by Debra Diaz
“No, Genny. He agreed to be her physician. She had her baby the day before yesterday. She is the ‘Mrs. Hudson’ he mentioned. There was nothing between them. I promise you.”
Now it was Genny’s turn to sit down. A long moment of silence went by. She felt drained, exhausted, and utterly stupid.
“What should I do?” she asked helplessly.
Valerie closed her eyes for a moment, sighed, and looked at Genny. “Ethan is no saint, but he wouldn’t have married you if he were — seeing that woman. You must know that, or you don’t know him at all. Do you love him?”
Genny answered, almost inaudibly, “I suppose if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have cared so much.”
“Then you must find out where he went and go to him. Did he — perhaps leave you a note?”
Genny stood up uncertainly. “I haven’t looked. Maybe in the study — ”
They went into the study. Though both of them searched through the desk, they found no note from Ethan. Genny hadn’t expected to. But Valerie picked up what appeared to be a letter, half buried under several days’ worth of newspapers. She read silently for a moment, then said, “Genny, listen. This is a letter from some doctor in Memphis.” She read aloud:
“…How can I describe what is happening here? Greater suffering cannot be imagined. So many doctors are dying as well; there is a critical shortage of nurses. Ethan, do not heed the letter I sent last week asking you to come. I must now plead that you do not come and expose yourself to this plague…I have buried half a dozen of the best doctors and cannot stand to bury any more…”
Valerie stopped, her voice trailing off, and the women stared at each other, half in horror, half in hope. “He’s been wanting to go,” Valerie said. “He had some things he wanted to see to before he left, and he wanted to arrange for someone else to take his patients. We can inquire about him at the station.”
“But, Valerie, I — I can’t go to Memphis! I’ve never had yellow fever. Has Ethan?”
“I don’t think so. Genny, listen to me. Ethan has gone away believing that you don’t love him. He may never come back. You must decide now if you can live with that for the rest of your life.”
“I could write him a letter!”
“You know very well a letter might never reach him. You could try a telegram — although the papers did say the telegraph operators were sick…”
Genny sat down, giving in to the weakness in her legs. “Why are you saying these things to me, Valerie? Why are you trying to help me? I never thought that you liked me very much.”
After a pause, Valerie replied, “You are Ethan’s wife, Genny. I don’t want anything to happen to you. But neither do I want Ethan to be in that place…alone. If you don’t go after him, I will.”
Genny frowned, again struck by an unexpected realization. “I’d forgotten it until now, but something Geoff said…Does Ethan know you’re in love with him?”
Valerie gave her a slow smile. “Whatever he may guess, he has kept to himself. As he should, because he doesn’t love me, Genny. He loves you. And if I go to Memphis, it will be as a friend, not as someone seeking to take your place.”
“He loved me,” Genny corrected. “Now, I don’t know how he feels.”
“He feels angry, and frustrated and betrayed. And not just by you. As for his loving you…maybe, just maybe, it’s not too late.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
She could smell the stench of death even before the train screeched into the Memphis station…dead animals, rotting wood pavements, garbage and stagnant water…all the accumulated filth of a dying city. She had read about it, heard it talked about, but experiencing it almost overwhelmed her senses.
Most trains stopped at least half a mile away to discharge and take on passengers, but this was a supply train, and its crew had already had yellow fever. It had been chartered by someone in Memphis to bring supplies from Nashville; Genny had been forced to ask some of Ethan’s influential friends to pull strings with the superintendent of the rail line to even get her on the train.
She’d seen through the window the army tents thrown up outside the city for those who had nowhere to go, the grounds teeming with refugees. Many had looked up to stare at the train with desolate faces.
Standing at the depot, Genny felt as if she’d wandered into some alien world. There was no one to meet the train, no one in the office, no coaches or cabs waiting to be hired; a single omnibus bearing the words Patterson Transportation Company stood some distance away, but with no horses attached. She had a ticket for that omnibus line, but little good would it do her.
A deserted wagon also stood nearby, filled with some white, chalky substance with shovels sticking out of it; the street before her was half covered with it. It was as though the workers had all grown tired or fearful or even ill, and had wandered away, never to return.
Two men began hurriedly unloading crates and boxes, looking as though they couldn’t wait to re-board the train and leave this eerie place behind. Shaking, Genny walked through the deserted station and out the front door. Her trunk remained on the platform. She hadn’t counted on this; she had never been to Memphis before and had no idea where to go or what to do.
She held her scented handkerchief forcefully against her nose and turned slowly about in all directions. She caught sight of an elderly black man, sitting on a bench in front of a building across the street. There was another man a little further down, sitting on another bench, drinking something covered in a brown paper bag. She made her way toward the first man, crossing the empty street, but stopped as she heard an ominous rumble from around the corner.
A large wagon drawn by six horses came into view. The driver wore a kerchief over his face. As it passed, she saw that it was piled up with corpses, arms and legs flung helter-skelter underneath a flap of dark green canvas.
Genny stood transfixed, staring in horror after the death wagon, and tried to take regular, shallow breaths. She noticed the old man watching her, and she approached him with hesitation.
“Excuse me. Do you know where I can find a hotel?”
The man peered up at her with small, watery eyes, his face stubbed with a grizzled beard that matched his thinning gray hair. He was a small, thin man, dressed in ill-fitting clothes. His cheek stuck out, full of tobacco.
“Ain’t no hotels open now, ma’am, that I know of,” he answered. “Ceptin’ the Peabody, I reckon. I got a wagon round back.”
“Will you take me there? I’ll pay you.”
The man rose slowly, as if every movement was agony to his old bones, and disappeared around the corner of the building. She had begun to think he wasn’t coming back when he reappeared, driving a dilapidated wagon pulled by a decrepit horse.
“I left my trunk on the platform. I think both of us could manage it.”
He turned his head and spat out a stream of tobacco juice. Then he got down from the seat and ambled toward the station. Genny followed him, with the man who was drinking from the hidden bottle staring after them, expressionless. She felt decidedly uneasy.
Using the handles on the sides, they each lifted a side of the trunk and carried it back through the station house and to the wagon, where they managed with difficulty to raise and slide it into the back. He got back in the driver’s seat and she climbed up beside him. They set forth at a plodding pace.
“I’m Mrs. Virginia Carey. What’s your name?”
“Name’s Tobe, ma’am.”
She noticed he was missing a front tooth. “Tobe, have you seen anything of a tall, dark-haired man, a doctor, in the past couple of days?”
“No’m.” The man shook his head sorrowfully. “I seen some white men, but they was workers. And what folks is left around here is scared to come out their house.”
“What do you mean? Do you have any work?”
“No’m. The man I work for, Mister Reilly, him and his family done run off to Mississippi. This wagon belongs to him, but he ain’t never comin’ back. Every mornin
’ they hand out victuals and such at the Citizen’s Relief Committee.” He pronounced the name of the committee with special care. “Reckon I’d be dead ‘cept for the Citizen’s Relief Committee.”
“Well, Tobe,” said Genny, “I may need a driver for a couple of days, or longer. Would you like to work for me? I’ll pay you wages, as well as room and board at the hotel.”
Tobe turned his mournful gaze toward her. “I reckon I will, ma’am. Lots of folks don’t mind standin’ in line over there all mornin’ and afternoon, but I’d just as rather have somethin’ to do.”
“Who stands in line? I thought there was nobody here but sick people, and doctors and nurses.”
“What folks was too pore to leave. Folks like me.”
“Who is running the hotel? How far is it?”
“That be Colonel Galloway. He got two boys workin’ for him. And one or two porters, mebbe. Cook’s still there. The rest of the staff done gone like everybody else. And it ain’t far, corner of Monroe and Main.”
“I see.” Genny looked around, struck by the absolute stillness, the absence of any movement or noise, of any traffic common to cities — mules pulling carts or drays, buggies and carriages, horses, barking dogs, people milling about in the streets. There wasn’t even a waft of smoke from a kitchen chimney. The windows of many of the houses had boards nailed over them. The shuffling steps of the horse and the clatter of their own wagon wheels made a hollow echo, the only sounds to be heard. Tobe deftly avoided sinkholes and bits of the rotted wooden pavement that had somehow ended up in the street.
The unpleasant smells were still strong, but it seemed as though she were getting used to them. She caught sight of someone dashing around a corner, heard the quick scamper of footsteps, and then silence once more.
“What was that?” she cried in alarm.
“He likely just lookin’ for a doctor, ma’am. Doctors ain’t easy to find, and they is usually too busy to go home with somebody.”
“But what on earth was he wearing?”
“Oh, they wear rags soaked in turpentine on their faces, and hang a bag of herbs round their necks to keep from breathin’ the air. Some of ‘em wear garlic, too, and mustard, and even put it in their shoes. They’s tryin’ to ward off whatever makes you sick. The city people turn on the gas lights, without lightin’ ‘em, just to put out some fumes, and they fire the cannons up on the riverbank to clear the air, so they say.”
“My husband doesn’t believe the disease is carried in the air,” Genny said.
“That so?” was Tobe’s laconic reply.
They passed through a more prosperous residential section and Genny had to admire the beautiful houses; some even had smoke coming from the chimneys. Why would anyone have a fire in this oppressive heat, she wondered, then realized that that too must be some sort of way to ward off the fever. The business offices also were beautifully built, but empty, their windows blank and staring. They passed a pleasant park that Tobe said was Court Square, and it was as deserted as every other place, with its borders of cypress and cedar trees and its long promenades edged with unkempt beds of roses, lilies, violets and geraniums … all drooping for lack of water.
“Usually lots of folks there,” Tobe said, breaking the silence. “People walkin’, and bootblacks and childrun sellin’ newspapers.”
It was like a ghost town, Genny thought. Somewhere there were people … the sick, those who took care of them, and those who had no means of leaving. But at this hour, late in the evening, no one was about and she silently thanked God for Tobe. She might not know anything about him, but he was a good driver.
They arrived at the imposing Peabody Hotel, five stories high with rows of long narrow windows, its name ornately inscribed on a sign between two canopies that flanked the front entrance. Genny alighted from the wagon and handed Tobe a few bills. “You’d better put the horse and wagon in a safe place. I’ll tell Mr. Galloway you’re working for me and ask him to give you a place to stay.”
“Much obliged, ma’am.” The vehicle and driver plodded out of sight.
The moment she stepped inside the hotel, she almost gagged. Here was another offensive smell, and she saw its source immediately. Something had been set to burning in pans throughout the hallways.
She coughed and dabbed at her watering eyes.
“I’m sorry about that,” said a deep voice at her elbow, and she turned to see a tired-looking, gray-haired man standing behind her. “It’s the sulphur. You see — ”
“Yes, I understand,” she said, attempting to smile. “Are you Mr. Galloway?”
“No, madam, I am Mr. Latimer, his assistant. Mr. Galloway has been working very hard in order to keep the hotel open, and I’m afraid he’s not feeling well.”
“Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that. I would like a room, Mr. Latimer. How much is it?”
“Four dollars a day, ma’am, for a room and meals. Extra if you use the gas, and the fireplace. Some of our guests want to keep fires burning, even in this heat. Please step this way.”
She followed him into the lobby, where she had to stop and stare. It was huge and magnificently appointed, with highly polished tables and deep-cushioned chairs, lavish draperies pulled back from high, paned windows, and numerous decorative sconces on the walls. An enclosed staircase ascended to a mezzanine framed entirely by a carved railing and supported by great square pillars. A massive candelabra hung from the ceiling, and arched doorways opened into darkened areas beyond her view.
She thought there was altogether too much wood and scrollwork; it was so vast that she felt lost and curiously oppressed. She told herself to stop gawking like a ninny who had never seen a fine hotel — though this one was certainly different from any she’d ever seen. Mr. Latimer was pushing a thick register toward her.
“Please sign your name. Do you know how long you’ll be staying?”
“I’m not sure. Not long.”
“You are not a nurse, are you, madam?”
Genny stopped, surprised by the question. “No. I’m looking for my husband, Dr. Ethan Carey. Do you know him?”
The man shook his head. “He’s not registered here. Check with the Howard Association. They’re on Madison Street. The next street over.”
“I’m sorry – what is the Howard Association, sir?”
“They are a group of businessmen who formed an organization to help in this crisis. Accountants, attorneys, store clerks, and many others….they supply funds and bring in doctors and nurses, organize things. They are invaluable, if I may say so.”
“I see. How many hospitals are there?”
“There are the regular hospitals and some schools and churches have been turned into infirmaries, and I believe some of the warehouses are being used…but your husband should not be too difficult to find, ma’am, because there are not that many doctors.”
“Thank you, Mr. Latimer. By the way, I have a driver who needs a place to stay. He has my trunk. Will you take care of him for me?”
“Certainly, Mrs. Carey. I’ll find someone to show you to your room. I’m afraid we have a very limited staff at present…”
“That’s quite all right.”
“Please feel free to look around.” The man disappeared through one of the arched doorways.
Genny walked aimlessly about the lobby, then ventured into the corridors and spied the empty saloon, which smelled faintly of cigar smoke even over the sulphur; she peeked into the ballroom with its vast tiled floor, vaulted ceiling and immense chandelier. All the chairs were pushed against the walls as though waiting for a waltz to begin.
She was making her way back to the lobby when she saw Mr. Latimer walking toward her. “Excuse me, madam, I can’t find anyone else just now — won’t you come this way?”
She followed him up a flight of stairs, noticing again that he looked tired and ill. He stopped at a great wooden door and turned a key in the lock. “Did you see the restaurant, Mrs. Carey? In better times we are known for our excellent food,
though now we are down to one cook and one baker. I can’t offer you anything like our famous venison and cranberry sauce, but we do have good substantial meals.”
“Thank you, Mr. Latimer.”
He handed her the key, told her to let him know if she needed anything at all, and left with a bow. Genny felt uneasily conscious of the supreme emptiness of the hotel; she didn’t see a single other person. The chamber was spacious and well furnished, with a separate sitting area and an enormous, four poster bed; it was made of mahogany and the bedposts were nearly as large as her own body. The sumptuous covers and pillows seemed to beckon and she couldn’t wait to crawl into it. The room, however, was greatly in need of dusting and airing. She threw open one of the windows, knowing anyone would think she was crazy for doing so.
Tobe and a porter who introduced himself as Roy brought her trunk and deposited it in her room.
“Do I look dead to you, ma’am?” Roy asked, with a big grin.
“Why, no…”
“Paper had my name on the list — said I died of the fever, but they was wrong ‘cause here I am!”
“Well, I’m very glad for you, Roy,” Genny said, unable to resist a smile as he went jauntily down the hall.
Tobe said, “I got a room in the basement, Miz Carey. Right nice room, too. What time you want me to drive you in the mornin’?”
“Have you got a watch?”
“No’m.”
“Well, here, take mine. There’s a clock on the mantle. Can you be ready at seven?”
“Ain’t no need to give me your watch, Miz Carey — just so somebody can say I stole it.”
“Why, nobody is going to accuse you of stealing my watch, Tobe. I wouldn’t let them!”
“All the same, I got my own way of tellin’ time. I’ll be waitin’.”
* * * *
It was nearly eight in the evening. She didn’t feel hungry, and decided to skip supper and go to bed so she could get an early start in the morning. The water closets and bathing chambers were at the end of the hall on each floor. She was sure they were usually attended by maids or porters, but the halls were empty and she decided to make use of the large basin in her room rather than traipse up and down the deserted corridor.