He could see his breath against the cold air as he waited for an answer to his incessant knocking.
He pounded his fist once more against the makeshift door. The hastily built entrance looked as if a gust of wind might knock it down were it not for the rusty hinges keeping it still. As he turned his back to the door he heard it open with a groan from days of little use. A haggard face peered out and steely eyes caught his gaze.
"Doctor?"
John bounced from one foot to the other trying to keep warm. "I'm not leaving, Wilf, you might as well open the door. It's bloody freezing out here, least you could do is invite me in for a cuppa."
The door swung open with no reply from the old man. John looked about the tiny home, barely big enough to fit more than a few people at once. Sparsely decorated, it boasted nothing more than an old bed, a wood burning stove, wash basin, and a small table.
John cupped his hands and brought them to his mouth, hoping to warm them with the heat of his breath. Wilf lowered himself onto the bed with much effort.
"I told you there's nothing you can do. I don't know why you bother with an old codger like me. You needn't worry yourself."
"Oi, you think I'm here 'cause I'm worried, do you? Fancy that. I thought you knew, I'm just here for rousing conversation. Can't get enough of it, me."
Wilf began to crack a smile when he bent over in a fit of coughs. John put a hand to his back to help him sit up and placed pressure with his other hand to the old man's chest. As the coughing subsided, John looked through his bag and pulled out a stethoscope.
"Mind if I listen for a tic?"
Before waiting for an answer, John placed the cold metal to Wilf's lower right side.
"Deep breaths, in and out, please."
Wilf complied and tried not to wince with the sharp pain of each labored breath. He looked at the Doctor's eyes as he listened. Concern and frustration written on his face.
"When did the coughing worsen?" the Doctor asked, his voice quiet and gentle as he moved the scope over his chest.
"A few days ago, I reckon. There's pain now, not just when I cough, but when I breathe. It's no matter, I haven't got much life left to live anyway, spent most of the years I did have drunk and alone, I did. No one to grieve this old sod now."
The Doctor smiled widely despite the dark tone of conversation.
"Well, since we've dispensed with the pleasantries, how about that cuppa?"
Wilf slowly walked to the stove to warm the kettle. "I've the loveliest rosehip herbs for tea. A lovely yellow haired lass was kind enough to share it with me. Said that a good cup of tea was…it was..." Wilf closed his eyes, looking perplexed as he tried to remember the exact words.
John grinned broadly with a slight blush to his cheeks. "Super-heated infusion of free radicals and tannin, just the thing for healing the synapses. That right?"
Wilf laughed at the ease of his response. "Oi, so I'm not the only one to be on the receiving end of the wiles of the lovely Rose? You know of her, do you?"
John ran his fingers over the cold metal on his left ring finger as he raised his brows and lowered his voice as though sharing a great secret, "I might have had the honor of sharing her company a time or two. Though I see now I'm not the only bloke who strikes her fancy."
Wilf smiled sadly, "She needn't waste her time with me. Bit of a long walk for that fragile girl to make just to bring a spot of tea. You'll thank her for me, won't you Doctor?"
"I certainly can, Wilf. Though I'm sure you'll be able to tell her yourself the next time she comes by."
After finishing his tea in silent company, John found himself at the door, feeling the draft seep through the cracks. His gaze upon Wilf turning more serious.
"When your chest begins to tighten or you find your cough overwhelming, take a little walk. The cold air will do you good."
He pulled a small bag and vial from his pocket and placed it in Wilf's hands. "Peppermint leaves. You can put them in your tea or chew on the leaves. Might help clear the sinuses and congestion in the lungs a bit. Take a small spoonful of the syrup twice a day, should help with the sharp pain in the throat when you cough."
Wilf looked at him sadly, "I have nothing to pay you with, Doctor."
John placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a great smile.
"A warm respite from the blistering cold, and a hot cup of tea, well that's as good a payment as any. I wish there was more I could do."
Wilf shook his head silently, his eyes glassy with emotion. "You've done more than enough. Now you best get going before that lovely lass starts thinking you've lost your way home."
John pulled the collar of his long brown coat up as the wind whipped coldly against his face. He'd foolishly forgotten his scarf when he left before the sun came up this morning. He reached into the pocket of his pinstriped waistcoat and felt the familiar comfort of metal. He could feel the circular etchings as he traced the pattern with his thumb. As he pulled the ancient time-piece out he couldn't help but note the scratches and nicks from years of use.
The only part of his family he had left, this watch. His father had carried it with him when he had visited his own patients, a reminder of sorts of the precious time that was given to each one, some passing more quickly than others.
John placed the pocket watch back into his jacket. His father would never approve of his life choices were he still alive. John was brilliant, just like him. But there was one major difference between the two of them. Jameson Smith had been a renowned doctor in London. Ahead of his time in his knowledge of medical procedures and treatment of foreign ailments. But he was all knowledge and no compassion. He sought success for the accolades, not for the health of his patients.
And here John was, as his father would say, "Wasting your abilities on crofters and peasants, accepting payments of chickens and stout mead when you should be working in a proper hospital, an environment fit for a real physician, with patients who actually contribute to society."
Deluded, his father was, but he still loved him so, and missed him more than he could express. John breathed deeply and hurried along the path, noting the sun beginning to set, for soon the cold would really set in and darkness would fall.
Small wisps of golden hair tickled Rose's lips as they escaped from underneath the scarf atop her head. She blew the hair back from her face as she continued to chop wood for the stove. The temperature was going to drop, she could feel it in her joints. Her right foot protested each time she stepped forward to bring the axe down upon the splinters of wood. She knew she'd overdone it.
Seen as nothing more than an invalid for most of her life, she'd spent years trying to prove she was anything but. Miraculously surviving a wagon accident at the tender age of 6, Rose had not only lost mobility in her foot, she had lost both of her parents, as well. With limited medical care her foot was treated but not healed. For the rest of her life she would suffer pain every time she took a step, and marked as a cripple by her uneven gait.
Taking on small tasks in the village was all Rose knew how to do. Lacking a formal education, she'd spent her life in the homes of strangers treated as a mere servant. She made a meager wage doing the wash and sewing for the older women in the community whose hands had grown weak and frail. She also assisted the Doctor whenever she could, helping him care for the sick when the journey wasn't too far.
Rose was pulled from her musing by the sound of small footsteps behind her.
A timid little voice spoke, "Hello, Miss Rose."
A shy smile was hidden behind a mop of brown mussed hair.
Rose smiled brightly, "Sarah, what are you doing out here, and without your mum?"
Little Sarah's eyes filled with tears.
Rose stepped forward dropping the wood and kneeled in front of her cupping her little cheeks in her palms.
"What's wrong, luv?" she asked as she wiped a stray tear from the child's face.
Sarah's lips quivered as she spoke, "Miss Rose, I did something bad. Mum's going to be so cross."
Rose gave her a little squeeze on the shoulder, "Now, it can't be all that bad. Nothing we can't set to rights."
The little girl pulled a beautiful white shawl from behind her back. "Mum wears it every Christmas, because it reminds her of my dad. I just wanted to try it on for a little bit."
Rose turned the shawl over in her hands to find a large hole in the shoulder. She looked up at the girl for an explanation.
"I got it caught on the fence post when I was coming back in the house from feeding the chickens. Everyone says that you're the best for mendin', and I just thought you could help me. Can you fix it Miss Rose?"
Rose knew how hard Sarah's mum worked to provide for her only daughter, while grieving the loss of her husband a few years back.
"I reckon, I can do my best," she said as she smiled at the girl, "but you still need to tell your mum you took her shawl, and that I'm going to mend it for her. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes ma'am," she replied quietly. Sarah put her hand in her pocket and began to pull out a coin.
Before she could hand it to her, Rose took the girl's hand and folded it back over the piece of precious metal.
"You keep it, luv."
Sarah smiled brightly and thanked Rose with a hug. A loud growl sounded from the girl's stomach. Both her and Rose giggled.
"Wait right here, I might have something to take care of that."
Rose came back out with a small bowl covered with a cloth napkin. From underneath she pulled out a warm biscuit.
"Now, you can have this for your walk home. But the rest is for your mum. Mrs. Blackwell gave the Doctor these beautiful parsnips when he looked after her son after his fall last week. I think your mum might be able to use them in a lovely Christmas stew, don't you think?"
The girl nodded, already munching on her biscuit.
"Happy Christmas, Miss Rose."
"Happy Christmas, Sarah. Now run along before it gets dark."
Rose watched as the girl hurried home with her precious gift in hand, not turning around until the child was out of sight.
As she went to collect the wood she saw that someone else was already picking it up to bring inside. She met his eyes and gave him a tired smile.
Rose leaned up on her tip toes and kissed him gently, lingering in her tiredness. Opening her eyes she saw him grinning at her.
"Oi! You wait until my hands are full to do that!" he winked at her as he stacked the wood inside the door.
He leaned down and returned the kiss before grabbing her hand.
"Fancy a short walk, love?" he whispered as he pushed back the scarf from her head and wrapped his fingers in the soft golden curls.
Rose placed a hand on top of his to still its movement. She knew it was a comfort to him. Whenever he was anxious or overwhelmed he would pour out his heart to her as he ran his hands through her hair, as if it was a balm that could heal his pain.
Rose knew that a walk would worsen the pain in her foot, but she could not deny him such a request. Not when he lacked his usual spirited and carefree countenance. By now his mouth should be running a mile a minute, telling her outlandish stories of his day, not tempered and still as it was now.
She nodded with a small smile.
"Of course, just let me run and get my cover up."
John watched as she came from their room in her threadbare shawl. The edges were badly frayed and there were small holes throughout. He saw her look to the floor and wince as she walked closer to him, attempting to hide her pain.
"All set!" she stated as she poked her tongue against her cheek in an exaggerated smile.
"How bad is it, Rose?" he asked gently.
"How bad is what?" she replied, begging him with her eyes to let it go.
He had learned a long time ago that Rose knew her limits. She also had a bad habit of never letting on about how badly she was hurting. But he knew better than to coddle her, as that was the last thing she ever wanted from him.
He wiggled his fingers as an invitation. "Shall we go then?"
Rose nodded in silence as she put her hand into his.
He grinned madly.
"Allons-y!"