Part 1: A Strip of Skin

Chapter 3

"Poor Uncle Roger, what an entrance!" Carolyn marveled to her mother the following morning. "Tumbling right down the stairs with nobody to catch him, poor darling. Whom are you phoning?"

"A physiotherapist," answered Liz, beginning to dial. "Julia says that there's a new doctor in town who can apparently—yes?" She diverted her attention to the receiver, lifting her blue eyes to a far wall. "Is this Dr. Liska's office? Could the doctor pay a house call, please? We've had an accident. This is Elizabeth Collins Stoddard over at Collinwood. Yes, all right. Yes, Roger Collins. He has; several X-rays. ... Then may I have our doctor, Julia Hoffman, telephone you with the details? All right, thank you." She replaced the receiver.

"Will they come?"

Elizabeth sighed and glanced at her daughter and Carolyn realized that her mother was a little preoccupied. "This doctor is going to look at Uncle Roger's X-rays at the hospital and then come to us. The hospital has really done all they can for him, and now apparently this doctor can provide physical therapy."

Carolyn paused. Should she mention Joe Haskell to her mother? She still didn't know how she herself felt about the news, but decided to speak. "Mother, did you know that Joe Haskell is in Collinsport?"

Elizabeth lifted her head in surprise. "Joe Haskell! Is he home to stay?"

"I don't know."

"Is he better than he was?" Liz asked.

"Oh, yes. Julia and Barnabas told me they'd talked with him at the Blue Whale, and he seemed … fine. I hope he'll come by. Perhaps," she said automatically, "we can have him over to dinner."

At those words, her mother's brow darkened. She raised an apprehensive hand. "Oh, perhaps not to dinner, darling. What with Mrs. Johnson, and—" she lowered her voice, "that terrible boiled beef last night—"

It was all her mother needed to say.

"No!" Carolyn agreed hastily, "Dinner's out! We'll have to eat elsewhere. But it's great to think that Joe is home again."

Her mother uttered a disconnected thought. "I don't suppose he will have heard about Maggie Evans." She turned as Garvey Craig entered the foyer from the kitchen entrance. Garvey was the new handyman who had been helping the Collinses in Mrs. Johnson's absence. Elizabeth was considering asking him whether he'd like to work for them full-time.

Wry, lean and bearded, Garvey said deferentially, "Excuse me, ma'am."

"Yes, Garvey?"

"Well, ma'am, I've been a-lookin' at that stove, and I reckon that the best thing you can do is to take it out of there and replace it. Won't be maybe two days for me to repair the ceiling above it and the wall back of it from where your cook has done fire-blasted the living bejesus out of everything."

The women glanced at one another, perturbed. Carolyn's mouth quivered with the start of a laugh.

"It's that bad, Garvey?" Elizabeth asked.

Garvey sighed. "Well, beggin' your pardon, yes, ma'am. There's all this dangerous thick grease shellacked to the wall and the floor back there and I got to get that off, or I'm scared the whole place will go up in this big ball of fire."

"Good heavens," Elizabeth said, staring at him. "Come and show me, and then I'm sure we can give you permission to begin."

.

"Sarah Johnson hadn't been in the house forthirty seconds, and look at me!" Roger dared his sister from his bed. "Elizabeth, you're next. I implore you to dismiss that murderess from the house. Do you want to see us all killed?"

"Is your bathroom clean? I don't want her to see that we have so little help."

"Whom do you mean?"

"Dr. Liska, she will be here at any moment and I want you to cooperate with her." A glance into the bathroom was not entirely reassuring but she didn't have time. She felt that the doctor was close, probably already coming up the drive in her car. Elizabeth approached her brother's bed with his navy-blue bathrobe in her arms and laid it over the covers under which Roger, in his white pajamas, ranted.

"There is a realm of opportunity for herthere, in the cleaning industry," he continued, still fixated on the cook. "I suppose I could stand the woman underfoot as a skivvy, surely she can clean tile? Scour pots? She's not very good at dusting, and I will never allow her to iron my shirts. But abolish her from the kitchen right away, Liz, I beg you. After this week's dinners, it's as if she's doing it on purpose, as if that master cooking class never happened!"

His sister sighed. She herself had wondered.

"Take dinner last night," he continued, his eyes urgent, "has anyone been able to figure out what it was? Beef Stroganoff we were told, but I don't believe it. Meat as tough as fossilized horsehide; spiny noodles ... uncertain vegetables, stiff with salt, submerged a peculiar gravy …I cut my lip on her lime Jell-O. And—I've never heard of any person on earth setting a glass of milk on fire, but by God, she managed it. I watched her. She has got to go!"

"I don't want to hear another word," his sister cut him off, beginning to feel cross. "Dr. Liska will be here any moment and I expect you to comport yourself like a gentleman.Pleasetry to make her like you. Be quiet and do everything she tells you to."

Abandoning one sore point for the next, he exclaimed, "What can she know about it, what can this doctordobut hand out the same sedatives and same stale advice Julia Hoffman does? I don't want another woman doctor around."

Elizabeth put one hand on her hip and gave her brother a stern look. "I've more pressing things to consider just now other than your unwillingness to tolerate professional women in Collinsport. Garvey insists that the stove has to come out and be replaced, and that half of the flooring and wallboard come out with it; apparently Mrs. Johnson has been immolating more than our appetites in that kitchen."

At this, Roger cried out, "Does he know how old that kitchen is, and that it happens to be authentic Colonial period craftsmanship?" As he raised his voice, the tendons in his neck swelled. "What has Mrs. Johnson been sacrificing back there, apart from our appetites?"

Elizabeth said dismissively, "Perhaps if you ever ventured into the kitchen these days Roger, you'd know. Now settle down and I'll show the doctor up as soon as she comes."

She left the room. He plucked angrily at his coverlet, muttering, "Here comes another woman. Another woman doctor in Collinsport. I wouldn't have thought the place big enough for two of them."

.

Chapter 4

The look in his sister's eyes still with him, Roger decided to hedge his bets with Dr. Liska.

She swept into his room and dropped her medical bag on a chair and pulled at the stethoscope around her throat seemingly in one movement. He was glad to see that she was at least good-looking, and began to perk up.

"As it happens," he drawled as she counted his pulse, "I am acquainted with the Lister family. I wonder whether you are related. Gerard Lister and his wife Pernella in Chestnut Hill; he is a Professor of Philosophy Emeritus at the University of B—"

"My name is Liska, not Lister," the doctor told him quietly. She directed cool blue eyes at him and spelled it. "Sounds like whisker."

Her accent enchanted him, but he didn't catch on quickly enough.

"Good Lord, that sounds Jewish," he chuckled, unthinking, "but of course, you can't be."

"I can't?" Dr. Liska asked. "I suppose someone forgot to tell my parents."

He sat up painfully against his pillows. "You are Jewish? How can that be?"

"Well, you see," Dr. Liska answered, "when Jews marry, it sometimes comes about that a child is born."

"Doctor, for God's sake. I hardly meant to ... well. I am sorry for what I said, it's only that I was startled, you see, because you, you ..." He ran down helplessly.

She waited.

"But what I mean is, what is a Jewish woman doing in Maine?"

"Saw the Collinsport reviews back in Warsaw. Caught the first boat out."

He fumbled at the edge of his coverlet in an anguish of embarrassment. "Great astounding God. I seem to have ... doctor, do let me assure you that I am not ordinarily so entirely at a loss in conversation. It is merely that you, you ..."

Are a statuesque, blue-eyed, red-haired woman. You're probably almost as tall as I am. I thought all Jewish women were small, with bountiful dark hair. And wore babushkas.But he could hardly say this.

"Good heavens, Mr. Collins. This is rather like a game show where the contestant can only gesture and grunt at his partner to try to convey a secret word for a prize. Did you happen to hit your head when you fell the other day?"

"No, I did not," Roger grumbled, stung. Unconscious that most of his notions about the appearance of Jewish women came from 19th century French literature, he was distracted and puzzled. He thought confusedly of Barbra Streisand, who didnotwear a babushka, and who also had blue eyes.

"Put your arms out to me." Dr. Liska sat abruptly at Roger's bedside and extended her slender arms as if to embrace him.

Sweat popped out on his brow. "I beg your pardon?" he barked.

"For God's sake. Can you do this movement or not? Go like this." The doctor again extended her arms.

Frowning terribly, Roger attempted to raise both arms in front of him simultaneously, but crumpled in pain.

"Shrug your shoulders."

He did so, cautiously.

"Yes. Now, with this type of injury you are looking at several months of healing."

"Severalmonths?"the patient cried.

"This is a vertebral fracture in your upper back and will need a good long time to mend," she said, rising from her perch on the side of his bed. "Plenty of bedrest. You may go to work, keep your schedule, but carefully. No lifting anything over ten pounds or so. In the meantime, I can give you pain medication to ensure good sleep, and there are things that you can do to protect your back."

"Such as not flinging my arms about your neck, for example," the patient said sourly.

She bent to her medical bag and withdrew a small fabric device. He did not notice this, as his eyes had drifted to her bottom in her smooth slacks. "I've something for you," she said, turning to dangle it before him. "This little brace. It is like a bra." The blood drained from Roger's face as she dandled it before him. She noticed his expression and tried not to laugh.

"Easy, bub, it is not actually a bra. Let us call it a brace. It is going to allow you to move and to breathe, but will severely curtail you from making a movement you oughtn't. It promotes healing. Now, let's pretend that my arms are through these straps."

"Did you just call me bub?"

"I wear this part across my chest, shoulders and back. I can go up and down stairs, put on my glasses, lift a snifter of Amontillado, but—if I twist quickly to my left—this brace gives me a poke. See this piece here? Protective device. You will wear it every hour that you are not actually in bed."

Roger grunted.

"Since I'm here, take a deep breath like this." She rose to her feet and filled her lungs with air. Roger also breathed deeply, but winced. She directed a lightning gaze on him.

"That hurts right here, yes? I understand that that's where the corner of the suitcase got you." She lightly touched his sternum.

"Yes."

"Lean forward, please." Roger leaned forward with a groan, while Dr. Liska bent and lifted his pajama top to examine his bruised back.

"All right, I see. Belly pain?"

"Oh, well, yes."

"Any neck pain, jaw pain?"

"No."

Dr. Liska drew back, leaving the patient to fumble with his rumpled pajama top. "You're very lucky you didn't crack your head on that marvelous floor, Mr. Collins. Not that you're feeling lucky; I understand. So."

She turned and eased her stethoscope from her neck. "Come to my office every evening. Or, well, we can take you whenever is most convenient for you as long as it won't clash with hospital hours. I'm very busy, but as I am just starting up, we have some play with our office scheduling." She turned from him and pushed her stethoscope into her medical bag.

With cynical annoyance Roger asked, "And what exactly will we be playing at in your office, doctor? Honestly, is any of this necessary?"

She turned back to him and withered him with her look. "Mr. Collins. You're going to come every single day to my office until I indicate otherwise. Do you want to catch pneumonia in April, in Maine? With this sort of back injury and the temporary immobility it brings, I'm concerned for your lungs. Don't want pneumonia? No, I thought not. Whatever would your professor emeritus friend say?"

He grunted.

She grabbed her medical bag and stalked to the door, but turned back.

"I hope that when you come to the clinic you will not be so personally offensive as you have been today," she said stiffly. Then she left.

He didn't bother to watch her go. He frowned thunderously in bed.

The interview had been a fiasco.