“He was coughing a lot,” I whisper to Dorchy.
We stand perfectly still listening. Nothing.
Finally Dorchy says quietly, “We’ll find him tomorrow with Tom. We couldn’t move him ourselves anyway.”
Walking away, I say, “The last words he said to me were, ‘Blue kills.’”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. It sounded like a warning. Is blue a disease?”
She shrugs. “No idea. But remember what I said about fever.” She taps the side of her head. “Delirious.”
“No, it was a warning. Dr. Jellicoe and Vera admitted to Miss Latigue that campers have died of flu here this summer. But they lied about how many. I found photographs of the bodies in Cecily’s files.”
“They probably did die,” Dorchy says slowly, “but that doesn’t mean Ratty isn’t delirious.”
With the woods behind us, golden early-evening light floods across the road. “Come with me while I climb the lighthouse,” Dorchy says. “Reuben told me about it. I feel like he wants me to explore it.”
I stop and rub my right leg, which is aching again from all the walking. “I don’t know. It’s getting late, and it’s not very close to the gym.”
“There’s a path along the cliff. Come that far. You can sit and watch the sun go down and wave to me when I get to the top. It could be our only chance.”
“OK. But go on ahead. I don’t want to rush.”
Slowly I follow Dorchy along the road and down onto the cliff path. The view of the ocean spread out below makes me catch my breath. The orange sky streaked with purple clouds is reflected in the water. The colors remind me of the painting Dorchy rescued from the ocean the day we met the artists. At the point where the path starts downhill, I stop to rest. Dorchy is already close to the lighthouse. She picks her way through the tangle of weeds and brambles to reach the back door. The lighthouse isn’t very high. From here the wooden tower with its glass crown looks solid enough. But below it the building is a ruin. Dark streaks smear the back of the tower where fire charred most of the shingles. One gaping hole looks like a giant kicked his way in. A broken beam blocks the opening.
“Watch out,” I yell. She waves her hand but doesn’t turn around. We should go back—I feel the words on my tongue, but Dorchy’s concentration silences me.
She disappears inside. Long minutes later, she yells, “Hey, Rowan, up here!” And there she is, waving from the metal-rimmed walkway at the top. “Some of the stairs are burned and the ladder is tricky,” she shouts, triumphant, “but I made it.”
I wave. Come down, I beg her silently.
The sun disappears behind a drift of clouds and streaks them red. The only sounds are waves breaking on the rocks below the cliff and cries of gulls circling. We have to get back to the road before dark.
“The lamp is still up here,” Dorchy shouts. “There’s kerosene and matches too. It looks like whoever was here last just walked away.”
“That’s what you should do,” I yell back. “Come down now.”
She disappears inside, then comes back out on the walkway again. “I wish I could sleep up here.”
That does it. I wave and start picking my way back up the path. Before I reach the road, she catches up with me.
“I know you can climb anything,” I say. “But that looked dangerous.”
“The stairs were fine, just a few burned out at the bottom, but the ladder was like a pendulum. I thought it was going to fall off the wall, but I made it up and down.”
“I know why the lamp is ready to be lit,” I say.
“Why?”
“Cecily told Miss Latigue that it’s the only way to call for help from the island. If people on the mainland see the light, they’ll know there’s trouble and come by boat.”
“What did Miss Latigue say to that?”
“She said they should have a radio. Now hurry up. I don’t want to get in trouble my first night as a counselor.”
“Assistant counselor.” She looks back at the lighthouse. “What a waste. If it was in good condition, we could camp out there with the girls. The boys would be jealous.”
She stops. “Oh, Rowan, I’m sorry. It would be hard for you to camp there with your crutch.”
“I walked uphill from the dock the first day,” I say. “I guess I could get into a lighthouse.”
The dock reminds me of Ratty, alive and loudly protesting as Tom put him in the truck.
At the top of the cliff path, we turn around for a last look at the lighthouse. The glass reflects the red sky.
Dorchy says, “Living up to its name.”
“Which is?”
“Fever Point Light.”
The chill runs straight down my spine.
In the gym, we sit on our cots at one end of the balcony. We are allowed up here because we’re “staff.”
On the gym floor below us Magdalena, Posy, and the twins lie on cots covered with their Council blankets. They all seem to be asleep.
Nurse Blunt left as soon as we got back. As she went out the door, she called out, “Thanks to you two, I’ll get a good night’s sleep for once.”
“Tomorrow we’ll tell Tom about Ratty,” Dorchy says. “He’ll know what to do.”
I nod, but I don’t think Ratty will live through the night. My heart aches for him.
Dorchy pulls at a loose thread in the hem of her nightgown. Miss Latigue gave us the nightgowns in Boston along with our uniforms and carpet bags. None of the clothes were new, and I suddenly wonder who wore them before.
“And then with Tom’s help,” she says, “we’ll find Elsa in the medical tent.”
I’m relieved that Dorchy now seems to trust him as much as I do.
“I have an idea how we can get into the medical tent,” Dorchy goes on. “It’s a good con, if we can forge Miss Latigue’s signature.”
“I had the same idea yesterday.” I reach into my bag and pull out a photograph. “This is Miss Latigue’s handwritten reference letter about us. I didn’t want to take the original, so I took a picture of it and printed it in the darkroom.”
Dorchy takes the photograph:
“To: Mrs. Cecily Van Giesen, President
“Loup Island Camp for Unfortunates
“Loup Island, Maine
“Dear Mrs. Van Giesen:
“It is my pleasure to recommend to you Rowan Collier and Dorchy Miller, two young women who have proven to be outstanding employees…”
She stops reading. “Don’t employees get paid? Usually, I mean?”
“Usually,” I say, “but sometimes they do it for love.”
Dorchy grins. “As you did. Your only payment was a kiss from Mr. Ogilvie.”
“Stop,” I squeal, and from the cots below Posy shushes us.
“How did you—?” Dorchy studies the photograph of the letter as if it were her own likeness. “What were you doing up there at the house?” Her tone is interested, not scornful.
“Magic,” I say. “Thanks to you I have a camera”—I bow to her—“and Cecily has film and a darkroom, so naturally…”
“Naturally what? What did you do?”
“I took pictures of some of the documents I found. And I developed the negatives for Miss Latigue. I think she’s going to like them.”
“OK, but how does this picture of a letter help us find out what happened to Elsa?”
I take out a fountain pen and a sheet of cream linen stationery. “I’m going to write a note from Miss Latigue to anyone we meet in the medical tent. I’ll practice on half of this sheet of paper and then write it on the other half.”
“How are you going to see to do that?”
I produce a candle and a matchbox from my bag.
Dorchy whistles, impressed. She lights the candle and holds it while I practice Mi
ss Latigue’s handwriting. It’s very plain, almost like printing, but her signature is a scrawling line with a flourish on the tail of the e.
“Read it to me,” Dorchy says when I finish.
“To Whom It May Concern: I hereby authorize Council employees Rowan Collier and Dorchy Miller to have full access to all medical reports for the summer of 1922. Please provide them with copies of your records for the last week of August. They will deliver these to me in person on August 29.
“As my agents on Loup Island, they also have full access to all patients in your custody. By my order this 22nd day of August, 1922.
“Please extend them every courtesy.
“Sincerely yours,
“Florence Latigue, New England Betterment Council, Boston Chapter.”
Dorchy grins. “‘Agents’ makes us sound like spies.”
“Is it too much?”
“No, it’s perfect. I wish I could write half as good as you do.”
“I was inspired,” I say, glowing from her praise, “to get Elsa back.”
“We will get her back. I’ll make a carny out of you yet.”
Chapter 37
In the morning Reuben arrives in the truck to bring the four girls, Dorchy, and me to the quarry for breakfast. Magdalena is sure Elsa will be there. She keeps saying, “Elsa is healthy as a horse.” At the quarry lake Nurse Blunt is nowhere in sight. Reuben carries a metal pot of porridge over to our granite “table,” and Tom spoons it out into metal bowls.
The sky is cloudy, and the brisk wind stirs the silver surface of the lake and makes us shiver.
“I hate porridge,” says Dolly clear as a bell.
“Me too,” says Lolly.
Posy looks as proud as if the twins had just sung an aria.
“So they can talk,” says Reuben. He goes back to the truck and brings the twins bread and jam.
“The boys want to know if there’s coffee,” says Tom.
Reuben shrugs at that and turns away. Something’s wrong. Yesterday he ate with us. Today he goes back and sits in the truck.
“Reuben’s acting strange,” Dorchy says in a low voice. “But did you hear Dolly and Lolly?”
“Tom,” I say, “I need to talk to you.”
He nods as a shrill whinny announces Vera’s arrival. This time she rides Viking all the way down to the lake. Fear closes my throat and I gag on my last bite of porridge.
“Why is she here?” Dorchy whispers.
Tom has gone still as a statue. He’s afraid too.
Vera points her whip at Tom. “Tell Reuben to fetch Dr. Ritter from the staff cottage. Where’s Blunt?”
Mouth dry, I say, “Not here and not at the gym. Maybe she’s ill.”
“Ill, my Aunt Fanny,” barks Vera. “She’s lazier than a mule at midday. Well, we need Ritter more than we need her.”
Tom speaks to Reuben and he drives away. The sky is darker now, and the wind has picked up, ruffling the lake into whitecaps.
Ten minutes later when Dr. Ritter hops out of the truck, he says, “Girls in the first tent, boys in the second.”
Posy starts leading the twins over to the tents, followed by Magdalena.
Tom stops them and faces Dr. Ritter. “What are you doing?” he demands.
Dr. Ritter shakes his head. Is it a warning?
“We have concerns about flu, Tom,” he says. “You, of all people, know that.”
“Liar,” Dorchy shouts. “You let the campers drink out of a common cup.” She shoves in front of the twins. “What’s really going on?”
Vera walks Viking toward Dorchy as the first drops of rain hit my face.
Vera reins Viking in. “Just because Miss Latigue brought you here,” she says to Dorchy, “doesn’t mean we’ll answer any of your questions.”
Dorchy immediately becomes a polite, shy version of herself. Eyes down, she says, “Of course, Dr. Van.”
“Miss Van.” Vera whirls Viking around. “Skip the tents,” she shouts. “All campers in the truck. Now.”
Posy turns to me, face pale. “We want to stay at the quarry.” She puts her arms around both twins.
“It’s raining,” I call to Vera. “Why can’t we go back to the gym? The boys could come too.”
“Not today,” Vera snaps. “Dr. Jellicoe wants to do a further examination of the campers in the medical tent.”
Reuben spits onto the rocks and points at the sky. “Weather’s foulin’ already,” he says. “’Tis only going to get worse.”
“Be quiet, Reuben,” snaps Vera. “It’s a little rain, not the apocalypse. Now get in the truck, everybody, twins first.”
Reuben juts out his chin. “Mark my words, Miss Van. You best respect this storm or it’ll knock you and all of us sideways to Sunday.” He climbs into the truck cab.
“What’s he talking about?” Dorchy says.
“He’s been predicting a big storm all week,” Tom says. “He’s lived here all his life, and he’s usually right about the weather.” He frowns. “A storm can’t come soon enough for me.”
I feel a spike of fear. Ratty. “I have to tell you something, Tom.”
He turns away. “Not now.”
“Can’t we stop them?” Dorchy says.
“No,” he says through clenched teeth. “They waited until Miss Latigue left and now…”
A gust of wind blows rain into our faces as we watch Posy boost first Lolly and then Dolly up into the truck bed. She climbs in after them and waves to us.
“You can’t do this,” I call out to Vera. “I’ll get Cecily.”
She laughs. “Cecily has no authority here.” She claps her hands and Viking sidesteps into Jack, who pushes back.
“All aboard, campers,” Vera calls. Magdalena gets in the truck. She doesn’t look back. Deaf Snout and red-haired Christophe follow with fat, asthmatic Lester who is crying. Black-haired Jack is last.
“Stay here.” Vera points her whip at Tom, Dorchy, and me. “Reuben will find Nurse Blunt and bring her to the medical tent. Do not move.”
The truck lurches up the hill, and the big horse follows, Vera straight as a ramrod on his back.
Dorchy shakes her fist at them.
Tom looks ashen. “They have all of them now. Plus Elsa and Ratty.”
“Rowan found Ratty last night,” Dorchy says.
“Where?” Tom is instantly alert. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He grabs my arm. “Where is he? We have to find him before they do.”
“In the woods by the road between here and the house,” I say. “About fifty feet into the woods near a boulder. He said he was dying and he looked it. He was burning up and spitting blood. I went to get Dorchy, and we tried to find him again, but he wasn’t there.”
“You should have told me.” Tom’s voice shakes. “I’ll see if he’s still there. Make up a story about where I went.”
“No.” Dorchy holds up her hand. “We need a plan for when they come back.”
Tom draws a deep breath. “Ratty could be dead now.” He speaks slowly, thinking aloud. “Come on. There’s a cave, a long walk from here, but they won’t find us there. Reuben knows about it, but he won’t tell on us. I think he hates their guts.”
“A cave?” Dorchy wrinkles her nose. “What about going to the house, Rowan? Will Cecily do something?”
“Vera’s running the show,” Tom says. “We need a place where all of us are safe. The cave is big enough, I think.”
He starts walking toward the road. “We can go there now and decide what to do. I’m not going to let this happen again. Once was enough.”
“Rowan and I are Miss Latigue’s ‘agents.’” Dorchy uses the word as if it were fact. In a way it is, since Miss Latigue asked us to be her “eyes and ears.” But proud as I am of the letter, I’m beginning to think it won’t work.
“Agents?” Tom snorts. “That’s rich. Don’t you get it? Miss Latigue and the Council are the only ones who care about rules. And they aren’t here. Vera and the doctors don’t give a damn about rules, except the ones they make up. Cecily goes along with them.”
“We brought our bags and blankets with us,” I say, “along with the letter I forged.”
Tom seems unimpressed. “We’ll take everything from here and go. They’ll be too busy for a while to worry about us. Load up. Especially blankets. I wish we could get Ratty.”
Dorchy folds her arms. “You can go hide. Rowan and I are going to the medical tent. We have to do it now while we can get some of them away.”
Dorchy is impulsive. The word swims into my mind. Sometimes it’s a good quality—saving the little boy on the Ferris wheel, getting help during the fire, stealing the car from Mr. Ogilvie—but here it seems dangerous.
Tom flushes with anger. He’s not used to anyone standing up to him.
I make my decision. “Dorchy’s right,” I say quickly. “They banned you from the tent, Tom, not us. We can get in and bring them out with us.”
Tom holds up his hands in surrender, but I can tell he doesn’t like it.
I’ll give him this—he’s not so attached to his own ideas that he won’t listen or change his mind. Not like Dorchy who digs in her heels, just because something is her idea.
“We’ll go to the cave as soon as you get them out of the tent,” he says. “But be careful. Take your things and hide them in the bushes. If you hear the truck, hide. Reuben is still obeying orders. But after the storm hits, I guarantee he’ll help us. When you leave the tent, hide in the woods by the road. I’ll meet you there.”
Dorchy salutes him.
“He’s very good-looking,” she says as we walk away from the quarry lake through the woods, instead of on the road. Tom suggested we try sneaking up on the medical tent.
“Who?”
“He looks a lot like Valentino.”
“Tom? No, he doesn’t.”
“Have you ever seen Valentino in a movie? If you had, you’d agree with me.”
Of Better Blood Page 17