers. What good is freedom to Susan's people if they can't even find a doctor who will treat them?”