Glimmers of Change

by Ginny Dye

  Paxton sighed heavily. “They’re trying to make things a little better. I’ve heard Dr. Benson talking. They’ve cleaned up some of the filth to try to stop the cholera, but they can’t change the living conditions.”

  Darkness had fallen on the city by the time Paxton arrived with Dr. Benson and Elsie. Carrie and the others had spent a wonderful afternoon resting and talking with Nancy Stratford. They had been immediately charmed by the petite blonde who exuded such warmth. Her husband, Wally, arrived home shortly before the Bensons. He had welcomed them all graciously, insisting they all sit on the wide porch to enjoy the late spring evening. There was just enough of a nip in the air to appreciate the hot tea their maid brought, her accent revealing that she was Irish as well.

  Carrie listened, but her attention was drawn to the thick bank of roses blooming along the front fence, the outskirts of the yard outlined with heavily laden lilacs, their purple and pink blossoms perfuming the air. She had not been able to take her mind off the poor, abused horse she had helped rescue. The Stratfords’ home revealed their wealth, but the smells and heavy air they had ridden through on the way up the hill said there was another side to the city that wasn’t nearly as pleasant. She had read enough about the New York to expect it, but she sensed the reality was going to be something entirely different than even her worst expectations. As desperate as Richmond had been during the war, she suspected New York harbored horrors she had never experienced.

  “Carrie?” Janie murmured, moving her chair closer to her friend.

  “I’m okay,” Carrie replied quietly. “It’s been a very long day.” She didn’t know how to articulate what she was feeling, but she knew it didn’t really matter. Janie always had the ability to understand what was churning inside her.

  “I’m glad to be here,” Janie said, her eyes resting on the bright pink roses trailing up the fence, “but I suspect the next ten days are going to be quite challenging.” Her gaze settled on the polluted air resting over the city beneath them, evident even in the rapidly encroaching darkness. “The South is dealing with so much destruction, but from everything I’ve studied, New York seems to have brought it on to themselves.”

  “Some people would say the same about the South,” Wally said wryly. “I’m sorry,” he apologized graciously. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

  “Yes,” Janie agreed thoughtfully. “The South did much to cause the war that brought so much destruction, but it seems like New York has even more problems than we do. And on a much larger scale.”

  “Unfortunately, you are right,” Wally said heavily. He glanced apologetically at his wife. “I know this isn’t proper conversation to have before dinner, my dear.”

  “It is for this group,” Nancy replied quickly. “These women are here looking for answers to make our country better — for everyone, but especially for women. There is not a single person on this porch that needs or wants the facts to be sugarcoated.”

  “We will be offended if you do that,” Florence said firmly. “I already know New York City is a mess. How bad has it gotten?”

  “Bad,” Wally admitted.

  When he hesitated, Carrie knew he was wondering how much to say. “Please just tell us,” she pleaded.

  “Tell me about the area where Paxton’s family lives,” Abby asked, her eyes sharp with intensity. “No sugarcoating,” she said firmly.

  Carrie listened carefully. Abby had told them about her earlier conversation with their driver.

  Wally scowled, his heavy brows drawn together over eyes that were both fierce and sad. “It’s hard to describe it,” he finally said after a long silence. “New York has a population of almost one point two million people.

  “That’s more than twice the number when I was here ten years ago,” Florence said with a gasp. “I knew it had grown, but I didn’t realize the extent. Where are you putting everyone?”

  Wally’s scowl deepened. “We are still trying to figure that out. No one could have guessed our population would double in a decade. Troubles in Europe have paid a huge part in that. About forty percent of our population are the Irish who have come here to escape famine and persecution. They arrive with practically nothing.” He took a deep breath. “The area where Paxton’s family lives is particularly troublesome. There are over a half million people living in about fifteen thousand tenement houses.”

  Carrie gasped, trying to envision it. “A half million people!” Richmond had seemed horribly overpopulated during the war, but this was beyond anything she could imagine.

  “Immigrants are flowing in from Europe with hopes of a better life,” Nancy said ruefully, her eyes heavy with dismay. “They’re hardly finding it.”

  “What a shock New York must be to them,” Alice murmured, her blue eyes clouded. “I’ve not been here since my parents brought me as a teenager. I had no idea it was this crowded.”

  Wally nodded. “Crowded and completely without services,” he replied. “A typical tenement house that should hold perhaps a dozen people sometimes has more than two hundred. There are no inside facilities and no running water. The bathrooms, perhaps two or three for a building that size, are outside privies not connected to any kind of sewer system. The filth and squalor are unbearable,” he said flatly. He shot a glance at his wife. “You said to give it to them straight.”

  “I did,” Nancy agreed. “You can’t change something by trying to ignore it, or pretend it’s not as bad as it really is.”

  Carrie shuddered, trying to absorb the reality Wally had communicated. “The disease rate must be horribly high.”

  “It is,” Wally replied. “Typhus, typhoid and dysentery run amok down in the tenements.” He paused. “The death rate is high.” He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again. “We’re making changes,” he added. “It’s still bad, but it’s not as bad as it was even six weeks ago.”

  “The Metropolitan Board of Health,” Florence said quietly. “I have so many questions about that.”

  The rumble of carriage wheels on the cobblestone broke the night air. Carrie shivered. The warm night air, once comforting, now seemed to wrap around her like a tight cloak, suffocating her with the secrets it held within its grasp. Even in the midst of the worst misery in Richmond during the war, it had never been like the city of New York. Her mind tried to grasp the reality that what most of the world saw as a beacon of hope was actually a deathtrap of misery and disease.

  Wally stood and peered down the street illuminated by gas lanterns. “The Bensons are here,” he announced. “Dr. Benson will be able to answer all your questions about the new health board.” He hurried down the steps to meet the carriage at the curb.

  Carrie didn’t miss the look of relief on his face. She was sure he was glad to let someone else carry the conversation of the plight of his beloved city. People coming to Richmond for the first time could not possibly envision the gracious city it had been before the war. New York, she knew, had at one time been a prosperous, exciting city — the beacon of a proud country. It must break the heart of native New Yorkers to see what it had become.

  Abby, a warm smile on her face, waited on the edge of the porch as the Bensons stepped out of the carriage. She hurried down the steps, meeting them as they entered the yard. “Dr. Benson! Elsie!” She gripped Dr. Benson’s hand and then embraced Elsie. “It is so wonderful to see both of you again.”

  “And you,” Elsie said gladly, dark eyes sparkling in her lovely ebony face. “You look wonderful.”

  “It’s such a pleasure to see you under less challenging circumstances,” Dr. Benson said, his cultured voice blending well with his tall, elegant bearing. Iron gray hair made him look only more distinguished.

  “How are the children?” Abby asked.

  Elsie smiled brightly. “They are all doing well.” Her smile faltered and she looked away. “They are no longer in the city,” she whispered, her eyes seeming to plead for understanding.

  “Oh?” Abby asked car
efully.

  “What’s this?” Wally asked. “Where are your children?”

  “With my sister further out in the country,” Dr. Benson replied. He shook his head. “This city is not the place for growing children.” His sad look sharpened into a scowl. “I want my children to live. Where we live is better than the tenements, but disease is not stopped by neighborhood boundary lines.”

  “When did you move them out?” Abby asked, her eyes shining with compassion.

  Carrie leaned forward in her chair to make sure she didn’t miss a word. She couldn’t imagine having to send her children away.

  “Right after the riot,” Dr. Benson revealed dully.

  “Shelby wouldn’t have lived if she had stayed,” Elsie said sadly. “The combination of disease and violence were simply too much. We realized we were putting all the children at risk if we kept them here.” She shook her head and continued lightly. “We see them every two weeks. They are all thriving.”

  “Stephen?” Abby asked.

  “He’s in college,” Dr. Benson said proudly. “Oberlin College in Ohio. He’s doing extremely well.”

  “You must be very proud of them,” Abby said softly, laying her hand on Elsie’s arm.

  Elsie lifted her head, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you. So many have judged us for sending our children away. They believe we should have all left the city together.”

  “And why didn’t you?” Wally asked gently. There was no judgment in his voice, just genuine curiosity.

  “Our place is here,” Dr. Benson said firmly. “If everyone who can help leaves the city, it will certainly crumble beneath filth, squalor, and death. We have decided to stay and do all we can to help.” His gaze swept the whole group. “New York City was not always like this. We can’t just walk away from these problems.”

  Carrie stepped forward then. “It is an honor to meet both of you,” she said sincerely.

  Dr. Benson smiled. “And you are?”

  “This is Carrie Cromwell Borden,” Abby replied. “She is my stepdaughter.”

  Elsie blinked in surprise. “Your stepdaughter? I remember you telling me about Carrie Cromwell when we were trapped on the roof during that long day, but…”

  Abby grinned. “I married her father, Thomas Cromwell,” she explained. “We met after the war ended. I fell very much in love with one open-minded southern plantation owner.”

  Dr. Benson whistled and gripped Carrie’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Carrie Cromwell Borden. Abby told us so much about you while we were together during the riot.” His eyes swept the rest of the women, his warm gaze welcoming them all. “So many stories to be heard,” he murmured.

  “Which we can do once we go inside,” Nancy interjected smoothly. “Dinner is almost ready. Jasmine will not be happy if we don’t sit down while it’s hot. She has been working on it all day. When she heard you and Elsie were coming, Dr. Benson, she worked extra hard. You are somewhat of a hero in the black community.”

  Dr. Benson smiled slightly. “I’m just doing my part to protect our city,” he said modestly.

  Suddenly a tall young man with curly dark hair stepped out onto the porch. “Hello, everyone,” he called.

  “Michael!” Nancy cried. “I wasn’t expecting you home until later.” She turned quickly. “This is our son, Michael.”

  Michael grinned and stepped forward to swoop Abby up into his arms. “How is my favorite auntie?” he asked lightly.

  Abby laughed and patted his cheek. “It’s wonderful to see you, Michael. How are you?”

  Michael’s grin faltered as he directed his gaze to Dr. Benson. “I came home early because I have news for you.”

  Dr. Benson sighed heavily. “The first case has been reported.”

  Carrie’s stomach clenched. The look on Dr. Benson’s face could only mean one thing. “The first case of cholera?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Grim determination replaced Michael’s grin. “I’m afraid so. I realize it’s not much of a welcome to our fair city, ladies, but it was important Dr. Benson be informed. I’m sorry to spoil everyone’s dinner.”

  “Thank you for letting me know,” Dr. Benson responded, his voice grave with concern. “We knew it was just a matter of time. Now we find out if our preparations will stop it.” He frowned as he stared out over the city lights twinkling below. “We’ve made great progress, but there is still so much to be done.”

  “Must you leave right away?” Wally asked.

  Dr. Benson considered the question and shook his head. “No. We have put all the protocol into place.” His eyes swung to Michael. “Has the team been dispatched?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where was the first case reported?”

  “Ninety-Third Street,” Michael replied. He answered the question in his mother’s eyes. “Paxton’s family is several blocks away from there. I gave him the news when I came in. It’s only fair he know.”

  Dr. Benson nodded. “There is nothing to be done tonight. I’ll get more information in the morning.” His eyes swept the group on the porch. “In the meantime, it is my honor to spend time with five women who are preparing to advance medicine in this country. Just as it was a struggle to become a doctor as a black man, you will face many challenges to have people accept women doctors.” His voice was casual but his eyes intense when he continued. “If you want it badly enough, you will press through.”

  Carrie smiled as she slid her hand through the crook in his arm. “We want it,” she said firmly. “And we have so many questions for you. For Jasmine’s sake, we are going into the dining room. You’re going to need to fortify yourself to answer all our questions,” she said lightly, covering up the deep sense of foreboding that had gripped her almost as soon as she stepped from the train.

  Conversation flowed smoothly during dinner. By unspoken consent, everyone avoided the topic of cholera and the board of health. Talk of death and suffering had no place during the meal Jasmine had prepared so skillfully.

  Air flowed in through the open windows, causing the sheer curtains to sway in the breeze. Gas lanterns lit the room brightly, illuminating the heavy Chippendale furniture and the gorgeous landscape paintings that decorated the soft yellow walls with splashes of vivid color. Tall vases of fresh-cut flowers adorned the serving tables. Perfume from the lilacs outside the window mixed with the aroma of freshly baked chicken and the mountain of vegetables Jasmine had carried out.

  Carrie was content to listen during dinner. She was eager to learn as much as she could about this intriguing family, the Paxtons, and New York City. She caught Abby watching her several times. She merely smiled and continued to eat, letting the flow of conversation soothe her feelings of foreboding.

  Dr. Benson waited until Jasmine had whisked away all the dishes before he cleared his throat and looked over at Carrie. “What do you think of our city, Carrie?”

  Carrie, jolted out of her thoughts, blinked. “Excuse me?”

  Dr. Benson smiled. “You’ve not said one word since dinner began. You have merely been absorbing everything going on around you. I could almost see your brain cataloging information. Have you reached any conclusions?”

  Carrie stared at him, liking the openness in his gaze. She sensed a deep sincerity in his question. She could do nothing but respond with candor. “When I was growing up on the plantation I used to dream of visiting New York. I envisioned statues, opera houses, art galleries, and splendor for everyone,” she said slowly.

  “That’s all here,” Dr. Benson assured her.

  “I’m sure it is,” Carrie agreed, “but I no longer find the same things important. The splendor of New York City seems to have been overcome with disgusting odors, refuse, and disease. I now believe good privies are far more important than grand palaces and fine art galleries.” She took a deep breath. Silence had fallen on the table, but Dr. Benson’s eyes encouraged her to continue. “I believe life itself must be guaranteed to a person before one can hope t
o improve anything else about them.”

  “You’ve thought about this a great deal,” Dr. Benson replied, his eyes shining with appreciation.

  “Certainly since I arrived in your city today,” Carrie replied. “I want to have nothing but glowing things to say, but—”

  “It would be a lie,” Dr. Benson interjected.

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Benson glanced at Abby. “I like your Carrie.” His eyes swept the table, seeing nothing but agreement on the faces of all her friends. “Now you know why I stay in the city, instead of going out to the country with my children.”

  “I do understand,” Carrie answered. “Richmond was a terrible place to be during the war, but I found I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I was needed, and I believed I could make a difference.” She reached down and gripped Janie’s hand beneath the table. “Janie and I had many challenges, but we’re glad we stayed. Please tell us more about the Metropolitan Board of Health.”

  Dr. Benson took a long sip of hot coffee from the cup Jasmine placed in front of him. “As horrible as cholera is, I find I have reason to be thankful for it just now. We have fought for years to bring reform to the so-called health board of New York City. All our efforts were blocked for political reasons and monetary gain.”

  Carrie bit back her groan. “Will politics and money never cease to control our destiny?” she asked. She desperately wanted Dr. Benson to tell her something different than what she believed.

  Dr. Benson looked at her for a long moment. “You want me to tell you it will not always be so. I can’t do that. Unfortunately, human nature has always, and I’m afraid will for all of eternity, be the controlling factor in decisions. Fortunately, there always seems to come a time when the pain of continuing forward on a certain course outweighs the reluctance to change.” He locked his eyes with Carrie. “And never believe, even for a moment, that enough people raising their voices cannot create change. The problem is that most people seem willing to flounder along in complacency until something jolts them awake and makes them take action.”