“If you could bear all the laughter and the giggling, we would enjoy having you back.”
“Michael!”
“Very well, Jules, I’ll do all the giggling. Thomas,” Saint continued, “have you decided anything yet? Is the world to have another doctor?”
Thomas played with the mashed sweet potato on his plate for a bit. “I have decided that I can’t go back East, Saint,” he said at last. “I have no money and I can’t drag Penelope with me.”
“So,” Jules said, “you’ve decided to marry her?”
Thomas nodded, a crooked grin on his lips. “The problem is, of course, that she’s never known a day’s want in her life. And I refuse to take money from her father.”
“You might have to,” Saint said bluntly. He raised his hand to stem Thomas’ protest. “No, listen to me. You’ve some years of study ahead of you, with no income. Either you negotiate a . . . loan fro
m Bunker, or you don’t get married.”
“But you did,” Jules said.
“Only at the very end,” Saint said, “and it wasn’t easy for a while. Incidentally, Thomas, I was speaking to Dr. Samuel Pickett at the Seamen’s Hospital about you. He needs good men, and at least he’s an excellent doctor. You’d get good training there. Not as extensive as in New York or Boston, but adequate.”
Thomas brightened considerably. “He’d take me on, really?”
“Yes,” Saint said. He didn’t add that he himself would provide funds during Thomas’ instruction period.
“You could live here, Thomas.”
But Thomas was frowning. “What about Penelope?”
“You’re having problems fighting her off?” Saint asked, his wide grin revealing his white teeth.
“Yes, I am.” Thomas sighed. “And myself as well,” he added.
“You could marry and live at the Stevenson mansion,” Jules said.
“Damn,” Thomas said. “I don’t know.” He smiled suddenly. “Do you know what Bunker Stevenson offered me? He’s willing to give me the foundry as a sort of wedding present. Penelope’s dowry, I suppose.”
“That sounds like a financially wise solution,” said Saint.
“He wants me to run the place. I told him I wanted to be a doctor, and he stared at me like I was one of Jules’s arc-eye ravenfish.”
“If I were you, Thomas,” Jules said, “I think I’d let Penelope convince her father that you’d be the greatest doctor in San Francisco, after Michael, of course. And it’s an arc-eye hawkfish, Thomas.”
“I’m glad to see you happy, Jules,” Thomas said to his sister later that evening when they were alone for a few minutes. “It’s about time. Saint’s a fine man, and for a woman, and my little sister, you’re not so bad either.”
“Yes,” said Jules, “yes, he is.” She heard Michael’s booted step upstairs and smiled wistfully.
“My little virgin sister is no more,” Thomas said, grinning at her lecherously.
She poked him in the stomach.
“You sure you want me to move back in? I don’t want to find myself lying in my bed at night listening to your . . . well, your devotion to your husband.”
“He is equally devoted,” said Jules, refusing to let him bait her into blushing.
“I’ll just bet he is! Good night, love. I’ll bring my meager belongings back tomorrow.”
“I’ll knit you something to cover your ears at night, brother!”
“I simply don’t understand how we fit so well,” Jules said, her eyes resting on her husband’s swollen manhood. “You are so large.”