The Way of Love

by Tracie Peterson

  A woman in the second row raised her gloved hand, then looked around the room as if for approval or acceptance.

  “Yes?” Faith smiled, hoping to put the woman at ease. “You have a question?”

  “I do. Do the men study diseases of men, while the women study the diseases of women and children?”

  Faith shook her head. “I’ve never understood the titling for that course. Obviously, the diseases of children are the same for male or female. Boys and girls alike, if exposed, have the same chance of developing measles, typhoid, smallpox, mumps, and so forth. I assume that those who put the courses together believed male illnesses would be covered in that manner, and that the problems of a woman’s anatomy were more numerous and complicated.

  “After all, when young men die it is usually from injury or work-related accidents. Older men generally succumb to the same diseases that women face. Women, however, are more likely to die in childbirth or complications from childbirth, as I mentioned earlier, while children are most susceptible to disease. Although accidents are also responsible for a fair share of their deaths.”

  “Do you truly feel it’s proper and acceptable for a woman to treat a man?” an older matron asked in disapproval. “Why, you aren’t even married and shouldn’t be at all familiar with a man’s body.”

  Faith smiled. “But I have younger brothers I helped raise and care for. I grew up on a farm and know very well the differences in our bodies. It is neither shocking nor of great concern for me to help a man rather than a woman. Just as I believe it’s not a matter of impropriety for a male doctor to treat a woman. Our studies and occupations make it so that we look at the human body in a completely different way.”

  “Impossible.” The woman’s disapproval was growing, and Faith feared it might spread to the other women before she was able to conclude her talk.

  “Might I share an example to better explain?” She looked at the woman, who, after a long pause, gave a curt nod.

  Faith thought carefully before beginning. “As women, when you see a baby—an infant in the arms of its mother—what comes to mind?” There was dead silence. Faith nodded. “Many women will think about how that relates to them. For me, a single woman who has no children, I might reflect on how much I would like to have a family of my own. Mrs. Lakewood has numerous children, so she might compare the infant to one of her own, contrasting and comparing the size and weight, the appearance and so forth. Now, think back in time to when you yourselves were small children and you first beheld an infant—perhaps a new sibling. What were your thoughts then? Envy? Love? Excitement for the possibility of a new playmate?” Faith gave them a moment to consider this, then continued. “What about when you see an elderly man? Perhaps your father or grandfather—an uncle or older acquaintance. Are your thoughts the same when you see him as when you consider an infant?”

  “Of course not!” the matron declared. “What has this to do with anything?”

  “I’m trying to show that we look at people differently depending on their age and gender, their position and social standing. Doctors and healers look at them in yet another manner. When I see a young man limping along, I’m not intrigued by his appearance—whether he’s handsome or holds any purpose in my life. I want to know why is he limping and if I can help. When I see a baby with a runny nose, I don’t feel annoyed or worried about my clothes should I hold them. Instead, I worry about any number of diseases and whether this is the first stage of something serious.”

  To her surprise, the woman settled back and seemed to accept her answer.

  Faith smiled and looked at each woman in the gathering. “Just as each individual artist looks at the same thing and yet paints something entirely different, doctors look at people as potential patients. We have a drive to heal—to make life better—to ease pain and suffering.

  “I appreciate that you would have me here to speak today, Mrs. Lakewood. I am happy to answer any further questions, but I’m sure your friends would enjoy time to mingle and converse.”

  The ladies clapped in their polite, gloved manner. Faith didn’t know whether to retake her seat or just exit as she longed to do. Choosing the latter, she figured someone would stop her if they wanted her to remain. No one did.

  She had nearly reached the front door when a male voice called out to her. “Miss Kenner.” She turned to find Mr. Lakewood smiling as he approached. “I heard what you had to say and must tell you that I’m quite impressed.”

  “Thank you.” Faith looked around for the butler so she could request her coat.

  “I wonder if you might consider speaking to a group of men—potential donors who will gather after the holidays to consider supporting the college. You are able to explain so well what I would like them to understand—especially where it concerns women attending the medical college.”

  “I would be happy to, Mr. Lakewood, so long as it meets with President Parrish’s approval. I wouldn’t want him to be offended at my setting up a speaking event on behalf of the department. He must approve.”

  “Of course.” The silver-haired man beamed her a smile. “Parrish and I are longtime friends. I’m certain he will see things my way.”

  CHAPTER 6

  On Christmas Eve, Faith found herself onboard the Morning Star with Nancy and Seth, as well as Seth’s sister. They were making their way to Oregon City to celebrate Christmas with the family and were excited to reach their destination. Faith cherished holidays. Since she’d been a young girl, she had loved the way her mother’s family celebrated the birth of Jesus. It was never about the presents one could give or get. It was about the supreme gift of Jesus, God’s most precious gift of love, and how they were to share that love with each other.

  Faith found herself growing more anxious by the minute to reach home. She could almost smell the gingerbread and pine boughs. She could imagine them all gathered in front of the rock fireplace—fire blazing and crackling—her mother softly singing. Nancy had done an amazing job of decorating the boardinghouse for the holidays, but it wasn’t the same. No doubt Mimi, who’d been left in charge of Mrs. Weaver, would appreciate the plentiful supply of holiday cooking Nancy had left behind, but Faith wished they could have invited both women to come to Oregon City.

  Still, they’d had a nice time the night before with Nancy and Seth. The women of the boardinghouse helped decorate the tree. Even Mrs. Weaver had been anxious to do her part, so they’d made an evening of it with refreshments and a roaring fire. The front sitting room was the perfect setting for their festivities even though Seth at first had thought the large dining room more appropriate.

  “No one wants to be crowded at dinner by the Christmas tree,” Nancy had protested. “I think the front sitting room is perfect.”

  And so it was.

  “Aren’t you cold out here?” Captain Gratton asked, breaking into Faith’s thoughts. “It’s raining, you know.”

  She laughed. “Captain Gratton. It’s good to see you again. But to answer your question, I’m not a bit cold. I’m just enjoying the journey, and the rain isn’t even touching me, thanks to the deck covering.”

  “It probably doesn’t dare rain on you. That seems to be the way it is for you.”

  Faith’s eyes narrowed a bit as she cocked her head. “What do you mean by that?”

  The captain pulled up his coat collar. “Just as I said. You enjoy the journey. You seem content in life. How could the rain dare to fall on you?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the journey.” She shrugged. “I don’t have much interest in the alternative. I’ve known many a man and woman who lived in the misery of their own making. I have no desire to be like that.”

  “No, I can’t imagine you that way.” The captain leaned back against the railing. “Are you going home for Christmas?”

  Faith nodded. “I am. My classes are done until after the winter break. That’s not to say that I don’t have plenty of studying to do, however. That’s why this will be a short trip.
We will head back to Portland on Saturday.”

  “That’s when I’m returning as well.”

  She laughed. “Then be sure to save us three seats.”

  “Three? I thought there were four of you.”

  “There are, but Clementine—she’s the redhead—is staying a little longer. She’s a teacher and doesn’t have to be back to her position right away, so she’s staying to spend time with her fiancé.”

  “The tall man who was with you when I got my arm cut?”

  “Yes. You have a good memory, Captain.”

  “Please just call me Andrew.”

  Faith nodded. “And you should call me Faith.”

  They said nothing for several minutes after that. Faith continued to stare out at the waters of the Willamette, ever mindful of how attractive the captain was with his neatly trimmed black beard and mustache. She had always liked facial hair. It often gave men a distinguished look. With Andrew Gratton, it made him alluring and mysterious.

  “Well, I should get back to my duties,” he said.

  Faith looked up to see he had been watching her. She smiled. “And I shall go back inside. I suppose it is rather cold, and I believe the wind has shifted and I’m starting to feel the rain.” She noted that he hadn’t worn a hat or scarf. “You should bundle up better. You don’t want to become sick.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “My pleasure, Captain.” She gave him a curt nod and headed off to join her companions.

  Andrew’s lack of hat and scarf, however, stayed with her, and upon her first step into her parents’ house, she asked her mother for yarn.

  “What color?” Hope asked, eyeing her daughter with a curious expression.

  “I think red would do nicely.”

  “What are you up to?”

  Faith discarded her coat and hat. “I’m going to make the captain of the Morning Star a hat and scarf. He apparently has neither and was quite cold on our journey here.”

  “It seems unlikely that a riverboat captain wouldn’t have the proper attire,” her mother replied. “But nevertheless, who am I to deny you?” She went to a trunk at the far end of the room and opened it. “I have some nice red wool here that should do the trick. I dyed it myself just a few weeks back.” She pulled out several skeins. “This should be enough. Will you knit or crochet?”

  Faith pondered that a moment. “Crochet. I’m faster with a crochet hook, and I only have tonight and tomorrow in which to get this done.”

  “I could help,” her mother offered.

  “Would you?”

  “Of course. All of my Christmas gifts are complete. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on giving yours because you didn’t have time.”

  Faith frowned and felt embarrassed. “It’s not a Christmas gift. Not really. I just knew he was cold. I would have offered him my scarf, but it’s terribly feminine.”

  Her mother shook her head. “No matter what kind of gift it is, if we don’t get to work, we’ll never have it done by the time you leave on Saturday.”

  “You are right, as usual.” Faith took one of the skeins and marveled at its softness. “This is so fine and lovely.”

  “Yes, but it’s good thick wool and will make a perfect protection from the damp air. Come now, we’ll go to my sewing room and get you a hook. Your father will be busy helping Alex with the Christmas cider, so we’ll have some time before our evening celebration.”

  Faith had a quarter of the scarf complete by the time Father returned and announced it was time to gather at the Armistead house. The Kenner home sat on the same farm property but a decent distance from the big house. Faith had grown up this way, with all her cousins and family close at hand. The exception, of course, had been Aunt Mercy’s children, Isaac and Constance, but even they often came to spend the long summer months on the farm. Mama used to say it was to remind them that they were white as well as part Cherokee. Uncle Adam’s mother had been half Cherokee, and Faith had heard the stories of her life’s difficulties. Uncle Adam had thought that describing to Faith what another woman of Indian heritage had gone through might help her decide how to live her life. It had. It had terrified Faith to hear how that very Native-looking woman had been treated. Few women would have anything to do with her, and the men called her a squaw. No one considered Adam’s mother and father legally married, and they considered Adam and his siblings illegitimate. Only in leaving for other parts of the country and saying nothing about their Indian blood had the children been able to live normal lives. Faith supposed it had influenced her own decision to embrace the privilege that came with looking more white than Cayuse.

  If anyone were to ask Faith later what she remembered most about this particular Christmas Eve celebration, she would say the laughter. Everyone was in a jolly spirit. There were letters to share from all the absent family members and no lack of stories from the old days.

  After the family shared an incredible supper of roasted deer, creamed peas and potatoes, squash, baked ham, and so many other traditional family dishes, they gathered in the living room to sample the mulled cider and sweet desserts.

  Uncle Alex opened the Bible, as was the tradition, and began to read from Luke one, verse twenty-six. “And in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of Galilee, named Nazareth, to a virgin espoused to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin’s name was Mary. And the angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.”

  He continued reading, but Faith let her thoughts wander. She had heard this story every year of her life. She had always loved and marveled at the wonder of it, and despite the very different circumstances, she always thought of her mother finding herself with child. No husband. No hope of explaining her situation in a way that would leave her with a shred of dignity or pride. Perhaps that was part of Mary’s journey too. No one ever talked in the Bible about her encounters with those who thought her shameful. And who could blame them? An unmarried girl found herself with child. There were no accounts of her making public announcements about the baby being God’s, but imagine if there had been. No one would have believed her. Not without God’s intercession.

  Uncle Alex was reading the part where Elisabeth acknowledged the holiness of the child Mary carried. How that must have blessed Mary. She didn’t have to try to prove the truth of what was happening to her. God had allowed her cousin Elisabeth to know.

  Alex read on to the end of the first chapter. The second would be read the following day at the noon meal, when they all gathered again. More of the family would be with them then, and it was always so much fun, especially if smaller children were there as well.

  Hope was asked to sing, and with Meg accompanying her on the piano, she did exactly that. Aunt Grace always said that Hope’s voice was very much like their mother’s. Rich and melodious, with a perfect pitch that never failed.

  Faith had never known a grandmother or grandfather, and she always wondered what it might have been like to grow up with an older person in her life. There was Uncle Edward, of course. He had lived in Oregon City with his family, but he was now gone. The family who remained would join them at the farm the next day, but Faith couldn’t help but wish for a grandmother, a loving and kind older woman who would offer advice and sage counsel.

  The family joined in for a round of Christmas carols and then shared stories from throughout the year—events that had blessed them in particular or that had taught them something important. Throughout this time, Faith continued to crochet her scarf and think of Andrew Gratton.

  Nothing can come of this friendship. He’s white, and you’re not white enough.

  Faith frowned but kept her head down so no one would see. She didn’t want the others to feel bad for her.

  “What about you, Faith? Was there a big blessing in your life this past year?”

  Her head snapped up to find everyone watching her. Mother took a seat beside her
and picked up her own crochet work. Faith knew her family wouldn’t let her get away without replying. She shared the first thing that popped into her head.

  “The university moved the medical college from Salem to Portland, as you well know. At first that didn’t seem like it would be all that important to me, but it turns out it was. I get to live at Nancy’s boardinghouse and be close to my family again. I’ve missed you all very much, and I’m so blessed to be home for Christmas.”

  “We’re blessed to have you here too,” Alex Armistead declared. The others immediately chimed in to agree.

  “I’m glad she’s home for Christmas, even if she is bossy,” her younger brother declared. “It gets terribly quiet here, being one of the youngest.”

  “I’ve never known it to be quiet when you’re in the house,” their father teased.

  By the time the cider and desserts were gone, most everyone was yawning and anxious for bed.

  “Before we head upstairs,” Nancy said, smiling in a knowing fashion at her mother, “we want to let you know that there will soon be an addition to the family. I’m going to have a baby in May.”

  Everyone broke into cheers, and Aunt Grace had tears in her eyes. Everyone knew what this baby meant to Nancy.

  “That’s the best Christmas present anyone could ever give us,” Nancy’s father, Alex, declared. He hugged his daughter close. “I’m so happy for you, honey.”

  Faith felt the air catch in her throat as tears came to her eyes unbidden. She hadn’t expected this rush of emotion and regret. Biting her lip, she prayed for God to ease her sadness. She was delighted for her cousin and wanted nothing to suggest otherwise. It wasn’t Nancy’s fault that Faith was half Cayuse. It was no one’s fault.

  God, this is so hard. I thought I could bear it well enough—after all, I’m thirty. I’d come to terms with this long ago, yet here I am, weeping for the loss.