At St. Augustine symptoms of “malaria,” which I had developed while in Palatka, suddenly left me. (Our “Dr. Conrad” used to say scornfully, “‘Malaria’ is simply a convenient term to express the unknown.”) What invigoration! what skies! and the sea! Stealing away to the Sea Wall and old Fort Marion, I would look far out across the waters and dream—of what, I know not—just dream. Keen as was already my realization that life is real and earnest, I was yet reluctant to pass through “girlhood’s Gate of Dreams”; I well knew that on my return North I must decide where I should begin to practise; must engage in the work for which the preceding years had been preparing me; but there on the old Sea Wall I could still hold back from the oncoming Future.
On our return we spent some delightful weeks in Washington; saw hundreds of children on Easter Monday at their egg-rolling on the White House lawn, and heard their united voices as they greeted President Harrison when he came out to watch them, with Baby McKee in his arms. In New York, we witnessed the splendid spectacle of the Washington Centennial celebration; and then, in early May, returned to our little village amid the drumlins.
Spectacles and parades have never much interested me, but, besides the Washington Centennial parade, I recall one other (a few years later, however) which stands out significantly, more especially because of my own reactions to it. As a girl I had always been more moved by history or fiction dealing with any other nationality than with my own. When, as children, we had played at being Somebody Else, I chose to be French, Scotch, German—anything but American! The romance of the distant, the unattainable! In school I was never interested in American history, but the history of Greece and Rome—what charm they had!
I actually believed myself wanting in patriotism—a Girl without a Country—till, one summer when visiting in Buffalo, I saw a G. A. R. parade. Parades as parades I abominated, but tried to show a polite interest when my hostess, Dr. Thorndike, announced what good seats she had been able to secure. I learned something about myself that day. I had never supposed I would go across the street to see a president, but when McKinley rode by, and I saw his kindly face and gracious responses to the crowds’ salutes, something stirred within me. Suddenly I got a conception of what it meant to be a president of a great republic. I seemed to realize that it was a nation doing homage to its government, as well as to its chief executive, when the cheers and huzzas greeted our president. It was the first time I had ever thought of him or another as our President; it was really the first time I had felt myself a part of our nation; and it was a thrilling awakening for one who had always believed herself wanting in patriotism. What had done it? Partly the sight of the army of soldiers, I suppose; but I believe it was largely due to the way in which McKinley responded to the greetings of the crowd. There was that in his manner which seemed to say: “I am proud to be your servant; you appear to exalt me, but it is our nation and the office that you exalt. I am one with you, and will do my best to serve you, or rather, to conserve the honour and interests of our nation.” Always after that, the thought of McKinley was blended with gratitude that I was no longer a Girl without a Country.
This stirring of patriotism when he rode by was a feeble forerunner of what I felt later, when I saw on a banner the name of Cayuga County, and of the Post from our home town—saw in the old soldiers the remnant of the Company of which two of my uncles were a part. The faded, tattered flag they carried stood to me for the one under which they had marched away; and, though scrutinizing the ranks in vain for their faces, still I knew the men marching past were among those with whom my young uncles had gone to the front. I began to understand what Mother had always felt when the soldiers had marched by on Decoration Day: she would get away by herself, and, coming suddenly upon her, we would find her weeping—the martial music and the sight always bringing back those dreadful years when her young brothers went away to the War. My Buffalo friends were surprised at the change in my attitude toward parades, for before the day was over I grew enthusiastic enough to suit the most exacting—and why not?—that day I was born an American!
An old schoolmate living in U—— had written me that there was a good opening there for a woman physician, and as Father’s business took him to that city every month or so, I decided to investigate the possibilities there rather than in New England, where, personally, I was more inclined to go. Accordingly, Father called on the leading woman physician in U—— (herself a graduate of Boston University) and reported her as eager to have me come and look the field over.
I had a long wait in Dr. Wyeth’s reception room that afternoon in July, as there were many patients ahead of me. Each time she came out and smilingly said “Next,” I scrutinized her to learn what manner of woman she was. I saw a tall, well-built, middle-aged woman, rather spare, of erect carriage, with a quick, nervous step. Her soft brown hair was ’wavy and streaked with gray; she had clear blue eyes and a fair skin with pink cheeks. Her face had a weary look, but her smile was kind, and I noted her long, white, capable-looking hands. Quietly distinctive in dress, she gave one the impression of being untrammelled by her clothing, yet by no means unmindful of her appearance—there were certain little touches that showed her feminine side, businesslike as was her manner. On the whole I approved of her. She seemed to have all the business capability of “Our Caddie” without her masculinity. I saw her surrounded by evidences of prosperity; heard her spoken of as a successful physician and a noble woman; and thought with admiration and wonder, “Will the time ever come when I shall be a real woman physician—established, successful, and as independent as is she?”
At length she ushered me into her private office, and our acquaintance progressed rapidly. We liked each other instantly; she urged me to come there; gave me sound advice; and prophesied advantages to us both should I come. Practically alone, so far as sister physicians were concerned, she craved one with whom she could affiliate, for although there were three other women physicians in the city, one was intemperate and impossible, one a “bluffer,” and the other, though bright and well-educated, was so lacking in self-confidence as to be of no practical help in consultation.
At the Doctor’s home that night I met her mother, who had one of the sweetest faces I ever saw; it was framed in brown ringlets which hung in a waterfall under her cap; her hair was less tinged with gray than was her daughter’s—a sweet-souled woman, hospitable, with a good word for everyone; a clinging nature that called out the protective instinct in all who met her. I saw that the numerous relatives of the Doctor’s leaned on her and looked to her as to an oracle, and that she lavishly spent herself for them. It was “Dr. Sue” here, and “Dr. Sue” there; and as I came to see more of her, I used to wish she could get away for a long holiday and forget that she had relatives or patients depending upon her. I have never known a life more beautifully and unselfishly lived than that of this noble woman—so resourceful, so ready, so full of reserve strength, even when worn and tired almost to the point of exhaustion.
The business proposition which the Doctor made was that I share her office, taking different office hours; pay the rent for a year, and receive, in turn, the benefit of her office furnishings and medical equipment. She would call me in consultation whenever she had an opportunity, and turn over her practice to me whenever she went away, as she would do in a few weeks, if I would come soon.