The information thus gained was a relief, but only partially so. For
both Clyde and Roberta there was no real relief now until this problem
should be definitely solved. And although within a few moments after he
had obtained it, he appeared and explained that at last he had secured
the name of some one who might help her, still there was yet the
serious business of heartening her for the task of seeing the doctor
alone, also for the story that was to exculpate him and at the same
time win for her sufficient sympathy to cause the doctor to make the
charge for his service merely nominal.
But now, instead of protesting as at first he feared that she might,
Roberta was moved to acquiesce. So many things in Clyde's attitude
since Christmas had so shocked her that she was bewildered and without
a plan other than to extricate herself as best she might without any
scandal attaching to her or him and then going her own way--pathetic
and abrasive though it might be. For since he did not appear to care
for her any more and plainly desired to be rid of her, she was in no
mood to compel him to do other than he wished. Let him go. She could
make her own way. She had, and she could too, without him, if only she
could get out of this. Yet, as she said this to herself, however, and
a sense of the full significance of it all came to her, the happy days
that would never be again, she put her hands to her eyes and brushed
away uncontrollable tears. To think that all that was should come to
this.
Yet when he called the same evening after visiting Short, his manner
redolent of a fairly worth-while achievement, she merely said, after
listening to his explanation in as receptive a manner as she could:
"Do you know just where this is, Clyde? Can we get there on the car
without much trouble, or will we have to walk a long way?" And after
he had explained that it was but a little way out of Gloversville, in
the suburbs really, an interurban stop being but a quarter of a mile
from the house, she had added: "Is he home at night, or will we have
to go in the daytime? It would be so much better if we could go at
night. There'd be so much less danger of any one seeing us." And being
assured that he was, as Clyde had learned from Short, she went on: "But
do you know is he old or young? I'd feel so much easier and safer if he
were old. I don't like young doctors. We've always had an old doctor up
home and I feel so much easier talking to some one like him."
Clyde did not know. He had not thought to inquire, but to reassure her
he ventured that he was middle-aged--which chanced to be the fact.
The following evening the two of them departed, but separately as
usual, for Fonda, where it was necessary to change cars. And once
within the approximate precincts of the physician's residence, they
stepped down and made their way along a road, which in this mid-state
winter weather was still covered with old and dry-packed snow. It
offered a comparatively smooth floor for their quick steps. For in
these days there was no longer that lingering intimacy which formerly
would have characterized both. In those other and so recent days, as
Roberta was constantly thinking, he would have been only too glad in
such a place as this, if not on such an occasion, to drag his steps,
put an arm about her waist, and talk about nothing at all--the night,
the work at the factory, Mr. Liggett, his uncle, the current movies,
some place they were planning to go, something they would love to do
together if they could. But now.... And on this particular occasion,
when most of all, and if ever, she needed the full strength of his
devotion and support! Yet now, as she could see, he was most nervously
concerned as to whether, going alone in this way, she was going to
get scared and "back out"; whether she was going to think to say the
right thing at the right time and convince the doctor that he must do
something for her, and for a nominal fee.
"Well, Bert, how about you? All right? You're not going to get cold
feet now, are you? Gee, I hope not because this is going to be a good
chance to get this thing done and over with. And it isn't like you
were going to some one who hadn't done anything like this before, you
know, because this fellow has. I got that straight. All you have to do
now, is to say, well, you know, that you're in trouble, see, and that
you don't know how you're going to get out of it unless he'll help you
in some way, because you haven't any friends here you can go to. And
besides, as things are, you couldn't go to 'em if you wanted to. They'd
tell on you, see. Then if he asks where I am or who I am, you just say
that I was a fellow here--but that I've gone--give any name you want
to, but that I've gone, and you don't know where I've gone to--run
away, see. Then you'd better say, too, that you wouldn't have come to
him only that you heard of another case in which he helped some one
else--that a girl told you, see. Only you don't want to let on that
you're paid much, I mean,--because if you do he may want to make the
bill more than I can pay, see, unless he'll give us a few months in
which to do it, or something like that, you see."
Clyde was so nervous and so full of the necessity of charging Roberta
with sufficient energy and courage to go through with this and succeed,
now that he had brought her this far along with it, that he scarcely
realized how inadequate and trivial, even, in so far as her predicament
and the doctor's mood and temperament were concerned, his various
instructions and bits of inexperienced advice were. And she on her
part was not only thinking how easy it was for him to stand back and
make suggestions, while she was confronted with the necessity of going
forward, and that alone, but also that he was really thinking more of
himself than he was of her--some way to make her get herself out of it
inexpensively and without any real trouble to him.
At the same time, even here and now, in spite of all this, she was
still decidedly drawn to him--his white face, his thin hands, nervous
manner. And although she knew he talked to encourage her to do what he
had not the courage or skill to do himself, she was not angry. Rather,
she was merely saying to herself in this crisis that although he
advised so freely she was not going to pay attention to him--much. What
she was going to say was not that she was deserted, for that seemed too
much of a disagreeable and self-incriminating remark for her to make
concerning herself, but rather that she was married and that she and
her young husband were too poor to have a baby as yet--the same story
Clyde had told the druggist in Schenectady, as she recalled. For after
all, what did he know about how she felt? And he was not going with her
to make it easier for her.
Yet dominated by the purely feminine instinct to cling to some one for
support, she now turned to Clyde, taking hold of his hands and standing
quite still, wishing that he would hold and pet her and tell her that
it was all right and that she must not be afraid. And although he no
longer cared for her, now in the face of this involuntary evidence of
her former trust in him, he released both hands and putting his arms
about her, the more to encourage her than anything else, observed:
"Come on now, Bert. Gee, you can't act like this, you know. You don't
want to lose your nerve now that we're here, do you? It won't be so
hard once you get there. I know it won't. All you got to do is to go
up and ring the bell, see, and when he comes, or whoever comes, just
say you want to see the doctor alone, see. Then he'll understand it's
something private and it'll be easier."
He went on with more advice of the same kind, and she, realizing from
his lack of spontaneous enthusiasm for her at this moment how desperate
was her state, drew herself together as vigorously as she could, and
saying: "Well, wait here, then, will you? Don't go very far away, will
you? I may be right back," hurried along in the shadow through the gate
and up a walk which led to the front door.
In answer to her ring the door was opened by one of those exteriorly
as well as mentally sober, small-town practitioners who, Clyde's and
Short's notion to the contrary notwithstanding, was the typical and
fairly conservative physician of the countryside--solemn, cautious,
moral, semi-religious to a degree, holding some views which he
considered liberal and others which a fairly liberal person would have
considered narrow and stubborn into the bargain. Yet because of the
ignorance and stupidity of so many of those about him, he was able
to consider himself at least fairly learned. In constant touch with
all phases of ignorance and dereliction as well as sobriety, energy,
conservatism, success and the like, he was more inclined, where fact
appeared to nullify his early conclusions in regard to many things,
to suspend judgment between the alleged claims of heaven and hell and
leave it there suspended and undisturbed. Physically he was short,
stocky, bullet-headed and yet interestingly-featured, with quick gray
eyes and a pleasant mouth and smile. His short iron-gray hair was worn
"bangs" fashion, a bit of rural vanity. And his arms and hands, the
latter fat and pudgy, yet sensitive, hung limply at his sides. He was
fifty-eight, married, the father of three children, one of them a son
already studying medicine in order to succeed to his father's practice.
After showing Roberta into a littered and commonplace waiting room and
asking her to remain until he had finished his dinner, he presently
appeared in the door of an equally commonplace inner room, or office,
where were his desk, two chairs, some medical instruments, books
and apparently an ante-chamber containing other medical things, and
motioned her to a chair. And because of his grayness, solidity,
stolidity, as well as an odd habit he had of blinking his eyes, Roberta
was not a little over-awed, though by no means so unfavorably impressed
as she had feared she might be. At least he was old and he seemed
intelligent and conservative, if not exactly sympathetic or warm in
his manner. And after looking at her curiously a moment, as though
seeking to recognize some one of the immediate vicinity, he began:
"Well, now who is this, please? And what can I do for you?" His voice
was low and quite reassuring--a fact for which Roberta was deeply
grateful.
At the same time, startled by the fact that at last she had reached the
place and the moment when, if ever, she must say the degrading truth
about herself, she merely sat there, her eyes first upon him, then upon
the floor, her fingers beginning to toy with the handle of the small
bag she carried.
"You see, well," she began, earnestly and nervously, her whole manner
suddenly betraying the terrific strain under which she was laboring.
"I came ... I came ... that is ... I don't know whether I can tell you
about myself or not. I thought I could just before I came in, but now
that I am here and I see you ..." She paused and moved back in her
chair as though to rise, at the same time that she added: "Oh, dear,
how very dreadful it all is. I'm so nervous and...."
"Well, now, my dear," he resumed, pleasantly and reassuringly,
impressed by her attractive and yet sober appearance and wondering for
the moment what could have upset so clean, modest and sedate-looking a
girl, and hence not a little amused by her "now that I see you,"--"Just
what is there about me 'now that you see me,'" he repeated after her,
"that so frightens you? I am only a country doctor, you know, and I
hope I'm not as dreadful as you seem to think. You can be sure that you
can tell me anything you wish--anything at all about yourself--and you
needn't be afraid. If there's anything I can do for you, I'll do it."
He was decidedly pleasant, as she now thought, and yet so sober and
reserved and probably conventional withal that what she was holding in
mind to tell him would probably shock him not a little--and then what?
Would he do anything for her? And if he would, how was she to arrange
about money, for that certainly would be a point in connection with
all this? If only Clyde or some one were here to speak for her. And
yet she must speak now that she was here. She could not leave without.
Once more she moved and twisted, seizing nervously on a large button
of her coat to turn between her thumb and forefinger, and then went on
chokingly.
"But this is ... this is ... well, something different, you know, maybe
not what you think.... I ... I ... well...."
Again she paused, unable to proceed, shading from white to red and
back as she spoke. And because of the troubled modesty of her approach,
as well as a certain clarity of eye, whiteness of forehead, sobriety
of manner and dress, the doctor could scarcely bring himself to think
for a moment that this was anything other than one of those morbid
exhibitions of innocence, or rather inexperience, in connection with
everything relating to the human body--so characteristic of the young
and unsophisticated in some instances. And so he was about to repeat
his customary formula in such cases that all could be told to him
without fear or hesitation, whatever it might be, when a secondary
thought, based on Roberta's charm and vigor, as well as her own thought
waves attacking his cerebral receptive centers, caused him to decide
that he might be wrong. After all, why might not this be another of
those troublesome youthful cases in which possibly immorality and
illegitimacy was involved. She was so young, healthy and attractive,
besides, they were always cropping up, these cases,--in connection
with the most respectable-looking girls at times. And invariably they
spelled trouble and distress for doctors. And, for various reasons
connected with his own temperament, which was retiring and recessive,
as well as the nature of this local social world, he disliked and
hesitated to even trifle with them. They were illegal, dangerous,
involved little or no pay as a rule, and the sentiment of this local
world was all against them as he knew. Besides he personally was more
or less irritated by these young scamps of boys and girls who were so
free to exercise the normal functions of their natures in the first
instance, but so ready to refuse the social obligations which went
with them--marriage afterwards. And so, although in several cases in
the past ten years where family and other neighborhood and religious
considerations had made it seem quite advisable, he had assisted in
extricating from the consequences of their folly several young girls
of good family who had fallen from grace and could not otherwise be
rescued, still he was opposed to aiding, either by his own countenance
or skill, any lapses or tangles not heavily sponsored by others. It
was too dangerous. Ordinarily it was his custom to advise immediate
and unconditional marriage. Or, where that was not possible, the
perpetrator of the infamy having decamped, it was his general and
self-consciously sanctioned practice to have nothing at all to do with
the matter. It was too dangerous and ethically and socially wrong and
criminal into the bargain.
In consequence he now looked at Roberta in an extremely sober manner.
By no means, he now said to himself, must he allow himself to become
emotionally or otherwise involved here. And so in order to help himself
as well as her to attain and maintain a balance which would permit of
both extricating themselves without too much trouble, he drew toward
him his black leather case record book and, opening it, said: "Now,
let's see if we can't find out what the trouble is here. What is your
name?"
"Ruth Howard. Mrs. Howard," replied Roberta nervously and tensely, at
once fixing upon a name which Clyde had suggested for her use. And now,
interestingly enough, at mention of the fact that she was married, he
breathed easier. But why the tears then? What reason could a young
married woman have for being so intensely shy and nervous?
"And your husband's first name?" he went on.
As simple as the question was, and as easy as it should have been to
answer, Roberta nevertheless hesitated before she could bring herself
to say: "Gifford," her older brother's name.
"You live around here, I presume?"
"In Fonda."
"Yes. And how old are you?"
"Twenty-two."
"How long have you been married?"
This inquiry being so intimately connected with the problem before her,
she again hesitated before saying, "Let me see--three months."
At once Dr. Glenn became dubious again, though he gave her no sign.
Her hesitancy arrested him. Why the uncertainty? He was wondering now
again whether he was dealing with a truthful girl or whether his first
suspicions were being substantiated. In consequence he now asked:
"Well, now what seems to be the trouble, Mrs. Howard? You need have no
hesitancy in telling me--none whatsoever. I am used to such things year
in and out, whatever they are. That is my business, listening to the
troubles of people."
"Well," began Roberta, nervously once more, this terrible confession
drying her throat and thickening her tongue almost, while once more she
turned the same button of her coat and gazed at the floor. "It's like
this ... You see ... my husband hasn't much money ... and I have to
work to help out with expenses and neither of us make so very much."
(She was astonishing herself with her own shameful power to lie in this
instance--she, who had always hated to lie.) "So ... of course ... we
can't afford to ... to have ... well, any ... children, you see, so
soon, anyhow, and ..."
She paused, her breath catching, and really unable to proceed further
with this wholesale lying.
The doctor realizing from this, as he thought, what the true problem
was--that she was a newly-married girl who was probably faced by just
such a problem as she was attempting to outline--yet not wishing to
enter upon any form of malpractice and at the same time not wishing to
appear too discouraging to a young couple just starting out in life,
gazed at her somewhat more sympathetically, the decidedly unfortunate
predicament of these young people, as well as her appropriate modesty
in the face of such a conventionally delicate situation, appealing to
him. It was too bad. Young people these days did have a rather hard
time of it, getting started in some cases, anyhow. And they were no
doubt faced by some pressing financial situations. Nearly all young
people were. Nevertheless, this business of a contraceptal operation or
interference with the normal or God-arranged life processes, well, that
was a ticklish and unnatural business at best which he wanted as little
as possible to do with. Besides, young, healthy people, even though
poor, when they undertook marriage, knew what they were about. And it
was not impossible for them to work, the husband anyhow, and hence
manage in some way.
And now straightening himself around in his chair very soberly and
authoritatively, he began: "I think I understand what you want to say
to me, Mrs. Howard. But I'm also wondering if you have considered what
a very serious and dangerous thing it is you have in mind. But," he
added, suddenly, another thought as to whether his own reputation in
this community was in any way being tarnished by rumor of anything he
had done in the past coming to him, "just how did you happen to come to
me, anyhow?"
Something about the tone of his voice, the manner in which he asked
the question--the caution of it as well as the possibly impending
resentment in case it should turn out that any one suspected him of
a practice of this sort--caused Roberta to hesitate and to feel that
any statement to the effect that she had heard of or been sent by any
one else--Clyde to the contrary notwithstanding--might be dangerous.
Perhaps she had better not say that she had been sent by any one. He
might resent it as an insult to his character as a reputable physician.
A budding instinct for diplomacy helped her in this instance, and she
replied: "I've noticed your sign in passing several times and I've
heard different people say you were a good doctor."
His uncertainty allayed, he now continued: "In the first place, the
thing you want done is something my conscience would not permit me
to advise. I understand, of course, that you consider it necessary.
You and your husband are both young and you probably haven't very
much money to go on, and you both feel that an interruption of this
kind will be a great strain in every way. And no doubt it will be.
Still, as I see it, marriage is a very sacred thing, and children are
a blessing--not a curse. And when you went to the altar three months
ago you were probably not unaware that you might have to face just
such a situation as this. All young married people are, I think."
("The altar," thought Roberta sadly. If only it were so.) "Now I know
that the tendency of the day in some quarters is very much in this
direction, I am sorry to say. There are those who feel it quite all
right if they can shirk the normal responsibilities in such cases as to
perform these operations, but it's very dangerous, Mrs. Howard, very
dangerous legally and ethically as well as medically very wrong. Many
women who seek to escape childbirth die in this way. Besides it is a
prison offense for any doctor to assist them, whether there are bad
consequences or not. You know that, I suppose. At any rate, I, for one,
am heartily opposed to this sort of thing from every point of view. The
only excuse I have ever been able to see for it is when the life of the
mother, for instance, depends upon such an operation. Not otherwise.
And in such cases the medical profession is in accord. But in this
instance I'm sure the situation isn't one which warrants anything like
that. You seem to me to be a strong, healthy girl. Motherhood should
hold no serious consequences for you. And as for money reasons, don't
you really think now that if you just go ahead and have this baby,
you and your husband would find means of getting along? You say your
husband is an electrician?"
"Yes," replied Roberta, nervously, not a little overawed and subdued by
his solemn moralizing.
"Well, now, there you are," he went on. "That's not such an
unprofitable profession. At least all electricians charge enough. And
when you consider, as you must, how serious a thing you are thinking of
doing, that you are actually planning to destroy a young life that has
as good a right to its existence as you have to yours ..." he paused in
order to let the substance of what he was saying sink in--"well, then,
I think you might feel called upon to stop and consider--both you and
your husband. Besides," he added, in a diplomatic and more fatherly and
even intriguing tone of voice, "I think that once you have it it will
more than make up to you both for whatever little hardship its coming
will bring you. Tell me," he added curiously at this point, "does your
husband know of this? Or is this just some plan of yours to save him
and yourself from too much hardship?" He almost beamed cheerfully as,
fancying he had captured Roberta in some purely nervous and feminine
economy as well as dread, he decided that if so he could easily extract
her from her present mood. And she, sensing his present drift and
feeling that one lie more or less could neither help nor harm her,
replied quickly: "He knows."
"Well, then," he went on, slightly reduced by the fact that his surmise
was incorrect, but none the less resolved to dissuade her and him,
too: "I think you two should really consider very seriously before you
go any further in this matter. I know when young people first face a
situation like this they always look on the darkest side of it, but it
doesn't always work out that way. I know my wife and I did with our
first child. But we got along. And if you will only stop now and talk
it over, you'll see it in a different light, I'm sure. And then you
won't have your conscience to deal with afterwards, either." He ceased,
feeling reasonably sure that he had dispelled the fear, as well as the
determination that had brought Roberta to him--that, being a sensible,
ordinary wife, she would now desist of course--think nothing more of
her plan and leave.
But instead of either acquiescing cheerfully or rising to go, as he
thought she might, she gave him a wide-eyed terrified look and then
as instantly burst into tears. For the total effect of his address
had been to first revive more clearly than ever the normal social or
conventional aspect of the situation which all along she was attempting
to shut out from her thoughts and which, under ordinary circumstances,
assuming that she was really married, was exactly the attitude she
would have taken. But now the realization that her problem was not to
be solved at all, by this man at least, caused her to be seized with
what might best be described as morbid panic.
Suddenly beginning to open and shut her fingers and at the same time
beating her knees, while her face contorted itself with pain and
terror, she exclaimed: "But you don't understand, doctor, you don't
understand! I _have_ to get out of this in some way! I have to. It
isn't like I told you at all. I'm not married. I haven't any husband
at all. But, oh, you don't know what this means to me. My family! My
father! My mother! I can't tell you. But I must get out of it. I must!
I must! Oh, you don't know, you don't know! I must! I must!" She began
to rock backward and forward, at the same time swaying from side to
side as in a trance.
And Glenn, surprised and startled by this sudden demonstration as well
as emotionally affected, and yet at the same time advised thereby that
his original surmise had been correct, and hence that Roberta had been
lying, as well as that if he wished to keep himself out of this he must
now assume a firm and even heartless attitude, asked solemnly: "You are
not married, you say?"
For answer now Roberta merely shook her head negatively and continued
to cry. And at last gathering the full import of her situation, Dr.
Glenn got up, his face a study of troubled and yet conservative caution
and sympathy. But without saying anything at first he merely looked
at her as she wept. Later he added: "Well, well, this is too bad. I'm
sorry." But fearing to commit himself in any way, he merely paused,
adding after a time soothingly and dubiously: "You mustn't cry. That
won't help you any." He then paused again, still determined not to have
anything to do with this case. Yet a bit curious as to the true nature
of the story he finally asked: "Well, then where is the young man who
is the cause of your trouble? Is he here?"
Still too overcome by shame and despair to speak, Roberta merely shook
her head negatively.
"But he knows that you're in trouble, doesn't he?"
"Yes," replied Roberta faintly.
"And he won't marry you?"
"He's gone away."
"Oh, I see. The young scamp! And don't you know where he's gone?"
"No," lied Roberta, weakly.
"How long has it been since he left you?"
"About a week now." Once more she lied.
"And you don't know where he is?"
"No."
"How long has it been since you were sick?"
"Over two weeks now," sobbed Roberta.
"And before that you have always been regular?"
"Yes."
"Well, in the first place," his tone was more comfortable and pleasant
than before--he seemed to be snatching at a plausible excuse for
extricating himself from a case which promised little other than danger
and difficulty, "this may not be as serious as you think. I know
you're probably very much frightened, but it's not unusual for women
to miss a period. At any rate, without an examination it wouldn't be
possible to be sure, and even if you were, the most advisable thing
would be to wait another two weeks. You may find then that there is
nothing wrong. I wouldn't be surprised if you did. You seem to be
oversensitive and nervous and that sometimes brings about delays of
this kind--mere nervousness. At any rate, if you'll take my advice,
whatever you do, you'll not do anything now but just go home and wait
until you're really sure. For even if anything were to be done, it
wouldn't be advisable for you to do anything before then."
"But I've already taken some pills and they haven't helped me," pleaded
Roberta.
"What were they?" asked Glenn interestedly, and, after he had learned,
merely commented: "Oh, those. Well, they wouldn't be likely to be of
any real service to you, if you were pregnant. But I still suggest that
you wait, and if you find you pass your second period, then it will be
time enough to act, although I earnestly advise you, even then, to do
nothing if you can help it, because I consider it wrong to interfere
with nature in this way. It would be much better, if you would arrange
to have the child and take care of it. Then you wouldn't have the
additional sin of destroying a life upon your conscience."
He was very grave and felt very righteous as he said this. But Roberta,
faced by terrors which he did not appear to be able to grasp, merely
exclaimed, and as dramatically as before: "But I can't do that, doctor,
I tell you! I can't. I can't! You don't understand. Oh, I don't know
what I shall do unless I find some way out of this. I don't! I don't! I
don't!"
She shook her head and clenched her fingers and rocked to and fro while
Glenn, impressed by her own terrors, the pity of the folly which, as he
saw it, had led her to this dreadful pass, yet professionally alienated
by a type of case that spelled nothing but difficulty for him stood
determinedly before her and added: "As I told you before, Miss--"
(he paused) "Howard, if that is your name, I am seriously opposed to
operations of this kind, just as I am to the folly that brings girls
and young men to the point where they seem to think they are necessary.
A physician may not interfere in a case of this kind unless he is
willing to spend ten years in prison, and I think that law is fair
enough. Not that I don't realize how painful your present situation
appears to you. But there are always those who are willing to help a
girl in your state, providing she doesn't wish to do something which
is morally and legally wrong. And so the very best advice I can give
you now is that you do nothing at all now or at any time. Better go
home and see your parents and confess. It will be much better--much
better, I assure you. Not nearly as hard as you think or as wicked as
this other way. Don't forget there is a life there--a human--if it is
really as you think. A human life which you are seeking to end and that
I cannot help you to do. I really cannot. There may be doctors--I know
there are--men here and there who take their professional ethics a
little less seriously than I do; but I cannot let myself become one of
them. I am sorry--very.
"So now the best I can say is--go home to your parents and tell them.
It may look hard now but you are going to feel better about it in the
long run. If it will make you or them feel any better about it, let
them come and talk to me. I will try and make them see that this is not
the worst thing in the world, either. But as for doing what you want--I
am very, very sorry, but I cannot. My conscience will not permit me."
He paused and gazed at her sympathetically, yet with a determined and
concluded look in his eye. And Roberta, dumbfounded by this sudden
termination of all her hopes in connection with him and realizing at
last that not only had she been misled by Clyde's information in regard
to this doctor, but that her technical as well as emotional plea had
failed, now walked unsteadily to the door, the terrors of the future
crowding thick upon her. And once outside in the dark, after the doctor
had most courteously and ruefully closed the door behind her, she
paused to lean against a tree that was there--her nervous and physical
strength all but failing her. He had refused to help her. He had
refused to help her. And now what?