Poison at the Pump

by Sheila Seifert

  May said, “I put the bar across the boardinghouse door. You needed to stay put. Old Willie should have caught you this morning. Then you’d have a place to sleep.”

  Beth couldn’t believe Clyde’s aunt had trapped them in the boardinghouse. She had wanted Old Willie to take Clyde to the workhouse.

  “My husband hid his cash and his will,” May said. “But he never told me where. Rent’s due on this lodging and the shop tomorrow. We can’t pay it.”

  Clyde stood and picked up her empty bucket.

  “You can’t work or sleep at the oil store anymore,” May said. “It’s closed. I can’t take care of you. I’m ruined!”

  Clyde looked at the floor. “I’ll be back with your water soon,” he said. A tear escaped his eye and rolled down his check.

  Beth followed Clyde to the door. Oscar waddled after them.

  “I won’t drink it,” May said, “unless it’s Carnaby water.”

  Clyde nodded. “I’ll get your water at the Carnaby pump, like always,” Clyde said.

  Beth shut the door behind them.

  Oscar hurried down the steps with them.

  They picked up their buckets and left.

  Beth didn’t know what to say. She looked back at the store. It had a green door. “Is this your family’s store?” she asked.

  “Yes, that’s it,” he said. “Hiram’s Oil Store. It’s named after my uncle.”

  “Why do people need oil?” Beth asked. “For cooking?”

  “No, the oil we sell is for lamps,” Clyde said. “Oil lamps are more modern than candles. There are many different kinds of oils for lamps.”

  They walked down the street. Beth knew Clyde felt sad. She didn’t know how to help him.

  Beth asked, “What will your aunt do?”

  “I don’t know. I’m all she has,” Clyde said. “She lost three daughters last week. Then my uncle died from cholera too.”

  They turned north on Marshall Street.

  Clyde blinked quickly as if holding back tears. He picked up his pace and cleared his throat.

  Clyde said, “My uncle got me out of the workhouse. He taught me how to run his oil store.”

  “He sounds like a nice man,” Beth said.

  “Yes,” Clyde said. He looked down at Oscar trotting beside them.

  “My uncle loved Oscar. He even let Oscar sleep on an old blanket at the store. He called it his throne,” Clyde said. “He was always saying things like that.”

  Beth shifted her wooden bucket to her other hand. “Why have you been doing odd jobs?” she asked. “Your Aunt May said you worked at the oil store.”

  “I have the key to the store. But my aunt was right. I can’t run the store without my uncle’s will or accounts. Now we owe rent on the building,” Clyde said. “Curate Whitehead is trying to find the will.”

  Beth couldn’t help Clyde. But maybe he could help her.

  “My cousin and I are looking for a liquid. It’s for a special invention,” Beth said.

  “The shop is full of liquids. We have oils from all over the world,” Clyde said. “I told you about the one from America. My uncle liked finding unique oils. He wanted to light up the whole country with oil lamps.”

  Oscar’s short legs kept up with them. They turned west down a lane. Then they went north again on Carnaby Street. Soon they reached the pump. There were three people in front of them.

  Beth supposed the pump was busier because the Broad Street pump was closed.

  Water sloshed onto the ground as people moved their buckets.

  Oscar lapped the spilled water on the ground. Then he stood by Clyde and waited.

  Soon it was their turn. Clyde quickly filled their three buckets.

  “Your bucket is half full,” he said. “It’ll be easier for you to carry. Besides, only paying customers get full buckets.”

  They left the pump. Clyde carried his buckets easily.

  Beth’s half-filled bucket was heavy. Her arm felt stretched.

  The two of them made their way back to Marshall Street.

  Beth saw the curate in the distance. He was walking toward them.

  “He’s probably going to the workhouse,” Clyde said. He nodded toward a large building behind them. “He goes once a week. He tries to find ways to help those inside. He helped my uncle find me.”

  The workhouse’s brick walls, even the back side, looked like a prison.

  “Beth! Beth!”

  Beth looked around. That was Patrick’s voice. Where was he?

  Clyde set down his buckets. He pointed to a second-story window at the workhouse.

  An arm was sticking out of the narrow opening. It was waving to them.

  Oh no, Beth thought. Old Willie has caught Patrick!

  The Workhouse

  Beth, Clyde, and a bulldog hurried to the workhouse. They stood under Patrick’s window.

  Beth called up to him, “Patrick, I’m so glad to see you.” She put down her bucket. “What’re you doing in there?”

  “A hospital guard brought me here,” he said. “Old Willie gave him money. I’m a prisoner. You have to get me out of here!”

  Clyde set down his buckets. “Old Willie took me the day my dad died. He wants orphans and poor people to work for him,” Clyde said.

  A man wearing black clothes stopped next to Beth and Clyde. “Hello again,” he said to Beth. “Hello, Clyde.”

  “We’re glad to see you. Patrick, this is Curate Henry Whitehead,” Clyde said.

  Patrick looked at the man. He recognized him. He had argued with Dr. Snow in the hospital.

  “This is my cousin Patrick,” Beth said.

  “Hello, Patrick,” Henry said.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Curate Whitehead,” Patrick said.

  Henry unfolded a map. “No one in the workhouse has died of cholera,” he said. “Maybe we should all stay with you in the workhouse.”

  Beth and Clyde said, “No!”

  Henry laughed.

  “I’ve seen that map before,” Patrick said. “That’s Dr. Snow’s map.”

  “You’re right. I talked to Dr. Snow. He’s letting me use it,” Henry said.

  Henry pointed to the map. “The squares show where people have died from cholera,” he said. “There are no squares in the workhouse. No one at the workhouse is even sick. I wanted to see this for myself.”

  “A lot of older widows on Broad Street aren’t sick either,” Clyde said.

  “I noticed them at church last Sunday,” Henry said. “Many people didn’t attend. But a lot of older women were there.”

  “The widows on Broad Street drink rainwater from the cisterns,” Clyde said. “Unless I bring them pump water.”

  Patrick thought about Mrs. Lewis. “The pump handle is too heavy for them,” he said.

  “Where does the workhouse get its water?” Henry asked.

  “It has its own pump,” Clyde said. “Also, my uncle and cousins drank water from the Broad Street pump. My aunt and I drank from the Carnaby pump. We are the only ones still alive.”

  Patrick sighed. That wasn’t good news for him. He hoped the water from the Broad Street pump didn’t carry the infection.

  “So, here’s what we know,” Henry said. “People drank from the cisterns and the Carnaby pump. But they didn’t get sick. People drank from the Broad Street pump and did get sick.”

  Henry scratched his head. “This is all very puzzling. I have a lot of work to do. I need to find the index case,” he said.

  Patrick leaned closer to the window. He said, “What’s an index case?”

  “It’s the first person to die,” Henry said. “It will tell us more about this disease. And the well water needs to be retested.”

  “Mr. York can do that,” Clyde said. “He’s a local man.”

  Beth asked, “What are you testing for?”

  Henry folded Dr. Snow’s map. “I don’t know. Maybe something was added to the water at Broad Street,” he said. “That may be the connection between the wa
ter and this illness.”

  “We need to deliver our water buckets,” Clyde said. “But then I can help.”

  “Me too,” Beth said.

  “Good,” Henry said. “Meet me at the Broad Street pump. I’ll get York. He’ll need workers to dig down to the pump’s water.”

  “What about Patrick?” Beth asked. “We can’t leave him here.”

  Henry looked up at Patrick. He scratched his head and thought for a moment. Then he said, “Patrick will meet you there also.”

  Patrick wondered how he’d escape. But he put on a brave face and waved goodbye to Beth.

  She waved back. “See you soon,” she said.

  The bulldog followed Beth and Clyde.

  “Were you assigned a job?” Henry asked.

  “Yes,” Patrick said.

  “Go do it,” Henry said. “I often visit the poor in the workhouse. But today I have another motive. I want to see for myself that no one here has cholera. Do your job, and act like we’ve never met.”

  “Okay,” Patrick said. He hoped he could trust Curate Whitehead.

  Patrick returned to the courtyard. He went straight to the large pile of flax. He picked up a bundle and set it beside the first flax break. An older man nodded his thanks. Then the man slammed the arm of the flax break down on the flax.

  Patrick went back for another bundle. He saw Old Willie open the front door.

  Curate Whitehead entered. He spoke to Old Willie. Then he went to people working in the courtyard.

  Patrick set a bundle by the second flax break.

  Henry talked to the people combing the flax. Then he talked to those beating the plant. Finally he reached those on the flax breaks. He spoke to each person and prayed for some.

  Patrick continued carrying the bundles of flax. Sweat trickled down his back.

  “Hello, my name is Curate Henry Whitehead. You must be new here,” Henry said to Patrick.

  Patrick looked down. “I am,” he said.

  Henry turned from Patrick and went back to Old Willie.

  Patrick kept carrying flax bundles.

  Dear God, please help the curate get me out of here, he prayed.

  Henry held out two coins. Old Willie tried to grab them. But Henry pulled them back. Then Old Willie pointed to Patrick.

  Patrick carried an extra-large bundle. He pretended not to notice.

  Finally Old Willie walked over to Patrick. “You’re going to work for Curate Whitehead today,” Old Willie said. “You’d better work hard. Or you’ll get the back of my hand. Understand?”

  Patrick dropped the flax bundle in his arms. “Yes,” he said. He tried to look upset. He walked toward the entrance.

  Henry held out the same two coins.

  This time, Old Willie greedily grabbed the money. “When will you return the boy?” he asked.

  “He’ll be digging all day,” Henry said. “You can fetch him at dusk.”

  Patrick walked out of the workhouse with Henry. He didn’t care who came to fetch him. Patrick was never going back.

  Digging

  Clyde and Beth delivered water to Aunt May and the woman with the sick child. Then they gave water to the older woman. She already had Beth’s ribbon in her hair.

  “Happy birthday again,” Beth said.

  The woman smiled and showed her the ribbon.

  Beth smiled back.

  Beth would never forget the numbers on that ribbon, 178866. She was glad the numbers had made the woman so happy.

  Clyde and Beth left and walked down Broad Street. Oscar ran by Clyde’s side.

  Beth could see the pump and building number forty in the distance. But she didn’t see Patrick.

  Henry stopped outside the workhouse entrance and turned to Patrick. “I have to go this way to find York,” he said.

  He pointed. “You need to go that way to reach Broad Street. Your friends will be there. Run!”

  Why do I need to run? Patrick wondered. But he did what the curate said. He ran. Soon he wasn’t alone. He heard a mean voice behind him.

  “Get back here,” Old Willie shouted. He was running after Patrick, and he wasn’t far behind. “I changed my mind. Get back to the workhouse.”

  Patrick ran faster. He turned onto Broad Street.

  Clyde, Beth, and the bulldog were already there.

  “Old Willie is trying to cheat Curate Whitehead,” Patrick shouted. “He wants to take me back to the workhouse.”

  Clyde and Beth started to run with Patrick. The bulldog followed them.

  They all ran away from Old Willie together.

  “Come back,” Old Willie shouted.

  They passed the Broad Street pump. Then they ran up and down the streets.

  Old Willie’s long legs were gaining on them. “Got you,” Old Willie said.

  “Help!” Beth shouted.

  Old Willie had caught his cousin. Patrick stopped. He turned to face Old Willie. The Imagination Station might never come back for them. But he wouldn’t keep running from Old Willie.

  Clyde stopped also. He faced Old Willie too.

  Old Willie had Beth by the shoulder.

  The bulldog growled and slunk toward Old Willie. Its head was low. Its teeth were bared.

  “Call off your dog,” Old Willie said. He held Beth in front of him.

  Beth said, “You’re a bully.” She struggled to get out of his grasp.

  That gave Patrick an idea. “Bullies pick on one person at a time,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll fight all three of us.”

  Patrick and Clyde took a step forward.

  Old Willie took a step back.

  The dog kept moving toward Old Willie.

  Old Willie let go of Beth. “I’ll be back for you,” Old Willie said.

  He pointed at Patrick. “You’re still mine. Curate Whitehead is an honest man. He’ll hand you over at the end of the day,” he said.

  “I’ll be waiting for you,” Patrick said.

  “So will I,” Beth said.

  Clyde cracked his knuckles.

  The dog leaped forward.

  “Yeow!” Old Willie shouted. He quickly ran away.

  The dog chased him down the street and around the corner.

  “Go, Oscar!” Clyde shouted.

  Patrick put his arms in the air. “We did it,” he said.

  Clyde shook his head. “I wish it were true. But he’ll be back,” he said. “Next time Old Willie will bring more men.”

  Patrick kicked a loose stone in the street. There had to be a way to get away from Old Willie for good.

  They walked back to the Broad Street pump in silence.

  A slim man in work clothes was already there. He had sharp blue eyes and held shovels, ropes, and buckets. Rosie’s three brothers were beside him.

  Patrick supposed they needed the pay. They may not be friends. But they would all work together.

  “Hello, Mr. York,” Clyde said.

  “It’s good to see you, Clyde,” York said. “And who are you?”

  “I’m Patrick. This is my cousin Beth,” Patrick said.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” York said. He pointed to Rosie’s brothers. “You’ll all be digging together.”

  Clyde nodded a greeting to the other boys. They nodded back.

  Oscar gave a happy bark.

  “This is Oscar,” Clyde said. He scratched the dog’s head. “Where do you want us to dig?”

  “Let me think,” York said. He walked around the Broad Street pump. Oscar followed at his heels, his tail wagging.

  Patrick pointed to the space between the pump and building forty. “We shouldn’t dig on that side,” he said. “Mrs. Lewis dumped her dirty water there. She didn’t go to the drain in the basement.”

  “The drain in the basement?” York asked.

  Clyde said, “That drain is an old cesspool.”

  “All cesspools were closed years ago,” York said.

  “Not this one,” Patrick said. “Mrs. Lewis still uses it.”

  �
��What’s a cesspool?” Beth asked.

  “It’s a large brick box under the ground,” York said. “It holds human waste and dirty wash water.”

  “Yuck,” Beth said.

  York hurried to building forty. He took long strides forward.

  “The outside wall of the cesspool should be buried here,” he said.

  Clyde stood in that spot.

  York hurried to the pump. He took long steps toward Clyde. He said, “The wall of the well should be buried here.”

  Beth hurried to that spot.

  Only a few feet were between Clyde and Beth.

  Rosie’s brothers picked up shovels.

  “Do we dig between the two underground brick walls?” Patrick asked.

  York nodded. He looked grim.

  York suspects something, Patrick thought. He stuck a shovel in the ground. He had no idea what they were about to uncover.

  The Problem

  York set up two teams for digging. Clyde, Patrick, and Beth were one. Rosie’s brothers were the other. One team dug while the other removed the buckets of dirt. Then they switched.

  The teams worked together for hours. The trench between the pump and the cesspool grew deep.

  Henry and Dr. Snow arrived and were talking together.

  Oscar barked at the edge of the hole.

  Beth shoveled dirt into her bucket. So did Clyde. But Patrick filled his bucket with dirt first. Then he handed it to one of Rosie’s brothers.

  They gave Patrick back the empty bucket and took Clyde’s full bucket.

  Beth stuck her shovel into the dirt again. She hit something hard. It was the brick wall of the cesspool. Water trickled from it. A bad smell escaped with the water.

  “Mr. York,” Patrick called. “Beth’s found a leak.”

  York bent over the hole. Then he hurried down into the trench.

  “Clear this away,” he said. He pointed to dirt along the cesspool bricks.

  Clyde dug around them.

  York easily pulled a brick out of its place. “That’s not good. This wall is falling apart,” he said.

  Clyde dug next to the Broad Street well’s brick wall. Some of the bricks had cracks in them.