“I’d like to go see Cordelia Duckworth this morning. Is today good for you?”
“What were you thinking of, midmorning?”
Marcail nodded.
“That’s fine. I’ll head out pretty soon and then come back for you about 10:00.”
“Thank you, Alex,” Marcail was deeply moved by his willingness to accompany her.
Knowing that Mrs. Duckworth might refuse even to see her, Marcail spent the morning in prayer. If she refused to see her today, then Marcail would schedule another time. What Marcail had on her mind had to be said.
fifty-five
Cordelia Duckworth dismissed her maid with an angry word and turned back to the mirror. Her dress was so tight she could hardly breathe, and she blamed her son Richard for this fact. Richard and a few people from town. They were actually trying to gain control of matters that were lawfully hers to manage. It wasn’t the first time the townspeople had tried something like this, and when they did, Cordelia ate.
She was a very big eater on a regular basis, but when upset, her appetite became enormous. Since Richard had been acting so strangely, she had been very upset indeed. Her eyes slid shut on her image as she remembered the argument they’d had a week ago.
“I’m thinking about moving back, Mother.”
“Back where?” Cordelia had almost been afraid to ask.
“To Willits, of course. You could keep the west wing,” he went on conversationally, “and Beverly, Sydney, and I would take the east wing.”
“I will not live with that woman, Richard,” Cordelia told him, her voice turning shrill.
“You forget whose house this is, Mother,” Richard said coolly. It had taken years of living apart from his mother to finally put his own life together. He now saw Cordelia with new eyes. “I’ve let you run things for a long time, but lately I’ve been observing the situation a little more carefully. You’ve set yourself up as a queen in this town.” His voice had turned scornful.
“Father would never have wanted that. Sydney has not been able to speak of it until lately, so I had no idea. What you’re doing here is criminal, and it had better stop.”
“I will not be talked to this way by my own son. How dare you come here and threaten me—”
Richard’s laughter had cut her off. “Threats, Mother? No. Promises. Where Willits and Sydney are concerned, I will be more involved in the very near future.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that if you want to see your grandson, you’ll watch your step in this town.”
He had never threatened her before, and she was so taken aback she was speechless. It was unfortunate that she chose to remember that scene on this particular morning, since it put her in a horrid mood. She nearly shouted when someone knocked on her bedroom door.
“What is it?”
The door opened cautiously, and her personal maid tentatively stuck her head in. “Dr. and Mrs. Montgomery are here to see you, ma’am.”
Cordelia’s brow furrowed, and the maid steeled herself for a hairbrush or some other handy object to fly at the door.
“Tell them I’ll be down shortly” was all the older woman said, and the maid, from years of experience, knew enough to close the door without a sound.
Alex and Marcail both looked around the huge living room with something akin to awe. Marcail, of course, had been in this house before, but at the time she had been too nervous to notice much of anything.
Alex commented that their entire house could fit in the living room, and Marcail nodded her agreement. Another five minutes passed, and Cordelia entered.
“Doctor,” she greeted him with a regal nod of her head. “Mrs. Montgomery.” Again the nod. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
There was a bite to her voice, but the young schoolteacher chose to ignore it.
“I’m here to discuss my position as Willits’ schoolteacher for the coming fall.” Marcail’s voice was quiet and respectful.
“Since you have a two-year contract, I don’t believe there is anything to discuss,” Cordelia told her simply. “You did break your contract by acting indiscreetly on one occasion,” Cordelia went on in a judgmental voice, “but all of that’s been forgiven.” This last statement was made magnanimously.
“I do not feel I broke my contract,” Marcail replied just as respectfully, “although I’m sure you would have preferred to find me frozen in the snow rather than safe and sound in the doctor’s home. However I’m not here about that. I’m here about the fact that you and the school board broke your part of the contract.”
“Well I never—” Cordelia was outraged.
“You will let me finish,” Marcail used her sternest teaching voice. Mrs. Duckworth quieted instantly, and even Alex sat up a little straighter in his chair.
“The contract stated that I was to teach school, and yet you abused your power, and I had only six students in my room. In addition, as the teacher I have the authority to discipline the children, but your grandson was the exception to this condition and was on at least two occasions completely out of control.”
Cordelia was livid, but this time was able to keep her voice calm. “Why have you waited so long to come to me?”
Marcail’s voice was not accusing, but she spoke truthfully. “I was told quite plainly what your reaction would be if I approached you in any way. The consequences of my being caught in the white-out have proved the extent of your control. Unlike you, Mrs. Duckworth, I will not sacrifice the children’s education for my own selfish motives.”
Cordelia was now so angry she couldn’t have spoken if she tried.
Marcail came to her feet, as did Alex, clearly showing her hostess that she was nearly through. Her voice was sad as she finished what she had come to say.
“Since it seems you cannot handle honest confrontation, I assume you’ll now be searching for another teacher for this fall. Should you decide that you do in fact need my services for another term, I will teach on my own conditions. You have until the first day of August to inform me of your decision, and to discuss revisions on my contract.”
Marcail turned toward the door but stopped at the sound of Alex’s voice.
“There is one condition I will change on Marcail’s contract should she return in August. She will dress and wear her hair in a manner pleasing to her husband and not the Willits school board.”
Alex and Marcail exited then, leaving a silent Cordelia in their wake. Alex treated Marcail to lunch at the hotel before dropping her off at home and telling her he’d see her at supper.
Marcail prayed the afternoon away, knowing she’d done what was necessary, but feeling she may have burned her bridges behind her.
fifty-six
Marcail’s spirits were a bit low in the days following her confrontation with Cordelia, but Alex proved to be a source of great encouragement. He felt she’d handled herself and the situation very well and told her so on several occasions.
They had talked in detail that evening and then prayed together about the future. Other than mealtime prayers, it was the first time they’d prayed as a couple. When they were finished, Marcail felt closer to Alex than ever before.
Marcail’s new interest in Alex’s work was also bringing them closer together. She found that she enjoyed accompanying him when he made housecalls, the first of which was to the Brents.
Mrs. Brent, Alex told her as they neared the house, was a woman in her sixties, whose frail, sickly body had never dulled her wit or the sharpness of her tongue. Marcail smiled at his description as she took in the neighborhood. The houses on this street were set farther apart than some, but were all quite small. Some of the homes were in disrepair, but most were well kept and welcoming.
The Brent home was one of the loveliest on the street. With yellow paint, white shutters, and a white picket fence along the front yard, the house was very well maintained. Alex held the gate for Marcail’s entrance and then followed her up the path to the front door.
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The door was opened by a woman in her mid-forties. Her name was Freda, and she was Mrs. Brent’s spinster daughter. Freda looked very pleased at their arrival, and once inside she spoke in low tones to the doctor.
“How is she today?” Alex wanted to know.
“The same; certain that you’re coming to cure her every ill. She—”
“Freda!” A strident voice cut into Freda’s sentence. “Who are you talking to?”
Freda’s features, already drawn and tired, seemed more so on the sound of that voice. Alex patted her shoulder when she would have answered her mother and then took himself off to the bedroom. Marcail stayed in the kitchen and had coffee with the younger Brent. They chatted easily, but Marcail prayed silently for Alex, since she was certain he was having to deal with an absolute shrew.
“I hope you’ve come to cure me” were Mrs. Brent’s words the moment Alex stepped through the door. They both knew very well that she would never get out of her bed, and Alex had no trouble with the fact that she took her bad humor out on him.
“Well now,” he spoke easily, “we’ll see what we can do for you today.”
Alex was bent over Mrs. Brent, listening to the sounds in her chest, when she noticed Marcail’s and Freda’s voices. He had just pulled the stethoscope from his ears when she bellowed with outrage and curiosity, “Who is Freda talking with?”
“My wife,” Alex answered absently, his fingers searching for the pulse in her bony wrist.
“Well, bring her in here. I want to have a look at her.” It was an order that Alex ignored. He found her condition just as usual, and regretted the scene he knew would follow when he told her she didn’t need a change in medication. Mrs. Brent always took a change in medication as a good sign, but today she was too preoccupied with Marcail’s presence to question the doctor’s judgment.
“Are you going to bring her in here, or do I have to get out of this bed?”
Alex was putting his things away when she issued this final ultimatum. Still very much in control of the situation, he stepped to the door and called Marcail’s name.
Mrs. Brent craned her neck to see around Alex’s broad back as Marcail entered the room. Her eyes narrowed when Alex walked her to the side of the bed, her hand held within his own.
“Mrs. Brent, I’d like to present my wife. Marcail, this is Mrs. Brent.”
“Hello, Mrs. Brent,” Marcail said with a smile, only to have the old woman scowl at her.
“That brown dress is terrible on you,” she finally said. “Do you take good care of this man?”
The change in subjects stunned Marcail for just a moment. Not that it really mattered. Mrs. Brent went on to talk of several things, giving Marcail no chance to speak. Neither she nor Alex said a word, and when Mrs. Brent had had her say, she informed the quiet young couple that they could leave now, since she was tired.
“It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Brent,” Marcail told her and received a grunt in return.
“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” Alex added and moved to follow Marcail to the door.
“Doc.”
Alex stopped, his hand on the door frame, and looked back to see Mrs. Brent sporting the most unselfish look he’d ever seen on her face.
“You take care of that little girl you’ve got there,” she said seriously, “because you won’t find a sweeter wife in all the county.”
Alex grinned in her direction and took his leave. Once in the buggy, Marcail questioned Alex about what Mrs. Brent had wanted. Alex didn’t give her a direct answer; he was too busy thinking that Mrs. Brent couldn’t be more correct.
The month of July, although slow-paced for Marcail, was hectic for Alex. There were days when they barely caught sight of each other. It seemed the bell rang for Alex nearly every night, and if he spent too much time at home for lunch or left the office early on Saturday, the bell would again seek him out.
On the rare evenings they were not interrupted, Alex often fell asleep in his chair. Marcail never minded. It was a simple pleasure to sit and watch him. It was during one of those evenings that Marcail recognized the first stirring of true love for her husband.
The first of August came and went. Marcail had known deep in her heart that she would not be asked back for the fall term. But when the day actually passed with no word from Mrs. Duckworth, it was harder to take than she anticipated. She found herself praying for the teacher who would replace her. God blessed her willingness to trust Him for the future, and soon Marcail saw His hand when she received a surprise visit from Sydney.
It was August 4, and Marcail hadn’t seen Sydney since she’d arrived home from Santa Rosa. She had missed him terribly and prayed daily that he would continue to yearn after God. He came directly to the house, and Marcail was a bit concerned when she noticed he had walked rather than been driven in the Duckworth coach.
“Hello, Sydney,” she greeted him, joy filling her at the shy smile he bestowed upon her. “Did you walk all the way from home?”
“No, just from downtown.”
“Does your grandmother know you’re here?”
Sydney nodded, but some of the smile deserted his eyes.
Marcail didn’t question his look until he was in the house and seated at the kitchen table.
“How are you getting along with your grandmother this summer?”
“We were doing all right until I found out about you.”
Marcail had suspected this might be the reason for his visit. “She told you I wouldn’t be teaching?”
“My father came yesterday, and before he left this morning, he and Grandmother had an argument. You could hear them through the whole house. Father was very angry to learn that Grandmother was looking for another teacher. Grandmother was very angry that Father was checking on her business affairs.” Tears filled the 12-year-old’s eyes. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you’re not my teacher.”
Marcail drew him into her embrace. She held him silently for long moments as she chose the right words. With his face cupped in her hands, she spoke.
“I know that you will have a wonderful school year—not because you like the teacher, because you may not, and not because the work will be easy for you, because it may not be, but because you’re a new person in Christ. The old Sydney has passed away, and as you learn more about our Lord, He is changing you to be more like Him.”
Sydney’s young heart was lifted by her words. Marcail saw the relief in his face and pressed a tender kiss to his brow. They talked through the afternoon, the time getting away from them both. Marcail had to rush to get supper on before Alex came in the door, but she did have a meal ready when he arrived. During supper she told him all about the afternoon with Sydney.
“I’m just so thankful, Alex, that the door is still open between the two of us. I was afraid she’d never let him see me again.”
“It’s got to be our prayers,” Alex told her fervently.
“Amen to that,” Marcail agreed. She rose to get dessert, and Alex spoke again, having just remembered something.
“Mrs. Nelson paid with a chicken today. I left it in the barn.”
“Why would you do that?” Marcail asked as she placed a piece of pie before Alex.
“Well, I didn’t think you’d want it in here; it’s just in a makeshift cage.”
“It’s alive?”
Since his mouth was full of food, Alex only nodded, completely missing his wife’s horrified stare. Marcail gawked at her husband’s bent head and then at her own pie. Her mind ran with things she wanted to say, but she stayed silent. “Maybe I can do it” was her last thought before turning her attention to her own dessert.
“I can’t do it.” Marcail spoke to the quiet barn as she looked into the dark, inquisitive eye of what was supposed to be dinner.
Nearly 48 hours had passed since Alex had calmly announced that a patient had paid her bill in the form of a live chicken. A determined Marcail had marched out the next day, knife in hand, to do her job. After seeing
the chicken, her bravado lasted only a moment before she returned to the house and made vegetable soup.
Now she was back in the barn and wishing she could be anywhere else. Katie had always done the butchering when they had been given an animal. Marcail knew that it was a way of life to kill animals for food, but she’d never been able to kill anything larger than an ant. To top it off, “dinner” was starting to look hungry. Marcail shook her head. It was no use. Even if she asked Alex to kill it, she’d never be able to eat it.
With a move born of desperation, Marcail lifted the cage. She carried it to the edge of the woods and opened the funny little door.
The moment the chicken was free, she began to peck around searching for food. Marcail, not wanting to think about how she would explain to Alex, turned and walked swiftly toward the house.
fifty-seven
Alex stabled Kelsey and immediately noticed the chicken was missing from the barn. He licked his lips in anticipation of what was sure to be a great supper. He knew from weeks of experience that Marcail was a good cook, and he entered the house, a smile on his face, ready for whatever she had prepared.
Unfortunately, one look at Marcail’s stern profile told him something was wrong. Since she’d been back from Santa Rosa, he had seen the Marcail that Kaitlin had spoken of—the Marcail whose face showed every emotion. He wasn’t exactly certain, but it appeared to him that her tight-lipped silence was from anger. To Alex’s mind this made no sense; they’d parted on very good terms at lunch. Alex shrugged mentally and broke the silence with what was sure to be the perfect comment.
“I thought I would smell chicken when I came in the door tonight.”
His voice was friendly, and he was totally unprepared for his wife’s reaction. Marcail spun to face him so quickly that her hair flared around her back and shoulders.
“I cannot,” she stated furiously, her eyes flashing with ominous fire, “look something in the eye and then have it on my plate. The next time a patient pays you with an animal, it had better be dead!”