Comes a Time for Burning (14 page)

Chapter Seventeen

“A moment,” Constable Aldrich said as they walked out of the Clarissa. “Come. Let me show you something.” They walked along the inlet trail for a hundred feet, and the constable stepped out onto the broad wharf. The
Willis Head
, a small steamer showing Canadian colors, was moored on the south side of the wharf, riding easy in the gentle waters.

Aldrich’s boot heels were loud on the resonant wood planking.

“We taking an early morning dip?” Hardy said to Thomas. “It might not be a bad idea, filthy as I feel right now.”

Short and stocky, the constable walked briskly, his hands thrust into the pockets of his coat and his chin tucked low. The two physicians had to hustle to keep pace. Eventually, Aldrich stopped ten feet from the end of the wharf. He walked to the north edge, and slapped a hand on top of one of the pilings. Behind them, the dark shape of the
Willis Head
towered over them. The Clarissa Hotel, her detailing just now beginning to sharpen in the early dawn light, looked like a giant box rising out of the glassy calm of Jefferson Inlet.

From his walks, Thomas knew that at low tide, there was a strip of shoreline between the hotel’s water-side pilings and the inlet, littered with the remains of the inlet’s flora and fauna—and the varied detritus of human endeavor—little of it pleasant. A guest standing in one of the windows facing Jefferson Inlet had a wonderful view when the rains lifted and the sun touched the country. That same guest could lean forward from the window a bit and look down at the collected garbage and filth.

“Now, you can see.” The constable’s sweeping gesture included the Clarissa in all its black, rank glory. “Where do they throw the garbage, yes? Where does the sewage go?”

Thomas stepped closer to the edge of the wharf, the water eight feet below
. Ten hotel windows faced the inlet—four on the ground floor and four more on the second, capped by two garret windows high above. One of those uppermost windows, Thomas knew, was less than a dozen steps from Lucy Levine’s door.

“You see?” Aldrich asked. “You see where it all goes?”

Below each window, the raw cedar planking was streaked and splotched, but only partly from the constant run-off of rain and mist.

“When I see the young lady’s room, I start to think,” the constable said. “I used to fish from time to time out here, and I see them.
Whoosh
, out the window it goes, you know. Slops the side of the building, even. They just toss out the pots. A lot easier than walking down to the privy, yes?”

“That’s a fine thing, isn’t it,” Hardy muttered. “That cedar cladding makes a rather effective sponge, I would think.”

Thomas stood quietly, hands in his pockets, gazing at the looming structure. “And how do we deal with that?” he asked.

“The literature says that it’s unlikely that the contagion is spread through the air,” Hardy pointed out. “With the bouquet down here, I keep reminding myself of that. If that’s actually correct, then it really doesn’t matter what the place
smells
like, hard as that is to believe. I would worry more about children of the village playing along the shore, perhaps exploring among the pilings that support the rear of the building. We know that contaminated water certainly
is
an issue, Thomas.”

“We can hope that the constant rain and storms beating against the back of the building mitigate for us, but that only adds to the danger down below.”

“Remind me to fish elsewhere,” Aldrich muttered.

“Indeed. But it would seem that this is behavior easily changed.” Thomas shook his head in disgust. “The entire building is such that it’s impossible to engineer anything that might pass as sanitary. The privies can be limed, but this?”

Hardy clapped his hands. “Well, we have work to do. Perhaps we can influence Jules to fence the area behind his building.”

“I will speak to him,” Aldrich said. “And remind him that there is an ordinance on the books that addresses public nuisance. He is going to have to train his patrons and his staff, I think, yes? If this hotel must be quarantined, I will do so.”

“Are the eminent town fathers going to help us or hinder?” Hardy asked, and Aldrich laughed dryly.

“Town fathers?”

“The good men who pay your salary, sir.”

“This,” and Aldrich placed a hand over his modest badge, “comes from the county sheriff. The village has no force.”

“Ah. No mayor? No village council?”

“That is right. And that is why no one bothers the Clarissa. It is a manageable thing.”

Thomas turned and gazed at the
Willis Head
. “The ship must not leave until we know. The first mate is in the hotel, at risk. Three of the sailors have apparently gone to the logging camp, since that’s where the gambling is.” He turned to look at Lucius. “We must find out what Eleanor Stephens has been up to…the whole arrangement is most curious.”

“I find it pretty obvious,” Hardy said. “I’ve not met the girl’s father, but it would appear that she has interests that the Clarissa serves really quite well. At the very least, Miss Levine is a dear friend of hers.”

“If Sitzberger is ill with the cholera, he’s taken it to the camp.” He held up his hands hopelessly. “My God, Lucius, this thing is going to tear us in every direction. Even to Seattle, where Miss Levine’s roommate has gone.”

“A telegram to the authorities in Seattle, giving them her name, and a caution about her condition and what we having going on here,” Hardy said. “That’s paramount. They must be alerted. And here, cultures. Every last person. We must know the extent of all this. If this chap Sitzberger is now ill, then we open another front. Whoever
he
has associated with, who
he
lives with.”

They left the wharf, with Aldrich returning to the Clarissa.

“Can he be trusted to follow through for us?” Hardy asked as the constable disappeared through the front door of the hotel.

“I trust him,” Thomas said. “He is intelligent enough to understand the gravity of this.”

Behind the clinic, smoke was billowing up from the incinerator, and as he stepped inside the building, Thomas could smell the cloying aroma of the various disinfectants. He heard urgent voices. Bertha Auerbach walked out of the examining room and stopped short when she saw Thomas.

“Miss Stephens has left us,” the nurse announced.

“Left us? What do you mean?” Out of habit, Thomas looked at the Seth Thomas clock. “Not yet seven in the morning, and she is gone?”

“She has left our employ,” Bertha said icily.

“I would have predicted that,” Hardy said. “We have a replacement? For her and about ten more?”

“We’ll see,” Bertha replied. “But if you have a moment, Doctor?”

“What is it?”

“Upstairs with Miss Levine. Her step-father has made himself a nuisance.”

“Miss Levine’s
step-father
?”

Bertha held up an impatient, shushing hand. “No, Doctor. Eleanor
Stephens’
step-father. Pastor Roland Patterson.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Pastor Roland Patterson is with Miss Levine now.”

“A little prayer might help as much as anything,” the physician replied. “Is there any change in her condition?”

“We have been able to administer nearly four liters…nearly that much evacuated, I fear. But I sense some small relief in the cramping. It may be my imagination. Her temperature has stabilized at ninety-six.”

“What does Patterson want?”

“I will let you talk with him, Doctor.” Thomas watched Bertha’s eyes as she talked, and saw the characteristic narrowing that said her patience was running thin.

“Talking with the good pastor is the last thing on my mind just now,” Thomas said. “Can we spare Howard Deaton this morning?” Thomas said. “He needs to ride out to the Dutch Tract camp and find a logger named Ben Sitzberger. The lad who was with Huckla yesterday. He needs to bring both of them to the clinic immediately.”

“I believe Howard was looking for a few moments sleep,” Bertha said.

“He can sleep while the team takes him to the camp,” Thomas said. “The horses surely know the way.” He nodded at Hardy. “Join me? You haven’t had the pleasure of meeting the good pastor. I lanced a boil on his bottom, and he’s never forgiven me.”

“I would certainly prefer the lancing to the boil,” Hardy answered, “but then again, it was his posterior, not mine.” He followed Thomas to the examination room, where they scrubbed and disinfected as if they were headed for deep surgery. Finally, jackets removed and shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow, they mounted the stairs to the second floor, hands still dripping alcohol.

Roland Patterson was immensely tall, slender and graceful, almost theatrical in his movements, his posture ram-rod straight. Various patients during the past few months had reported that
they
attended services at Patterson’s church to enjoy the pastor’s performances, implying that the young physician and his bride should do the same.

But Thomas had not been able to banish the writing of Geoffrey Chaucer from his mind whenever Patterson dominated the room. The pastor’s clothing was not the rude cloth of a poor cleric. His black suit fitted his body to perfection. He somehow managed to appear as if he rose above the muck and grime of Port McKinney and its earthly industries, from his brushed, flawlessly blocked narrow brimmed hat down to his expensive, polished boots. Well aware of his commanding appearance, Patterson kept his sharp tongue on no leash at all.

“Pastor,” Thomas greeted, and he managed a smile—not from any affection for the man, but at the memory of Patterson trying to instruct him in the boil’s treatment even as the pastor sank under the ether. “Let me introduce Dr. Lucius Hardy. He has joined our staff.”

The chubby Hardy clamped Patterson’s elegant hand in one of his paws, and Thomas caught the fleeting expression of distaste and discomfort on the pastor’s face. “How do you do.” Patterson didn’t wait for a response. “Eleanor tells me that you claim the cholera has struck.” He took a deep breath, as if preparing for a difficult lecture. “I’ve examined Miss Levine myself, and find myself truly puzzled by your diagnosis, young man.”

Thomas felt the damned blush rise on his neck and cheeks.

“I’m sorry you’re puzzled, sir. But there is no doubt. None whatsoever.”

“And how do you know this?”

“It’s our business to know it,” Hardy said. He had first grinned at Patterson’s pomposity, but the grin soon vanished and his voice took on an edge. “You have a microscope at your disposal, Pastor?”

“I do not
need
a microscope,” Patterson announced. “Let me instruct you.” He sucked in a breath and regarded the ceiling through half-lidded eyes. “Cholera is a disease of the fetid east, sir. I have had the dubious honor of traveling extensively in that very land, spending more time in Calcutta than I would have liked. I have seen the filth of the Ganges, I have seen the degradation of the people.” He leveled his eyes on Thomas to make sure that the physician was listening.

“I have seen how those filthy heathen live, with their filthy heathen ways, and I can see plainly that the scourge of disease is their birthright. Now, to imply that such a disease—that
cholera
— has somehow been cast loose in this tiny village, where
good
people make their honest living, where the principles of cleanly living are embraced…”

He was interrupted by a loud laugh. Hardy threw back his head and bellowed, then just as quickly recovered.

“Sorry,” Hardy said to Thomas and then glanced at Lucy Levine, who didn’t appear to care if the world collapsed around her. “Sir, with all due respect, you spout nonsense from a century ago. It is absurd to say, ‘
this is where a disease may occur, and no where else.’
Perhaps a hundred years ago, or two, the ignorant believed that myth. And if you wish to broach the topic of filth, perhaps you would like to visit this young lady’s room at the Clarissa? Perhaps you would like to gaze upon the very back wall of that fine establishment, where offal is routinely tossed out the windows, to foul the waters of the inlet…where children of all these fine people play and where fishing is a routine pastime.”

“Now listen to me,” Patterson started to say, and a long, slender forefinger pointed at the heavens, a finger of discipline and temper. But Hardy wasn’t impressed or intimidated.

“No, I don’t think we have the time for such nonsense,” Hardy continued. “You may believe what you wish, sir. You are not the one charged with treating this patient.”

“When I arrived,” Patterson said, drawing himself to his full height, “these women were violating this young woman’s privacy. I saw that with my own eyes.”

“These women?” Thomas asked quietly. “Are you referring to the nurses, sir?”

“You call them so,” Patterson said smugly.

Thomas turned and saw Bertha Auerbach standing by the stairway, arms folded. Her eyes were dangerously black, and he could see the outline of a jaw that was clenched so tightly she was in danger of chipped teeth.

“And kindly inform me,” Hardy continued, “how they were violating her privacy? And while you’re at it, tell me why you felt the need to watch? You are no relative of Miss Levine’s. You have no business in this ward.”

“You see the instruments there.” Patterson nodded toward an enameled pan that held a freshly sterilized bulb and rectal tube.

“I have no time for this idiocy,” Hardy snapped. “My God, man, you give ignorance a whole new portrait. I will take thirty seconds with you, and then you will leave this establishment…or by God, I’ll carry you out.” He stepped so close that Patterson had to retreat a step to avoid being bowled over. “The patient can hold no food or liquid. She vomits and evacuates astonishing volumes of fluids, and were the nurses not able to replenish that fluid rectally, the patient would soon expire from dehydration. That is how cholera kills, my friend.
Cholera
. You hear me?”

Patterson had started to reply, but Hardy gave him no chance. “The bacilli infest the intestinal tract—and I’ll use whatever term your overly sensitive nature prefers. The
gut
, the
bowel
, the
colon
, her
person
. It infests and turns its
environs
into loathsome, rotten tissue. There are cases where in final stages patients evacuate the very lining of their gut. So,
these women
you so easily insult with your own peculiar brand of ignorance,
these women
risk their own safety and replace the liquid in the only way we know how.”