Where the Light Enters

by Sara Donati

  “No, sir, the term was not raised nor inferred.”

  “But she did suggest surgery?”

  “No. She spoke of seeing a surgeon.”

  “And how did Mrs. Smithson react to this?”

  “Well,” Elise said, glancing at Mrs. Smithson, who sat across the table from her. “I suppose I’d have to describe it as—scoffing. She had been very quiet, almost detached up to that point. But the mention of surgery roused her.”

  Nora Smithson gave a bark of laughter. “When incompetents dare to advise me, of course I scoff. Why would I listen to one such as her?” She jerked her chin in Sophie’s direction.

  The judge said, “I will warn you once more, Mrs. Smithson. Do not speak without being addressed first, by me. Do you understand?”

  Nora Smithson’s mouth pursed, but she nodded.

  “Dr. Savard, do you remember things happening as Miss Mercier has described?”

  Sophie said, “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Very good. Now, can you explain to me why you suggested that Mrs. Smithson consult a surgeon?”

  At soon as Sophie spoke, Jack realized that she had, for once, lost her temper. It would not be obvious to John Clarke, but she was so angry that her voice took on a trembling quality.

  “Your Honor,” she began. “I am a fully qualified physician, active these past six years with an interruption of about ten months. I work exclusively with women and children. Primarily with women who are expecting or in labor.”

  She paused to take a breath, radiating a tension that made the hair on Jack’s nape rise up.

  “In my professional opinion, Mrs. Smithson needs to see a surgeon because she has a growth in her uterus. A growth, sir. Not a child. A very large growth that may be malignant in character and must be removed, if it is not already too late.”

  “Why—” Nora Smithson began, and broke off because Comstock had put a hand on her forearm.

  “Judge Clarke,” he said in his booming courthouse voice. “I would like to speak.”

  “I was afraid of that,” said Clarke. “But I’m warning you, Comstock. None of your usual tricks. Be brief.”

  “Of course,” Comstock inclined his head. “Your Honor, I am astonished at Mrs. Verhoeven’s extraordinary vanity. To portray herself as an expert on the Almighty God’s greatest gift and mystery, the advent of a new life. Her arrogance takes my breath away. Is it her claim that she can see into the human body?”

  “I make no such claim,” Sophie said.

  “Then how is it you can be sure it is not a child Mrs. Smithson carries?”

  “Mr. Comstock,” Sophie said.

  “Inspector Comstock,” he corrected her.

  “I see,” she said, a muscle in her jaw fluttering. “You insist on your title, but will not give me mine.”

  Color rose from his neck, but he made no reply.

  Sophie went on. “Mr. Comstock. Do you truly want me to conduct a lecture in the judge’s chambers on the anatomy of the pregnant female and explain to you how I came to my conclusions? Are you comfortable with a discussion of the measurement of fundal height from the pubic symphysis to the top of the uterus? Or the state and texture of the cervix?”

  “Mr. Comstock may be,” said Clarke. “But I am not.”

  “I asked a simple question,” said Comstock. “The answer is no surprise, but exactly what happens when an inferior understanding is exposed to more education than is good for it.”

  “Comstock!”

  Comstock stood. “Judge Clarke, let me finish by saying that if you won’t take action against a so-called physician who promotes abortion I will find a judge who is willing to protect the good women of the city.”

  Clarke stared at Comstock. Comstock stared back. It was clear to Jack that Comstock would have to give way, but it took him a full minute to realize that. Finally he cleared his throat and dropped his gaze.

  “Mr. Comstock,” Clarke said. “I am writing a letter of complaint to the board of directors of your society, outlining your unsuitability for the position you hold. I realize that nothing will come of it, so I will write a similar letter to the major newspapers of this city. Now, before I close this hearing I will give Dr. Savard the opportunity to respond to your accusations.”

  Sophie was utterly still for a long moment. Then she raised her gaze from the study of her gloved hands and spoke to the judge.

  “Thank you for the opportunity,” she said. “Because I would like what I am going to say to be on the record.”

  She turned in her chair so that she was facing Smithson and Comstock more directly. Her hands were folded in front of her, and her posture was exact.

  “Mrs. Smithson, I want to start by saying that I am sincerely sorry for your troubles, but I am not responsible for any of them. I repeat to you now my concern for your health and my strongest recommendation that you see a surgeon as soon as possible for evaluation and treatment of what may be a life-threatening condition. You have consulted a physician in the past, you could go back to that person—”

  “My grandfather is dead.” Nora Smithson’s voice came in a whisper.

  “What about Dr. Channing? Seth Channing?”

  All the color drained away from Nora Smithson’s face, as if a stopper had been loosed. Now her voice was barely audible. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  Sophie observed her very closely for a long moment, but Smithson kept her gaze averted.

  “You will do as you please,” she went on. “But I want you and Mr. Comstock both to know that I am going to sue you for libel and defamation. I will see to it that your story—your whole story, Mrs. Smithson, the true story of why you consulted my aunt, and of your current condition—is brought before a judge and jury. I do this to protect myself and my aunt, the midwife Amelie Savard, in the face of your fabrications and lies.

  “My Aunt Savard saved your life, and in return you have harassed and publicly vilified her. Now you threaten to do the same to me. In fact, you have already begun to spread malicious lies about me. Enough. No more. I can go to the newspapers too, you should realize. The difference is, I will tell them the truth. So, there will be a reckoning, that I promise you both.”

  The silence was broken only by the sound of dip pens frantically scribbling as the clerks struggled to catch up.

  Jack took that time to savor what had just happened. Oh, Anna was going to be hopping mad to have missed it. Oscar would crow about this for months.

  Nora Smithson’s expression was all cold disdain, but Comstock’s stance was harder to interpret. In the moment he was more surprised than he was angry, but that would change, and quickly. Jack hoped that Sophie would be able to maintain the courage of her convictions.

  Clarke said, “Very well. If you are finished, Dr. Savard, this meeting is over.”

  Comstock said, “And the grand jury?”

  “No,” said Clarke. “Absolutely not. You will not take this to the grand jury, Mr. Comstock. There are no grounds, and that is my final word.”

  * * *

  • • •

  NOW ELISE ASKED Sophie if she really intended to sue Nora Smithson and Anthony Comstock.

  Sophie had been studying the portrait over the hearth, and looked away a little reluctantly. “I am. I’m going to sue her and Comstock for libel. Slander? Defamation? All three, maybe. Conrad will have to tell me.”

  “I look forward to it,” Conrad said, and rubbed his hands together.

  “But other matters have to come first,” Sophie said. “There is no progress on the investigations. Jack, when are you going to search the Shepherd’s Fold?”

  Elise turned abruptly toward him. “And may I be there when you do? I’d like to talk to the girl. To Grace. I think she has stories to tell, and she might be willing to tell them to me.”

  “We were hoping you’d volunte
er, if you can spare an hour tomorrow in the late afternoon,” Oscar said. “Sophie, you look done in. I think it’s time we allow you your privacy.”

  “Then I’m away to the New Amsterdam,” Jack said. “Anna has night duty, but she’ll never forgive me if she doesn’t hear about this immediately.”

  With that Sophie smiled, for the first time that day. She said, “Tell her I apologize in advance for the whirlwind I’ve set in motion.”

  “She’ll be delighted,” Jack said. “And you know it.”

  50

  THE NEW YORK TIMES

  Saturday, May 17, 1884

  MRS. SMITHSON’S DISTRESS

  Yesterday a hearing was held in the chambers of Judge John Clarke in the matter of charges leveled against Dr. Sophie Savard Verhoeven of Stuyvesant Square. The charges were brought by Anthony Comstock in his capacity as representative of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, on behalf of Mrs. Nora Smithson. Dr. Savard was represented by the attorney Conrad Belmont. The proceedings are not for public disclosure, but both Mr. Comstock and Mr. Belmont made statements to the reporters waiting outside.

  Mr. Belmont reports that all accusations against his client, Dr. Savard, have been found to be groundless. Mrs. Smithson’s complaint was found to be the result of confusion and distress. “We are pleased to have had this matter settled so quickly,” Mr. Belmont said. “And we wish Mrs. Smithson the very best in a difficult time.”

  Mr. Comstock was far less satisfied with the outcome of the hearing. “Judge Clarke is not the last word on this shocking matter. I will petition the district attorney, and I trust he will allow me to convene a grand jury,” he told reporters. “It is inexplicable to me that the way Mrs. Smithson was treated by Mrs. Verhoeven could be so callously dismissed. This is a good Christian lady in delicate circumstance who has suffered tremendous loss.”

  No one from the police department was willing to comment on the investigation into the disappearance of Mrs. Smithson’s husband and brother, except to say that it is ongoing.

  51

  THAT NIGHT ELISE dreamed of Judge Clarke’s chamber and Nora Smithson, of the Shepherd’s Fold and Grace Miller. On waking she could recall only fragments of her dreams, but what remained with her throughout her very busy day was regret. She was not looking forward to visiting the Shepherd’s Fold with the detectives and wished she had not volunteered.

  Her dread had to do mostly with Mrs. Smithson, that much Elise understood. People feared what they did not understand, and the illnesses of the mind seemed to her unknowable. Something was missing in Nora Smithson; some vital part of her being had been worn away or torn away by her experiences, and that hole had been filled by obsessions and dark imaginings.

  Infection might be overcome, if it was caught early enough and the body was strong enough to fight. But mental illness hid itself and could not be reached by scalpel or probe or, as far as she could tell, any medicine known to man. Injury and disease might be incurable, but in most cases they understood what needed to be done even if the tools and procedures did not exist. Not even this much could be said about mental illness.

  What bothered her most, she could admit to herself, was the uncertain line between illness and wanton criminality. How to tell the difference, and what to do once the line had been breached. The guilty but competent went to prison. What of the criminally insane?

  “Candidate Mercier,” Dr. Kingsolver said. “Are you unwell?”

  Elise started up out of her thoughts to realize that Sally’s elbow had been poking her in the ribs, and quite forcefully. Because everyone was staring at her.

  Maura Kingsolver was forty or so, but vigorous and quick, of both mind and body. She did not tolerate laziness and disliked excuses, and so Elise offered none.

  “I am not unwell, but I’m finding it difficult to concentrate today. I will try harder.”

  Behind her she heard sharply indrawn breaths of surprise, but Dr. Kingsolver limited herself to one raised brow.

  She said, “I’d like you to listen to Mrs. Atwood’s lungs and tell us what you hear.”

  For the rest of the day Elise worked very hard to keep her mind on the work at hand, but for once found it almost impossible to do. Together Mrs. Smithson, Anthony Comstock, and a Dr. Channing kept distracting her. Dr. Channing was of special interest, because he could verify the account in Amelie Savard’s day-book, but according to Anna, the name Seth Channing was unfamiliar.

  At her midday break Elise checked the physician directory in the main office but found no Dr. Channing. Where she might look next was not obvious to her, and she found it odd that such a simple question should be so difficult to answer. It sat like a sliver buried into the meat of her thumb.

  While she assisted with the debriding of a burn on a toddler’s leg, while she took notes on the diseases of the kidneys, the whole Smithson affair went through her mind like a carousel. Comstock’s sneer was difficult to forget, but she made an effort as she hurried downstairs for the start of afternoon rounds.

  “Careful.” Dr. Martindale stepped neatly out of her way, just as she was about to walk into him on the second-floor landing.

  Elise, started out of her thoughts, did her best to compose herself. But he saw too much.

  “What’s wrong? Bad outcome?”

  “No. No, nothing like that. Pardon me, please.”

  One eyebrow shot up while the opposite corner of his mouth turned down. “Not like you at all, Mercier.”

  “Yes, well. Apologies, Dr. Martindale.”

  She tried to move past him, but he caught the cuff of her smock with a crooked finger.

  “Wait a minute. Don’t rush off.”

  “Dr. Kingsolver will be looking for me.”

  “You’ve got six minutes until rounds.” He sat down on the stair and gestured for her to do the same. After a moment she joined him but sat as far away as the stair would allow.

  He said, “Any news about the Bellegarde boy?”

  The question took her by surprise, but at least she understood now why he had stopped her. “I saw him a few days ago. All seems to be in order. No deficit that I could tell.”

  “You handled that emergency well.”

  “Thank you.” She bit back the impulse to say something flippant. Praise was rare enough and she must learn to take it at face value. To store it up for the next time she was trying to remember why she had thought medical school was such a good idea.

  “May I ask a question?”

  “Sure.” He looked pleased, so she went on.

  “If you were trying to find a retired doctor and you only knew his name, where would you go?”

  “The health department. They keep records. As long as he was licensed, of course.”

  That was a question she couldn’t answer, but at least this gave her a place to start.

  “Looking for someone in particular?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Seth Channing.”

  His brow drew together as he considered. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t think I know anyone by that name.”

  “It would have been too easy,” Elise said, and gathered her skirts to get up.

  “Just one more minute.”

  She sat, reluctantly.

  “I’ve been looking for you for a couple days now,” he said. “This is my last shift at the New Amsterdam, and I wanted to say good-bye. And to tell you something.”

  Questions stacked up in her head instantly. Should she ask why he was leaving, or where he was going, or if he would be coming back? Far too personal questions, but saying nothing was almost as bad. Before she could come up with the right response, he had turned a little toward her. Not close enough to touch, but too close all the same.

  “I think you have real talent,” he said. “A gift. Or actually, more than one gift. You have a gift for medicine, first of all, but you also
have courage, and that is something many women studying medicine don’t have. Or don’t have enough of. So my best advice is, hold on to that. Don’t let yourself be intimidated.”

  In her surprise she almost smiled. “I think I already have a reputation for standing up for myself. Dr. McClure certainly thinks I do too much of it.”

  “Oh, Laura McClure.” He flicked his fingers, as at a fly. “Avoid her as much as you can. She lives to sneer at people she would like to believe are her inferiors. They aren’t. Just the opposite. Which explains her moods. No, I’m thinking of Dr. Lambert’s forensics study group.”

  For a moment she had trouble making sense of this. Then she realized that somehow he had heard that she was a part of the study group, and he was disturbed by that fact. Either he thought she wasn’t equal to the competition, or he found her interest in forensics inappropriate. She felt herself bristling but kept her tone even as she answered him. “I can hold my own with the Bellevue students.”

  “So I hear. Not surprised at all, to be truthful.” His gaze was direct, unflinching. “But it’s not the other students I’d worry about. My warning is about Lambert himself.”

  She made a sound, a clicking in a throat that was empty of words. “Um,” she said. “I don’t know if I understand you.”

  “You don’t, so I’ll be clear. Don’t put yourself in a situation where you’re alone with Lambert. Is that plain enough for you?”

  A flush of irritation spread down her arms and made her fingers jerk. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m suggesting that you don’t spend time with him alone. And now I have to go.” He stood, and Elise stood too. He didn’t seem worried to have irritated her, which was, she decided, very rude of him.

  She said, “I don’t understand why you’d tell me something like this. Dr. Lambert has been very supportive of my work. Very encouraging.”

  “No doubt,” said Gus Martindale. “He is an outstanding teacher. But I’ll say it once more: you should avoid being alone with him. And that’s all the explanation I can give you at the moment. But there is one more thing.”