Cora and The Doctor: or, Revelations of A Physician's Wife

I asked Frank this morning, if he thought Lucy would come and sit with me. I feel rather lonely without mother or Emily, as I can neither read nor write but a few minutes at a time. He answered, "No!" decidedly.

"I want to see somebody," I said.

"How should you enjoy a visit from Aunt Susy?"

I almost jumped from my chair. This made him decide at once that she would not do. He said "You must rest, mind and body, in order to get well."

Tuesday, July 28th.

Yesterday afternoon I had arisen from my bed after a refreshing nap, and was seated in my easy chair by the window, when Frank came up stairs talking with some one whose voice I did not recognize, until she said, "I had hoped ere this to see thee at our house. Thee must come before Elizabeth goes;" and Friend Estes kindly advanced toward me, "I am truly sorry to see thee ill, my dear."

I tried to rise, and take her bonnet; but Frank said, she was his company, and he would do the honors. He took the friendly "poke," and carried it to the bed, where he spread a napkin carefully over it.

I looked in surprise; but the good lady smiled as she said, "Thy husband is well acquainted with friendly ways."

"I am sorry to leave such good company," he said, "but I have work enough for the afternoon." He was just leaving the room, when she detained him a moment, to ask whether Thomas Jones had recovered, and whether his family were in need of assistance. Frank replied that Thomas would soon be able to go to his work; until then, they were supported by charity.

There is something composing and soothing in the very voice and manner of the Friends. Certainly this is true with regard to my dear Friend Estes.

"Does thee like to have thy hair smoothed, my daughter? because I should love to do it for thee."

I said, I should like it very much, if she would let me sit before her, as I used to sit before my dear mother. She brought me a cricket, and I sat down and laid my head in her lap, where, for nearly an hour she passed her smooth hand lovingly across my forehead and hair. At the same time she discoursed so sweetly, that the afternoon passed too quickly away. If her conversation had not been so interesting, I should certainly have been lulled to sleep.

She told me of her daughter Elizabeth, who is soon to be married to a worthy young man every way approved by her parents, and the meeting.

"Is she to marry a Quaker?" I asked.

"Yes. He is now of our persuasion; but he was not educated so. He became a Friend by 'convincement.' The wedding is to take place in P – ." And she invited us to be present, kindly offering me a seat in her carriage, if Frank could not spare the time to accompany me.

Before she went, she said something which sent the blood to my cheeks, but which makes me so happy I must tell you about it. I was sitting with my head in her lap, looking up into her kind face, when she remarked, "Thee has a kind, loving husband."

"O yes! I cannot think of one thing in which I should wish him to be different." She smiled a moment, and then said, "I am pleased thou art so well suited. Would thee like to hear what he said of thee?"

"O, please tell me!" I said, before I thought, and then my cheeks burned. I hid my face and added, "If you think it would be proper, and he would like it."

She laughed merrily at my embarrassment, as she said: "I presume, dear, he has told thee the same, many times. He said, 'If I had searched the world through, I couldn't have found one so exactly suited to my idea of a true wife.' He concluded, being quite warmed with his subject, 'She is a perfect little darling, and I thank God for her every day of my life.'"

O, mother, you can't tell how happy she made me. I couldn't lift up my head for a long time, for fear she would see the blissful tears. She kissed me tenderly, and when she left, my mind was fully determined on one point, – if I ever am sick and need a nurse, I shall desire of all others a Friend, if I can get one anything like her.

I know, dear mother, you will be glad that your Cora has not so far, disappointed the expectations of her husband.

Friday, July 31st.

Miss Proctor is here, spending a few days with me. I enjoy her society exceedingly. As we sat together in my room, I did not like to spend the time in writing. This afternoon Cæsar has driven her in the carriage to Lee Hall, and Pauline accompanied them.

I sent Lucy a magnificent bouquet, which Cæsar made me for the occasion, with a little note expressing my affection and sympathy.

I had a call from Mrs. Jones this morning. Frank sent her here to see Miss Proctor, who is making some clothes for the children.

She appears truly humble and devout. Thomas has not tasted a drop of spirit since he recovered, and is now beginning to work. She took Miss Proctor's advice very kindly with regard to neatness and economy; that her husband might feel that he had a respectable and decent home. She said, "I have now more heart about him than I have had for many years, because he distrusts himself and looks above for help and strength."

Monday, August 3d.

Lucy Lee sent by Miss Proctor a note requesting me, if able, to call upon her in the course of a few days; and if unable, begging me to ask the Doctor to call. He went early this afternoon, when she showed him a letter, she had received from Allen, and asked him what she should do.

The letter stated that Allen, feeling a strong desire to know the character of the man, rumor had affianced to his Lucy, had placed himself in the way of one of Joseph's associates, an old schoolmate, who had told him some astonishing facts. These, Frank only related to me in brief, and, indeed, would have wholly kept from me if possible.

When Mr. Arnold was first introduced to Lucy, it had not occurred to her brother to force him upon her acquaintance. But when that gentleman told him of his love for his beautiful sister, and solicited his cooperation and influence in winning her hand, he had willingly consented, out of hatred to Allen. While, however, Arnold's passion increased, her aversion became every day more evident, until, in a fit of exasperation, he had made a contract with her brother, that on the day she became his wife, he, as her husband, would make over to him one half of his property. This contract Allen's informant was called upon to witness.

The reason of Joseph's cruel determination to force Lucy to a marriage with his friend was now evident. Allen begged her to be firm in refusing to be sold in so vile a manner.

The Doctor requested to see Joseph, being determined to appeal to his affection as a brother, and his honor as a gentleman, if, indeed, he had any such feelings. But he was informed that he had gone with Mr. Arnold to the city. Frank then advised her to embrace this favorable opportunity to impart to her father her decided refusal to marry Mr. Arnold. With this advice poor Lucy, with a shudder, promised to comply. She is too fearful.

Tuesday, August 4th.

I long to hear from Lee Hall. If I do not in a day or two, I will try to persuade Frank to allow me to call there.

To-day we received wedding cards from Dr. and Mrs. Clapp. I shall take an early opportunity to visit them. We also received a letter from mother, and can you believe it? Frank almost refused to let me read it. I felt so hurt, I could only say, "Dear husband, would you like me to conceal anything from you?"

Without another word, he read it aloud. Emily remains exactly as she was when they left; neither better nor worse; she talks, walks, and acts like an automaton.

Mother fears insanity. She says this state cannot last much longer, – a reaction must take place. She closed with the kindest messages to me, and particular inquiries about my health.

"Frank," I said, when he had finished, "will you please to do me a great favor?"

"Certainly, my love, I shall be most happy to do so."

"Well then, please write to mother at once, and ask her to bring Emily home. I know she longs to do so; and I am almost well now." He hesitated what to reply. "You have promised," I said.

"Well, be it so," he answered, "but I am convinced that it is not safe for a man to promise so blindly."

"Blindly! – a wife! oh, Frank! I would promise to do any thing in the world, you might ask. I have such entire confidence in you, I know you would not ask me to do wrong."

He looked very, very much pleased and drew me to his side. "Dear Cora, you have unconsciously given me the strongest proof of entire love; but I do not deserve it, though I shall endeavor not to forfeit so precious a token of your affection. This is the feeling, sweet wife, we should cultivate toward our heavenly Father. He knows what is best for us; and it is safe for us to confide in him. He sometimes leads us through dangerous paths. Let us trust Him, though clouds gather and break over our heads."

Thursday, August 6th.

We were aroused from sleep last night by a thundering knock at the door. Frank threw up the window, when a man called out, "Doctor, won't you come as quick as you can to Squire Lee's. He's had a fit, and they think he is dying." Frank dressed and was gone in a moment. I could not sleep, but lay revolving in my mind Lucy's situation. I thought how I should love to offer her a home, where Allen Mansfield could come to see her. I went through all the marriage ceremony, thinking what a lovely bride Lucy would make when the heavy cloud had passed away, and her heart was free from sorrow or care.

Frank did not return until after I was seated at the breakfast-table. He looked very serious and only shook his head in answer to the question, whether the old gentleman was better. "He will probably never be better." I was shocked. "And Lucy?" I inquired.

"She has passed from one fainting to another."

"Horrible! But how is she now?" I really shuddered at the thought that she might not be living.

"She is conscious, but very much exhausted." After prayers he took my hand as he sat by me on the sofa. "Cora," he asked, "can you control your feelings?"

I quickly answered that I could, and would.

"Squire Lee received a letter from his son which so enraged him against his poor innocent daughter, that he sent for a lawyer to his office and disinherited her unless she would consent to marry Arnold, and that too without delay. With this legal document in his hand he summoned her into his presence, where with horrible oaths, he told her what he had done.

"She begged him to allow her to take care of him in his old age. She would promise never to see her dear Allen; but she could not consent to marry Arnold. She had rather die. She threw herself at his feet, when he cursed her and spurned her from him with scorn. A heavy fall caused Mrs. Burns to rush into the room. She had followed her dear young mistress to the door and had heard all that passed.

"The sweet girl was insensible. The kind woman rang for Jacob the porter; and they lifted her gently, and carried her to her bed. Her father soon after was seen going to his room.

"About eleven o'clock, one of the servants was passing through the apartment next that which he occupied, when she was startled by loud snoring. She stopped to listen, when finding it continue, she hastily called the housekeeper, and together they entered the room. The Squire lay in what seemed to them a heavy slumber; but they could not arouse him. The sound was like the snorting of a brute, more than like the breathing of a human being.

"By this time they were thoroughly frightened, and sent in haste for the Doctor."

Immediately after he had told me this, he returned to the wretched house, wretched in the midst of luxury and splendor! I waited in vain for him to return to dinner, but received a note toward night, telling me not to be alarmed, if he did not return until morning. Lucy was rather better, but would not consent to his leaving the house, while her father lived. He would probably not survive many hours.

Dr. Clapp called in the evening, and told me he had received a hasty note from the Doctor, requesting him to take the care of his other patients, with a list of those upon whom it would be necessary to call.

Friday, August 7th.

Contrary to the Doctor's expectations, Squire Lee is still living; and there is slight hope that he may be better. Frank pursued the most vigorous course of treatment; applying cups to the temples, and blisters to the back of the neck. He left him in a natural sleep.

Lucy has been carried to the room where she sits near the bed. She wishes to be near him when he recovers his consciousness, hoping before his death that he may revoke his dreadful curse.

Tuesday, August 11th.

Mother and Emily returned last Saturday, and as mother feared, a terrible reaction has taken place. Sister is now as excitable as she was impassive. She laughs so merrily that the sound rings through the house. Then with as little reason, she weeps violently. I led Pauline to the cottage to try and amuse the poor girl; but the little creature was afraid of her aunt, and clung convulsively to me, if Emily tried to force her from my arms. There is a dreadful wildness in her eye, which alarms me.

Squire Lee is so much better, Frank is of opinion that, if he has no relapse, he will soon be able to leave his bed. Lucy is with him constantly; indeed he cannot bear her out of his sight a moment. Sometimes he mistakes her for her mother, and calls her "wife," and "Mary!"

The Doctor has insisted that he shall have watchers, so that she may have regular sleep; and that she shall take exercise in the open air, at least an hour every day. Joseph returned Saturday, but as the Doctor would not allow him to go into the sickroom, telling him he would not be responsible for the consequences, the young man left again for the city early Monday morning.

Frank also told him, Lucy had informed her father of her determination not to marry Arnold. Joseph swore dreadfully, that she would be the death of her father yet. All his object now was to see if "the old fellow," as he called him, had acted upon his suggestion.

Mrs. Burns had picked up the paper which lay upon the floor, after the dreadful interview between father and daughter, and having glanced at its contents, and seen that he had indeed left every cent of his property to Joseph, was strongly tempted to destroy it; but knowing she had no right to do this, she carefully locked it in a private desk where she had sometimes seen her master put his papers, and kept the key. She told Frank of the fact, who strengthened her in the resolution to restore it to no one but her master.

After Joseph's departure on Monday, however, it was ascertained beyond a doubt, that he had taken the desk with him.

CHAPTER XII

.   "No, I'll not weep;I have full cause for weeping; but this heartShall break into a hundred thousand flaws,Or ere I'll weep; – O fool, I shall go mad!" Shakspeare.Thursday, August 13th.

Dear Mother, – Yesterday was a fearfully exciting day. About noon mother Lenox came over from the cottage to go back with Emily.

I asked where sister had gone. She looked at me with fright and wonder. "Emily," she exclaimed, "started for the house early this morning, purposely, as she said, to see her brother before he went out upon his calls."

"She has not been here to my knowledge," I replied. We instantly went to the kitchen to ascertain whether Phebe or Cæsar had seen her. Cæsar was absent; but neither Ann nor Phebe had seen anything of their young mistress. We were now really alarmed, and waited with impatience for Frank's return, while the women searched the house and grounds.

Cæsar was soon heard coming up the hill with the wagon, when his wife ran to meet him. He stopped the horse to hear what she was in such a hurry to say, but mother beckoned for him to come to the door. He said "I'se heb seen missus 'bout seven or it might be nigh upon eight. She be all dressed out for de walk, and was g'wine down de hill. I'se stopped de wagon, and axed missus if I'se go back and take de carriage and carry her where she was g'wine. But missus say no, she only g'wine on a piece for ole missus. She 'peared in mighty hurry," ended the old man.

Mother went back to the library, sat down in a chair, and covered her face with her hands. "I will send Cæsar to find his master," said I, earnestly.

Phebe, however, had anticipated me, for when I heard Cæsar, as I thought, drive to the barn, he had only turned back and gone to the office in the village. In a very few moments, we heard Frank's welcome voice. I sprang to meet him and led him to our distressed mother.

"Emily is gone!" she repeated after me; but oh! I cannot describe the mournfulness of the tone.

"Dear mother, don't be alarmed," he said, in a cheerful voice, "I will soon find the runaway and bring her back." I looked earnestly at him to see if he really were so hopeful, but could detect nothing to make me think otherwise, except that he was very pale about the mouth. He then ascertained from Cæsar the direction she had taken, and rode hastily away.

In about two hours, which had seemed equal to a whole day, I received the following hasty note by a messenger: —

"Dear Cora,

"I regret to say that I have so far been unsuccessful in my search. Let Cæsar procure men and horses from the village, and start off in every direction. I am on my way to Waverley, where I have slight encouragement to hope I may find her. A young woman was seen hastily running in that direction, and was observed to look frequently behind her, as if apprehending pursuit.

"May God in mercy grant this to be our dear distracted sister. Pray for us; but this I know you will do. I am stopping for ten minutes to rest and water my horse. Sweet wife, take care of yourself and our dear mother.

Your Frank.

I instantly rang for Cæsar, and gave him his master's orders, directing him to send in every other direction except that taken by the Doctor, and make inquiries at every house. Mother was so distressed, I felt that I must not give way to my feelings. So I walked the room holding Pauline tightly in my arms, or leading her by my side.

Not a tear did mother shed. She knelt by the sofa, with her face buried in her hands, for half an hour at a time. At the least noise, she would start up and look eagerly for a moment, and then relapse into her former state.

I tried to pray, but could not command my thoughts; I could only lift up my heart, as I walked the room. "O God! restore unto us our dear, lost one!"

I cannot describe to you the intense grief of mother, as hour after hour passed away, and we still heard nothing from the fugitive. By this time, the whole village was aroused, and messengers were continually coming to the house to report their want of success, or to make inquiries whether the poor girl had been found.

From the remark of one of them that they had been "dragging the pond," I for the first time realized what must be the agony felt by my dear, distracted mother, who with a low wail put her hand suddenly to her heart. I sprang to her side, and clasping my arms around her neck, wept bitterly. That dreadful thought had never before entered my mind. But it was what had distracted her.

Alas! what torment in that fear! I trembled at every sound. Dear, kind Miss Proctor, who instantly came to us in our sorrow, begged us to go up stairs, where we could be more retired. She promised to come to us with the first intelligence.

Ann came to put Pauline to bed, and brought tea on a waiter; but I shook my head, I could not swallow. Mother seemed not to see or hear her.

It must have been nearly nine in the evening, when I heard a faint sound in the distance. I listened eagerly, and then again I heard a shout. This time it aroused mother, who looked at me with dreadful apprehension and horror of the cause.

"Hark!" said I, as the sound was again borne on the breeze, "what do they say?" and now, as they approached nearer and nearer, we distinctly heard the words, "She's found! SHE'S FOUND!!"

We stopped but for one convulsive embrace, and then started quickly to go below; but the sudden relief was too great for mother's overborne heart; and she fell prostrate upon the floor. Miss Proctor, with Ann's assistance, raised her, and soon restored her to consciousness, having motioned me to go below.

The carriage stopped at the door. A boy was sitting on a cricket driving, while Frank held his unconscious sister in his arms. With Cæsar's assistance he carried her to her bed, from which I fear the poor girl will not soon rise. She was very wild all night, during which her devoted brother never left her. This morning he pronounces her suffering from the worst form of brain fever. God only knows the result.

Dear mother shared my room with me, and in compliance with Frank's earnestly expressed wishes, forced herself to remain in bed. But I hardly think she closed her eyes. This morning he has procured an excellent nurse, and will himself remain most of the time with her.

He will not allow me to be in the room, and says he has no desire to multiply such patients. He confessed to me this morning that for many hours yesterday he feared a more dreadful result; and added, "God only knows what I suffered in the thought that she had rushed into eternity unprepared."

I will go now and see if I can prevail upon mother to eat something and lie down. "For Emily's sake," is the only successful plea.

Wednesday, August 19th.

This is truly a sad house. Scarcely a sound is to be heard in it from morning to night. The door bells are muffled, and the outer gates are barred; no carriage enters the enclosure, and even neighbors and friends, who come to inquire, tread lightly as they pass round to the back door. We meet and pass each other in the halls, or sit at table one at a time, often in the vain attempt to eat; but we dare not trust ourselves to speak, our hearts are too full. Each of us pour out in secret the overflowings of a burdened heart. We cannot even meet around the family altar. God, who reads our thoughts, knows our only hope is in his rich mercy, and that, from morning till night, our desires go forth to Him in whose hand life and death are.

For several days our darling, precious sister has lain at the point of death; and we have no well-grounded hope of her preparation to meet her God. Oh, dreadful thought! It is this which makes our hearts sink within us. Surely, "the sting of death is sin." If we could feel that Emily, dear Emily, was prepared to die, I think I could say, "it is well;" but my heart cries out with Esther, "How can I endure to see the destruction of my kindred!" O, may God, in infinite compassion, restore our darling to reason, ere she goes hence to be here no more! She has lain for two days unconscious of all around her. I dare not ask Frank whether there is hope. There is none in his pale, mournful face.

Friday, August 21st.

Dearest mother, rejoice with us! We are permitted to hope. My own dear Frank, who had not left the sick room for many weary hours, came noiselessly out of it this morning; advanced toward mother and myself who sat silently hand in hand, awaiting the long feared, and long expected summons.

"Can you command your feelings?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. We bowed our assent. He led us to the bed-side of the pale sufferer, where, with emotions of joy and gratitude which I cannot describe, we saw her, ghastly and pale indeed, but in a calm and natural slumber.

With a finger on his lip, Frank pointed to the sweet expression of the mouth, and the calm serenity of the brow, which had taken the place of the previous signs of intense suffering. Leaving the sympathizing nurse with her, we stole softly from the room. I wanted to get into the air. My heart was swelling within me, and the tears, which I had forced back, were choking me. Frank accompanied us to the library, where we knelt together to express our gratitude and praise.

How easy now to feel submissive to the will of God! When we arose, mother clasped her son's hands in hers, and burst into a flood of tears; the first she has shed. I know they will relieve her poor bursting heart. I feel that if Emily is restored to health and reason, I can never again be unhappy. I love every body. I want to sing – I want to scream for joy! I must have my sweet Pauline home, and relieve myself by embracing her. She has been with Miss Proctor every day for a week, only returning at night.