The Doctor Digs a Grave

by Robin Hathaway

  CHAPTER 17

  LATER TUESDAY EVENING

  Ted brought Fenimore the diary, and Polly led him to the small study where they had talked when he had first arrived. “Take as long as you like,” she said and closed the door. For a moment he had the sensation that he was a prisoner rather than a guest.

  He examined the diary. It was small, about five by seven inches, with no lock or clasp. A simple bound notebook. He opened it. The paper was lined. The first entry was dated July 20. Her handwriting was small but clear. He began to read.

  7/20 T. and I drove to Cape May today. Perfect beach weather. After a swim and picnic on the beach, we went to the Marine Museum. Saw horrible examples of what we do to our marine life. A flounder suffocated in a plastic bag, etc. Will we never learn?

  7/22 Dull day. Routine chores. Did wash. Cleaned. Paid bills. Never got around to weaving. Should start with weaving and let the rest wait.

  The following entries were more of the same routine. Fenimore flipped through them. The next entry of interest was not until August 1.

  8/1 T. drove me out to meet his parents for the first time. Was overwhelmed by the size of their home. T. always played down their wealth. I’m afraid I wasn’t dressed for the occasion—jeans, a sleeveless blouse, and sandals. I’d taken my cue from Ted. He was wearing a T-shirt and cutoff jeans. But they were his parents. Not mine. I was embarrassed. I caught his mother looking at me, and her expression was not approving! Dinner was a disaster. They asked politely about my family and when I told them I had only a brother, and we were no longer close, I don’t think it went over too well. Family is very important in certain Philadelphia suburbs. Not just your living relatives, but all the ones that came before, and how they got here. It’s better to have come over on the Mayflower than the Welcome, for example, because the Mayflower came first. Of course, I could have told them about my peoples’ trek across the Bering Strait fifteen thousand years ago!

  Fenimore laughed aloud. Sweet Grass was emerging from these pages, unfolding like a flower. Not a shrinking violet, either. More tiger lily. The next entry of interest was in September.

  9/10 Had episode of rapid heartbeat. Went to see Dr. Robinson. She took an electrocardiogram and assured me there was nothing to worry about. Told me to take Inderal along with my digoxin. Two a day. And told me to call her if I had any more episodes.

  Fenimore laid the diary aside, made a note of the medicines, and decided to see Robinson as soon as possible. Flipping through more routine entries, he paused at September 15.

  9/15 Chose my wedding dress today. Mrs. H. insisted on coming with me, and it was a battle royal trying to find something not too expensive. There was one I liked, but it was much too high and she offered to pay half. I declined, not too graciously, I’m afraid. But Ted and I can’t start off under any obligation to his family. If we do, it will never work out!

  “Cheers,” murmured Fenimore.

  9/25 Went to see RW. No good. He still refuses to come to the wedding. Depressed.

  10/1 Held my first weaving class. Nice group of women. Hope I’m not biting off more than I can chew before the wedding. But I’ve wanted to do this for such a long time. And the women are so eager. I’m really excited.

  10/12 T.’s mother steamed in here tonight and started laying down the law—about the wedding, the honeymoon, and how to furnish our new house. She took me completely by surprise. I wasn’t expecting an ambush. Her parting shot was, “I only hope you two know what you’re doing.” Now what the hell is that supposed to mean? Doris was here, in the next room, and heard the whole thing. She was shocked. When I told T, he just shrugged and said, “Mother likes to run things. She’ll cool off after the wedding.” She’d better.

  10/13 Another episode of rapid heartbeat. Robinson took an electrocardiogram and upped the Inderal to three tablets a day. I asked if she thought it could have been caused by the excitement of getting married. She smiled and said, “Could be.”

  Fenimore harrumphed and turned the page.

  10/14 Tragic news. Doris had a routine physical today and was told she needed surgery. A hysterectomy! I can’t believe it. So young and no children? God, it’s unfair. God damn. She’s my maid of honor. I think we should postpone the wedding.

  10/15 T. won’t hear of a postponement. Neither will Doris. Her doctor assures her she will be well enough by November 15 to take part in the ceremony. The operation is 10/25.

  As Fenimore read deeper into October, he began to grow apprehensive.

  10/16 T.’s mother again. She called to check on the wording of the service. I told her we want to drop the “obey” and conclude the ceremony by reading an ancient Lenape prayer. She asked again if my brother was going to “give me away.” (I haven’t told her yet that he may not even come.) I explained that I didn’t want to be “given away,” like a package, from one man to another. Even if Roaring Wings comes, I don’t want him to take part in the ceremony. I told her, “I want to walk down the aisle to Ted as free as a bird in the sky, a deer in the wood, a fish in the sea.” She hung up on me.

  Fenimore smiled. Maybe, at last, Polly had met her match. He frowned, remembering that the diarist had met hers.

  10/17 T.’s sister called. The dark one. Lydia. She hinted that she would like to be part of the ceremony. Damn. I only want one attendant. Doris. I hardly know this woman. She seems nice enough, but if I have her, then I may have to have the other two!

  Sensing hysteria building, Fenimore quickly turned the page.

  10/18 Had blood tests today, for sexually transmitted diseases. What a joke. The only one they don’t test for is AIDS.

  10/19 A disturbing call from Kitty, the youngest sister. She said she was upset about being left out of the wedding. (What did I tell you?) I explained as reasonably as possible that Ted and I wanted a small wedding and we really couldn’t add any more people at this late date. There was a long pause, and I thought I heard sniffling. Then she said, “You’ll regret this,” and hung up. I’m afraid to tell Ted. He’ll be so upset. Maybe I better let her be in it. What’s the difference? I just want it to be over.

  10/20 Ted and I went to City Hall for the license. Shabby little office, full of lots of happy couples. One couple was making out on the bench in front of us. We thought they were going to have sex then and there. When you’re getting married, you tend to think you’re special. You’re the only ones having this experience. This visit helped to put things in perspective. Still upset about Kitty. I think she may be a little unbalanced.

  10/21 A call from Bernice, the eldest. She wanted us to come for dinner at her apartment. We went, even though there’s so much to do! She’s my favorite of the lot. Her apartment has a terrific view of the river and Boathouse Row. The boathouses, outlined in white lights, are cartoonlike. You almost expect Bugs Bunny or Donald Duck to pop out and go rowing up the Schuylkill, or over the waterfall. Inside, the apartment was a cross between a herbarium and a jungle. Plants everywhere—dried and living. Not common houseplants, either. Strange, exotic ones that require an expert’s care and knowledge. Pots on the windowsills, baskets swinging from the ceilings and doorways, tucked into every nook and cranny. When Bernice disappeared into the kitchen, T. whispered, “Whenever I come here, I expect a headhunter to jump out at me.” Dinner was delicious. She went to a lot of trouble. Indian curried chicken (Asian Indian, that is), rice, salad, and a fruit compote for dessert. A special wine too. She made only one reference to my “background.” Asked if I ever cooked any native dishes. I told her I made sapan.

  Fenimore grimaced. A kind of mush made from cooked corn, as he recalled.

  Bernice made a face. But when I mentioned huckleberry bread, she asked me for the recipe. I promised to make her some. We talked about the diet of the Lenapes, when they lived off the land long ago in south Jersey. She was entranced by our word for strawberry—w’tihim, meaning “heart berry.” She said, “How lovely. Of course it is shaped like a heart. But we cold-blooded Anglo-Saxons overloo
ked that entirely.” I don’t mind when people show a genuine interest in our people and their ways.

  10/22 Another call from Kitty. This time she tried to disguise her voice. “Stay away from Ted, or else,” she whispered. I really should tell T. She may need psychiatric help.

  “Definitely.” Fenimore read on.

  10/23 T.’s father was here.

  God, can’t they leave her alone? Fenimore groaned.

  His excuse for dropping by was the wedding present. He and Mrs. H. are giving us an oriental rug, and he wanted the dimensions of our living room in the new house. T. and I would rather have throw rugs and leave the floor exposed. We sanded and stained and polished it and it’s very beautiful. But I gave him the dimensions to keep the peace. I was hoping he would leave, but instead he began to inquire, not too subtly, about my health. I told him about the tetralogy of Fallot and that I’m on digoxin. But I didn’t bother to tell him about the episodes of rapid heartbeat. It’s none of his business. He nodded, taking it all in. I hope I convinced him that his son isn’t marrying an invalid. He also asked the name of my doctor.

  What next? Are they going to ask to look at her teeth? Fenimore ground his own, as he turned the page.

  10/24 Polly called. She asked me to call her that. It will be hard, but I’ll try, for T.’s sake. She’s planning a party for us, to introduce me to the rest of the family and some old friends.

  To look her over, Fenimore grunted.

  She said, “Nothing formal. Just a little barbecue with family and dear friends.” I guess she’s afraid to have a dinner party. After the way I was attired last time, I might show up in a tank top and jeans. God, will this never end? All I want is to be alone with T. The thought of our honeymoon is the only thing that keeps me going. T.’s parents think we’re going to Bermuda and will stay at a luxury hotel. Actually, we’ve rented a shack in south Jersey, in the middle of a field. Nothing but field and sky and the scent of the bay. No one around but hawks and herons and an occasional deer. And nothing to do but walk the fields, sit by the fire and—oh, yes—make love. I hope I can last.

  10/25 Doris had her operation today. They say it was a success. Some success. Last night she broke down. It took me three hours to calm her. It was the thought of no kids. At one point she was so distraught, she said she hated me because I could have kids. I know she didn’t mean it. God, life can be hell!

  A tap on the study door. Fenimore dragged himself up from the diary. “Yes?”

  “How’re you coming?” Polly’s voice sounded hollow behind the door.

  “Almost done.” He glanced at his watch: after ten. “I’ll be out in a minute.” He could understand her curiosity. This document must never fall into her hands.

  Her footsteps faded away.

  10/26 Had fitting for dress. It is lovely, despite the expense. Very simple. Polly explained to me, “Simplicity has its price.” I suppose she’s right. I’ve always preferred plain things—like Shaker furniture. That’s expensive too. Even their famous boxes. The smallest ones cost about fifty dollars. And why not? Each one takes days to make. I should know from my weaving. Sometimes the simplest patterns are the most difficult.

  10/27 Gave quizzes to two freshman sections. Shopped. Early to bed for a change.

  10/28 A.M. Marked quizzes. Paid bills. Worked at loom for two hours. Eureka! When I’m at the loom I forget everything, except the pattern I’m working on. I wonder if this was true of the Egyptian women, and my Lenape ancestors—my grandmother? If T. hadn’t called, I might have worked through the night.

  10/29 Went to see RW yesterday and stayed overnight. Tried to persuade him once more to come. Of course, he refused. “If I disapprove of the marriage,” he said, “why should I come to the wedding?” Always so logical. He was like that even as a child. I guess that’s why he’s a good engineer, but not such a good brother. He gave me a wedding present, though. My grandmother’s weaving shuttle. She carved it herself from very light pine. I know it will fly like a bird. I can’t wait to try it. I would try it right now, but there’s this damn party. I wish I could stay home. I wish RW would change his mind. I wish the wedding were over. I wish I were dead.

  Nice thoughts for a bride-to-be. Fenimore’s eye traveled down the page.

  10/30

  Beneath the date stretched blank paper, waiting for the next entry. Fenimore swallowed hard. Before he went to find Ted, he deliberately laid his pipe on the floor beside the chair.

  CHAPTER 18

  WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 2

  The next day, Fenimore had some catching up to do. The first order of business was Mr. Liska. He checked in with Larry to make sure he had kept that aggressive cardiology team at bay during his absence. Then there were his other hospital patients and the paperwork that always accumulated when he missed even a day. But the diary haunted him. Snatches of it would come back to him as he walked the hospital corridors, filled out a chart, or wrote a prescription. The sane, clear sound of Sweet Grass’s voice kept interrupting him.

  It was after seven when he finally finished. He had already called off his dinner date at Jennifer’s because of his backlog of work. She had taken the news in her stride. (Anyone romantically involved with a doctor/detective becomes inured to postponements.) He decided to end the day by performing one last unpleasant duty—informing Doris Bentley about the death of Sweet Grass. She should be strong enough to handle the news by now, and he wanted to tell her before she heard it casually from some other source.

  Setting off on foot for Franklin Hospital, he had gone less than a block when he regretted not taking his car. Walking in the city at night was no fun anymore. And his recent mugging had done nothing to improve his nerves. He was toying with the idea of taking a karate course or some other form of self-defense. He had to cross the street twice to avoid sinister-looking characters. Nostalgically he thought of the night walks he had taken as a medical student. At ten o’clock, when he had finished a bout of studying, he would set off from the university for center city fifteen blocks away to take in an old movie. Before the days of the VCR, you had to go out to find Greta Garbo or Ingrid Bergman. Then he would take the bus back up Market Street and hit the books again, or bed. Never once had he looked over his shoulder in fear for his wallet—or his life.

  For some reason, the streetlamps were out on this block. He walked close to the curb, avoiding doorways and alleys where some mugger might be lurking. The street was quiet, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was following him. Like Lot, he refused to look back. Instead, he concentrated on walking faster. When he reached the cross street the light was green for him, but a car turned the corner, forcing him back. He knocked into someone and jumped out of his skin.

  “Hi, Doc!”

  “For God’s sake!” Fenimore glowered at Horatio.

  “Sorry. I followed you from the office. I wanted to tell you I didn’t cop your slipper. That old broad—”

  “Enough! I never thought you took it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “No.”

  “You shouldn’t be out alone at night, Doc.”

  “Thanks. Look who’s talking.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “I see,” said Fenimore. “You’re impervious to weaponry?”

  “Huh?”

  “Your hide’s too thick for knives and bullets?”

  “I don’t let ’em get that close.”

  “Really.”

  “I’m invisible.”

  Fenimore groaned. “Now I’ve got ‘the Invisible Man’ working for me?”

  “You know him?”

  “H. G. Wells—at his best.”

  “We read it in English class last year.”

  “Good choice.” They were walking side by side now, toward the hospital.

  “I’ve been invisible ever since.”

  Fenimore looked at him.

  “Well, almost.”

  “How do you manage it?”

  “Wear sneaks. Dark rags. Move q
uickly but don’t make quick movements. Don’t do anything to attract attention.”

  “I thought that was called ‘street smarts.’”

  “Yeah. But I’ve perfected it.”

  “So have I.”

  “Naah. Look at you. You’re too dressy. (It was the first time Fenimore had ever been accused of that!) Take that tie. A dead giveaway to a fat wallet. And those shoes. They beat a tattoo you can hear all over town. You should wear sneaks.”

  Fenimore undid his tie, pulled it off, and stuffed it in his pocket as he walked. “Okay. What else?”

  “That shirt. It glows in the dark.”

  He buttoned his suit coat and turned up the collar to hide his white shirt. “How’s that?”

  “Better. But you oughta wear black. Black T, black jeans, black sneaks.”

  His patients would love that—the only doctor in town who looked like a hood. The physician’s dress code had lightened up in recent years, but not that much. “I’ll take it under advisement.”