They Called Her Mrs. Doc. (26 page)
By the afternoon everyone in town seemed to have heard about the new baby. Virginia walked through the snow to see Cassandra.
“I hear you had quite a night,” she said as she shrugged out of her coat and leaned to slip off her boots.
Cassandra just smiled.
“Did Doc get home yet?”
“He’s over checking on the new baby now,” said Cassandra.
“Well, from what everyone is saying, Doc couldn’t have done a better job himself,” said Virginia.
“Don’t tease,” responded Cassandra. “I was scared to death.”
She turned to the stove to push the teakettle over the heat for a cup of tea.
“I suppose you’ve heard what they’re calling her,” went on Virginia.
“No,” admitted Cassandra. “They hadn’t named her when I left.”
“Cassandra,” said Virginia smugly. “Cassandra Joy.”
Vivian was the first of their children to marry.
“It seems that all she got out of her Arts course was a young professor,” Samuel remarked as he read her glowing letter home, telling of her plans.
The wedding was to take place in Montreal. “In Grandmother’s church,” Vivian said. Samuel arranged for a young intern to come in and cover for him during his absence and took two weeks off to travel with the family.
“You can stay longer if you wish,” he told Cassandra. “But I should get back.”
Cassandra shook her head. She knew from her last trip back East that two weeks would be long enough.
The children were all excited about the trip. Christina fairly bubbled. She, of course, couldn’t remember that long-ago trip, and her young brothers had never seen their Montreal grandparents. Cassandra regretted that they would not know their grandfather, as Henry P. Winston had been gone for almost a year.
The days on the train not only gave Samuel a much-needed rest, but also gave the family time to sit together and chat about many things.
“You would have liked your grandfather,” Cassandra told her family. “He was an energetic, intelligent man. Always busy. Always doing.” She might have added “always gone,” but she didn’t. Though she realized now that she had resented his constant absence when she was a child.
Samuel added to the conversation. “If it hadn’t been for Dr. Henry P. Winston, my professor, your grandfather, I might never have made it into medicine.”
Cassandra looked at Samuel as though she wished to challenge the statement.
“You stood in the top five of your class,” she said quietly.
“In class work, yes. But Henry P., through avenues unbeknown to me, managed to find funding so that I could stay in school.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Cassandra, a new respect for her father growing within her.
“He did it for a number of his students,” Samuel said.
“His ‘pets,’ you mean,” teased Cassandra. “I tell you truthfully, children, his students, his ‘pets,’ saw far more of him than his family did.”
Cassandra still referred to her offspring as “children” and thought of them as such, even though the youngest, Peter, was now fifteen and seeing himself as quite adult. If they resented it, they did not say so. As Thomas put it, “I expect she’ll still be calling us children when God takes her home,” and the others had smiled at the thought.
“Tell us what Grandmother is like,” begged Christina, and Cassandra began a long presentation of her mother, her Montreal home, and her growing up years. Even Thomas listened intently. Cassandra painted such a glowing picture that when she finally stopped for a breath, Peter asked openly, “What did you go west for?”
Cassandra looked up, startled by his sudden question, then smiled and reached to clasp Samuel’s hand. “I met a young man,” she said coyly, “and he was going west—no stopping him.”
“Well, I’m glad you did, Pa,” said Peter. They no longer referred to Samuel as Papa. “Too childish” was their assessment. Samuel did not argue. Cassandra guessed that he rather preferred “Pa.” It had been the name he used for his own father.
“I can hardly wait to see Vivian,” said Christina, changing the conversation.
“She’ll likely be a snob now that she’s lived in the East,” put in Thomas.
“Where’d you ever get that idea?” asked Cassandra, turning quickly to confront her son.
He shrugged carelessly. “I dunno. Heard it around. Folks are always saying it.”
“Well, just because folks are saying it doesn’t make it so.” Not all of Cassandra’s bit of red-headed temper had been dealt with over the years. But she cooled more quickly, was more repentant, when her temper did flare. It always seemed to amuse Samuel, and at times Cassandra felt that he teased her just to provoke a response. He chuckled now and Cassandra flushed and checked her outburst.
“I—I can’t abide sweeping statements that—that take everyone in with one big brush,” said Cassandra, gesturing widely with her hand. “All Easterners or all Westerners, all English or all Spanish, all doctors or farmers. We are individuals. We can make our own choices—even though we might not be allowed to shape our circumstances. If I’m a snob—it’s because I choose to be one—not because I was born and raised in the East.”
“You’re not a snob,” Christina answered her mother.
Cassandra flashed her a look that might have said she wasn’t getting the point; at the same time she thanked the girl with her eyes for her support.
“You—all of you,” Cassandra went on, waving a hand to include all her children in her circle of concern, “your father and I have tried to raise you properly. We have taught you the laws of God, the rules of proper conduct, the etiquette of society—but in the end you make your own choices. You decide who and what you will be.”
She stopped for a breath and went on.
“I thank God that you have all made the most important first choice. You have, at various ages, come to the place where you have recognized God for who He is and given your hearts and lives to Him. That big step has been taken.” Cassandra paused briefly, remembering the times over the years when each child had made his or her individual decision to invite Jesus to cleanse a heart and be in charge of a young life. She was so thankful for each of those decisions. So thankful.
Then she continued. “But you will have many more choices to make in life. Many changes. Many seasons of growth. Your father and I might guide you—will still give our love and support—but in all honesty, you are now all—even you, Peter—adults and responsible for what you do with your lives. As your father and I have done our best for you and taught you the proper way to live, we will not accept the blame if you—if you make foolish decisions—and end up—end up—stupid—and poor—and—and sinful. The choice is yours. We’ve given you some proper tools for life, but you must do the work.”
Cassandra leaned back in her seat and took a deep breath. She had delivered her sermonette to her children with a good deal of passion in each word. She felt Samuel’s fingers tighten around hers.
“Whew!” said Peter, ducking exaggeratedly in the corner, “I don’t quite know whether to celebrate or—or cower.”
Joseph began to laugh and soon the whole family joined in. When they had enjoyed a good chuckle, Samuel brought them back to seriousness again.
“Your mother is quite right,” he said in his usual calm way. “We love you dearly—each one of you. If you give us cause to be proud by what you do in life, it will be your own doing—not ours. We will grant you full credit. We can take you only so far—you must go on from there. We have every confidence that because you have allowed God to be with you and in you, your choices will be right. He will guide you when we no longer are there for you. Always remember that. Pray for His direction—and when He makes it known to you—don’t argue with Him concerning it. Be in agreement with His will.”
They had family prayer together as the Canadian Pacific Railroad car rambled its clanging way toward the East.
Later in life, Cassandra was often to recall that trip, counting it as one of her most treasured family memories.
Joseph was the next to marry. He picked a local girl, one whom Cassandra and Samuel were happy to welcome to the family. It was a community wedding in their own little church with so many in attendance that they couldn’t all fit, and the pastor opened the windows so his voice would carry to those who clustered chairs closely around the outside.
After the ceremony the many well-wishers gathered together for a huge community pot-luck feast. Cassandra looked around the gathering of town and country folks and could tie many memories to faces before her.
They really are my people,
she thought in a burst of nostalgia.
I belong here—so totally.
At that moment Mrs. Clement moved toward her, stooped and aging but with sharp eyes glinting, teeth softly clicking.
“Mis’ Doc,” she said with her usual candor, “ya raised yerself one fine family. Ever’one of ’em. Done yerself proud.” Then before Cassandra could even respond she went on.
“ ’Course, they had ’em an advantage. Yer eastern manners with their pa’s common sense.”
Cassandra smiled. She felt that she had just been paid a wonderful and sincere compliment.
Joseph and his Annie took a brief honeymoon at Waterton Lake and settled in the community where Joseph continued to build—but now on his own. He seemed to have made some good choices—and Cassandra and Samuel were pleased.
Frequent letters from Vivian indicated that she was happy with her husband and home. Cassandra always laid the letters aside with grateful feelings washing through her. It was hard for her to wait to share the letters with Samuel. They always discussed the “happenings” after he’d had his chance to read.
As the months passed, Cassandra realized that the letters had taken a new turn. Vivian had learned to love her Grandmother Winston dearly, but she was now expressing increasing concern for the elderly woman’s spiritual condition.
“I’m not sure that Grandmother really knows she has eternal life,” she wrote in one such letter. “It worries me. She talks of church and good deeds as though that is what will gain her entrance to heaven. I have tried to explain, but so far she doesn’t seem to understand. Please pray for me.”
Cassandra’s eyes filled with tears as she remembered the times she had tried in her own letters to explain the difference to her mother and father. Her attempts had fallen on deaf ears as well.
“Perhaps Vivian will have more success,” she said to Samuel after he had read the letter. He nodded. They joined hands and prayed together.
