“Almost. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“Oh, you didn’t. We don’t often have patients here at the house, but when we do, I tend to sleep with one ear open. Father wouldn’t awaken if the entirety of Puget Sound turned upside down. Do you need the bedpan?”
Thomas found himself blushing, and pulled the blanket around himself…and then blushed again at the ridiculousness of it all. He was a physician, after all. The body held no secrets.
“I suppose I do,” he said.
“Now that you’re on wheels, let’s do something easier,” she said. “Mind your feet.” She pushed him out of the room, and the sense of liberation was amazing. They reached the doorway centered at the end of the hallway, and Alvi stepped around the chair.
The toilet was spacious and for a moment, as he watched her adjust the gaslight and check the water pitcher beside the sink, Thomas was sure that Alvina Haines proposed to assist him all the way.
“The pitcher is full of hot water,” she said, patting the edge of the marble sink, “and I’ll bring you more in a minute. When you’re finished with the toilet, just pull the chain.” She turned and touched the brass chain that hung from the suspended water reservoir for the toilet.
“I know how they work,” Thomas said, more testily than he would have liked.
“That’s good. I wasn’t sure if Philadelphia was as up to date as we are out here in paradise,” she said with a straight face. “I’ll leave you then.” She patted him on the shoulder like an older sister, and bent slightly, hand still on his arm, eyes searching his. “May I get you something for the pain?”
Thomas shook his head carefully, lest it fall off at her feet. “No. I’m fine, really. Thank you.” He knew that in all likelihood he was as pale as porcelain, and he could feel the sweat on his forehead.
“I’ll be listening for the crash, then.” She eased the door closed, leaving him alone.
By the time he struggled back into the wheelchair he was exhausted. He sat for a while, panting, then dabbed himself as best he could with the water from the pitcher. Anything more required balance, and he had none of that.
The hallway was empty when he opened the door and pushed the wheelchair through. Alvi rounded the corner at the end of the hallway, dressed now as she had been the day before, pure white with a white apron, her hair drawn up tight against the back of her head. She carried a white porcelain cup.
“Well, now, you clean up quite nicely. I thought you might like some coffee,” she said. “Gert will have breakfast here in a little bit.” He drew the blanket up around himself and accepted the cup.
“You’re an early riser,” he said.
“It’s just easier,” she said. “I like to have a few moments to myself.”
“And now here I am.”
“Yes…and an incredible nuisance, I might add.” She laughed and moved behind his chair.
“I enjoyed talking to your father last night.”
“Yes. I noticed the level in the brandy bottle. But he’s pleased, Dr. Thomas. He says that you’re healing well. You’re a very, very lucky young man.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to see that.”
“Well, you are. Now, let me take you on a little tour. And let me know if it’s too much.”
Shortly, Thomas saw that he had been occupying only one tiny corner of 101 Lincoln Street. Keeping up a steady narrative, she pushed him from room to room, all polished opulence, lighting the gas lamps as she did so.
“Let’s see how the air is this morning,” she said, and opened a set of double doors. A long, wide porch, well furnished with wicker, graced both sides of the house that faced Lincoln and Gambel Streets.
“This is my favorite place,” Alvi said. She let the chair nudge against the ornate white railing. “When we don’t have the fog, you can see all the way across to the islands. It’s magnificent.”
The fog was so dense that he had difficulty seeing the Mercantile across the street. “And the clinic? Where is that from here?”
“Just down the hill. Follow Gambel Street down past the grove of evergreens that the loggers somehow missed.”
Thomas pushed the wheel forward. “I’ve…” He interrupted himself and pointed. The dark shadow plodded across toward them, head down, the rise of each bony shoulder marking his steps.
“Oh, that awful dog.” Alvi said. “I’ve never known such a disreputable creature. He seems to have an affinity for the muck.” She walked to the head of the steps. “You can just turn around and go home, Prince.” The dog ignored her, hesitating only when it appeared that his nose might actually bump against the first riser. He stood thus—whether pondering or calculating or simply blank, Thomas couldn’t tell.
The door behind him opened, and the housekeeper appeared. “My soul, Alvina, what are you trying to do, kill this young man?” She pulled her own wrap more securely around her bony shoulders. “It’s the damp of the grave out here. For heaven’s sake, come in, now. Breakfast is ready.”
“It’s wonderful out here,” Alvi countered. “He needs some relief from being cooped up.”
“Well.” Gert James started to argue, then saw the dog. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Will you go home,” she said, and clapped her hands sharply. “If Mr. Lindeman would feed you once in a while,” she added. Taking Thomas’ chair, Gert spun it around and pushed him toward the door. “Let’s get some food in you, too,” she said.
Chapter Ten
Thomas Parks was astonished to find the prospect of bed welcome. The excursion to the bathroom and then managing an enormous breakfast had all been agonizing work.
Back in the room, he found that his clothing had been neatly hung in the armoire and arranged efficiently in two of the drawers of the bureau. Wheeling the chair next to the wardrobe, he pushed the empty duffel to one side and searched for his black medical bag. It was missing. Perhaps it lay at the bottom of the inlet.
An instant after struggling into bed, he awoke with a start, surprised and disoriented. The pungent fragrance of cooking seafood filled the house, and in a moment Alvi Haines appeared, her wrap showing signs of rain.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” she said. As she approached the bed, Thomas could smell her damp woolens. “It’s positively nasty out. So tell me, what’s Connecticut like? It’s coastal, too, is it not? Is it the same as this, like the inside of a water bucket?”
“You’re joking, of course,” he said.
She turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. “Why would that be? I’ve never been there.”
“Never Back East? Good heavens. Well, it rains a good deal in Connecticut, too, of course,” Thomas said, “but more sunshine than here, I should think. By the way, I’m a bit concerned about my medical bag. There are some things…”
“Bertha has it, down at the clinic,” Alvi interrupted. “I’m afraid it took a nasty bashing. She wanted to clean all the instruments and see what she could do with the rest.”
“Ah. I’m indebted, then. I haven’t met the young lady.”
“Oh, you will,” Alvi said. “So…” She stood in what Thomas had learned was a characteristic pose, hands balled into fists on her hips, elbows akimbo, ready to confront the world. “You found your luggage.” She nodded toward the armoire. One of its doors stood ajar.
“I did, and thanks to whoever took care of it all. But then, apparently I fell asleep. What time is it?”
“Just after noon.”
“My God.”
“Shall I help you up for a little while?”
“I can manage,” Thomas said.
“I know you can, Dr. Thomas. Here.” She pulled the wheelchair closer to the bed. “What kind of flexion are you getting with that leg now?”
“None. The progress is that I can move it a bit by hand. It’s been busy at the clinic?”
“Always,” she replied. “Always. And Fat
her was called up the coast to one of the camps to tend a difficult birth, I think.” She smiled at the expression on Thomas’ face. “He has delivered half the population of Washington, I imagine.”
“I had hoped not to spend my practice in obstetrics,” Thomas said, and realized immediately how stuffy he sounded.
Alvi laughed. “I’d be interested to learn how that’s done.”
With no clear idea himself, he changed the subject. “How many patients have you at the clinic?”
She cocked her head. “We have eight beds, and at the moment one of them is occupied. At least until dinnertime.”
“Eight beds.”
“Yes.”
“I had imagined the clinic as considerably larger than that.”
“Oh, it will be,” Alvi said, “but one sure step at a time. So,” and she picked up the robe that lay on the corner of the bed, “are you feeling strong enough to venture to lunch? I could smell the chowder the instant I walked into the house.”
“Indeed,” Thomas said. “I was thinking of getting dressed today.” He fingered the large flannel nightshirt that Alvi had found for him, a cozy thing that encouraged sloth. Even with the rain, he thought, what a fine, invigorating outing to make his way across the rutted street to Lindeman’s Mercantile. Or somewhat less ambitious, to walk the length of the front porch. Or to dress himself.
“May I collect your clothing?”
Thomas started to refuse, then thought better of pointless heroics. In a moment, with the clothing lying on the bed, Thomas waited until the door had closed behind Alvi Haines and then rolled onto his right side and hip, working off the baggy pajamas. Pulling on a clean pair of his own long johns was a second endurance contest, but he persisted, an inch gained here and there. He had selected a woolen shirt that he had purchased in San Francisco, and working his arms into the sleeves prompted optimism. Trousers would be impossible, but the huge robe borrowed from John Haines worked perfectly as a housecoat.
Exhausted but quite proud of himself, he wheeled out toward the kitchen. A lanky man whose face appeared to be set in a perpetual grin nodded at Thomas, and the grin spread to bare a prodigious expanse of gums and crooked teeth.
“Well, glory, look who’s up,” Gert announced.
“Good day to you, sir.” The man nodded as if that settled that.
“Good day,” Thomas replied. “I’m Thomas Parks.” He extended his hand.
“This is my brother, Horace,” Gert James said. Horace smiled agreement and shook Thomas’ hands with a grip that would have made a blacksmith take notice. “If it weren’t for Horace, this big old place would fall down around our ears.”
“Oh, go on,” Horace rasped. “You going to feed us or yap?”
“As much of both as I please,” Gert replied easily. “Here, then.” She set a huge earthenware bowl at his place, and slid a loaf of dark brown bread onto the board. “Start on that.” Pointing with the wooden spoon, she directed Thomas to the open spot beside Alvi. “Over there, if you please,” she ordered, and Thomas wheeled his chair into place. The chowder was thick, a savory deluge of flavors and spices that made his nose run.
“What’s in this?” he asked.
“Everything that swims.” She patted his shoulder. “Have some bread. I made it just this morning.”
The four of them ate in companionable silence, sopping chowder with bread. “I’d best get back,” Alvi announced as Gert poured more coffee, first for her brother and then for Thomas.
“You haven’t mentioned who your patient is,” Thomas said, loath to see her go.
Alvi leaned back. “At the moment, we have one young man from Gershon’s Mill up north. He ran afoul of some piece of machinery that removed several necessary body parts,” and she grinned as Gert grimaced at her language choice. “I’ve been stitching on him all morning.” She leaned back and looked at the ceiling. “None of his injuries are as serious as they look. And a bit earlier, we had Clarissa. She decided she did not want her baby and—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sakes, Alvina,” Gert snapped.
“Well—” Thomas said, but Gert cut him off.
“I can’t bear to imagine what dinners are going to be like,” the housekeeper groused. “By the time we have all four of you around the table, serving up these choice tidbits of information that we don’t need to hear? It’s going to be absolutely repugnant.”
“Is there some way that I may be of assistance?” Thomas asked.
“Your time will come.” Alvi brightened suddenly. “Oh, and Father received a telegram this morning. His books have shipped. We should have them…” She made a face. “Someday. Hopefully before we’re all old and gray.”
“His books?” Thomas said.
“A labor of love,” Alvi said. “A compendium of helpful medical advice and counsel.”
“He has written a book?”
“Oh, he has indeed, with Zachary’s help. A tome. A volume of weight and dignity.” For a moment Thomas could not tell whether Alvi was speaking in jest, but her excitement seemed genuine as she continued, “The Universal Medical Advisor. He hasn’t mentioned it?”
“No, indeed. He hasn’t.”
“Well, he’s too modest. We have one of the presentation copies in the library. You may find it a delightful way to pass the afternoon, Dr. Thomas.”
“I would be in your debt.” He pushed himself away from the table. “Thank you so much, Gert. You are a magician.”
“You stay warm, now,” she admonished.
“I have my robe, and my blanket,” Thomas said. “I can steam the day away.” Alvi wheeled him to the spacious library, where an impressive collection of volumes rested on shelves towering to the ceiling. “My word,” he whispered. An enormous leather chair presided behind a dark, polished wooden desk, its great, carved legs ending in massive claw-and-ball feet.
“Here we are,” Alvi said. She indicated a massive volume that rested on the corner of the desk. With leather binding, gilt-edged paper, and a sewn-in ribbon for a bookmark, The Universal Medical Advisor was a magnificent book. “Here,” Alvi said, and pushed the monstrous leather chair to one side. “You can wheel in here, and just enjoy yourself,” she said.
Thomas did so, and pulled the book toward him. “This must weigh ten pounds,” he said. “My goodness, what an accomplishment.”
“He’s very proud,” Alvi said. “As you look through it, you’ll come to see what he expects of the clinic, and what we’re all about.”
“I’m enchanted.” he said. “You’re sure he won’t mind me working here?”
“Of course he won’t mind. He’ll be honored. In fact, he mentioned this morning that you should.”
“I was wondering,” Thomas said, resting his bandaged left hand on the book. “Do you have a set of crutches I might use?”
“Of course. Do you think that’s wise, with your ribs as they are?”
He grinned. “It would be helpful, I think. Some gentle therapy will be just the thing.”
“I’ll fetch them, then.” She stepped across the room. “And this is the shelf that matters, as Father would say.” She pushed open a small, carved folding door to reveal a generous decanter and a silver tray holding six glasses. “He would tell you to help yourself.”
In a moment she reappeared with the crutches. “I’ll leave them here,” she said, placing them in the corner within easy reach. “That door?” and she pointed off to Thomas’ left. “That leads to the porch as well. Perhaps a safe promenade for you.”
“All the town can cheer as I crash down the front steps.”
“You’d best not. That would make us very unhappy indeed,” Alvi said. “Perhaps if you don’t wear yourself out, we’ll see you at dinner?”
“Would you make sure?” Thomas said. “I seem to be doing a prodigious amount of sleeping of late. If you’d wake me in time,
I’d appreciate it. Will Dr. Riggs join us today?”
“I would think so.”
“Good. I look forward to thanking him properly. We haven’t had a chance to do so much as say a how-do-you-do. He must think me a terrible imposition.”
“I don’t suppose he thinks that at all,” Alvi said, and left him with a bright smile.
Thomas pulled the enormous volume closer and fingered open the weighty cover. After two blank pages of marbled paper that was a delight to the touch, he turned to a tissue-protected engraving of John L. Haines, M.D., gazing out at him with an expression of benign wisdom and beneficence. Thomas bent close to read the tiny print that bordered the bottom of the picture: Northern Alliance Bank Note & Eng. Co. Chicago. Dominating the page below the portrait was the physician’s signature, executed with a broad-nibbed pen.
Thomas smiled with delight and turned his attention to the title page, where bold lettering announced The Universal Medical Advisor, In Common Sense Language, the Medicine Clarified for Universal Understanding, by John Luther Haines M.D., founder of Haines Clinic and Vital Research Center. The bottom of the page bore the date 1891, along with the legend that the volume had been published by The Research Center Printing Office and Bindery, Port McKinney, Washington, and subsidiary facilities, Gruenberg, Austria, and Port Darkling, Ontario, Canada.
Another engraving filled the facing page, this one of an elegant edifice, an imposing, multistory clinic building that appeared to be a bustling medical center. Carved stone over the front doors announced the Haines Clinic. The place was the equal of any that Thomas had seen—even in the medical centers in major eastern cities.
“One patient…he must rattle around a bit,” Thomas mused. He turned past the title page and found the dedication, although printed in simple font on an unadorned page, to be just as grandiose:
To my patients, who have sought the services of this clinic and research center as guardians of their health and well being, from every hamlet, village, or city of the Union and Canada; and to those dwelling in Europe, Africa, Asia, and other foreign lands who have likewise benefited from our treatments; I respectfully dedicate this work, hoping that it includes those aspects of medical knowledge and advice most profound and most important in the pursuit of a healthy and productive life.
Race for the Dying Page 6
