~~Chapter 2
Doc shared supper with us the evening of my seventeenth birthday. He finally broke his silence.
"Did you really think that girl wouldn't grow up, Lémieux?" he said. He cocked a brow held up a finger. "Don't start. I'm a doctor. I know a girl child when I see one. What were you thinking?"
Father sighed. "I was doing more grieving than thinking, Galen," he said.
Doc tugged thoughtfully on his ear. "Grief's brought more than one man to Dodge."
"My original contract was for one year then we would return to Paris."
"Why in thunder did you sign another?"
"I had four thousand reasons, mon ami."
"Four thousand? I'm in the wrong business," sighed Doc.
"More than enough for Sorbonne, a shop, a small townhouse. I would not leave her in Paris alone," said Father. He looked at me. "Je ne vous partirais jamais, petit," he said.
"I know, papa," I said.
"I'm an old man. I had no business starting a family so late in my life."
"It's not your fault," I said.
"I could talk to Honeyman. Make him understand," said Father.
"They'd send you to prison, Vicar," said Doc.
"When I had my faith, I was an honest man."
"You're still an honest man. No one can fault you for wanting to keep your child with you."
"I do not mind staying a boy," I said.
"Well, that's good because you're going to have to for another year," said Doc. "What's your real name, by the way? Is Jimmy short for Jennifer? Janey?"
"James Anna."
Doc chuckled. "I would say that's unusual but I delivered a girl named Michael. By golly, that baby could caterwaul. She'd be about your age now, maybe a little older. Yardner was the family name. Mike Yardner. She was going to be something. Anyway."
We waited a few moments. You had to let Doc wind down, complete his thought. If you didn't know him, you might think he rambled but everything he said was relevant to the conversation.
"Come here, little one," he said, motioning me over. Doc never treated me like I was a boy—he didn't treat me like a girl, either—at least not when anyone was watching. He had taken to randomly checking my temperature with a cool hand to my forehead, ignoring the glass thermometer attached to a fob pinned to his waistcoat. Now, he cuddled me to his side and pressed his lips to my temple for good measure. "Not too bad, not bad at all. It's the rosehips. The Pawnee know a thing or two about medicine. My advice is to keep insisting James Anna here is a boy," said Doc. "Most people only see what you tell them they're looking at." He looked out the window at the small brick building across the street.
"Most people," he said, softly.
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