At this time Lottie began placing bowls of tomato bisque in front of each of us, and I wondered if one of the two women would scald the other with hot soup. I had to stop them, but I felt like a lion tamer planning to force starving carnivores to use utensils.
“Olivia”—Margaret snapped her head toward her—“tell us, how is your family?”
Olivia’s cheek twitched.
“How is your daughter?”
“I wasn’t aware you had a daughter.” John forced a pause into his conversation with Benedict. Then Benedict couldn’t help but give his attention.
Had John really forgotten the conversation that had preceded the disaster at Ida Rippring’s? Thank goodness the Ripprings hadn’t attended. Ida and Margaret would have turned Olivia into the second course.
Margaret nodded gleefully. “Yes. Olivia has a grown daughter and grandchildren. They live far, far away. It’s too bad they never visit.”
Silence seeped in like a snake as everyone remembered that Olivia was a spinster. The sound of sipping and spoons scooping bisque filled the room.
Finally, Olivia turned to John. “Yes, I have a daughter.”
“Um, uh,” I stuttered, desperately seeking to change the subject but speaking before I had thought of something to say.
“Margaret, I heard you have an idea for a new benefit,” Francis said.
“Oh, do tell us.” Martha Coddington beamed.
Margaret’s body shifted, and her eyes twinkled with delight. “Well, I had this idea for…”
Olivia rolled her eyes and drank her wine as Margaret went into the details of her plans.
I tipped my head gratefully at Francis.
As the courses continued, I listened to James talk about various lawyer issues with John, Benedict’s ramblings about politics, and a wonderfully dull floral-arrangement discussion between Carmine and Martha. I had begun to believe the worst was over until I overheard a part of a conversation at the other end of the table when Herbert Hawtrey said, “…sin of the natural world!” I tried to hear more, but Margaret practically barked about her objections to the fact that the church committee was continuing quilt sales, as they had been her idea. Further, Martha and Carmine were kicking up a fuss over the hideous goggles required for riding in motor cars. I noticed Francis listening to Herbert with a hurt expression dressed up as a blank stare.
When Lottie and Ethel brought out the roast, John and I stood to help carve and serve while Lottie and Ethel assisted us. I quickly heaped large servings of boiled yellow squash and carrots on James’ and Carmine’s plates in order to make my way closer to the opposite end of the table so I could hear the discussion. I strained to listen and caught Olivia’s addition. “No one’s debating that it’s wrong at a certain point,” she said. “People are debating if there is a point where it should be acceptable—before quickening.”
How did I know the word quickening?
I reached Walter just as he began to say, “There have been studies—”
Benedict’s voice boomed across the table, “Dr. Johnson of the OGS called this a crusade against abortion, but it should have been a crusade against midwives.”
I froze with my arm outstretched holding the serving spoon full of vegetables.
“These women know the laws, but they are immoral.” He held a closed fist on the table. Why was he yelling?
“It’s not just the midwives, though. Physicians are performing these operations, too,” Walter said just before taking a bite of food, unfazed by his father’s outburst. His calm reaction seemed to persuade everyone to settle back into their seats.
I too unfroze and dumped the mound of food onto Irene’s plate. As I continued, John stared at me as he carved the meat, his eyes screaming for me to make it stop.
I sped up, maneuvering around Lottie as she dished out boiled potatoes. I scooped and served as quickly as I could while also thinking up a way to redirect the conversation. “Herbert, what do you think of Mr. Roosevelt taking the office?” The president had been assassinated at the beginning of the month, and the vice president, Theodore Roosevelt, was about to take the oath.
Herbert acted as if he had not heard me. “And those doctors are ruining the good name of the professionals.”
“That is, obviously, why prosecution is just as important against the doctors,” John’s employer, Lewis Coddington said.
“I disagree.” Herbert bit off a mouthful of bread but continued. “The physicians performing these surgeries are practically forced by the midwives.” He stopped talking to chew but grunted to inform us he had more to say. He swallowed. “If the physician doesn’t do it, the midwife might murder a woman trying. Some of these poor ones try to do it themselves with coat hangers and such.”
I dropped the serving spoon, and it clacked onto the table before I scrambled to retrieve it. No one seemed to notice except for John.
Herbert continued, “What choice does that give a doctor?”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Walter said.
“I couldn’t disagree more,” Benedict said before gulping his brandy.
Olivia held up her glass to drink. “I certainly don’t agree with coat hangers, but I think midwives are well trained. They’ve handled these situations for centuries. Most of us here were brought into this world by a midwife.”
“You actually approve of abortion?” Margaret swirled her wine.
“What’s the latest fashion in St. Louis?” I tried.
“You must have misheard me, Margaret. I said midwives. I approve of midwifery.”
Margaret rolled her eyes.
Having been ignored once again, I finished serving and slipped back to my seat.
“There might be a few midwives who know what they are doing,” Walter said to Olivia, “but without proper licensing and standards, how does a woman know who she can trust?”
Olivia responded to Walter without the same inflection she had used with his mother. “In my day, midwives focused on bringing life into this world, not taking it away.”
“Well, things were obviously different in your day, weren’t they?” Margaret said.
Walter glared at his mother for a moment and then answered Olivia. “It’s hard to say what has and hasn’t gone on behind closed doors or in the past, but this is a new century, and we are progressing toward an era of enlightenment, where the people who practice medicine are held accountable for the wellbeing of their patients.”
Margaret’s eyes darted back and forth between Walter and Olivia.
“Forgive me,” interrupted Richard Williams, Francis’ husband. He cleaned his hands on his napkin. “I am not as familiar with this topic. Did someone say these women are killing people?”
Francis shot a worried glance at me.
“These midwives and illegal nurses have no formal training, no licenses,” Walter said. “Without any accountability, there’s no guarantee they know what they are doing, and even though their intentions are usually good, they can kill people. We know of at least one woman operating in Labellum right now.”
I gulped my sherry.
Then Benedict barked, “It’s the abortionists that are out there causing sepsis, perforating the uterus!”
Sin to Moses! This was bad. John glared at me as he abandoned the meat and returned to his seat, but I pretended not to see him. I observed James, who sat wide-eyed, and then I regarded the rest of our guests, most of whom appeared to be intrigued rather than offended.
“These women just need to be reminded of their moral obligation,” Martha said before taking a bite.
“That’s why it’s important to rid rural areas of midwives and abortionists and the women who encourage them,” Lewis added.
“I can’t understand what kind of woman would let herself befall such a circumstance in the first place,” Irene said.
“I’d guess women of low class, prostitutes. Am I right?” Richard asked.
Francis closed her eyes and held her breath.
“Anyone at
tend a symphony recently?” I asked desperately. “The ballet?”
“The midwives are the ones more like prostitutes,” Lewis said while studying one of our peculiar spoons with repugnance. “They are the ones being paid to sell their souls.”
I felt nauseated.
“What happens to them?” Francis asked.
I turned toward her, surprised to hear her elegant voice.
“I know the midwife and accomplices are arrested,” she said, “but what happens to the women who have the procedure?”
Richard eyed her quizzically.
“Well, first we send investigators, like Mr. Rippring, to question the woman, midwife, and any accomplices.” Lewis sawed at his meat. “They are all arrested and tried, including the woman who had the procedure, unless she doesn’t survive. To be honest, the entire process is much easier when they die.”
Francis fluttered her eyes, fussed with her napkin, and subtly controlled her breathing.
“Why’s that?” Richard hadn’t taken a single bite of food during the conversation.
Walter kept his eyes on his plate. “The best way to get a conviction is to acquire a dying confession.”
“We usually discover these midwives when something has gone wrong and they are forced to take the woman to a real physician,” Lewis explained. “All physicians know if they do not report the woman, they will be arrested, too.”
“What’s a dying confession?” Richard asked.
“Before the victim dies, she admits to the abortion and whoever is responsible,” Lewis said. “That confession can be used in court like a testimony even if she’s dead.”
“It is the only exception to the hearsay rule,” John added but still glared at me.
“You know, it’s not just abortionists in these rural areas. People are abusing themselves left and right,” Benedict said, lifting his brandy. “I had this patient recently who drank himself to death.
Ethel froze halfway through filling James’ water glass. I dug my nails into my palms and broke skin. I looked at Ethel and tried to apologize with my eyes.
“I agree. I don’t see why these people deserve treatment when they usually cause the problem,” Herbert said.
“Exactly. That’s why I didn’t give him anything for the pain. He got himself in that mess, he should deal with the consequences.”
The ball of Ethel’s chin quivered. She filled the glass the rest of the way, pivoted casually, and slipped out.
Anger overwhelmed me. “You refused to treat?” My voice was louder than I had intended.
Everyone turned toward me. Then they looked back to Benedict for his reply.
He kept eating. “He was too far gone.”
“But you didn’t give him anything for the pain?”
“Darling, I think this is a little out of your depth,” John said, squinting and forcing a smile.
I glared an audacious challenge at him and looked back at Benedict. “It is atrocious to refuse to end a human being’s torment, no matter what.”
Our guests shifted their gazes from me to Benedict.
He didn’t appear to be offended or alarmed, but his eyes focused on me, and I had to fight the urge to shrink away. “Physicians are not blessed with unlimited supplies. The day you have to decide to waste them on a man who destroyed his own body, then you can tell me how to treat.”
I wanted to tell him I had. I wanted to tell him I’d helped the patient he failed. I wanted to scream that I understood the importance of ending someone’s pain far better than he ever could. I wanted to tell him what a despicable human being he was, but I couldn’t. From everyone’s silence, I knew I had already taken it too far. Margaret shook her head just slightly, just enough for me to see. John gripped his silverware. I’d expected the house to find a way to spoil the evening, but it didn’t need to do a thing. I spoiled it all on my own.
After our guests left, Lottie, Ethel, and I descended into the basement and worked by lamplight.
Ethel handed me a dish to dry.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
She continued washing and kept her head down. “Did any of your guests notice?”
“No,” I shook my head. “Dr. Bradbridge didn’t even notice.”
“That was bigwig cruelty at its finest,” Lottie said angrily as she put items in their places with rough shoves and loud clunks.
“I’m not sure he did it intentionally.” I placed the dry dish on a stack and took the next one from Ethel.
“How’s that?” Ethel asked.
“I don’t think he realized he was speaking about someone in the room. I don’t think he recognized you.”
Ethel stopped washing. “It felt like punishment.”
“Don’t think that.”
“At least he didn’t make a racket like that old bat Bradbridge,” Lottie said.
“Sin to Moses!” I said. “When those two started at each other I thought I might faint.”
“Since when do you dine with Olivia Urswick?” Lottie asked. “Ain’t she the one huntin’ us down?”
My eyebrows went up. “John invited her.”
“Did the doctor say something about treating her?” Ethel asked.
“No, but with the way Margaret reacted to Olivia, I wonder if Walter might treat her in secret.…But did you see the way he got all stiff during that fight?”
Ethel pursed her lips and nodded.
The dishes clacked as I stacked them, and I wondered why Lottie seemed quieter than usual.
“Emeline?” Ethel stopped washing and shuffled around. She kept her eyes down and used her finger to trace a circle on her wet palm. “I heard what you said.”
“Said?”
“To Dr. Bradbridge.”
“Oh.”
“Thank you.”
I smiled sheepishly.
She returned to the dishes. “It was a night fit for a loon. You are lucky nobody snapped.”
“Well, I kind of did.”
She grinned over her shoulder.
“I still can’t believe they started talking about abortions at a formal dinner.” I chuckled uncomfortably, feeling as if I shouldn’t have brought it up just then.
Ethel exhaled. “My heart almost stopped.”
“I just hope no one thinks ill of John,” I said.
“All of them said things they shouldn’t at a dinner table,” Ethel said.
Lottie cleaned quickly and quietly. Too quietly for Lottie.
“Lottie? Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Said I was fine.”
“I only ask because usually you have more input.”
She raised her voice and spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m fine.”
Ethel handed me a slippery dish.
“Been a long night,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
“Lottie?”
“Been a long night, and I just wanna finish these big toad dishes and be on my way.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just—”
She put down a bowl, whirled around, and slammed her hand down on the prepping table. “How can I help you, ma’am?”
My dish dripped onto the floor.
Ethel tried, “We just thought—”
“So ya’ll talkin’ ’bout me?”
“No—not at all,” I said.
Ethel shook her head.
Lottie scowled at us as if she had unveiled a plot against her. “It ain’t none of your business, and I don’t want to talk about none of this.”
“Maybe we could help,” I said.
“I ain’t never said I wanted any of your help.” She stepped away from me, closed a jar, moved the empty bowl, and bumped a silver tray. It fell to the floor with a loud clatter.
We all cringed.
Lottie threw her hands up and covered her face.
I walked to her and reached out to touch her arm. “Lottie?”
She ripp
ed her hands from her face and pushed my hand away. “Well, ain’t you got some gall? You know, you ain’t no different. You just another big toad.” She pushed past me and charged up the stairs.
Ethel and I didn’t know what was wrong with Lottie and couldn’t do anything about it until morning, so we finished cleaning, and I instructed Mr. Buck where to take her. Back inside, I rounded the corner and there John stood. I jumped and fumbled to keep the cylinder of my lamp from crashing to the ground. He anchored himself in the hallway, legs parted and arms crossed. “Why did you talk to Dr. Bradbridge that way?”
I lowered my eyes.
“You very well may have ruined me. Do you know that?” He waited for a reply, but I couldn’t form words, and a tingle crept up the back of my spine and scaled my neck. “Do you care?”
“I care.” I feared facing his eyes.
“You didn’t even try tonight.”
“What?” I raised my voice. “I tried everything to keep those people from ripping each other apart.”
He raised his voice louder. “Everything was fine until you started questioning the ethics of one of the most esteemed physicians in Murielle County and my foremost client.”
“Nothing was fine up until that point, and how could I not after what he did? How could you not think the worst of him?”
“My opinion does not matter when it comes to Dr. Bradbridge’s practices, and your opinion least of all. You don’t know anything about medicine or his patients.”
“I—”
“Quiet.” He stepped closer and forced words from behind his clenched teeth. “What made you think you could speak to him—to anyone—like that?”
“I—I don’t know what to say. I tried.”
He hovered over me, silent. “You’ll apologize.”
“But?”
“You will apologize.”
“Yes.”
He stood a moment longer and sighed. “I’m sorry.…Everything was really lovely.” He walked back to the library and shut the door, and I watched the light disappear with him.
Thirty-Five
October 1901
I woke up intent on seeing Lottie and making amends for the previous night, but when I left the house, I found James sitting like a toad on the front steps. I edged down until I was one step behind him.
He looked back and smiled. “I’ve been looking for you.”
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