Chapter Two: At Your Service
"Mother, you have a visitor," Catherine announced from the doorway.
Zelda looked up, her mind still reeling from the ominous message that purportedly travelled halfway across the world to find her. Although she'd read it a dozen times, it still made no more sense than the first time.
Was there a threat against her husband? Exchanging one thing for another sounded like paying a ransom, but surely a perfectly fine looking, but in no way exceptional brooch wouldn't have equal value to one Ogden Crowe, sole heir and chief executive of the Eastern States Railway Company. And if it were a ransom, did that mean her husband had been kidnapped? But that was silly because he should be home soon. Then again, what if his recent lack of communication was due to being in mortal danger instead of being on the road? Perhaps she should take the note seriously. But did that mean she should travel to China?
"Ahem," someone cleared their throat and extended a hand. "Dr. Santiago Caruso, at your service, Mrs. Crowe."
Zelda looked up. Standing in front of her was a young man who looked barely old enough to vote, much less hold an advanced degree.
"I'm sorry. What type of service would that be?" she asked, tucking everything back in the box again before standing.
Dr. Caruso gripped the brim of the derby hat in his hands. "My understanding is that I will be in the employ of the Crowe family as your personal physician, Mrs. Crowe," he said while sneaking nervous glances between the two women.
"I do not need a personal physician, and if you call me Mrs. Crowe one more time, doctor, I will have you thrown out of this house. Mrs. Crowe was my mother-in-law so I will thank you not to remind me of her. You may address me as madam," she said before turning to her daughter. "As for you, I suppose this was your doing, was it not?"
Catherine defiantly leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. "It was, and I will not make any apologies, Mother. You are now at an age where your health—"
"There is nothing wrong with my health! I am more fit than the rest of you pathetic lot with your cigarettes and Coca Colas," Zelda huffed as she picked up the discarded parcel. She had no time to waste on such frivolities when her husband's life could be in danger. "But for you to insinuate otherwise on my birthday no less is a heinous betrayal that I didn't expect even from you."
Catherine's eyes widened. Balling her fists, she stamped her feet several times in frustration before turning on her heels and storming off.
"Very mature, darling!" Zelda yelled after her. "Perhaps you should schedule an extra session with your therapist next week just to be safe."
When her daughter was out of view, Zelda turned to the man standing beside her. "You're still here?" she asked with a smile. Making Catherine miserable always seemed to lift her spirits.
"Yes, Mrs.—I mean—madam," he replied. "But I'm not quite sure what just happened here. Am I still to get the job?"
Zelda sighed. Upon a better look, he seemed like a nice, young man. His suit was a bit ill-fitting and his hair could have used a little trim, but he had an attractive face and a pleasant demeanor. Perhaps she could spare him a few extra minutes.
"I'm afraid not," she said. "As you can see, I am quite capable of taking care of myself. I'm sorry that you wasted your time coming all the way out here."
"Oh. That is unfortunate," he muttered, looking down and nervously toyed with his hat. "I had assumed the position was practically guaranteed and—"
"Well, that was your problem. Never assume, doctor," Zelda snapped before taking pity on him. There was an innocence—a kindness of his soul, even—that exuded from Santiago Caruso that she never got from Catherine, her own flesh and blood. And while she couldn't completely make up for his disappointment, she could lighten the mood with which he left. She certainly could use a pick-me-up.
"May I offer you a drink?" she asked, walking to the icebox and pulling out a partial bottle of champagne.
"I don't consume alcohol." He politely waved off the offer.
"You won't turn me in to the coppers, will you?" she asked only half-joking while reaching for a single flute instead of the intended two.
Santiago laughed, breaking his stoic expression for the first time. "Not at all. It's a personal choice, nothing more."
"In that case," Zelda said, pouring herself a glass and sitting at the table before motioning toward the other chair. "Join me while I do."
He nodded and removed his overcoat before sitting in the adjacent seat.
"You look too young to be a doctor," she observed, twirling the sparkling liquid in the crystal flute.
His cheeks reddened. "Yes. I hear that often."
She took a sip and observed him from above the rim. "How old are you exactly, if I may ask?"
Clearing his throat, he pulled himself straight. "Twenty-five, madam."
Zelda scoffed. She'd been right. He was barely an adult. And to think, Catherine was going to entrust her into his care? "Twenty-five," she repeated before taking another sip. "And you're a physician, you say?"
He nodded. "I certainly am." Reaching into his pocket, Santiago pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it on the table. At the top, the words 'New York Homeopathic Medical College and Flower Hospital' were printed in bold. "I gained my certification under the Board of Regents of the State of New York and—"
"That's quite enough," she cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. "So based on your age and your credentials, is it safe to say that instead of fighting in the war, you chose to study medicine, instead?"
Santiago laced his fingers together. "That is correct. You see, the only thing I hate more than the sight of blood is physical violence. I couldn't in good conscience pick up a weapon against another living being so I offered my services to my country by learning to treat the very wounds of those who were lucky to come back home."
Zelda drank the rest of her champagne. "What sort of doctor can't stand blood?" she asked, fixated on the most interesting part of his revelation.
"May I be completely candid, madam?"
"Please."
"As a naive nineteen-year-old, I neither wanted to kill nor be killed. So I chose an alternative that kept me out of the war. I am an excellent physician, and you can ask any of my professors, colleagues, or even patients for confirmation. My aversion to blood is unfortunate, but my need to earn a living—now more than ever—takes precedence," he said.
The subtle aside about the imminent urgency caught here ear, and Zelda cocked her head to the side. "Is that so? Are you in some type of trouble? Or did you cross the wrong people, perhaps?"
He glanced down and took a deep breath before responding. "We come from different worlds, you and me, madam. I'm ashamed to admit that in my world, there have been certain financial burdens incurred by certain family members that have recently fallen on me to repay."
"There is never any shame in taking responsibility, doctor," she said, feeling more sympathetic than she'd expected. "So am I correct in my understanding that the job my daughter offered to you would have helped in paying off these debts?"
Santiago nodded. "You are. One year as your personal physician would have earned me enough to clear the obligation for good."
"I see," Zelda said before standing. Although she truly felt awful in taking away this opportunity, she had no need for a full-time doctor to constantly hover over her. The sooner she dismissed Dr. Caruso, the better it was for both of them.
"But you must know that it wasn't Catherine's place to make such an offer. While I appreciate your time, I am in no need for an attendant of your qualifications. Or any attendant for that matter," she said extending her hand in farewell. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a trip to plan."
Catherine burst in through the kitchen door. "A trip?" she asked, obviously close enough to hear the end of the conversation. "Where on earth do you think you're going, Mother? And did you intend to even discuss any trips with me?"
Santiago quickly stood, still holding Zelda's hand. He was just about to graze her knuckles with a polite kiss when she addressed her daughter.
"I'm quite certain I don't need to get your permission, Catherine," she said, pulling her hand away from the befuddled doctor caught between the two Crowe women. "As it happens, I've just decided on going myself."
Grabbing his coat, Santiago gave a quick bow. "I'll let myself out," he whispered before ducking out.
"And where exactly will you be going?" Catherine asked, completely ignoring the departing guest.
"China," Zelda replied as she maintained eye contact with her increasingly livid daughter.
"China?!" Catherine threw up her hands. "Have you lost your mind?"
"I most certainly have not," Zelda said with forced calmness in direct opposition to Catherine's reaction. Well aware of needing a legitimate explanation for her decision, she had no choice but to lie. "If you must know, that gift was from your father. I didn't want to give away the surprise in front of everyone, but the note was an invitation to join him in Shanghai."
Catherine closed her eyes and massaged her temples. "Why on earth would Daddy do such a thing? It makes no sense for him to ask you to make an arduous trip like that."
Her reticence made Zelda now want to go even more desperately. "I'll be sure to ask when I catch up with him," she said, already heading toward the door. There was no time to waste and she had to pack.
"No," Catherine said from behind.
Zelda turned. "No?"
"No," she repeated. "Do you know what a trip like that entails? I will not let you travel to the Orient by sea, land, and perhaps even by air alone on a journey that will likely take weeks if not longer. A woman is vulnerable enough in her own environment, let alone in a completely foreign one."
Zelda sighed. Catherine could be exasperating, but in this case, there was some truth to her argument. And she would be no use to Ogden if she were to end up in her own trouble. Then again, maybe there was another solution . . ..
"What if I'm not alone?" she asked, an all-knowing smile curving on her lips.
Catherine threw her hands up. "Oh, no, Mother. There's no way I'm going with—"
"No, no, no! Not with you," Zelda corrected before spinning toward the entry where Dr. Santiago Caruso was just about to leave. "With him!"
ONC running wordcount: 3,149
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