Comes a Time for Burning (23 page)

“He struck Dr. Hardy, Thomas.”

The young physician stared at his wife. “He
struck
him?”

“That is what Horace said. He escorted Elaine here, and that was the story I was able to pry out of him. Dr. Hardy refused to release the body to him, and Pastor Patterson rose up against him. Cut his face, I’m told.”

“I must go.” He started for the door, heart pounding in his chest.

Close behind him, Alvi said, “Show them exactly what they must do, Doctor Thomas. Whatever towns people gather? I’m sure they will listen to you. Explain, and then
demand
that all precautions be foremost in their minds. And then trust them do their part, just as you trust me. That is really all you can do.” A faint smile touched her mouth. “And then maybe Roland Patterson’s prayers will do the rest.”

“Would that were a comfort now to Elaine,” Thomas said.

“Perhaps it is. We don’t know.” She ushered him out of the kitchen. As he picked up his heavy medical bag, Alvi’s strong fingers locked the back of his neck. Her voice was a whisper in his ear, her breath warm. “How often do you disinfect the grip of your medical bag, Doctor?”

He turned to her with astonishment. “I…” and suddenly the bag, with its familiar and comforting black leather and brass fittings, felt like a lethal thing in his hand.

“You see how easy it is,” Alvi said. “But you drip with alcohol most of the day, so I can’t imagine a bacillus living on the grip for long.” She pushed him toward the door and the darkness of dawn beyond. “Give Elaine
much
to do today, my love. She needs it.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

“I found him halfway between the back door of the barn and the outhouse beyond,” Dr. Lucius Hardy said. He dabbed at his swollen lip with a fresh gauze sponge and flinched at the sting of alcohol. “I had stepped out for a breath of fresh air just before midnight, and first saw his lantern on the ground.”

Thomas knelt beside Howard Deaton’s bedside. The man lay curled in a tight ball, the pillow wrapped around his head the way a child might who was afraid of the night’s creatures. “The head hurts?” he asked, and Deaton grunted something unintelligible, then pulled the pillow away from his face.

“It’s comin’ apart, Doc. Holy Christ, it hurts.”

“Let me listen.” Thomas pulled the blankets aside and roamed with the stethoscope. The man’s pulse was rapid and strong, flailing away against his own anxiety. It was one thing, Thomas thought, to be blind-sided by a disease without knowledge of the most likely outcome. But Howard Deaton had watched what cholera could do, had watched it kill the strongest and fittest.

“Can you roll more on your back, Howard?” Deaton did so with a groan.

“This is killin’ me, Doc.”

“You’re too tough to kill, my friend.” Thomas listened while the man’s gut rebelled. The gurgling and splashing in Deaton’s lower gut, the characteristic borborygmi, practically bellowed through the instrument. “How often has he evacuated?”

“Since I found him?” Hardy looked up at Bertha Auerbach, who stood at the foot of the bed watching the teamster with the deepest sympathy.

“Eight,” she said, always the meticulous keeper of statistics.

“Howard, when did the symptoms strike for the first time?”

“Christ, I don’t know,” he muttered. “Didn’t feel so great after I ate my supper.”

“What did you eat?”

“Some of that stew that Gert James sent down.”

“There can be no fault there. To drink?”

“Still workin’ on a jug of wine.”

“And the vomiting?”

Deaton groaned, gritting his teeth. His hands dropped down to his lower gut, and he curled onto his side once more. “This is it, Doc. This is it. It’s gonna take me.”

“Nonsense, Howard. Work with us now.”

“He has vomited everything we’ve given him,” Berti said.

“Enteroclysis?”

“Four times,” Bertha replied. “And we have been aggressive with the stupes and the laudanum.”

“I’m thinkin’ of becomin’ a dope addict,” Howard whispered, and tried to laugh. “You got any more, Berti?”

“All you want,” she promised.

“His temperature?”

“An hour ago it was just under ninety-seven. Still, he has been able to hold some iced champagne long enough to sooth the mouth.”

“We’re giving Deaton champagne?” Hardy burst out loudly in mock protest, sounding as if he’d known Howard Deaton for a decade as best friend. He toed the door of the small room closed. “The staff is coddled thus?” he added when he saw the teamster try for a smile. He turned to Thomas. “We will need more Salol,” he said quietly. “In fact, we’ll need more of everything. The nearest source?”

“Someone will go to St. Mary’s,” Thomas said. “It’s thirty miles down the inlet. Or to Seattle. Someone must set out this morning. The pharmaceutical salesman won’t be through until the end of the month. We could wire the firm, but at least a month, nevertheless.”

“My brother will go,” Bertha Auerbach. “He can be back by Monday. I will arrange a list. And by the way…” She laid a hand on Thomas’ elbow. “Mr. Malone
swallowed
last night. He actually
swallowed
.” He looked at her for a moment, taking time to catch up.

“My word,” he said. “All of this, and Mr. Malone sails along in the middle of the battle, untouched and unaware.”

“Elaine is with him at the moment,” Bertha said. “Although there is no response, I think a tender touch and conversation must be helpful. The poor child needs much to do.”

“I wish I knew,” Thomas said, still thinking about the blasted brain of Sonny Malone. “But a swallow…that’s a good sign.” He turned to Hardy. “You’ve had a chance to look in on him?”

“I have. His body continues while his brain has simply ceded from the union, so to speak.” Hardy reached out and rested a hand on Thomas’ shoulder, steering him away from Deaton’s bedside.

“You heard about this?” And he dabbed his lip once more. Thomas cocked his head to look at the laceration. “It’s really nothing,” Hardy said. “My own tooth is the villain, and cut the inside of my lip. I would never have guessed that man was so quick.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t cut his throat, Lucius.”

“Had I a scalpel in my hand, I would have,” the physician chuckled, then the amusement left his face. “Patterson was obdurate, Thomas. Most eloquent for a man in such a rage.” He raised a forefinger to the heavens, imitating Patterson. “‘You shall not dump my wife into unconsecrated ground like so much offal,’ he shouts. ‘She is a Christian, and by heaven will go to her God as befits…’ and so on.” He sighed deeply. “I let him take her, Thomas. Maybe Winchell and the constable can talk sense to him.”

He lowered his voice. “With the child standing there, tears streaming down her face, I was not about to enter into a fisticuffs with this man, the two of us tearing at the mother’s remains like a couple of jackels. Berti and I made sure the corpse was wrapped in a sterile blanket and then…” He held up both hands. “Off he went, carrying her downstairs without benefit of the Otis, out into the night, sobbing and muttering to himself.” Hardy turned and looked toward the back of the ward. “Off into the night without a thought for his step-daughter.” He turned back to Thomas. “My friend, it’s as if the girl has ceased to exist in his mind.”

“We must watch over her, then,” Thomas said. “I was astonished to learn that Gert James went to the Pattersons’ as well, earlier this morning. What she can do for them, I don’t know. But during the night, she made off to the Pattersons’ home, just after Elaine brought word. Gerti fears for the two remaining children, I’m sure.”

“That’s not good. Look what she might be walking into, Thomas.”

“We must collect Constable Aldrich and Ted Winchell. With his wife’s remains, Mr. Patterson has just delivered the cholera to the church, if he hadn’t done so already. There must be no gathering for a funeral. If the children are ill, they must be brought here. If not, it would be wise to find less dangerous lodging for them.”

“Easily said, my friend.”

“We must make every effort, this very dawn. How are the others?”

Hardy dabbed his lip again. “Mr. Snyder will live, I am sure of it. In its own capricious way, the cholera has paid him little heed. What killed his wife in but a day or two is going to leave him just as surely, I believe. There will be a period of prostration, during which we will have to be vigilant.” He beckoned Thomas to follow him through the ward.

“Snyder sleeps, a bit fitfully, but sleeps nevertheless. The diarrhea has stopped, and he tolerated the iced champagne well, nearly five ounces of it. Even the borborygmi have settled. It no longer sounds as if there’s warfare going on in his gut.” He heaved a deep breath, holding up his ample belly for a moment, and then relaxed. “The brothers Bloedel present considerably more of a challenge, Thomas. And I see no lessening in the others. It’s to be a fearful day.”

Thomas scanned the ward. Gunnar and Carl Bloedel, in neighboring beds, were tended at the moment by Adelaide Crowell.

“I hold little hope for Ira Johnson,” he whispered. “The first mate of the
Head
? While his skin feels cold to the touch, we have recorded an internal temperature several degrees above the norm. The cyanosis worries me. Truly remarkable, Thomas. It’s as if every last vestige of water has been withdrawn, leaving his blood as thick as mud. We have been aggressive with infusions—more than aggressive, I think.” They turned at the clank of a glass and saw Bertha Auerbach still fretting with Howard Deaton.

Hardy dropped his voice even lower. “She works like a demon, Thomas. She has stayed, you know. The whole evening and now night. When Mrs. Crowell came in, I was able to convince Helen Whitman to go home for some hours rest. But not Bertha. At first, she came to be with Elaine, whom she obviously cherishes. And then with Howard. She takes the condition of each patient as a personal crusade. Simply wonderful. A lesson for those of us who might tend to sloth.” He patted his gut again. “If any of our patients survive, it will be a testament to your nurses.”

“I don’t think we can accuse you of sloth, sir.”

“I hope not.” He turned back and nodded at Buddy Huckla, in the first ward bed, who lay curled in a small, childlike ball. “Huckla would make a gambler nervous,” he said. “At first, I thought he would escape, despite the presence of the bacilli in his gut. There seemed to be no reaction. And then, in what seemed like a matter of minutes, he became thus.” Hardy shook his head in wonder. “So fast, Thomas. So fast. The same with Delaney. There is some sign that the infusions are easing the…what might we call it…the debt of dehydration that grows so savagely. We are hard pressed to keep the equipment claved. It is a constant thing.”

“And I slept through it all,” Thomas growled.

Hardy laughed grimly and slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll need it, sir. Not to worry. Now that Mr. Patterson has joined the opposition, the battle is about to become pitched, I’m afraid. You know,” and he swept a hand theatrically through the ward, “when I first saw this—eight beds here, three small private chambers to the rear, and the same upstairs—I thought that your dreams may be exceeding the reality of this tiny village. And now I see the opposite.”

Thomas pulled out his watch. “We must confront Patterson. May I ask that you remain here?”

“You should not confront him by yourself,” Hardy replied, correctly guessing Thomas’ intent.

“Indeed not. I’ll have Constable Aldrich with me. And Ted Winchell. Two more stout men would be hard to find.” He tried to smile. “And Gert James is there. She’s worth any ten men. If nothing else, I must protect her if I can.”

Hardy nodded. “You’ll need them. I fear for the good pastor’s sanity, Thomas.”

“We have far more to fear from the cholera. Patterson is but words.”

“Uh huh.” Hardy dabbed at his lip again, amused.

“Two things,” Thomas said. “I will go to the church, and have Aldrich nail it shut. I fear for Eleanor and the other two Patterson children who remain in the house, not to mention the pastor himself. And then I want to visit the Clarissa. I don’t know why people are so slow to come to us at the first sign of the disease, but they appear content to just curl up into a ball and wait for death.”

“They work like slaves to clean the place,” Hardy offered. “Although burning it to the ground would be a good thing. I’m not sure I’ve experienced a filthier place since a visit to the Paris slums.” One of the sailors, Cyrus Collins, uttered a loud groan, and Hardy turned toward his bedside. Thomas caught his arm.

“While I am gone, if Alvi should come to the clinic…”

The sympathy in Hardy’s eyes was immediate.

“With Gert at the Patterson’s, Alvi will be with the child,” Thomas said. “If she is tempted…”

“If she comes here, I have an enormous favor to ask of her,” Hardy said. “From the moment she arrives, she will be busy in your office, preparing a copious list of supplies for Miss Auerbach’s brother. We need that, Thomas.” He regarded the gauze sponge. “And then someone must speak with Mr. Lindeman about a supply of fresh fruit, and certainly more champagne. More this, more that. Your lovely wife won’t have a moment for anything else.”

“Thank you, Lucius.”

As he stepped away from Thomas, Hardy added, “Be careful, my friend.” His eyebrows shot up then, and he nodded toward the front of the ward.

Horace James, looking as an undertaker should, stood deferentially in the door of the ward. How long he had been there was anyone’s guess. His enormous, knotted hands were folded at his chest as if caught in prayer. He took a half step forward as Thomas approached.

“Sir, Jake Tate was askin’ for the ambulances. Both of ’em.”

“Both, Horace?” His heart sank.

The man nodded. “I’ll drive one, him the other? That’s what I was thinking.”

“He’s here right now?”

“Yes, sir. Out in the stable.”

Thomas darted past Gert’s brother and sprinted to the side door of the clinic, where Jake Tate waited under the portico, smoking a cigarette.

“How many are ill, Jake?”

“Got five. Probably four by the time we get back out there. They sure need you, Doc.”

Thomas almost spun in a circle, trying to marshal his thoughts. “Listen, I’m going to give you syringes. Can you manage those?”

“Guess so. Seen you do it enough times.”

“Morphine to keep them quiet for the trip,” Thomas instructed. “Take fresh blankets for each. Mrs. Crowell will make sure you have the proper ones. Then get them back here as quickly as possible.”

“You ain’t comin’ out?”

“We have a problem at the church,” Thomas said.
And Gert has walked into the middle of it
. “The loggers must be treated here anyway. There’s nothing we can do for them out in the timber other than the morphine to keep them quiet. I’m depending on you, Jake. Horace is going back with you in the second ambulance.”

“All right.” The young man sounded resigned.

“And Jake…while you’re there, while you’re tending the men? Talk to them in the most cheerful terms if you can. Cholera is a fearsome thing, and it’s important that the men have hope. And if you can discover
how
the men came into contact with the others—that would be important for us to know.”

“Well, hell, I can guess at that, Doc. Come an evening, most of ’em gather in that chow hall. Biggest damn poker games you ever saw.”

Thomas closed his eyes, imagining the whiskey jug passing around the table, the spittle, the cards passing from hand to hand, the back-slapping, the card players wiping hands through their beards and dabbing at eyes irritated by the smoke, using shirt cuffs as napkins. “How many gather there on a night? I know there were but three from the
Head
.”

Tate shrugged. “I’ve been there when there was thirty, Doc. Smoke in the hall so thick you didn’t need no pipe to smoke. ‘Course, I don’t get up there much, work at the mill bein’ what it is.”