Place of Peace

by Debra Diaz

  “Did they try the Howards?”

  “They are so pressed they had to put us on a waiting list, and the situation is dire, sir.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Genny said at once.

  “There’s no need. You’ve been on your feet since daybreak. Stay here and sleep, Genny. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  “What about me, sir?” asked Tobe, his tired, wrinkled face full of pity. “Mebbe I can help.”

  “I’ll find help if we need it, Tobe. I’d rather you stay here, and make sure that Genny gets safely to our room.”

  “Yes, sir, Dr. Carey.”

  Not caring that others watched, Genny pressed her lips to Ethan’s and whispered, “Please take care. Please come back to me.”

  He smiled at her, put his hand on her cheek, and said, “I’ll be back.” Then he got down from the wagon and swung her down beside him. He kissed her again. “Goodnight, Genny.”

  Tobe descended to stand nearby as Ethan climbed into the driver’s seat. The red-haired man had to stretch his short legs to get in beside him. Ethan turned the horse and the wagon went clattering up the street, the lantern light growing smaller and dimmer. Genny watched it for a long time, her face troubled, and scratched absently at a mosquito bite on her arm.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  When the two men arrived at the house, a petite young woman in a nun’s habit met them at the door. “I am Sister Ruth,” she said quietly, her pleasant face calm beneath a white cap and black veil, her expressive eyes serene. “The pastor was called away … he is with the Presbyterian Church down the street, and I was passing by. He asked me to wait here until you came, but I cannot leave now. She is almost gone.”

  The house stank abominably, not only of death but of disease; it was enough to make the most stouthearted want to flee. Ethan introduced himself to the nun and followed her into the dimly lit bedroom where the long, thin figure of a woman lay on the bed, covered with blankets and completely still, as though she were in a coma. Her face was highly flushed. Ethan lifted her eyelids and felt the pulse at her throat.

  “Yes,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  “Yesterday she wept all day,” said Mr. O’Keefe, behind them. “She wept for her children and her husband. And then she seemed not to care anymore. She spoke, but not of them.”

  “It is a strange thing — this indifference,” said Sister Ruth. “It seems to go along with the disease. Not everyone exhibits it, but many do.”

  “She suffered greatly. The nurse had cleaned everything up before she … died.”

  “Where is the child, Sister?” Ethan asked. “The one who just died?”

  “In the adjoining room, with the nurse. I have prepared them for their burial.”

  “And the other two?”

  “In a bedroom down the hall,” answered the nun. “The pastor had already prepared their bodies, but it’s been three days now. This disease…it seems to accelerate the rate of decomposition, somehow.”

  Ethan gazed at the dying woman. They were speaking too low for her to hear, though he doubted she was cognizant of anything. “I’ll get the undertakers. Will you have her ready?”

  “Yes, Doctor.” The nun looked into his eyes, and her serenity nettled him somehow. He went into the adjoining room and looked down at the little girl with brown curls; she was five years old at the most. Her skin was yellow and drawn tight across her face. She wore a clean blue dress and her hands were folded across her waist.

  On another bed lay the stout figure of the nurse, her uniform showing signs of a patchy scrubbing. Her hair had been neatly combed and pinned, and her hands, too, were folded. Several candles were burning on top of the dresser.

  Ethan turned, having heard Mr. O’Keefe follow him. “Do you know who she is?”

  “No, I believe she is from Mobile. One of those who came here to help. She has a Howard’s badge.”

  “They’ll want her, then, but we’ll get her a coffin. Show me the other two.”

  Ethan barely glanced at the bloated bodies of the father and young son. He went outside to the wagon and took deep breaths of the less polluted air. The moon still shone brightly, casting everything in a whitish glow.

  There were undertakers on Main and Second Streets, but he’d heard of another one, slightly less reputable, on the west side of Poplar. It was much closer, and he was there within ten minutes. The man lived in rooms above his establishment. Ethan knocked on the door, with no answer. He kept knocking and finally pounded; he was growing angrier by the minute, with the old anger he thought he had conquered.

  At last the door opened a crack. “We’re closed,” came a whiny voice from within.

  Ethan managed to get first his fingers and then his foot inside the door, and thrust it open. A man of medium height with bushy blond hair and a large hooked nose stared back at him.

  “Now you’re open. You must be Mr. Gartner, according to your sign. I’m here about the Prentiss family.”

  “I told that preacher I’m too busy. Besides, we’re on our last shipment of coffins.”

  “Oh? Are they reserved?”

  “Reserved…” The man gaped at him. “Of course not.”

  “Then what difference does it make if it’s your last shipment?”

  “I – look, Mister, it’s after hours. You’d better leave and come back tomorrow.”

  “I’m busy tomorrow. Do you have five coffins, Mr. Gartner? I’ll pay double what they cost if you’ll help us out, and if you’ll take one body over to the Howard office in your hearse.”

  A face appeared behind him, illuminated by the glow of a candle. “We’ll do it,” came a firm, woman’s voice.

  Mr. Gartner gave a resigned shrug. “Very well. We can load the coffins onto your wagon, and I’ll follow you.”

  The coffins were cheaply made and not heavy. The men loaded them easily and Ethan drove off, followed by Mr. Gartner driving his black hearse. Ethan noticed that in a nearby lot men had obviously been digging around the clock, and were even now shoveling out great trenches to hold the innumerable coffins stacked all around the edges of the graveyard. Fires burned at intervals, in spite of the heat, and great lanterns were scattered about. It was surreal, and unsettling. One day soon he might be inside one of those wooden boxes.

  Ethan and the undertaker, with the help of Mr. O’Keefe, placed the bodies in the coffins, and loaded the coffins back onto the wagon. Mr. Gartner drove away with the body of the nurse in his coach. When they reached the graveyard two of the workmen approached them without a word and slid the coffins out and lowered them to the ground.

  “You needn’t stay, Dr. Carey,” said Mr. O’Keefe. “I’ll see that they are properly buried.”

  “The certificates, the records – ” Ethan began, and stopped. He was so tired he wasn’t thinking straight. “We must report this to the Board of Health.”

  “We’ll see to it, and we’ll come to you for any signatures we need. They were members of our church, but our cemetery is full. We would like to reimburse you for the coffins.”

  “No. Save the money for some other poor souls, Mr. O’Keefe. I’ll go and take Sister Ruth to … wherever she belongs.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. Thank you …” The small man broke off and turned away.

  When Ethan returned to the house, the nun was waiting for him on the porch. He got down and walked toward her; she stood unmoving except for the turning of her black-veiled head as she looked around her.

  “An ordinary house,” she said softly. “An ordinary family. Do you think they had any inkling, a week ago, of what was going to befall them?”

  Ethan didn’t answer. He could have said they weren’t the only ones; it was happening all over the city. But she already knew that. He inclined his head and waited for her to walk toward the wagon, then he assisted her into the front seat, got in beside her and picked up the reins.

  “Where shall I take you, Sister?”

  “St. Mary’s Episcopal. Tur
n right onto Poplar.”

  “I know where it is.”

  They rode for a while in silence. Ethan thought she must be sweltering in her robe, made of some coarse black cloth. Besides the white cap and veil, she wore a white collar and cuffs, and a cross on a long chain. But she didn’t seem uncomfortable, nor was her silence awkward. Finally he said, “I was very sorry to hear about Sister Constance. I worked with her for a couple of days when I first arrived. She was one of the most remarkable women I’ve ever known.”

  “Yes,” said Sister Ruth. “She was.”

  “I hear you’ve lost several priests. Do you have a rector now?”

  “We have Reverend Dalzell, from Shreveport. He is a fine man, very good-hearted.”

  “Tell me, Sister,” Ethan said slowly, “What do you think of all this? I was here five years ago during the last outbreak, and though it was bad it was nothing like this. I’ve never seen anything like this … it’s as if all the fiends of hell have been loosed on this place. The suffering, the sheer number of victims. They’re dying not just by the hundreds, but by the thousands. I was in the war, Sister Ruth, and as bad as that was, it wasn’t like this.”

  “You tell me,” she said, looking at him very keenly, “what you have seen.”

  A moment went by; he didn’t want to speak of it, he didn’t want to remember. But then as if compelled, he told her.

  “I’ve walked into a house where a dead mother sat with her dead baby at her breast, both of them covered with black vomit, the floor and the very walls covered with it. I’ve seen the bodies of people who had nowhere to go, and no one to help them, who crawled under buildings and park benches to die. I’ve seen a dead woman half eaten by rats. I could go on, Sister Ruth, and tell you things even more horrible than these. And you have seen the same things. From where do you get your strength, and the peace I see in your face?”

  “You know the answer to that, Dr. Carey.”

  “From your faith, from God, you mean.”

  “We are here to do the work God has given us to do. The things that I choose to remember are not those you have described. Instead I think of those who have come from other places, like that nurse, to make the ultimate sacrifice … out of sheer selflessness and caring for others. Who could be more like our Lord? And yourself, Dr. Carey? Are you not here to help others?”

  “I’m a doctor. It is my duty.”

  “You did not have to come here. It is a terrifying place, where one might meet a terrible fate. Husbands have left their sick wives and even some parents their sick children. I heard about a man who had left his wife; he had escaped to one of the camps outside the city. Someone came to see him and told him his wife was in a bad way and he needed to go to her. The man said, ‘I can’t go, I have my dog here. Who will take care of my dog?’”

  “And such things don’t make you cynical?” Ethan asked.

  “Why should they? It simply shows the fallen nature of man. It shows how badly we need a Savior. Tell me, Dr. Carey, do you blame God for what is happening here?”

  Ethan hesitated, and finally answered, gazing straight ahead into the silvery night. “Something my wife said recently… opened my eyes. I’d been blaming God for things, accusing him of being uncaring and unjust, all the while knowing he could not be those things. That such things were not…in him.”

  “Just as darkness is the absence of light, Dr. Carey, evil is the absence of goodness. God didn’t create evil, he is simply absent from it. But he can definitely shine his light into the darkness. And he has done that here.”

  “That doesn’t explain why he allows such things to happen.”

  “It would take a wiser person than myself to answer that question, sir. But remember what our Lord said. That in this world we would have tribulation, but fear not, for he has overcome the world.”

  Ethan made no comment. He turned and looked at her. “I suppose you’ve heard of Annie Cook? She died today.”

  “Oh, I am sorry to hear that. I know that she was a great help to so many.”

  “She redeemed herself a dozen times over.”

  This time the nun turned her head to look at him. “No, she could never redeem herself, Doctor, no matter what she did, no matter how many lives she saved. I think you know, there is only one who could do that, if she trusted in him.”

  He met her eyes, reluctantly admiring what he saw in them, and thinking — with a stab of guilt — that she reminded him of Valerie. “You, too, are a remarkable woman, Sister Ruth.”

  She laughed at that, although wearily. “Not at all, Dr. Carey. Believe me.”

  They had drawn up to the small cathedral, a wooden, Gothic-style building with a great spire ascending into the black, star-dotted sky. Ethan stepped down to help the nun, looking intently into her face.

  “Are you well, Sister?”

  After a moment she shook her head. “No, not well. But it’s not the fever, I’m sure. I’m just tired. As we all are. The children…we’re in charge of an orphanage, you know. There are so many orphans now! And we’ve had trouble with one of the big boys.”

  “If you ever need me, please don’t hesitate to let me know. I’m staying at the Peabody.”

  “I will, Dr. Carey. Thank you. God bless you, Doctor.”

  He watched as she slipped inside the door of the sanctuary, and disappeared.

  * * * *

  The days advanced in a kind of warped reality where all the horrors and all the suffering became the normal way of things. Genny accompanied Ethan every day to the “Mansion”, famous now for another reason; the editor of the Memphis Appeal had eloquently extolled to the world the virtues of Madam Annie.

  Her husband, Genny discovered, had different beliefs and a different method of treating the fever than most other doctors. She had observed in the city hospital that the nurses were instructed to make their patients sweat copiously, to purge them with enemas and castor oil (and sometimes leeches), and when they were recovering to ply them with small amounts of champagne or whiskey.

  Ethan had his own remedies, things he had brought with him or for which he placed special orders by telegraph and were brought on the supply train. Powder made from Echinacea root and leaves, bakers yeast, bicarbonate of soda, lemon and honey … these things he mixed separately, in water or in orange-leaf tea, and gave it in small amounts every one or two hours. He also insisted on quiet; he would not allow his patients to be disturbed by friends or family members. Those with high temperatures were sponged with whiskey and ice. When they began to feel better he would not allow them to get up, for so many thought they were well, rose up, tried to eat a large meal, then within hours or days they were dead. He said there should be a convalescence of at least two to three weeks, during which time they were to rest and either drink liquids or eat very light foods.

  He told Genny he didn’t know if these “remedies” actually helped, or if it was just the suggestion, the idea, that the patients were being treated with special medicines that brought about their recovery. He placed a great deal of emphasis on having a positive attitude toward the patients, and always encouraged them to believe they were going to get well.

  In fact, few of his patients died; most of those who did were either tired and run down when they took ill, or panic-stricken that they had the disease. Also, few of them experienced the vomiting of blood that was common among the worst cases. Genny followed his instructions hour after hour, day after day; they both worked until they could hardly stand up, in spite of their resolve to get enough rest. Ethan was often called out to help in private homes or to tend to someone who had fallen in the street.

  On the nights they went back early to the hotel Ethan met with other doctors, and they sat discussing what they had seen and learned, writing notes, keeping records. Once they went to Dr. Mitchell’s laboratory and looked at slides; a few of them performed autopsies, trying to discover exactly what the disease did to the human body. One night the group of men met in their room and Genny listened to th
e talk; she heard words she couldn’t even pronounce, much less grasp the meaning of. There were disagreements about the cause of the fever and whether or not it was contagious, but they were all very much in earnest about discovering its origin … and a cure.

  She didn’t mind these meetings; they were necessary, they were important. She had a strong sense of living through a momentous time in history. And she was happy, she was at peace, in spite of what seemed like the world falling apart, in spite of the harrowing and heartbreaking scenes she witnessed.

  One particular day dawned clear and cool with a slight easterly breeze. But in spite of the fine weather an even greater pall seemed to hover upon the city, like a dark, invisible blanket. The oppression grew until it was a tangible thing; doctors and nurses paused and looked at each other, brows furrowed, eyes questioning. It was a terrible day that seeped into a terrible night. When it was over, from daybreak to daybreak, more than two hundred people were dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  A sense of disbelief was the first thing Genny felt. This could not be happening. If she pretended it wasn’t happening…but no, that wouldn’t work. That wouldn’t make her symptoms go away. Why, she thought, why …?

  Ethan had left earlier that morning. She hadn’t told him she didn’t feel well; she thought she was only tired. They’d both been tired and drained after yesterday, with its almost diabolical atmosphere. She had said, if he didn’t mind walking, that she’d follow later with Tobe. And she’d had every intention of doing so. But now she knew she wouldn’t be going anywhere today.