The Mechanic & the MD

by Linda Shenton-Matchett

  “The end is in sight.”

  He nodded. No need to put a damper on her celebration if the farm or its village wasn’t just around the corner.

  Doris hurried forward, and he stayed her with his hand. “Slow down, honey. If you tax all your strength now, you may not make the final leg.”

  “You’re right. Of course. Silly of me.”

  “Not at all. I’m as thrilled as you that humanity isn’t far, but my training makes me a wet blanket.”

  “Thanks for not making fun of me.”

  “Never.”

  She began to tug and pull at her clothes then rubbed at the dirt and grass stains.

  He stroked her hair. “You’re worried about first impressions. Don’t be. We survived an aerial raid and a night in the woods. This village may have lost family and friends. Our appearance won’t be of concern.” He huffed out a sigh. “I’m not sure what I can do without my medical bag and the supplies we lost.”

  “God will provide a way.”

  “He will indeed. Thanks for the reminder.” He winked. “We talked earlier about giving Him control. How soon I forget.”

  As they drew closer to the herd, the cows ambled toward the fence, mooing and grunting.

  “I believe they’re cheering us on.” Ron executed an exaggerated bow. “Thank you, ladies. We appreciate your support.”

  Doris laughed and clapped her hands. “They’re asking why we’re taking so long to get where we’re going.”

  “No, that’s you.”

  They rounded the bend and stopped. Stretched on either side of the road were small homes, each surrounded by row after row of vegetable plants. Apparently the residents had turned every square inch of land into Victory gardens. Few people were in sight, and quiet enveloped the village.

  Confusion on her face, Doris turned to him. “Where is everyone? We should have heard noise long before we arrived.”

  “I see no cars, so there are no engines roaring. It’s midday, so perhaps the children are in school, and the mothers are inside or at work.”

  “Makes sense.” She gestured to a stone building, larger than the rest, and a sign swinging in the breeze. “The White Stag. I’m famished. We can get a meal, and with any luck they have a telephone.”

  “Brilliant.” He rubbed his hands together. “And perhaps they know where we can clean up.”

  As one, they hastened their steps and arrived at the front door to the pub moments later. Ron opened the door, and Doris slipped inside ahead of him.

  After being outside in the bright sunlight, the internal dimness seemed gloomy and suffocating. His eyes gradually adjusted, but with few windows and even fewer lightbulbs in use, the room remained dismal. He approached the counter where the elderly barkeep polished the wood as if his life depended on it. Ron smiled. “Good afternoon, sir. We lost our jeep yesterday in a bombing raid. Do you have a telephone we might use to contact my hospital?”

  “Land sakes, an American.”

  “Two, actually.” Doris raised her hand.

  “Well, missy. Where did you come from?” The man’s bright black eyes and cocked head made him resemble a curious finch. “Wait. Don’t tell me. You’re one of them USO folks going to entertain the troops.”

  She shook her head. “No, and if you heard me sing, you’d know why I’m a Red Cross gal.”

  He chortled, and his gaze swung to Ron. “Are you a Red Cross lad?”

  “No. I’m a physician with the Army Medical Corps. We’ve been transferred to Frogmore Hospital.” Ron leaned on the bar. “I didn’t see any bomb damage. Did the Jerries miss your village?”

  “By a mile or so. Old Mr. Wellington has a crater in his back field, but other than that, we’re snug as a bug as they say. I’m sorry to hear about your vehicle. Are there only two of you?”

  “Yes. We didn’t lose anyone in the raid.”

  “Good news, to be sure. Life’s perilous these days.” He gestured to a nearby table. “Have a seat, and the missus will be right out with tonight’s dinner. We don’t offer a menu anymore. We serve what we’ve got.”

  “I’m sure the food will be delicious.” Doris laid her hand on the man’s arm. “Is there somewhere I may freshen up?”

  “Yes, up the stairs. First room on the right. Take all the time you need, and there are clothes in the cabinet free for the taking.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now, we’ll have none of that. The name’s Gavin.”

  Doris beamed. “Gavin. And I’m Doris.” She squeezed Ron’s arm then traipsed up the stairs, footsteps light on the treads.

  “She’s a pretty one.” The man tossed his rag in the sink. “Special, is she? You watch her like she means something to you.”

  Ron slid onto the stool. “She does.” Words poured out as he recounted the weeks since Doris had arrived. What was it about the man that created the desire to share their story?

  “Have you told her you love her?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  A throat cleared behind him, and he turned. Doris stood behind him, face set in stone. How much had she heard?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Doris studied Ron’s red face. He looked guilty, but she’d failed to hear his discussion with the barkeep. Would she be able to finagle their conversation from him? No. She needed to stop looking for intrigue and machinations with regard to Ron. Sliding onto to the stool next to him, she smiled. “Thanks for the use of the room and the clothes. I feel less bedraggled and a whole lot more clean.” She nudged Ron’s shoulder and wrinkled her nose. “You might consider a trip upstairs.”

  A petite woman whose gray hair peeked out from under a kerchief appeared balancing two steaming bowls and a platter of bread on her arms.

  “Later.” His stomach rumbled. “Lunch first.”

  “Welcome.” The woman set the dishes on the counter with a thump. “I’m Marie. There’s more where that came from.”

  “Thank you, Marie.” Doris inhaled the fragrant concoction. “Chicken stew? Smells divine.”

  Marie beamed. “A family recipe that’s been passed down for generations. Enjoy.” She tugged on Gavin’s arm. “Give the young people some privacy, Gavin. You’ve got plenty of chores to amuse you.”

  Gavin bowed. “Yes, ma’am. Your wish is my command. I’ll get to them straightaway.”

  “Ma’am. Pish posh. I’m not the queen.” She winked at Doris and hurried to the kitchen, Gavin close on her heels.

  “We see who runs the joint, eh?” Ron pointed at the swinging door with his spoon. “Guess I best get used to the idea. I heard there’s a female doctor at the hospital. Since Roosevelt let women into the Army and Navy Medical Corps, enlistment has been up.”

  “You’re trying to agitate me, aren’t you? It won’t work. I know you’ve left your caveman ways behind.”

  Ron chuckled. “Thought I’d get you going but no luck. By the way, I telephoned the hospital, and they’re sending a jeep.” He glanced at his watch. “Should be here in fifteen minutes, maybe sooner. The idea of riding the remaining ten miles to the hospital makes me giddy.”

  “Giddy? Not an emotion I’ve seen from you yet.”

  “Then you should enjoy the show.” He finished his stew and sopped up the remaining gravy with some bread. He pushed away the plate and patted his stomach. “I’m stuffed. I’ll go clean up. Shouldn’t be long. Don’t want to miss my ride.”

  “Afraid I’ll make you walk?”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” He gave her a sly smile and hurried toward the steps.

  She sighed and ate her remaining stew, savoring in the food’s zesty taste. Home cooking as good as her mom’s. Her heart tugged. Mom and Dad would be sitting down to dinner shortly. Every day that passed, she rearranged her things-to-do-as-soon-as-I-get-home list, but near the top was a family meal.

  Gavin returned to retrieve the soiled dishes. “The food was to your liking, then?”

 
; “Fantastic. Brought to mind my mom’s cooking.” She wiped her mouth on the napkin and laid it on the counter. “You wouldn’t want to tell me what you and Ron were discussing when I came downstairs, would you?”

  “That’d be the lad to say, not me. But I’ll be praying for the two of you.”

  “Uh…thanks.” What had they talked about? She slid off the stool. “Let Ron know I’ll wait for him outside.”

  “Sure. Safe road, missy.”

  Doris pulled at the ill-fitting slacks and blouse, the only items in the bureau close to her size. What would the hospital director say to her showing up wearing pants? Hopefully, he’d be glad she made it to his facility alive. She pushed open the door and stepped into the sunlight. A light breeze stroked her cheek, and she let out a sigh. Count your blessings, Doris, and stop worrying. A skylark warbled overhead, chiming in with his agreement. Thank You for the reminder, Father. Forgive my unbelief.

  The door opened behind her, and Ron appeared as a jeep braked in front of the pub. The driver, a muscular corporal sporting a blond crew cut, lifted his hand in greeting. “Are you Dr. McCann and Miss Strealer?”

  Doris nodded.

  “I’m Corporal Nickels. Hop in, and I’ll have you back in a jiffy. Word is you folks had a narrow miss yesterday. Glad you made it.”

  Ron helped Doris into the jeep, his hands sending tingles up her arms. She settled into the seat while he stepped onto the wheel and crawled into the back. “Ready, Corporal.”

  The vehicle lurched forward, and the corporal kept up a steady one-sided conversation as they bumped and shimmied along the road. A plane rumbled in the cloudless sky, and Doris flinched. Sweat sprang out on her palms, and her gaze shot toward the craft. The concentric circles of the RAF were emblazoned on the wings, and her breath hitched. Not the enemy. She blinked back tears of relief and wiped her hands on the coarse, borrowed slacks.

  A hand squeezed her shoulder, and she turned. Ron gave her a reassuring smile but didn’t say anything.

  Peace flooded her, and she returned his smile. A few minutes later, they arrived at the hospital, climbed out of the jeep, and went inside. Controlled chaos seemed to reign. White-coated doctors, uniformed Red Cross nurses, and orderlies conversed in quiet tones as they strode through the lobby.

  Doris gestured to the large wooden desk at the back of the room.

  The young woman held up her hand as she spoke into a telephone receiver. Hanging up, she studied them with pursed lips. “Dr. McCann? Miss Strealer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Director Braverman will see you now. You may leave your luggage with me.”

  “We don’t have any bags.” Doris shrugged. “Our personal effects were lost when our jeep was bombed.”

  “Oh, dear. Well, that certainly explains your outfit.” She jerked her head to a door on her left. “Through there.”

  j

  Ron frowned. Doris’s red face and stiff posture trumpeted her embarrassment. The woman’s rudeness knew no bounds. Time to put her in her place. “Yes, it’s unfortunate that we managed to escape with our lives but not our luggage. Please accept our apologies for our fashion faux pas.”

  The receptionist’s face flamed. “Uh—”

  “No need to respond. We’ve got an appointment to keep.” He tucked Doris’s hand into the crook of his elbow. “Chin up, honey. Even in sackcloth, you’re prettier than any other woman.”

  A tremulous smile tugged at Doris’s mouth, and she squeezed his arm. “Thank you. I—”

  He put his index finger to his lips. “Shh. I meant every word, and the woman should be formally reprimanded, but I don’t want to make waves on my first day.”

  “Your words held enough sting. We should show her some grace. Perhaps she doesn’t know the Lord.”

  Ron sighed. A chance to be a witness for God, and he’d blown the opportunity. “Well said.”

  They followed the woman’s directions and were soon in front of the director’s office. Ron knocked once then opened the door so they could step inside.

  Sparsely furnished with worn-out government-issue furniture, the room was about ten feet square. A framed photo of Roosevelt hung behind the gray-haired man who sat at the scarred wooden desk. Stacks of paper covered most of the desk’s surface. The remnants of a sandwich lay on a chipped plate at his elbow. He continued to scribble on a piece of paper, the scratching of his fountain pen the only sound in the room.

  Doris withdrew her hand from Ron’s arm and laced her fingers. A muscle jumped in her jaw, and he longed to stroke the tension from her face. He settled for what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He turned back to toward the director and stood at attention, barely breathing. Was the man’s delay a power play or was he truly overwhelmed with the sea of paperwork on his desk?

  After interminable minutes, Director Braverman laid down his pen and looked up at them, his gaze unwavering. Behind his black horn-rimmed spectacles, his gray eyes were steely, matching his stoic face. He removed his glasses and tossed them on the pile of paper in front of him. “You were supposed to arrive yesterday. We were inundated with casualties from a bombing raid and could have used you. What sort of excuse do you have for your tardiness?”

  Ron rocked back on his heels at the acid in the man’s tone. “Sir, we were caught in the same raid. Our jeep was destroyed. Did you not receive our message? We telephoned this morning, and a vehicle was sent to fetch us. Was that directive not from you?”

  “I’m aware of your difficulties. What I want to know is why you didn’t arrive sooner.”

  “Sir—”

  Director Braverman's piercing glare swung to Doris. “I was speaking to Dr. McCann, Miss Strealer. You’ll refrain from talking unless I indicate otherwise. Is that clear?”

  Her face blanched. “Yes, sir.”

  Ron’s stomach clenched, and he gritted his teeth. No wonder the receptionist was snippy. This guy was a dragon. “I felt it was safer to hole up for the night rather than hike in the darkness; therefore, we remained at our location and set out at first light. Without water or sustenance, we were unable to make good time, so we didn’t arrive in the village until midday. We reported in upon our arrival.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Protocol is that you make contact as soon as practicable, yet you chose to delay your journey until daybreak. Are you a coward, man?”

  “What? No.” Ron’s nostrils flared. “I analyzed the situation and felt the best course of action was to wait.”

  “So your course of action was no action.” Director Braverman frowned. “Do you realize your choice has put a stain on the reputation of the Red Cross and the U.S. Army Medical Corps? Do you care nothing about your own reputations?” He sat back and crossed his arms. “You have been compromised.”

  “In what way, sir?” Ron’s chest tightened, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets so the condescending man couldn’t see his fists. “I don’t understand your reaction. We are bombing victims, yet we are being treated like perpetrators of a crime.”

  “Your behavior is a crime. You and this young woman were alone, in the woods, at night. Who’s to say what happened between the two of you.”

  Doris gasped then clapped a hand over her mouth.

  Ron straightened his spine and rose to his full height. How dare the man insinuate he and Doris had been intimate. He took a deep breath. “Sir, I resent the implication that anything untoward happened between Miss Strealer and me. My medical opinion of her well-being was that a night of rest was required before striking out on a twenty-mile hike. You and anyone else who assume we were inappropriate is making a mistake, and I don’t appreciate it. Her behavior was above reproach as was mine. We are professionals reporting for duty and would like to be dismissed so we can get to work.” He fought the urge to sneer. “After all, you were deluged with patients. I’m sure my skills can be put to use.”

  “Quite a speech, McCann. A trifle insubordinate, if you ask me. I’ve a min
d to make a report about the incident and your current disrespect. I have only your word about the situation, but Miss Strealer’s reputation precedes her. This isn’t the first time she’s found herself in a ticklish position.”

  “What are you talking about?” Red faced, Doris stalked to the desk.

  Ron mentally cheered her on, glad to see she wasn’t going to cower under the man’s snide accusations.

  “Early in your most recent assignment, there was an occurrence of inappropriate behavior at a local pub. You accosted one of our soldiers and made certain suggestions about possible activities. The young man was, of course, offended and turned her down. Personally, I’m disappointed the Red Cross let you continue in its ranks. To have such a loose woman in their employ doesn’t seem right.”

  “Who has made these false claims? Nothing of the sort happened,” Doris sputtered, fisted hands on her hips. Realization seemed to dawn on her face, and she scowled. “Wait. There was that guy. That terrible man who made lewd comments to me. He manhandled me, and I stomped on his foot. He tried to hit me, but Ron…Dr. McCann intervened.” Venom dripped from her words. “If you want to file a report, I’d be happy to make one against him.”

  “A little late now, don’t you think? Seems like you want to take the attention off yourself.”

  Ron’s heart thudded against his chest. Had he made a poor choice in staying in the woods? Had he besmirched Doris’s reputation? What could he do to make things right?

  He stepped forward. “Sir, I protest this line of questioning. We have made our statements. If you choose not to believe us, I will go up the chain of command to get the matter straightened out. To Chairman Davis, if necessary, or…Mrs. Roosevelt.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Doris stared at Ron, jaw agape. His offer to go over the director’s head punched a hole in her anger. Would he really escalate the misunderstanding to the White House? Surely not. But it meant a lot that he would consider going to the president’s wife or at least threaten to do so. Making a big deal out of the situation would only create additional problems. If Director Braverman were telling the truth, and her reputation was in tatters, she should lay low, not attract the attention of the newspapers. Anything associated with Mrs. Roosevelt was newsworthy, especially the efforts she made on behalf of women.