The Impossible Girl

by Lydia Kang

  They suffered through a brief ride, three cents a person and an extra five for the wagon. It was Cora’s second of the day after her initial scouting trip, during which she cried at the funeral—true tears, as if something inside that had been quietly patched over so many times finally rent and no longer held. Her eyes were still puffed, but no one noticed between Otto the Cat vomiting into the river, and Friar Tom being upset over the nervous horse. While they drove to the cemetery, Tom elbowed Cora.

  “Someone handed me this last night,” he said. He gave a slip of paper to Cora, who read it.

  It was Duncan’s wish list.

  “All the ragtag resurrectionists know about Duncan. He’s been receiving more bodies every night, more than he needs.”

  “I see,” Cora said. Theo gave her a worried glance.

  “Mermaids! And girls with two hearts,” Otto said, swinging his tail. “Although I hear that’s no rumor; she’s real. She’s from China! Or some such.”

  Cora wanted to vomit herself. Theo said, “It’s all nonsense. All lies. Duncan is trying to get attention, that’s all.”

  “Attention that’s boiling over on the fireplace. Everyone’s speaking of it.”

  “Enough,” Cora said. “We need to be quiet. And get to work.”

  They arrived at the cemetery and began their work. A fence enclosed the family plot, and the wagon was left at the bottom of the hill. Hours in, they stood around the pale white body that lay on the newly turned earth. Cora’s conscience picked and gnawed mercilessly at her emotions while she stripped the body. All along the way, images of Conall’s life invaded her mind: How he must have grieved over his own father’s death. How frightened he must have been, facing death. To make things worse, Dr. Blackwell’s words had been like a splinter in her ankle, digging itself deeper the more she tried to ignore it.

  “Wot’s that?” Otto pointed at Conall’s neck.

  Theo waved her close to inspect the body. “Jacob. Take a look.”

  Conall’s body was lying on his back, but his neck was nearly halfway severed by a thin cut. This was no ordinary garroting. Cora felt the blood drain from her face.

  No. No, no.

  The Duke started rolling up the body in the sheet they’d brought. “Poor lad.”

  Theo helped him. Together, they hoisted the body, with the Friar carrying three spades and a leather bag of tools.

  “I say we bring him to the university,” Cora said. Her eyes were smarting again. Thank goodness it was dark.

  “We’d lose ten dollars’ profit!” Otto said, already huffing.

  “I can do the arithmetic, I know,” Cora said. She thought back to how excited Duncan had seemed when she told him about this body. And to the frenzy he’d apparently started with his list. “I just . . . I think Duncan had something to do with it. The man was murdered, plain as day. Anyone who wanted to rob him didn’t need to cut his neck almost in half. And Duncan seems to want new bodies so badly.”

  “You think he’s having these people killed?” Theo said, his face upset.

  “The lady with the tail is now on display there. Didn’t you see? No one dies naturally of having a vestigial tail. And he told me he had her body brought straight to him; she wasn’t even buried first. He wanted her for his collection. Oh good God,” she said when her hands slipped, and she had to rehoist Conall’s feet onto her hip. “I’m sorry!” she said to Conall, more to anyone else. Soon, the body was in the wagon, and they were headed back to the ferry.

  “If we’re selling to him, they’ll start to think we had something to do with it, you know,” the Duke said. “That would be the end of us. You’d all go to the Tombs, and I’d get scragged at the gallows.”

  “If you die, we’d all die with you,” Cora said.

  The Duke snorted. “That doesn’t make me feel better. How about none of us die?”

  “I like that option,” Theo said.

  They laughed. By the time they made it to the university, they were all quiet from tiredness. Theo paid them their brass, and the men dispersed home, too tired to share a round of rum before dawn. Theo looked at Cora.

  “I suppose we ought to say good night,” she said rather unconvincingly. She felt awful, after the night. And a quiet room alone sounded less pleasing than falling into a frozen river.

  “I suppose so.” Theo rumpled her short hair. “Stay with me, then.”

  “Your cot is too small.”

  Theo reached for her waist. “I doubt that Leah will approve when she sees me in the morning.”

  “Leah already knows.” Cora shrugged. “She shall have a fit, but then it will be over.”

  Theo said nothing more, his silence and smile an assent. They walked back to Irving Place, and Theo carefully followed Cora upstairs. Theo either did not see, or chose not to comment, on the moisture in Cora’s eyes. Her grief over Conall’s death had worn her to the bone, and reaching for Theo lessened the gnawing discomfort. She needed this oblivion, this audacity of being very much alive.

  They were painstakingly quiet throughout. Very quiet, though not completely silent. Not that it mattered. In the room next door, Leah’s thunderous snores concealed every floorboard and bedstead creak they created.

  CHAPTER 20

  Cora awoke just after dawn. She wanted to avoid Leah walking in to discover a tangled mess of bare limbs and bosoms in the bed.

  “Wake up,” Cora whispered, nudging Theo’s ribs.

  “Mm. No. Not yet,” he murmured, and pulled her closer. He slid his hands around her waist and against her rib cage. Cora was suddenly aware that one of his palms covered her second heart, and she stiffened reflexively.

  “I’m sorry.” Theo pulled his hand away. His voice was warm and husky from sleep. “Does it bother you? Does it hurt?”

  “No. It doesn’t hurt.” She closed her eyes and forced herself to relax a little, then pulled Theo’s hand back up to her right ribs. “There it is. The thorn in my side.”

  For a minute, Theo let his fingertips touch the little hollow between her ribs where he could feel her second heart pulsating. He put his other hand on her wrist and felt the simultaneous beats, like a symphony of small drumbeats.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, and it’s going to be the death of me,” Cora said. She pulled away and snatched a muslin petticoat lying on the floor. She covered herself, and stood up, twirling her hand to tell Theo to turn his back to her.

  “You know, I’ve seen a lot of naked women.” He grinned.

  “But they were all dead. And this one is not, so turn around.”

  “Point taken.” He flipped over onto his stomach, laying his cheek on his folded arms, facing the wall. “What could happen? Dropsy? A heart infection?”

  Cora dressed quickly, as well as she could without Leah. “I’ve never had dropsy. But when I was a child, I had an apoplectic attack. I thought I’d be an invalid for life, but it went away after a day.”

  “Still, you’re quite well now,” he reasoned.

  “So was the girl with the tail, and the gentleman with the red mark on his face. But they all died before they were ready. Someone is hunting people with medical ailments, Theo. I could be next.”

  Now mostly dressed, she turned around, and she listened to the rustle of fabrics as Theo dressed.

  “The gossip about the girl with two hearts will stop eventually. You’ve never seen a doctor for this. And that’s the one thing all those other deaths had in common. A physician who knew, and likely told more than just you about the person.” She heard him fumbling with his boots. “You may turn around.”

  Theo stood in her bedroom, hair rumpled, shirt rumpled, but to Cora’s eyes he was like a newly wrapped present. He looked at her sweetly, shyly. Unlike the rash and overconfident boy who’d yelled at her at their first meeting—Cora Lee, I think I love you! He held out his hand, and she took it. They kissed quickly, and he touched her hair again.

  “I like it short. But don’t forget your wig.”
<
br />   “Oh. Yes.” She went to one of the two on the wicker head forms in her armoire and tugged it into place.

  “I think I like you better dressed as Jacob. And then I don’t have to be so careful around your fine lace and your fine hair.”

  “You will now. Leah is downstairs, I can hear the pots clanging. Let’s shock her as gently as possible.”

  But Leah was not in the kitchen. Instead, Alexander stood at the stove, putting slices of roasted ham and bread onto three plates. He looked up at them blandly, and said, “Sit. Eat.”

  Theo muttered a halting hello, but it sounded as if he’d been inexplicably afflicted with a stutter. He cleared his throat two times, before attempting to speak again.

  “Mr.—Mr. Trice. Good morning. I—I—”

  “Not really a good morning. Not at all. Eat first, and we’ll talk later. I heard you two whispering, so I sent Leah on some errands. If she saw you two come down the stairs, she would have probably committed murder right here and now.”

  Cora descended to a seat at the table, her eyes large and her face white.

  “Oh. Thank you for breakfast, Alexander. I . . . well . . . Leah does know already. About Theo and me.”

  “Not the same as having you two spending the night in the next room.” Alexander pushed a steaming cup of tea toward Cora. “This is for you. You’re to drink it three times a day, not once.” He stared hard at her. “You should be more careful. About everything. I heard about your attack, and now this.” He pointed to the tea. “Leah is no druggist. Her herbs were years old, and she’s probably barren, which is why they seemed to work. She diluted the crock with regular tea, did you know that?”

  Cora stopped drinking, and Theo cleared his throat again. He heard Alexander’s words, understanding the tea’s purpose.

  “Why would she do that?” Theo asked.

  “And you’re going to be a doctor? You don’t have much in the way of deduction, do you?” Alexander wiped his hands down, poured himself and Theo coffee black as mud, and began sipping. “She wants very much for you to be with child, Cora.”

  “Why?” Cora said.

  “She wishes for you to be married. To stop all this resurrection business. She wants to live a steadier life as a maid in a household with a doctor earning a good income.” Alexander stuck out his fifth finger at Theo. “That’s you.”

  “Well, I am not ready for that,” Cora said, now drinking her tea more earnestly.

  “Why not?” Theo asked. He put his coffee down. “I haven’t asked you, Cora, but . . . well, why not get married? I’ll graduate in only one year. I might even become a professor at the university. Dr. Draper and Dr. Pattison have already mentioned that there would be a surgical position for me, with all I’m doing to help with the anatomical collection with Dr. Wood. You could stop working. No more digging, no more Jacob.”

  Cora stared at him. Alexander seemed somewhat pleased at Theo’s burst of ideas.

  “I am not ready for a domestic life,” Cora said quietly. “I can’t live here in New York for much longer. The rumors about me—they’re growing so fast. I can’t help but worry that after Conall Culligan, I’m next.”

  “Who’s Conall?” Theo asked.

  “The bloke we dug up last night! Good God, he had a name!” Cora said, her voice so sharp that Theo balked. Alexander put a hand on her arm, and she calmed herself. “People actually believe I exist, Theo. I’ll have to leave soon.”

  “I’m already building a reputation here in New York. It’s where I want to settle,” Theo said, raising his voice. “And we’re trying to get rid of the rumors. We can, I’m sure. Like you said, you’ve never seen a doctor about it.”

  “I’ve seen you,” Cora said. “You know.”

  “And I won’t tell a soul!”

  “You already told someone!” Cora hissed. “When I was Jacob, before you knew I was the girl with the affliction! Remember? When you were drunk, only last week? You told me about the girl with two hearts. And those terrible wish lists of Duncan’s—they’ve already gotten me nearly killed!”

  Theo stood up. “I apologized. What else would you have me say? I already said I would help make these rumors go away, but you can’t let go of my mistakes.” He went to the door. “This is really remarkable, these words issuing from a person who pretends to be two people and lies to everyone she meets.” He put his coat on and turned to Alexander. “Thank you for breakfast. I’m off to my lectures. Good day.”

  Cora didn’t rise, nor did Alexander. They heard the door slam, and about a minute later Leah came in through the back door with a basket of apples, a small sack of flour, and a dead chicken yet to be dressed. Her meaty fist had its headless body by its feet, feathered neck stained with drained blood.

  “Was that the Flint boy walking out the front door?” Leah asked, color rising to her cheeks. “Was it?”

  Alexander nodded, and Cora covered her face, already wanting this day to be over. But Leah had barely begun. She hollered at Cora for bringing a man over, for threatening their very home (the landlord might force them to leave if they knew Cora was having gentlemen over, something Cora hadn’t considered). She yelled at her thoughtlessness, her licentiousness, and for not “consulting her,” which made Cora roll her eyes. And then Leah began hollering at Alexander.

  “And you! You call yourself her uncle, and you’re never here! You’re gone all the time; you never break bread with us anymore! You should have counseled Cora to stay away from that Flint boy. She doesn’t listen to me!”

  “Because you are not my mother,” Cora said, standing up.

  “No, indeed, I am not! Your mother found a lowly Chinese tar—a sailor, of all trades! And she couldn’t keep her thighs closed, and now here’s her daughter doin’ the same! These Cutter women, always getting themselves into trouble!”

  “You’re the one who wants me to marry him!” Cora spat.

  “Then marry him!” Leah said, shaking the dead chicken at her.

  “In the meantime, Leah, would you please stop adding regular tea to Cora’s medicinal tea? Even that sly trick is beneath you. She doesn’t want a child.”

  Leah’s face suffused red. “Well then. She can buy it herself, if she don’t trust me.”

  “I think my work here is done,” Alexander said, draining his coffee. “I’m off to my studio.” Hand on the door, he paused when Cora stopped him.

  “Wait. Leah’s right. We haven’t seen much of you lately. I had a worry that you’re going to leave us and move to Philadelphia when we’re not looking!”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I’ll be honest; I’ve considered it. I dislike working for Duncan. He’s horrid. He has several large-sized projects I’m working on.” He sighed and reached out with his other hand to pat her shoulder. “I will take care of you, and if you and Leah move to Philadelphia, or Boston, or England, I will come.” He leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Just remember. The Cutters cast you off, and Theodore Flint ran away when the subject of marriage elicited a discussion instead of obedience. Sometimes, blood is not at all thicker than water.”

  Alexander left the kitchen. Cora had to endure another fifteen minutes of Leah’s tongue-lashing. It was only the arrival of a few letters that spared her. Cora excused herself to her bedroom while Leah angrily plucked the chicken in the kitchen, as angrily and loudly as one can pluck a chicken.

  The first letter was from Frederick Duncan. He was livid. He had seen that no body had been delivered last night, and he raged about not being taken seriously. He wished to discuss it directly with Cora today and demanded that she not refuse him.

  The second letter was from Dr. Henrickson. He was a physician that Cora hadn’t checked upon in some time, one that had been taking care of two patients she’d been interested in. Dr. Henrickson was unfortunately a drunkard, and he often sipped gin between appointments at his home on Franklin Street. But patients liked him, as he tended to accept bottles of wine or rum instead of monetary payment.

  The
hand was unsteady, but he wrote that a certain gentleman, Jonathan Fuller, had finally succumbed to a bout of indigestion so terrible, it killed him. Cora recalled this patient—she had even followed him one day to see the severity of his affliction. His gout was disfiguring. Large tophi—solid chunks of uric acid that had crystallized under his skin—protruded from his ears, toes, and knuckles, to the point where he was nearly homebound. She had seen him walking in Tompkins Square once, watching a game of rounders, before demanding that the family member accompanying him bring him back home. Fresh air never agreed with him.

  Well. That was another piece of good luck. He was much older, and a bout of dysentery or typhus was an ordinary way to die. It seemed like she and Leah would have good money coming in. After such a drought! Three bodies, in three days. But then her uneasiness kicked in again. Too much death, in such a period of time. Yet this one seemed innocuous enough—surely, Duncan wouldn’t bother arranging murder for a mere case of gout.

  She read the rest of the letter.

  Will be interred tomorrow, according to the family, at the new Evergreens Cemetery, but apparently fear grave robbers, and will have a locked coffin and a guard for one week’s time.

  I am confounded, however. He ought not to have died from eating a bad roast. His family was quite well, in comparison, after eating the same meal.

  Miss Lee, there are murmurs amongst my colleagues that your brother may be burking these sick patients. I cannot abide by such practices, you know.

  He thought Jacob was burking the victims?

  Cora had heard of Burke and Hare, the Scottish murderers who smothered victims and sold them to an anatomist, Robert Knox, who had no knowledge that they’d been murdered. It had all happened about twenty years ago. She had always drawn a line against doing anything that hastened death. Did Dr. Henrickson not know that Jacob would never commit such an atrocity? This was a dangerous rumor, one she’d have to stamp out at their next meeting.

  She went to where she kept her ledger and all the correspondence with her doctors on a small table, amongst a few piles of anatomic textbooks and other letters.