Where the Light Enters

by Sara Donati

  Even the best, most attentive medical care was of no substantial use to the quiet little boy. Sophie and Anna watched him closely, and Abraham Jacobi came in twice a week, but the cancer pushed its way forward. The tumors were pressing on both esophagus and trachea, and would close one or both off sooner rather than later. It was like walking a tightrope, caring for a child with such a consuming disease: this much opiate this morning, one drop more this afternoon. He was already getting the equivalent of a fourth of a grain of morphine every four hours, a dose that was very large for a young boy but would soon not be enough. Keeping him free of pain meant robbing him of consciousness and whatever he might want for himself in the last days of his life. Rosa still hoped that he would talk to her, and Sophie had the same wish.

  Lia climbed into Sophie’s lap when she came in to say good night. Her legs were getting long, but she folded them beneath herself and put her head on Sophie’s breast.

  She said, “How many houses are you going to buy?”

  Sophie laughed. “I think just this last one.”

  “It’s a palace.”

  “Does it look like a palace to you? The palaces I saw in Italy were much bigger.”

  Lia sat up and looked her in the face. “Not really. How much bigger? Ten times? A hundred?” She threw out her arms as if to embrace the entire world.

  “Three or four times bigger, some of them,” Sophie said. “Don’t you like the idea of the Fish mansion?”

  Lia considered this. “I like that it has a name. Fishes. And I think there will be lots of places to hide in it.”

  “It will be a grand place to play games,” Sophie agreed. “But eventually it will be turned into something more than a house.”

  “A school?”

  “Maybe,” Sophie said, though the idea of a hospital for children with mortal illnesses had begun to put down roots, something she would have to discuss with Anna, to start.

  “But even so it will be good for hiding,” Lia said thoughtfully.

  Sophie leaned to the side to get a better look at the girl’s face. “Playing hide-and-seek? Or other kinds of hiding?”

  The thumb on Lia’s right hand moved toward her mouth. With a visible effort she moved it back to her lap and folded her hands together.

  “Lia?”

  The girl shrugged. “If the bad priest comes to get us, we will need a good place to hide.”

  Sophie felt herself flush with anger. “You don’t need to worry about any priest,” she said. “You are safe here. Do you think Mr. Reason or Mr. Hunter, or Laura Lee or I, or anybody else, for that matter, would let anyone take you away? Jack and Oscar wouldn’t allow it. No one would.”

  “But we will have to go away,” Lia said, her tone matter-of-fact. “When Tonino dies, we will have to go back to Greenwood.”

  And because this was likely true, Sophie was unsure how to respond.

  Lia said, “I like Greenwood. Rosa doesn’t like it so much, but I do. I like Roses and Weeds best of all, but Doves and Larks are almost as good. And now Fishes.”

  “I suppose that’s a good thing,” Sophie said, her voice cracking a little. “That you have so many places where you’re happy.”

  The silence, not quite comfortable, drew out between them. Sophie almost heard the question before Lia put it into words. “Do you think Tonino will die soon?”

  And there it was.

  She said, “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  Lia’s thumb found its way to her mouth. Sophie gathered the girl closer and gave what thin comfort there was to give.

  54

  AFTER A LONG meeting on Mulberry Street, when they had finally extracted themselves and were out of the building, Oscar put both hands on top of his hat, bent backward, and announced in broadest Napolitan’ dialect that the captain and police commissioner were asses who never stopped braying.

  Jack waited. It would do no good to point out to Oscar that the captain hadn’t been completely wrong. They had been given a single, politically sensitive missing-person case—Charlotte Louden—which they had thus far failed to solve. Instead they had complicated it by adding two and maybe three additional missing persons. The captain was about to launch into one of his tantrums when Oscar pulled out the pages from Amelie Savard’s day-book and explained why the cases were likely related and what praise would be heaped on him, the captain of detectives, if he gave them some more time.

  The day-book and the notes interpreting the entries had saved the day. With less than good grace the captain admitted that there was a tentative connection to the Louden case. Then he rubbed his jowls for a moment, considered saying something, and instead stepped back and let the police commissioner have his go at them.

  The commissioner was up in arms because, as he saw it, they had handed the city’s reporters enough scandal to keep them scribbling for months, and all this reflected badly on the police department. To make this point clear he had a collection of headlines clipped from the papers to show them: Distraught Expectant Mother Harassed by Police Detectives. Comstock Claims Police Detectives in League with Abortionist Clan. Comstock Prepares Grand Jury Bill for Dr. Savard. Hope for Mrs. Louden Dwindles. Abercrombie Family Asks Senators to Investigate Lack of Progress in Louden Disappearance.

  On top of this chaos, there was Tonino. The boy was in a steep decline, and as a result a good third of Jack’s family was on their way from Greenwood. Jack should be there too, but for now, at least, he had to go back to the apothecary and continue interviewing employees. Or that was his intention, until he stopped by Roses and found Elise and Anna talking to Mrs. Lee.

  “She called on me a couple times a year when she needed an extra pair of hands,” Mrs. Lee was saying as he came into the kitchen.

  Elise jerked—there was no other word for it—at the sight of him, as if he had caught her in the commission of a crime. Anna was less anxious. In fact, she looked a little flushed, as she did when some difficult question had captured her interest and she felt she was on the right path to solving it.

  “I know I should have talked to you about this first,” Elise said. “But the opportunity just presented itself—”

  Jack held up both hands to cut her off. “What exactly are you talking about? What opportunity?”

  Mrs. Lee gave a soft laugh. “You fill this girl’s mind with questions and think you can just tell her to stop thinking? She’s wanting to know about things in Amelie’s day-book, of course.”

  “You remember,” Anna said. “Amelie wrote about a Dr. Channing she sent Nora Smithson to see. Elise decided that you weren’t paying enough attention to what could be an important lead.”

  Elise jerked. “I never—”

  “It’s all right,” Jack said. “Anna is teasing you.”

  But Elise was determined to explain. “You are so busy, I thought if I could find out more about Dr. Channing it might be useful to you.”

  Jack sat down and nodded to Mrs. Lee when she held up the coffeepot and raised a brow in his direction.

  “And how would this Dr. Channing help us resolve the current mess?”

  Elise spread her hands on the table to either side of her plate, glanced at Anna, and then directed herself to Jack. “He could verify Amelie’s report that Mrs. Smithson had come to him, and the diagnosis. For a start.”

  “So,” Jack said. “This is about Sophie’s reputation and her defamation case.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Anna said, a little stiffly. Then her shoulders relaxed. “But probably, yes.”

  “That would be good for Sophie, and it would also put a crimp in Comstock’s sails,” Jack said. “So how will you find him, Elise? Any ideas where to start?”

  “She’s here to start with me,” Mrs. Lee said. “Because I lent a hand now and then when Amelie needed one, Elise thought maybe I knew something about her connections.”

 
“And do you?”

  Mrs. Lee smiled. “I do. I know Seth Channing, at any rate. Or I knew him. There was some accident and he gave up practicing medicine. Haven’t seen him since.”

  Anna turned toward her. “But is he still alive?”

  “I think so,” Mrs. Lee said. “Let me go see if I have an address writ down for him someplace. I’ll be right back. Elise, eat your breakfast, will you? People will think I’m starving you.”

  Anna took Jack’s arm and leaned into him. “Are you put out?”

  “About getting some help?” Jack winked at Elise. “Hardly. But I am surprised you’ve got the time for this.”

  “I don’t,” Elise said. “But after I read the pages from the day-book the idea came to me and I couldn’t let it be. So now I’ll leave it to you.”

  She looked a little regretful about that as she made quick work of the rest of her breakfast, wiped her mouth, folded her napkin, and got up to clear her place at the table.

  “Never mind that,” Anna said. “I’ll clear for you. Get to class.”

  “I’ve got to go too,” Jack said. “Will you—”

  “I’ll wait for Mrs. Lee,” Anna said. “Give me a kiss and be off.”

  * * *

  • • •

  WHILE SHE WAITED Anna cleared and tidied the kitchen, keeping one ear open for her Aunt Quinlan, who would soon call for her breakfast, and one ear for Mrs. Lee. It was simple work that didn’t demand much of her, and that was welcome, just at the moment. When she left here she would be going to Stuyvesant Square to sit with Tonino, whose grasp on life was slipping.

  She could not admit it to anyone else—she could hardly admit it to herself—but she hardly knew how she felt about Tonino. For the most part her concern was for his sisters, and then for Sophie who was very fragile just now. Tonino remained a mystery, but the girls were hers to care for, no matter what the law or courts decided. And now they faced another loss, but they would not do that alone. She had found people willing to take her shift, and she would spend the day on Stuyvesant Square.

  Behind her Mrs. Lee said, “You are lost in your thoughts. But I suppose that’s to be expected.”

  Anna wiped her hands on a dish towel and took the piece of paper Mrs. Lee offered her. “I expect he still lives in the same house, if he’s living at all.”

  “This isn’t far,” Anna said. “I’ll stop on my way to Sophie’s. Can you tell me anything about Dr. Channing?”

  “I only met him a couple times, but I know Amelie thought a lot of him. Talented, skillful, quick, all those things she values. Most of all she trusted him or she wouldn’t have sent him a case like Nora’s. I’m guessing he’ll be ready to tell you whatever you ask.”

  * * *

  • • •

  AS ANNA HEADED in the direction of Union Square she wondered why she had never heard of this Dr. Channing, someone Amelie liked and respected. It was true that Amelie had been strict about privacy and never discussed her cases in the family circle. Amelie’s day-books, kept over her many years of practicing in the city, would be filled with secrets. Anna might someday have the chance to read them, and then the secrets would be hers to keep. There was a great deal to learn in those pages, about medicine and human nature both.

  Even the fact that Mrs. Lee had sometimes assisted Amelie was a surprise. Surely her Aunt Quinlan knew of this, but they had all kept their silence, even after she and Sophie began their medical training. She was still thinking about it when she came to the address Mrs. Lee had given her, just around the block from the Woman’s Medical School.

  A house in the old Dutch style, but well kept. There weren’t many like this one left in the city. In the greater scheme of things it was not so long ago that it sat in the middle of fields and pastures.

  The woman who answered her knock at the door had a keen gaze and a protective air. A nurse, Anna would have wagered quite a lot on it. Anna introduced herself, but her request to call on Dr. Channing was met with a pursed mouth.

  “Dr. Savard, is it?” She sniffed. “How is it you know Dr. Channing?”

  “Through an aunt, Amelie Savard, a midwife who once had a practice in the Jefferson Market neighborhood.”

  Now her brows descended to make a sharp V. “I doubt that.”

  Anna paused and decided to overwhelm this very no-nonsense guardian with information. “Technically she’s not my aunt but a cousin. Or a half cousin, as our mothers were half sisters. My grandfather Bonner married—”

  A broad hand came up in a gesture that cut Anna off. “I doubt that the midwife Savard would have mentioned Dr. Channing to you.”

  From somewhere behind her a voice called out. “Wylie, what poor person are you interrogating now? Whoever you are, don’t let my nurse scare you off. Come in and talk to me, I’m terribly bored.”

  Nurse Wylie frowned but stepped aside. “Mind you don’t tire him out,” she said with less than good humor.

  “My hearing is as sharp as ever,” called Dr. Channing. “And I can still beat you at arm wrestling.” A wobbling voice of an older man, but full of life and good cheer.

  The nurse flapped a hand in irritation, and Anna walked on past her into a small, very nicely appointed parlor, furnished for the comfort of the old man who sat in an armchair, a small calico cat perched on the jut of a bony shoulder.

  What she saw first about Dr. Channing was that he was blind. He wore dark spectacles but they couldn’t hide the scar tissue that fanned out over both temples and his forehead.

  “So,” he said. “Come sit beside me here.” He put his hand out to point to a chair just like the one he occupied. “Anna Savard, did I hear that right? Dr. Savard. Amelie talked about you, all the time. A half cousin, is that right?”

  “Exactly,” Anna said, sitting down.

  “I had a letter from Amelie last week. She said you might come around to talk to me. You or your cousin, the other Dr. Savard.”

  “Sophie,” Anna supplied. “I shouldn’t be surprised that she wrote to warn you.”

  “Always was full of surprises, our Amelie. You never heard her mention my name, I take it.”

  “Not that I remember,” Anna said. “But my aunt was very strict about privacy.”

  Despite the scar tissue on the upper half of his face, she could see that he had once been very handsome. Certainly his smile was still tremendously appealing. Somehow he had dealt with the loss of his sight—and his profession, as a result—without becoming withdrawn and bitter.

  He was saying, “I stopped practicing medicine before you were even in medical school. But now you want to hear about Nora Graham. Or Nora Smithson, as she’s known these days.” His smile faded a bit.

  “I suppose you’ll want tea,” Nurse Wylie said from the door.

  Dr. Channing waved her off. “Stop hovering like an old broody hen, Wylie. So, Dr. Savard. Where would you like me to start?”

  Anna hesitated. “How much did Amelie tell you in her letter?”

  His head wobbled a little in the way of the very old. “Enough. And Wylie reads to me from the newspapers every morning. I saw that your cousin is suing Nora for defamation.”

  “You don’t approve?” Anna said.

  His mouth jerked at one corner. “That’s like asking if I’d approve of amputating a gangrenous foot. It’s not what you’d hope for, but it’s too late for anything else.”

  Anna would not have compared Nora Smithson to a gangrenous foot, but she saw his reasoning.

  “I’m willing to do whatever I can,” he said. “If it will help put an end to the tragedy that is Nora Graham. So you tell me first, how much do you know about her?”

  Anna summarized her own experiences with the apothecary’s wife, what they had learned from the day-book, the conclusions they had drawn about Nora Smithson’s history, and finally what had happened when Nora was retained
as a material witness. She told him in some detail about the hearing in the judge’s chambers, but she didn’t raise the subject of Charlotte Louden or the multipara homicides, simply because she knew that she could not tell the story in enough detail to make it sound reasonable, even to the most open-minded audience.

  “Sophie did nothing wrong,” she finished, and heard her voice cracking. Recounting the whole affair had reminded her how much was at stake.

  Dr. Channing had the clinician’s trick of listening closely without giving anything away, but he did offer an opinion.

  “Given what I know and what you’ve told me, I think your cousin handled the situation with skill and more tact than I would have brought. Even when I was at my best.”

  Anna knew this, but it was still a relief to hear someone trustworthy, someone who had firsthand knowledge of Nora Smithson’s history, say so.

  “If I understand the situation,” he went on, “there are multiple crimes that remain unsolved, and some or all of them lead back to Nora and Neill Graham and to their grandfather Cameron. So let me tell you what I can, and if you think it is at all useful, you may tell the detectives working on the case that I will give them a formal statement. If necessary I will testify in court.”

  “Thank you,” Anna said. “That would be a great help.”

  Nurse Wylie showed up in the doorway with a tray dominated by a huge teapot. Dr. Channing did not seem in the least surprised, but then he would be familiar with the sound of her step.

  “You are as predictable as the tides, Wylie.”

  She put down the tray with a thump. “If she’s going to keep you talking you’ll need to wet your gullet.”

  Anna wondered if Nurse Wylie objected to female physicians, which was not uncommon among older nurses, or if she disliked intrusions into her small kingdom. In either case, she would carry on.