The Doctor Takes a Wife (26 page)

So it was no small triumph she had, that evening there before the fire. In her careful, exact way, sparkled up with her new confidence in herself and the friendliness of our small group, Page
Arning
Scoles told of her summer
’
s work and experimentation with materials for the use of plastic surgeons, building up cosmetic surfaces on patients who had suffered bums and other facial disfigurations. On whites—and Negroes—skin tones could vary unbelievably! She had discovered that the tissue layers must be studied for color, and duplicated; it might have been tedious work, only it wasn
’
t, because the patient
’
s psychological future depended on the success of the build-up. She told a funny story or two—especially of a bucktoothed girl who refused her first set of false teeth because they didn
’
t “show” properly.

I, too, looked at Phil
’
s wife with new respect and understanding after that evening.

“You could help us out sometimes,” I told her earnestly. “At the Clinic, I mean. Forrestal often gets scar cases, and with your experience
—
Would you help, Page?”

She looked up at me. “Of course,” she said eagerly. “Why not?”

I couldn
’
t see any reason why not, though I had to argue Min around to agreement. “All right,” I told her. “So it
is
time she had a baby! But until she does
...
”

“I
’
ve heard Phil
’
s opinion of wives interfering with a doctor
’
s work.”

“He was speaking of Marynelle, wasn
’
t he?”

“Yes.”

“And that
’
s a different pot of soup. Page is a trained biologist. She can help us in many ways. In fact, she can be a tremendous help. I believe Phil would have suggested it to her, except that he wouldn
’
t want her to think—”

Min caught fire. “Yes! That he felt she wasn
’
t a success as a housekeeper. But, now, Whit—”

“Ah-hum
!
”

So, the next time we were together, we pushed the subject. Phil happened to be off on one of his trips into the mountains, this time to a clot of miner
’
s shacks up near Mountain Home. I was driving the girls home from church, and Page invited us to stay for lunch.

“Why didn
’
t you go with Phil?” I asked her.

“Why—” She looked at me, and then at the lettuce in her hands. “I never do go.”

“Don
’
t you want to go?” I asked. “I
’
d think you would
—
Phil gets pretty waxed-up over these trips.”

“Yes, he does.” She looked troubled.

“Are you afraid to fly?” Min suggested.

Page turned to look at her with that same gravely questioning expression. “No,” she said slowly. “I
’
m not afraid of physical things, Min.”

“Well, gee whiz, I
’
d go then!” said Min briskly. “If you
’
re at all interested in Red
’
s work
...”

“Well, of course, I
’
m interested!” said Page hotly. She put the lettuce into the basket, rushed water through it, and shook the thing so vigorously that we all got spattered. “It
’
s just,” she went on, “I don
’
t know how to be interested in Phil
’
s work
in a way he won
’
t resent.”

“I never knew a man,” I pronounced, “who didn
’
t want to talk about his profession or job. You could listen if you didn
’
t know one thing about his work. But in your case, Page, you definitely could share Phil
’
s.”

She turned to me, her cheeks bright pink. “How?” she demanded. “I want a definite answer, Whit. I
’
ve thought of that—many times. But I always come up against that question.
How
would I help him? Where would I start? When we first came here, I suggested going into the lab, and he said if I did I
’
d put some girl out of a job.”

“That
’
s silly. We always have a vacancy of some sort at the Clinic.”

“That
’
s what I thought, so I decided—” She turned back to her salad-making, her hair lovely against the copper pans hung along the tiled wall.

Min was taking the rolls out of the oven. “Have you asked Red lately if you could help at the hospital?” Her voice was limpid with innocence. “I mean, now that you have this smaller house, it seems to me
...
”

“I know,” Page agreed. “It isn
’
t that I don
’
t keep busy, Min. But back at the Group, where we knew the same people, and could gossip about them, or even quarrel about our work,” she smiled in the new little way she had acquired, “we had so much more to talk about.”

“I still think you should get a job at the Hospital,” I told her when we sat down at the table. “If I were you, I
’
d go to the personnel office—”

“She
’
d have to tell Red what she had in mind,” Min warned me.

“Oh, yes,” said Page. “Then I could simply offer to help out wherever they were short
—
I
’
ve even considered doing nurse
’
s aide work.”

“Sure,” I agreed. “Or just watch some of Phil
’
s operations. The boy
’
s good, you know. We doctors watch him when we can. He likes it, says it helps him to be able to talk over a tricky problem with us afterward.”

“And if he could do that talking at home, with somebody who would be intelligent on the subject,” Min swept on to the conclusion, “why, think how grateful he
’
d be for your help, Page!”

“Oh, Min,” Page corrected her, “anything I
’
d do would be to help
me.
Phil doesn
’
t need my help.”

“I happen to know,” I told her, “that he asks God
’
s help before every operation he performs. He really does. He—” I broke off, startled at the small, muffled sound from across the table.

“Hey!” cried Min. “She
’
s crying, Whit!”

She was. Page sat there with tears running in little silver beads down her cheeks and dropping to the tucks of the white blouse she
’
d worn with her Sunday suit.

“What on earth are you crying about?” I yelled. It makes a man feel so damned helpless
—
I hadn
’
t meant to make her cry.

Page sniffled, and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “I
’
m crying,” she gulped, “because Phil is such a
good
man!”

I couldn
’
t say a thing. My lower jaw had dropped to my necktie knot.

But Min was right there. “Well, sure, he
’
s a good man! Does that surprise you?”

Page sat up very straight in her chair. “Min Brady,” she said in a tone that prickled goose bumps on my arms, “for a long time, I thought there were no good men!”

“Well, gee whiz!” cried Min, when she could speak. “What on earth made you think a crazy thing like that? What happened to you?”

Page sighed, and childishly put the backs of her hands to her wet cheeks. “Just about the same thing that happened to you—with one great difference. You don
’
t suspect all men
...”

“Well, certainly not guys like Red Scoles!” said Min, getting up for more rolls.

When she came back, we talked of other things
—
Lois Thornhill
’
s hats, as I recall. The girls were united against them.

After lunch, I checked with the hospital, and then sat down before the living room fire with the Sunday paper while the girls washed the dishes. They must have known I was within earshot—but they talked as if they were alone. I tried to decide if they paid me a compliment or not, but got so interested in what they were saying that I reached no conclusion on the subject.

They were talking about Phil, about his being different from other men, and—with a reasoning process exclusively feminine—they decided that Page had no reason to condemn all men. They had their good points, as well as their bad.

I was ready to yell out to them that women did, too, but Min made that discovery for herself, and announced it. “In fact,” she went on, putting dishes away on the shelves which lined the passage between the living room and the kitchen, “I
’
ve never been able to decide whether it
’
s the sameness in folks, or the differences, that make two people fall in love. I mean—”

She went back into the kitchen and I had to strain a bit to hear.

“Why did
you
fall in love with Red?”

Page murmured something. “That
’
s true!” Min agreed, too heartily. “Well, let
’
s put it this way—why did he fall in love with you?”

Again that murmur.

“Oh, I
’
m sure he does, Page! More sure, in fact, than I
’
m sure that you love
him
. I mean
—
I often wonder if you
realize
your love!”

“I don
’
t believe I understand
...”

I listened as hard as I could. I wanted that explanation myself.

Min gave it to us. “Well, look. You and Red are married. But you seem sort of settled about it. I know Red
’
s busy, and I know you
’
re a reserved kind of girl—but just the same, I think you two are missing something.”

“We are,” said Page vigorously. “I guess we got married in too big a hurry—or something.”

“My
fault...
” said Min
’
s voice.

“But whatever the reason, if it seems to you that I don
’
t realize my love for Phil, it must certainly seem that way to him! But I don
’
t know what to do—to show him—” Page said nothing, but I suppose she looked puzzled.

“I mean,” cried Min, “do you remember when and where Phil first kissed you? Ah-ha! I see that you do
—
even your nose is blushing. Well, did you like it?”

Page giggled. “I liked it so much that I slapped his face.”

“My,” marveled Min, “that must have been some kiss!”

“I wouldn
’
t do it again,” Page confessed, and Min laughed. I grinned and picked up my newspaper.

But there was more. “Of course, you can
’
t go into exact particulars, Page,” Min was advising. “But I often wonder if a little courting
after
marriage wouldn
’
t help matters along. I mean, you should try to stir up the same feelings you had for Red; remember the tricks you used to stir
him
up.”

“I didn
’
t use any tricks,” said Page coldly.

“Oh, you did, too! You got the guy, didn
’
t you? Even that kiss—of course, you used a trick. Maybe it was only the dress you had on—but it was something! If I were you, I
’
d try the same thing again. You can
’
t lose a thing, and for all you know he may get another slap.”

Of course, I didn
’
t have full information on details. Page might just as readily have decided to dig out the gray suit, or even the jeans and plaid shirt she
’
d worn down into the Ozarks. It just happened that she remembered the printed blue silk she
’
d worn to the party at the Artist
’
s Guild, and she decided to wear it to the opening performance of
The Voice Of The Turtle
that same week.

Page and Min and Phil had been too busy with the house to work much with the theatre group that winter, but I was still Producer, with Lois hounding the life out of me. We always had a party after the opening performance of a run, and this one was, extra special because it celebrated the first play we
’
d put on in the renovated theatre.

Page got out the old dress and looked at it critically, tried it on and sent it to the cleaner
’
s. She even found the little blue purse, the one she
’
d left on her desk the day she
’
d locked herself in the lab—Would Phil remember?

At the last minute, she was so afraid that he would remember and see through her scheme of renewing intense passion, that she bought a dollar
’
s worth of pink carnations and tucked them into her belt. Their color matched her cheeks exactly.

Maybe it was that kiss she was striking for—and
I
’
ll
wager she got it!—but anyway, Page was a real knockout in that silk suit of glowing blue, pearls—an entire appearance of pale golden beauty. The spicy pink flowers were just one more touch. That evening Phil never got two inches away from her, and bristled if any man said more than two words to her. He even asked poor Min why
she
never wore flowers—the big sap!