by Sara Donati
Examined sixteen patients vaccinated in the last month; three of whom had reached day eight. Two of these showed the expected white vesicle raised at the edges and depressed at the center, with a turgid margin. Dr. Scofield, who continues to speak to me in a loud voice as if I were deaf, supervised while I used the lancet to extract the virus from these two patients. The third patient, a twenty-seven-year-old farm worker called Marie LeTourneau, was revaccinated with the fresh material. It may be that she has already had the pox or been exposed to it, thus the lack of reaction to the first vaccination attempt.
My own vaccination, day five. Sites on both arms lightly inflamed and tumid to the touch. Slight headache in the morning hours. No fever or swollen glands nor any other symptoms. No sign of eruption or vesicles.
This morning at eleven a man called Matthew Johns was brought into the ward. The patient was about forty years of age, resident in the Almshouse four weeks, with no prior history of serious illness beyond the broken arm that had cost him his job as a dockworker (a simple fracture of the ulna set by Dr. Simon and largely healed). A short man, thickly built and strong. Symptoms of shortness of breath, erratic pulse, profuse sweating, and ashen complexion. While he was answering questions put to him by Dr. Savard, he suddenly threw up both arms over his head with such force that his fists hit the wall and made it shudder. At the same time he let out a great bellowing cry like an ox struck by a dull axe. His face flushed a deep and angry red and his eyes bulged as if pushed from inside his head. Mr. Johns was instantly dead, with no pulse at the throat or wrists.
Dr. Scofield made a record of death due to violent apoplexy. As the patient had no family or next of kin and was a ward of the city, Dr. Simon has released his remains to the hospital for autopsy, which has been scheduled for eight this evening. He has invited me to observe.
In the late afternoon Mr. Eddy, who keeps the record books, came into the Kine-Pox office and argued with Dr. Savard for a quarter hour about the cost of the ivory vaccinators we must have for our work. Dr. Savard refused to answer his questions with any seriousness of tone, which put Mr. Eddy in a very poor mood. The louder Mr. Eddy spoke in his irritation the softer spoke Dr. Savard. Just before he left Mr. Eddy took note of me and announced that he objected most strenuously to my presence. According to Mr. Eddy, an unmarried young lady—and this word came to him with great difficulty—has no place in the Almshouse wards.
Dr. Savard then offered to marry me on the spot, which caused Mr. Eddy to leave in a state of great agitation. When I remarked to Dr. Savard that he seems to enjoy baiting Mr. Eddy he said he was in all seriousness; he would rather marry than have to vaccinate another Irish orphan, a task which falls now entirely to me.
APRIL 30.
A letter from Curiosity with no news of my father and stepmother but the curious report that Jemima Southern and Isaiah Kuick are man and wife. She says that the widow is as displeased as Jemima is satisfied with her new prize. The village will speak of nothing else. For the first time I am glad not to be home. Included in her letter was one from my brother Daniel asking questions but giving no answers, and a drawing done by my sister of Blue sleeping with his head on his paws. It is a little awkward in execution, but still I am amazed and a little unsettled at how well she has rendered his likeness. She has sprained her ankle, but seems otherwise in good health and remarkable spirits. I still do not understand the message the dream-walker brought to me.
Manny came to visit while I was in the kitchen with Mrs. Douglas just before dinner. He brought more news of a neighbor’s plan to remove herself and her slaves to the South. This is causing great concern and uneasiness among the servants.
He refuses to say when he will leave this city. I believe he is waiting for news of the voyager, and is reluctant to leave for fear of missing a letter.
Today Mrs. Douglas spoke to me of Kitty’s bleeding, which has increased rather than decreased since our arrival as evidenced by the state of her linen. I asked if Dr. Ehrlich had been informed of this, to which Mrs. Douglas only pressed her lips together and refused to say anything at all.
We agreed that Kitty is to be fed a broth of beef and leeks twice daily to fortify her blood. Ethan will sit by her side and make sure she takes it all.
The boy’s spirits are so much improved since we are here that I cannot regret this journey.
Chapter 24
The first week at the Almshouse went by so quickly that Hannah might have lost track of the days if it were not for Kitty, who spent the dinner hour reminding her that she was sacrificing a great many pleasures in the pursuit of her medical training.
“You have turned down three invitations in three days and oh, yesterday’s musical evening at the theater, did I mention that we sat behind Mr. Astor and his lady? It is said that he is a fine musician.”
“Not the story of his forty flutes again, Kitty, please.” Will held up a hand in mock horror.
“I think it is a very revealing story. To come from Germany with nothing but flutes to sell and look at him now.”
“Mr. Astor’s fortune has far more to do with furs than flutes,” Hannah said firmly, and stopped herself there. She would not be drawn into another argument about Astor’s fur trade practices, something Kitty knew little about but was willing to defend nonetheless.
“Mr. Astor aside,” Kitty said. “You are avoiding my point.”
Hannah considered her own fatigue, the fact that she had three pages of notes to record in her daybook, and finally Kitty’s expression, which was as stubborn as it had ever been. It was obvious that further resistance would be unproductive.
“I’m listening.”
“It is simple. You spend all day with Dr. Simon, and now he is asking for your assistance in the evenings as well. It is too much.”
“Yesterday was an unusual circumstance.”
“Was it. Well, I hope he is not going to ask again. I’m sure you would have liked the musicale much better than whatever task he set you.”
For a moment Hannah had the very dangerous urge to tell Kitty exactly what she had been doing, and how much more instructive it had been than any musicale. But Elizabeth had trained her well, and Hannah could not insult Will and Amanda Spencer with a description of an autopsy at their supper table. And beyond simple good manners, she had promised Dr. Simon. Dissections were very unpopular with the public, primarily because some doctors had got into the habit of robbing graves for their students to study. She must keep her silence, no matter what she had seen and learned; no matter the dreams that woke her in the night.
She said, “I have no plans to go back to the dispensary this evening.”
“That is good news.” Kitty studied Hannah with pursed lips. “And you must promise me that you will be home by noon tomorrow or you won’t be ready for the guests at four.”
Hannah looked up from her plate and caught two smiles—Will’s amused one and Amanda’s, far more concerned and sympathetic.
Will said, “It is just a small party, Kitty. An old friend on his way back to England and some friends, nothing more.”
Kitty made a strangled noise that meant she was not going to let Will Spencer understate the excellence of his guest list.
The idea of a recitation of the life history and family connections of each person who would come through the door tomorrow evening made Hannah a little desperate. The only hope was to distract Kitty by changing the topic.
She said, “Ethan mentioned to me that you fainted this afternoon.”
The thin, pale face went quite still for a moment. Then Kitty turned to Amanda, as one sister might turn to another looking for an ally when a mother began to ask difficult questions.
Amanda cleared her throat gently. “Perhaps the second outing was a little too much after all.”
Kitty pressed her lips together. “It was nothing, just a little dizziness.”
But of course it was more. Dr. Ehrlich’s treatments seemed to be doing very little good at all, and Hannah had the une
asy feeling that if she were to examine Kitty she would find her much worse off than she had been even a week ago. She suspected that some of Kitty’s irritable mood had to do with the fact that she was in pain, but she would not be questioned by Hannah; she had put all her hope in the doctor, who bled her when she requested and otherwise left her to her whims. Because, Hannah knew quite well, he had no other treatment to offer.
A vision of Mr. Johns came to her, his chest laid neatly open, ribs cut and spread, muscles folded back to reveal the heart. She had spent enough time studying anatomy books to know that what she was seeing was not normal; for some reason, this particular heart was twice the size it should have been, and embedded in a nest of blood vessels that were as brittle as dry bark. A ragged tear in the muscle wall was plain to see, the tissue worn as thin as intestine.
Inside of Kitty there was something wrong too, something that would remain a mystery even if—even when—it killed her. This thought made Hannah regret her impatience, but Will had already decided to intercede in the disagreement.
Will said, “May I propose a compromise? If Kitty spends somewhat less time satisfying social obligations”—he held up a single finger to keep her from interrupting—“and Hannah spends somewhat more, you may both be better satisfied. Hannah?”
She gave him a dry smile. “I am happy to compromise. Kitty, I will come home at midday tomorrow and give the party my full attention if you will promise to rest the half day beforehand, and the whole day after.”
Kitty hesitated. “Will you let me choose your dress for the party?”
Hannah thought of the three gowns she had brought with her, any of which would suit. There was little havoc even Kitty could manage with such limited resources. She nodded.
After a week Hannah’s daily routine was well established; she arrived at the Almshouse at seven, worked with Dr. Scofield or Dr. Savard for most of the morning in the Kine-Pox Institution office and then in the wards. If she was asked, she assisted in the apothecary until it was time to accompany Dr. Simon to the New-York Hospital to see how his other patients were progressing. Every day Mrs. Douglas gave her bread, cheese, and cold meat tied up in a napkin, and every day Hannah forgot about it until Cicero came to get her so that she could join the Spencers for dinner at four.
The doctor kept her so busy that there was little time to spend with Ethan, and even less to worry, not even about Manny. There was no time for homesickness either, although she sometimes wondered whether her father and Elizabeth had returned yet from Red Rock and if there might soon be a letter with news from home. Certainly her days were too busy to spend any thought on Liam Kirby, his whereabouts, his wife, or his mother-in-law.
No matter how firmly she put these things from her in the daylight hours, in the night she often woke from dreams that faded away almost immediately, leaving behind vague images of Virginia Bly standing at the doorway of the Bull’s Head.
“Will it be much longer, miss?”
Hannah realized that the young man standing in the doorway of the pharmacy had been waiting while she daydreamed over the mortar and pestle. She focused her attention on the task at hand. By the time she had sent him on his way with ointment for his mother’s shingles, it was almost noon and time to go. The people who were still waiting outside the pharmacy door she must leave to Mr. Jonas, the Almshouse apothecary, who would dose children for worms and dispense headache tisanes for the rest of the day with short temper but great efficiency.
Dr. Savard came in just when Hannah was beginning to worry that Mr. Jonas had forgotten her.
“Are you here to take over?”
“Most certainly not. Mrs. Sloo sent me to find you.” He scratched in a distracted way at the bristle on his chin. “She’s asking you to come by and lend a hand with a new inmate. Damn me if that ropemaker with the broken foot hasn’t given me lice.”
Dr. Savard’s easy profanity had increased every day that Hannah had known him. Whether this was a sign of his approval and a compliment, or an indication that he didn’t take her seriously, she had not yet decided.
“Mrs. Sloo asked for my help?” She hung the leather apothecary apron on its hook and smoothed her skirt. “I am surprised. I haven’t seen her since my first day here.”
“She’s seen you, of that you can be sure. There’s an Indian come begging at the door, doesn’t understand English.”
He was examining the creature he had drawn from his beard with one corner of his mouth turned down in resigned disgust.
“Mrs. Douglas checks my head every evening and goes through it with a fine steel comb. Perhaps that would help.”
The doctor squinted at her, his brows drawn together. “But of course, what a good idea. I’ll have my housekeeper tell the butler to send my manservant out to buy a steel comb.”
An early lesson Hannah had learned was never to argue with Dr. Savard when he turned to sarcasm. She picked up her bag.
“I’ll stop to see Mrs. Sloo on my way out.”
He drew up to his full and considerable height. “On your way out? Feeling the need for a stroll along the promenade? Or perhaps you’ve an important meeting with the mayor?” He crossed his arms and lowered his chin. Like a bull pawing at the ground, Hannah thought, a bad-tempered bull looking for somebody to charge. Any other time she might have risen to the challenge as her arguments with Dr. Savard tended to be instructive, but today there was no time.
“Dinner with some friends of my cousin’s,” said Hannah. “I promised to attend.”
“Let me guess, the mayor and the head of the city council.”
“No,” Hannah said. “But I believe the mayor’s nephew will be there.”
“Ah, dining with Senator Clinton, is it? Fine company for a doctor’s assistant from the backwoods.”
Hannah had been goaded by men with far sharper tongues than Dr. Savard; someday, she promised herself, she would tell him so. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning at seven.”
“That’s all right then,” he said, returning to the finger-combing of his beard stubble. “I wouldn’t want to keep such riches all to myself.”
“I can’t decide if she’s deaf and dumb or if she never learned a civilized tongue.” Mrs. Sloo jerked her head over her shoulder toward a shape huddled in a corner of the waiting room. “But the child is dead a day at least. Maybe you can get it away from her. Tell her we’ll give it a decent Christian burial and that we’ll feed her before she goes back to wherever she came from.”
Mrs. Sloo folded her hands in front of herself and gave Hannah her sternest look. “She can’t stay here, tell her that. There might be a bed in the bridewell for her tonight if they aren’t too crowded. And you’ll want to be quick about it; Mr. Spencer’s carriage is waiting for you out on the street.”
She might have been fifteen or thirty or a hundred. A young-old-ageless woman not quite alive and nowhere near dead; she looked at Hannah with eyes dark as blood and hard as bone, and the arms around the silent bundle in her arms tightened.
“Food.” The word whispered in English, like a secret between friends, a password.
“The only word she knows, or admits to.” Mrs. Sloo’s toe tapped impatiently.
Hannah ignored her to focus on the woman. She was wrapped in a torn blanket coat, and her head wobbled slightly, as if her neck could not quite bear the burden. Hannah thought of the body that had once been Mr. Johns on the dissection table, his muscular throat laid open to the knife, the stark white of tendon, the dark blue of stilled blood, the red muscle, yellow fat, the color of him.
“Let me see the child.” Hannah whispered too, chilled by the disapproval that radiated from Mrs. Sloo.
The woman looked at her blankly, but the flexing in her arms meant something.
Hannah touched her own chest and named herself formally, in her own language. I am Walks-Ahead, daughter of Sings-from-Books of the Kahnyen’kehàka. We are the People of the Longhouse, Keepers of the Eastern Door, the Mohawk of the Six Nations of the Hodenosaun
ee People.
The woman blinked at Hannah as if she twittered rather than spoke. She tried again in her grandfather’s language, naming him and his father and grandfathers of the Mahican.
Nothing.
“Maybe she’s from one of them tribes to the south,” said Mrs. Sloo behind her, as if she might have said a different breed of dog. “Try one of those.”
In her amazement Hannah turned to look up at the little woman, mounds of flesh topped by a perfectly round head, the row of curls, the tiny mouth pursed in distaste.
“What tribes do you mean?”
The older woman flapped her little hands in front of herself. “What do I know? Gibberish is gibberish. Never mind, I’ll get Moroney to help. Should have done that to start with.”
Agnes Moroney, with hands like warped washboards, a woman with the strength and the understanding of a man; Hannah had seen her toss a drunken and contentious tanner into the street with a flick of her wrists.
“No,” Hannah said, turning her back. “Leave her to me. This is a medical matter.”
A huffing came from behind her, the sound of offense taken and stored carefully away, and still Hannah waited until Mrs. Sloo was gone. There would be a day of reckoning, oh yes, but she could not worry about that now.
“Food,” said the woman with the dead baby, still whispering.
“Yes,” Hannah said. “Come with me, I will give you food. Away from here, in a safe place.”
The dark eyes blinked again. After a long moment punctuated only by the wailing of a hungry child on the other side of the wall, the woman nodded.
She would give them no name, not even after she had eaten her fill at the kitchen table. Mrs. Douglas was busy with preparations for the dinner party, and so Hannah served her, cornbread spread with beef fat, venison pie, spring onions, pickled cabbage, currant tart. Whatever she put on the table, the woman took to herself quickly and neatly, stopping now and then to suck her fingers clean and wipe them on her blanket coat.
