CHAPTER 10
Constance Whitfield's Renewed Campaign
Goldpine
Constance Whitfield, having weathered her earlier disappointment regarding Nathaniel Cross's affections with what Goldpine's collective gossip generally agreed was admirable if somewhat transparent grace, discovered in Dr. Caleb Ashworth's arrival an entirely new prospect for her continued matrimonial ambitions, and set about pursuing this fresh opportunity with the same determined energy that had characterized her earlier, ultimately unsuccessful campaign.
“Doctor Ashworth,” she said, arriving at his office on a pretext of persistent headaches that struck even the mildest observer as rather conveniently timed to coincide with his arrival in town, “I do hope you're finding Goldpine's rather rustic accommodations adequate to a man of your evident refinement.
I've told the other ladies repeatedly that a physician of Philadelphia training deserves rather more sophisticated society than this rough mining town typically offers.”
“I've found the accommodations perfectly adequate, Mrs. Whitfield, and I confess I've grown rather fond of this territory's particular rough charm, whatever sophistication it might lack compared to Philadelphia's more polished society.”
“How admirably adaptable of you. I do hope you'll allow me to properly introduce you to the district's finer families, once you've settled sufficiently to consider broader social engagement.
I'd be only too glad to host a proper dinner in your honor, introducing you to society considerably more refined than the ordinary run of this town's rougher elements.”
Caleb, who had by this point in his Goldpine tenure developed a fair instinct for recognizing precisely this variety of transparent romantic campaign, having heard something of Constance's earlier pursuit of Nathaniel Cross through the town's efficient gossip channels, extended a polite but firm deflection considerably practiced by his Philadelphia experience managing similarly ambitious society mothers seeking advantageous matches for their daughters.
“I appreciate the kind offer, Mrs. Whitfield, though I confess my medical duties presently occupy the whole of my available time and attention. Perhaps once my practice has properly settled into a more sustainable rhythm, I might consider broader social engagement.”
This careful deflection, offered with professional courtesy that gave Constance no particular grounds for taking offense while nonetheless clearly declining her invitation, sent her from his office with rather less satisfaction than her opening gambit had evidently anticipated, though her determination remained, by all subsequent reports, entirely undiminished.
Ruth, hearing of this exchange through Mrs. Petty's efficient reporting some days later, found herself experiencing an emotion she was rather reluctant to properly examine — a small, unbidden satisfaction at Caleb's evident disinterest in Constance's renewed campaign, an emotion that struck her, upon honest reflection, as considerably more proprietary than mere professional concern for a colleague's romantic entanglements ought to properly warrant.
“You've heard, I expect, of Constance's latest campaign,” she observed, unable to entirely resist raising the subject during their next working session together.
“I have, and I've extended the same polite deflection I understand Nathaniel Cross once employed to similar effect. I've no present interest in courtship, Mrs. Whitfield's ambitions or anyone else's, however kindly or persistently offered.”
“That's entirely your prerogative, of course. I only mention it because Constance can prove rather persistent, once she's settled her ambitions on a particular target, and I'd not want you caught unprepared by whatever further campaigns she might yet devise.”
“I appreciate the warning, though I confess I find myself rather more curious about your own particular perspective on the matter, Ruth, than about Mrs. Whitfield's evident persistence.”
This observation, offered with a directness that caught Ruth rather off guard, settled between them with a weight that neither quite knew how to properly address, and Ruth found herself, retreating to the safer ground of practical medical matters rather than examining too closely whatever particular perspective Caleb's pointed question had actually invited her to reveal, understanding, with some private discomfort, that she was not yet ready to properly acknowledge the considerable personal investment she had already, without quite intending it, developed in this careful, guarded physician's eventual romantic future.
Constance, undeterred by Caleb's polite deflection, redirected her considerable social energies toward a strategy of hosting increasingly elaborate town gatherings to which the new physician could scarcely avoid receiving invitation, each occasion offering fresh opportunity to showcase her own household's refinements and, not incidentally, her continued marital availability.
Ruth found herself attending several of these gatherings alongside Caleb, their now-familiar working partnership extending naturally into these social occasions, and could not entirely suppress a certain private satisfaction at observing Constance's evident frustration when Caleb's attention remained persistently, if perhaps unconsciously, drawn toward Ruth's own company rather than his hostess's carefully orchestrated charms.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself rather less than Mrs. Whitfield intended, at these gatherings,” Ruth observed, at one such occasion, watching Caleb navigate a particularly effusive conversation about Philadelphia society that Constance had clearly researched specifically to demonstrate her own sophistication.
“I confess these social occasions tax my patience rather more than my medical duties, which strikes me as a peculiar inversion of what most people would consider more or less demanding. I find myself, at gatherings like this one, rather wishing for the plain honesty of an actual medical crisis, which at least offers clear purpose rather than this elaborate social performance.”
“That's rather a doctor's particular occupational hazard, I'd imagine — growing so accustomed to genuine crisis and plain speaking that ordinary social performance comes to feel considerably more exhausting by comparison.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps I simply prefer honest company to performed sophistication, whatever the setting. I find I much prefer our regular working sessions to these elaborate social evenings, Ruth, if I'm entirely honest about the comparison.”
This small confession, offered amid Constance's carefully orchestrated gathering, settled warmly into Ruth's growing collection of evidence regarding Caleb's genuine preferences, and she found herself, watching him extract himself from Constance's conversation with polite but evident relief, increasingly confident that whatever campaign the ambitious widow continued to wage, it stood little genuine chance of succeeding against whatever quieter, more substantial connection was continuing to develop between herself and the reluctant physician.
Constance's persistence continued regardless through the following weeks, her invitations growing progressively more elaborate as her earlier strategies failed to produce the desired result, culminating in an ambitious harvest social that drew nearly the whole district's attendance and gave her, she evidently hoped, sufficient opportunity to properly showcase her charms before a considerably larger audience than her more intimate dinners had managed.
Ruth found herself observing this final elaborate campaign with something approaching genuine sympathy for Constance's evident persistence, understanding that whatever romantic ambitions drove the widow's considerable social energies, they sprang from a genuine loneliness not entirely unlike Ruth's own, however differently each woman had chosen to address that loneliness over the years.
“I don't wish her ill, whatever her transparent maneuvering,” she confided to Amelia, watching Constance work the crowded gathering with practiced social grace.
“I understand something of what drives her, examined honestly. Loneliness makes a person do all manner of things they might otherwise consider beneath their dignity.”
“That's a generous perspective, Ruth, particularly given that she's rather transparently pursuing your own intended.”
“He's not yet properly my intended, Amelia, whatever either of us might privately hope.
But I'll own your point stands regardless — I find myself considerably more sympathetic to Constance's persistent campaign than jealous of it, understanding that whatever she's seeking, I've been fortunate enough to find through rather different means.”
The harvest social concluded that evening with Constance's ambitions evidently no further advanced than her considerable effort deserved, and Ruth found herself walking home alongside Caleb through the crisp autumn evening, both of them commenting, with matching wry amusement, on the elaborate lengths Constance had gone to in pursuit of a match that seemed, by every evident sign, unlikely ever to properly materialize.
“I confess some genuine relief that this particular social season's demands have concluded,” Caleb said, as they walked.
“I find myself considerably more at ease in our regular working partnership than in these more elaborate social performances, whatever obligation properly attends a physician's participation in his new community's gatherings.”
“I'd wager most genuine connections are built exactly that way, Caleb — through the accumulated small moments of ordinary partnership, rather than through any single elaborate social occasion, however impressively orchestrated.”
This observation settled comfortably between them as they continued their walk beneath the gathering dusk, both increasingly aware, though neither yet prepared to properly voice it, that their own particular partnership had already begun building something considerably more substantial than either had initially anticipated when Caleb first arrived in town some weeks before.
They paused at the small bridge crossing the creek that ran along the edge of town, both seemingly reluctant to conclude the evening's walk despite having reached the point where their paths would ordinarily diverge toward their separate homes.
“I find myself in no particular hurry to end this particular evening,” Caleb admitted, watching the moonlight play across the water's gentle current.
“Nor I,” Ruth said softly, and the two of them lingered a while longer at that small bridge, talking of nothing in particular, simply enjoying the comfortable ease of each other's company beneath the clear autumn sky, until the evening's chill finally sent them each reluctantly toward their separate homes.
Ruth found herself, walking the final stretch home alone, humming a small tune she had not properly noticed herself humming, and understood, catching herself at it, that whatever careful composure she had maintained regarding her own uncertain feelings these past weeks was beginning to show distinct signs of the same gradual thaw she had witnessed in Caleb's own guarded heart, both of them apparently moving, by equally cautious degrees, toward some eventual reckoning neither was yet quite ready to properly name.
She found herself, arriving home, standing a moment longer than usual at her own bedroom window, looking out at the same stars that had accompanied her walk with Caleb, and felt a warmth settling through her that had nothing whatsoever to do with the evening's mild autumn temperature.
She thought of her considerable ledger, tucked safely in its drawer, and wondered, for the first time with genuine rather than merely theoretical seriousness, what particular entry her own eventual story might someday warrant, should this quiet, growing warmth continue its gradual, patient development toward whatever conclusion awaited it.
She fell asleep that night more contented than she had felt in longer than she could properly recall, and woke the following morning to find the whole world somehow brighter, the autumn sunshine streaming through her window carrying a particular golden quality she felt certain had not been present in quite the same measure the previous week, understanding, even as she smiled at her own evident sentimentality, that whatever was growing between herself and Caleb had already begun quietly transforming the whole ordinary texture of her daily life.