by Janette Oke
“I’m sorry,” he responded quickly. “I—I do hope that you aren’t too dreadfully disappointed.”
Cassie sensed his embarrassing position. She shook her head and reached a hand out to him. “Oh, it isn’t that—that way. It was just that I never—I never considered that you—that you might—might—?” She had no way of completing the statement.
“You thought that I could sit at the dinner table week after week, month after month, and not see for myself what an attractive and intelligent and pleasant young woman you have become?”
His flattery caught her totally off guard and she trembled. “It’s just—just that you are always so—so studious—so serious about—about your—your work, that I didn’t think—”
He smiled, and Cassie was reminded again of the attractiveness of his smile and how it completely transformed his face. Her head was reeling, her body taut. Suddenly she felt the need to sit down. She was glad a chair was close by. He eased it under her as she began to sink. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder. She wondered if he was about to call her father.
“I’m—I’m fine,” she managed, swallowing to try to take the dryness from her throat.
“Catch your breath for a moment,” he cautioned. “Just take your time. Deep breaths. Now another. There. Another. Good. Your color is coming back nicely.”
Cassie took some more deep breaths and the room stopped its spinning. He watched her closely for a few moments before removing his hand from her shoulder and walking a few paces away.
“I’m sorry,” he said again as he turned to face her. “I—I didn’t realize that any young lady would be so shocked that a gentleman would request to call.”
He smiled again and Cassie wondered how she could ever have considered him plain.
“It’s—it’s just—just that—”
“I know. You thought I had interest only in my work,” he repeated teasingly.
He sat on the edge of her father’s broad desk and smiled at her again. She had never seen a person’s eyes look so alive—so—so enchanting. But then she had paid little attention to his eyes. They were always hidden behind his wire-framed glasses.
She managed to nod her head and return a little smile. It was not demure. It was not particularly encouraging. It was a tentative offering of friendship—a sharing of a common experience and a little joke.
“Can we start over?” he asked candidly, and she was able to laugh and nod her head in agreement.
He stood again, his brow puckered slightly in seriousness. She noted that his fingers clasped and intertwined nervously. Suddenly she felt nervous no longer. His own agitation had eased hers.
“Shall I go out and come back in?” she asked with a teasing lift to her voice.
He responded with a nod of his head, and an amused look slightly curved his mouth. “Would you?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied. She stood to her feet and gave him a smile that turned shy as she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
She stood for a few minutes trying to calm her racing heart, trying to get her trembling hands under control, then reached to push the door open, placed the nervous smile back on her face, and entered the room.
“Miss Winston,” he said, advancing toward her and reaching for her hand. “I thank you for agreeing to see me.”
She could not keep her smile from becoming soft laughter. He shared the joke, then continued. “I know I have done nothing in the past to show my feelings—but I have grown to admire you—and—” He paused long enough to draw in a quick breath. “I would be honored if you would allow me the privilege of calling.”
“I—I would welcome—would be happy to—” Where were all the nice little speeches she had rehearsed so carefully for just such a moment? She felt like a schoolgirl again, tripping over her tongue in embarrassment. But he didn’t seem to notice. The pressure of his fingers on her hand had increased.
“So it is agreed,” he said with apparent relief. “I was afraid you might not consider me. I have not yet graduated. But I have just learned that my internship is to be served in Ottawa. If I didn’t—didn’t take advantage of my opportunity now—I—would most surely lose you to another. I couldn’t risk that—you understand.”
Cassie removed her hand and stood trembling. What had she done? What was he saying? “I—I haven’t agreed to marry you,” she stammered bluntly. “I just—”
“Oh, I know—I know. I am sorry.” He turned slightly and his face flushed as hers had a few moments earlier. “I am making a dreadful blunder of things,” he admitted frankly. “I—I assure you—I am quite aware that you have made no promises. Please forgive me. I—I promise that I will be careful not to assume—more than you have—have been willing to grant me.”
“A call,” said Cassie. “A call!”
“Nothing more,” he continued. “I feel—feel honored that you have agreed to let me call.”
“And your studies?” prompted Cassie. She had lived with her father long enough to understand the importance of studies as one neared graduation.
“They will not suffer, I promise you. I would never jeopardize my training—not even—” He stopped and smiled at her again. “Not even for your pretty face.”
Cassie returned the smile. It was hard not to respond to the way his whole face lighted up.
“Very well,” she said and a bit of coyness crept in. She lowered her eyes and toyed with her lace hankie. A thought flashed through her mind. At least now Dr. Corouthers will be forced to see that I am not a child. She quickly pushed the thought aside. Somehow it seemed very childish indeed.
“When?” he was asking and Cassie had to bring her attention back to the moment at hand.
“When?”
“When might I call?”
She turned to him again and saw the eagerness in his eyes. He really was serious about it all.
“Well, I—I suppose that will partly depend upon your study load,” she responded, stalling for time.
“Next Thursday? I have an exam to write that day. My studying will need to be completed beforehand. I would welcome a chance to—to relax and—and enjoy some company after the grind of the day.”
Cassie lifted her eyes to look directly into his. They were hazel. She had wondered. She had never been able to describe them. They were not blue, nor brown, nor green like her own. They were hazel—almost changing color along with his mood. Right now they shadowed, awaiting her answer.
“Next Thursday,” she agreed and the hazel eyes began to sparkle.
“You what?” squealed Abigail.
“I agreed to allow Mr. Smith to call,” repeated Cassie evenly.
“Smith? Why Smith? He is most ordinary. There is nothing—nothing outstanding about him.”
Cassie’s chin lifted in stubborn defense. “I disagree,” she said firmly. “He has a delightful smile.”
“A smile! And you are going to marry a man for his smile?”
“I didn’t say I was going to marry him,” protested Cassie angrily. “I said he is coming to call.”
“But marriage comes after calling,” countered Abigail.
“Not always,” stated Cassie with a shake of her red head. “People court and—and end the relationship, all the time.”
“You are just starting to court and you are already breaking up?” shrieked Abigail. “That’s foolish.”
“I didn’t say I was breaking up,” Cassie cast at her friend. “I said that I am allowing him to call. One makes up one’s mind when the proper time comes.”
She felt cross with Abigail. She was behaving so foolishly over the whole thing.
Abigail’s fingers nervously twisted a knot in her cambric shawl. “It’s just—just that we have—have always done things together,” she said at length.
Now Cassie understood her friend’s petulant mood. Her anger softening, she assured her, “He’s only calling. It doesn’t mean I’ll be marrying and moving across town or anything. He’s just ca
lling.”
She didn’t say to Abigail that she was still hoping Dr. Corouthers might also decide to call.
“He is very plain,” Abigail insisted and her words brought a smile to Cassie’s lips.
“Perhaps. Then again—it may be how one decides to look at him. He does have a lovely smile. And—and did you know his eyes are hazel? Quite attractive really. They change—they change colors according to his mood. They darken and then they—they light up. I have never seen eyes quite—”
“Only calling?” Abigail interrupted. “You say he is only calling—just as if you really don’t care one way or the other, and yet you babble on and on about his—his eyes! I think you are smitten already.”
She threw the last statement at Cassie and rose angrily from the chintz chair and flung herself toward the door.
“And I’ll just bet you never once thought to remind Mr. Birdwell that I have had my eighteenth birthday,” she hissed, and was gone, slamming the door behind her.
Mr. Smith arrived promptly at the appointed hour on Thursday. If Cassie had worried about the evening dragging, she needn’t have. She was pleasantly surprised by the number of things they had to discuss and found Mr. Smith to be relaxed and an enjoyable companion. By the time the evening had ended with coffee and some of Cook’s delicious tea cakes, Cassie was wishing they had a few more hours to spend together.
“May I accompany you to church on Sunday?” asked Mr. Smith and Cassie nodded her head in agreement without even thinking of Dr. Corouthers.
“Your folks will not object to your sitting with me instead of in the family pew?”
“I’m sure they won’t,” replied Cassie. “But if by chance they should, why don’t you join us?”
“I’d love to,” he hastened to assure, giving her one of his charming smiles.
“If the morning is pleasant, will you walk with me?”
“I’d like that,” answered Cassie.
“I’ll see you then. Nine-thirty or thereabout?”
“Nine-thirty should give us plenty of time,” agreed Cassie.
He reached for her hand and for one minute she thought he might raise her fingers to his lips, but he pressed gently and released them. “Until Sunday,” he whispered, then lifted his hat and proceeded down the broad boardwalk.
Cassie soon dismissed all thoughts of Dr. Corouthers during the next weeks and months. If she had stopped to think about him at all, she may have wondered what she found so attractive. He now seemed dreadfully old and terribly stodgy. And his smile was rather—rather pasted into place, not spontaneous and totally joyous and captivating.
Samuel Smith called as frequently as his heavy study schedule would allow. Cassie looked forward to the evenings they shared and was gloomy and restless when the visits were interrupted by his studies.
He had ceased being Mr. Smith—just as she had ceased being Miss Winston. His name was Sam, he had informed her, and he would be pleased if she would choose to use it. She felt Sam too plain for the man she had come to know, and announced decisively that she would call him Samuel. He smiled at that and indulged her in the matter. “And I shall call you Cassandra,” he countered, and Cassie felt it was a fair exchange. No one else called her by her given name—not since school days when her teacher had spoken it with a prim and cool voice.
But Samuel did not speak her name with coldness. She heard a warmth unknown to her—not even from her father or mother. Soon Cassie was admitting to herself that she had indeed been enamored by soon-to-be Dr. Samuel Smith and his winning smile.
She was no longer a young girl in love with love. She was a young woman in love with a man.
As Samuel’s graduation drew near, Cassie both looked forward to it and dreaded it. She knew that Samuel might not feel free to speak of marriage until he was in a position to properly support a wife. On the other hand, his internship was to be served in Ottawa and that was many miles away. She hated to see him go. Hated to think of the long, lonely days without him. She consoled herself with the fact that she could spend those days preparing herself to be a proper wife for the man she intended to marry, for she had now made up her mind that marry him she would. And regardless of his time in internship, they could have a “promise” in place.
But as the days ticked past too quickly, Samuel still did not speak of marriage, and Cassie often wished she were free to bring up the subject herself.
“Bother!” she exclaimed to herself one evening after he had left. “Why does society put such ridiculous restrictions on women? I know he loves me. I know he is thinking of marriage every bit as much as I am. So why can’t we talk about it?”
She pulled her shawl from her shoulders with an angry jerk and tossed it on her bed.
“If it were up to me, we would have this out in the open and settled,” she went on. “No use pretending that we haven’t considered the idea. There are plans to be made. Things to be decided. But oh no. A man’s honor is at stake. He can’t discuss such a thing until he is ‘financially sound.’ Ridiculous!”
But each time Samuel called, Cassie laid aside her irritation and pretended to be the innocent young woman, totally oblivious to her charms and the love of the man who came calling.
But her heart became more and more agitated as the graduation date approached. What if she had misread things? What if Samuel would just walk out of her life? What if her first little speech about “calling only” were taken seriously by the serious young man? What if he hadn’t realized she had changed in her feelings toward him since that night long ago? Cassie trembled at the thought and wondered if she would be able to hold her tongue and let Samuel Smith walk away.
Chapter Seven
Sharing Dreams
Cassie attended the graduation ceremonies with her mother. Her father was on the platform, prepared to make a speech and award the new medical doctors their degrees. Cassie smiled as she watched Samuel cross the platform. He had made it—and in fine form, too. Her father beamed as he passed his protege the diploma.
Now we can make our plans, Cassie told herself. But even as she thought the words, she fidgeted. It was only four days until Samuel would be boarding the train for Ottawa. There wasn’t much time for discussing plans.
A little celebration at the Winston home followed the ceremonies. Cassie served punch and coffee, irritation tainting her usual good graces. She was anxious for the other guests to leave so she and Samuel might settle in the parlor and get down to some serious talking.
By the time the last guest had taken leave, it was getting late. One glimpse at Samuel, and Cassie realized he was exhausted.
“You look dreadfully tired,” she said in sympathy.
“It’s all that final cramming,” he admitted. “And today was a strain, I do admit.”
“You’d better get some sleep,” she said with understanding.
“Do you mind?”
“Of course I mind,” she responded, but she tried to cover the words with a smile. “We can talk tomorrow.”
At Samuel’s frown, Cassie realized there was some reason why tomorrow might not work out either.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked frankly.
“No, not wrong—but I do have a million things I must attend to tomorrow. You do understand?”
“Of course,” replied Cassie, but her eyes dropped to the tray she still held in her hands.
Samuel reached out a finger and lifted her chin so she was forced to raise her eyes to his. “You do understand?” he pressed.
Cassie managed a smile. “You have only four days,” she whispered and let her eyes drop again. Her lips were trembling and she feared she might burst into tears.
“Four days is a long time,” he promised, coaxing her to smile again.
She tried. She lifted her eyes to his and did manage a wobbly smile in response to his prompting.
“That’s my girl,” he said softly and Cassie’s smile deepened.
“I’ll be around as quickly as I can get here,
day after tomorrow,” he promised, and Cassie knew it would have to do.
“Now—you get a good sleep. We have a lot of talking to do.”
With that promise he left her and Cassie moved about in a dream. Surely she had understood his meaning. Before he left for Ottawa they would have their future plans settled.
She went to bed but could not get to sleep. If only Abigail were here to share my secret, she mused, then dismissed the thought. She did not want to share this special joy even with her best friend. She hugged it to herself and savored the feeling. She was soon to become Mrs. Dr. Samuel Smith. Or was it Dr. Mrs. Samuel Smith? She could not untangle the name. Her mother always went by Mrs. Henry P. Winston. She finally settled on being Mrs. Samuel J. Smith. That was quite good enough.
It was almost morning before she finally settled into sleep. By then she was exhausted—but happy. She hoped the coming day would pass quickly so she could sleep through another night and bring Samuel to her side.
The day managed to drag, and because Cassie had not slept well and was already in a state of agitation, she was not good company. She fussed and fiddled and scolded the boys and criticized the household help. Her mother, sensing her frustration, suggested she visit a downtown shop.
“You need a new summer hat—why don’t you shop for one?” was the way she put her proposal to Cassie. Cassie was only too glad for an excuse to escape.
“Can I take Abigail to help with the selection?” she asked, as if she were once again a small child asking for a favor.
“By all means,” responded her mother. “Take Abigail. The walk will do you both good.”
“Walk? I thought we’d take the carriage.”
“Why don’t you walk? The day will pass more quickly if you do.”
Cassie nodded, though without real agreement, and went to ring Abigail on the phone. Soon the two of them were off toward the town shops, while Mrs. Winston heaved a sigh of relief and returned to her sewing.
It did help to fill in the day. The girls strolled into town, not hurrying, talking as they went. By the time they had visited their favorite milliners, agreed on a new hat for Cassie and returned home, the day was well spent. Abigail hurried on home so as not to be late for dinner, and Cassie climbed the stairs to freshen up for the evening meal.
