Veritas

by Quinn Coleridge

  “You okay?” Davis asks, patting my shoulder. He gives my arm a shake, and I nod in response.

  Titus enters the room, picks me up, and carries me to the Pit. I hear Faust upstairs, stamping into the staff quarters for women. He slams through a door, and Matron lets out a shriek of surprise. Before she can utter a word, Faust strikes her. He hits the woman repeatedly, and I listen to each blow.

  “Please, stop,” she begs. “What have I done, darling?”

  Faust abandons his lover without a word.

  I cannot feel victorious over my involvement in this. I close my eyes and strange dreams come—images of the people in Faust’s Book. Stuck in limbo, they do not rage like Maude Lambson, appearing dramatically when I least expect it. But they haunt me nonetheless. Like a sorrowful Greek chorus, they prophesy of doom from their little corner of my mind.

  Promising to drive me mad if I fail them.

  “Everyone’s scared to death because of the murder.”

  Davis sits with me in the Pit, sharing Ironwood gossip as I eat the leftovers in his dinner pail. He mentions the murder while I chew a piece of gingerbread, and I choke on a wayward crumb. For a moment, I worry that Matron Latham was fatally injured during her encounter with Faust and that I will burn in hell for causing the fight.

  Davis slaps my back a few times to dislodge the crumb. “It was a new nurse. Margaret Hotchkiss, I think. Titus says Lazarus strangled her to death.”

  Although the whole asylum calls my friend Lazarus, I never shall. He is indeed Gabriel, like his namesake, and Titus is wrong. The man who saved me from Harry Swinton would never kill a woman.

  “Oh, and you’re being moved to the Unresponsive Unit in Ward E,” Davis adds. “With everyone else being catatonic, Faust thinks that you won’t be able to cause trouble in there. They need the Pit for Lazarus since he broke the door on his cell upstairs.”

  I don’t like the idea of Gabriel living in this horrible place. Taking up my pencil and paper, I write Davis a note.

  CAN I VISIT MARGARET? IS HER BODY STILL HERE?

  “What?” he asks. “I could get fired for helping you do that.”

  I erase the words and write a quickly formulated excuse. MUST PAY HOMAGE TO HER. RELIGIOUS CUSTOM AMONG FEMALES.

  “Never guessed you for a churchgoer.”

  Davis mutters for a while before telling me what I wish to know. “She’s laid out in an examination room nearby. They’re taking her to the funeral home tomorrow.”

  He is obviously giving me the once-over, so I try my hardest to look pious, like an Ironwood Joan of Arc. Perhaps he has noticed his womenfolk visiting dead acquaintances in the past, and this small coincidence gives enough validity to my request for him to consider granting it. Regardless of his reasoning, Davis finally relents.

  “They’ll hold a trial in a month or so, but it’s always a sham. Poor Lazarus is as good as hanged.” Davis pauses briefly, and I hold my breath, hoping he hasn’t changed his mind. “I’ll come to the Unresponsive Ward at midnight to get you, but your religious thing for Miss Hotchkiss better be quick.”

  He walks up the stairs, empty dinner pail rattling. “This goes to prove that you’re trouble in any ward you’re transferred to, catatonic neighbors or not.”

  I rather enjoy this quip—Davis delivers it with such wry warmth.

  Thank you, I sign. Thank you. Thank you.

  “Right,” he replies. “That’s what you always say.”

  Davis closes the lid quickly, once I indicate that I must use the chamber bucket. I accomplish the repugnant task, slip my writing tools into my boot, and remove Mama’s jewelry from the hiding place in the table, stowing it again in the secret pocket of my drawers.

  My friend then opens the lid again and escorts me to the laundry room where Anna is slaving away. I go to work beside her, but there isn’t an opportunity to learn more about Margaret Hotchkiss until we stop at noon to eat. We sit at our table in the corner of the dining hall, and I take the envelope and pencil from my boot and write.

  A NURSE WAS KILLED?

  Anna reads my message, erases it. I cringe when the precious paper tears. “I liked her,” she says. “Margaret was a nice girl.”

  She scoots a bit closer. “Lazarus was found dragging the body down the hall. Her limbs had locked up.”

  Rigor mortis? She’d been dead for a while then.

  The old woman seems puzzled by the crime. “I could imagine Lazarus killing somebody. Just not Margaret.”

  WHY? I write.

  “Because he was sweet on her. She had him wrapped around her finger without even trying. Must have been one of them crimes of passion.”

  Regardless of what others think, I know he didn’t do it. I must work fast though and gather what information I can to pardon him. If not, then Davis is correct. Gabriel is good as hanged.

  Isabelle has hauled wood for hours by the time Anna and I join her. The mother-to-be drops the kindling once we arrive and reveals that she’s in labor. “Can’t have him now,” Isabelle moans. “Too early.”

  Anna laughs at this. “Early or not, the baby thinks he’s right on time. Take that other arm, Hester, and we’ll get her to the doctor.”

  Isabelle pulls away. “Won’t you do it, Anna?”

  “Be sensible, child. I’ve delivered calves, foals, and a woman or two, but I’m no midwife.”

  “I don’t care. I want you. The nurses will just take the baby from me.”

  “Not for a few weeks, Izzie. You’ll have him until he goes to the orphanage. You’ve seen it happen a dozen times.”

  “It’s different when the child’s yours.”

  The old woman grinds her teeth. “Even if you keep him, you can’t leave until Faust is repaid—for your room and board over the last few months. And with you earning pennies a day, it’ll take years to work off that sum. Add a baby and interest to your balance—it’s doubled again.”

  We begin walking toward the asylum, and Isabelle starts to weep.

  “Do you really want him raised here?” Anna asks. “An orphanage is the lesser of two evils.”

  The entire situation sickens me. I cannot allow this to happen to Isabelle and her baby. And what good is having a diamond ring in your drawers if you don’t use it? I pull out the pencil and paper and scribble a question.

  HOW MUCH?

  “To pay Isabelle’s rent?” Anna asks. “They charged the last girl thirty dollars. Took four years ’til she was free of Faust. I’d count on thirty at least.”

  I write as quickly as I can, and Anna reads my message aloud. “Will sell the diamonds. More than enough.”

  The laboring mother bursts into tears again. “Oh, Hester…”

  “It just might work,” Anna says. “My people in Denver could sponsor Isabelle so Faust can’t keep her here on the grounds of future vagrancy. You could stay with them, child, until you get back on your feet.” She steps lively after this, and Isabelle and I make an effort to keep up. “Come on. We’ll go in the west entrance. There’s a room there, behind the laundry. It’s small, but I reckon we’ll have enough hot water for washing and clean linen.”

  Davis opens the asylum door. He must have guessed our predicament in a glance because he obeys Anna’s orders without question—checking the hallway is clear, raiding the drying racks for a few clean quilts, and keeping watch outside the improvised birthing chamber.

  Isabelle stretches out on the bed we throw together, and I kneel nearby, holding her sweaty hand in mine. Blood-scented air flows over us as Anna checks her progress and gasps.

  “Don’t know why I’m even here, Izzie. You’ve done most of the work already. This baby’s ready to come out.”

  As a new life is pushed into the world, I have a vision of a dark-haired baby perched on my lap. We sit on a rocker in the garden of a brick row house. “I love you, Ollie,” I whisper, smiling at the little one.

  “It’s a girl!” Anna exclaims, tearing my attention away from the vision and grounding me to earth.


  Anna wraps the baby up and hands her to Isabelle. Soft infant breathing and a tiny hiccup. Isabelle counts ten fingers and ten toes. Wiping my wet eyes, I feel almost new again. To think mere diamonds are valued above this.

  “What’ll you call her, sweetheart?” Anna asks.

  Isabelle sniffles a bit. “My mother’s name is—”

  Olive.

  Our euphoria over Ollie’s birth is nearly ruined by Hershel Watts. Even though he rode into Ironwood City, sold Mama’s wedding set, and made it back to the asylum by suppertime. Greed makes haste, I suppose. Unfortunately, it also breeds deceit. The guard has pocketed an extra ten dollars, money that rightfully belongs to Isabelle and her baby.

  Curse that ungrateful, lying schemer.

  Standing beside me on the covered porch, Anna pulls out a new envelope from her pocket, and tears it in half. “There’s nothing on the back, Hester, and nobody should recognize the color either. Plain white.”

  I smile and take the paper rectangle. Anna keeps watch as I put my tiny nub of a pencil to work.

  MR. WATTS,

  LEAVE THE FORTY DOLLARS UNDER THE COPY OF OEDIPUS IN FAUST’S LIBRARY. ONE HOUR, NO LATER. DON’T THINK OF STEALING FROM ME AGAIN. THAT GUNSLINGER AT THE SALOON IN TOWN IS STILL LOOKING TO BREAK YOUR CHEATING NECK. GOOD THING HE DOESN’T KNOW YOUR ADDRESS ON CHERRY CREEK. I’D HATE TO LOSE YOU HERSHEL, I HAVE LOTS MORE TO TRADE.

  I would never turn Watts over to the gunslinger—I need him too much. But maybe this note will remind the guard to stay on the straight and narrow. He does, in fact, owe a substantial amount to that fellow in town. On his days off, it’s said that Watts hides in his house by the creek, afraid the man will find him.

  Anna enters the asylum quietly, slips inside the guard’s sleeping quarters and puts the note in Hershel’s supper pail. “Staff eats in ten,” she says, returning a few minutes later. “He’ll read it on the sly, and then we’ll see what he does.”

  Crossing my arms, I imagine leaving this horrible place. It’s a pity I cannot send all of the inmates home. Many patients here require supervision, however, to prevent them from hurting themselves or others. They need genuine care—not experimentation, neglect, or torment—and once I get out, I hope to help them.

  But I must free Isabelle, Anna, and Gabriel before I go, and I cannot escape without the Book. So much to do, so many at risk.

  26

  Quod me nutrit me destruit.

  What nourishes me also destroys me.

  The Unresponsive Unit isn’t nearly as tranquil as Davis led me to believe. While oblivious to their surroundings, most of my fellow patients are far from quiet. I sit on my bed and listen as they groan, snore, and gasp. Tuning out the noisy patients, I concentrate on the night crew patrolling the other wards. Asylum staff is much smaller in the wee hours. I hope this will make things easier for Davis and me.

  He arrives when the clock chimes midnight. “All set?” I nod and he puts my hand on his shoulder. “Follow as quietly as you can.”

  As we make the trip to the basement, I hear Roy talking to himself just around the corner. I tap Davis’s shoulder in alarm and he pulls us into the stairwell to the basement before the other guard starts down the hall.

  “How’d you know he was there? I didn’t hear a thing.”

  Smiling, I shrug in response as we take the stairs to the lower floor. As luck would have it, there is a problem waiting in the basement. Titus is patrolling the area near the Pit and blocks the path leading to Margaret Hotchkiss.

  “Hide in that nook under the stairs,” Davis whispers. “It’s dark, and you won’t be seen. I’ll get rid of him.”

  He opens the door to the stairwell and walks forward to greet Titus. “Slow night?”

  “Sure is,” Titus replies.

  “I’m sick of the main floor. You want to trade for a while?”

  “Sorry, Davis. Can’t muck things up now that I’m head guard.”

  “What’s to muck up? It’s the same job.”

  Titus has received an advancement? Was it based on his high standards of cruelty? And Faust must have given him a raise along with the new position because his boot heel no longer squeaks. He’s either bought another pair or at least waxed the old ones. Now if only he would bathe…

  A chill begins at my toes and moves upward, running the length of my spine to my neck and face. I’ve felt His constant presence at the asylum, but there has been no direct contact between us. He is not my Death, not the Reaper I usually work with, but one of His brothers. I climb out from my hiding place under the stairs and stand.

  It’s good to see you, Sir.

  Death seems surprised, as though He expected me to be more intelligent than my comment would imply. Few would agree, Visionary, but then you wear my brother’s kiss. Do not think I will always spare you. His protection will not last forever.

  Your generosity is greatly appreciated, but may I ask a question?

  I am working. Would you make me late?

  This Death is more imperious and career-oriented than most. Nevertheless, I press on. Who killed Margaret Hotchkiss?

  The space around me warms as He draws away, melting through the walls with a whisper. That is for you to discover.

  Blast. How uncooperative.

  Davis opens the door and walks into the stairwell. “Sorry. Titus isn’t budging. I can’t help you, after all.”

  Double blast!

  We sneak back to the Unresponsive Unit, and I thank Davis before we part. But I am no closer to solving Margaret’s death than I was an hour ago.

  Noah Kelly sits on his horse, arguing with Titus in the courtyard. Their conversation is public domain due to its sheer volume. Standing at a second-story window, I am agitated and sick, trembling with fever and nausea. The blanket I wear about my shoulders falls to the ground. I leave it there, and listen to the exchange below.

  “If you don’t step aside,” Kelly says, “I’ll move you myself.”

  “You’ll be shot if you do,” Titus replies. “We’re quarantined with measles. Have been for two weeks. I told you that the last time you came.”

  “I’m a physician, you imbecile. Let me enter and be of service.”

  “Faust said, ‘No one in or out until the ban is lifted.’”

  But Kelly wouldn’t be Kelly if he let it go at that. “I want to see my wife. Immediately. If this fails to happen, I will bring charges against you, Faust, and this institution.”

  We are indeed married now, thanks to a civil service with Cordelia standing as my proxy. While there’s no ring on my finger, Kelly did buy one. He just can’t enter the asylum to give it to me due to the measles outbreak. I wasn’t even aware our marriage had taken place until Kelly notified Faust of it, coming to the asylum and showing the other doctor the license. All it did was enrage Faust.

  I’ll never be free of him. Not until one of us is dead.

  Kelly dismounts his horse and approaches Titus. “Get out of the way.”

  I feel his anger escalate. Even at this distance, it could melt an iceberg. Abandoning the window, I walk toward my ward, palm sliding along the cool wall. Kelly continues to fight with Titus for some time, but leaves eventually, promising retribution if I am damaged in any way.

  Tears hang about my eyelashes, and I brush them off with the back of my hand. What Kelly doesn’t know could fill an ocean. I am already damaged goods.

  Ward E sounds like it always does, gasping and groaning, and I crawl under the blankets on my bed. Usually I can ignore the noises made by my unit mates, but I find them intolerable now. It has been two days since my last session with Faust, and I know exactly what is wrong with me. And it isn’t the measles. I’ve grown dependent upon his special mixture of drugs. If I weren’t so miserable, I’d think it was funny.

  What I once loathed, I now embrace.

  Davis leads me into the treatment room, and I climb upon the bed meekly as a lamb, obediently holding my wrists out for the cuffs.

  “Sorry,�
� he says, as demoralized by his duties as always. “Faust should be here soon.”

  Not soon enough.

  “Did you know the storm’s passed? That’s good news. I saw blue sky this morning.”

  I nod, aware that Davis is trying to comfort me with optimistic chatter, but I turn my face to the wall. In my hunger for the needle, my senses are jumbled and distorted. I cannot trust them. At first, I believe Faust is beside me and then I grow distressed, thinking I hear him leave the asylum. But both impressions are wrong. I gain clarity for a moment and realize he is speaking to Matron in the office next door. She’s writing something down for the doctor.

  “Send a telegram to Miss Honeycutt,” he says. “Say that we’re expecting her in two days.”

  “Consider it done,” Matron replies.

  “And don’t mention the quarantine. Our ban was lifted days ago.”

  “Of course.”

  Faust fiddles with something on his desk. “Doctor Kelly is unaware of that fact, and let’s keep it so, Harriet. I won’t allow him to interrupt my sessions with Miss Grayson.”

  Matron opens the door a crack. “It’s said he has powerful friends. I’ve heard talk of an injunction.”

  “Idle gossip, my dear. Make certain you send the telegram.”

  “First thing in the morning.”

  Details grow confusing once more, until I feel the hard metal pricking my skin, the sweet heat in my arm. Euphoria and physical relief follow as the narcotic flows through me. I can function for another forty-eight hours if this dose is like the last.

  “Good afternoon, pet,” Faust says, untying the cord at my elbow. “You’ve missed me, I see.”