Place of Peace

by Debra Diaz

  “Afternoon, ma’am,” he drawled, picking up the reins.

  “Good afternoon, Tobe.” Genny eyed him ruefully. “To the hotel, please — and no backtalk this time or I might just have to fire you.”

  “Yes’m,” he agreed, so enthusiastically that she was forced to smile.

  Stifling heat filled her room. Genny opened the window, then stripped off her clothes and kicked them outside the door to be taken up and washed. She indulged in a lengthy bath, washed her hair, and slipped on a robe. Then she rang for one of the bellboys.

  “I’ll be having supper up here but I don’t know when. I’m expecting my husband. Just have it ready by six and keep it hot. I’ll ring for it. And ask your mother to wash my things again, will you? Wait — ” She took some bills from her reticule and pressed them into his hand.

  “Yes, ma’am, Miz Carey, thank you, ma’am. We got pot roast and potatoes and gravy and biscuits tonight.”

  “That sounds wonderful. Thank you.” For a moment she thought how strange it was to be giving orders as if she were on a vacation and horrible things were not happening all around her. Well, life goes on, she thought…but for how long? Why, that young boy … anybody in the hotel … could be sick or dead by this time tomorrow!

  The stuffiness and smell in the room gradually began to dissipate. Genny lay down across the bed, instantly falling asleep. When she awakened, the room had grown much dimmer, and, thankfully, cooler. Groping for her watch, she saw that it was almost six o’clock. Ethan would be here any minute!

  She got up and washed her face again, brushed her teeth, then sat at the window and brush-dried her hair. She dug around in her valise, fished out some cologne, and dashed it on her throat and wrists. She put on a dress she knew Ethan liked…the blue one she’d worn the night they met. Pulling her hair back from her face with combs, she decided to let the rest hang about her shoulders.

  Genny was so nervous she couldn’t sit still. No sooner had she sat down than she got up and straightened the room. She fidgeted with her hair and wondered if she looked pale. The moments ticked by, and Ethan didn’t come. An hour passed, seeming to stretch on forever. Perhaps he wasn’t coming…perhaps he’d never intended to come at all. She lit the lamp and stared at it, mesmerized.

  A sound drifted to her from somewhere, low and yet very clear, and hauntingly familiar. Someone had picked up a violin and was playing a waltz, slowly and with an almost melancholy air. Genny remembered when she and Ethan had danced together to that very piece…wasn’t it The Vienna Blood Waltz? She would never hear a Strauss waltz without thinking of him.

  It’s a sign, she thought, but then…a sign of what?

  A knock on the door startled her. She leaped out of her chair and stood beside it.

  “Come in.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The door swung inward. Ethan stepped into the room and closed it behind him. Genny’s gaze went over him, from his clean-shaven face and neatly-brushed hair to his fresh white shirt and down the length of his black-clad legs. She took a deep breath and said in a low voice, “Hello, Ethan.”

  “Hello, Genny. I’m sorry I’m late. I was called out — a man shot himself cleaning his gun.”

  “It’s all right. I had them wait supper. Are you hungry?”

  He gave a slow nod, looking as if he weren’t quite sure how to react to her apparent friendliness.

  Genny rang the bell and set about lighting the candles on the table. There was another knock on the door and the bellboy, grinning at what he apparently believed to be a romantic rendezvous, brought in the food and left. Still without words, Ethan seated her in a chair and sat down opposite her. A cool breeze from the window set the candles to flickering, causing their shadows to dance on the wall.

  Genny sipped her water. “I can’t believe it’s September already.”

  He smiled crookedly. “I’ve lost track of time, too.”

  He ate with a good appetite, but Genny had to force herself. She commented on the weather, she told him how she’d found Tobe and how helpful he’d been, all the time wondering how she would broach the subject of why she’d come, and what exactly she would say to him.

  Ethan listened courteously, nodded, asked how Valerie was. He even asked about Geoff, not seeming at all acrimonious toward him. When they were finished, he set the dishes outside in the hall, closed the door, and turned to look at her.

  She nodded to indicate an armchair and said, “Will you sit there?”

  “Genny — ”

  “Please, Ethan. There’s something I must say to you.”

  But before he could move someone pounded on the door, causing Genny to jump nearly out of her skin. Ethan opened the door. A man stood in the hallway, middle-aged, his hat as lopsided as his collar and a bottle of whiskey tucked so tenderly in his arm it might have been a pet.

  “Scuse me,” he said, in a slurred voice. “I’m lookin’ for my wife.”

  “She isn’t here,” Ethan said.

  “Well, how do I know that?” the man asked belligerently, taking a step forward. “How do I know she ain’t hidin’ under your bed, Mister?”

  “Your wife is not under the bed. But if she were, I could hardly blame her.”

  The man’s brows went up, then drew together. “I don’t think I like your incinderation, sir. If you think I’m going to let that pass — ”

  “You have the wrong room,” Ethan said, and closed the door. He laughed softly and looked at Genny, who stood wide-eyed and was too flustered to see any humor in the situation. His face sobered, and he was about to speak when another loud knock came on the door. He jerked it open.

  Tobe took a step backward, his eyes as wide as Genny’s. “Lawd have mercy, Doctor Carey! I didn’t know you was here. I was goin’ to make sure Miz Carey was all right and settled in. Just saw a man in the hall, drunk as Cootie Brown.”

  “Thank you, Tobe. I’ll be here, for a while. Why don’t you stop and tell the manager about the man you saw — something ought to be done about him. I feel sorry for his wife if he finds her.”

  “All right, all right. Good night, sir.”

  “Goodnight, Tobe.”

  Ethan shut the door and locked it, then turned. “I’m sorry, Genny. What were you saying?”

  She tried to swallow but her throat was dry. “Please sit — there.”

  He did as she requested. She pulled another chair close to him, looked into his eyes, and with her heart pounding, began.

  “Ethan, the day that Caroline Adams came to our house, I was about to go downstairs, and I saw you walk with her to the door. I knew who she was. I heard your conversation and I saw…a kiss. From that moment on I believed you’d married me…oh, I don’t know, for social reasons or something, and that Caroline was your mistress. I was too proud to confront you, and too hurt to go on being your wife.”

  He said nothing, watching her.

  “It was stupid of me. I don’t know why I jumped to that conclusion, or why I didn’t just tell you — oh, it was stupid. I was a child. I took what I’d seen and overheard, and in my mind I painted a picture of you that wasn’t true. I believed you were something that…you were not. I should have known better, because I know you. In my heart I should have known that such deceit was not in you.”

  Genny had left her chair and was kneeling beside him. She took his hands where they rested over the arms of the chair and whispered, tears streaming down her face, “I don’t deserve it, but will you forgive me, Ethan? Can you forgive me?”

  She paused and forced out the words, the first time she’d ever spoken them to anyone. “I do love you, Ethan.”

  Ethan looked into her eyes and saw in them complete honesty and sincerity and remorse.

  His heart lifted, for the second time that day, and he let his own hands close over hers. “I suppose Valerie must have told you why she was really there.”

  Genny nodded.

  “So, you think ‘such deceit’ was not in me?”

  She
became very still. “I know it isn’t.”

  It seemed that time, too, stood still. Somehow she had thought it would take a long time to tell him, to explain, but now she had said all she could think to say. And still he just sat there looking at her in a faintly surprised way, as if he had just had a revelation of some kind and it didn’t all have to do with her. She bowed her head, and her forehead touched the top of one of his hands. At last he spoke, his voice rough with emotion.

  “Genny, I need to ask your forgiveness. No, I haven’t been unfaithful to you, dear. But I haven’t been the husband I should have been. I wouldn’t be much of a man to hold this against you, when I look back at my own behavior.” She felt him touch her hair. “I want to apologize for the other night, when I attacked you. I wasn’t myself. Or maybe I was. I once made you a very nice speech about how I respected women. And then to do that, knowing how Malone had treated you … I could see how scared you were. I’m truly sorry, Genny.”

  She lifted her head to look into his eyes. “I don’t think I was afraid of you. I was afraid of myself, because in spite of what I believed, I still wanted you. It was all so senseless, Ethan, such a waste of precious time!”

  He stood up, and drew her slowly to her feet. “But Genny,” he whispered, “I have loved you through it all.”

  * * * *

  That night, no one else existed. There was no sickness, no tragedy unfolding before them. Strange noises, the booming of the cannons and the flare of things burning in the street went unnoticed. But sometime in the night they did hear something … the unknown violinist, who inexplicably at that hour chose to play a piece by the Russian composer, Tchaikovsky. They had to laugh at so unlikely an occurrence, then they lay close and still and listened to it. “Actually,” Ethan said, “it’s his piano concerto.” But the violin drew out the music slowly, majestically, and Genny felt she could touch the stars…

  Dawn came too soon, and with it reality and a sense of urgency, the expectation of horrors and dangers yet to be faced. But somehow Genny didn’t mind, for they would always come back to this room; the days belonged to the sick, but every night would belong to them. Before they left the room Ethan pulled her close against him and held her for a long time, his head bent over hers, not saying anything…it was as though he were giving her comfort, strength and courage, for whatever lay ahead.

  The main dining room, like the rest of the hotel, had massive arched doorways; there were dozens of small tables covered in fine white cloths, with each of the tables set with two, handsomely carved chairs. Only a few patrons were scattered here and there when Ethan and Genny entered, and each looked up almost eagerly to nod a greeting, as if seeking assurance that there were other people here, that the day could in fact be a normal day …until the sound of someone sobbing swept along the corridors and into the room.

  When they had finished eating a light breakfast and were drinking coffee, Ethan looked at her and said, “Genny, I want you to go home.”

  She answered at once, “I can’t.”

  “You’re not acclimated — that is, you’ve never had yellow fever, have you?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve seen what a horrible and terrifying thing it is.”

  “Ethan, I will not leave you here, and even if … Ethan, you of all people know what it’s like for someone to look into your eyes and beg you for help. How can you say no, how can you bear their despair and disappointment if you tell them you can’t come just now? I know I’m only one person, but there are hundreds all around us who would give everything they own to be helped by just one person. Even someone, like me, who isn’t a real nurse.”

  “I understand your feelings, Genny, but — ”

  “Don’t ask me to leave!”

  He saw that it was useless, and said finally, “Very well. I knew you would feel this way. But will you promise me you’ll do two things — eat enough to keep up your strength, and get enough rest. It’s those who let themselves get into a weakened condition that fare the worst.”

  “I will make that promise if you will do the same.”

  He smiled. “That was stupid of me, wasn’t it? I withdraw the request. You’ve seen what it’s like. There will be times we won’t know when one day ends and another begins. But please be careful. As I’ve said, I don’t believe it is contagious from person to person, so you needn’t be afraid of your patients. There is some other method of transmittal, and yet it attacks whole families, whole districts…”

  “When will it end, Ethan?”

  “It always ends with the first frost of the season. It’s as if the cold kills whatever thing it is that floats or carries it. The thing that breeds it. And I still think it’s got something to do with stagnant water and filth.”

  “Well, everything’s covered with lime and carbolic acid, they’re always hosing down the streets … what else is there to do?”

  “It’s too late. The clean-up should have been done much sooner. The city officials are to blame, and the people, too. This is one of the filthiest places I’ve ever seen, but all that will change now. Next year things will be different. There may still be a small outbreak but not because there weren’t improvements made. Genny, I’d like to stay here, even after it’s all over, for a while. I could rent rooms and have a practice here in the hotel. At least long enough to add my voice to Dr. Mitchell’s and all those who are trying to make people realize what needs to be done. Can you understand that?”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I don’t mind staying here, for a while. If there is a city left.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “How right you are. If there is a city left.”

  * * * *

  It was the eleventh day of September. Tobe drove them to Annie’s, and Ethan sent him to assist with burials in a nearby cemetery. He went reluctantly, not because he didn’t wish to help but because he only half believed Ethan’s assurances that he could not catch the disease from touching the coffins.

  They’d no sooner arrived when Ethan was called to one of the infirmaries to perform a Caesarean operation on a dying mother; Genny accompanied him, and when they returned they found that Annie had died. She didn’t follow him into the room when he went and looked at Annie; she only saw his face when he came out, giving her cause to wonder how well he had known the renowned madam. He and Lorena held a low-voiced discussion, making arrangements for the removal of the body; the newspaper was to be notified; she was to be buried at Elmwood.

  It was an unusually hectic day; two male patients became delirious and had to be restrained, thus putting nearby patients into a state of excitement and apprehension. And, too, Annie’s death was upsetting to those who weren’t too sick to realize what had happened. It was nearly ten o’clock by the time they left.

  “Sorry you had to wait so long,” Ethan said, as their driver yawned and slapped the reins. It had rained a little yesterday and the day before; the rain was followed by much cooler temperatures. It was a fine night, with a breeze and a large, bright moon.

  “Don’t mind waitin’ — it’s a chance for me to get a rest,” said Tobe gloomily. “Too many things to do and all of ‘em sad. And I can’t leave the wagon cause somebody would steal it.”

  “Ethan,” Genny said, “why did they come and get you from the Howard Association this afternoon?”

  He answered, “There was a man there, a nurse, who claimed he knew me … well, let me start at the beginning. You know how some of these nurses, both men and women, don’t know what the blazes they’re doing, and some of them drink … quite a lot. This one was drunk and carrying on; he’d been rough with his patient at the infirmary on Market Street, and probably rude, too. The patient, sick as he was, wrote out a note, sealed it in an envelope and told him to take it back to the Howard office. The note said, ‘Kill this man.’”

  Genny stared for a moment and then began to laugh softly. Ethan did, too; they laughed until they could hardly breathe. Even Tobe guffawed heartily, until he realized how silen
t were the dark streets and how loud was his laughter. It was a much-needed release for all of them.

  Finally Ethan said, “It’s not really funny, is it? Anyway, they interrogated him and he said I had sent him there, that he knew me. I’ve never seen him before. He must have heard my name from somewhere and just used it. He wasn’t a Howard nurse after all, he’d stolen a badge. They sent him to jail for the time being … at least until he sobers up.”

  “I heard a good one,” said Tobe. (Genny noticed that he was a good deal more loquacious when Ethan was around.) “Friend of mine tole me he was the one that did it. A white man died, and he was a member of somethin’ — Shriners, I think, and his friend thought he ought to be buried in his Shriners clothes, so he tole the man’s servant to get ‘em out and dress the man in ‘em. Well, the servant looked and all he could find was some purple and velvet and spangles thing — turned out the man got buried in his Mardee Graw costume.”

  They were laughing again as they reached the front of the hotel. Unexpectedly, a man emerged from the darkness beneath the awning and approached the wagon. Genny shrank against Ethan, who put his arm around her.

  “Dr. Carey, is that you?”

  “Yes.” Ethan peered at the man in the light from the large, kerosene lantern that sat next to Tobe. “Who are you?”

  “My name’s O’Keefe. I’ve been helping one of the pastors. There’s a family out on Alabama Street that needs help, sir. Not two miles from here. The pastor said you were a man who could get things done.”

  “What’s the trouble?”

  The short, wiry man, his hair glowing red in the lamplight, threw a concerned glance at Genny.

  “You can speak in front of my wife. She’s a nurse.”

  “It’s a matter of getting the undertakers to come out, sir. The father and one of the children have been dead for three days. The other child just breathed her last, and the mother is dying. Their nurse collapsed and died yesterday, right there in the bedroom. Don’t know where the death wagons are … other places, I guess. The nurse hadn’t been able to get anyone to come get the bodies, and the pastor tried today … they sent back and said they were too busy, to get some colored folk to help. Well, there’s no help to be had, sir, they’re all scared to go in the house. Can’t say I blame ‘em. And the smell, and there lies the poor mother…” The man broke off, unable to go on. “Please come, Dr. Carey.”