A legacy.
She was merely the means to an end nearly three decades in the making.
A chorus of demandingmeowsgreeted Abigail when she stepped into the entry hall that doubled as both a receiving parlor for her patients and a place to hang her cloak. After removing her cloak and hat, freeing a tumble of brown curls that she shoved impatiently behind her ears, she crouched down and began to apologize in earnest to her beloved feline companions.
As a child, she had often yearned for a pet, but her mother had never permitted it. While she was learning to be a doctor, the hours spent pouring over textbooks and in lecture halls had prohibited it. But after she graduated (not officially, as Dr. Bard would be the first to point out, but in every other way that mattered), the days had stretched long and been filled with loneliness while she fought to get even a single patient to walk through her door, and then fought again to keep them therewhen they realized she wasn’t the doctor’s secretary, but the actual doctor.
“But you’re... a woman,” a gray-haired man leaning heavily on a wooden cane had said, squinting at her in such a way that she’d instinctively patted her shoulder just to ensure a second head hadn’t suddenly sprouted.
“I am,” she’d told him briskly. “Please, have a seat and tell me why you’ve come in.”
“You’re awoman,” he’d repeated, squinting even harder.
“Not for your eyesight,” she’d mused, opening a drawer and removing her stethoscope. “That appears to be in sufficient working order. Is your limp from an injury, in relation to your age, or a birth deformity? Is it more painful in the morning or the evening, and is the pain ever accompanied by shortness of breath?”
“My leg is fine! Good day to you,ma’am.” Driving his cane into the floor, the man had hobbled out in a cloud of indignation. As had the next seven potential patients. Just as she’d been about to dim the candles for the day and drown her disappointment in tea and textbooks, a loud knock had sounded at the door.
“Come in,” she’d said tiredly, barely glancing up from her desk. “Yes, I am the doctor. No, there is not a male doctor here. Yes, I am supremely qualified—”
“It’s my cat,” a small voice had warbled tearfully. “I think she’s dying.”
Abigail had closed her book with a snap and looked up to find a child, no more than ten, holding a limp black cat cradled against her chest.
“Oh, no,” she’d began. “I am sorry. I am not an animal doctor, you see, I am—”
“She’sdying,” the child had howled, squeezing the cat with such force that if it hadn’t been dying before, it certainly was now. “Please help me.”
“Put it here, on this table,” she’d instructed with a sigh, and while the child had watched her every movement with bated breath, she’d used all of her years of training, instruction, clinical studies, and final exams to administer medical care to... a cat.
“She has a cut, here, in her mouth, that has formed an abscess,” she’d said finally after a thorough examination. “I am sure it is quite painful, and has prevented your cat from eating or drinking, thus her lethargic behavior. I will lance the abscess and keep her overnight for observation. You may return for her in the morning.”
“Penny isn’t going to die?” the child had sniffled, wiping tears from her cheeks with back of a chubby hand.
“Not today. Although all creatures, both human and animal, do die eventually. It is the natural process of life.”
“She’s going to dietomorrow?” the child had gasped.
“Aside from the abscess, your cat is in excellent health.” Belatedly, it had occurred to Abigail that such philosophical musings on life and death were best saved for adult conversation. “There is no reason she should not aspire to a long, healthy life. If she ever stops eating or drinking again, you...” She’d hesitated, then dropped her shoulders. “You may bring her right back here and I will treat her to the best of my ability.”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you, doctor!” The child’s enthusiastic embrace had caught Abigail off guard before she’d leaned into it, having not realized how alone she felt until she had company. Without meaning to, she’d thought of Stephen, and she’d wondered where he was and what he was doing in that same exact second of time.
Four months later, on the eve of Abigail packing up her office as she prepared to set out for a small town in Connecticut where she’d been told the people might be a bit more accepting of a female physician, the child had returned with Penny clutched under one arm and a wicker basket swinging from the other. A woman, slightly older than Abigail with crinkle lines in the corners of her eyes and an exasperated smile shaping her mouth, had followed the girl into the office, now stripped of all Abigail’s belongings, and introduced herself.
“My name is Lydia Chadwick. I know you’ve already met my daughter, Hannah. She told me how you saved our cat, and she would like to express her gratitude with a gift.”
“That’s not necessary,” Abigail had said automatically. “It was very small medical procedure—”
“Please,” Lydia had interrupted, grimacing as she’d nudged Hannah forward. “Please take one, or else we’re going to end up with all six, and our household is already busy enough as it is.”
“All six?” Abigail had asked, perplexed. “Six of what?”
Kittens, as it had turned out.
Six kittens with enormous eyes and tiny paws and triangular ears that twitched.
“No, no,” she’d said, shaking her head even as her heart pulled her hand into the basket and under the chin of a small, fuzzy halo of black and orange fur. “I couldn’t. I am leaving the city tomorrow, and—”
“Why, that’s perfect,” Lydia had declared cheerfully. “You’ll have a traveling companion.”
