Home by Morning

by Alexis Harrington

  People began to drift away, but Leonard assured them, “We still have our petition. We’ll get rid of that woman yet.”

  The three of them—Cole, Jessica, and Mae—stood on the small front porch until the group had gone.

  Jessica spoke first, smiling. “Granny Mae Rumsteadt, you surprise me.”

  Granny Mae lifted her chin, giving Jess a view of her high-cut nostrils. “I can’t abide a bully. Your father and I had our tangles, but he was a good man, Jessica. So is your father, Cole—stubborn as a mule, like me, but good.” She smiled a secret smile that made Cole wonder if her comment was more than just a passing remark. “They had some good children.” Amy was tactfully left out of the conversation.

  “It’s not over yet, though,” Jessica said.

  “Probably not. But it is for now,” Cole replied.

  “I’ve got Jeremy to see to. I need to go back to the infirmary.”

  “Jeremy has the influenza?” Cole’s expression was blank.

  Jess nodded.

  “We’ll see to him,” Granny said. “I think you’ve worked enough for one day. If anything happens, we’ll send for you.”

  Cole lifted his hat and resettled it on his head, the adrenaline pumping through him beginning to fade. “Jess, you lock yourself inside. Mae, I’ll give you a ride back to the high school. Then I’ll come back here and board up that broken window.”

  He offered his arm to Mae, and she took it as he walked her to the truck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Winks Lamont burst through the back door of the gymnasium. “He’s here! He’s here, I seen him myself!”

  “What’re you trying to do? Wake the dead? Har-har-har!” From her desk, Jess heard Bert Bauer’s coarse joke, followed by his braying laughter. She gritted her teeth as she scribbled a note on Jeremy Easton’s record. “It better be Jesus you saw, considering how long I been waiting here for you. We gotta get these stiffs in the ground.”

  Jess took a deep breath and pressed her pen to the paper hard enough to make an ink blot.

  “I didn’t see Jesus. It was that Pearson fella everybody’s been waiting on. He just came in on the train.”

  Jess jumped to her feet and strode to the cloakroom, where three sheet-wrapped bodies waited. She ought to be accustomed to the smell by now, but it always made her flinch. Winks Lamont’s lack of personal hygiene didn’t help matters. Bauer’s leer she didn’t acknowledge at all.

  “Winks, did you say that Dr. Pearson is here? You’re sure?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He’s down at the depot, looking for someone to take his stuff to the hotel.”

  “Did anyone meet him? Horace Cookson? Roland Bright?”

  “No, ma’am. Not that I know of.”

  Untying her apron, she muttered, “Well, for heaven’s sake.” Hadn’t he wired anyone to let the town know he was coming? If he had and no one met the train, Powell Springs wouldn’t make a very good impression on the man who had traveled so far to help them.

  Since the incident outside Jessica’s office the day before, Cole had moved into the shop and had made several trips to the infirmary, still wearing his gun belt, and now, a badge. He’d called Whit Gannon to tell him what had happened, but the sheriff had had to travel to the Multnomah County courthouse in Portland, fifteen miles away. He wouldn’t be back for a couple of days. With his own three deputies out sick, Whit had temporarily deputized Cole to act in his absence.

  Jessica supposed she ought to wait for him to escort her down to the depot, but she couldn’t leave Dr. Pearson just standing around with no one to greet him. She wanted to put him to work as soon as possible. Besides, she had faced the worst neighborhoods in New York City alone, sometimes traveling across the rooftops of the tenements to save time and steps.

  She pulled off her mask, sick of wearing the thing and trying to breathe through it. “Iris, I’m going out for a little while,” she called to Iris Delaney, as the older woman tended Gladys Zachary, a mother of three whose husband was fighting in Europe.

  “Jessica, wait.”

  Gray-haired, spinster Iris, a bright little bird of a woman with a sweet and cheerful manner, was one of Jessica’s favorite volunteers. Always more helpful than hindering, as some of the others were, she did her work and kept her opinions to herself.

  Jess began walking toward her, but Iris motioned her toward the front of the room and away from the beds. When she reached her, Jess asked, “Has Gladys taken a turn for the worse?”

  “No, she’s about the same.” Iris lowered her voice. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since—well, since that horrible exhibition here on the steps the other day.”

  Jessica tightened her jaw and felt her muscles tense, waiting for some criticism.

  “I just want you to know that I think Adam Jacobsen and men of his ilk are shameful. They claim to be good, righteous people, but they’re not.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “I don’t care whether his accusation is true or not. It’s no one’s business what you do in your personal life. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart. It’s not a big secret that you and Cole have loved each other since you were children. Life is far too short to live with regret, and sigh over what might have been. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. Don’t let that happen to you.”

  Jess noticed that her brown eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and she recalled that Iris had had a crush on Roland Bright for as long as she could remember. Why Roland had never acted to make this gem of a woman his own, Jessica couldn’t imagine. Impulsively, she leaned forward and gave the older woman a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Iris. Your support means a lot.”

  Jess slipped on her coat and walked outside into the early November weather, looking to the right and left for anyone who might cause her trouble.

  How had things come to this point? she wondered, walking along Main Street. Little more than a month ago, she had returned to Powell Springs for a brief visit with her sister. Since then, she’d experienced pestilence, breathtaking betrayal, and attempted character assassination. She had rediscovered the slim possibility to love again, grieved over every patient lost, and once more witnessed what damage man’s inhumanity and intolerance could do to others. As she passed the plate-glass windows of closed businesses, she caught her reflection now and then. She recognized that whatever rest and healthy appearance she’d recovered during her sabbatical in Saratoga had been lost again. Her clothes were wrinkled and she often did her own laundry in her kitchen sink since Wegner’s was now closed. The couple had both come down with influenza, although they’d managed to remain in their upstairs apartment, caring for each other.

  Her step was not as brisk as it had been when she arrived, but she moved down the sidewalk toward the depot, hoping to find Dr. Pearson and have a chance to greet him properly. Walking along, she saw a pair of young boys coming her way in the street. One of them rode a bicycle, and the other dragged an old stick and looked behind himself to see the track it made in the mud. She thought they were about ten years old.

  “Hey, she’s that bad woman doctor I heard my pa talking about,” one said to the other, pointing at Jessica. He didn’t trouble to lower his voice.

  The boy with the stick looked up in her direction. “Yeah, I heard about her too. My folks were talking about her and Cole Braddock in the kitchen yesterday morning. My mother said she wouldn’t let her take a splinter out of her hand after what she did. She said Mr. Braddock ain’t no better. When they saw me, they clammed up.”

  Jessica’s face burned and she kept her eyes trained on the distant wooded hills, but she could feel them staring at her as if she were a bench or some other inanimate object. They certainly spoke about her as if she were deaf.

  “Why? What did they do?”

  “I dunno, but it must have been bad. I got in trouble just for asking. My dad called her a hoor. I asked him if that was some kind of rabbit or a winter freeze. We have hoarfrosts here sometimes. He paddled me for saying the word,
so I ain’t asking again.”

  They passed her and Jess swallowed hard, unable to think of anything to say to them until it was too late. Children could be very cruel, she knew, and they usually learned their manners—good or bad—at home.

  After their one night together—a night that even now had the power to make her blush with pleasure and modesty—Cole had asked Jessica to stay in Powell Springs. She had put him off, mainly because of the complications of their relationship. But now, despite Iris’s advice, how could she stay? Even if she were the only doctor in town, she suspected that she would have no patients. No one would come to her for treatment, thanks to Adam and his hateful petition.

  Adam Jacobsen—the very name made her recoil. And to think that he had actually plastered his slobbery mouth on her lips in his uncouth attempt to court her. But she had not once foreseen that rejecting him would turn into this tempest of ruining her reputation and jeopardizing her career.

  She wrapped her coat around her more securely as a stiff east wind kicked up. She had to put those troubles out of her mind for now. After all, she was going to meet the man who would provide her escape from this town.

  When Jessica arrived at the depot, she found Frederick Pearson inside, locked in a tense conversation with Abner Willets, the stationmaster.

  “Mr. Willets, am I to understand that there is no one, not one single porter available in this, this hamlet, to take my belongings to the hotel?” Dr. Pearson spoke in a clipped New England accent that no one around Powell Springs had probably ever heard before. He was a tall man, young, who looked and sounded as if he had led a privileged life. His chestnut hairline was beginning to creep away from his forehead, and he didn’t appear to have missed any meals. His lofty bearing and well-tailored clothing, however, didn’t seem to make an impression on Abner.

  “Look, Mr. Price—”

  “That would be Doctor Pearson.”

  Abner continued, unruffled. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a war on. The influenza has knocked this town off its pins, too. I lost my younger porters to the army, and the old one I had is home in bed.”

  Jessica seized the opportunity to intervene. She crossed the pine plank floor to introduce herself. “Dr. Pearson, I’m Jessica Layton.” She put out her hand, which he shook. “I’m sorry no one was here to meet you sooner. Did you wire your arrival information to anyone?”

  “There was no time. I just managed to escape the press-gang that practically kidnapped me from the train in Omaha to serve in the hospital there.” The tone of his voiced conveyed his indignation and weariness. “I tried to explain that I was expected here. Obviously, that was of no consequence to them.”

  Jessica nodded. “I suppose I can understand their desperation. I’ve been caring for the patients here for the past few weeks with no help other than volunteers, so I’m certainly glad to see you. And I’m sure I can find someone to help you with your trunks and such.”

  “Hallelujah, at last I’ll have a passably competent nurse.”

  Jessica gave him a small, tight smile. “Actually, I am a physician.”

  Pearson’s brows rose. “Really. A female physician.” His tone made it clear that he regarded such an occurrence as an aberration of nature. She didn’t like it, but she was accustomed to it. “And where did you attend medical school?”

  “Women’s Medical College in Philadelphia.”

  “Indeed. How unfortunate that you weren’t able to attend a larger school. I understand the science courses in these women’s colleges don’t quite measure up to some of the more established universities, such as Harvard or Dartmouth.”

  “Yes, Doctor, they do.” Already pressured, Jessica’s fuse began to shorten. Pearson’s blatant condescension was wearing on her nerves like an emery board. “I don’t recall that Mayor Cookson mentioned where you received your education.”

  Pearson lifted his chin. “I attended Yale.”

  Jess smiled. “Not Johns Hopkins? A loss to that institution, I’m sure.”

  He reddened and tipped her a slight nod, accepting her riposte. For the moment, anyway.

  “If you go to the hotel, I’ll arrange to have your belongings brought over. It would be helpful if you could come by the infirmary afterward. I’d like you to see what we’re doing.”

  “I shall do that, madam, if you would be so kind as to direct me.”

  “I’ll send a couple of men who are helping there. They’ll collect your luggage and then show you the way.”

  “So I’ll have you and a staff. That’s somewhat comforting news.” He looked satisfied.

  Jessica gave the arrogant doctor a fixed look. Where did he think he was? “They’re not ‘staff.’ They are grave diggers.”

  Frederick Pearson sat on the screeching iron bed, with its faded patchwork quilt, and gazed around his hotel room. If one could call such an establishment a hotel. God, how had he, the eldest son of a fine old family, been reduced to this—this exile? Of course, he knew the answer, but it didn’t make his present circumstances easier to bear.

  A sharp knock on the door brought him out of his ruminations. Maybe that glorified nurse, Jessica Layton, had managed to accomplish the task of having his baggage delivered. He certainly hoped so. Rising from the chair, he opened the door and found himself face to face with two mud-caked laborers. One was a scrawny specimen, with a pointed face and red-edged eyes that reminded him of an opossum. The other was older, smelled like stale beer and months-old body odor, and seemed to have only two or three teeth in his head when he gaped at him.

  “Are you the doc, Fred Pearson?” Opossum Face asked. He looked him up and down, as if deciding whether he had anything of value worth stealing.

  “Yeah, that’s him. He’s the one I seen at the depot,” the mal-odorous cretin confirmed.

  “That would be Doctor Pearson. And my first name is Frederick, not Fred.” Why did he have to keep reminding people of the most basic etiquette in addressing him? “And you are?”

  Opossum Face ignored the question and turned to his companion. “See, I told you it was the right room.”

  “Fine, but I done thought it was at the other end of the hall.”

  To Pearson the weedy one said, “We got your gear downstairs. You don’t travel light, do you, Doc? Whatcha got in them boxes, all your worldly goods?”

  In fact, he did. Formal evening attire he would never wear in this village, tennis clothes, golf and riding togs—all to remain packed away. He clenched his jaw, eager to have his trunks brought up and to be rid of these—what had the nurse said they were? Grave diggers? “That is hardly your business. Just bring up the luggage, please.”

  Opossum Face, disrespectful and cocky as hell, gave him a mock salute. “Whatever you say, Your Highness. The lady doc says you’re coming back with us.” He and his companion turned and walked back down the hall toward the stairs.

  Frederick felt heat rush up his face to his eyebrows at the barbarian’s insolence, and he returned, morosely, to his seat on the bed. The pair returned shortly, bumping his expensive leather trunks along the stairs and against the walls with no regard for their contents.

  “Will you please be careful with those?” he snapped. “There are fragile items packed in them.”

  The barbarians ignored him and cursed the luggage like stevedores.

  When at last they’d brought everything to his room, the rodent-featured man said, “Okay, Doc, let’s go.” Once more inciting complaint from the bedsprings, he rose and left with them. They led him through the streets for a couple of blocks to a building that bore no resemblance at all to a medical facility. Then he saw the inscription above the entrance.

  Powell Springs Union High School

  Pearson stopped at the foot of the concrete stairs. “What is this place?” he asked.

  Opossum Face, whose name he’d finally determined was Bert, replied, “It’s the infirmary.”

  “Where’s the hospital?”

  “Hospital—this is it. Peop
le leave here one of two ways, either on their own steam, or out the back door with Winks and me to the cemetery behind the building.”

  The old sot named Winks nodded in agreement, showing off his three teeth in a half-grin.

  Things were growing worse by the minute. Pearson followed his guides up the stairs and through the double doors. They led him to the gymnasium, where he recognized instantly the smell of an influenza ward.

  Jessica was leaving Jeremy’s cubicle when she saw Frederick Pearson standing in the doorway, still dressed in his expensive clothing, gaping at the room. He took in the rows of beds, the basketball hoops, and the makeshift supply cabinets bearing the signs that reminded everyone they were on loan from Hustad’s Fine Furnishings.

  “Doctor, I see you found us.”

  His stunned expression almost made her laugh. “You have no hospital? Even in Omaha they had a hospital!”

  “Powell Springs isn’t Omaha. It’s a small town. Until this epidemic erupted, there were never enough patients to justify a hospital. Because of the emergency, the town council arranged for me to use this gymnasium.”

  “There are no operating rooms, no laboratory, no orderlies, no qualified nurses?”

  Jess intertwined her fingers like a welcoming maitre d’, pleased to have the upper hand for a moment. “In your correspondence with Mayor Cookson, did he tell you that we have all those things?”

  His mouth was still agape as his head swiveled to inspect his surroundings. “Not specifically, but I was certainly given the impression that Powell Springs is more than the backwater it appears to be. In fact, its merits seem to have been grossly overstated. It has none of the modern medical advances I enjoyed on the East Coast.”

  “No it doesn’t, does it? I worked in New York for some time, myself. But I’ve learned to adapt. I had to.”

  “How are you feeding these people? Bathing them? Managing the laundry?”