Dawn
Copyright© 2024 by Eleanor H. Porter
Chapter 14: A Surprise All Around
The week before Christmas Dorothy Parkman brought a tall, dignified-looking man to the Burtons’ shabby, but still beautiful, colonial doorway.
Dorothy had not seen Keith, except on the street, since her visit with Mazie in October. Two or three times the girls had gone to the house with flowers or fruit, but Keith had stubbornly refused to see them, in spite of Susan’s urgings. To-day Dorothy, with this evidently in mind, refused Susan’s somewhat dubious invitation to come in.
“Oh, no, thank you, I’ll not come in,” she smiled. “I only brought father, that’s all. And—oh, I do hope he can do something,” she faltered unsteadily. And Susan saw that her eyes were glistening with tears as she turned away.
In the hall Susan caught the doctor’s arm nervously.
“Dr. Parkman, there’s somethin’—”
“My name is Stewart,” interrupted the doctor.
“What’s that? What’s that?” cried Susan, unconsciously tightening her clasp on his arm. “Ain’t you Dorothy Parkman’s father?”
“I’m her stepfather. She was nine when I married Mrs. Parkman, her mother.”
“Then your name ain’t Parkman, at all! Oh, glory be!” ejaculated Susan ecstatically. “Well, if that ain’t the luckiest thing ever!”
“Lucky?” frowned the doctor, looking thoroughly mystified, and not altogether pleased.
Susan gave an embarrassed laugh.
“There, now, if that ain’t jest like me, to fly off on a tandem like that, without a word of exploitation. It’s jest that I’m so glad I won’t have to ask you to come under a resumed name.”
“Under a what, madam?” The doctor was looking positively angry now. Moreover, with no uncertain determination, he was trying to draw himself away from Susan’s detaining fingers.
“Oh, please, doctor, please, don’t be mad!” Susan had both hands hold of his arm now. “‘Twas for Keith, an’ I knew you’d be willin’ to do anything for him, when you understood, jest as I am. You see, I didn’t want him to know you was Dorothy’s father,” she plunged on breathlessly, “an’ so I was goin’ to ask you to let me call you somethin’ else—not Parkman. An’ then, when I found that you didn’t have to have a resumed name, that you was already somebody else—that is, that you was really you, only Keith wouldn’t know you was you, I was so glad.”
“Oh, I see.” The doctor was still frowning, though his lips were twitching a little. “But—er—do you mind telling me why I can’t be I? What’s the matter with Dorothy’s father?”
“Nothin’ sir. It’s jest a notion. Keith won’t see Dorothy, nor Mazie, nor none of ‘em. He thinks they come jest to spy out how he looks an’ acts; an’ he got it into his head that if you was Dorothy’s father, he wouldn’t see you. He hates to be pitied an’ stared at.”
“Oh, I see.” A sympathetic understanding came into the doctor’s eyes. The anger was all gone now. “Very well. As it happens I’m really Dr. Stewart. So you may call me that with all honesty, and we’ll be very careful not to let the boy know I ever heard of Dorothy Parkman. How about the boy’s father? Does he—know?”
“Yes, sir. I told him who you was, an’ that you was comin’; an’ I told him we wasn’t goin’ to let Keith know. An’ he said ‘twas absurd, an’ we couldn’t help lettin’ him know. But I told him I knew better an’ ‘twas all right.”
“Oh, you did!” The doctor was regarding Susan with a new interest in his eyes.
“Yes, an’ ‘tis, you see.”
“Where is Mr. Burton?”
“In his studio—shut up. He’ll see you afterwards. I told him he’d GOT to do that.”
“Eh? What?” The doctor’s eyes flew wide open.
“See you afterwards. I told him he’d ought to be in the room with you, when you was examplin’ Keith’s eyes. But I knew he wouldn’t do that. He never will do such-like things—makes him feel too bad. An’ he wanted ME to find out what you said. But I told him HE’D got to do that. But, oh, doctor, I do hope—oh, please, please say somethin’ good if you can. An’ now I’ll take you in. It’s right this way through the sittin’-room.”
“By Jove, what a beauty!” Halfway across the living-room the doctor had come to a pause before the mahogany highboy.
“THAT?”
“Yes, ‘that’!” The whimsical smile in the doctor’s eyes showed that he was not unappreciative of the scorn in Susan’s voice. “By George, it IS a beauty! I’ve got one myself, but it doesn’t compare with that, for a minute. H-m! And that’s not the only treasure you have here, I see,” he finished, his admiring gaze roving about the room. “We’ve got some newer, better stuff in the parlor. These are awful old things in here,” apologized Susan.
“Yes, I see they are—old things.” The whimsical smile had come back to the doctor’s eyes as he followed Susan through the doorway.
“Keith’s upstairs in his room, an’ I’m takin’ you up the back way so’s Mr. Burton won’t hear. He asked me to. He didn’t want to know jest exactly when you was here.”
“Mr. Burton must be a brave man,” commented the doctor dryly.
“He ain’t—not when it comes to seein’ disagreeable things, or folks hurt,” answered the literal Susan cheerfully. “But he’ll see you all right, when it’s over.” Her lips came together with a sudden grimness.
The next moment, throwing open Keith’s door, her whole expression changed. She had eyes and thoughts but for the blind boy over by the window.
The doctor, too, obviously, by the keen, professional alertness that transfigured his face at that moment, had eyes and thoughts but for that same blind boy over by the window.
“Well, Keith, here’s Dr. Stewart to see you boy.”
“Dr.—Stewart?” Keith was on his feet, startled, uncertain.
“Yes, Dr. Stewart.’” Susan repeated the name with clear emphasis. “He was in town an’ jest came up to look at you. He’s a big, kind doctor, dear, an’ you’ll like him, I know.” At the door Susan turned to the doctor. “An’ when—when you’re done, sir, if you’ll jest come down them stairs to the kitchen, please—TO THE KITCHEN,” she repeated, hurrying out before Keith could remonstrate.
Down in the kitchen Susan took a pan of potatoes to peel—and when, long hours later, after the doctor had come downstairs, had talked with Mr. Burton, and had gone, Susan went to get those potatoes to boil for dinner, she found that all but two of them had been peeled and peeled and peeled, until there was nothing left but—peelings.
Susan was peeling the next to the last potato when the doctor came down to the kitchen.
“Well?” She was on her feet instantly.
The doctor’s face was grave, yet his eyes were curiously alight. They seemed to be looking through and beyond Susan.
“I don’t know. I THINK I have good news, but I’m not—sure.”
“But there’s a chance?”
“Yes; but-” There was a moment’s silence; then, with an indrawing of his breath, the doctor’s soul seemed to come back from a long journey. “I think I know what is the matter.” The doctor was looking at Susan, now, not through her. “If it’s what I think it is, it’s a very rare disease, one we do not often find.”
“But could you—can you—is it possible to—to cure it?”
“We can operate—yes; but it’s six to half a dozen whether it’s successful or not. They’ve just about broken even so far—the cases I’ve known about. But they’ve been interesting, most interesting.” The doctor was far away again.
“But there’s a chance; and if there is a chance I’d want to take it,” cried Susan. “Wouldn’t you?”
There was no answer.
Susan hesitated, threw a hurried glance into the doctor’s preoccupied face, then hurried on again feverishly.
“Doctor, there’s somethin’ I’ve got to—to speak to you about before you see Mr. Burton. It—it—it’ll cost an awful lot, I s’pose.”
There was no answer.
Susan cleared her throat.
“It—it’ll cost an awful lot, won’t it, doctor?” she asked in a louder voice.
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