Give me another chance, the girl begged again, pulling a handkerchief from the tiny pocket of her coat and wiping her nose. The handkerchief was white, edged in pale blue, with tiny flowers in the corners.
Touching, thought Andrew Whitaker. Ah, she can tell Im not one for womens tears.
No hope yet. Try again next year, love. In the meantime, shall I get you a wardassistant post at the hospital? Its dirty work, hard work, but youll get to see what lies behind those sterile doorswhite coats, gleaming instruments, bright corridors. Youll stride in like a demigod, nodding to patients who look at you with pleading, humbled eyes. Right? The professor leaned closer under the girls cap, pausing. How many freckles you have, Blythe! The sun must have loved you, kissed you all over.
He burst out laughing. The sight of her sunkissed freckles made him feel lighthearted, and the thought of his wifes birthday, the country house theyd be heading to, the pike and perch swimming in the pond, the buzzing bees in their hiveseverything seemed cheerful. He imagined himself chatting with the bees, teaching them a thing or two.
Blythe lifted her head, squinting. The professors laughing odd. This is all wrong, isnt it? She had prepared so carefully, only to jumble everything, tremble before the exam board, clutch a sweaty ticket with shaking hands, afraid to look up. Well
Ah Im not laughing at you, Andrew said, his voice softening. You, Blythe, are a very pretty young lady. He pulled his collar back, adjusting his battered briefcase. Come on, lets get some icecream! Its scorching, isnt it? He fumbled under his woollen coat, pulling out a crumpled handful of notes. Heres some money. Go buy us both a cone. Ill wait on the bench over there. He gestured vaguely.
Blythe squinted and shrugged. What flavour would you like? she asked quietly.
Anything, just hurry. Otherwise Ill be left with a soggy mess, and you wont become a wardassistant, love. Run, Blythe! He watched with pleasure as she shuffled, her thin legs carrying her toward the icecream stall.
Just a child, that one! he muttered, shaking his head. How did she end up here?
He settled on a bench, placing his briefcase beside him, and produced another handkerchief from his coat pocket. This one was huge, a garish bluegreen check, completely unaesthetic. He wiped his forehead, then his neck, grimacing. Disgusting! Sweaty, tired, old Its foul to feel my own importance next to this freckled, delicate girl. Not because Im tempted to flirtno! God forbid! I love my wife more than life itself; I never stare at students. It just pains me that life has passed me by, leaving only the chance to admire someone like Blythedetermined, stubborn, confident. They have their whole futures ahead, while Im left balding, wornout, after years of service.
Andrew stared intently at Blythe, who blushed. Why are you scrutinising me? she asked, holding out a wrapped vanilla cone. For myself? What for? he snapped, looking at her empty hands. I said get two. Youre not listening! What next? Ill tell you! He widened his eyes, looking like the pike hed hoped to catch tomorrow. Nothing! They tell you to do something, and you dont. You ignore them!
No! I understand! Ill get it right this instant! The redandwhite cap flew back to the stall, she bought a second cone, and rushed back, plopping onto the bench beside his briefcase.
Eat, he ordered. Then goodbye. I have a lot to do, still need to ferry my wife to the cottage, load the luggage, haul the parcels. Eat up! Where are you off to now?
Blythe dabbed the corner of her mouth with a finger, shrugged. The icecream was overly sweet, cloying, far too rich. So you dont know where I am? Andrew stomped his foot irritably. Youre a stray, arent you? He worried she might be homeless.
She thought, If he had a beard, hed look like an old wizard. She answered, Im staying with my aunt for now. Shes expecting relatives from the north today, so Ill be moving soon. The flat isnt permanent. Aunt Lena had warned her, Blythe, you cant linger forever. Move on.
Going home then? Where do you live? How did you get here? Andrew asked, finishing his cone.
It doesnt matter. Just take me in, alright? Give me another exam, please! I can tell three stories, four, but I got confused and”
Stop that. You cant have your head in a muddle, love, he snapped. What will you do at work then? Cut out a spleen instead of an appendix? No, thats absurd!
What? You cant replace one organ with another, Blythe exclaimed. Its all different Want more icecream? Two? She grabbed his arm; he jerked away, huffing.
No thanks. I wont advise you to overindulge. Off you go, Blythe. My wife is waiting. He rose, gave a brief nod, and walked down the park path without looking back. Blythe, in her redandwhite cap, sighed and stayed on the bench, tucking a tiny suitcase into the bushesso small it looked like a toy.
Everything its all over, she whispered, her freckled nose trembling. Home will laugh at me. No one believed Id study to be a doctor
In the modest village of Littleford, split by a winding road into old terraced houses and newer cottages with bright woodwork, no one truly believed that the sparrowlight Blythe would get into medical school, graduate, and stroll the local infirmary in a white coat, giving orders to nurses, the eldest of whom was nearing sixty.
The towns infirmary was a cramped threestorey block with yellowgreen mould streaks and peeling plaster. The chief physician, Dr. Nigel Hawthorne, was a grim figure: redswollen nose, blue veins visible, puffy eyes, dry cracked lips. He rarely left his office, didnt feel obliged to take fresh graduates, always in a sour mood.
Blythe had decided to apply, but shed flunked both Russian (now replaced with Latin) and biology. It seemed fate wasnt on her side.
Andrew Whitaker had already slipped out of sight, while Blythe lingered on the bench, clutching an icecream stick. Now I just want a drink, she mused, pulling her suitcase from the shrub, glancing around, and hurrying toward the bus stop, hoping to catch the evening coach before darkness fell.
She feared walking alone at night, haunted by every bush, hearing imagined spiritsthanks to her chatty grandmother whod filled her head with tales of goblins and willothewisps. She shivered, listening to the creak of a fence board, the snap of a twig, the cluck of chickens, the distant crow of a rooster, dogs howling in an alley, and the rumble of her grandfathers snoring from the next room. The sounds oddly soothed her.
Her grandfather had since passed, succumbing to pneumonia. Dr. Hawthorne still prescribed his old tonic wraps. The old man lingered two days, muttering, before finally quieting. Blythe, her mother, and grandmother watched his wrinkles ease as he breathed his last.
Right, thats it, a nurse named Tamara shouted from behind. Hes done for. The dark lane to the house remained, with tangled hedges and abandoned brick cottages, presumably full of mischief. A small figure trudged along, suitcase in hand, sobbing. Why didnt Andrew believe me? I could have been the best! she thought.
Didnt get enough points, love. Try again next year, Andrew seemed to say in her mind. Why cling to him? You trusted him for no reason. She felt foolish.
A lanky lad named Owen caught up with her, bent, and snatched the suitcase. Blythe flinched, then recognized himOwen.
What are you doing here? You didnt think Id get in, did you? she snapped. Give it back, Ill carry it myself!
Calm down, love, Owen grumbled. Ive always backed you, you know? Aunt called, said you were coming back, so I waited. Upset?
He stopped, and Blythe threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly, then clung to his chest, whining childlike.
At last he kissed her. Hed been waiting at the station for weeks, almost mustered the courage, then pretended to look for something in his pocket and finally pulled her close.
It was awkward, damp, like two fledglings pecking. Blythe paused, then reached for his hand, and he leaned in.
This is odd, but Im glad youre back, Owen whispered after the kiss, his eyes softening. If youd stayed, Id have come to you, I swear.
She nodded. All right. Everythings fine now. Im sorry for my grandfather
A gust rattled the windows of the infirmary, and Andrew Whitaker, now in a slightly faded wool coat, snatched a list from Nadine, the clerk handling admissions. He ran his bony finger over names: Carrow, Carrington, Carleton God bless the surnames Next: Hargreaves, Larkins, Merrick, Pritchard He muttered.
Looking for someone particular? Nadine asked, pulling off her glasses and wiping her nose with a similar blueedged handkerchief.
Where did you get that? Andrew demanded.
It was from the market. They also had yellowflower ones, but I like this better. Whats it for? Nadine stammered, slipping the hanker into her bag.
Nothing! Just Kettle, Cobb, Hartley, Thorne Good heavens, where is she?
Who, Andrew? Nadine flustered, patting her slightly round belly.
Dont be nervous. You mustnt be, he barked. Blythe Thornton. I need that applicant. Where is she?
He glared at the pregnant Nadine, who shrugged and popped an apple into her mouth, chewing anxiously.
Shes not here! She didnt turn up! Ive wasted my nerves on my wife, Taelyn, because of her. I even called the dean, begged for a noncompetition slot, but they said no places. Ive rattled the whole department, and shes still missing. Thats the sort of dream she hadnow vanished. I even begged the dean, but nothing. Dont trust the students, Nadine, alright?
Nadine nodded, She wont trust anyone now, itll hurt.
Soon Dr. Hawthorne, the irritable senior, was spotted among the admission lists, spectacles perched on his nose.
Looking for a protégé? laughed Associate Professor Farthing, a sharptongued woman. Not everyone gets lucky today.
No, Im not looking for anyone! Andrew snapped, pulling his hand free from her grasp, and marched toward the icecream cart.
He bought a vanilla cone, sat back on the same bench, and began to chew thoughtfully.
Well, thats that, he mused. Shell have pike in the pond and perch, and Taelyns birthday is again. Why do I remember Blythe above all the others? So many tried to bribe, cajole, beg She offered nothing but a promise to study well. Pure, naive. Thats why she stuck in my mind.
Later, Taelyn, bright and cheerful, watched her husband. Men barbecued on the lane, sang with guitars, talked about fishing and football. Women, including the birthday girl, sat on the veranda, laughed, flipping through fashion mags.
All was well until Andrew Whitaker suddenly went pale, trembling, clutching at his throat.
Everyone sprang into action, feeling his pulse, shouting diagnoses. Taelyn, a literature lecturer, hadnt noticed she was now seated in the car, his head resting on her lap. The vehicle rolled into the night, the road unlit, darkness closing in.
Whats wrong with him? Hurry! Taelyn whispered, gripping his hand. He seemed to be sleeping, only groaning now and then.
Its the heart, I reckon. What on earth! shouted Igor, a family friend driving, eyes darting at the chaotic headlights and pedestrians. Why are we stuck? We need to get through!
An old man on the roadside shouted, Turn back! A fuel tankers upturned, blocking the road. Who gave them the right to block us? He spat and walked off, while Igor chased after him, grabbed his sleeve.
Nearest hospital? Igor demanded. Where to now?
Backtrack, take the detour to the village. Theres a small infirmaryjust one, no other. The old man, leaning on his cane, muttered, Giving birth? We have a midwife here, quick as a flash. Want her?
Igor ignored him, veering the car onto the side road.
Great, no medicines, no supplies! Were stuck, God! he cursed. Were not kids any more, we need to understand!
The ragtag groupIgor, Pavel, Victor and their wiveshad no medical knowledge, could only offer a packet of aspirin or a swig of brandy. Taelyn, a philologist, relied entirely on Andrew.
They finally reached the threestorey, yellowgreenmoulded infirmary just after dark.
Wheres the casualty ward? shouted Igor at the caretaker, a gaunt man in a dirty coat. We have a heart attack! Call a doctor!
The caretaker shivered, his shoulders trembling. Theres a ward everywhere, sir! Everywhere you look. A heart attack? Thats old news. My mother died of it, too. He babbled about his old lady and her burial.
Enough! Call a doctor! Where are the Hippocratic men? Igor roared, Taelyn, get the trolley in!
Taelyn hurried up the steps, only to find the door locked. She pounded on the wood, screamed, finally a click sounded and Dr. Hawthorne emerged, halfasleep, redcheeked, smelling of last nights gin, his head swimming.
Quiet, you lot! Stop banging, Ill have a headache, he barked, then, after a pause, let Taelyn in.
Andrew Whitaker lay in an empty, chilly room. Dawn barely crept through the grimy windows. He stared at the bluepainted walls, crawled along the dusty linoleum, then fell onto the floor, his mind drifting.
Taelyn Taelyn he called, turning his head. Why did everything smell of chlorine? Why did his chest ache?
His wife, slumped in a hard metal chair, slept. He tried to reach for her hand, but his body wouldnt obey; he moaned and shut his eyes.
The door swung open and a woman in a blue coat, a scarf covering her hair, entered. The coat hung loosely on her thin frame. She adjusted the scarf, leaned over the bed, glanced at the sleeping wife, and shook her head.
Water? Lets get some water, she said, lifting his head gently. Oh
Blythe? You? Andrew asked, his freckled nose twitching. He gave a shaky smile.
Yes, Professor. Dont worry. Dr. Hawthorne said there was no heart attack, something else. You mustnt stress. Here, drink. She handed him a glass; he took a few sips, nodding gratefully.
Blythe, what are you doing here? Ive been searching the lists for two years, and you how did you get in? he whispered, irritated. Blythe placed a finger over her lips, signalling silence.
Ill come back. This year Ill be there for sure. The last time I returned, Vova met me at the station and we married, had little Sam. I couldnt leave him, you see? So I became a wardassistant as you suggested. Ive learned a lot
Where, Blythe? In this dump? What can you learn here? Its awful! he snapped.
Its awful, she agreed. Thats why I wanted to be a doctor, to change things. But even now, the chief still complains, demands, whines There are many such hospitals, far too many for us to wait our turn.
Fix this place! Tear it down! he roared, punching the blanket. Mould, draughts, no proper care!
Andrew! Taelyn flapped her hands. Dont shout! You cant
Blythe smiled. You look like a wizard, Dr. Hawthorne. A beard would suit you
What? Blythe! You
Im Blythe Thornton. And youre not a wizard, just a tired old man. Ill fetch a doctor for you. Taelyn
Mrs. Thomas, he corrected. Lets have tea with biscuits, shall we? Blythe took his hand, leading him gently. Dont worry, we have a decent doctor, just a bit exhausted.
A lankAnd as the sun set over Littleford, Andrew finally realized that hope lived not in titles or examinations, but in the simple kindness of a girl named Blythe.
