John said, “How kind of you to invite us. Do you not agree, Joy?”
She hesitated. There was something about the young man which she did not like. She could not think what it was, except his rather arrogant manner. She said, “I don’t know. You will be so busy.”
John looked at her with mild surprise. “I will surely be busy. But I still should find time for fine books.” He told the schoolmaster. “Count on us attending. Who else belongs?”
Jack Taggart looked pleased. “It is good of you to give us your support. We have Reverend Robin Miles of the Kirk, Miss Rose Stewart, this young lady, and myself.”
“Why are there not more of the young villagers in your group?” she asked.
“Because so many of them can’t read,” the young man said in his snobbish fashion.
“Then you should invite them to come and listen,” she said. “In that way their interest in books will grow, and perhaps they will try to learn reading.”
John eyed her with admiration. “A good idea, my dear.” She knew she had never been more proud of any praise.
On the following Saturday night, Joy invited the reading club to the cottage. As the hostess she also invited Heather, Jock Monroe, and an old sheepherder — Noddy Allan. Jack Taggart was somewhat put out by these people being invited, especially Jock, of whom he was evidently jealous. Heather said gossip had it he was still trying to get Rose to jilt poor Jock and marry him.
The book they had chosen to study was Sir Walter Scott’s
Ivanhoe.
Old Reverend Miles gave a full outline of the story so it would be understood by all. Then Jack Taggart assigned passages to be read by John, Joy, and Rose. He also read a section. Joy was amused that he had kept the most heroic passages for his own reading, and gave her some truly romantic scenes.
After reading, the discussion of the book began. Jack Taggart gave her a knowing smile and said, “You read very well, Mrs. Hastings. You have a fine vocal tone. Where did you attend school?”
She found it hard to like him, but she replied in a friendly fashion, “Actually, I had private tutors.”
“Ah,” he said. “One can tell!”
John seemed to sense the discussion was taking an awkward turn for her, and said, “About the book. It’s well written but I do not consider it Scott at his best.”
The elderly Reverend Robin Miles agreed, “That is true. Yet I like the moral fibre of the story.”
Jack Taggart turned to Rose and asked, “What do you have to say?”
The pretty Rose simpered. “I think it’s a lovely story.”
Joy felt sorry for the girl’s total lack of intellect. She said sorry, “I have read far too little Scott. I mean to read more. I felt the romantic scenes had conviction.”
The schoolmaster nodded amiably. Then he turned to the old sheepherder and with an air of resigned patience, asked, “What about you, Noddy?”
Noddy beamed. “It’s a lively yarn! I liked the scraps! I’d like to hear the rest of it.”
“No doubt,” Jack Taggart said with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. He turned to Heather, “Have you any opinion, Heather?”
She blushed, then said, “I liked it because it told us about people and places distant from Invermere.”
“Ah!” he said, and as if not impressed glanced at the big, good-looking handyman, for a last query. “Well, Jock, what do you have to say?”
Jock smiled in good-natured fashion. “I agree with what Heather said. And I’ll add that I’m sorry I haven’t the learning to read the rest of the book for myself.”
Joy at once spoke up, “You can do it, Jock. I could find you time to teach you to read.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Jock said apologetically. “But with the woods season ahead I haven’t many idle minutes.”
Heather served hot tea and scones, and the meeting came to end. Later, there was time for John to pay tribute to Joy with some tender lovemaking after they’d retired to their bedroom. As they lay close to each other afterwards, they discussed the evening.
John said, “I do not care for the schoolmaster. He is much too conceited.”
“And that girl he’s so fond of,” she lamented. “That Rose has no mind at all. Or at least none she revealed tonight.”
The months went by and letters began to arrive from London. Joy had requested that all mail sent to her be addressed to Mrs. John Hastings. She felt truly as if she were John’s wife. They had settled down to a busy, useful existence. Her father wrote her, and expressed his pleasure that she had found a good partner and useful work. He warned that her husband, Sir George, had made a storm about her running off with the young doctor. He had threatened to divorce her but had so far taken no action. It was the opinion of Joy’s father that Sir George had held off because he hoped for a reconciliation and a share in the Canby fortune.
Joy also received a letter from Hilda, whose most startling news was that she was pregnant. She said James was delighted and hoped it would be a boy. She also said Sir Richard was not well. He had suffered a dizzy spell while addressing the House, and had to be helped to a carriage and taken home. His doctor was worried that it might be heart failure. James hoped that a grandchild would be born in time for Sir Richard to enjoy the event.
There was also a strained letter from Nancy. She said that she and the poet, John Fox, were also expecting a child. But she also hinted the marriage was not as happy as she had anticipated. She blamed it on her husband’s lack of interest in his home, or of finding suitable work. He preferred to fraternize with the bohemians of London. Joy felt sorry for her friend. Nancy had always been a worrier. Perhaps the birth of her child would make a difference.
The first months of the Highland winter were so severe they frightened her. She rarely left the cottage, and then only in daylight on fine days. Meetings of the reading club had to be discontinued because of the grim weather. But John made his calls, and treated the streams of patients who started coming to the cottage.
Once they had pneumonia patients in both of the bedrooms in the clinic area. Joy was grateful she had a basic knowledge of nursing. If anyone came to the cottage in need of medical attention and the doctor was absent, she did not hesitate to treat them to the best of her knowledge. John rarely found a thing wrong in her makeshift medicine.
With the coming of spring, Joy felt a new stirring of hope. John had mentioned several times the possibility of a holiday in Edinburgh when the summer arrived. The mails began to arrive more regularly, and she treasured the copies of the
London Illustrated News Weekly
, along with the letters from her family.
One late afternoon in March, a weary looking John arrived home after being away all night. He had spent most of a day and the night trying to help the wife of a fisherman known for his ugly temper — one Black MacLaren. The fisherman’s wife was in labor for a seventh time and in trouble. John had gone to see what was wrong, and why the midwife in attendance had felt it necessary to send for him.
Now he faced Joy in their living room, his hat and great coat still on, as he told her, “I’ve brought my patient here by boat.”
“Mrs. MacLaren?” she asked with concern.
“Yes. She’s in a bad state. She can’t give birth to the child. I’ll have to operate on her. Do a Caesarean or both the child and mother will die.”
“Where is she?”
“They’re carrying her up from the boat,” he said. “I’d have operated there but I hadn’t the things I required or any trained help.”
“What can I do?”
“You and Heather see her safely in the bedroom on the left when she arrives. Bathe her thoroughly and then bring the two best lamps to the room. And tell Heather I’ll be using some opium to relieve the patient’s distress.”
Four fishermen in their rough clothes carried the stricken woman. John stood in his shirt sleeves by the table in the makeshift operating room. Heather and Joy prepared the patient for the operation, as he arranged his instruments on a small side table.
Joy was terrified she might faint. Her previous experience with surgery had been of a minor nature. Heather was ready for the crisis. She told her, “You’d best hold one of the lamps, Mrs. Hastings. I’ll help the doctor.”
She nodded, and worried what would happen if she fainted and dropped the lamp. Meanwhile the woman who had been writhing in pain settled down under a strong dose of opium.
John glanced at Joy and said, “Hold the lamp directly above my right shoulder.”
“Yes,” she said in a low voice.
“Don’t watch what I’m doing,” he said. “Don’t look down at all! Watch the lamp and see that it is steady. Heather and I will attend to all else.”
She obeyed him, and tried to curb her trembling. She heard John’s crisp orders to Heather and small murmurs of pain from the patient as the two worked. She found herself slipping into a trance. There was the odor of blood, the click of instruments, and the first, whimpering cries of a newborn infant!
“It’s over!” John exclaimed.
Heather gently took the lamp from her. Joy turned to her husband and then fainted. When she opened her eyes she was on the cot in the living room, with John bending over her.
“I failed,” she lamented. “I let you down!”
“Nothing of the sort!”
“I fainted.”
“Not until you had finished your work,” he said. “That is the important thing. I’m proud of you.” He bent and kissed her.
She was soon on her feet, and felt much better as she prepared dinner. John had been called to see an old woman with pneumonia. Meanwhile Heather was keeping an eye on both the mother and the new baby.
As Heather joined her in the kitchen, Joy asked, “How is Mrs. MacLaren?”
“Fine,” Heather said. “And so is the baby. But there may be trouble.” Her plain face showed her worry.
“Trouble?”
“I’m afraid for the doctor. I just talked with one of the men who brought her in. He says MacLaren was away fishing when she was brought here. He doesn’t approve!”
Joy said, “John had to bring her here to save her life and that of the child.”
“MacLaren isn’t liable to listen to that,” Heather said. “He’s called Black because of his quick, black temper. He’s liable to be in a rage about this.”
“John will reason with him.”
“I hope that man doesn’t come here at all,” Heather said.
The girl’s words made Joy uneasy, but she kept herself busy preparing for dinner. Finally John arrived, kissed her, and went to see his patient. He returned looking pleased, and said, “She’s going to live and the boy is as healthy as one could wish. I took a chance giving her a lot of opium but it worked well.”
They sat down to dinner, and had barely started their meal when they heard loud, angry voices from the front of the cottage. John was first on his feet, heading for the living room; Joy and Heather rose to follow him.
Seconds later the living room door was thrown open and a roughly clad, hulking, big man, with a huge black beard stalked in. He took Jim by the coat lapels and cried, “What have you done to my wife?”
John tried to push away the man’s hands. “I operated on her.”
“You had no right!” Black MacLaren cried. “Ruining my wife so she can’t have more bairns!” And he punched John in the face, and sent him spinning to the floor.
Blood spurted from John’s face, and he shook his head to clear it as he started to rise. Heather grabbed the arm of Black MacLaren and was thrown aside for her trouble. Joy dodged by the insane giant to reach the front door.
She called out to the men waiting out there, “You cowards! Come and help my husband before that maniac kills him!”
Jock Monroe pushed through to the front of the group and told her, “Don’t worry, ma’am!”
As he went inside, and two others followed. She went with them in time to see John on the floor, and Black MacLaren kicking him savagely in the ribs.
Jock and the two other men sprang on the mad giant. Heather had safely removed the lamp from the table before it was smashed. There was a savage struggle but the three were too much for the giant to deal with. Soon they had him stretched out unconscious on the floor.
Jock turned to her, bloodied and perspiring as he said, “We’ll get him out and safely away from here. You take care of your husband.”
She nodded numbly. The men dragged the giant out while she and Heather attended to John. They bandaged the cut on his forehead, and he was well enough to sit on the coat while they straightened out the mess of the room.
John said wryly, “And I left London for this!”
She said, “Not for this. You can’t be discouraged by the madness of a single man!”
He stared at her. “You’re not disgusted?”
“Not at all,” she said staunchly. And she meant it.
The next morning Jock Monroe returned. He told Joy and her husband, “I have Black MacLaren at my brother’s house. I’ve gotten it through his thick head that the operation you performed on his wife wasn’t an abortion. That you saved her life and that of the baby.”
John nodded wearily. “You can tell him she can have more babies though for her health’s sake she shouldn’t.”
Jock nodded. “I’ll tell him. He had too much to drink last night. He’s sorry for his actions and he wants to pay you for the damage.”
John touched his broken mouth. “Let it rest,” he said.
“No!” Joy protested. “He must be taught a lesson. I’ll list the amount for the broken furniture and he can pay me!”
John put an arm around her. “Joy, that’s not like you. MacLaren is a poor fisherman. He hasn’t the money for damages. We must forget it.”
Joy complained, “You mustn’t let them do this to you!”
“I don’t expect we’ll have any more trouble of that sort,” her husband said. “I’ll not win the confidence of these people by being vindictive.”
She shook her head. “You’re hopeless!”
Big Jock eyed her doctor husband with admiration as he said, “The best thing which ever happened to Invermere!”
Joy smiled wanly. “What about your reading lessons, Jock?”
The big man said, “I’ll accept your offer, ma’am. When do I begin?”
“Tomorrow evening at seven,” she said.
“I’ll be here,” he promised. Then he awkwardly continued, “Black MacLaren wants to know if he can see his wife and son?”