by Lyn Cote
Yes, I would. I did. Lee had to close his lips firmly to hold back these words from pouring forth. The more time he spent with Linc, the harder it became to conceal the truth from the boy. “Now, you two shake hands like gentlemen.”
Reluctantly the boys shook once. Tom dug his hands into his pockets and turned to leave.
“Hold on, Tom,” Lee suggested nonchalantly, “Why don’t you stay and we’ll toss the ball a while?”
“You mean it?” Tom’s face glowed.
“Sure.” Perhaps I can’t tell the truth, but I can do some things right. The events of the Sunday before still lingered vividly in his mind. He hadn’t wanted to end up helping Jessie’s “cause” by escorting the black congregation home. He wouldn’t let anything like it happen again. Jessie’s crusade would stay hers alone, he told himself firmly. That wasn’t my promise to Will.
Jessie overheard the voices. She walked out and sat on the back porch railing to watch. Lee and the boys tossed the ball in a game of catch while Butch scampered, yipping cheerfully.
Outwardly calm, Jessie fanned herself. Her confusion over Lee’s place in their lives made her bubble inside. Mr. Smith hadn’t yet tired of spending time with Linc as she had expected. And with his gift of a pup, he’d taken Linc’s heart completely. Some intuition told her there was something about Lee that didn’t ring true. Was it just his cynical streak or something more?
“It’s time to go, Mother!” Linc tied yapping Butch to the porch railing near the doghouse. The look of joy on her son’s face meant more to her than pure gold dust.
Jessie stood and brushed back her son’s hair. “Have a good time at your ball game.”
Mr. Smith strolled up behind Linc. “I’ll have him home before supper.”
Jessie nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Smith.”
“I thought you dropped the ‘mister’ last Sunday, Jess.” He smiled a wicked, teasing smile at her.
She folded her hands together. The man never stopped pushing.
Lee brought Linc home from the ballpark, then stayed for supper. While Susan left to help Linc, Miss Wright, then her own grandmother to bed, Lee followed Jessie out to the back porch. Lee knew he should go. But the temptation to spend time with Jess alone drew him against his will. “Mrs. Wagstaff!” Caleb hailed Jessie from the walk.
Jessie sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?”
“My father can hardly breathe. Will you come?”
Jessie stood. “It’s his heart.” She hurried inside and started gathering various herbs into a basket.
Lee pursued her. “What can you do if it’s his heart?”
“I’ll do what I can.” Fastening her bonnet, she started out the door.
The sudden destruction of their private moment irritated him; he hurried after her. “Caleb, why did you come here? This woman is not a doctor.”
Caleb clenched and unclenched his fists as if he’d like to punch Lee. “Don’t you think I know that? He’s my father. I have to do something.”
Lee was going to turn away. This wasn’t his business.
“Caleb,” Jessie said, “why don’t you try to find Dr. Gooden?”
“He won’t come,” Caleb put voice to Lee’s opinion.
“He said he would come if it were life-and-death,” Jessie said.
Caleb turned and stalked off without a word. Lee couldn’t decide whether it was pique or he was going to do Jessie’s bidding. Jessie started off and Lee hurried to keep up with her. He knew he could not persuade her to stay home, but he couldn’t persuade himself to not escort her.
In due time, Jessie led him into a small house. The sky had been darkening steadily and his eyes adjusted to the low light of one feeble lamp on the table. He heard Reverend Mitchell’s labored breathing before he saw him.
“Good evening.” Jess set her basket on the table and began removing her hat and gloves. “Are you experiencing pain in your chest again?”
“And in his arm,” Ruth, who sat by the bed, answered.
When Lee accompanied Jess to the narrow bed, he recognized the clear signs of dropsy. The thin man’s feet, legs, and abdomen were swollen. “I’ll try a stronger dose of Margaret’s heart tea,” she said.
Lee fell back. As Jessie brewed tea, he felt like a pale wraith in a murky netherworld. Lee did not want to look death in the face again.
He turned to leave. “Will you help me?” Jessie asked. Her simple question in the dark held him in place. Oh, how he wanted to leave. But he could not let Jessie face death alone.
Soon with Lee supporting the pastor from behind, Jessie lifted the cup to the old man’s grayish white lips. His whole body strained with each breath.
He stopped breathing.
Jessie cried out. The tea cup fell from her hands and shattered at her feet.
Lee’s heart pounded so violently that he felt nauseated. He bent his head to draw up his strength. Breathe, breathe.
Then the old man gasped, choked. He took a shallow breath. Lee realized he’d stopped breathing too. I can’t do this. He moved to lay the pastor back down, but was stopped by Jessie’s hand. “Support him while I make more tea.”
He wanted to shout at her that no tea in the world would help repair this worn-out heart.
“Please,” she whispered.
Lee found himself nodding. There was that same buzzing in his ears…the buzzing that had driven him to drink. The war is over. This is an old man, dying of an old man’s disease. It isn’t the same.
Jessie brewed tea; Lee helped her administer it. Then he paced back and forth and listened to each breath the old pastor drew. As each ended, he waited for, urged the next to come. Time passed, measured breath by breath.
In the humid night breeze, mosquitoes buzzed around Lee’s ears till he tied a handkerchief around his head. He remembered how death drew flies. Adrenaline pumped through him. He wanted to run away. But Jessie hovered nearby and he couldn’t leave her to face death alone.
She kept going to the door, looking out. He heard her praying and the words, “Dr. Gooden,” were loud enough for him to hear. “He’s not coming,” Lee said, bitterness gnawing him. Lee’s nerves had become taut, an overtightened wire. Would it snap again?
“Caleb hasn’t yet returned,” was her reply.
He muffled the sound of disgust he could not hold back. In spite of nightfall, the stifling heat refused to relent. Jessie discreetly unbuttoned her collar and her cuffs and Lee shed his coat on the back of the chair as he finally sat down. Head bent, elbows propped on knees, hands folded, he forced himself to sit still and hold on.
“Are you all right?” her voice came softly.
“Jessie?”
Dr. Gooden’s voice came from the doorway before he could reply. Lee bolted upright nearly upsetting the chair.
“You came!” Jessie sounded tearful, almost hysterical.
“Caleb had many places to go before he found me,” the doctor replied. “I have worked a busy day.” He immediately crossed to the table and opened his black bag. “Reverend Mitchell, your son told me of your symptoms and I have brought a powder for you.”
At the doctor’s request, Jessie poured water from the kettle into a cup. And the doctor opened a small white packet, measured out a few grains of powder and swirled the cup. Caleb propped up his frail father and the doctor helped his patient painstakingly sip the mixture.
Lee watched from the shadows. The doctor had come. Shock and something else shimmered through Lee’s fatigue. Was it resentment? But Lee hadn’t wanted the old man to die. He should have been relieved, but he wasn’t.
“This is a new mixture of digitalis.” Dr. Gooden motioned Jessie to sit in her chair by the door. “It should bring relief almost immediately.”
“Hello, Doctor,” Lee finally forced himself to say.
“You, here, Smith?” The doctor offered Lee his hand. “I’m so glad you stayed with Mrs. Wagstaff until I could arrive.”
Lee wanted to spit in the man’s eye. He didn’t want to
delve into the why of this. On the other hand, he was grateful the man had brought medicine to the Reverend. He didn’t know what to think.
The doctor snapped open his pocket watch, leaning toward the lamp. “It’s near midnight, Mrs. Wagstaff. We stay up together another night.”
She reached for his arm. “I’m sorry to call you out, but—”
Reaching out, he grasped her hand. “I gave my promise.”
Under the cover of night, she lifted his hand and pressed its back to her cheek. She whispered brokenly, “I’ve fought alone for so long.”
“Jessie,” he murmured. “I’m here now.”
A silent witness, Lee burned at his own helplessness. He should have been the one to help her. But he couldn’t do this. Lee didn’t trust himself to speak.
“My father is sleeping easily.” Caleb walked to them in the doorway. Faint moonlight silvered the strong features of his face. “I owe you, Doctor.”
“I charge only fifty cents for a call. I’ll leave you another packet of medicine.”
“I owe you more than money.”
Dr. Gooden offered Caleb his hand. They shook.
Caleb turned to Jessie. “And Mrs. Wagstaff, you always come whenever you’re needed.”
She touched Caleb’s arm. “You should sleep now. Will someone stay with your father tomorrow while you’re at work?”
“Ruth stays with him during the day.”
Jessie nodded. As she gathered her bonnet, gloves, and basket, the doctor and Lee waited outside.
The three of them crowded into the doctor’s gig. Soon they were making their way home through the nearly empty streets. The doctor didn’t hurry his tired horse. Its hooves made a sad clip-clop on the wooden streets.
The doctor stopped at a corner near Jessie’s house. “I’ll let you down here, Mr. Smith. You do not live far, do you?”
Lee wanted to refuse. “Thanks,” he said as he climbed down to the street. Irked, he watched the gig drive away.
Almost without realizing it, Jessie leaned against the doctor’s side. She knew she should draw away, but when he took her hand in his free one, she didn’t pull away. Having someone to lean on, after standing alone for so long, just felt too good to deny.
Finally, the gig stopped in front of Jessie’s house. She sat up, but when she tried to pull her hand from his, he prevented her.
“A moment. I ask a favor.”
Jessie cleared the sleep from her voice. “What is it?”
“In a little over a week, I will attend a party at the Potter Palmer home.”
“The Palmers?” Jessie was surprised. The Palmers were high society.
“Yes, I am invited by Mrs. Palmer. She toured Rush Hospital this week and was very interested in my ideas for better public health through cleaning up Chicago.”
Jessie felt a lift. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”
“Yes, I think I’m beginning to make the contacts I need for my future work. But for success I need one thing more.”
“What?”
“You to go with me.”
His words shocked her into silence.
“I need a woman like you on my arm. I need you to charm the men and speak with intelligence to the women. As Linc would say, I need to cover all of my bases. Will you help me, Jessie?”
So many thoughts rushed through her mind she couldn’t speak at first. “I’m not the kind of woman you need. I’m just a poor widow.”
“You are poor only in money. I will buy you a dress for the occasion.”
“Oh, no! You can’t!”
“Please. I need you. I’m counting on you, Jessie.”
If he’d said any other words, she could have refused. But how could she deny this good man her help?
She bowed her head. “If you think I’d be of help to you, I’ll go.”
Bending toward her, he kissed her hand.
Jessie felt a chill go through her when she realized he had kissed the palm of her hand, not the back.
Chapter 9
June 27, 1871
The sharp rat-a-tat on the front door caught Jessie on her knees polishing the railing of the front staircase. “A delivery from Field & Leiter’s for Mrs. Jessie Wagstaff,” a voice called from outside.
Oh, no! Jessie pushed herself up, yanked off the apron, and hurried to the door. She summoned up a smile for the boy in the blue uniform with brass buttons who gave her a large box, saluted, and left.
Closing the door, Susan took the box from Jessie. “Now what’s this?”
Shock seizing her, Jessie felt unable to explain. How had Dr. Gooden protected her reputation when purchasing an appropriate dress for her?
Plus the unusual occurrence of a department store delivery had garnered an instant audience. Miss Greenleigh on the landing above, flanked below by Miss Wright in the doorway to the parlor, and Ruby in the one to the dining room. Why couldn’t the delivery have come when everyone was out?
For just a second, Jessie longed to run up into the attic and hide. She’d hoped Dr. Gooden would reconsider his invitation. Should she tell them he’d bought her the dress? Never.
Ignoring the fluttering of her heart, she announced, “Dr. Gooden has invited me to accompany him to a dinner party this Saturday evening. This is my new dress.” Suddenly she envisioned Mr. Smith’s reaction, a negative one, to this dress and the doctor’s invitation. Confused, she pushed the thought from her mind.
Around her, the women hummed with excitement as they all hurried to Jessie. “Susan, would you please get my sewing box from my room?” Miss Greenleigh said. “We’ll have this fitted to Jessie in two shakes.”
After a flurry of activity around her, Jessie stood behind closed doors in the dining room. Susan slipped the black dress off over Jessie’s head, revealing Jessie’s embroidered white corset cover and starched petticoats. Then Susan slid the silk dress over Jessie.
A spontaneous “Ahh” breathed through the ladies surrounding Jessie who was still having trouble remembering to breathe.
“Oh, it look just like the dress Miss Charlotte wore to that fall cotillion her daddy give in fifty-nine.” Ruby rubbed her hands together.
From the elegantly carved wooden sewing box, Susan lifted out a round pink pincushion. “But, Grandma Ruby, see how the overskirt sweep up into this bustle. Miss Charlotte’s dress had a hoop.”
“It does outline your tiny waistline perfectly.” Miss Greenleigh grinned.
“Very nice.” Miss Wright lowered herself onto a chair.
Being the center of attention was a new experience—both thrilling and horrible. Jessie had a hard time lifting her chin to face them. But she had to or the hemline would suffer. And the thought of revealing that Dr. Gooden had bought the dress for her still made her heart throb. She’d have to find some way to pay him the money back, bit by bit. And Mr. Smith must never find out about this. His sarcasm would be hard to bear.
While Ruby hovered nearby in the doorway, Miss Greenleigh and Susan deftly lifted and adjusted the fit at the cap of the sleeve. “Ruby!” Miss Wright’s sharp voice made Jessie and the other three women jump. “You’re too old to be standing. Sit.” She pointed her cane to a dining room chair.
Ruby hesitated.
“Sit!” Miss Wright ordered her.
Ruby sat.
Jessie, Susan, and Miss Greenleigh exchanged covert glances that told Jessie they were just as surprised as she about Miss Wright’s concern for Ruby’s comfort.
“Mrs. Wagstaff,” Miss Greenleigh said, interrupting the alterations. “There’s something special about this dinner party. This is really an evening gown, isn’t it?”
All of the women, even Miss Wright, gazed at Jessie, who felt as though a brick had become wedged sideways in her throat. “Mrs. Potter Palmer toured Rush Hospital last week. Dr. Gooden had the opportunity to explain some of the new concepts of better health through public sanitation—”
Miss Greenleigh squealed, “You’ve been invited to dinner at the Palmer mansion?”
The young woman danced a little jig. “I can’t wait to tell Mrs. Bolt. She’ll turn absolutely pea green!”
“Potter Palmer?” Ruby quizzed Susan. “Who that?”
Susan exclaimed, “One of the richest men in the city—that’s who!”
“Lord, have mercy!” Ruby clapped her hands.
“But how can I go to Potter Palmer’s?” Jessie voiced her worry. “No matter what I wear I’m nobody—”
“You’re the equal of any of those society women.” Miss Wright’s adamant words halted everyone. She drew her bent body up to lecture them. “I, for one, see clearly why Dr. Gooden wants you by his side.”
“Then explain it to me.” Jessie folded her arms over each other.
“Dr. Gooden knows that the men he’ll meet are all busy making and tending their fortunes. In the matters of charity, it’s their wives who must be influenced. That’s why he needs a woman like you Jessie.”
Looking thoughtful, Miss Greenleigh went on: “I see. A single man like the doctor must tread warily around these married women. He mustn’t give the wrong impression. But if he comes with a lovely, intelligent woman on his arm, he’ll give just the right kind of impression.”
Jessie’s feelings of inadequacy nearly choked her. “But I’m not lovely or intelligent.”
“Stop that nonsense right now.” Miss Wright thumped her cane.
“Look at your beautiful brown eyes. This dress looks gorgeous on you,” Miss Greenleigh insisted. “And how many times in your life will you be invited to the Potter Palmer mansion?”
I didn’t even want this one time. And Jessie for some unknown reason felt traitorous to Mr. Smith. Was it because he’d come with her to nurse the Reverend?
“Besides,” Ruby urged, “if the doctor need you, you got to help him.”
Miss Wright spoke up, “Now, you two young women, step back so I can see the effect. Jessie, turn slowly, so I can see the dress on you.”
Jessie did as she was told.