Chasing Secrets (16 page)

Papa looks in. “From here it appears to be a kneecap dislocation,” he says. “The question is…are there complications? Could be broken bones, sprains.”

“How will I know?”

“Ask her how long her knee has been hurting.”

“It didn't hurt much at first, but every hour now it gets worse,” Mei tells me.

“Did you hear that, Papa?” I ask.

“Yes. Check her ankles, her feet. Go slowly, methodically.”

Mei is listening to Papa. She holds her breath as I slowly run my hands along her left leg. When I get to the patella, she winces. “I think it's just the knee.”

“Probably the best thing is to give her chloroform and pop it back in. Then see where we are.”

“No chloroform!” Mei cries.

“It will help with the pain.” Papa's voice is calm.

“No!”

“We'll do it your way, Mei. Lizzie, let me tell you how to slide it back.”

Me? Are you crazy? I want to say, but I can't let Mei see I'm afraid, too.

“First, Lizzie, feel your own knee. See in your mind how the patella fits with the tibia and the femur.”

“Like the bones in the bone bag,” I say.

“Exactly. The impact of the fall popped the kneecap.
Get her friend to hold her, and then gently ease the kneecap back in place.”

Mei's friend's eyes are wary as she stands next to the bed. Mei's face is scrunched up tight. She breathes three big noisy breaths. My hand is trembling. I don't want to hurt her. I glance at my father. He nods encouragingly. And I push the patella back in place. She shrieks. I don't hear the pop, but I feel it.

Tears flow down Mei's cheeks.

“You get it?” Papa calls.

“I think so.” That must have hurt like crazy.

“Good. That's good, Lizzie.”

“I don't think it's broken.”

“No, I don't, either,” Papa says.

Mei and her friend are talking in Chinese again. Calm, not angry. Everyone is breathing more easily.

“She can have aspirin,” Papa says. “We'll wrap it. Tell her it will be better soon but she needs to stay off her feet as much as possible. No going up and down the stairs. I'll let Daisy know.”

Mei nods at me. “I heard.
Doh je, pung yao,
” she whispers to me.

“W
hen people get emotional, they can't reason,” Papa tells me when we're back in the buggy headed home.

“But jumping out a window rather than getting immunized? That's insanity,” I say.

We pass an advertisement for Dr. Blake and his Indestructible Teeth. What could possibly make teeth indestructible?

“Did Mei seem crazy to you?” he asks.

“Not at all.”

“I'm guessing no one bothered to give her a proper explanation of why an immunization was required. I wish I'd thought to talk to her about this.”

“Were they trying to immunize Mei against smallpox?” I ask.

“The plague.”

“The plague? Why would they want to immunize
her
? Mei's not a doctor or the daughter of a doctor.”

“Daisy didn't give any details,” Papa says as we pass a ragman with his wagon piled high with scraps.

—

When we get home, my mind churns with questions. Billy refused to get immunized because he knew it would upset Papa. But why would Mei jump out the window?

I start a poem about Mei.

I made a new friend, Mei,

Who jumped from a window today

What rhymes with “patella”? “Fella.”

A team clatters across the cobblestone driveway. I peek out the window. The Trotters!

I dash downstairs. In the buggy are Gemma and Hattie.

“Lizzie.” Gemma grins. “You have to come. We're sleeping at my house; then we're going to Playland tomorrow. Please say you will. Please.” She presses her hands together.

I glance at Hattie. She is still prickly.

“Ask. Then go get your things,” Gemma tells me. “We'll help.”

Gemma is already out of the buggy, headed into my house, with Hattie behind her. Gemma's faster now that she's off her crutches.

In my room, she sifts through the dresses and shirtwaists in my closet, pushing some to the back, pulling others to
the front. She takes out a dress Aunt Hortense bought for me. “How come you never wear this?”

“Too frilly.”

“Wear it tomorrow,” Gemma commands.

Hattie peeks out the window from behind the blind. “Whose house is that?” She points at the Sweeting mansion.

“Hortense and Karl Sweeting.”

She squints at me. “How come you share a driveway with them?”

I don't like the way she asks this. Is she wondering if Papa works for them? “They're my aunt and uncle.”

Hattie's mouth drops open. “Karl Sweeting is your uncle?”

I nod, watching her.

“How come you never told anyone?” Hattie demands.

“Why would I tell anyone?”

“You knew, didn't you,” Hattie demands of Gemma.

Gemma frowns at her. “What do I care who her uncle is?” She continues instructing me on what I should and shouldn't wear. She tries on my hats, and matches each with a parasol and gloves.

On the way out, I let Jing know I'm visiting the Trotters, and we pile into the coach. I sit between Hattie and Gemma. Hattie can't take her eyes off the Sweeting mansion. Gemma holds my hand while she and Hattie keep up a running chatter about brassieres—a favorite topic.

—

When we pull up to the Trotters', Gus is on the porch wearing a black shirt and brown football pants, bouncing a big ball with one hand.

“He's obsessed with that ball,” Gemma whispers. “Some new sport, he says.”

“Bouncing the ball is a sport?” Hattie asks as she pulls her skirt up just enough so we see her delicate boots and gracefully climbs down out of the carriage.

Gemma shrugs. “Then they run back and forth trying to toss the ball into a fruit basket nailed to the wall. Basketball, he calls it.”

“Never heard of it,” I say as we walk up to the house.

“Nobody has,” Gemma agrees.

—

In Gemma's room, Gus looks everywhere except directly at me.

Gemma and Hattie hide their giggles behind their hands.

“I need to talk to Lizzie,” Gus says.

Hattie doesn't look happy. First Karl and Hortense Sweeting are my uncle and aunt. Now Gus has a message for me.

Gemma's hands fly to her hips. “What's the big secret?”

Gus comes closer and whispers into my ear: “The monkey's dead.”

I jump. “Are you sure?”

He nods.

“What did he say? You have to tell us. Did you hear, Hattie?” Gemma asks.

“The monkey's dead,” I tell Gemma. “Remember?”

“Does that mean the plague is here?”

“I don't know, Gemma,” I say. “I better go home.”

Gemma frowns. “Not now. We're going to eat lunch and then spend the night and then go to Playland.”

“I can't do that. I have to find out about this,” I tell her.

Gemma's hands are on her hips again. “We came all the way over to get you.”

“I know. I'm sorry. But I have to talk to Uncle Karl. And Papa's a doctor. He'll come home when he hears about this. He'll need help. So…I have to go.”

“Don't be crazy. If it's the plague, Lizzie, you can't—”

“I'll drive you,” Gus jumps in.

“Whose side are you on?” Gemma demands. Hattie steps closer to Gemma and takes her hand.

“Hers.” Gus points to me.

“I'm trying to keep her from getting hurt,” Gemma says.

“It's not working,” Gus says.

“Thanks a lot,” Gemma tells him. “Anyway, you can't drive her without a chaperone.” Hattie nods.

“Who's going to know?” Gus crosses his arms.

“I will.”

“Gemma!” Gus rolls his eyes at her.

Gemma sighs. “You owe me for this.”

“Fine,” Gus says.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper, then follow Gus out the door.

“Lizzie, wait!” Gemma shouts after me. “Promise me you won't do anything stupid.”

I run back to Gemma's room and give her a quick hug. “Don't worry. I'll be fine.”

—

In the small barn, we climb into the buggy, and the Trotters' stable boy hands the lines to Gus. Gus makes a clicking noise, and the little chestnut trots forward. Out on the street, Gus glances over at me. “That's not all, Lizzie. I heard they were going to burn down Chinatown.”

“
What!
Why?”

“I don't know. They hate the Chinese. They want them out.”

“You can't just burn down people's houses. That's criminal! They have no right.”

“It's not my idea.”

“Who? Who is going to do this?”

“I don't know exactly. I don't even know if it's true. I've been asking around because you wanted to know about the monkey.” His face turns red.

“When are they going to burn Chinatown?”

“I heard midnight tonight.”

“Tonight! Gus, they can't. The police have to stop them!”

“And they will. At least, I think they will.”

When we get to the Sweeting mansion, I think Gus will just drop me off. But he hands the horse and carriage to Ho and hurries after me up the marble steps through the thick sweet smell of jasmine. In the foyer, the electric chandelier sparkles. We're already inside by the time the butler appears. I always come in before he has a chance to get the door. He doesn't like this.

I walk Gus through the big kitchen, which smells of banana
pudding. Nettie is instructing two houseboys on the correct use of the dumbwaiter. She ignores me. We really don't like each other after what happened with Maggy. I hoped Aunt Hortense would fire her, but she hasn't yet.

Upstairs, Aunt Hortense is on the telephone. I peek into Uncle Karl's office.

Uncle Karl looks pleased to see me. He's wearing a red-striped vest and a white linen suit. A straw boater hangs on the hat rack. “Why, Peanut, you've brought a friend to visit.”

“Uncle Karl, this is Gus Trotter.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Trotter,” Uncle Karl says.

“You, too, Mr. Sweeting, sir,” Gus says.

“We're here because we heard the monkey died,” I say, and brace myself.

Uncle Karl groans. “Lizzie! Do you never learn?”

I blunder on. “But, Uncle Karl, if the monkey died, doesn't that mean the plague is here?”

“Poppycock. Hearsay.”

“But Dr. Kinyoun injected the plague germ—”

“Kinyoun offed the monkey to prove his point. He had no choice. His reputation was on the line. The quarantine was massively unpopular. He didn't want to look like an ignoramus for having called it.”

He pulls the dowels of papers down and begins sifting through them. When he finds the article he's looking for, he sets it in front of me. “Look here.” He taps the Chinese words. The translation is handwritten and pasted next to
the text. “Even the Chinese can see through these shenanigans.”

THE MONKEY IS DEAD

Why should Chinatown's good name depend on the life and death of a monkey?…In the view of this newspaper, the monkey's death was not caused by plague. Alas, the monkey's death was due to starvation—a result of its unlucky encounter with this physician.

I hand the page to Gus to read.

“If this monkey nonsense were true, don't you think I'd splash it all over the front page?” Uncle Karl asks.

“Yes.”

“You bet I would. Sell a lot of newspapers, that's for sure.”

Uncle Karl will do practically anything to sell more newspapers. I once saw him give free puppies to newsboys who sold more of his newspaper, the
Call,
than of Hearst's
Examiner.

“Mr. Sweeting, sir.” Gus looks directly at Uncle Karl for the first time. “There's talk of burning down Chinatown.”

Uncle Karl nods. “I know there is, but it doesn't amount to a hill of beans. Chinatown is in the heart of the city. If they torch it, what's to stop the whole city from burning? It's just talk. Cooler heads will prevail.”

“Yes, sir,” Gus says.

“Look, I appreciate that you two young people are so civic-minded this afternoon, but on a beautiful day like
today…I'd head out to Ocean Beach.” Uncle Karl stands up to usher us out. “Shall I arrange a ride for you?”

“Not right now. Thanks, Uncle Karl,” I say.

Uncle Karl has made me feel better. Burning down Chinatown. Who would do that? Still, something he said niggles. He said a fire in Chinatown would put the city at risk. It's as if he's not worried about Chinatown, only the rest of the city.

Gus and I walk down the formal stairwell. I always use the servants' stairs, but if I take Gus that way, it will make Aunt Hortense crazy.

Outside on the cobblestones between the houses, Gus points to a dead rat. “We've had way more dead rats than usual this year, have you noticed?”

“Yes, and our mouser has run away. Seems we should have fewer dead ones lying around.”

“At school we've been reading about London in Shakespeare's time. They had the plague then. They think Shakespeare's sisters died of it.”

“Really?” Gus is so smart.

“Yep…and they talk about all the rats.”

“Papa says rats are connected to lots of diseases.”

Gus nods. “I suppose, but that's not the only thing that bothers me. When people try so hard to prove something isn't true, it makes me suspicious.”

“So what are you saying, Gus? You think the plague is here?”

“I wonder.”

“Well, Papa says there are no confirmed cases,” I tell him.

Gus climbs into his buggy. “Then I'm wrong. He'd know.”

“Gus?”

“Yes.” He turns back to me. “Thank you for finding out and for bringing me home. You're a good”—my face gets hot—“you know, friend.”

“Oh, um, yes.” He turns away, but not before I see the brilliant smile flash across his lips.

—

After dinner, I spot Billy in the stable saddling John Henry.