Comes a Time for Burning (15 page)

He took a deep breath. “The last major epidemic of cholera—and it killed some three thousands of people—occurred in New York City but nineteen years ago, not Calcutta. That’s along the Hudson River, should you have forgotten, not the Ganges. There have been smaller, sporadic outbreaks now and then, and in
every
case, the outbreaks can be traced to unsanitary conditions. Now, just how Miss Levine came to be infected, we don’t know. We are going to find out. We will use every measure at our disposal, although those measures are regrettably few. You can help but I will not allow you to hinder.”

Patterson’s tone sunk to a dangerous whisper. “You claim cholera, yet you admit that you have no notion of its origin.” A disdainful curl of the lip remained. Hardy took no notice.

“Not yet, sir. And the longer you stand in our way, the longer that discovery will take. If you want to be useful, you could convince your daughter, Miss Stephens, that our shortage of nursing staff is acute, especially if the epidemic grows, as it no doubt will do. Why she left us, I couldn’t say, but I can’t say that I blame her. Fighting cholera is a fearsome task, and she is young and inexperienced. Perhaps she might benefit from your good counsel, since every pair of hands is so badly needed.” He flashed a thin smile. “And now, if you’ll excuse us?”

Patterson’s eyes narrowed, and he regarded Hardy for a long moment. “Where are you from,
Doctor?”

“Where I or you or anyone else is from doesn’t matter one whit,” Hardy snapped. “Excuse us.”

It appeared to take Patterson a moment to reach a conclusion. “Very well. But I can promise you that if Miss Levine fails to recover, we shall speak again. In the meantime, I
forbid
you to spread the rumor of cholera in this community.”

“
You
forbid? How very interesting,” Hardy replied. “I readily admit ignorance, since I’ve just arrived. But Thomas, does this fellow hold a position in this community of which I am unaware? Perhaps even a medical degree that he has kept hidden from us?”

“He heads a small parish. His church is down the hill from us, on Angeles Street.”

“I’m impressed that you know of our existence,” Patterson said. “I have not seen you celebrating the Sabbath with any congregation, and certainly not ours. I understand that your wife has given birth. Perhaps you understand the importance of baptism.”

“I’m sure I do,” Thomas said.
But not from you
. “Fred Jules and his wife need considerable assistance at the Clarissa, should your flock care to pitch in, Pastor. I’m sure you’ll lead them in that effort.”

“That
den of…
that
abominable place…” Patterson tried and then clamped his jaw shut. He glanced once more at Lucy Levine, and then turned away from the bed. As he passed Bertha, he didn’t pause in his step, but said tersely, “I shall speak with Eleanor.”

They listened to his steps on the stairway for a second, and then Thomas knelt at Lucy Levine’s bedside. Her skin was dry, her eyes appearing collapsed into her skull. With the stethoscope, he listened to her lungs and heart, then stood up thoughtfully, folding the instrument. “My, my,” he breathed. “If she just has the strength to hold on. How long has it been since she vomited?”

“I would say an hour,” Bertha replied. “But a feeble attempt at best.”

“Then a tiny amount of stimulant,” Thomas said. “A few drops of brandy, perhaps, if she’ll tolerate it.”

“Now is when I would attempt hypodermoclysis,” Hardy said. “If you have the instruments.”

“Have or can fashion them,” Thomas said. “Have you done such?”

“No.”

“Nor I.”

“We have little to lose,” Hardy said. “I will see what I can scavenge.”

Hardy left and Thomas beckoned Bertha Auerbach. “Dr. Hardy is suggesting that we actually inject fluid beneath the skin for absorption into the blood vessels and lymphatic system,” he said, and bent to touch Lucy’s flank through the blanket, between the ribs and the hip bone. “A fine canula positioned carefully, between the skin and fascia.” He glanced up at the nurse, who listened without comment. “It must not penetrate the fascia, Berti.” He shifted the blanket and lifted a fold of skin, so pathetically desiccated that it remained pinched after he removed his fingers. “Just under the skin. It demands a fine touch, since the canula’s bore is large. And then with a fountain syringe, we allow a liter or two of fluid over at least twenty minutes.” He made a face. “Should we
have
twenty minutes.”

“And the solution?” Bertha asked.

“Chloride of sodium and sodium bicarbonate, I should think. Dr. Hardy will instruct you further. But she is so cold, so emaciated, that it may be the only way.”

“Conditions at the Clarissa are grave?” A note of worry had crept into her voice.

“Impossible,” Thomas replied. “So much to do, and to be done immediately. On top of that, we must find the young man who spent his time with this young lady. He is at risk, along with everyone he meets. If he’s still alive. Howard was willing to go?”

“Of course. And if I may say so…” The uncharacteristic hesitation turned Thomas’ head. “You must take time to look in on your wife and son,” Bertha said.

“Ah,” Thomas replied ruefully, “but not in this condition.” He took a deep breath. “Berti, I want everyone turned away from the clinic today. We must be prepared to dose our effort as well as our medications. Nothing but the direst emergencies until this has passed.”

“I understand. You were to meet with the Schmidts this morning.”

“I
was
. I have business with him, anyway. And I must also stop by the newspaper and make sure that Mr. Garrison is entirely on our side.”

“The whole community must know?”

“Indeed. Must know what to
do
, idiots like Roland Patterson not withstanding.”

“He may yet understand,” Bertha said. “He is not used to having his authority questioned in such a blunt fashion.”

Thomas laughed. “Refreshing, this Dr. Hardy. But Patterson? You are a believer in miracles, my dear.” The familiarity prompted a raised eyebrow. “And Berti,” he said as he started to turn away, “make absolutely certain that you, Mrs. Whitman and Mrs. Crowell are taking care of yourselves. It is the nurses who are always most at risk in cases like this, handling bedding and such.”

In cases like this
, he thought with a twinge of self-conscious doubt. This was his first, and he felt completely at sea. He looked toward the back of the ward. The door of the child’s room was closed, and Mrs. Snyder’s tiny figure two beds down lay quietly. “The Snyders?”

“The same. Marcus is with the child just now. His wife is so frail.” He nodded. “I’ll scrub, and have a look at her before I leave.”

A few moments later, as he returned to the second floor ward from the dispensary, he saw Lucius Hardy kneeling beside Lucy Levine’s bedside, in close conference with Bertha Auerbach.

“Now, ever so gently,” Thomas heard Dr. Lucius Hardy say as he approached. “The object here is to inject the liquid
just
under the skin, like so,” and despite his large hands, he handled the razor-sharp canula deftly. “And then sterile padding to seal the wound.” He motioned with his head, and Bertha bandaged the instrument and the first six inches of the rubber tubing with clean linen saturated with carbolic acid.

“Let gravity do the work,” he instructed. “And as the fluid flows under the skin ever so slowly, a little gentle massage will help distribute it to the surrounding tissues for absorption.”

“If we see no reaction almost immediately,” Thomas added, “then the process should be repeated.”
That’s what the book says
, he considered adding. His sleeves were still rolled up, and he held his hands with the fingers spread, allowing the antiseptic to dry.

“Exactly so,” Hardy agreed. “I am optimistic.” He had some reason to be, since Lucy Levine had been quiet for some moments, her skin temperature elevated a bit, her pulse ever so slightly pronounced.

“Mrs. Crowell is with us on this?” Thomas asked, and Bertha nodded without looking up.

“She’s downstairs with Mr. Malone at the moment.”

Thomas leaned over and looked closely at Lucy, whose eyelids flickered. Thomas thought he saw the ghost of a feeble smile—perhaps not.

“You know everyone in this village, Berti. If there is someone who might assist us, I’d like to know today.” He started to reach out, to place a soothing palm on Lucy’s forehead, then stopped. “There is so much to do,” he said, drawing back.

He strode back through the empty ward, wondering what the storm would be like when it actually struck.

Chapter Eighteen

Thomas stopped just inside the door of 101 Lincoln, astonished. Dressed in an elegant purple robe, Alvina stood in the doorway to the spacious library, the infant swaddled in blue linen and cradled in her arms. John Thomas Parks was suckling a fashionably late breakfast.

“You’re up,” Thomas said, and realized how foolish he sounded. “I mean,
should
you be up?”

“John Thomas needs to see the world, although I admit, those ravishing blue eyes of his haven’t done much looking.” She frowned at her husband’s clothes. “You didn’t leave this morning looking so ill fitted, even early as the hour was.”

“Ah. I needed to change at the clinic,” he said. He drew near to her and she wrinkled her nose. “It’s the disinfectant,” he said. “My skin is pickled.”

“Word is spreading through town,” she said. “I believe Gert has had half a dozen visitors in the past hour, early as it is.”

“So you know.”

“That we have cholera? Yes, I know.” She leaned forward and kissed him, but kept her hands on the infant.

“I feel as if I should take a hot bath for about a week.”

“Or a long swim in the inlet,” Alvi suggested.

“Ah…no. That was a nasty little discovery we made just after dawn, Dr. Hardy, Constable Aldrich, and I. The Clarissa is dumping offal directly into the Jefferson behind the hotel.”

“But children
play
down there.” She pulled a corner of the blanket over her son’s face as if he needed protection from the awful idea.

“Indeed they do. Or
did
.”

“The girl who is infected…”

“Lucy Levine.”

“She is a dear, sweet thing. Will she survive?”

“I don’t…I
wish
that I could say yes.” He shrugged off his cloak. “There are signs that she may. But I have never seen a disease so vicious, Alvi. It is as if she is being devoured from within, as if her entire gut is held by some strange, raging beast. Her room at the Clarissa was a sight to behold. That it can even be sufficiently cleaned is open to question. It seems to me that the entire building is fashioned from cedar, so porous that it soaks up the effluent like a sponge.” He shook his head. “They dump the chamber pots out the windows, into the inlet.”

“Father once dealt with an outbreak of cholera at one of the fishing villages to the northwest.”

“Mortalities?”

“Some two hundred from a village of two hundred fifty. He managed to avoid contracting the disease, but one of his nurses didn’t.”

“And she…”

“Died. Mild symptoms at first, then more severe. She arose from bed one afternoon, convinced that she was on the mend, took ten steps, and fell as dead as a stone.”

“My heavens. I was thinking it might be best if you were able to travel to Seattle for a few days, Alvi. The trip by water would not be arduous for you. Just until this outbreak has passed.”

One of Alvi’s shapely eyebrows rose. “I think not, Doctor Thomas.”

“But the risk.”

“There is no risk for us,” she said, sounding as if she knew with absolute certainty the location of every cholera bacillus on the peninsula.

“There is always risk, Alvina.”

“And the trip itself would be,” she said. “In this house, we are as safe as we can be. The water is hot and endless, thanks to the Victor down in the basement. I am eating lightly from only the best foods, properly prepared. John Thomas here is eating
only
the best, I assure you.” She smiled and gently jostled the feeding infant, who released his toothless gums and offered Thomas a wide smile of satisfaction.

“I could be jealous,” he grinned.

“You came for lunch, sir?” She looked down at her full breast and the infant’s face that was once again buried against it, then laughed at her husband’s expression. “Do not worry yourself about me,” she said.

“That’s easily said.”

“You have enough clothing at the clinic for a frequent change?”

“I came to fetch more,” he said.

“And the kitchen there?”

“Stocked,” he said. The kitchen had also been a recent addition, dominated by an ungodly expensive Acme coal-fired cooking range that had taken six men to lift from the freight wagon.

“And who is doing the cooking?”

“That will be an issue,” Thomas said. “Bertha
was
, during the day, with Mrs. Crowell doing her best at night. But both are so consumed now.” He sighed and sat down on the foyer bench. “With but four patients. My God.”

“Four with the cholera?”

“No. Mr. Malone, the high rigger, lingers in a coma. The Snyder child is healing nicely, but must be quarantined, along with her father. Mrs. Snyder and Lucy Levine are ill with the cholera.”

“You suspect there will be more?”

“I know so. There is every probability of one at the logging camp on the Dutch Tract.”

Alvi frowned. “Gert could assist you.”

“No. I don’t want her down there.”

“How can there be danger in the kitchen, Doctor Thomas?”

“With this disease, there is no safe haven. I will speak with Bertha about it. She knows everyone. Miss Stephens left us this morning.”

“That is no surprise.”

“I suppose not. I was thinking of asking her to work the kitchen, but I doubt that she can cook, either.”

“Be kind, Doctor Thomas.”

“She’s been down to the Clarissa—apparently she is a friend of Miss Levine. I don’t know what the relationship is.” He looked sideways at Alvi. “Do they share a beau?”

“I have no idea. Lucy’s current beau is a handsome, randy, sweet-talking youngster. What Ben Sitzberger has been able to arrange with the ladies is anyone’s guess. But Lucy is in no condition for idle conversation, and I doubt that Eleanor could manage such a discussion.” Alvi pivoted and glanced at the clock. “You were to talk with the Schmidts at nine?”

“Was. I sent word for them not to come today. She should go to Seattle herself. She can have the surgery there, and proper post-operative care.”

“The delay is dangerous.”

“No more so than our circumstances, Alvi. I’ll find a moment to speak with Schmidt and encourage them not to delay departure.”

“And if Carlotta refuses?”

“That would be foolish. But I cannot force her.”

With deft movements, she tucked the infant into the wrap and pulled her own robe to cover herself. “You want to carry him upstairs for me?”

He hesitated and held out his hands as if they were coated with the most vile of muck. “I would, most certainly, but I shouldn’t.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sakes, Doctor Thomas. You smell like the inside of an antiseptic bottle. And we’ll change his wrap after he’s made his statement.”

He accepted the infant, finding himself absurdly clumsy with the small bundle.

“Like so,” Alvi instructed, adjusting until John Thomas rode easy in the cradle of Thomas’ arm. “It’s not so difficult after all, is it.”

“Are the stairways too much for you?”

She guffawed in a most unladylike manner. “You are
such
an old lady, Doctor Thomas. The exercise is good for me. You yourself have said as much countless times.” Even so, Thomas noticed the care with which she placed each step on the wide staircase, left hand guiding up the rail. He followed, amused with the puzzled expression on John Thomas’ face as the infant tried to make sense of this person looming just out of his range of focus. Alvi stopped halfway up and took several deep breaths before continuing.

“Earlier today I had to stop three times,” she confided. “Tomorrow I shall take to the high-wheel with John Thomas strapped to my back.”

“The wheel has been stolen,” Thomas fibbed. “I made sure of that.”

“Then I shall buy a new one. Mr. Lindeman has two in the store now.” She turned at the landing and held out her arms. He maneuvered the infant as if the child was a stiff stick of firewood.

“The Sitzberger boy is ill?” Alvi asked. “Is he the one who worries you at camp?”

“I believe so. Perhaps others as well. How do you come to know him?”

“Sometimes, the employees at the Clarissa want a woman’s touch for their medical needs, Doctor Thomas. I make it a point to visit now and then.”

“I never knew that.”

Her gentle chuckle told him that there might be much that he didn’t know.

Alvi saw the nonplussed expression on her husband’s face. “You forget sometimes that I was
born
in this town, Thomas. Well, not exactly that. But since I was a year old. It’s easy to come to know just about everyone.”

“I suppose it is.”

“And I have mentioned to you on occasion about working with Viola Jules to keep the girls healthy. It’s no mystery. My father wouldn’t spend much time down there, but there’s a need, Doctor Thomas.”

He watched her deft movements as she changed the infant’s cotton diaper and despite his best intentions recoiled back an involuntary step at the odor.

“Nature’s little factory,” Alvi laughed. “You’ve smelled worse.”

“Indeed. We had another visitor at the clinic this morning. Apparently he felt the need to confirm Miss Levine’s condition for himself. The good Pastor Patterson?”

“Oh? Be careful of Roland Patterson, husband.”

“You’ve heard a lot for one confined.”

“I’ve been up since five, sir,” she said. “And just moments after Miss Stephens quit your employ, Gert began to funnel all the best gossip from Port McKinney to my eager ears. You’d be amazed how efficient we all are. Miss Stephens lost no time in embellishing her tales of the dread conditions at the clinic.”

“Patterson barged right in, first announcing that the disease could
not
be cholera. Lucius took him to task quite handily, though. The pastor is an idiot, Alvi.”

“I would not call him that. But he sees what he wants to see.” She held both hands to the sides of her head, mimicking a horse’s blinders. “On several occasions in years past, he ranted and raved at me when I would go to the Clarissa to tend a sick girl. Did he use the expression ‘the devil’s hovel’ with you?”

“No.”

“I’m surprised. That’s one of his favorites. But it
doesn’t
surprise me that his step-daughter, with all her young and tender years, found tending cholera patients beyond her bearing.”

“Yet she visits the Clarissa?”

Alvi’s expression was quizzical. “I suspect that every soul in town has visited the Clarissa at one time or another. At the best of times, their cuisine can be tolerable. And Eleanor is of an age, Doctor Thomas. She would find friendship with the young women there. And their beaus.”

Gert James appeared in the doorway. “Howard Deaton is here for you, Doctor.”

“On what cause? He was to go to the logging camp without delay.”

“He didn’t say, Doctor.”

Alvi caught his arm and turned him just enough to plant a kiss. “Write when you have the time,” she said cheerfully, but he marked the deep concern in her eyes.