by Debra Diaz
Most amazing to him of all, money and other provisions were pouring in from the North, and prayers went up daily from her churches. North and South were becoming united in a way they hadn’t been since the beginning of the century. Ethan had heard more than one person remark they would never say another bad thing about a Yankee.
At last these thoughts stopped racing through his mind, and he fell into a restless sleep...
* * * *
Genny climbed up into the wagon and Tobe clucked at the horse.
“Do you know how to get to Madam Annie’s?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
“Reckon I know where everything is, like I said.”
“What do you know about her?”
The man’s lower lip protruded. “Her house is famous, Miz Carey, but she kinda mysterious. Nobody knows much about her, although she’s been here a few years now. She done good for herself, smart business woman. She done the same thing the last time the fever came, shut down her business and went to nursin’. I hear she’s real good to folks, real kind.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that she’s sick,” Genny said. “Tobe, could you drive a little faster?”
He complied, but infinitesimally. They arrived at the aptly named “Mansion”, for the huge brick house looked almost like a hotel. Genny descended from the wagon, telling Tobe to wait for a few minutes and if she didn’t come back out, he could leave and return at the end of the day. She went up the walkway and entered the house, trembling, assailed with unexpected fear.
How would he react? What would he say?
A nun approached as she began making her way through the foyer. The furniture and carpet had been pushed against the walls to make room for pallets and cots; bare hooks dangled where portraits had once hung. Two marble statues had been discreetly draped with sheets. A mirror of dazzling proportions, reaching from the floor to the ten-foot ceiling and encased in a magnificent gilt frame, covered the wall opposite the entrance.
“I am Sister Lucilla,” the nun said. “May I help you?”
“I’m Mrs. Carey. I understand my husband is here.”
The nun looked faintly surprised. “Yes, Mrs. Carey. He’s sleeping at the moment. He didn’t rest at all last night.”
“What — what do you mean? He’s not sick, is he?”
“Oh, no. There are so many; he worked all night.”
“Of course I won’t disturb him. I’d like to help while I’m waiting, if I may.”
“Why, thank you. Do you have any experience?”
“Yes,” Genny answered, with a tired smile. “A little.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ethan slept through the morning and woke groggily. Declining to use the water tap in the kitchen, he walked down the narrow corridor and outside where he pumped water into a basin, his shirt slung over one shoulder. The pump was connected to a nearby cistern which was almost dry; it was a good thing that jugs of clean water were being shipped to the Citizen’s Relief Committee, along with food and other supplies. He splashed the warm water on his face, on which there was a two-days’ growth of beard, washed as best he could, and donned his shirt, tucking it into his waistband. He took a comb from his pocket, pulled it threw his damp hair, and went back inside.
“Madam” Annie’s house was by far superior to any of the other infirmaries he had seen, in cleanliness and in its general atmosphere of organization. He’d had to make few changes on his arrival; the medicines were all kept in a separate room, clearly labeled, and both the male and female nurses were neatly dressed and professional in manner. He now had them keeping charts on their patients, and he had arranged schedules for them so that some could sleep while others worked. He was adamant that they should get enough rest.
Two of the nurses were black women who had formerly served as maids here, and Annie’s other two servants still occupied their former positions as cook and laundress. The house had twelve bedrooms, six on the second floor and six on the third. It was, in fact, a palatial house — and the most famous brothel from New Orleans to Louisville.
The madam’s suite was on the first floor. Ethan had not seen her but a few times since his arrival, as she preferred to be attended by one of her “girls”; Lorena Meade was the only one who hadn’t left at the beginning of the epidemic. Ethan knew that Annie was in a very weakened condition, due to her constant and selfless nursing of others; he also knew that, because of this, she probably would not survive.
He knocked on the ornately carved door, and at a soft reply from within pushed it open and walked into the room. Lorena sat beside the large bed; though the room was spacious and airy the smell of the disease was strong here — some said it was like decaying flesh, others described it as like rotting hay. Annie Cook looked very small against the plump mattress. The room was swathed in expensive draperies. The paint and wallpaper looked new, for she had recently had the entire house refurbished.
Ethan walked over to the bed and took the flaccid wrist in his hand. The pulse was extremely slow. The woman’s blonde hair, streaked with silver, lay flat and dull against the pillow and her once striking features were pinched and sunken, her eyes closed. She didn’t stir as he sat down quietly in a chair near the other woman.
“How are you holding up, Miss Lorena?” he asked, looking at her intently in the dimmed light of the room.
Lorena Meade was a few years younger than Ethan and her employer, who were the same age, and like her employer she was a woman of fading beauty. Her statuesque figure was covered in an old, frayed dress and white apron.
“No convulsions today, Dr. Carey,” she answered, in a voice frail with fatigue, not seeming to realize he had inquired about herself. “I’ve followed your instructions with diligence, though Dr. Saunders taught us somewhat differently.” She lowered her voice and said, “But I’m afraid she is too weak.”
Ethan made no reply. It was the fourth day of Annie’s illness, and it was not a good sign that she was no better.
Also in similarity to the madam, Lorena had a genteel manner of speaking, though her accent was decidedly Louisianan, and Annie Cook had strived hard to have no accent at all.
“I’m sure that Dr. Saunders taught you well,” Ethan remarked. “He’s a good doctor, a friend of mine.”
“How is he?” the woman asked, lifting her eyes to meet his.
“He is recovering. I saw him yesterday.”
“Thank God.”
There was silence for a moment, then with a wan smile Lorena removed from her pocket a long sheet of paper folded in half. “She had this letter. It’s signed ‘From the Christian Women of Louisville’. She used to live there. Of course, they know her occupation. But they read in the newspaper about her opening her house to the sick. Listen to this part, Doctor: History may not record this good deed, for the good deeds of women seldom live after them; but every heart in the whole country responds with affectionate gratitude to the noble example you have set for Christian men and women.”
Lorena sighed and replaced the letter in her pocket. “Can you imagine? What fine ladies they must be — to forgive us for what we are!”
“Did she understand?” Ethan asked, in a strange voice. “Did you read it to her?”
“Yes. She understood.” Lorena added, without looking at him, “I’m going to change, Dr. Carey. I’m not returning to my old life. I’m going home when this is over.”
Ethan had heard such proclamations before, during other epidemics, but for some reason he believed her.
“I’ve heard from others of the care you’ve given the sick,” he replied. “You have earned respect here, Miss Lorena, as surely as she has. It was good of the ladies to thank Annie, but I don’t think they meant to sit in judgment and offer forgiveness. Doesn’t the Bible say we’re all sinners?”
Lorena seemed to think that over, but said, “Annie told me, between bouts of sickness — the day you came, that she knows you.”
“Yes. I’ve met her once or twice. I used t
o come to Memphis fairly often. I had a friend who lived here.”
“So she said. Of course, she had other business interests.” Lorena was trying not to look curious. Ethan nodded but made no reply.
Lorena leaned back in her chair. “I probably know her better than anyone else, yet I know so little. Her beauty and kindness are famous here, but her past is such a mystery. How could someone like her…end up this way?”
“Sometimes,” Ethan said slowly, “things happen to people when they are very young, that they cannot overcome. And it sets the course of their lives, whether for good or ill. Yet the choice is theirs. Annie chose this life. But I don’t think she was happy in it.”
“No.” Lorena shook her head. “There was a great sadness in her. Except when she was nursing. It seemed then that she came alive, and her eyes shone with purpose.”
Another moment passed in silence, and then she whispered, “Why do I speak as if she’s already gone, Dr. Carey? I think I’ve known from the beginning. She had no desire to go on living.”
Ethan stood up. There was no use trying to reassure the woman, whose face was wet with tears. He put his hand on her arm. “Send for me if there’s any change.”
She nodded, touching his hand lightly with her own, her head lowered.
Ethan stepped back into the hallway. Annie’s elegant furniture had been pushed against the walls, the fine carpets had been rolled up and stacked on top of the furniture. Upstairs, the sumptuous mattresses and bedsteads had been removed, and on every floor were as many army cots as could be crammed. Only the kitchen and corridors had been left clear, so that he could consult with the nurses and other doctors who might come by to help.
The smell of coffee drew him through the vast dining room and into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup, drank it quickly (it was lukewarm) and went back into the main hall, where he had a full view of the front parlor. He stopped, not believing his eyes.
Two cots away, Genny knelt beside a small child, holding his hand, her own head bowed, her lips moving as she said a prayer with him. He saw her tears, and suspected they were the first completely unselfish tears she’d ever shed.
For some reason, a rush of intense humility came over him, overpowering even his astonishment at seeing her. His mind raced, and he could think of no reason why she should be here. Bitterness, happiness, hope, despair … all somehow tore through him at once, but neither his face nor his demeanor revealed the surge of conflicting emotions.
As if feeling his gaze, she looked up. Their eyes met, hers wide and surprised, his cool and with brows drawn slightly together. She released the limp hand from within her own and stood up, stepping toward him.
Just at that moment, a commotion erupted at the end of the room and a short, balding man came running toward Ethan.
“Doctor, please come! My wife is sick — we have no medicine. I have been to the headquarters of the Howards and they have no doctors now. They said I could find you here. Please come!”
Genny had reached Ethan’s side. He nodded at her, then turned his attention to the man. “How long has your wife been ill?”
“Three days, sir. She has been very sick. Someone stole my carriage, and I cannot bring her.”
“Where do you live?”
“I will show you.”
“All right, I’ll come.” He looked inquiringly at Genny.
She said, “Let me come, too.”
He nodded, leading the way through the corridor to the side of the house, where an open buggy already stood hitched to two fine-looking stallions. These, too, were the madam’s donations.
The man clambered at once into the back, leaving Genny and Ethan to sit in the front. Ethan shook out the reins and they started out at a brisk pace.
“What is your name, sir?” Ethan asked, over his shoulder.
“It’s Johnson, sir — Luther Johnson.”
“Mr. Johnson, I’m Doctor Carey and this is my wife. We’ll do everything we can.”
“Yes, sir. Please hurry. Turn at the next street.”
The buggy rushed smoothly on. Ethan asked, in a low voice, “What are you doing here?”
Oh, dear, this was not the way she had planned to tell him. She had thought it out so carefully. She would be wearing a beautiful, or at least, clean gown… her hair scented, or at least washed; they would be sitting calmly in a candlelit room. Certainly, this setting was not desirable, clothed as she was in a faded, sweat-stained dress, her hair damp and untidy, clattering very fast down the street with a strange man babbling incoherently behind them.
“I — I wanted to talk to you.”
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
“Turn here, turn left!” cried the man, and Ethan turned sharply, nearly upsetting the buggy. Genny clutched at his arm, which he placed around her waist to steady her. Then he withdrew it.
“Here we are — it’s the brown house,” said Mr. Johnson excitedly.
Ethan stopped in front of the small house. Five children, ranging in age from about five to thirteen, stood in the hallway and stared at them with huge, solemn eyes.
“Mr. Johnson, ask the children to go outside.”
“You heard the doctor, children, now run along.”
The man led the way into a tiny room made even smaller by the presence of Mrs. Johnson, a very obese woman who filled up the bed upon which she lay. She seemed to be asleep. A blonde braid stretched along each side of her inert body to her waist.
Ethan had left his medical bag in the madam’s buggy, but there was no need for it. He felt the woman’s wrist and pushed back her eyelids. He pressed his ear against her ample bosom; he opened her mouth and peered inside.
“Has she been vomiting?” he asked her wide-eyed husband, who stood in the doorway.
Mr. Johnson nodded vehemently. “Tell me the truth, Doctor. Is it the fever?”
“Yes, Mr. Johnson, I’m afraid it is. I can take her with me, or try to find a nurse to come here.”
“The house is so small, and the children are afraid. I don’t want them to see her … is she going to die, Doctor?”
“I’ve seen worse cases, Mr. Johnson, but I just don’t know.”
“I — I think a hospital is best.”
“Can you help me carry her to the buggy?”
The man’s eyes grew wider. “But she is very heavy, Doctor!”
“I think we can manage. I should have brought a stretcher. Perhaps you should wake her and tell her what we’re going to do.”
“All right, I will speak to her. She speaks no English, only German. Mutter — ”
The man said something in German, shaking his wife’s shoulders. Her eyes fluttered open. A long conversation ensued; she looked from Ethan to Genny and back to Ethan. Finally she gave a nod.
“She says it is all right,” said Mr. Johnson, with an air of relief.
“Keep that blanket wrapped around her,” Ethan said. “I’ll pick her up and you take her legs.”
Ethan stepped to the bed, caught Mrs. Johnson under the arms, and pulled. She didn’t budge. He said something under his breath that made Genny think it was a good thing Mrs. Johnson spoke no English. He tried again. A look of strain crossed his face as he utilized all his strength, his powerful legs braced against the great weight of the woman. She began to slide from the bed, whimpering a little. Genny ran to hold the front door open as the two men maneuvered their burden carefully through the doorway.
In a few minutes they had Mrs. Johnson comfortably ensconced in the back of the buggy. Ethan patted her arm and smiled reassuringly at her. She nodded again and closed her eyes.
“I’d like to see the children before I leave,” Ethan told Mr. Johnson. As he washed his hands they were rounded up, and he examined each of them. He turned to Mr. Johnson, frowning a little. “Do you have any food?”
“We haven’t had much. With my wife sick, I haven’t been able to get out.”
“I’ll have some food sent over.”
Genny said, “I
’ll stay here with the children until Mr. Johnson comes back. Why don’t you send my driver here? He can bring the food. He’ll be there soon to get me, at Madam — that house. His name is Tobe.”
There was, for the first time in days, a flicker of amusement in the gray eyes. “Someday you must tell me how you managed to find a driver in this wreck and ruin. See you later, Genny.”
The two men left with the sick woman, and Genny went inside. The housekeeping had obviously been neglected for several days. She spent the rest of the afternoon sweeping, dusting, washing dishes and mopping floors. The oldest girl tried to help, but suddenly sat down and burst into tears. Genny called the children together and explained to them that their mother had to go to the hospital so the doctors and nurses could take care of her, and the doctors would know all the right things to do. Her words seemed to calm them.
Tobe arrived with the food. Together they made a thick beef and vegetable stew, and a large skillet of cornbread. It was the first time in her life she’d ever cooked a meal. Tobe helped her cut up the vegetables, instructed her in the use of seasonings, and taught her how to make the cornbread.
Mr. Johnson came back later in the evening, announcing with tired jubilation that his wife seemed to be feeling better. He thanked Genny and Tobe profusely.
Genny walked wearily outside. Again, the awful silence was intermittently broken by the sounds of hoof beats, scampering feet, the creaking of the death wagons. A vague feeling of apprehension came over her. She climbed quickly up into the wagon.
“Hurry, Tobe, it’s almost dark. Let’s go back to the hotel.”
Tobe slapped the reins, and they proceeded slowly down the street. By the time they reached Main it was completely dark; down its length only one light shone, in front of a saloon. When they passed it there were no voices or music coming from within, but a dark figure stood outside on the wood pavement and seemed to stare at them as they went by. Genny hugged her arms, looking warily from side to side. She jumped when a dog ran at them from the shadows, emaciated and covered with mange. He snapped half-heartedly at Genny and slunk back into the darkness.