by Ginny Dye
Carrie blinked. She had no clue what he was talking about, but she wasn’t here to understand mercury poisoning. “And what about a cholera remedy?”
“Cholera?” Dr. Strikener asked with a raised brow.
“Carrie is here because she has volunteered to help at the cholera hospital established by the city,” Carolyn told him.
“The Cholera Death Trap?” Dr. Strikener asked grimly.
“It’s terrible,” Carrie cried. “They are simply bringing people in to die!” Unable to control her flood of emotions, she stood and walked to the window. She took several deep breaths before she spun back around. “Is there a way to help them? Please, tell me there is.”
Dr. Strikener stared at her. “In the hospital? I’m quite certain they won’t let you try anything I might tell you.”
“But…”
Dr. Strikener held up his hand. “There is a wide rift between allopaths and homeopaths,” he said bluntly. “The regular medical profession is determined to make us be seen as little more than quacks. When my daughter was completely healed, and when I had to face the truth that my wife would have probably lived if she had been treated correctly, I dug deeply into homeopathy. I couldn’t deny the results I had seen, and what I learned told me I would continue to do great harm if I didn’t change my methods. That is when I made the shift. My practice is now one hundred percent homeopathic, and I have just recently been asked to serve on the faculty of the hospital.”
Carrie felt surer than ever that she was in the right place, but she had more questions before she returned to the cholera situation. “Are homeopathy and herbal medicine basically the same thing? Is that what Sarah taught me?”
“No,” Dr. Strikener answered. “You’ll learn the difference on a much deeper level if you decide to come to school here, but the simple answer is that herbs nourish a certain part of the body. Homeopathy works by stimulating your immune system.”
Carrie considered his response, as well as all she had learned from her reading. “A plant like milk thistle is used to treat the liver. Homeopathy is more like a vaccine for the entire body that treats a particular illness,” she finally said.
“Yes,” Carolyn agreed. “The basic principle is that ‘like supports like.’ Our remedies are like a weakened or killed disease similar to what the patient already has. The remedy primes the person’s immune response so the body is prepared to deal with the real thing.”
Carrie listened closely to learn all she could, but the vision of hundreds of dying faces from the hospital crowded into her thoughts. She knew Dr. Strikener might be correct that she couldn’t help the ones dying in the rows of beds, but another thought had come to her. “And cholera? Is there a remedy? I read that homeopathy had a tremendous result in Europe during the last epidemic. Surely—”
“Stop, Carrie,” Dr. Strikener said abruptly. He stood and walked around his desk to where she was standing. His voice was firm, but his eyes were soft with compassion. “Are you aware you may lose your place at the Female Medical College if you pursue this?”
Carrie had faced that reality when she had walked to the Homeopathic College. She met his eyes squarely. “Yes,” she replied. “I have learned a lot, and I will always be grateful for the surgical experience I received during the war, but I didn’t decide to become a doctor because I wanted to be a surgeon. I chose to be a doctor so I can make people well. I’ve seen herbal medicine do that, but I realize homeopathic medicine has gone even further in understanding the true nature of illness and how to treat it. I want to be a part of it.” She paused but didn’t look away. “I’m prepared to leave the Female Medical College and apply here. But first I want to help the people of Moyamensing.”
Dr. Strikener nodded slowly. “I understand cholera has hit them especially hard.”
“Most of the people dying in the hospital are from Moyamensing,” Carrie said sharply. There wasn’t time to tell the story of Oliver Cromwell. “I have good friends down there. Is there a way for me to help them?”
Dr. Strikener held her gaze. His eyes revealed his awareness that there was more to the story than she was telling, but he didn’t press further. He turned toward the bulging bookcases lining three sides of his office, hesitated, and then reached for a very thin leather-bound volume. He handed it to her without a word.
Carrie’s eyes widened when she saw the title. Cholera, Homeopathic Treatment.. She took a slow breath, feasting her eyes on the rich leather. “And it works?” she breathed.
“It works,” Dr. Strikener confirmed.
Carrie stared at the book and went rigid with anger. “Then why is it not being used?” Her head pounded as she thought of the hopeless stares of the hundreds dying in the hospital. “Because of pride? Because of money? This is criminal!”
“I would agree,” Dr. Strikener said crisply, “but I suspect you don’t have time to hear my feelings on that very issue. We’ll have plenty of time to talk in the future.”
Carrie held the book closely. “Where do I get the remedy?”
“There is a dispensary just down the street,” Carolyn answered. She hesitated. “May I help you? I have some experience with this.”
Carrie turned to her eagerly. “Of course! I have no problem admitting when I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.” She managed a small smile before she glanced out the window and realized the afternoon light was ebbing away. “I’m afraid it’s too late to go down today. I will hire a carriage and pick you up early tomorrow morning. Say eight o’clock?”
“I’ll be ready,” Carolyn promised. “The dispensaries open then as well. Spend the evening reading the book…”
“And these, too,” Dr. Strikener added as he handed her several more books and pamphlets. “The more you know, the better you will be able to help, though you will probably be appalled when you realize how very simple it is.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “I know you have to figure out your course of action, Carrie. Come back when you are ready to make a change. I can assure you’ll be accepted. The Homeopathic College will be lucky to have you as a student.”
Carrie’s heart surged with gratitude. She smiled brightly as she gave him a hug. “You are an angel, Dr. Strikener. My focus right now is on helping the Irish in Moyamensing, but I’m also well aware my entire life path has been changed by this visit. I can’t thank you enough for everything.”
Dr. Strikener nodded, hesitating before he asked, “How is Mrs. Livingston?”
Carrie smiled. “Mrs. Cromwell now. Abby married my father last summer.” She remembered suddenly that there had been an attraction between Dr. Strikener and her beautiful stepmother, but his response, when it came, was genuine.
“That’s wonderful! She is a very special woman, and if your father raised you, he must be a very special man.”
“He is,” Carrie agreed. “We have so much to talk about…”
“But it will wait until after you have crammed your head with as much knowledge about cholera as you possibly can, and after you have seen what wonders homeopathy can work for Moyamensing,” he finished. He moved toward the door. “My driver is waiting outside. I have plenty of work to keep me busy for another hour or so. I’m going to have him drive you home and then return for me.”
“Thank you,” Carrie replied gratefully. She had not looked forward to navigating the streets in the dark.
Dr. Strikener started to walk away, but turned back. “You have set a difficult course for yourself.”
Carrie laughed easily. “When have I ever not set a difficult course for myself? It seems to be the only way I know how to live.” She was absolutely certain she was making the right decision, but that didn’t keep images of her housemates from floating through her thoughts. She was confident Janie would support her actions, but she wasn’t sure about the rest of them. Regardless, she would do what was right for her and then deal with the consequences.
Dr. Strikener walked her outside to where his carriage was waiting. “The doctors at the Female M
edical College are in a very difficult position, Carrie. Many of them have great respect for homeopathic medicine, but they are under constant scrutiny by the American Medical Association. If they go against protocol in any way, they will lose any chance of equality with the male doctors in their profession.”
Carrie raised a brow. “Even if it means letting patients die needlessly?”
“Perhaps there is a place for both,” he said thoughtfully. “It is very easy to judge someone when we are not walking in their shoes. Perhaps it is necessary for women doctors to make these concessions now in order to impact medicine for centuries to come. We’ve certainly learned how necessary women are in homeopathic medicine, but it’s only been recently.” He paused, laying a hand on her shoulder lightly. “You have to do what is right for you, Carrie. If you’re like me, you wish others would simply respect your position and decision.”
“Yes,” Carrie replied immediately. She opened her mouth to say how much she doubted it would happen, but Dr. Strikener wasn’t done.
“Then isn’t it reasonable for them to want and expect the same from you? It’s not about all the other women being wrong, Carrie. It’s about you simply doing what is right for you, without bitterness and anger.”
Carrie closed her mouth quickly. She looked toward the horizon where the sun was slowly sinking below a dark bank of clouds, forcing herself to take a slow breath of the cool evening air. “Do you talk sense into all your daughters, as well?” she finally asked.
Dr. Strikener laughed. “I try. I also acknowledge that sometimes they talk sense into me. They are quite extraordinary women. As are you, Carrie Borden,” he added quietly. “All of us are navigating very difficult times, but as long as we choose to respond to the people around us with as much compassion and understanding as we can, I believe we will make it through to a better place in our country. I’ve seen what anger and refusal to communicate did to America. I never want something like that again.”
Carrie shuddered. “I completely agree with you.” She clutched the stack of books closer to her chest and then stepped into the carriage. “One thing I am certain of is that I will be back here as a student. If for no other reason than to work with you, Doctor. Thank you for everything.”
Robert settled back into the rocking chair, relishing the cool air that flowed over him. The days were still warm, but the nights carried the cool promise of fall. He watched as the foals frolicked in the field, their mamas contentedly eating grass as the last rays of light seemed to be absorbed into the dark trees surrounding the pasture. He watched until it was impossible to pick out the horse shapes in the gloom. There was nothing that gave him more joy than his horses. As soon as the thought entered his mind he knew it wasn’t true. Carrie gave him far more joy, but she was also far away from his world. He had hoped for a letter, but nothing had arrived with all the journals and publications sent out for Felicia. He tried to swallow the deep feeling of loneliness that welled up in him.
The snap of the screen door closing made him glance up. “Hello, Perry.”
“It’s a beautiful night,” Perry responded as he sank down into one of the other rocking chairs.
“I see Annie provided you with fresh cookies. Care to share?”
Perry glanced down at his handkerchief full of warm oatmeal cookies.
Robert grinned. “Giving up one won’t kill you.”
Perry looked doubtful. “Don’t tell Louisa, but I think these may be the best cookies I have ever had.”
“Irish whiskey,” Robert replied, smiling at the look of confusion in Perry’s eyes. “I received a letter from Carrie last week. She told us she had learned a new recipe from some Irish friends. Evidently, the secret to the best oatmeal cookies in the world is to plump up the raisins with Irish whiskey before you mix them in. Annie has decided she has Irish blood mixed in with the black.”
Perry held up a cookie in the dim light of the porch lantern. “All I know is that I have never felt like paying homage to a cookie before,” he answered. “I guess telling me the secret has earned you one.”
Robert laughed as he reached for one, and then indicated the plate full of cookies beside him. His body had hidden them until he shifted. “I just wondered if I could get one out of you.”
Perry laughed, and stuffed another cookie in his mouth. When he finished, his eyes were serious. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Ask away,” Robert responded, wondering if he was about to discover the real reason Perry and Louisa were in Virginia.
“Is the plantation profitable?”
“More than ever.”
Perry stared at him. “More than ever?” he echoed. “More profitable than before the war?” The disbelief in his voice made his words almost harsh. “That isn’t possible.”
“It’s possible.” Moses, just in from a long day in the fields, stepped up onto the porch and grabbed the plate of cookies off the table.
“Hey!” Robert protested.
“My mama made them,” Moses responded, shoving one into his mouth. “And I’m starving.”
“But…”
Annie pushed through the door. “I should have known I couldn’t be puttin’ three men onto a porch with my cookies without you fightin’ over them. Pitiful,” she said with a sniff. “Good thing I have sympathy for pitiful men,” she said as she pulled her arm from behind her back and placed another plate of cookies on the table.
“Yes!” Moses crowed as he reached for another, yelping when Annie slapped his hand away.
“I gots dinner for you comin’ right out. I ain’t gonna have you spoiling it with cookies.”
Moses opened his mouth to protest, but Annie just glared at him. He settled back in his chair with a sigh, waited several moments until his mama retreated into the house, and then reached for another cookie. “Women don’t understand starving men,” he growled as he bit in, a smile spreading across his face as he chewed. “This is more like it.” He turned to Perry. “It’s true by the way. The plantation is more profitable than ever.”
Perry peered at him. “How?”
Moses shrugged, chewing rapidly before he drank a swig of Robert’s water. “It’s simple. People respond well when you treat them well. The workers here are free to come and go, all their children are in school, and no one is beaten,” he said flatly. “But it’s much more than that. No one is just a worker. Everyone receives a share of the profits when the harvest is done. My year-round workers receive a higher percentage, but even the seasonal workers receive something, as long as the harvest profits create more income than the wages I pay them now. They work hard because they know they will be rewarded.”
Perry gaped at him. “You share the profits?”
Robert looked at him with sympathy. He didn’t think Perry was a cold, mean man, but it was quite clear he couldn’t begin to comprehend such a system. “Did you own slaves before the war, Perry?”
“Only a few,” Perry responded. “Nothing like Louisa’s family, but I couldn’t have made a go of my cotton business if I hadn’t,” he insisted.
“I know it’s hard to change that way of thinking,” Robert replied, “but it really is true the plantation is more profitable than ever. That means the plantation is making more money than all the years when Thomas owned slaves.” He let Perry mull his words over for a few minutes. “Plantation owners, if they still have their land, are struggling because they want things to be the same as before the war. They expect to have complete control of the blacks even though they are free. They want to treat them the same as they did before the war, but now the freed slaves have a choice.”
“They are refusing to work,” Perry said angrily.
“Which is their choice,” Moses said evenly.
Robert could tell anger was simmering in Moses’ eyes, but his deep voice was level.
“But how is the South supposed to rebuild?” Perry demanded.
“The freed slaves will work if they are treated fairly,” Moses replied. “They want
fair wages, and they want to be treated as equals.”
“That’s preposterous!” Perry snapped. “No black will ever be equal to a white man.”
As soon as the words came out of his mouth, his expression said he was sorry he had said it, but Robert knew he had meant it.
The heavy silence was interrupted by Annie stepping back out onto the porch with a dinner tray for Moses. She could tell something was awry, but all she said before she left was, “Rose be upstairs puttin’ the little ones down. Felicia be in the library.”
“Thanks, Mama,” Moses answered.
Annie gazed at him for a long moment, but finally turned and went back inside.
Perry cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I said that,” he mumbled.
“There’s nothing wrong with saying what you believe,” Moses replied. “The problem comes with the fact you believe it.”
Perry’s eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.
“The South is going to struggle for a long time,” Moses continued. “Whether you believe a black man will ever be equal to you doesn’t change the fact that we are all free now. You have the right to keep on believing the way you do, but that will only make it harder for you to accomplish what you want to accomplish.”
“What do you know about what I want to accomplish?” Perry asked angrily.
Robert watched the exchange between the two men quietly. He understood both sides of their discussion, but it had only come through great hardship and suffering. He knew true change in the South could only be accomplished in the same way. He could also tell by the bewildered anger in Perry’s eyes that he had never had this kind of discussion with a black man before.
Moses shrugged again. “You wouldn’t be up here if things were going well in Georgia. You would still be busy with harvesting and ginning cotton. I imagine you and Louisa are up here to decide if Blackwell Plantation can be made profitable again.”
A long silence filled the porch before Perry responded. “And if we are?”
“Then you’re going to have a real hard time accomplishing it with your attitude,” Moses responded blandly.
