In The Face Of Death (10 page)

I have found the records of some accounts of the Indians of the West, and I am determined to read them as I make my plans to travel. I am told that many of the Indians who keep to their own lands have been visited by missionaries and teachers, which means that my opportunity to learn about the traditions of the Indians is fading rapidly. In another generation the missionaries will have taught the Indians to be ashamed of their old ways, and it will be difficult for any scholar to learn of the way the Indians used to practice their traditions without that shame coloring their remarks and recollections. For a time I thought I was acting too hastily in my study, but I can see that I could already be too late.

. . .Tecumseh has kept away from me for more than a week, without any explanation or excuse offered for breaking two of our engagements, one of which was to inspect land north of the Golden Gate, near the old Mission of San Rafael; I did not look forward to taking a ship on the bay, but I was prepared. Yet he did not come. When I task him for his absence, he tells me he does not want to have any greater risk of compromising me by passing even a part of the night with me, but I suspect he is feeling the strain of desire at war with duty, as such considerations have not kept him away before now. For in that sense, I think deStoeckl is quite right: Tecumseh has a great sense of duty, and I have upset it. Therefore he denies himself as a way to deny me. I suppose he will punish me for as long as he fears he may be still susceptible to me. . . .

“Ethan Allan Hitchcock, at your service, Madame, and my thanks for your most gracious invitation,” said the General as he came into Madelaine’s front parlor; he was being escorted by Julian Small, the English butler Madelaine had hired for the evening, taking him from his usual employment as head waiter at the restaurant of the Bella Union casino. The General shrugged out of his coaching coat and surrendered his hat to the butler’s care, all the while smiling at his hostess.

“You’re most welcome, General,” said Madelaine, and indicated her other guests. “I think you know everyone?”

“Indeed I do,” he said, and went to Fanny Kent, shaking her hand as was his habit with married women. “How good to see you all,” he told the gathering at large.

“Ungracious people may say any spiteful thing they wish,” Fanny declared to General Hitchcock, one hand clasped to her magnificent bosom now splendidly displayed in deep blue taffeta.
“I
will not condemn Madame de Montalia’s party. Where is the impropriety in her entertaining?”

“Good of you,” said Joseph Folsom, his irony entirely lost on its object; Fanny beamed at what she understood as a compliment.

General Hitchcock passed on to greet two other officers in uniform, and was not witness to the arrival, soon after, of Baron deStoeckl and William Tecumseh Sherman.

“I am sorry we are late,” said the Baron as he kissed Madelaine’s hand. “It was unavoida—”

“The children needed my attention,” Sherman interrupted gruffly. “I did not want them to be slighted by my departure.”

“And you did not like to leave until you were satisfied they were well,” said Madelaine, wholly unflustered by his manner.

He stared at her, clearly affronted. “Well, with their mother away, I could not neglect—”

“Mister Sherman,” said Madelaine calmly, “We are in agreement. I think it is most laudable that you concern yourself with your children’s welfare. How many children would rejoice in so conscientious a father.”

He did not respond to this but made his way into the parlor, clearly relieved to see the evening so well-attended.

“Forgive him, Madame. He is most sorely vexed,” whispered the Russian before following Sherman into the room. “He says it is apprehension for Lizzie and Willy, but I do not believe him.”

Madelaine gestured her understanding, then turned to her hired butler. “Julian, please inform the kitchen that we will want to sit down in half an hour. Have the staff check the table one last time.”

Julian bowed slightly, and went to follow her instructions.

There was another knock on the door, and Madelaine hurried to answer it herself. She found Colonel and Missus Thomas waiting to be admitted. “How good of you to come,” she said as she held the door wide for them. “Please, enter and be welcome.”

“Had trouble getting here,” said Colonel Thomas by way of apology, and to account for their dusty coats and his wife’s disarranged hair. “The carriage broke a wheel on California Street and crashed; we had to come the rest of the way in a hired vehicle.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Madelaine, recalling a few times in the past when a broken carriage wheel or a lame horse had made reaching a destination questionable at best. “I trust you are not too much put upon?”

Colonel Thomas indicated his wife, who was noticeably pregnant. “It was more a problem for Amanda than for me. Tumbling out of the carriage like that has shaken her up quite a bit.” He took the cloak from her shoulders and held it over his arm, not wanting to commit the gaffe of handing it to his hostess.

“Are you well, Missus Thomas?” asked Madelaine, noticing that under her hat, Amanda Thomas was very pale. “Were you injured?” She sensed the other woman was bleeding. “Have you been cut?”

“She had a nasty bruise,” said her husband, his bluff manner unsuccessful in concealing his worry for her.

“I . . . don’t think so . . . I will be better soon,” she said quietly.

Julian came back down the corridor from the kitchen, frowning at the newly arrived guests. “Let me take the coats,” he said, his English accent very pronounced, as if to add to his disapproval.

Colonel Thomas was more than willing to hand them over; that done, he gave his full attention to his wife. “What is the matter, my dear? Are you faint? Shall I get you a cordial?”

“Would you like to lie down?” asked Madelaine at the same time. “Come. I have a second room where you may be comfortable.” She motioned to the Colonel to join the rest in the parlor as she put her arm around Amanda, and started with her toward the stairs. “You may lean on me, Missus Thomas; I am not one of those fragile women who totter under the weight of a shopping basket.”

“Madame,” said Julian in a repressive manner.

“Seat the guests when dinner is ready, Julian,” said Madelaine over her shoulder. “Do not delay serving for me. I will return as soon as I am certain that Missus Thomas will be herself again.”

“As you wish, Madame,” said Julian, with a nice mix of subservience and disapproval.

“There is no need for you to—” said Amanda Thomas faintly as she made her way painfully up the stairs, hanging onto both Madelaine and the banister for support. Her face was blank but her eyes shone with pain. As she reached the top of the stairs, she clung to the newel post and took several long, uneven breaths. “I won’t need long— You do not need—”

“There is every reason for me to be concerned for the welfare of guests in my house,” Madelaine countered affably. “I will be much more at ease once I assure myself that you are restored.”

“I am doing well enough,” Amanda protested weakly.

They reached the second floor, and Madelaine turned Amanda toward the front of the house where she had a room made up for guests. As she opened the door, she moved Amanda to the side of the bed, then went to light the oil lamp on the bedside table. “Here,” she said as she lowered the flame to a soft glow.

“What a pleasant room,” said Amanda, her breath coming sharply.

Madelaine noted this with dismay; she did her best to appear unruffled by Amanda’s worsening condition. “If you will lie down, I will remove your shoes for you. I find I am better when my feet do not hurt.”

“Yes, I have noticed that, as well,” said Amanda breathlessly as she reached for the brass bedstead.

Madelaine moved swiftly to assist her, her remarkable strength permitting her to lift Amanda onto the bed with ease. “How many months?” she asked as she helped Amanda to stretch out.

“Not quite six,” said Amanda, her face shining with sweat. “I think that the fall, when the wheel broke, has . . . done some damage.”

“Are you in pain?” Madelaine asked at once, coming to Amanda’s side and looking down into her face.

“Not . . . great pain,” she lied heroically. “It will go off soon.”

“Do you need a composer? I have laudanum and cognac,” she offered, thinking that she had something in the cellar that would help more than either laudanum or cognac would.

“Thank you, Madame. It will not be necessary. If I could just lie here for a short while, I will . . . improve.”

Madelaine was not as certain as Amanda was; she put her hand on Amanda’s forehead and was shocked to find it very cold. With growing apprehension she touched Amanda’s neck, and discovered her pulse there fast and thin. “I think it would be best to loosen your stays, so that you can relax; no doubt it will do you good not to be so tightly bound in. You can have my housekeeper help you dress again when you are rested,” she suggested with a self-possession she did not feel.

“Thank you,” whispered Amanda, and rolled heavily onto her side so that Madelaine could unfasten her bodice. “I’m sorry to cause you so much trouble.”

It was then Madelaine saw the blood which soaked her skirts, turning the dark brown velvet to a matted, dark shine. She knew that it was worse than she had thought at first; there was too much blood and it was still coming. “Missus Thomas,” said Madelaine very carefully, “are you suffering any cramping just now?” She busied herself with loosening the bodice.

“A . . . a little.” She turned her head to look at Madelaine; tiny rivulets of sweat ran into her eyes and she made an ineffective attempt to wipe them away. “Don’t tell my husband, will you? Say you will not. It will only serve to worry him, and I don’t want—”

“Perhaps, but I think he had better be told that you are not well,” said Madelaine with as much persuasion as she could muster without adding to Amanda’s alarm.

“Please do not,” panted Amanda.

“I . . . I fear I must say something to him,” Madelaine said. “There is some sign of blood, Missus Thomas, and I think your husband would want your doctor to see you.”

“Oh.” Her voice was very soft. She sighed once, and asked in an undertone, “Is it really necessary?”

“I am afraid it is,” said Madelaine, adding, “Take off the bodice. You will feel better once I get your stays—” Amanda stifled a cry and bent double at the waist, her face contorted with pain. “It . . . It. . . . Too soon.”

“I fear you are right,” said Madelaine, trying to ease Amanda onto her side once again. “Once your stays are undone, you will be able to rest,” she promised, adding as she hurriedly worked the laces, “I will ask my man-of-all-work to carry a message for you to your doctor.”

Amanda just nodded, too consumed with suffering to speak.

Now that Amanda’s stays were released, Madelaine gave her attention to the blood that continued to spread through the muslin petticoats and into the velvet of her dinner gown.

A tactful cough from the door claimed Madelaine’s attention; Olga stood there, her face somber. She held a second oil lamp in her hands, and she carried a large towel folded over her arm.

“Olga, you come in good time,” said Madelaine, relieved that she would not have to leave Amanda alone. “Missus Thomas has injured herself, as you can see, and I am urging her to send for her doctor.” She gestured to Olga, encouraging her to second this notion.

“It might be best. So I think,” agreed the housekeeper with a significant nod toward Amanda’s bloody petticoats. “You will need help with this.” And she handed Madelaine the towel.

“Indeed I will,” said Madelaine with feeling. “First, I want Christian to go fetch Missus Thomas’ doctor.” She leaned over the stricken woman. “Who tends you, Missus Thomas?” she asked.

“Uh . . . Doctor Lowrey. He is on Sacramento Street, near the corner of Yerba Buena, at the crest of the street.” She moaned and her teeth began to chatter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause such trouble.”

“You heard her,” said Madelaine. “Doctor Lowrey, on Sacramento, near Yerba Buena. He should be able to get there in fifteen minutes. If the doctor moves quickly, they could return within the hour.” She looked directly at Olga. “Tell Christian to leave at once. When you return, bring the tall, amber bottle from the basement. It has a seal on it impressed with the shape of a hippopotamus.”

“Yes, Madame,” said Olga with a quick, short curtsy before hurrying off to carry out Madelaine’s orders.

“I should be better shortly. You need not stay. . . .” Amanda whispered as Madelaine handed her a comforter to pull around her shoulders. “Oh, thank you. I am so cold.”

“You wrap up in that; it should serve you well enough. Lie back.” Madelaine had no doubt that the woman was miscarrying, but did not know how to tell her. More important, she thought, was to keep Amanda from bleeding to death. She took the toweling and pressed it into a thick bolster, then said to Amanda, “Let me put this between your legs. It will ease the cramping.”

Amanda held the comforter tightly under her chin, and nodded.

As carefully as she could, Madelaine loosened Amanda’s sodden petticoats and lifted them so that she could place the bolster between Amanda’s legs. “Like getting into the saddle astride,” she remarked as she heard Amanda groan with the effort. “It will lessen the discomfort shortly.”

“I . . . feel so . . . dizzy. . . .” muttered Amanda.

“Hardly surprising,” said Madelaine, doing her best to keep the grimness out of her voice. “Lie still, Missus Thomas. My housekeeper will bring you something to ease your pain directly.”

A short while later, as she frowned with the effort of keeping the rolled towel in place, Amanda asked, “Is there . . . any more . . . blood?”

“Yes, some,” Madelaine answered, knowing it would be senseless to dissemble.

“Oh, dear,” whispered Amanda, and began to cry, her sobs more like whimpers. She pressed the knuckles of her free hand to her eyes as if to keep her tears from coming. “I will . . . lose the baby . . . won’t I?”

It was difficult for Madelaine to answer. “I am afraid so,” she said, not at all certain it would be possible to save Amanda Thomas.