A Forgivable Indecision

By Shawn Jennings

In 1913, a 15 year-old pregnant girl is found dead of apparent suicide.

Dr. James Wilson, a new graduate and the first doctor ever to start a practice in this rural town, feels guilty over her death because of his delayed intervention. He knows Bessie was raped by one of her relatives and vows to find justice for her.

He discovers that circumstances are not always as they appear and it is hard to find justice for female victims of sexual abuse especially in the early 1900s.

The story later swings to the battlefields of France as WWI erupts and it is here that James discovers the truth about Bessie's death and a form of justice is achieved.

In this story, James finds love, wrestles with moral dilemmas, treats illnesses and conditions as doctors would in 1913-19 and enlists in a war that provides truth and justice for him but no peace.

This book is about decisions, made and unmade, spontaneous or calculated, and how they can affect the lives of so many.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Feb 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9780228824442

Shawn Jennings

Shawn Jennings was a family physician in Saint John, New Brunswick, for twenty years until his brainstem stroke in 1999. Since then, he has been involved with Dalhousie Medicine New Brunswick and numerous local and provincial committees. Shawn lives in Rothesay, New Brunswick.

Book preview

Bessie

Dr. James Wilson graduated from Montreal’s McGill Medical School in 1911, in Quebec, Canada, at the top of his class, with honours. After a year of internship in Montreal, he set up practice in the small town of Rothesay, New Brunswick, less than an hour away from the city of St. John by horse. He was the first doctor ever to base a practice in Rothesay and the folks who lived in this small town were surprised and pleased when Dr. Wilson moved there.

A New Brunswicker by birth, Dr. Wilson was born in St. John, the only child of Matthew and Bertha Wilson. His father Matthew had a very successful wholesale business that shipped goods from overseas to central Canada and the United States, while his mother was a homemaker. James grew up in luxury but had no interest in being a merchant like his father and taking over the business; instead, he felt the call to a vocation where he could help others, and advancements in medicine interested him. He decided to be a doctor.

His parents brought James up in the Anglican faith and he was quite devout as a boy. At one point in his life, he entertained the thought of priesthood; but science fascinated him more. He gave up his clerical goal, thinking, what better way to combine my love of science and desire to help others than through medicine? Further, James pictured himself as a simple country doctor, riding dirt roads on horseback to see his patients, and so he turned his back on his privileged upbringing and decided to live a rustic life. But he loved working in hospitals too, and that is why he found Rothesay so ideal. The town was rural enough that he could become the community doctor he envisaged himself to be, yet it was also close to a hospital so he could learn from, and liaise with, medical colleagues. So, in June of 1912, he bought a farm in the heart of Rothesay and remodeled a section of the farmhouse into an office for his new practice.

His first year of practice was exciting and full of new challenges, a few disappointments, and much growth. Overall, he was pleased with how things went. But one day almost a year after he started, a patient walked into his office who would ultimately change his outlook on life forever.

James watched Bessie cry. He felt sorry for her; her distress was gut-wrenching. She sat on his examination table, rocking back e2and forth, clenching and twisting her small hands, her face hidden by long, brown hair. She wore a dark, brown, ankle-length dress and her stockinged feet dangled over the edge of his exam table. She looked innocent enough, except he knew different—this fifteen-year-old was pregnant.

He said nothing as she cried; he simply remained behind his desk, tapping his pen on a blotter. He had to be careful when examining a young girl. Any perceived impropriety would stimulate gossip: Why did he open a medical practice in this small town? Why is he single? Is he not good enough to practise in the city? The last thing he needed was gossip about him inappropriately touching someone.

As Bessie pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and wiped her nose, he felt himself flush in consternation, his high cheekbones lighting up like embers. He hoped she didn’t notice; it was easy to see him flush because, unlike most men, he was clean-shaven. He was surprised by her situation. He had never dealt with pregnancy in someone this young before. He wondered if she could notice his distress. He was afraid he was glowing red like a bashful, grade-school boy being spoken to by his secret crush.

Rising from his chair, he walked around the desk and over to her. Are you okay, Bessie? he asked, lightly touching her shoulder.

Are you sure? she asked tearfully, without looking up. Are you absolutely sure?

I’m sure, he said softly. You’re about six months pregnant. He bent over slightly to look into her eyes. You’re showing. You must have known.

I was hoping with all my heart I wasn’t, she admitted. I prayed every night for God to take this away from me, but every morning when I woke up, nothing had changed. I felt my stomach getting larger, but no matter how much I prayed, nothing changed. She shook her head slowly from side to side and choked back another sob.

Does your father know? asked James.

No. Pa’s going to kill me. He’ll call me a tramp, a trollop, and throw me out of the house. Bessie broke into tears again and covered her face.

James felt sorry for her, but he had to remain detached. She has to pay for her sin, as we all do, he thought. It’s not without risk to take a wild roll in the hay or an ill-advised walk with a boy in the woods; she might be a little temptress, for all I know. But he knew her father, Amos, and he seemed like a very kind man. I don’t think Amos would do that, James said. He’ll probably be angry and demand that you marry the fellow right away, but—

"Marry! I’m only fifteen," she pleaded.

I know, Bessie, but a lot of girls marry young. Amos will insist. You have no option.

I wouldn’t marry that bastard—

Bessie!

I’m sorry, Dr. Wilson, she said, but I wouldn’t marry that guy and he wouldn’t marry me. Bessie fidgeted with her handkerchief. You see— She hesitated, wiped her nose and then, dropping her hands into her lap with a sigh, whispered, You see … I was forced.

What?

"Forced. You know… he did it to me and I didn’t want to, she replied. I struggled, but there was no way I could stop him. He had my knickers down and his thing inside me before I could do much."

Bessie stopped sobbing and looked directly into his eyes, making James flinch. He had never talked to anyone about rape or even sex before, except for in his medical classes. Embarrassed, he looked away.

I suppose it was my fault, she went on. I was at a church social one night last spring and Pa was getting bored waiting for me. Ever since Ma died five years ago, Pa keeps to himself much of the time and he can’t abide too many people. You’d think he’d reach out for more company, but that’s not Pa’s way. Anyways he came to me saying he wanted to leave soon. I was having fun, chatting with my girlfriends, listening to the music and watching the older folks dance. I didn’t want to leave with Pa, so I asked Pa if I could stay and go home with this relative of mine. The guy said that’d be fine and Pa agreed to let me stay …

You mean to tell me, Bessie, James inquired, that a relative did this to you?

Bessie looked at the door and then to the floor without looking directly at him. That’s what I’m telling you, Dr. Wilson, she said slowly, twisting her hands again. I won’t say who, but I trusted him and so did Pa. But as God is my witness, I’m telling the truth.

So why do you say it’s your fault? he asked.

Ma used to say, ‘Don’t be givin’ a man temptation. Never be alone with a man you don’t know.’ I didn’t quite understand what she was talking about when I was ten … but now I know.

James suddenly realised that he and Bessie were alone and he coughed nervously as he resisted an impulse to back away from her. Well, a gentleman wouldn’t behave in such a fashion, Bessie, he said quietly.

Yeah? Well how can you tell who’s a gentleman?

He had no answer. He had never thought about it before. He wondered … how can a woman tell who a gentleman is? He knew fellows who had gone to visit prostitutes in Montreal back when he’d been a student, and to him they had seemed like regular old chaps—though he had been disappointed in their lack of morals. As for himself, he had never been with a woman. He intended to remain chaste and disciplined until he married … though he couldn’t stop dreaming about the possibilities. He had no control over his unconscious thoughts.

What happened next? he asked.

Bessie stared at the opposite wall, avoiding his eyes.

After the social, she recalled, "the man was as sweet as pie and helped me up onto his wagon. It was then I realised his wife wasn’t with him. ‘Where’s … dah, dah, dah?’ I say. ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘she didn’t come this evening. Felt out of sorts—probably ’cause she’s heavy with child.’ I didn’t say anything—after all, he was my kin. I’ve known him since I was a little girl. Still … my Ma had told me to never be alone with a man. I should have left right then and there. I didn’t. Should have known. She paused, rocked on the table, and hugged herself so hard her knuckles blanched. I didn’t think," she whispered.

But you’re only a young girl, James offered.

Bessie stopped rocking and looked at him with wet, brown eyes. At that moment, this little girl seemed mature beyond her years, but with the most lost expression he had ever witnessed.

"A pregnant girl," she muttered.

You don’t have to tell me the rest, Bessie. I get the picture. James felt a little nauseous. He walked behind his desk and opened the already-open window a little wider, letting in a cool, pleasant breeze. He looked out onto the Kennebecasis River, a shifting blue background behind the trees.

"No, I want to tell you, Dr. Wilson, Bessie said after a while. I want to tell you it all. I want you to believe me. I’m no liar."

He turned and found a new girl sitting on the examination table, her face set rigidly in her determination to finish this tale. All right, Bessie, he said resignedly. Tell me the rest.

Bessie jumped down from the examination table. She seemed intent on getting comfortable before finishing her tale. She slipped into her small shoes and then sat down on a chair with her back to the wall, before continuing. When settled, she said, "Things were fine. He was talking about things—things I can’t tell you or you’d know who I’m talking about—but I started feeling uncomfortable because it seemed to me his left hand kept leaving the reins an awful lot and brushing up against my leg. He seemed to have an itch on his thigh, but every time he went to scratch it, that hand kept finding its way to my leg.

"I inched over a bit to give him more room, if that’s what he needed, but it made no difference—that hand found a way to my leg anyways. I was getting embarrassed, so I kept gabbing like an old lady.

"About three miles down the road, suddenly we turned off onto this small trail. ‘Where we going?’ I say. ‘I got to show you something,’ he says.

"I should have jumped off the wagon right there. But then I thought maybe I was being foolish. I’ve known this guy a long time. So, I just sat there.

"Just a ways down this trail, he stops. He leans over me, puts his hand on my leg, rubs it like he was fixing to polish it, and says, ‘You know I’ve always liked you.’

‘That’s nice,’ I said.

Then he starts kissing me and his other hand is going up my leg and I start pushing him away, telling him ‘no’…

Okay, Bessie, James interrupted, I don’t need to hear anymore. He coughed, as he was prone to do in uncomfortable situations, and sat down. He was sweating with discomfort.

My Pa can never know who did this to me, she declared.

He has to. He has to know the truth. He has to know the pregnancy was not your fault. You’re a good girl.

Doesn’t matter. I’ll tell him I was forced but not by whom. It’d kill him.

James fingered his stethoscope. Bessie, he said. We should bring this man to the authorities. He must be punished.

And I would be punishing many of those that I love, she responded. Besides, what makes you think they’d believe me—a young girl?

"I do."

Bessie glanced at him, sizing him up. Thank you, she murmured.

Trees rustled outside in the breeze coming off the water. It was a good sound, broken only by Bessie clearing her throat. Dr. Wilson … she said quietly. I … I can’t pay you right now, but I’m willing to come and clean the office, or your home. And I can bake. I can bake you a pie. Pa says my blueberry pie is the best …

That’s not necessary, Bessie, James cut in. Your father’s been more than generous to me since I came to this community. Then he looked directly at her. But I want you to tell Amos the truth. Truth is always the best policy.

Bessie was appalled. Never! The truth would kill Pa … or he’d kill the guy.

I think Amos can deal with it. Give me your word that you’ll think about it.

She didn’t look convinced.

He smiled at her. You’ll be okay, Bessie. You’re young and strong. I’d like to deliver your baby if you’ll let me, though there’s a midwife on Rothesay Road by the boat club you can use if you prefer. But I’d feel better doing it myself, because of your age. Then he started to write on her new patient card where he recorded the date, reason for the visit, cost, and payment received. I’d like to see you in about a month, he told her.

Bessie got up and walked to the door. She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, as she looked back at him. Thank you, Dr. Wilson, she said quietly.

You’re welcome, Bessie. I’m always here.

She opened the office door and left. He heard the jingle as she exited through the front door of the house.

James sighed and stretched backward, his hands behind his head. When he finished his stretch, he leaned forward, and wrote on Bessie’s card, July 10/13 Pregnancy. Then he checked the entry to indicate ‘payment made’.

He turned in the swivel chair and looked out the window. Bessie hadn’t been as discreet about her assailant’s identity as she’d meant to be. In mentioning that the assailant’s wife was pregnant, she had revealed the identity of the rapist. Besides Bessie, there were only two pregnant women in the community, and one was Bessie’s aunt. James was quite certain that it was her own uncle, her father’s brother, who raped her. Wilfred.

James looked out the window, watching the river flow by. He wondered if he should keep his word to Bessie and say nothing, or if he should tell the authorities. After all, she was just a child. He admired her willingness to take the blame and scorn for what happened to protect her father from the truth—remarkable courage for someone so young. He was ashamed he had thought she might be less than virtuous. He closed his eyes and prayed to God to help him make the right decision.

He got up from his chair and put Bessie’s card in a file cabinet beside the window, deciding to give this problem more thought. Then he left his office to check the waiting room out front. No one was there, as he expected.

He hung a sign—Office Closed—in the window and left his office by a side door that opened into a small hallway that was in the personal quarters of his home. He walked to the stairs and climbed them, heading to his bedroom on the second floor. The room was hot despite both windows being open. He removed his jacket and hung it up. He undid his bowtie, unbuttoned the top of his white shirt, rolled up his sleeves, and then he poured water from the pitcher on his nightstand into a basin. He splashed the water onto his face. It felt good, though the water wasn’t cold. When he was finished washing, he dried his face and hands and went back downstairs.

It will be cooler down by the river, he thought, as he opened the front door and was greeted by a blast of hot air. He grabbed his fishing pole from the railing of his front porch and as he walked down the front steps, he reached under the stairs for the bait can. As he continued across the yard toward the river, he glanced at his horse, Sadie, standing in a shade of trees inside her enclosure. He thought about taking her down to the river too, but she looked too comfortable. She stood, eyes half closed, lazily swatting flies with her tail.

Hey, Sadie, he said. She snorted at him and stomped one hoof.

He started walking down the small dirt path at the end of the yard that led to the river, looking forward to the coolness of the riverside and the comfort of fishing. He needed to think. What should he do? Go to the police? Or do what Bessie asked him to do—nothing? Maybe she will heed my advice and tell Amos about the pregnancy and being forced, he thought. Then Amos will coerce the identity of the rapist from her. It will be a shock to him, but he needs to know the truth. The whole mess might get resolved without James even being involved. That would be a relief.

On the other hand, maybe she wasn’t telling him the truth. Maybe she was covering up a lack of moral character by blaming someone else. He shook his head at the thought. It couldn’t be. Bessie seems like such a dear young girl.

James arrived on the bank of the river. He lifted his head to the gentle breeze and squinted at the sun hanging over the opposite shore. God’s land is beautiful, he thought, but how could He let something like this happen to such a sweet child?

He baited his hook and cast out. He prayed again for the wisdom and strength to deal with Bessie’s situation. What should he do?

Chapter 2

The Meeting

James spent a fitful night and felt uneasy upon waking up the next day. He kept replaying the conversation he had had with Bessie over and over in his mind. He dressed and prepared to do his daily chores. He went to the barn and gave Sadie fresh hay and water and then pumped a bucket of water from the well and carried it into the house to wash, shave, and use for breakfast. After cleaning up, he read a Montreal newspaper he had bought in St. John a few days ago. His first patient arrived at nine.

As the day went on, he found it difficult to concentrate on his patients; his mind kept wandering back to Bessie. He was still uncertain whether he should let Bessie handle the matter by herself as he had promised. He found himself being short with his patients as he pondered the problem and he chastised himself for getting annoyed at their questions. It wasn’t their fault he was tormented by indecision, but he wished for some quiet time to think. Finally, as he was draining a boil on his third patient, a Mr. William Hawkins, he came to a decision: I am going to tell Amos the whole story whether Bessie likes it or not.

He was relieved that he’d finally decided and was now eager to put his plan into action, but it had to wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he had to attend the St. John Medical Society meeting. He had taken on a few patients who had doctors in St. John because they found it more convenient to see him in Rothesay, and while most of the local St. John physicians had welcomed him to the medical community, a few seemed resentful at the perceived intrusion. Some of the city doctors wanted to take away his privileges at the hospital, so it was important to attend the meeting to ensure that these few—especially Dr. George Peters, who seemed to dislike him the most—had any justification for doing so.

Dr. Peters did not attempt to hide his contempt and dislike of James and he treated him with such a condescending attitude that it made James feel like an intern on his first day. Dr. Peters seemed to interpret any comment or suggestion James made as a challenge to his authority. If it had been any other doctor, this would not have bothered James. Unfortunately, Dr. Peters was not only president of the Medical Society, but he was the chairman of the board of directors of the St. John Public Hospital as well. Peters also had a lot of power in city politics and business and James knew it was important to smooth their relationship and show him that he was a responsible, good physician.

James found the St. John Medical Society to be a surprisingly progressive organization. At each dinner meeting, members discussed the latest medical research and assessed treatment and outcomes of specific cases at the St. John Public Hospital. But while James was impressed with the calibre and credentials of the physicians he was associating with, it surprised him that this progressive medical community had not recruited a surgeon. With the advances in anaesthesia, surgery was quickly becoming a specialty within medicine and these physicians knew that. Why had they not been active in recruiting surgeons?

He wondered if his pointing this out was why Dr. Peters was so disdainful of him. One night during a meeting, he asked the general membership of the Medical Society if they shouldn’t be trying to recruit a surgeon for the area. Upon asking the question, Dr. Peters glared at him and did not even extend him the courtesy of a response. James looked around for support, but got no response from anyone else either—not even eye contact. Surgery seemed to be a touchy subject here, and it had something to do with Dr. Peters.

James wished his final patient of the day, Mrs. Beatrice Henderson, a good day as he saw her out. It was four o’clock; the meeting was due to start at six o’clock in St. John and he had to prepare to leave. He turned over the Office Closed sign, washed his hands, and went out to the barn. Then he saddled Sadie and left for the city.

He rode on the Rothesay Road to St. John. A train passed by on the tracks that ran between the road and the river. He felt the ground vibrate under Sadie; however, she didn’t flinch. She