Sara would not back down. “Rose has Friday off. The two older ones will be in school, but I need you to watch Pippa and Johnny.” She tilted her chin defiantly, although inside she was shaking like a leaf.
Philippe crossed his arms. “I will not allow you to make a public spectacle of yourself. I forbid it.”
“You forbid it?” she exclaimed. “You don’t own me.”
He reached out, gripping her shoulders with his hands. She could see this was hard for him. “No. No, I don’t. But if you do this, Sara, you’ll be choosing these women and their political agenda over your own family.” He released her and stomped outside, slamming the door shut behind him. Sara sank into a chair, shocked by her modern husband’s outdated views. How could they see things so differently?
Thad Holmes had become extremely attentive. He settled their coffee cups and cake plates into the small areas of tabletop left around their open medical texts. They’d been studying in the hallway outside the crowded library for three hours now, and Marie had looked forward to this ten-minute break. “Lump of sugar?” Thad asked.
“No, thanks. This is fine,” she murmured. He was a little too eager to please; Marie worried he might be smitten. She blew on her scalding coffee. He was nice-looking, with warm, brown eyes and wavy blond hair. But Marie thought of him more like a brother, and less like a romantic pursuit.
Thad sighed. “I have some disappointing news, Marie.” His shoulders slumped and his face drooped into the sullen expression of a basset hound.
“What is it, Thad?” She hated to see her friend looking so defeated.
“I’m leaving the surgical program.” He held up his hands, examining them with disgust. “I’ve had another seizure, and they can’t allow an epileptic to be a surgeon—too risky for the patients.”
“What a shame,” Marie said sympathetically. “What will you do?” She was concerned Thad would give up entirely. He was the only friend she had here.
“I’ll still pursue my medical degree, but in a less exciting field. Perhaps I’ll become a family doctor who specializes in pumicing corns and treating rashes,” he joked.
Marie laughed. “It’s not that bad,” she encouraged him. “You’ll make a wonderful physician because you have an easy way with people. You make them feel comfortable. Even the prickly ones, like me.”
“You’re not prickly, you’re just”—he paused—“careful.”
“That’s a good trait to have as a surgeon, no?”
“Absolutely,” he replied, absentmindedly stirring his coffee. “Are you coming to the reception at Dr. Lane’s house tomorrow night?”
Tomorrow was Friday. Usually Marie took the ferry to see Adeline on Fridays. “I don’t think so.”
Thad lowered his voice. “May I offer some advice, as your friend, Marie?”
Marie folded her hands on the table. “Of course.”
“All the faculty and students are attending. If you don’t make an appearance, even for an hour or so, you’ll just give those cads more reason to talk about you behind your back.”
“They still talk about me?” She was startled.
“Yes,” Thad said, his eyes flashing to the huddle of students down the hall before returning to Marie’s face.
“What do they say?” she whispered.
Thad shifted in his seat. “That you leave early every Friday and are never here studying on the weekends because you . . .”
“Because I?”
“Because . . . you have a lover.” Thad’s ears reddened.
Marie burst out laughing. “If only.” What a preposterous accusation. “What else?” She wanted to hear it all.
“That he’s a medical doctor, and he used his connections to get you into Cooper.”
“That’s insane!” Marie argued. “None of it’s true, you know.” But she had no intention of sharing the truth—that she had an illegitimate daughter living in Napa with family.
Thad looked relieved. “Of course not. All I’m saying is that the more standoffish you are, the more reason they have to concoct these outlandish stories and tarnish your reputation before you graduate.”
Marie released an exasperated sigh. “I suppose you’re right, Thad. But just for the record,” she said softly, “I’m not interested in any romance at this point in my life. I need to focus on my studies.”
Thad leaned in and whispered, “It’s a reception, Marie. Not a proposal.”
She laughed, embarrassed, but reassured all the same. “I’ll stop by for an hour. And you’ll be there?” Marie might be able to endure the reception if he were.
“Right by your side.”
Adeline was acting strangely. The last few days, she’d skipped off to school as usual in the morning but hardly said two words to Sara when she returned. After finishing her chores, she completed her homework in silence. At the dinner table, she picked at her food, eating only a few bites before claiming she was full. She answered Philippe’s questions about school politely, but the light had vanished from her pretty face, replaced by shifty glances directed at Sara.
Tonight, when Adeline was washing the dishes, Sara placed an arm around her shoulders. “Are you well, Adeline?” The girl flinched, knocking Sara’s arm away with her shoulder. “I’m fine. Excuse me, Tante Sara,” she replied, fetching a stack of soiled bowls from the table.
Sara wondered if she was imagining things, but Adeline truly did seem uncharacteristically hostile toward her. Sara would bide her time until Marie arrived this weekend. Perhaps the child would talk to her mother.
Johnny began to stir in his bassinet at six o’clock Friday morning. Sara stretched her arm across the other side of the bed, hoping Philippe would curl his fingers around hers and pull her close, but all she felt was the soft sheets, still warm from his body. They hadn’t spoken much since they’d argued on Wednesday, but Sara still naively hoped he’d change his mind. She couldn’t have been more wrong—he was already gone.
Sara fed the children breakfast and then guided Adeline and Luc by mule to their school in Huichica, just across the creek. By the time she arrived in downtown Napa, she was thirty minutes late.
Sara was flabbergasted at the sheer size of the crowd assembled at the corner of First and Main. Women, shopgirls, tannery workers, laundresses—from Napa, Sonoma, St. Helena, Asti, San Rafael and Mill Valley—flooded the streets of Napa to support the unionists’ plight. Their presence created an energetic whir, electrifying the air. She tucked Johnny in his sling and nestled him against her chest. Tightening her grip on Pippa’s hand, she uttered a few words of reassurance, and followed Aurora deep into the sea of friends and strangers to take her place at the front of the parade behind their club’s banner. Sara’s palms began to sweat.
The protest started out calmly as the women and girls, heads held high, paraded down the dusty street. The day was uncommonly cool, a relief for the throngs of marchers packed like sardines in a can. After a quarter-mile or so, they fell into step with a beating drum near the back of the procession and the fervor of their chanting began to build. “Fair pay!” The crowd pushed forward, carrying Sara and the children along as though they were in a rowboat atop the crest of a powerful wave. Sara glanced down at Pippa. The girl’s malformed lip quivered, and she clutched her mother’s skirt. Sara edged away from Aurora and her friends toward the fringe of the crowd, but rows of men lined the sidewalks, hooting and hollering profanities. The policemen seemed to be encouraging their jeering, though the women’s chanting eventually overpowered the men’s shouts.
Sara’s heartbeat quickened. If she continued with the march, and a riot erupted, Pippa could be crushed. If she stepped onto the sidewalk, the police might arrest her, or the dissenters might swarm her.
A boot smashed against Sara’s shin, stopping her short. Just before she tripped and tumbled, she spied a pair of penetrating blue eyes. Philippe! He had appeared out of nowhere and moved quickly to hustle them out of harm’s way, scooping up Pippa in one arm and catching Sara
’s waist with the other. He extracted them from the crowd in seconds and deposited them in a narrow alley between buildings, safe from view. Sara pressed her back against the brick wall, trying to recover her breath.
“Are you hurt?” Philippe asked in a husky voice. Sara shook her head. He squatted, tugged down her stocking, and lightly touched her leg. She winced.
Johnny’s shrill cry startled them both. Philippe removed the baby from his sling and kissed his red, wrinkled forehead. “There, there, you’re just a little knocked about, Johnny boy.” Then Philippe knelt down and wiped Pippa’s tears away with his thumb. She buried her face in his neck. “Papa,” she sighed with a relief Sara shared. Philippe flashed Sara a sharp, disapproving glance.
Sara’s mind flipped back to the page in their shared history when he’d saved her from Saul Mittier, the town bully, back in Vouvray. She had been nine, he eighteen. Philippe was the same boy who’d picked Sara up from the dirt that day, and she was the same girl who’d smiled and feigned bravery. Perhaps they simply wanted different things now.
The butler guided Marie into the grand hall of Dr. Lane’s mansion in Nob Hill. About forty students and professors were here, she guessed, grouped in tight-knit circles, drinking aperitifs and chatting amicably. Marie’s gaze floated up to the high, coffered ceiling and the wide, winding mahogany staircase that served as the room’s centerpiece. Windows rose from floor to ceiling, framed with striking green velvet damask draperies tied back with gold tassels. Marie was impressed but uneasy.
Dr. Lane’s wife, whose first name she missed, greeted her with outstretched hands and a warm smile. Marie guessed she was in her early seventies, like her husband. Dr. Lane, one of the preeminent surgeons in the region and the founder of the college, stood across the room, surrounded by students.
“Do come in, Miss Chevreau!” she trilled. “Levi and I were so delighted you accepted the invitation to study at Cooper. You were his first choice, you know, from over thirty female applicants.”
“I was?” Marie was so startled by Mrs. Lane’s candor that she didn’t know what else to say.
“Oh yes, he was very impressed with your medical experience in the field of midwifery, and that you’d already completed studies at the Women’s Medical College.” Marie was surprised Mrs. Lane was familiar with her résumé. “Shows you have gumption, my dear, and that you’re serious about becoming a surgeon.”
“I’ve never been more serious about anything.”
Mrs. Lane rested a white-gloved hand on Marie’s arm. “I believe you,” she said lightly, “and I’m sure you’ll get along famously, but for tonight, just relax and mingle.” She gestured to the crowd of students gathering around a long table laden with platters of sandwiches and meat, cookies, cakes and punch. Mrs. Lane then stepped away to rejoin her husband, who was speaking to a rapt audience of doctors and students.
As bold as she was in the classroom or on the streets of New York, Marie was entirely uncomfortable in these surroundings. She moved to the edge of the crowd, hoping no one would notice her. Although she spoke French, Italian, English and a little Spanish, she’d never been skilled at small talk. She scanned the room, desperate to find a kind face.
The other women present were dressed simply but elegantly, in cotton, silk and lace evening dresses and gloves, with most wearing their hair up in Gibson tucks or topknots. Marie had chosen her best daywear: a navy and powder-blue striped dress, probably more suitable for a seashore outing than an evening reception. What did it matter anyhow what she wore tonight, when she’d soon be boarding a ferry bound for Napa? Just the thought of its rolling hills and abundant sunshine made Marie consider bolting for the door.
She was about to thank her hostess and quietly excuse herself when she spied Thad speaking with people whom she didn’t know. When they finished their conversation, Marie drifted over to his side.
“You made it!” He beamed at her. “I thought you might chicken out.”
“I was just about to.” She grimaced.
Thad ignored her and turned to the three men next to him. “Tom Reynolds, Jim O’Hare and Reggie Miller, I’d like you to meet Marie Chevreau. She’s a first-year, with me.”
Marie assumed they must be second- or third-year students. She extended her hand, and Tom took it. “Welcome, Marie. Have they scared you off medicine yet?” he asked good-naturedly. Marie shook his hand, and Thad chimed in again. “Not at all. In fact, it’s Marie who’s scaring the other first-years. She’s had more experience than the lot of us.”
“Really? How so?” Reggie asked, popping a cucumber sandwich in his mouth. He had curly orange hair, a freckled face and smooth, wide lips.
“Midwifery,” she replied, waiting for their reaction.
“Is that so? How many babies have you delivered—on your own?” Tom seemed skeptical.
“Nine hundred fifty-two.”
They could not have looked more stunned. Jim was the first to recover. “And how many of them survived, if I may ask?”
“Eight hundred thirty-five babies and nine hundred six mothers survived.”
“That’s quite good, statistically speaking, isn’t it?” Jim looked to his friends, who were nodding in confirmation.
“Not good enough. That’s why I’m here. To learn the latest cesarean section techniques so I can save more lives.”
“An admirable goal,” Thad encouraged.
“Indeed,” Jim agreed, though to Marie he sounded half-hearted. “And speaking of such, did you see the article about Donnelly in the Cooper Medical Review?”
“They all think he’s mad. Heart surgery on a patient with a bullet wound,” Tom said.
“On a beating heart?” Thad lowered his voice, engrossed.
“So the patient is still alive?” Marie couldn’t believe it. This type of surgery was unprecedented.
“No, the man died in surgery.”
“That’s sad, but chances are he would have died anyway,” she declared. “Why not operate, if you can learn something from it?”
Her four fellow students stared at her. Marie filled a glass with water, waiting for the awkward silence to pass. Thad eventually cleared his throat and attempted to reignite the conversation with humor. “Of course, and when we’re done experimenting with the live ones, we can dismember the cadavers to construct a Frankenstein of our own.”
The men laughed, and although Marie joined in, her cheeks burned. Desperate for air, she excused herself politely. She was worried Thad would follow her, so she was relieved to find herself alone in the alcove beneath the cascading stairs. She stood by the open window, inhaling the crisp fall air and sipping her water. She peered beyond the velvet curtains, down Clay Street. The city was in full swing, with deliverymen, hackneys and evening paperboys scuttling about. The bustle reminded her of New York, but made her long for the wide streets and sun-drenched smell of Napa. She wanted to run there now, to cuddle Adeline in her arms and fall asleep to the chirping of crickets and the soft hoots of owls.
The clapping of hands and clinking of crystal pulled Marie out of her reverie. As everyone converged near her, Marie remained where she was, now eye-level with Dr. Lane’s shoes as he stood on the stairs, welcoming his guests warmly. She almost spilled her water when a deep voice startled her.
“You shouldn’t try so hard,” Matthew Donnelly said, looking toward Dr. Lane.
“Excuse me?” Marie asked quietly, unsure if she’d heard correctly.
His voice was low, but his turquoise eyes locked with hers. “To force their acceptance,” he said, flicking his head toward the medical students nearby, all hanging on Dr. Lane’s every word.
Marie was tongue-tied. He lowered his head and explained, “This isn’t a popularity contest, Miss Chevreau. It’s survival of the fittest.”
The crowd erupted in applause, and Marie and Donnelly followed suit to be polite. She hadn’t heard a word Dr. Lane had said, but she was too distracted by Matthew Donnelly to care. He moved closer to her, as if eager
to hear her response. When the guests finally dispersed and the din quieted, Marie replied coldly, “I’m well aware of that, Doctor.”
“Are you?” His brow furrowed. “Because earlier, it looked like you were campaigning for class president at the punch bowl,” he quipped. Marie blushed with embarrassment. She felt like a simpleton, not the smart, studious young woman she imagined herself to be.
She decided to end their conversation before she became the subject of more ridicule. When she glanced back up at him, he arched a brow. Did he enjoy badgering his students? And why had he even noticed her at the punch bowl? Perhaps this was another test. If she walked away now, without knocking him down a peg or two, he’d probably lose respect for her.
She smiled without humor and retorted, “Perhaps, but the talk at the punch bowl was more amusing than holding up the wall with my back, a feat you seemed to have mastered this evening.”
He chuckled, his white Irish skin reddening. “You noticed?” When his face was animated like this, she thought she caught a glimpse of the soul behind the surgeon. He was whip-smart, and he intimidated Marie, but at least he was human. And he was handsome. Marie shoved that thought right out of her head. Desperate for distraction, she pulled her watch from her dress pocket. Five-thirty. The last ferry would leave in a half hour, and Marie still needed to collect her suitcase from her apartment a few blocks away.
“I have to go,” she announced.
“Where?” he asked. Marie was surprised he cared.
The California Wife Page 20
