A White Room

by Stephanie Carroll

  “Mrs. Dorr?” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Daniel Nelson,” Lottie said.

  I knew the name, but from where? Then I remembered. “Nelson as in the Nelsons who used to live here?”

  “I’m pleased to finally meet you.” He pushed his dark hair from his left eyebrow and stuck out his hand to shake.

  I glanced at his hand. It wasn’t the usual etiquette to shake hands or was it in this situation? I wasn’t sure of the usual etiquette or if I cared. I took his hand in mine.

  “I hear you live in my old house.…Funny.” He didn’t release my hand right away but continued shaking it as he spoke.

  “Funny?”

  “Seeing that you’ve picked up right where my family left off.…Maybe it’s the house.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, dropped his hand.

  “He’s here for Annie,” Lottie said.

  I folded my arms. “Pardon me?”

  “Annie,” she said.

  “My father received a wire from Mrs. Williams.” He pulled a sheet of folded tan paper from his pocket.

  “Your father? Your father did that?”

  “Yes.” His eyes were steady.

  I shifted my weight.

  “Will you take me to Miss Williams?”

  I lifted my chin. “Our letter requested instructions or medicines. You don’t need to see her to do that.”

  “I think it’d be best if I examine her myself.”

  “Why would I let you do that?”

  “I am a physician.”

  “You?” I blinked and gave him a once over. “You’re too young to be a physician.”

  “I started young.”

  “We can trust him,” Lottie said.

  I hesitated. “My driver hasn’t returned.”

  “I have a buggy,” he said.

  Daniel gripped the reins and paid close attention to the horse. I stared at him until he shifted in his seat. “Is there something you want to say to me?”

  “I heard stories.”

  He returned his focus to the road. “What did you hear?”

  I raised my voice over the grinding of the buggy’s wheels on the dirt road and recounted a shortened version of what Margaret and Lottie had told me.

  When I finished, he nodded. “Some of that is true.”

  I waited, but he didn’t elaborate. “What happened after you left Labellum?”

  He kept his eyes on the road. “My father opened a practice in St. Louis.”

  “But it’s illegal?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Practicing medicine without a license.”

  “We are licensed. Always were.”

  “Wait—I thought…then why were you run out of town?”

  “We encouraged people without licenses to help one another with simple remedies. We offered cheap and even free medicine, encouraged midwives, and you can’t forget about those stories you heard.”

  “When—why did your father start doing…abortions?”

  “When you don’t always follow the rules, you get requests like that.”

  “I suppose, but that doesn’t mean you have to do it.”

  “If it was the lesser of two evils?”

  “It never is.”

  “I guess that depends on who you talk to.”

  I thought about things I had done, my father, the time with the dog—foaming at the mouth, strings of drool flying from its lips.

  “We only do it when there is a life at stake.”

  “But—” I stopped myself.

  “Yes?”

  “But you put her life at stake.”

  “And if we left her in her condition, she would never be able to live a respectable life. Her father would disown her. Mrs. Williams would either have to risk her child alone on the streets or abandon her own life to take care of Annie on the streets.”

  I raised my voice. “But she could die.”

  “I won’t let her die.” He glanced at me. “Sometimes doing the wrong thing is better than doing nothing…but I think you already know that.”

  When we arrived, Daniel jumped down and entered the home without knocking or hesitating as I’d done the first time I showed up. I followed him but by the time I got into the room, Francis was thanking him over and over.

  “Please.” He motioned for us to step out. “Mrs. Williams, you can remain.” He shut the door, and the light disappeared.

  Ella left the lamp in the room, but the open front door allowed some light into the empty room. We stood just outside the door.

  “How is she?” I asked.

  Ella refused to pry her eyes from the door. “I think her fever may have gone down a little.” She clenched her hands so hard that her knuckles were white.

  “Is she still bleeding?”

  “A little.”

  We stood there silent. I could hear Daniel, a low mumble behind the door, and then Francis, responding with one-or two-word answers. Ella’s face was taut. I fidgeted, wanting to say something, anything. I wanted to take her mind away from this or just fill the silence and calm my stomach. Nothing came to me. Eventually, I started to pace, but Ella just stood near the door, her hands clenched together in front of her.

  Finally, Daniel and Francis walked out. “There was a small laceration,” Daniel said. “It didn’t even need a stitch. It appears to be healing, but I treated her for infection.”

  “What does that mean?” Ella asked.

  “She is going to be fine. I’ve given Mrs. Williams instructions on how to continue.”

  “The fever?” I asked.

  “It’s breaking. It’s good that you were here for them, Mrs. Dorr. Your instructions saved Annie from some unnecessary pain and helped break the fever, I’m sure.”

  Francis and Ella sighed simultaneously. “Thank you.”

  “You can take her home if you wish. You can tell people she caught something on your trip.”

  Ella took his hand. “Dr. Nelson, thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “I’m glad to have helped. I’ll be in town for a few more days in case anything else happens.”

  And that was that. Simple. In less than twenty minutes, he had fixed everything, and we were back in the buggy returning to Lottie’s. I felt useless, pointless. What was I doing? I slumped. “It was good you came.” I sighed. “I couldn’t help them.”

  “That’s why there are physicians.” He gripped the reins.

  “It’s unfortunate that’s not the case for everyone.”

  He glanced over.

  I continued. “There aren’t doctors for everyone, for the poor or for Mrs. Williams’ daughter.”

  He kept his eyes forward. “I’m right here. I’m their doctor.”

  “Yes, but there isn’t one of you everywhere.”

  “There’s more than you think. Not all doctors are like the Bradbridges.”

  “Still.”

  “There are also people like you.”

  I shook my head. “I couldn’t help Annie. I can’t help everyone.”

  “But you help some.”

  I watched the greens and browns of the landscape pass. I help some, I thought. It made me feel a little better but not much. “Do you have somewhere to stay?” I asked.

  “I’ll be staying with Mrs. Schwab.”

  I pondered that. “I don’t believe there’s room.”

  He chuckled. “That’s all right. I don’t want anyone to know I’m in town. Plus, I grew up playing with her children. I haven’t seen Lucy in years.”

  “Are you two close?”

  He smirked at me. “She is the girl in the stories.”

  “What? What girl?”

  “The girl whose brother was ill.”

  “Lottie never—”

  “It wasn’t Lucy’s brother. It was her friend and Mrs. Schwab never knew.”

  “What really happened?”

  “His family could not afford a physician. I had assisted my father before and thought I knew
what I was doing.” He paused. “I was wrong.”

  “Yes?” A bump in the road made my voice rise.

  “The medicine I took from my father was the wrong kind. The boy had a bad reaction.”

  “Did he…die?”

  “No. We told my father and he knew what to do.”

  “So it was all rumors?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Do tell.”

  “With all the commotion and panic, the news spread to Mr. Coddington, who used it to his advantage. My father’s fight was over, and it was my fault.”

  I swallowed. “You only did what you thought was right.”

  “The night we left, my mother and sister were asleep on the steamboat, and I tried to apologize to my father. That was the night he told me he was going to make me a physician. He said, ‘I should have known you’d do something like this. You’ve got the heart of a doctor. When you knew someone needed help, you didn’t hesitate.’”

  “You did it for Lucy.” My lips curled up slyly.

  He blushed. “Sometimes doing the wrong thing is better than doing nothing at all.”

  Twenty-Nine

  1892

  Forest Park

  St. Louis, Missouri

  Sunday strolls were my favorite. After church, my entire family would visit a nearby park. It was the only time my sisters, brother, and I could run around and play in our Sunday best. My mother and father walked or chatted nearby arm in arm as we played tag, Marco Polo, and make-believe games. One particular Sunday close to fall, that time of year when the leaves start to turn but it’s not quite cold yet, we could hear a few small chirps from nearby birds and a dog barking in the distance. It felt special because there were very few people in the park and my mother had packed a picnic basket with chipped beef, cheese, a loaf of sourdough bread, and apple dumplings.

  James was twelve, so I must have been around fourteen. Florence was eight, Lillian four, and Ruth hadn’t even been born. Lillian was the baby back then, hardly even a playmate. I remember James and I getting fed up with her when she didn’t play our games properly. On this day in the park, James and I were becoming infuriated with her. We had been attempting a game of hide-and-seek, and she kept giving away our location.

  “Here! Here! Here! We’re over here!” Lillian shouted from behind a short stone wall lining one of the park paths.

  “Lillian!” I shouted.

  Then Florence jumped around the wall. “I caught you! I caught you!”

  “Nuh-uh,” James said.

  “Not fair,” I said with hands on hips. “You cheated.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did too. Lillian showed you. That’s cheating.”

  “No it’s not. I caught you.”

  “No, you have to do it again,” I whined.

  “No, I caught you. It’s your turn.”

  “You’re still it,” I said. “Now take Lillian with you so she doesn’t give us away.”

  “No. No fair!”

  “Papa!”

  My mother and father had sat down at a bench and must have been telling each other jokes because Mama kept throwing her head back, all cheeks and teeth.

  My father called out cheerily, “Girls…and James, play nice.”

  I folded my arms and cocked my head at Florence with the kind of triumphant look only a big sister can give.

  “Fine, but I get two turns next.” She snatched Lillian’s hand and stomped off with her.

  James and I watched Florence and Lillian plop down in the middle of the grass. Florence covered Lillian’s eyes, shut her own, and counted out loud. “One,…two,…”

  James and I scurried toward a grove.

  “… nine,…ten,…eleven,…”

  “No, wait, over here.” I grabbed James’ wrist and pulled him behind a thick-trunked tree with peeling bark.

  “… thirteen,…fourteen,…”

  Although the tree was behind Florence and Lillian, we could see Mama and Papa from where we hid. My father gestured big and spoke softly to my mother, who tee-heed and giggled. I didn’t know it at the time, but they were still a young couple, their bodies still full of energy and their minds still fantasizing about the future. I remembered watching them and thinking I wanted that someday. Then my father stopped talking and stared at something. He said something and then said it louder and stood up. My mother shot up to stand next to him.

  That’s when Florence screamed.

  James and I darted around the tree to see a tawny dog galloping toward our sisters. It snarled and barked, drool dripping from its mouth in long white streams and its black eyes crazed.

  “Run! Run!” my father shouted and sprinted toward my sisters.

  Florence ran, but little Lillian didn’t move.

  “Lilly!” my mother screeched. Her hands were on her cheeks, and she was white with fear.

  My father reached Lillian just as the dog did. My father slid down and threw his body over her and then gave the dog a quick kick across the jaw. He scooped Lillian up and started to run with her.

  Unfazed, the dog shook, snarled, and started after them.

  “Run!” My father shouted as he ran toward James and me.

  The dog leapt and snatched my father by the back of his jacket, sending him flying back and Lillian tumbling forward. She rolled to a stop just in front of us, and James and I yanked her up and avoided the snarling dog and my grunting father wrestling with it.

  He dodged its snapping jaws repeatedly and swung around it while rising to one knee in an attempt to escape. It lunged for him, but he dodged it and slid back down on the ground.

  “Papa!” I screamed.

  The dog veered toward the three of us and started at a gallop. Its teeth clomped as it barked.

  My father quickly grabbed it by the hindquarters and dragged it away from us. It turned on him, and he tried kicking it away again and again, but it kept coming at him.

  Again he got behind it, only this time instead of trying to flee, he lunged onto the beast, wrapped his right arm under the neck and his left arm on top, pinned the animal and jerked his arms down and back, causing a great big snap. The snarling dog went limp, and my father fell on top of it. He panted there for a moment before finally rolling over and gasping for breath.

  The three of us ran to him. He saw us and moved away from the dog just in time to catch all three of us in one big hug. A moment later, Florence was on top of us and my mother just behind her.

  “Did it bite you? Did it bite you?” she demanded, frantic.

  “No.” He breathed heavily, still hugging us. He stood and squeezed my mother hard while we hugged his legs. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

  She clung to him. “I was so scared. Oh my God, Charles.”

  “I’m all right. The children are all right.”

  That night Mama and Papa let us all sleep in the same room, so we all cuddled up together, two to a bed. We wondered and whispered about the unknown until my father came in and sat on the bed Lillian and James shared.

  “Are you girls all right?” He patted my brother’s arm. “James, I know you’re a tough lad.”

  James brightened a little.

  “I’m tough, too,” I said and squeezed Florence around the waist.

  “Of course you are.” He smiled gingerly and lowered his gaze. “Lilly?”

  James spoke up. “She doesn’t understand why you hurt the dog.”

  We all stared.

  “It could have killed you.” He stroked Lillian’s hair. “It wanted to hurt us, all of us.”

  “Why did it want to hurt us?” I asked.

  “It was rabid. It had a disease. It didn’t know what it was doing.”

  “It didn’t know it wanted to hurt us?”

  “Something like that.”

  I knew Papa had saved us, but it seemed wrong to feel so happy when the dog’s neck had been cracked and it lay dead. “I still don’t understand—”

  “Thou shall not kill,” Florence said in a soft v
oice.

  We all looked at her and then at our father. She’d summed it up.

  “Oh. I see.” He sighed. “Girls—and James—I’m really proud of you for recognizing the contradiction in what happened today. God commanded us not to kill, but sometimes we have to choose to do something that seems wrong in order to do something right. I had to kill that dog if I was going to keep all of you safe.”

  “So we can break the commandments?” James asked.

  “If there is something that is extremely important like a life at stake, then yes, you can break a commandment. You can’t break a commandment just because you feel like it.”

  “And we won’t go to hell?” I asked.

  “You won’t go to hell if you break a commandment for something of the utmost importance. It has to be something so important that you would risk anything for it, even if that means risking your own standing with God.”

  “Then how do we know we won’t go to hell?”

  “Do you think I’m going to hell for what I did today?”

  We all shook our heads.

  “If it is the right thing, so right you can break a commandment, then you’ll know it. I didn’t doubt for one second whether or not to kill that dog. I was going to protect you no matter what.” He grazed Lillian’s cheek with his thumb. “Besides, the disease that dog had would kill it anyway. It might not have looked it, but the animal was suffering, in pain. It was good to end it.”

  I’m not sure if any of us blinked, imagining it happening all over again.

  “Does that make sense?” he asked.

  “I think so,” James said.

  Lillian nodded.

  “Yes,” Florence said.

  My father lifted his chin to me to acknowledge me, his face serene. “Emeline, does that make sense?”

  I hesitated and then nodded.

  Thirty

  September 1901

  Labellum, Missouri

  The next request I received was from a woman whose symptoms suggested pregnancy, and Lottie was able to accompany me this time. As we approached a small house in a poor congested area on the outskirts of town, Lottie told me what she knew. “I never actually spoke to her. She heard about you through different people who knew me and gave me the message.” She pointed. “This one.” Lottie knocked on the door. The house was a run-down little thing, but in better shape than some of the others I had seen.