progress.” The tray was cluttered with shining silver knives, scissors and other medical instruments. Stored in the compartment beneath were jars of every shape and size. He took two medicine bottles and nestled them around the flower arrangement in the centre of the table. “Pituitrin and chloroform, a mother’s two best friends.” He then held up a pair of large wide tongs. “Forceps, the obstetrical physician’s best friend.” He passed them around the table. “I brought out all these things—the surgical knives, the scissors, the needles, the bottles of ergot and ether—not to frighten you, but to show you the path of modern medicine. These things hasten childbirth and put the labour process in the doctor’s hands. He has complete control. The faster the birth, the less chance for infection, and the less time the mother has to suffer. I’m sure you’d all agree, the less a woman has to suffer, the better.”
The women whispered and nodded, Trude Hutner adding, “Two days of labour it was with my Grace.” She patted Grace’s hand. “Can you imagine? Two whole days.”
Dr. Thomas sat down at the head of the table. “Late last week I was called to a birth in the village of Baxter’s Harbour. The local midwife attended the young mother’s birth, but as the labour progressed, it was clear that the mother was in much distress. The father, having been sent away from his home by the midwife, had sense enough to come to Canning to enlist my help. When I arrived, the mother was in a state of utter exhaustion and was too weak to deliver the child. It was too late for her to get any relief from the medicine I administered, too late for the use of forceps.” He shook his head. “That poor mother and her child are not alive today.” He took the forceps and placed them back on the cart. “Every time I recall that tragedy, I realize that there are more occasions than any of us care to think when a physician’s hand is the only saving grace.”
While the ladies were all shaking their heads in silence, Dr. Thomas continued, looking in my direction. “I don’t think that young mother was much older than your dear Miss Rare.” The ladies all turned and looked at me. “She’s the perfect example of one of Scots Bay’s fine young ladies who will be needing my assistance in the future.” He smiled and then winked at me, as if he knew me, as if we shared a secret (or as if he might have known I was hiding at Miss B.’s the day he called on her). My face, my ears, the back of my neck went hot. “It’s never too soon to start thinking about the day she’ll be a bride, a wife, a mother.”
As the ladies all agreed with Dr. Thomas, Grace choked on a petit four. Mrs. Hutner poured more tea in her daughter’s cup and encouraged her to drink (or at least hold her cup to her face to stifle her laughter).
Dr. Thomas placed a small booklet next to each place setting around the table. “A Mother’s Share from the Farmer’s Assurance Company would make a wonderful gift for a new bride.”
Mrs. Thomas added, “For any woman, really.”
The doctor stood behind his wife and placed his hand on her shoulder. “It gives a woman the peace of mind of knowing that she has a safe, clean place to have her babies.”
Although impeccable with his manners and polite at every turn, it was clear to me that Dr. Thomas was less concerned with a woman’s circumstances and more concerned with selling his services. You ain’t tellin’. You sellin’. Thinking of Miss B., I raised my hand to speak, my voice wavering as I questioned Dr. Thomas. “What about the cost? I don’t know many families in Scots Bay who can afford what you’re asking.”
Aunt Fran hissed at me. “Dora, don’t be rude.”
Mrs. Thomas smiled. “What a family spends on coffee and tea each month could easily buy a share.”
Not feeling as if I’d had a proper answer, or that Mrs. Thomas had the slightest notion of what the word cost means to most
The women whispered and nodded, Trude Hutner adding, “Two days of labour it was with my Grace.” She patted Grace’s hand. “Can you imagine? Two whole days.”
Dr. Thomas sat down at the head of the table. “Late last week I was called to a birth in the village of Baxter’s Harbour. The local midwife attended the young mother’s birth, but as the labour progressed, it was clear that the mother was in much distress. The father, having been sent away from his home by the midwife, had sense enough to come to Canning to enlist my help. When I arrived, the mother was in a state of utter exhaustion and was too weak to deliver the child. It was too late for her to get any relief from the medicine I administered, too late for the use of forceps.” He shook his head. “That poor mother and her child are not alive today.” He took the forceps and placed them back on the cart. “Every time I recall that tragedy, I realize that there are more occasions than any of us care to think when a physician’s hand is the only saving grace.”
While the ladies were all shaking their heads in silence, Dr. Thomas continued, looking in my direction. “I don’t think that young mother was much older than your dear Miss Rare.” The ladies all turned and looked at me. “She’s the perfect example of one of Scots Bay’s fine young ladies who will be needing my assistance in the future.” He smiled and then winked at me, as if he knew me, as if we shared a secret (or as if he might have known I was hiding at Miss B.’s the day he called on her). My face, my ears, the back of my neck went hot. “It’s never too soon to start thinking about the day she’ll be a bride, a wife, a mother.”
As the ladies all agreed with Dr. Thomas, Grace choked on a petit four. Mrs. Hutner poured more tea in her daughter’s cup and encouraged her to drink (or at least hold her cup to her face to stifle her laughter).
Dr. Thomas placed a small booklet next to each place setting around the table. “A Mother’s Share from the Farmer’s Assurance Company would make a wonderful gift for a new bride.”
Mrs. Thomas added, “For any woman, really.”
The doctor stood behind his wife and placed his hand on her shoulder. “It gives a woman the peace of mind of knowing that she has a safe, clean place to have her babies.”
Although impeccable with his manners and polite at every turn, it was clear to me that Dr. Thomas was less concerned with a woman’s circumstances and more concerned with selling his services. You ain’t tellin’. You sellin’. Thinking of Miss B., I raised my hand to speak, my voice wavering as I questioned Dr. Thomas. “What about the cost? I don’t know many families in Scots Bay who can afford what you’re asking.”
Aunt Fran hissed at me. “Dora, don’t be rude.”
Mrs. Thomas smiled. “What a family spends on coffee and tea each month could easily buy a share.”
Not feeling as if I’d had a proper answer, or that Mrs. Thomas had the slightest notion of what the word cost means to most
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