by Sara Donati
Jack wondered how she had come to learn that habit, but now was not to time to pursue the subject. He said, “What do you mean when you say Mrs. Louden would be better off with somebody else? Was she looking for—did she need—”
“No!” She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. Not that she would be better off, that anyone would be better off. Given what happened to Mrs. Winthrop.”
Oscar cleared his throat. “You’re sure? She wasn’t asking for herself?”
“Sure that she wasn’t expecting, or that she wasn’t looking for a doctor?” She glanced at Jack, looking for confirmation.
He schooled his expression. “Both. Either.”
“It never occurred to me,” she said. “Given her age. And if she had been in that situation, she wouldn’t have to ask me for a name. Women like Charlotte Louden know who to go to. They talk to each other, share that kind of information. They make appointments with doctors who charge more for one visit than I earn in a month.”
“If that’s true, why did Mamie Winthrop have to search for a doctor?” Oscar’s tone was even, but the question was a challenging one.
“Because her own doctor refused her,” Lizzy Imhoff said. “She left it too late and he told her that the operation was too risky. She raged about it to her mother. She saw a number of other doctors, but none of them would agree. So you see, Mrs. Louden would never need to ask me about doctors.”
She was calm now, and very sure of herself.
“That makes sense,” Jack said. “But then why would she want to know about the doctor who treated Mrs. Winthrop?”
She hesitated. “I can only guess.”
“Go on,” Oscar said. “Tell us what you’re thinking.”
After a long pause she said, “There was a time when it got harder to find that kind of help. Mr. Comstock arrested a few doctors and one of them went to prison—” She paused to make sure she was being understood, and Oscar nodded.
“And after that it was harder to find reputable doctors, for a while at least. Mrs. Louden has a big family and many nieces of an age—of the age where common sense sometimes doesn’t prevail. Maybe she just wanted to know where the danger lay. Why is this important, may I ask? Is she—is she unwell?”
Generally they weren’t in the habit of answering questions like this one, but Jack believed that this young woman deserved the truth.
“We don’t know,” he said. “She’s gone. Missing. When you last saw her, did she mention any plans? People she might visit, places she might go?”
“Nothing like that,” Lizzy Imhoff said. Her voice gone hoarse, she said, “Will you find her? Can you find her?”
“That’s the plan,” Oscar said. “That’s what we intend.”
“It will sound like an empty offer, but is there anything I can do?”
“Contact us at police headquarters on Mulberry if anything occurs to you about your conversation the last day you saw her,” Oscar said. “Even the smallest detail, anything she might have said about anything at all. Every little bit helps.”
* * *
• • •
“DO WE EVEN know who her doctor was?” Oscar asked as soon as they were outside.
“She doesn’t have one,” Jack said. “You heard her mother say so. Never sick a day in her life.”
“They must have a family doctor,” Oscar said. “One of the sons had typhoid a couple years ago. And she gave birth, four times. She didn’t do that alone. So let’s go back to Chatham National.”
“You’re thinking that the bookkeepers will have the names of doctors who have billed the family,” Jack said.
“You sound doubtful.”
“I’m just remembering that the multipara victims all paid cash for services rendered. Before the procedure, not after. Cameron didn’t bill their husbands.”
Oscar’s brows drew down into a sharp V. “That would be too easy,” he agreed. “But it is a place to start.”
21
LAURA LEE LIKED Fridays because Conrad came to breakfast, and after going over business matters, stayed for lunch.
Sophie was not especially engaged by a long discussion of investments, stock to be bought or sold, real estate holdings, or the progress Conrad was making setting up endowments, but she applied herself. Her boredom had to be borne; the responsibility for Cap’s estate was hers, and she would give no one cause to challenge her seriousness or competence.
And today there would also be Sam Reason. She had made it clear that she would not hire him without her attorney’s approval, and he had agreed to come and be interviewed this morning.
“Is there a particular hurry?” Conrad asked now when she told him about the previous day’s meeting and discussion.
“Yes,” Sophie said. “I want him to get started with the bookkeeping and accounts as soon as possible.”
“Very well. Mr. York, we’ll need to write a contract before we leave here today.”
“Mr. Reason drafted a contract yesterday,” Sophie said, and handed it to Mr. York.
Conrad’s clerk was not in the least put out by this change of plans. In fact, Sophie had never seen him ruffled by anything. Mr. York was so utterly professional and totally without a sense of humor that as children Cap, Sophie, and Anna had set themselves a goal, and that was simply to make him laugh. They had never succeeded, but they had come to like him anyway for his steadfast nature and loyalty to Conrad.
Mr. York seemed to be in the world only to provide Conrad Belmont with help he needed to be able to practice law. He read all correspondence and documents out loud, conducted research, took notes and dictation, and served as his aide-de-camp. Now he read the contract to Conrad, who sat with steepled fingers pressed lightly to his mouth.
“You say Mr. Reason drafted this employment contract in a quarter hour?”
“Just about that long,” Sophie answered.
“Mr. York, what do you make of his handwriting?”
“Very evenly spaced, strong, reserved. A notable lack of curls and furbelows.”
“High praise indeed,” Conrad said dryly.
Sophie said, “And he proposed the perfect name, the one that has been eluding us all.”
Both men turned toward her.
“The McCune-Smith Medical Scholarship Program,” Sophie said. “The McCune-Smith Program, for short. After James McCune-Smith.”
“Not many will recognize the name, but it will become familiar,” Conrad said. “I like it. Have we talked about James McCune-Smith, Mr. York?”
It seemed they had not.
“He was a New Yorker,” Sophie explained. “He attended the African Free School and then different abolitionist societies arranged for him to go to medical school in Scotland. He was the lead physician at the Colored Orphan Asylum until it was burned to the ground during the draft riots, and then he moved to Brooklyn. Aunt Quinlan knew him and liked him.”
“And the name was Sam Reason’s suggestion?” Conrad asked again. “How is it he knew of McCune-Smith?”
Sophie said, “The Reasons and the McCune-Smiths are friendly. So you see, he has very valuable connections.”
Mr. York pursed his mouth in a thoughtful way. “I think you could do much worse for yourself than this Sam Reason, Dr. Savard.”
She pushed ahead with the question she felt she must ask. “You don’t think his reputation might cause the charity trouble?”
Conrad frowned. “His reputation as a writer, do you mean?”
“He is considered a radical,” Sophie said.
Conrad grimaced. “I don’t think we need worry about that. Mr. Reason will make it possible for you to concentrate on the things that interest you. Curriculum and all the rest of it. And you could take up your practice again, if you care to.”
“Yes,” Sophie said. “All those things occurred to me.”
; Conrad considered for a moment. “Then why the uncertainty? Do you not trust him?”
“It’s not that exactly,” Sophie said. “I think he’s extremely competent, and everything indicates that he’s trustworthy. But—you’ll laugh at me.”
“Unlikely. Mr. York, are you in a laughing mood?”
The clerk’s mouth quirked at one corner. “Not today.”
It was easy for men to make light of her situation, Sophie supposed. She said, “I’m wondering if my own reputation will suffer. Not that it hasn’t already. But working together with an unmarried man—a widower, actually, his wife died last year—and in close quarters—” She paused.
“You have a staff, so you won’t be alone in the house,” Conrad said. “And he won’t be living here. Where will he be?”
“He’s going to take a room at a gentlemen’s hotel,” Sophie said. “But first he has to find a reputable one that will have him.”
Conrad tapped his brow as if an idea needed to be knocked lose. “I may have a solution. When he gets here I’ll talk to him about it, if you have no objection.”
“None.” Sophie strove to keep her relief out of her voice and turned to other matters: the people she had asked or wanted to ask to serve on the board of directors of the charitable organization, how to approach the state legislature about formal recognition, and a half-dozen other worrisome points that often kept her awake at night.
“About the board.” Conrad inclined his head to Mr. York, who handed Sophie a pamphlet. “I have a suggestion.”
He said, “I’m thinking that you need to forge alliances. Elbridge Gerry would be an excellent person to have involved. His concern for less fortunate children is authentic and his dedication to the cause is unshakable.”
Sophie took a moment to think it through. Elbridge Gerry had founded the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and was prominent for his work among the poor.
“Yes, well. I would guess that most of the young women who enroll here wouldn’t be considered less fortunate. They are more likely to be the daughters of small business holders, clerks, or successful farmers, men who have been able and willing to encourage education for their daughters. And the youngest of them would be fifteen, hardly children. I can’t see that he would be interested in our board of directors.”
Conrad inclined his head. “And he might not be, but you won’t know until you meet him and tell him what you’re doing here. That one conversation may be enough to establish the kind of connection that will serve the charity’s best interests.”
Sophie gave a short sigh. “Your reasoning is as sound as ever.”
When the discussion turned to articles of incorporation Sophie found herself wishing that Sam Reason would arrive. It would be a relief to leave this kind of thing to him. On the heels of that thought came a realization: she had never seen Sam—she thought of him as Sam, though she addressed him as Mr. Reason—speak to another man. With his grandmother he was attentive, observant, deferential, while Sophie experienced him as—not harsh exactly, but brusque. Certainly he showed her no deference and made no allowances for how she might react to what he had to say. She realized that while she found this refreshing, his manner might not suit Conrad.
Her fears turned out to be groundless. Sam Reason arrived, joined them where they were still sitting around the worktable in the study, and demonstrated all the good manners his grandmother or Sophie could possibly hope for. He was forthright but not hasty in answering questions, and asked questions in turn, just as easily. In less than ten minutes it seemed to Sophie that he had won them both over.
Now she wondered if she was misremembering that very difficult meeting of just a year ago, when Sam Reason had told her, very plainly, that her concern for a colleague who had gone to prison because he walked into one of Comstock’s traps was out of proportion, and even offensive. Sam Reason seemed to have concluded that because she lived with white relatives she knew nothing—and cared nothing—about the injustices that were visited on people of her own color. His assumption had made her very angry, and thinking about it now, some of the resentment came back to her.
She shifted in her seat, sure suddenly that if she looked at Sam Reason she would be overcome by her ire, too clear a memory to deny.
“Sophie?”
Conrad had asked her a question, she realized. She stood up abruptly and inclined her head. “Please excuse me for a moment.”
Before they could rise out of their seats she was away through the hall and up the stairs and didn’t stop until she closed her bedroom door behind herself.
Let them think what they liked, she told herself. She would sit here and ask herself what she had been thinking, giving Sam Reason control over a good portion of her day-to-day existence. There were only two choices: she could accept that he had changed, and truly had no purpose in pursuing this position other than the ones he had offered, or she could decide that it was all a ruse and he was still as proud, condescending, insensitive, and narrow-minded as he had been when they first met.
When she went down to lunch she still had not made up her mind.
Laura Lee served a simple but perfect meal: ham with egg sauce, fritters, and dressed cucumbers and pickles. The table was perfectly set; the table linen was spotless. There were tulips in a crystal vase, and a pie on the sideboard.
Conrad was delighted with it all. “Soon your garden will be coming into its own. Are you satisfied with it?”
“It’s very well laid out,” Sophie said. “Both vegetables and flowers. And a few fruit trees, too. Mr. Lee seemed satisfied, wouldn’t you say, Laura Lee?”
Sophie saw that Sam Reason was confused by this exchange. To him she said, “Miss Washington’s grandfather has had the care of my aunt’s garden and property for many years.”
“I can name ten people who have tried to hire Mr. Lee away from her,” Conrad said. “He is a legend. Your grandfather approved of the gardens here, Miss Washington?”
“He did,” Laura Lee said.
“And now he’s looking for someone to take this property on,” Sophie added. “A man of all work and skilled gardener.”
Conrad looked puzzled. “But what about—what was his name. He started here when Cap was a baby. Mr. York, do you remember the name?”
“Herman Wick.”
“And what became of Mr. Wick?” Conrad pressed on.
Mr. York looked at Sophie, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever. “Mr. Wick chose to find new employment.”
A silence fell over the table, but it was a silence brimming with thoughts no one would speak out loud. Except, of course, Sam Reason.
“He didn’t want to work for colored people, I take it.”
Etiquette demanded that Sophie redirect the conversation to a less volatile subject, but she would start this working relationship and she intended to carry on, and did not shrink from the discussion.
“I couldn’t say, as I never met the man.” Sophie answered Sam Reason directly. “But Mr. York spoke to him. Mr. York, did Herman Wick disapprove of me?”
“He said nothing to me,” Mr. York said. “I only have my impressions.” He paused and when no one stopped him, he went on.
“I believe he was unwilling to stay on because he didn’t approve of Mr. Verhoeven’s marriage.”
“He certainly wasn’t alone in that,” Sophie said, in her driest tone. “But it doesn’t matter. I intend to hire good people and to pay them a generous wage. I choose to believe that people who are treated fairly and with respect won’t pass judgment on my personal affairs.”
There was a short silence, and Sophie wondered if Sam would take this opportunity to voice his own opinion. She didn’t know if she wanted that to happen, or not. And then he surprised her.
“Miss Washington,” he said. “May I have more of the sauce? It’s as good as my grandmother’s. M
aybe better, but please don’t tell her I said so.”
Laura Lee gave him her brightest smile, which Sophie took to mean that Sam Reason had earned the benefit of the doubt. Exactly as Sophie had hoped. Why it should make her anxious she could not say.
Not long after they had finished with Laura Lee’s lemon meringue pie, Conrad made a suggestion that left Sophie speechless.
“Mr. Reason, if you can spare an hour I’d like to take you to meet Mrs. Griffin, who lives just across the way.”
“Mrs. Griffin?” Sophie echoed. “But why?”
“Because she sometimes takes in boarders, if they have the right sponsorship. And I would be pleased to sponsor you, Mr. Reason. You’ll find the accommodations comfortable, the food more than ample, the price reasonable, and the discussion excruciatingly boring. But I’m thinking you’ll be here most of the time anyway. Am I right in that?”
He had turned toward Sophie, and waited for her answer.
“You think she’d—” she began, then paused and started again. “I would not like to give Mrs. Griffin the opportunity to offend Mr. Reason, Conrad. I fear she will take exception.”
He smiled at her and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, lightly. “Sometime ask me to tell you about what she got up to during the draft riots,” he said. “But in the meantime I promise you, Mr. Reason will be treated with the respect and courtesy he deserves.”
* * *
• • •
THE NEW YORK EVENING SUN
WHO CAN FIND A VIRTUOUS WOMAN?
Eliza Williams, age 17, was sent to the House of the Good Shepherd by Judge Miller in the Harlem Police Court yesterday. She was arrested at a meeting of the Salvation Army, on East One Hundred Twenty-fifth-str., where, arresting officer Cuyler said, she was trying to lead the male seekers for salvation astray.