29

Yes, Gilbert had spoken out of turn and yes, he was fortunate that Anne recognised this. Such was the burden of the small town doctor. There was a shortage of people he could confide in about cases that truly bothered him. Not at an intellectual level, those he relished. It was the morally challenging cases that kept him awake, especially since the war. The wife who was six months pregnant a year after her husband had gone to the Front, the soldier who had passed 'the Syph' onto his girl. Gilbert had to advise each patient, treat them, and protect their right to privacy which he had managed all right until that consultation with Ken.

You could have cut the air with a knife when the back exam turned into one of the most excruciating conversations Gilbert had ever had in his twenty-seven years of doctoring. There he was writing up his notes, trying to think of the name of that neurosurgeon in Ottawa, when he asked Ken as a matter of course if anything else was bothering him. And Ken had replied with an uneasy laugh that he was sort of a bit concerned that he might not be able to father children.

Gilbert's soothing nervous patient's voice failed him entirely, the mask of indifference slipped from his face. A primal and very unprofessional instinct rose inside him to hug the young man. But that had to be put aside for an unforeseen discussion on erectile dysfunction.

There were no signs or symptoms of venereal disease – no chance, absolutely none, Ken had averred, before admitting to Wednesday morning's surprising nocturnal emission. This meant the sacral nerves should all be intact, or mostly intact, or were at the very least healing. In that case arousal was possible. Yet when Ken should have been aroused, he soon found that he wasn't, no matter how much he wanted to be.

Gilbert had cleared his throat then and taken the seat at his desk.

"Ah yes, I think I get the picture."

Ken knew what Gilbert was thinking, because her name was ripe in the air. As thick as the smell of carbolic soap and the bunch of jonquils in the mantel.

"You don't think that's why I came to see Rilla, do you, so I could know for sure?"

"As your doctor I would say it would be a perfectly natural response if it was, what you're going through would test the mettle of any young man. But as Rilla's father," Gilbert rose from his desk, "I expect you to inform her of this matter because it concerns her future as well."

"What makes you think Rilla doesn't know already?"

"The fact you haven't asked for her hand. I know that's why you came here, Ken, and I know you would never propose without telling her about it."

Gilbert left his desk and retrieved Ken's shirt and tie from the exam table and handed it to him with a fatherly smile.

"Just give it time, lad. You've all been through enough. I know you young folk want nothing more than to jump into the next chapter and put all that behind you. But healing sometimes takes a while."

In that instant Ken had decided he wouldn't say anything. Then he saw Rilla with Jims and changed his mind. Once the sun shone on his back, he was all ready to say something, until she started splashing around with Teddy and he changed it back again. When he found that vacant boat shed it was now or never. If he could just make love to her, it didn't even have to be good.

Oh, Ken the ladykiller, how far he had fallen. And Rilla wasn't proving much better.

As soon as the light spilling out from under her parents' door went out, she crept downstairs and ducked into the study. She unlocked the cabinet because her father never bothered to hide the key, and with trembling fingers looked up the medical records of Capt. Ford, K.G.

"Bertha Marilla Blythe!" Gilbert had come downstairs to work because he couldn't sleep, and sighed when he saw her. "Not you too - what's the matter with my girls."

Rilla didn't even try to hide the folder, she had tears in her eyes, mostly in frustration. "I don't understand what any of this means."

"Bad luck for you then, because I'm not explaining it."

"Then I'll take this folder and your anatomy book and work it out myself. I'm not a baby!"

"Oh, you're not, are you? Then I'll take this," Gilbert snatched the folder from her arms, "and this," he removed the key from the glass-fronted case where he kept his books, "and I'll lock the door to the study. You're welcome to stay here until your mother finds you in the morning. But if you want to be treated like a grown up, Rilla, you'll go back to bed and get your answers from Ken tomorrow."

...

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