by Karen White
Her pencil eraser bobbed up and down on the pad, almost in slow motion, the sound like small explosions. Her eyes met mine. “Her name was Pamela.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Pamela
ST. SIMONS ISLAND, GEORGIA
FEBRUARY 1815
I sat up in my bed, blinking in the milky winter predawn light, listening again for the sound that had awakened me. My expelled breath rose in silent puffs, disappearing over the bed quilt like a dream upon waking.
Geoffrey’s fever of the previous summer had returned two days earlier, starting with a numbing headache, then chills and fever. In the summer, I’d administered Peruvian bark to Geoffrey and Robbie, and I thought I had cured them. I had heard of recurrences of ague, but had not expected it nevertheless. I knew enough to know that the symptoms would repeat in two- to four-day cycles unless I could find the rare bark. And each cycle would be harder and harder to bear until the patient got better on his own, or didn’t.
I quietly slipped from the bed, even though I knew it would be near impossible to wake Geoffrey. The fever exhausted him, and his body needed its rest before the fever returned. After sliding my feet into my slippers and taking my wrapper from the foot of the bed, I stepped out into the hallway, letting the door shut behind me with a quiet click.
I paused, listening to the reassuring sound of the clock downstairs, then waited to see if I heard anything out of place.
A soft cry came from Robbie’s room, and I stood frozen where I was, praying I had imagined it. If the ague had returned to Robbie, he was far less prepared for it than Geoffrey. But then the noise came again and I marched quickly to his room, pausing on the threshold, the sickly smell of camphor mixed with lavender permeating the air.
By the light of a single lamp, Jemma stood over Robbie’s bed, rubbing the ointment on his chest. The old rocking horse with the red saddle that Geoffrey had made for Robbie when he was still a little boy stood outlined by the dim light of the window. He was too big for it now, but would not hear of our removing it to the attic.
“No,” I half said, half sobbed as I stepped forward into the candlelight and for the first time noticed the presence of another person in the room. I started as I recognized one of the Coupers’ house servants from Cannon’s Point, Young Martha.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, alarmed.
Instead of answering, she said, “Jemma sent Zeus for more wood to keep Master Robbie warm for when his chills start. I helped her with the poultice. T’always works for Master Couper when he gets croupy in his chest.”
I was disoriented, wondering why Young Martha was in my house, but my concern for my son refocused my attention. I sat at the head of the bed and saw the glassiness of Robbie’s eyes, the way his sweat-soaked hair stuck to his forehead. I bent to kiss his cheek, my lips burning with his heat. I looked up at Jemma with alarm, but she soothed me with the calming gaze she used with expectant mothers.
“It be all right, Miss Pamela. Jemma taking good care of Master Robbie,” Young Martha said.
“Why are you here?” I asked again, my uneasiness growing.
She stood a little straighter, pushing her shoulders back. “We got British soldiers at Cannon’s Point. I come to tell Jemma and Zeus.”
I was glad for my empty stomach, knowing food would not have sat easy with that news. We had known the British had invaded Cumberland Island, and Mr. Gould at the lighthouse had been true to his word and kept watch for any sign that they had set their sights on our St. Simons. Since we were only a small farm, we would not have been the first to know that we had visitors. I also knew that our Zeus was sweet on Young Martha, and my uneasiness settled into worry.
“Is it peaceful?” I asked carefully, recalling stories Geoffrey had told me and that I had read regarding the British burning the White House in Washington and the massacres up north at the hands of their Indian allies.
“Yes’m. The British officers are gentlemen and speak kindly to Master ’n’ Mistress Couper. But they using Cannon’s Point for they headquarters, and they soldiers say that if we go with them we be free.”
Jemma’s eyes met mine and she slowly shook her head. I looked back at my son, the relief making me weak.
“Mama?” Robbie said.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I don’t feel good.”
I placed the back of my hand against his forehead, my skin feeling scalded. I looked up at Jemma. “We have no more medicine. His father has the ague as well.”
There had been so much sickness since last summer that I had nearly run through my stores of medicines. The Peruvian bark, which I mixed as a powder with wine, was procured only through barter, and the war with Britain had made it almost impossible to obtain. Jemma and I both knew the camphor rubs or bleeding would not bring about a cure.
“They be a doctor soldier at Cannon’s Point, Miss Pamela. I know because I fetch him for Miss Rebecca, who be in a delicate way. They call him Dr. Enlow.”
I heard a movement in the hallway and then Zeus came in with an armload of firewood. After depositing it on the hearth, he stood nearby, avoiding eye contact with me.
Young Martha stood, sparing a single glance toward the sick boy in the bed before turning back to Jemma. “We is goin’ now. Come with us and be free.”
Jemma didn’t look up but shook her head. Young Martha headed toward the door and I stood. “Zeus?”
He didn’t look at me.
I had no idea how Geoffrey would do the spring planting without Zeus, but I was not in control here, and the sound of Robbie’s crying refocused my priorities. I nodded my head once, not in dismissal or understanding, but perhaps in a mixture of both, then watched them leave.
Jemma squeezed out a rag in the washbasin and placed it on Robbie’s forehead. I put my hand on hers, stilling it. “Thank you,” I said.
She nodded once, just as I had, then continued to bathe Robbie’s face. A spasm shook him, his pallor almost yellow. Quelling my rising panic, I kept my voice calm. “I will get dressed now, then see what we still have in the root cellar and bring you what I can find. And then we will see if they will keep down tea and broth.”
It felt good to be organizing my thoughts with plans of action; I knew I needed to keep moving forward so I would not become mired in more dangerous thoughts. Geoffrey continued his deep sleep as I washed and dressed, his long body a still lump under our quilt. The image haunted me as I left the room.
The cold morning air stung my cheeks as I approached the kitchen house, the grass beneath my feet heavy with frost, the hum of insects banned by the turn of seasons. Even my morning birdsongs were different, the warble of the wrens and sparrows taken over by the cackling of the newly swollen population of the clapper rails. But my birds and their songs would return, along with the colors of the marsh in spring, the inevitable cycle of life that seemed so far away during this dead season of winter. There would be no spring for me, I knew, if Robbie’s laughter and Geoffrey’s touch were not a part of it.
I lit the fire in the cold hearth and brought in water for the kettle, then lit a lamp before descending into the root cellar. I wore the house keys on a chain around my waist, and took out the long key to the new lock I’d had Zeus install on the door. I felt safer knowing that only myself and Jemma had access to my medicines and herbs.
The metal felt icy against my skin as I pulled on the handle and let myself down the steps. I walked past the potatoes and other food stores, my candle held high, stopping in front of the narrow shelves where I kept my jars of herbs. I stared at the near-empty shelves, having known already what I would find. Camphor, lavender, and peppermint—none of which could help Geoffrey or Robbie.
The candlelight on the wall trembled, and I realized it was from my own shaking hand. I walked quickly up into the meager sunlight, trying to warm the chill that had settled in my bones. I was at a loss as to what I should do. Georgina would be of no help, with her dormant garden of useless blooms. She relie
d on me for whatever ailments she or Nathaniel might have, as did many of our neighbors.
I allowed my anger at the loss of Zeus and what it would mean to Geoffrey to invade my sense of despair, almost welcoming it as a woman welcomes an impending birth as a means to end nine long months of confinement. I was angry at these faceless British soldiers who did not know me or my family, yet chose to take away our livelihood without recompense, remorse, or the courage to meet us face-to-face.
With a newly restored sense of purpose that at least managed to keep the despair temporarily at bay, I gathered eggs, then brewed tea for both Geoffrey and Robbie and delivered them to Jemma, feeling confident to be leaving them in her care. I was a poor rider, mounting a saddle only if I had to, so I hitched up one of our two horses to the wagon and headed toward Cannon’s Point on the banks of the Hampton River.
The elegant mansion with its tabby foundation and wooden upper story and a half boasted a broad stairway that led to a wide piazza, providing views of the Hampton River and surrounding marshes. But today it was hardly recognizable for the tents and campfires spread on the grounds surrounding it, groups of blue- and red-coated soldiers clustered around fires like roosters to a hen.
I did not go up to the mansion, as my business did not involve the Coupers. If the British could take what belonged to my family, then I knew from whom to extract payment. I expected to be stopped and questioned as I made my slow progress up the main drive, and I did receive odd looks, but I suppose I did not appear threatening, as nobody stepped forward to intervene.
Aware of how suddenly my good luck could end, with shaking fingers I tied the horse and wagon near the kitchen house, then made my way around the big house, examining the faces of soldiers I passed, looking for a pleasant countenance of someone who would not give me trouble.
A solitary man sat on the mounting block at the front of the great house, shaking out a rock from his boot. He appeared young, not more than seventeen, and when I spoke he stood immediately, placing his stocking in the dirt and no doubt gathering more stones.
“I am looking for Dr. Enlow,” I said with authority, so as not to brook any questions. “Could you please direct me as to where I might find him?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a thick Cockney accent. “’E’s in the medical tent—that’s the big ’un at the end of this ’ere line of tents.”
“Thank you,” I said, then walked quickly away before he could ask my purpose.
The tent was easy to find. It had the biggest fire in front of it, with a large cauldron of boiling water hanging over it, and a makeshift line of rope was strung from two limbs of an oak tree, where strips of drying linen hung limply. A long, narrow table sat in front with medical instruments on top, as if they’d been cleaned and were in the process of drying. Many of them I did not recognize, but others, like the amputation saw and forceps, I did. A broken boat oar stood by the cauldron, while a man sat near the heat of the fire, his forehead and cheeks red from the alternating cold and heat. His light auburn hair was pulled back in a queue, and he wore a white linen shirt and a wool vest. He sat at a makeshift desk made from a barrel, a portable letterbox sitting on top opened to what appeared to be a blank piece of paper. I watched as he dipped his pen into the inkwell, then paused too long before writing the first letter, so that a blot of ink smeared the page.
“Dr. Enlow?” I asked, my voice giving away none of the fear I felt. I was not afraid of this man, nor of the British invaders. I was afraid of what healing I could not do, of medicines I did not have nor knew how to use. Mostly I was afraid that this man could not give me what I needed, and that I would be left without hope.
His eyes were a fine gray, steady and intelligent. He seemed surprised to see me, yet recovered enough to stand and give me a quick bow. “At your service, ma’am.”
“My husband and son are quite ill with ague, and I am in need of Peruvian bark to treat them. I am presuming that you have enough for an entire ship.”
I half expected him to mock me. I was a mere woman making demands of the all-powerful British navy. Even I would have had trouble keeping a smile from my face if our roles had been reversed. Instead, I was surprised by his response.
“How old is your son, Mistress…?”
“Frazier. I am Mistress Frazier. My son, Robbie, has just turned eight years this past December.” My voice caught on the last word, and his eyes softened.
“I have a son the same age. I believe I can understand the concern of a mother who would march through an enemy encampment—without reproach, it would seem—to demand medicine.”
I nudged aside my relief at his understanding, clinging to my anger until I had what I needed. “Do you have it?”
His brows furrowed. “I do. Not in great quantities, but I am fairly certain I can procure more. But how do you know that is all you require?”
“I am a midwife, and have some knowledge of the healing properties of various herbs. What I cannot grow here, I trade for with my own herbs. Geoffrey—my husband—and Robbie had an episode with the ague last summer, and I used up what I had left of the Peruvian bark. It worked well, but the ague has come back. I have heard of that happening, and know they need more of the medicine to make them better.” I swallowed, not wanting him to see weakness in my tears. “My son barely survived the last bout. He is still not strong.”
“And you are sure it is the ague? Peruvian bark is an expensive medicine.”
I stiffened. “We have already paid the price for this medicine. You have told our people that if they get on your ships, they will be free. I had hopes this would make it a fair barter. I…”
He held his hand up to stop me. “No, Mistress Frazier, that was not my question. I was inquiring as to whether I should see the patients, to ensure they are being treated with the correct medication. If you will allow me, I would like to see them for myself.”
My knees buckled, and it was only then that I realized how stiffly I had been holding myself, as if I held the burden of the world on my shoulders. His hand, strong and reassuring, held on to my elbow until I was steady.
“Thank you,” I said. “That would be kind, but unnecessary. I am quite capable….”
He lifted his uniform jacket from the back of his chair and put it on. “It is not a question of your capabilities, Mistress Frazier, but of a simple consultation to ensure the best treatment.”
He began fastening the large gold buttons on his jacket. “You have undoubtedly paid a high price for my services already. But can I hope that I might ask you for one thing more?”
I stilled, the disappointment making my knees weak again. “I assure you, sir, that I have no money to give to you.”
“It is not money I require, just your woman’s mind. As a mother, you are best qualified to help me.” He picked up his leather medical kit and gently placed a few instruments from the table inside it.
“I am not sure what you mean, sir.”
He indicated the small writing box. “I have left behind in Northumberland my beloved wife, Catherine, and my seven-year-old son, William. I have not seen them for more than three years, but I have tried to bridge my absence by writing verses for them. You see, when I was at home I would create my own words to lullabies—since I do not know how to write music—for William. This way, my wife can sing to our son with my words. It is almost like the three of us are together again. My hope is that he will not have forgotten me when I finally return home.”
We had begun walking toward the place where I had left my horse and wagon. Despite his enemy uniform, I found myself liking him. His love for his wife and son made us kindred spirits, and I prayed that he was inclined to feel the same.
“And what is it that you require me to do?” I asked. He helped me up into the wagon seat and I took the reins as he climbed in beside me.
“I have been unable to move beyond the first stanza. It is quite baffling to me, as you have probably noticed that I am rarely at a loss for words.”
Despite my gnawing worry over Geoffrey and Robbie, I could not help but smile. “I had noticed,” I said dryly. “What do you have so far?”
He cleared his throat and in a strong tenor voice sang,
Oh, hush thee, my baby,
Thy sire be a king’s knave,
Thy mother his true love,
Separated by the deep ocean’s waves;
“You have a lovely voice, and I recognize the tune. It is an old Scottish lullaby, is it not? My own mother used to sing it to my sister and me when we were small. There are many families here whose original homes were in Scotland, so it is not so strange that it would be familiar to us here.”
“Good! Then you can help me with the rest of the lullaby, as you will know where words need to be inserted to keep the melody going.”
I looked down at my worn red leather gloves and took a deep breath, the cold air biting as I drew it into my lungs. “It is not too long a drive, but I can see what I can do,” I said, thankful for something else to shift the worry from my mind.
We had begun only the second line of the second stanza by the time we approached the house, my newly regained spirits plummeting when I recognized Georgina’s carriage out front. As I pulled the wagon up next to it, my sister appeared at the front door, her eyebrows raised in surprise as she noticed my companion.
Without waiting for assistance, I flung myself from the wagon seat and ran up the steps to greet her. “Is everything…?” I couldn’t finish my sentence.
“They are fine, Pamela. Both husband and son are resting, their fevers and rigor gone for now. Jemma sent word that Geoffrey and Robbie were ill again, so I brought over food and my Mary. She is young, but she has been helping her mother in my kitchen since she was seven, so she should be a good help to you, and that will allow Jemma to assist you in your nursing. I must confess that I was not a little put out that the request did not come from you.” She appeared troubled for a moment. “Most of our field hands and house people have gone with the British. I would have thought that Jemma would be gone, too, but I see she is as loyal as ever.”
