When We Get to San Francisco…

"Now then, Miss McCarthy," said Bill, holding up the novel device for his patient to see. "I do apologize for the indignity of this position, but I'm afraid it's absolutely necessary."

"Oh, I understand, Doctor Billingston," replied the patient, whose first name was Evelyn. Like most of Bill's patients, she loved the formal way he addressed her, since hardly any other man she knew did that. Although hardly enough to enable her to forget that she was lying spread-eagled and barebottom before him, she could not help but appreciate the dignity with which he spoke to her even under such circumstances. "It's ever so silly, really, the way we all pretend not to know what one another's body looks like underneath it all anyway, isn't it?"

"Excellent attitude, Miss McCarthy. Wouldn't you say so, Mary?"

"I certainly would," agreed Bill's wife and nurse, standing by the examination table for moral support as she did with all her husband's patients. "Now, Evelyn, this might be a bit uncomfortable at first, but it will be fine once you get used to putting the diaphragm in yourself."

"Indeed," said Bill. "Most of my patients report no problems at all once they've had a bit of practice." Mary handed him the little bottle, unscrewed for the demonstration as usual. "Now, first, Miss McCarthy, you brush a touch of the jelly here onto the rim of the diaphragm, like so, and then you fold it into an oval for insertion." Evelyn nodded and watched attentively as the doctor reached down and gently pushed the contraption into her vagina. She wiggled her legs a bit involuntarily, as Bill's patients often did. Mary, recognizing the reaction, held Evelyn's hand gently. "Push it in until you can feel it against your cervix. Can you feel how it can go no further now?" he asked, looking up.

Evelyn nodded. Bill carefully withdrew his fingers. "That's it?" she asked.

"That's it, Miss McCarthy. Just be sure to leave it in for at least six hours after intercourse."

"And I can't get in the family way with it in there?"

"Not as long as it is fitted correctly, you can't." Bill went to the washbasin to scrub his hands. "If you have any trouble learning how to put it in, or if you'd like any further advice on safe intercourse, you're welcome to join Mrs. Billingston's clinic seminars every Wednesday evening, or by private appointment if you can't make it on Wednesdays."

"And anything I ask you there – it's a secret?" Evelyn asked Mary, who was now helping her remove the diaphragm."

"Completely secret and private," Mary confirmed.

"No men allowed," Bill added. "Not even me."

"Wow," Evelyn mused, admiring her new possession for a moment before Mary took it to clean and put away. "All that noise the old ladies down in the street make about immorality and sin, and it's all because of this little thing?"

"An awful lot of people in this world never learn to mind their own damn business, Miss McCarthy," Bill said, turning away respectfully when he saw she was now putting her dress back on. Once again he chuckled at the idea that, given how high hemlines were these days, his younger patients didn't really need to undress in the first place. "But rest assured, there are plenty of women like you who are ready to take charge of their own lives for a change."

"That does make me feel better," Evelyn said. "My friend – I guess I'm not supposed to tell you her name, but she's a patient of yours, too – she said you told her the same thing. She also said you were the only doctor in Denver that had these thingamabobs," she added, tapping on her diaphragm case just before she slid it discreetly into the bottom of her purse. "She said you even know that lady that went to jail for them – Margaret something?"

"Somebody's got to do it," Bill said with a conciliatory smile. As usual, he neither confirmed nor denied his involvement with Margaret Sanger; he was already controversial enough without anyone knowing of his connections. "In any case, you are definitely not alone, Miss McCarthy. Mary will settle your bill for you," he added. "Bring in the next patient when you're done with her, Mary."

As soon as the two women had exited the examination room, Evelyn turned to Mary with a conspiratorial grin. "Please, Mrs. Billingston, tell me your secret! How on earth did you ever find a fellow like him?"

"Trust me, darling, you do not want to go through what I went through in order to find him," Mary said in her practiced gentle tone, having heard that question hundreds of times before. "But I'm sure there are other enlightened young men out there if you look hard enough. I will let you in on one secret to my success, though: I invited him to join me for dinner. That was what started it all."

"Asking a fellow out?" Evelyn asked. "Well, I never would have considered that. But the world is changing, isn't it?" After a brief pause, she pushed ahead with the queries on the doctor. "He hasn't got a younger brother, has he?"

"Not that I know of."

"Wouldn't you know if he did or not, though, Mrs. Billingston?"

"I'm afraid I wouldn't, darling," Mary said. "We haven't seen his parents in fifteen years. And given what little I knew of them even then, I don't think they had any plans for more children." Dissolving into guilty laughter, she added, "I would even go so far as to say I'm not sure his mother knew how babies were made!"

"And yet he knows more about that than anybody," Evelyn said. "How very queer."

"I long ago stopped trying to understand just how people become who they are," Mary told the younger woman. "There are too many things in my own past that I'll never understand."

"I guess so, Mrs. Billingston, but you sure are a lucky lady now!"

"Thank you, Evelyn. And yes, I certainly am." Mary smiled as she watched Evelyn take her leave, her short dress swishing flirtatiously about her hips and her arms shamelessly bare. Mary told herself once again that she did not envy the fashion among younger women, and up to a point it was true. It would hardly do for a mother of two – or three, if she were to be brutally honest with herself – who was well into her thirties to fancy herself a flapper even if she had the desire to dress like that. No, it was more that even if she were younger, the scars on her wrists would be ever so obvious without long sleeves. For all that she and Bill had done together to make a wonderful life for themselves, those were two scars that – literally and figuratively – would never, ever heal.

Stop that, she reminded herself, forcing a smile as she called the next patient's name. Think of all you and Bill have done to save other young women from the same fate! As usual, that pleasant consideration put her in a more positive frame of mind, and it was back to work.

The late spring sun was still out when Mary and Bill braved their way out the back door of the office building a few hours later. As usual, Officer Buxton was there to keep the protesters at bay. "Evening doctor, missus," he said, linking his arm through Mary's to escort them across the alley to the parking garage. "How's your day?"

"Lovely, thank you, Walter," Mary said, ignoring as usual the screeches of "Whore enabler!" and "Baby killer!" that erupted from the few hardy souls who staked out the back door; most of the protesters kept to the sidewalk, where they could distribute their flyers to passerby. "How's Arlene?"

"Just fine, thanks to you two," Walter said, unlocking the garage door for them. He was one of many grateful husbands on the force – the chief of police was another – who ensured that Bill's practice could continue regardless of the protesters and the blue laws. "Have a great evening!"

"Thank you," Bill and Mary said in unison. Careful as always to never discuss business outside the office – the safety of many of their patients depended upon it – they were silent as Bill unlocked the Pierce Arrow roadster he had purchased shortly after returning from the war, and fired up the engine. Bracing themselves for one last round of invective from the protestors, he drove out onto the street.

As usual, it arrived in full force. The screams and cries of outrage as they roared past the office building into the thick of downtown – away from home rather than towards it, to help ensure the troublemakers would never learn where they lived, for anyone who tried to tail them would always get lost in the traffic if the police didn't stop them first – were almost welcome by now, a reminder that they had achieved another day of the life's work they both loved. Still and all, Mary usually felt the need to comment once they were finally free, and today was no exception. "Heavens, don't any of them have families to attend to?" she asked.

"I tend to doubt they have anything to attend to," Bill replied, "Otherwise they wouldn't be so worked up about matters that are none of their business." As always, Mary was initially amazed at his patience over the matter. And as always she recalled almost instantly that nothing he might see on the sidewalks of Denver could compare to the horrors he had seen as a field doctor in the war, to say nothing of what he had witnessed in the clinics back in New Haven before they had met. He never spoke of either experience; but there was no need to do so.

Bill, of course, had to keep his eyes on the road as they drove past the protesters. Mary had long since learned to focus straight ahead as well and avoid acknowledging them in any way. As a result, neither of them took any notice of the stout older man in the pinstripe suit who was watching the scene in silence from across the street. They didn't notice his tacit disapproval of the abuse they endured, and they didn't see his gaze follow the Pierce Arrow as it roared off down the street.

Maxine, the nanny, had the usual chaos only just under control when Bill and Mary finally arrived at their majestic home just off Washington Park. She had little Anna washed and ready, and was keeping a watchful eye from a safe distance as the girl conducted her afternoon tea party with the Danforth children from next door. Mrs. Danforth was perched on the couch with the children's tutor, Mrs. Fortnier, and the two were deep in yet another of their conversations while Kathleen buzzed about them with tea and snacks. Out in the kitchen, dinner was well underway and Mrs. Morton's usual stern directives had the staff running about like a crazy machine that somehow functioned perfectly. Charlie, at the ripe old age of ten, had long since assured Maxine that he could clean himself up in time for supper, and as usual he had. He was holding court with Annie, the eldest of the Danforth girls, and his best friend Joseph, from across the park. The stately parlor was a veritable cacophony of energetic friendship, and it all came to only a momentary pause when Bill swung open the front door.

"Mummy! Daddy!" Anna leapt and bounded across the room to greet first Bill, then Mary with a kiss and a squeeze. "Come have some tea with us?"

"We certainly will, Anna, in a moment," Mary told her, surveying the room as she removed her coat. She and Bill handed them to Robinson, who as usual had appeared out of nowhere to wait upon them. "Has the gardener been squared away at last, Robinson?" Mary asked.

"We settled the bill this morning," he reassured her. "He'll be by as usual next week."

Bill had just enough time to thank Robinson before Annie Danforth greeted him with an affectionate squeeze of his hand in both of hers. "Doctor Billingston, you'll never guess what!" she exclaimed. "I'm going to have –"

"Annie!" Mrs. Danforth interrupted sternly, jumping up from the couch. "I'm sorry, Doctor, she knows I told her to wait for me to talk to you first."

"Mother, everyone else in the room knows anyway, don't they?" Annie complained.

"Never you mind that, dear," Mrs. Danforth reprimanded her. "Doctor Billingston, I'm expecting again!"

"Well, that's wonderful, Mrs. Danforth!" Bill said. "We ought to have an appointment, then. Mary?" he turned to see Charlie smiling a polite hello to his mother, whom he deigned to allow a kiss on his cheek.

"Oh, of course," Mary said. "And congratulations."

"I am sorry to burst upon you like this the moment you walked in the door," Mrs. Danforth said.

"Nonsense, we love a full house!" Mary reassured her.

"Are you ever going to have another one, Mommy?" Anna piped up from behind Mary.

"Oh, I don't know!" Mary laughed just a bit too loudly as she said it, scooping the girl up in her arms. "The two of you keep us so very busy already!"

"Maybe when you get to San Francisco?" Anna asked.

Bill laughed. "Yes, dear, maybe sometime after that." To Mrs. Danforth he explained, "'When we get to San Francisco' is inside-the-family slang for 'maybe someday,' a thing that might happen someday or might not happen at all. You see..."

"Oh, Mary has told me all about it," Mrs. Danforth said. "How you met on the train to San Francisco and never made it there."

"Precisely," Bill confirmed. "And we've still never been out there. But someday we'll make the trip."

"Would you and the children like to stay for dinner?" Mary asked Mrs. Danforth, preferring to put off the topic of another baby if at all possible.

"Oh, we can't tonight, thank you," Mrs. Danforth said. "I've still got to share the good news with Jack, after all."

"Well, give him our regards," Bill said. In the interim, Mrs. Fortnier had also stood up to take her leave. "How were the kids today?" Bill asked her.

"Quite good," Mrs. Fortnier said. "Charlie does love his reader so."

"I only wish I were more like that at his age," Bill said as Robinson handed Mrs. Fortnier her coat and hat. Silently he added that he wished his own home had been so full of friends and full of life back then; but then, his mother certainly would not have tolerated such things. He did hope Charlie appreciated the wonderful chaos that so often prevailed in their parlor.

Maxine appeared at their side. "Shall I get the children ready for supper?" she asked Bill.

"No need just yet," Kathleen told her. "Begging your pardon, Doctor, but we're running a bit late. Will you and Mrs. Billingston be joining us to do the salad?"

"Wouldn't miss that for the world," Bill said. "We'll be right out." Turning back to Maxine, he congratulated her on another day of managing the madhouse. "Well done as always, I see, as the place hasn't burned down. I will never know how you manage them all so well, Maxine."

"Oh, it's a lovely challenge and you know it is, Doctor Billingston!" Maxine replied with a grin.

"Indeed I do," Bill acknowledged.

Maxine sat down and smoothed out her skirt, and called for Charlie and Anna to come join her for the pre-dinner story. Mrs. Danforth gathered her girls to return home, and Joseph also took his leave despite an invitation to supper. "I'd have to ask Mother, and she's sore at me just now," he confessed. While Robinson showed the guests out and Kathleen busied herself cleaning up the lingering teacups and saucers, Bill and Mary retired to the kitchen to toss the salad.

An on-again, off-again ritual that tried Mrs. Morton's patience, as their presence in her kitchen presented a minor inconvenience, it was nevertheless tolerated because they were such a lovely family to work for. From her perch in the living room as she told the children a favorite story she knew by heart, Maxine could only just see Bill in his vest with his sleeves rolled up and Mary looking tired but resilient in her stocking feet as they worked together on the salad. For the hundredth time at least, she marveled at what a truly lovely couple they were and at her own great luck in working for them.

Though they could afford one of the finest chefs in Denver and no shortage of helpers for her, Bill and Mary clung to their responsibility for the salad as a last vestige of their own salad days. The early years of their marriage had been lean years indeed, and working together on supper had been a bonding experience back when medical school and nursing school had kept them both too broke to hire help and cooking was a welcome respite from studying. It had proven to be an absolute necessity once Charlie was born, with Bill still in his final year of medical school and Mary's nursing practice bringing in scarcely enough money to feed the three of them; and it had remained so when Anna came along four years later, just as Bill's practice was getting off the ground. Then had come the war, and with it Bill's absence for two years. He had returned a hero to the boys in Europe for the services he'd provided, and to the girls in Denver for providing non-judgmental advice and assistance with issues that were still unmentionable beyond his office, and his family had wanted for nothing since then. But making supper together remained a ritual he and Mary treasured together, and Mrs. Morton's helpers had only admiring glances to cast as they stepped around their boss' bosses.

Maxine, as perpetually awestruck by the good doctor as so many of his patients were, always welcomed the sight of Bill and Mary working together in the kitchen – not least because it afforded her the opportunity to do so only from a safe distance. Amidst the small talk from the children while they mostly listened to the story, she stole a glance time and again beyond the dining room table into the corner of the kitchen that was visible, where they worked side by side at the counter, tired but happy. On a hot summer's day, she would sometimes be prevailed upon to take Charlie and Anna outside to play until it was time to eat. But it wasn't nearly warm enough for that this evening, and she did not care to have to get Anna washed up yet again. And so she got to enjoy the sounds and the occasional view of Bill and Mary at work together.

She did not, as a result, chance to view the old man in the pinstripe suit, now seated on a bench across the street in the park. Having no fear of any protesters himself, he had ridden his new secondhand bicycle straight to the address he had managed to wheedle from the clerk in the automobile registration office, and he had arrived in time to greet the sight of Bill and Mary pulling into their private garage.

"Who's that again, Dad?" Charlie asked as they sat down to supper, pointing again at the photograph that had been set atop the china hutch for more than a week. The house seemed almost deathly quiet now that the friends, neighbors and staff were away, but that only enhanced the intimacy Bill and Mary loved so about dinnertime alone with the children.

"It's the same young lady it's been the last four hundred times you asked about her, silly," Bill told him as he set the plate of pork chops, potatoes and greens before him.

"Yeah, but what's her name?" Charlie asked. "I keep forgetting?"

"Her name is Calandra, dear," Mary said. "Calandra Brockway. We knew her as Candy, but she was even younger than your sister then. I don't suppose she still likes being called Candy now." The photograph had shocked both her and Bill upon its arrival weeks before: baby Candy, now twenty years old, was dressed just as scantily as so many of Bill's younger patients, and wore her hair in a stylish bob. The accompanying letter explained that she was a sophomore at Cal, where her older brother had just graduated.

"And you met her parents on the train?" Charlie asked; he never tired of hearing the very sanitized version of the story of how his parents had met. "The train" was always understood to be the train on which Bill and Mary had met.

"Yes, we did," Bill confirmed. "They were going to San Francisco just like I originally was. I helped Candy's father find work out there, and a few years later he was able to find my address here through some mutual friends."