Family Matters

Chapter 9 – Impasse

It had taken several hours for Martin to check on all the hospitalized meningitis patients and reassure the children's parents and question the family members waiting at the hospital about any signs of infection and write prescriptions for prophylactic antibiotics. Then he'd looked in on Morwenna, now under sedation and resting in a medical ward for observation. By the time he was finished, he was tired and worried and cross and most of all longing for Louisa and James Henry.

After some searching and cursing Penhale, he located his car in the car park. As soon as he was on his way, he rang Louisa.

"Hello?"

Martin felt an overwhelming sense of relief hearing her voice. "Louisa."

"Martin, thank God! I've been so worried. How's Michael? Did you get to the hospital in time?"

"Yes, but it's a good thing we didn't wait for the ambulance. He's very ill but responding to treatment."

"It's a good thing you didn't cancel the ambulance, though. Allison Lane needed it not ten minutes after you left."

"Lane? The cook at the school?" So much for thinking this would be contained to two of the classrooms. If the Lane woman was ill, the whole school population had likely been exposed.

"Yes. She was vomiting and had a raging fever. When Pippa called for you, the only thing I could think of was to send the ambulance over."

"That was the right thing to do. But you shouldn't have to cover for me."

"My God, Martin, it's the least I could do. I rescheduled some appointments and sent a couple of patients over to see Ken Cardew in Wadebridge."

"Er, right. Good." It was a boon, having her as a part of his life. He couldn't count the ways. He wasn't sure he'd understood the concept of a help-meet before this moment, but that was what she was.

"How're the others doing? Al, Timmy? What about Mr. Newcross?"

"Newcross is dead. Didn't make it to the hospital. Al and Timmy are holding their own, Al perhaps better than Timmy. Two more came in up here – Timmy's sister and the Wenn boy. The little girl is doing the best of the lot – she's conscious still; her fever never got as high as it did for the others. The Wenn boy is another matter. His symptoms are the most severe and his prognosis is not promising."

"Oh Martin. What about Morwenna? Poor thing. She'll have a rough time losing her grandfather – there's been so much tragedy in her life already."

"They've sedated her so I haven't had a chance to speak with her yet. Penhale's tracking down her family."

"Anything I can do?"

Martin didn't like the weariness he heard in her voice, or the rasp that lingered, reminding him of her throat infection. "Just take care of yourself and James."

"He slept like a lamb this afternoon. I think he was just exhausted after that tooth."

"And you? You're feeling normal? No other signs of illness?" He wouldn't be satisfied until he could see her, examine her, reassure himself that she was not going to be his next victim.

"Just tired. I'll have to call Stu McKenzie, fill him in on the latest cases. The governors have approved closing the school starting tomorrow. Maybe I can have a little lie-down with James when I'm done."

Martin pictured the two of them curled on the bed. Was it only yesterday he'd seen them like that? It seemed a million years ago.

"Chris will take care of the HPA paperwork on the school closing. If you're not having classes, can I use the building? I want to have a vaccination clinic for the adults – parents and teachers."

"There's a vaccine? Can we jab the children?" She sounded relieved.

"We don't know which bacteria it is yet, but there is a vaccine against one of them. If it is the culprit, this should help. If not, so we won't be any worse off as the vaccine is relatively well-tolerated and has few side effects. But I can only give it to adults and teens who've gone through puberty. It isn't safe or effective in children. It won't stop people who've already been exposed from catching it but we may be able to stop the spread of disease among those who haven't encountered the pathogens yet."

"Of course you can use the school. And I can help – keep records or something."

"No, Louisa. I want you to pack a bag. As soon as I get home I want to take you and James to stay on the farm with Aunt Ruth."

"Ruth?"

"Yes. I telephoned her. It's all arranged."

"You want to send us away?" There was hurt in her voice that he hadn't expected.

"I want you to be safe. I was jabbed when I retrained for the GP post so I shouldn't catch this. But you and James - all I can do is try and isolate you – keep you out of the line of fire." He swallowed hard.

"Martin, is that how it's going to be between us? You . . . you . . . you throw us out when it's not convenient to have us around? How can I ever feel like the surgery is my home, our home if you think you can send me away? You already made arrangements with Ruth and didn't even consult me." He could hear pain and rage in her voice. She was insecure and emotional, so emotional. And deliberately misunderstanding him.

"Don't be ridiculous! I'm not throwing you out. Why would you get that idea? I'm trying to protect your health! You don't have to go to Ruth's – you can stay with one of your friends if you prefer – how about visiting Holly for a few days? But I can't deal with this all and worry about you and James staying well too."

"Martin, my place is here. I'm the head teacher. These are my students, this is my village. The surgery is our home. I can't run away from this."

"But think about James." His voice was betraying his panic.

"I am thinking about James. If you can carry on working, then so can I. We'll take precautions with James. I'll drown myself in antiseptic. But how would it look if you did something for James and me that you can't do for the rest of the village."

"Be sensible, Louisa. None of the rest of them is living in the surgery, having patients wandering through their home, exposing them to who knows what. Think about all of the meningitis carriers you and James have been in contact with over the last few days."

"No. I won't hear of it. James and I are staying with you. Now hurry up and get home. You must be starving. You never ate lunch and it'll be nearly eight by the time you get here."

"Louisa . . ."

"Martin I mean it. I'll see you soon." And with that she rang off.

X X X X X

His heart ached when he opened the kitchen door and saw Louisa sitting in the living room, reading James Henry a bedtime story – the one about the fire truck she claimed he liked the best. She looked so lovely, her hair down around her shoulders, a pretty red blouse with her jeans, her feet bare and tucked under her. No dark and cold house to come home to tonight– it was warmed by the welcoming lights burning, the aroma of something delicious in the oven, and Louisa's soft voice reading to James. It took his breath away.

She looked up and smiled at him as he closed the door. "Martin." Just the way she said his name thrilled him.

He removed his coat and hung it in the scullery off the kitchen where they kept the washer and dryer and some hooks for wet outerwear. He left his umbrella there too and took off his galoshes. When he came back she was in the kitchen, James on her hip, setting food on the table.

As he stopped to thoroughly wash his hands at the kitchen sink, he couldn't help watching Louisa surreptitiously, looking for any sign of illness, trying to assess her health from the color in her cheeks, the way she held her head, the expression on her face. He was relieved to see no obvious evidence that she was sick. He would prefer to conduct a thorough examination but that would have to wait until after dinner.

"Here, let me," he said, reaching for his son. James came to him happily, burbling and reaching to grab at Martin's ears, crowing with pleasure.

"You seem chipper. Let me see that tooth." Martin inserted one finger into the baby's mouth and felt the sharp corner of the newly sprouted tooth. He'd done this to dozens of children but there was something quite amazing about admiring his own child's progress.

"He's had his bath," Louisa said, placing one hand softly on Martin's where it held James Henry's back. "And he ate already. I think he might be ready for bed if you want to take him up."

"Yes. I'll put him down and be right back."

In the midst of all the complications of the epidemic, there was something intensely comforting about this little routine. Being here, cuddling his son, preparing to sit down with Louisa for a companionable meal, knowing that later they would climb into bed, side by side, and tomorrow face together what the world had to throw at them.

X X X X X

They didn't mention the row as they ate dinner. Martin was famished and the spinach quiche and steamed carrots were tasty and filling so he ate enthusiastically. Louisa on the other hand only seemed to toy with her food.

She asked him a few questions about the Bert and Pauline and the others he had seen in Truro. She also showed him the post, which included Christmas cards from Isobel and the Parsons, both, she pointed out, prominently featuring photos of their respective children on the front.

"And who are the Mitchells?" she asked, handing him another card.

"Hmm?" He took it absently. When he opened it he saw a photo of a petite blonde woman, a gangly, balding man, and two lovely adolescent girls, all posed on a beach somewhere. Warmest Christmas Wishes from Hope and Mick Mitchell, Audrey and Hadley, it read.

"What? Oh, Hope was an anesthetist when I was at St. Thomas's. Married a barrister about the time I came to Portwenn. Those are his children."

Martin hoped he wasn't blushing. He hadn't mentioned Hope and his brief relationship with her to Louisa. Water under the bridge a long time ago. He covered by adding, rather conciliatorily, "Well you've made your point. We'll have to take a photo of James Henry to put on a card. Not tonight but maybe tomorrow."

She smiled broadly at him. "Brilliant."

He wished he could always make her this happy so easily.

X X X X X

After washing up and donning flannel pajama bottoms and an old grey Henley, he came out of the lavatory and found Louisa sitting on the bed in a tank top and pajama bottoms of her own, brushing her hair. Wordlessly he sat beside her and took the brush, a ritual that had developed over the past few months. She leaned forward over her knees and he gently stroked her hair with the hairbrush and his hands. She seemed to enjoy it and he knew that he did – such a simple thing but sensual and so private and intimate.

He nuzzled her neck, feeling as close to her as he possibly could, at least with their clothes on. He loved how her hair felt, heavy and silky in his hands, growing shinier with each stroke of the brush, making this his favorite part of the day. And tonight this closeness offered an opportunity to broach what was still weighing heavily on his mind.

"Louisa?"

"Mmm?"

"When we were talking before . . . about you and James Henry going to stay with Ruth?"

"Not now . . ." There was exasperation in her voice and her body immediately tensed beneath his hands.

He hesitated but then plowed ahead. "No, I just want to know – would you feel differently, would you feel more secure – if we were married - if we had gone through with the wedding?"

She turned around to face him, and there was fire in her eyes. "I never planned to promise to obey if that is what you mean!"

"No, no that's not what I meant. When you said you couldn't feel like this was your home. Would you feel more secure, about belonging here, with me, if it were official, if we were married?"

"Oh Martin. That's not it. What would make me feel better would be making decisions together. Not having you tell me what to do but discussing it."

"Louisa, be reasonable. This isn't a game. Mr. Newcross is dead. Theo Wenn, and maybe others, may die as well. Meningitis can cause blindness, deafness, brain damage – all sorts of complications."

"You said it yourself, Martin. James and I have been around several of the patients in the last couple of days. If we've been exposed already, going away won't help. We'll stay here and face this together. We'll be very careful; keeping James away from everyone, washing hands and so on." She wrapped her arms around her knees.

"I see." He said this automatically, not seeing her point at all. "So you've decided then, I can't persuade you to go somewhere safe?"

"No. I need to be here. Can't you at least try to understand?" Her eyes scoured his face. Evidently she didn't find what she was seeking, and she buried her head in her hands.

He sighed. "Alright then. There is one more option."

She looked up, hopefully. "What? What is it? What can we do?"

"I can give you both antibiotics. Treat you like I'm treating the other relatives who came in close contact with the victims."

"And it's safe for James Henry?" Her mood lightened considerably.

"Yes, as long as I get the dose right." He hesitated. "But you'd have to stop breast-feeding."

"What?"

"I can't get the dosing right for him if he's getting an unknown amount of your dose passed through to him in the breast milk."

"Oh." She bit her lip.

"He'll be fine with formula. And you'll both be safe."

"Martin, I can't. I'm just not ready to wean him. If I stop breast-feeding even for a while I won't have a supply. I won't be able to start back up." Her eyes were filling with tears. "He's so little. He still needs me."

He put his hand on her shoulder. "He'll be alright. You've given him a great start breast-feeding for five months. And besides, babies who drink formula can thrive. I was a bottle baby and I turned out just fine."

She shook her head. "You said there's a vaccine."

"Yes, but I can't give it to James."

"No, but you can give it to me. Give him the antibiotic and me the vaccine. I'll keep nursing and we'll all be fine." Her eyes entreated him as much as her voice.

He took her hand between both of his. It felt so right having it there just like having her here with him in the same house felt right. He was torn. He'd only ever had to respond to a medical crisis as a physician before. He was not used to having his medical instincts and his personal emotions at war like this. He knew she ought to go away AND take the antibiotics. But he'd nearly lost her so many times before by not paying attention to what she wanted. Was avoiding the medical risk of the disease worth the near certain rift in their fledgling happiness if he insisted on sending her to safety?

He swallowed his doubts. He would vaccinate her and remain vigilant about disease control. "It will only protect you against acquiring the disease after you make antibodies – it won't help if you've already contracted it," he warned.

"We'll have to hope I haven't then." She kissed him lightly on the cheek and took the hairbrush back to put it on the bedside table.

He squeezed her hand. Merely hoping for the best was not his idea of an optimal plan of treatment. He was going along against his better judgment, putting her happiness ahead of her health. She was smiling now and he was pleased that she was content. But he also knew that a smile would be cold comfort if she contracted the disease.