Mat appeared, and though Elias couldn’t swear to it in the lamplight, he was almost sure the man winked at him. Either way, it was the nearest to happy Elias’d ever seen Mat look. But Elias wasn’t fool enough to smile back. Instead he bent down to help him lift the trunk. Once Mat had it on his shoulders, he waved Elias off.
Elias helped Nedra into the sedan chair waiting outside. “Take care with her,” he said to the men who’d carried it down, adding, “Please.”
“They will, Elias,” Lillian said gently, helping Nedra settle in, tucking the bottles of water in around her feet.
Elias scanned the empty room and saw Nedra’s knitting basket peeking out from under her bed. “Wait!” he scooped it up. “You’re forgetting this!”
Nedra’s eyes flicked from the basket to Elias. “No more knitting. No more.”
“But—”
Nedra held up a hand. “She left the web, she left the loom, / she made three paces through the room.”
And though Elias still didn’t understand the words, he’d read Nedra’s favorite poem enough times to at least recognize the lines. So he didn’t press; instead he held the basket to his chest. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good-bye, Squire. Don’t forget your scarf.” The men lifted the chair.
Elias smiled, but his eyes stung. “Good luck, Miss Nedra.”
She bobbed her head, just like a queen in an Arthur tale might do, and was carried away.
* * *
After Elias finished his own packing and ate his supper (with no eggs in sight, thank you very much), he heard Stephen outside his hut.
“Hey,” he said, poking his head inside.
“Hey,” Elias replied.
“Brought you something,” Stephen said, carrying an object that was roughly square and made of slats woven loosely together.
“What is it?”
“One of Nick’s old traps,” Stephen said, passing it off. “He modified it. To be a bird cage.”
“It’s perfect,” Elias moved to where Bedivere was pecking up grain.
The pigeon side-hopped to get out of the way and inspected the cage, neck craning to take it in. He cooed.
“Reckon he likes it,” Elias said. “Think it’s big enough for two?”
Stephen smiled. “You planning to take the bird Pennyrile left behind in the hut?”
Elias shrugged. “Shouldn’t leave it here. That way Bedivere’ll have a pal.”
“I think it’ll serve them both fine,” Stephen said. “You can build a better loft when you’re off the road.”
“Thanks.” They watched Bedivere peck at the slats, testing to see if he could eat them before he settled for his corn.
“Davie’s all right,” Stephen said.
Elias whirled on him. “What?”
“They found him on board Pennyrile’s boat, chained up.”
“Oh no,” Elias said.
“Croghan claimed he was one of his. Acted good and angry at how those pirates had taken one of his men.”
Elias gaped. “That means . . .”
“The doctor knew.” Stephen nodded. “I don’t know how he knew, or how long he knew it, but he knew something. Knew enough to make it look like Davie belonged here with us and the pirates had kidnapped him. Only we’ll all have to call him Phillip for a while.”
“Phillip?”
Stephen laughed. “I guess it was the first name that came to Croghan’s head. We all had to play along so the marshal and the others didn’t suspect anything.”
“How’s Dav—I mean, Phillip like it?” Elias asked, grinning.
Stephen shook his head. “Well enough. Brought him back with us. He’s up at the hotel now, splitting wood. He’ll slip down to Haven in a couple of days when things settle again.”
“Haven’s staying put? Even with Croghan knowing?”
Stephen shook his head. “Only to move folks out slow. Safer that way,” he said. “Even Hughes’ll go when there’s no one left. Croghan is right: others might come looking.”
“It’s over, then?” Elias asked.
Stephen nodded. “All in one fell swoop. Hospital and Haven together. But it’s right, I suppose. A body can’t live forever underground. Not even Hughes. Not even you.”
“Maybe you,” Elias suggested.
Stephen considered, then shrugged. “Glad I don’t have to find out. But in the meantime, you feel like taking a walk?”
“Sure,” Elias said. “Where to?”
“Just to Smiley,” he said, looking round. “Nick and Mat and Jonah got something we need to do before you and I go in the morning.”
“Do?” Elias asked. “ ’Nother tight spot only I’ll fit into?”
“Something like that,” Stephen said, but he smiled when he said it. “Come on.”
Elias held up a finger. “Hang on.” He scooped up Nedra’s basket. He knew just who might want it. Then he flipped open his trunk, fetched out the book, and tucked it with the yarn and needles. Nedra wasn’t wrong about leaving some things behind, he’d decided.
Stephen eyed the basket. “What’s that for?”
Elias shrugged. “Just some stuff to pass on.”
When they were a few minutes away from the ward, Stephen asked softly, “Miss Nedra seem all right when she went?”
“Lillian gave her some of the water, fresh,” Elias said.
Stephen took off his cap and dusted the brim. “Even if it’s nothing but snake oil, it can’t hurt. Probably just getting out of this place will heal ’em up.”
“What’s going to happen to the spring?” Elias asked.
Stephen sighed. “Nothing, I don’t suppose. Served its purpose. Just like Croghan’s hospital.”
“Will the doctor be all right?” Elias asked. They owed him plenty. And he was the one whose hospital and schemes for the cave had failed.
Stephen hitched his pack up higher. “I think so. Already he has plans to expand the tours when I get back. And he means to build a hotel down here next, up there in the Rotunda. Thinks he can get a road laid so folks can ride all the way up to the door by wagon.”
“That’d be something to see,” Elias said. A road and a hotel. Somehow it seemed even more spectacular and far-fetched than the hospital and its promise of a cure. “Make sure he gets better beds than we had.”
“Come back and try one for yourself then,” Stephen said. “When it’s finished.”
“You’ll still be here?” Elias asked.
“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Stephen said without hesitation.
They walked on, Elias taking in the cave. “You might think me peculiar, but I’m going to miss it. Being here.”
Stephen didn’t seem the least bit surprised. “I expect so. You took to this place quick. And it took to you almost as quick.”
“There’s nothing like this back in Norfolk,” Elias said, thinking of the docks and the sand and the marsh and the sea and the sunshine. And he was amazed to realize that he didn’t know what he was going to do with himself back home.
“You’ll find something to do. And you can write me and tell me about it,” Stephen suggested.
“Yeah?” Elias asked.
“I might even write back. That all right with you?”
Elias flashed back to that evening in the tunnel, Stephen asking if it were all right with Elias that he could read. Funny how different the question felt now. “I’d like it,” Elias said.
They arrived at Smiley and found the room bathed in light.
Nick, Mat, and Jonah were waiting. They had two lamps, one on top of the rock Elias and Nick had hidden behind, the other on the floor just beside it.
“What’s going on?” Elias asked, looking to each of them.
Mat leaped across Smiley’s grinning mouth with the ease of a deer jumping a stream. He locked eyes with Elias. Then he put out his hand. “I’m obliged to you, Eli,” he said, his voice breaking. Elias was too stunned to do anything but shake his hand. “You stuck your neck out for me and mi
ne, and all them folk down at Haven,” he said. “And you didn’t have to.”
“ ’Course I did,” Elias told him.
Mat swallowed hard. “Even so,” he said, but didn’t go on.
“Y’all want to move this along? I’m ’posed to be on watch,” Jonah said.
Stephen groaned. “If I had a nickel for every time you were meant to be on watch—”
“Just get over here,” Jonah said.
“C’mon,” Stephen said to Elias, jumping the pit. Elias tossed the basket over to Jonah, took a couple of good running steps, and leaped. He couldn’t quite shake the sight of Pennyrile falling in, or imagining him down there.
“You bring us a picnic?” Jonah asked, peeking inside the basket.
Elias took it from him. “Nedra left her knitting things. I was hoping you might take it to Josie. That doll she made turned out a treat, and I bet she could use the yarn and the needles.”
“Bet she could,” Nick said, grinning, and spat into the corner of Smiley.
Elias rummaged inside. “And this,” he said to Jonah, “this is for you.”
He handed the book over. Jonah’s mouth fell open as he held the book up to the light. The gold letters flashed brilliantly. “What’s it say?”
“It’s my Arthur stories,” Elias explained. “Thought you might want to read the rest, after you learn and all.”
Jonah held the book as if it were made of glass. “I’m obliged,” he whispered.
Elias took in Mat and Stephen and Nick, and wished he had something to leave with them as well. “That’s all,” he said, embarrassed.
“Not quite,” Stephen said, setting down his lantern so he could dig in his bag. He produced a stubby little awl. He handed it to Elias, guiding him around to the back of the rock until he was standing where he and Nick had hidden.
“What’s this?” Elias asked.
“This,” Stephen began, “is explorer’s right.”
Elias studied at the awl in his hand, the tip glinting in the lamplight.
They meant him to write his name.
He’d seen the names all over Gothic Avenue, and other places, too, crowding together. But those were just the tourists.
He’d seen Stephen’s, Nick’s, and Mat’s all over as well, but hidden, in the byways and corners of the cave others didn’t see. And Elias knew what it meant. A marker that they’d been first, that they’d been the ones to find the way. He remembered Stephen, Nick, and Mat arguing the night they first took him out, when he shimmied into the dead end they couldn’t fit inside. How Stephen had asked if he could write his name. And the time Nick asked him if he wanted to put his name up next to those of the other visitors in Gothic. How he’d felt like he passed some kind of test when he’d declined.
But now.
Here.
There were no marks past the Camel. No marks down here at Smiley, all on account of keeping Haven safe. “But—”
“Make your mark,” Mat growled. The friendliest growl Elias had ever heard from him. They were paying him the highest compliment they knew how. This time he wasn’t going to refuse them. So he crouched and dug the point of the awl into the limestone.
As trim and neat as he could, he carved his full name: ELIAS JEFFERSON HARRIGAN. It took a while, but the others didn’t seem to mind. When he finished, he straightened up. Nick took the awl and wrote his own name next to Elias’s. Then he passed the awl to Mat, who did the same, and then Stephen. Finally Jonah took it, scratched out a letter J, and handed the awl back to Stephen.
“I’ll come back and do the rest,” Jonah said, meeting Elias’s eye. “That’s all I know so far.” Elias studied the carved names, thinking he was sure he’d never been prouder in his whole life.
“That’ll do,” Nick said, patting Elias on the shoulder. “Best get back.”
Stephen lifted his pack and light. The others made ready to go.
Jonah shook Elias’s hand and disappeared down the passage toward Haven, carrying a light this time, and keeping an eye on his new book. Elias and his friends cleared Smiley one by one. They began the hike back up to the huts clustered in the ward, to Gothic Avenue, and finally to the world waiting beyond the craggy opening of Mammoth Cave.
March 15, 1843
Young Elias Harrigan will be home by month’s end, I should think. As pleased as I am to have him leaving stronger and more spirited, I cannot but feel melancholy at his departure. He was in more ways than I can tell a light in the dark. The other patients and I are encouraged at his improvement, and I count on the hope that he provided delivering them as they go as well.
Oddly, I have but Elias’s recovery I can boast of. One healing alone is not enough to publish my work on my treatment of the disease. But there are dozens of other lives spared and improved that I will never speak of, many of which owe a debt to young Elias as well. As it reads in the Gospel of Matthew, “Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth. . . .”
Respectfully submitted,
Dr. John Croghan
FURTHER READING
I grew up in Owensboro, Kentucky, not far from Mammoth Cave. I earned my degree in English at Western Kentucky University in Bowling Green—which is even closer. I visited the cave with my family as a child and again as a student as part of a geography class, and was always impressed by its grandeur, the otherworldliness of it, and the feeling of being so small in something so vast.
It wasn’t until our extended family had a reunion there in 2011 that I knew I wanted to write a book set in the cave. While on one of the shorter tours (in between bouts of carrying my kids), I looked at the map they gave us when we entered, wishing I could keep going, exploring the far reaches of the cave. A photo inset on the map showed a stone hut and bore a caption that read One of the buildings used in Dr. John Croghan’s experimental tuberculosis hospital. My husband (who was probably carrying both our children at this point) saw the mad gleam in my eye, sighed, and said, “You’re about to write another book, aren’t you?”
Sometimes, I love it when my husband is right.
While this story is fictional, the place, circumstances, and some of the people who inspired it were very real. As an author, the fun of writing for me often comes in muddling around in the spaces between the facts, inventing things that might have been, while staying relatively faithful to the established record. If you’d like to learn more about what’s real and made up, you can do your own digging.
My first recommendation would be to visit Mammoth Cave. There you can see firsthand the wonders of the largest cave system in the world; speak with the amazing, dedicated park rangers and historians; and walk paths forged by Stephen Bishop, Mat Bransford, and Nick Bransford. But if traveling there in person isn’t possible, reading provides excellent alternatives. Any of the following resources offer wonderful insights into the cave itself; people like Dr. Croghan and others who waged the battle against consumption; or the extraordinary lives of Stephen, Nick, and Mat.
Happy adventuring.
Farrell, Jeannette. Invisible Enemies, Revised Edition: Stories of Infectious Diseases. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2005.
This is a wonderful book about the history of infectious diseases. The chapter on tuberculosis (also called “consumption” or “phthisis” at the time of the book’s setting) includes a fantastically gruesome listing of the treatments various doctors attempted to cure the disease.
Hovey, H. C. One Hundred Miles in Mammoth Cave—In 1880. Vistabooks, 2000.
H. C. Hovey was the state geologist of Kentucky. He wrote this lengthy article describing explorations in the cave for Scribner’s Monthly magazine. Wonderful illustrations accompany the text, and it does an excellent job of recreating what the original tours in the cave (which have been offered since 1816) might have been like.
Lyons, Joy Medley. Making Their Mark: The Signature of Slavery at Mammoth Cave. Fort Washington, PA: Eastern National, 2006.
Writing about real people in a fictional story is
always a bit tricky, particularly when those people are as unique and brave as Stephen Bishop, Nick Bransford, and Mat Bransford. All three are integral parts of the rich history and exploration of Mammoth Cave. All three remained at Mammoth Cave until their deaths—even after they’d been freed. While I made up some details about their personalities, I did my best to honor their stories and build on what we do know about them. This was my favorite resource in that regard. Beautiful and insightful, it offers a riveting account of the African-American experience at the cave predating that of Nick and Stephen and Mat, all the way up to the present day, when an actual descendent of Mat Bransford works as a ranger (and yes, guide) at Mammoth Cave National Park.
Mammoth Cave National Park. http://www.nps.gov/maca/index.html. National Park Service. 2010–2014.
An excellent resource for anyone wishing to learn about the cave. There is wonderful information about the cave, its history, and exploration, as well as articles about many of the main characters in the story.
Murphy, Jim, and Allison Blank. Invincible Microbe: Tuberculosis and the Never-ending Search for a Cure. New York: Clarion Books, 2012.
Tuberculosis has been around for centuries, and Murphy and Blank’s book does a phenomenal job of chronicling the history of this devastating illness. At the time of Croghan’s experimental hospital in the cave, they had no idea the disease was transmissible and had no real understanding regarding its treatment. This meant that Dr. Croghan did indeed allow visitors on the tour to interact with patients, and sadly this also meant that both Dr. Croghan and Stephen Bishop later died as a result of having contracted tuberculosis at some point. The book is an engaging, revealing account for those interested in learning why some were able to recover from the disease while others were not, and how modern medicine eventually began to win the battle against the illness.
O’Connor Olson, Colleen, and Charles Hanion. Scary Stories of Mammoth Cave. Dayton, OH: Cave Books, 2002.
This book was one of my favorites. It speaks to the spookiness and mystery of the cave, recounting the many legends of ghosts and hauntings that visitors are drawn to, as well as the dangers and perils faced by some early explorers. There is a brief chapter about the hospital as well, which informed my story and set me imagining what it might have been like to live underground, desperate to get well.
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