City of God

by Swerling, Beverly

  Grant mumbled something that sounded like congratulations and hustled his guest and Clement out of the room.

  Manon lifted Annie into her arms. “I’ll take her back to the ward now, if that’s all right?”

  “Yes, excellent. Can you stay with her for a bit? I’ve no right to ask when you’ve already done so much, but—”

  “Of course. I’ll let you know as soon as she wakes, shall I?”

  “Please do, but don’t climb the stairs. Send someone.”

  Manon said she would, and that she’d get word to Mrs. Jablonski in the women’s prison wing. “She deserves at least to know Annie’s alive.”

  It turned out there was a great deal more noise down the town that February day than there had been in Bellevue Hospital. Women, unable to feed their families because the cost of flour had risen from four dollars a bushel to over twelve, had converged five thousand strong on City Hall Park. What started as a peaceful demonstration against the merciless inflation let loose in the year spent recovering from the fire became a pot-banging, screaming, whistling stampede. The women’s wrath turned the premises of half a dozen prominent grocers into rubble. “No looting!” the organizers yelled. “Punishment, not theft!” Punishment wasn’t going to fill hungry mouths. Not a woman went home without as much flour as she could manage to carry.

  Despite the hopes of Henry Morrison of the Sun, his paper, like much of the penny press, got out a special late afternoon extra, but they trumpeted the tumultuous flour riot, not the silent surgery performed at Bellevue.

  At eight in the evening there was a tap on Nick’s door. “Come.”

  “She’s still asleep, Cousin Nicholas. I cannot rouse her.”

  “Manon, I’m sorry, I’d hoped you wouldn’t have to climb the stairs. Was there no one to send to—”

  She shook her head, dismissing his concerns. “I’m fine. It’s Annie I’m worried about. It’s six hours and she’s not yet awake.”

  Nick did a rapid calculation. “More like a bit over five hours since we administered the last dose of Somnus. And that was a heavy one.”

  “Twenty seconds,” Manon agreed. “Directly from the canister.”

  “Damn! Excuse me, Cousin Manon. I’m simply frustrated because I know so little of what to expect from the potion, whatever it may be. Fact is, I just got back from the Turnbull’s farm. Walked over to see where to find this fellow Graves and make him tell me more.”

  “No luck?” she asked, knowing the answer before he replied.

  “Less than none. For him as well, poor devil. Seems that a few days ago, on his way to peddle Somnus to the doctors of New York Hospital, our Mr. Graves was knocked down by a runaway horse, had his skull crushed by a wagon wheel, and died. Mrs. Turnbull was at Graves’s funeral yesterday when I tried to find her.” Nick reached for the stethoscope that lay on a nearby table. “Come, I’ll go down with you. I intended to visit Annie again at any rate.”

  The child lay on a bed in the prized window corner of a ward as crowded as all the others at Bellevue. Many of the patients slept, others called out to Nick and to Manon as they threaded their way through the thicket of prone bodies, a few moaned in pain. But at Annie’s bedside there was only silence. “I was mad to try it,” Nick murmured.

  “You were no such thing. When I think what you were able to spare that child…I can find no words strong enough to express my admiration for your courage and what you achieved.”

  “But she is not yet conscious. And for all we know, she might never be again.” He put his hand on her forehead. “She’s relatively cool.”

  “Yes, I believe she has had no fever for the past few hours.”

  Nick bent over Annie, pressing one end of the stethoscope to her chest and the other to his ear. “Her heartbeat is strong and steady.”

  “Well then, I presume we must just wait.”

  “Years ago,” he said, “I heard of a case of a man who was struck on the head by a falling object. He went to sleep and never woke up again. He lived for two weeks and didn’t once open his eyes. Died finally of a lack of food and water.”

  Annie Jablonski muttered some words in Polish just then and struggled to sit up. Manon bent to her immediately, and for her concern was rewarded with a shower of vomit.

  Chapter Eighteen

  IT WAS THE first week of March, the month that ushered in spring, and the wind was howling while a brooding sky promised more snow on top of the crusted drifts and icy ruts that already made the streets nearly impossible to navigate. The omnibus ended its bone-shattering run where Sixth Avenue did, at Cornelia Street. Nick had to trudge through half a dozen more of the narrow, twisting streets of Greenwich Village on foot before he arrived at Manon’s lodgings on Vandam Street. He was frozen to the marrow, but a cheery open fire waited for him in her small sitting room, and hot tea and fresh biscuits with ginger butter, and an egg custard topped with sugar. Life soon looked better. “This is delicious, Cousin Manon. I’d no idea you were such a splendid cook.”

  “I bribed the landlady to let me use her kitchen. As for cooking, I was accomplished once, but that’s ages ago.” All these years alone, so long since she’d cooked for Papa and later for Joyful. She’d felt almost giddy when she set about preparing a small repast for Nicholas. It had turned out well. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the refreshments, Cousin Nicholas.”

  “I am. Immensely. And I very much appreciate your invitation to tea, but—”

  “You wish I’d not chosen one of the coldest days of the winter to drag you down the town.”

  “I never said that. Though I’m sure if this was purely a social invitation you’d have waited for better weather. So tell me what this is all about.”

  “Two things,” she said with her customary directness. “First Annie Jablonski.”

  “She’s doing very well, Manon. But it’s been two weeks since the surgery, and I can’t continue to keep her in the hospital.” He knew she intended to ask him not to send the child back to the orphanage, but he had no choice.

  “You can’t feel good about returning her to the kindly care of Frankly Clement. It’s an appalling notion.”

  Nick nodded. “Yes, it is. But there is no alternative. Unless…Manon, do you know someone who might adopt her? That would be a perfect solution.”

  “Not exactly.” She saw the change in his expression. “But there is an alternative to Frankly Clement.”

  “St. Patrick’s Orphan Asylum.”

  “Exactly.”

  “It’s out of the question.”

  “Why? Give me one good reason, Nicholas, why the child should not be taken there? She is Polish, and all Poles are Catholics.”

  “My dear Manon, you could make the same argument about fully two-thirds of the children in the almshouse orphan asylum. Perhaps more. That’s precisely why the town established an orphanage at Bellevue. To be sure that the children of the Catholic poor are rescued from popery.”

  “Cousin Nicholas, I admit there’s a great deal of silliness and nonsense in the Catholic religion, but Mother Louise and the Sisters are good to the children. You know they are. Rescued from popery so they can have the vicious Clements instead. How absurd!”

  There was a loud clatter from somewhere in the hall. Nick started to rise, but Manon waved him back to his chair. “It’s all right. Miss Bellingham’s in her room. I imagine she dropped something.”

  “Miss Bellingham? The secretary of your society?” Nick glanced in the direction of the door Manon indicated. It wasn’t entirely shut.

  “Yes, that’s right. Now, about Annie.”

  Clearly Miss Bellingham had been eavesdropping. And just as clearly Manon must know about it. If she didn’t care, it was no business of his. “My dear Manon, I can’t conspire to—”

  “Nicholas, look what you’ve already done for her. In this instance you need do nothing so courageous. She will simply disappear. Given the circumstances in your hospital, that would hardly be a surprise. As for the Senior Medical
Attendant, he would have every right to assume the child had been sent back to the Clements. In which case he would do nothing.”

  Nicholas hesitated only a moment. “Nothing. Yes, I suppose I can manage to do that.”

  “Excellent. Now there is something else.”

  “I thought there would be.”

  Manon’s manner changed. She seemed less sure of herself. “When you called me indomitable, Cousin Nicholas, did you really believe it to be true?”

  “I think I said that when you wanted to watch the surgery. I certainly believed it was true, Manon. And you proved me correct.”

  “I shall need to be indomitable if I’ve any hope of making my idea a reality.”

  “What idea is that?”

  “A dispensary for poor women and their children. Somewhere women who can’t afford private physicians can go to get medical care for themselves and their young. What do you think?”

  “It’s a fine idea. Certainly it’s needed. I presume your dispensary would see only ambulatory patients.”

  “Yes, at first. Later one might expand to some sort of residential patient care. I suppose any building should be planned with that possibility in mind.”

  “A building. That’s a grand scheme, Manon. I’m told land is selling for upwards of four hundred dollars an acre as far up the island as Bloomingdale Village.”

  “To rich people, Nicholas. For country estates along the Hudson.”

  “Even here in Greenwich Village, it’s going to be hugely expensive. I’d no notion your society was moving the hearts of wealthy donors quite so well.”

  “Ha! I assure you it is not. I’m fortunate to raise a hundred or two in a month. But I’ve other resources. Of course, if my Wall Street house had escaped the flames and I’d sold after the fire rather than before, I’d have gotten a far better price. One of my old neighbors sold his house recently. I heard he got sixty thousand dollars. That’s three times what I was paid.”

  “Exactly. Property’s a tricky business.”

  “I agree, Cousin Nicholas, but I believe I will be able to persuade a wealthy donor to make a gift of a suitable lot for our dispensary. And perhaps build it as well.”

  “Sounds as if your donor is rich as Croesus.”

  “Indeed. Another biscuit, Cousin Nicholas?”

  She clearly wasn’t going to tell him who she had in mind. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Now,” she said, passing him the ginger butter, “leaving aside the issue of location, would you assist me in training women to staff such a dispensary?”

  “You’re thinking of women as the providers of this medical care? What an extraordinary idea.”

  “You must not think me foolish, Nicholas. I would count on men, proper doctors such as yourself, to volunteer a bit of their time. But any decent woman who has charge of a household is accustomed to nursing her family. With just a small amount of more advanced training, such skills could prove extremely useful. The women of Five Points…. They’re so battered and beaten, Nicholas. Even the most elementary things are beyond them. In the conditions they live in even simple cleanliness is impossible.”

  “And you think a better class of women might be willing to take time from their own families to staff a dispensary for the poor? It wouldn’t be the same as occasional visits to the homes of the respectable needy, Manon. There must be structure. You would require to be open at particular times of the day. Women with households of their own…it’s a lot to ask.

  “I know all that,” she said stubbornly. “I believe women are quite capable of organizing such a thing. Look at Mother Louise and her Sisters of Charity.”

  “But their motives are religious. Ordinary women, Protestants…” He hesitated, then decided to plunge. He’d have no better opportunity, and apart from his affection for Manon, the main reason he’d come out on such a miserable day was to get what news he could of Sam Devrey’s wife. “Cousin Carolina, for example. Might she be…”

  “Oh, I realize it wouldn’t be possible for someone like Carolina with a new baby.”

  “A new baby? Cousin Carolina? I didn’t know.”

  “Did you not?” She busied herself pouring him another cup of tea, pretending not to notice how the news had unnerved him. “She and Cousin Samuel have a new daughter. Baby Celinda Lucy Devrey, named for Samuel’s mother and Carolina’s aunt. I can’t think the Celinda part pleases Carolina very much.” He was staring into his cup of tea looking as morose as ever she’d seen him. Manon hunted for a change of subject. “I take it you still have no idea of the composition of Somnus.”

  “None. I’ve made inquiries at the patent office, but they know nothing. Either Mr. Graves didn’t intend to patent his potion or he hadn’t yet gotten around to doing so.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, “How old is Carolina’s daughter?”

  “Well, she was born in October of last year, as I recall. That would make her five months old.”

  He did the numbers quickly in his head. Had to be a child conceived after the night of the fire. Why in hell should that surprise him? From Carolina’s point of view it was extremely distressing that her husband had a mistress and deeply shaming that Nick Turner had been with her when she discovered the fact, but Sam Devrey wasn’t the only man in the city unfaithful to his marriage vows. Only one thing for it. Put her out of his mind. Carolina Devrey was the mother of two and totally off limits.

  “Cut off her leg they did,” Addie said. “And she didn’t feel a thing.”

  “I don’t believe it.” Lilac held her glass of coffee in midair, too startled to take another sip. “I never heard of such a thing. It can’t be true.”

  “It is. I heard them talking about it. Mrs. Turner and her cousin, the Dr. Turner who runs the Almshouse Hospital.”

  “Didn’t feel anything when they sawed off her leg? Well, I never.” Lilac’s hand trembled. Imagine if she could use the lady needles on women who didn’t feel a thing while she did it. The line outside her door would reach round the corner and back again.

  “That’s not all neither,” Addie said.

  “You’re mumbling, dear. I can’t hear you.” Lilac leaned forward so as not to miss a thing.

  “Now,” Addie said, “they’re going to give her to the Catholics. Going to spirit that little girl away to the Catholic orphan asylum. And Dr. Turner says he’s not going to do a thing about it.”

  “You mean he’s a Catholic as well?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Then what is?” Steady on, Lilac told herself. Nothing to be had from Addie if Lilac didn’t remain patient. “Doesn’t feel like winter’s ever going to be over, does it?” And when Addie agreed that it did not, “March, and I still need my furs.” She had a mink skin wrapped around her neck with the animal’s tail made to hook into its mouth, and a matching muff. The very latest thing. Absolutely painless help for women’s troubles. That’s what she’d say in her advertisement. Or maybe Positively painless would be better. She’d probably have to move to a bigger place. “Addie, how could that little girl sleep through something like that?”

  “I don’t know, and Dr. Turner don’t know neither. The stuff he used came from some man that went and got himself killed, so now there’s no more of it. Anyway, I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the little girl.”

  “You mean this man’s secret died with him?”

  “I told you, I don’t know. Dr. Turner said he was looking for more of whatever it was. Though how he can want to do anything so wicked is beyond me.”

  “What’s wicked?”

  “Trying to change the laws of nature. I asked Mr. Finney about painless surgery and that’s what he said. It’s wicked to try and change the laws of nature. Anyway, it’s the little girl I’m concerned about.”

  “What about her? You already said about Mrs. Turner taking her to the Catholics. It doesn’t seem to me there’s anything you can do about that.”

  “No, there isn’t. Not if Dr. Turner’s going to do
nothing.”

  “Then I don’t see why you—” Lilac broke off. There was no point in scolding Addie. That just served to make her clam up. “It’s not your fault, dear. How can it be?”

  “I know it’s not. But that poor little girl. They sold her soul to the Devil so she wouldn’t feel pain, and now they’re going to make her a Catholic.”

  “But if she’s a Polish child she already is one. And I don’t think you can go to Hell twice, can you Addie?”

  “I suppose not.” Addie took a sip of her coffee, then she put the glass down and stared into space with a dreamy expression.

  Lilac had seen that look before. “What is it, Addie? You can tell me.”

  “It’s this.”

  Lilac followed the motion of Addie’s head and looked down. An object wrapped in dark blue velvet had appeared on the little round wooden table between them. “And what is that?”

  “I’m not sure. That’s why I’ve brought it for you to see.”

  “Very well. Unwrap it then. Or should I do it?”

  “Oh yes, please. Mind no one sees,” Addie added, leaning forward and speaking in a whisper. Then, seeing Lilac’s expression, “I mean, you never know, do you? In a place like this.”

  Addie’s caution was contagious. Lilac scooped up the bundle and made it disappear onto her lap. Then, using her muff to provide the cover the other woman seemed to think necessary, she removed the thing from its wrappings.

  Hard. About the size of a large walnut. Round but not smooth. Rather like a jewel, though far too big to be one.

  “Well,” Addie said.

  “Well what?”

  “Aren’t you going to look at it?”

  “I’m feeling it. Good lord.” She had taken her hand out of her muff and laid it on the table between them. What was there in the curve of her kid-gloved palm was a diamond. It shimmered and shone like nothing she had ever seen. Every bit of light in the room appeared to be reflected in the many facets.