by John Smolens
Samuel came around the cart now and stood next to Mr. Clapp. “Unless you want to die.”
“Is that it?” Mr. Clapp asked. “You want to die, too? Join your family in the next life?”
Leander recalled how he had been unable to pray after his mother and sister and Papi had died. It was as though he’d been numb with cold all this time, and now suddenly his skin had warmed up enough to sting. “I don’t want to die.”
Mr. Clapp seemed pleased. “That’s a start. That’s the first honest thing I’ve heard from you. So why are you here?”
In the distance there came the ringing of a hand bell.
“Does that mean dinner is served?” Samuel asked.
“I believe so,” Leander said.
“I’m starved.” Samuel pulled off his leather gloves as he began walking up the path.
Mr. Clapp remained a moment longer, staring at Leander. And then he too followed, saying, “Maybe people volunteer to work here because the food’s so good and plentiful.”
“Yes,” Samuel said. “I’m sure that’s it.”
Thirty
GILES SLEPT FITFULLY AND MARIE SPENT THE NIGHT ON A COT next to him, ready with a cool, damp washcloth when he awoke. More than anything, he wished to roll on to his side, get off his back, which was developing sores. Or better, to stand up. But he could only remain on his back, and there were often shooting pains in the lower leg that had been removed. He recalled many sailors complaining of this, ghost pains which followed an amputation. He didn’t understand how a limb that had been severed could still cause such pain. “I would like to know how can you feel something that’s not there?” he whispered to Marie. “It’s not just where the leg was cut—I can feel all of it. The calf, the foot—the whole leg.”
At first light he awoke again and the canvas tent above him seemed to be rotating, moving slowly clockwise. It was not an unpleasant sensation—since the amputation he had been so still, it was a relief to experience some kind of movement. But within moments he became chilled. He shivered so uncontrollably that his teeth chattered.
Marie took a blanket from her cot and laid it over him, but it made no difference. He shivered, although sweat ran down into his eyes. Suddenly, without warning, his stomach convulsed, and everything came up, burning his throat, the bile running out of his mouth and down his neck.
Leander was awakened at dawn by Esther L’Amour. “You come,” she whispered.
He got up and followed her out of the tent. The camp was quiet. Many orderlies were sleeping on the grass. Esther led him to the gate, where a solitary guard sipped a bowl of tea. Beyond the gate, the Mall was shrouded in fog. Leander could just barely see a figure in the distance, standing beneath a maple tree: Cedella, with a small satchel beside her in the grass.
He let himself out through the gate. When he reached Cedella, she flung her arms about his shoulders and hugged him desperately, until he took her by the shoulders and held her away so he could see her face. She had been crying and looked as though she hadn’t slept.
“I have been dismissed,” she said.
“I’m glad you’re out of that house,” he said.
“You don’t understand—you can’t understand,” she said hastily. “I will never find a position at another house—” She stopped when Leander placed his hand on her cheek.
“You aren’t alone,” he said. After a moment, she placed her hand over his, pressing his fingers into her skin.
“There’s something else, Leander. It’s Benjamin; he didn’t intend for this to happen and he feels guilty because I am being replaced by a girl who is—” She patted her stomach. “They are to be married.”
“I know this girl. She works at Moss farm,” Leander said. “I’m happy for them.”
“I am too, but he asked me to warn you. He overheard Fields talking to Horseshoe and a couple of the stable boys. They were planning to free Master Samuel from the pest-house. Benjamin didn’t hear all of it. He wasn’t sure how or when, but he was certain that that’s what they were talking about.”
She tried to pull him close, but he stepped back from her. “We should keep our distance,” he said. “I have been too much among the sick.”
“Couldn’t you leave this place and come away with me?”
“And go where? There are guards on all the roads leading out of Newburyport—though some can be bought off.” She looked at him, hopefully. “No,” he said. “I can’t leave. Not now.”
“I have nowhere to go,” she pleaded.
“But you do. You came here, looking for me, Cedella Evora.”
Relieved, she offered the faintest smile. “I did, Leander Hatch.”
“Listen, go down to Joppa Flats, to my grandfather’s house. It’s the one with the newer shingles on the north side and a green door.” He removed the piece of leather that hung around his neck and handed it to her. “That’s the key to his door. Stay there. I’ll come as soon as this is all finished. Will you do that?”
She stared at the key in her hand, which had a rusty nail tied to it. “What is this?”
“That is what I salvaged from my parents’ house which was burned down on Orange Street, and one day it will be the last nail I drive into my new house on that same lot.”
She held out her hand. “But I can’t just stay in a stranger’s house.…”
“My grandfather’s neighbors next door—Colin Thurlow and his wife Isabel—you tell them I’m here at the pest-house and they’ll help you. All the clamming folk in Joppa will. Tell them we are to be married soon as this is finished—”
“Leander Hatch,” she said, this time indignantly.
After a moment, he said, “I see.”
“Do you?”
“I’ve never done this before. I suppose I might do you the favor of asking first?” He thought that her eyes softened, but only a little. “Will you? Please, marry me?”
“I will have to think on it.”
The new maid delivered the breakfast tray to Miranda’s room. The girl’s uniform was too large and her blond hair was not properly pinned up beneath her cap, allowing wild curls and strands to drape the back of her neck. The tea cup rattled in its saucer as she crossed the room. Miranda watched in silence until the tray had been safely placed on the nightstand.
“What is your name?”
“Rachel.”
“You were no maidservant at Moss farm.”
“No. I tended to the livestock, worked in the fields and in the kitchen.”
“I can see that by your hands.”
For the first time the girl glanced at her, momentarily.
“Are you afraid of me?”
“I suppose I am.”
“Ma’am.”
The girl looked at her, confused.
“Say it.”
“Ma’am.”
“Good. Don’t lose that fear, and I will make a maid out of you, at least until you get too big to traipse up and down the stairs. Then we’ll put you to work in the kitchen.”
“Shall I pour, Ma’am?”
“No. Pouring tea will be tomorrow’s lesson. Go tell Fields I want to see him immediately. And when you leave the room, you curtsy. Now show me how you do that.”
The girl took a step backward and curtsied awkwardly.
“Pathetic,” Miranda said. “Now go.”
After the girl left the room, Miranda poured her tea and stirred in three lumps of sugar. It didn’t take Fields a minute to knock on the door.
“Enter.”
He came into the room and closed the door behind him. “Ma’am?”
“Tell me once more, the preparations for tonight—they’re all set?”
“Yes, Ma’am, after dark. The arrangements have been made and I will oversee the expedition myself.”
“Who else knows of this?”
“No one, other than the three men I’ve selected to accompany me.”
“And my son?”
“He is unaware of your plans, I’m sure.”
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br /> “Just as well he doesn’t meddle. After you’ve got Samuel, take him down to the wharf.”
After a moment, Fields said, “As you wish, Ma’am.”
She raised a hand from her lap, dismissing Fields. But when he opened the door, he said, “Ma’am, the new girl, is she satisfactory?”
“Not in the least, but we’ll just have to break her in. They turn out better that way.”
“It seems to be the case, Ma’am. And I’ve sent word along High Street regarding that Cedella.”
“Very well. The only way to keep qualified staff is to make them understand that there is nowhere else to go. Next thing you know, they’ll be expecting better wages, and that would lead to absolute chaos. Being a sea captain must be far easier than running this household. A ship’s crew is more obedient than my minions, scullions, and maidservants. Perhaps I should introduce flogging?”
“That would certainly be an appropriate inducement, Ma’am. And if that fails, there’s always keelhauling.”
“How long have you worked for us, Fields?”
“Oh, decades, Ma’am.”
“And you’re just now developing a sense of humor? Or have you managed to conceal it from me all this time?”
A hard rain set in and by nightfall, the pest-house had been turned into a field of mud. Wind gusts caused tent canvas to snap and billow. A group of men including Leander, Mr. Clapp, and Samuel were instructed to go to the gate and help unload supply wagons that had just arrived. They worked slowly, walking in single file, removing sacks, crates, and barrels and carrying them into the tent where foodstuffs were stored.
One of the wagons was from the Sumner stable, and though it was dark, Leander recognized the two men seated on the bench—Horseshoe, holding the reins, and beside him, wearing a cloak and a broad-brimmed leather hat, was Fields. As Leander walked by, a burlap sack balanced on each shoulder, Horseshoe said, “Smells something awful in here. What, do you burn the dead?”
“No,” Leander said. “It’s the shit and vomit.”
“Ah.”
Leander entered the supply tent and unloaded his sacks. He followed the line of men out into the rain and in his turn was loaded with two more sacks. When he walked past the front of the wagon, Horseshoe said, “That little maid you fancy, she’s gone from the house now.”
“Yes,” Leander said, “she’s free.”
The next time he returned to the wagon, Horseshoe said, “Probably working the streets down at waterside. Them girls always end up on their knees.”
“She prays for your salvation.” Loaded with two more sacks, Leander walked back to the pest-house gate.
Eli Bradshaw leaned over Giles and said, “You have the fever. You know you do.”
“Perhaps,” Giles said. “Maybe it’s a reaction to the amputation?”
“No, the boy did a good job. The leg is clean. It doesn’t have that smell that suggests infection.” Bradshaw leaned down even closer. “Giles, how is it you have the fever? You said you had it during the war, down south.”
“I must have been mistaken.”
“You never had the fever, and you knew you never had it.” Dr. Bradshaw straightened up. “Well, it’s early and if we proceed now, we may stave off the worst of it. It has worked with others.”
Giles looked at Marie, who was on the other side of the cot. She understood that he wanted water and she raised a cup to his mouth. His thirst was unquenchable, but swallowing was painful. When she took the cup away, he whispered to Bradshaw, “No lancet. No bleeding, Eli. Stones. Bring the hot stones.”
“You are stubborn.” Bradshaw removed his spectacles, folded them, and tucked them in the pocket of his vest. “You’ll die trying to prove me wrong.”
“I’ll die if it’s my time.” Giles tried to raise himself up on the cot but could only lift his head slightly. “Eli, listen to me. I think I know how this fever is conducted from one victim to the next. Look—look at my arms.” Reluctantly, Bradshaw gazed down at Giles’s forearms. “Those welts—they’re mosquito bites. They bite an infected person, drawing in a bit of blood, and they go and bite someone else, leaving the tainted blood.” Bradshaw glanced at him skeptically. “Look around us,” Giles said. “This weather, it’s hot and damp. And all this standing water—that’s where they breed. Out on the marshes, along the riverbank, in every neighborhood in Newburyport there are stagnant pools of water. The mosquitoes are so thick it’s like walking through a haze much of the time.”
“A tiny bug?” Bradshaw said. “You’re talking about an infinitesimal amount of blood.”
“I believe that’s all it takes.”
“But what’s in the blood that makes it ‘tainted’?”
“I don’t know, only that it’s powerful and once it mixes with someone’s blood the fever will take root.” Bradshaw sighed—he didn’t want to debate with a sick man, which angered Giles. “We have to do something about the water,” he said. “Reduce the mosquito population and you reduce the chance of the fever spreading. And pray—pray that we get cool weather. Pray for winter.”
“There is no scientific evidence to support this, Giles.”
“And you think there is evidence that these epidemics are caused by volcanic eruptions?”
“It’s the fever,” Bradshaw said. “You’re—”
“There’s nothing wrong with my mind.” Suddenly Giles was gripped by a fit of coughing and Marie held a cloth to his mouth. Each cough caused a searing pain to rip through his chest. When it subsided, she removed the cloth, and he said, “The stones, then some laudanum.”
Bradshaw glanced at Marie. “Very well.”
He turned to leave, but Giles said, “Anything to repel the mosquitoes. Smoke. Some of these oils and ointments that farmers and fishermen put on their skin. These may be a deterrent.”
Bradshaw looked at him sympathetically, nodded his head, and left the tent.
Giles tried to smile for Marie. “I did not expect him to seize this idea with enthusiasm.”
Leander had been told by Dr. Bradshaw to bring a cart of stones to Dr. Wiggins’s tent.
Alone.
Leander hesitated when he raised the tent flap. Marie was wrapping the doctor in fresh linens. The man seemed so frail, his shoulders narrow, his remaining limbs insubstantial. And he had eyes that were large and rheumy with the fever. Leander had seen it so often in the past few hours. For many it was a look of harrow, but Dr. Wiggins’s gaze seemed fierce with determination.
“Hurry,” he said. “Lay them on.”
Leander pulled on the leather gloves and used the tongs to pick up one of the stones from the pile in the cart. He approached the cot and said, “I’m sorry, Doctor. You know it will hurt.”
“Just be quick now.”
Leander placed the stone on the doctor’s chest—he shifted under the weight, caught his breath, and released a gasp. After a moment, he closed his eyes and said, “Another, farther down.”
Leander got another stone from the cart. When he came to the cot, he looked at Marie, whose eyes were wide with fear. He could not believe she was the same woman he had pulled out of the Merrimack, for she too now seemed gaunt and exhausted.
“The intestines,” Dr. Wiggins whispered.
Marie’s eyes were moist, but her mouth was set as though she herself were bracing for the hot weight of the stone. Leander placed the next stone on the doctor, who now seemed rigid, as though he were already dead.
“You see, Leander,” Dr. Wiggins said without opening his eyes. “One must bear the weight of his convictions.”
Leander looked again at Marie and said, “More?”
“Oui,” the doctor said. “More.”
Thirty-One
RAIN DRUMMED ON THE CARRIAGE ROOF AS IT ROLLED OUT ON Sumner’s Wharf. After the team halted, the door was pulled open. A salty east wind came off the river. Fields reached in and offered his hand as Miranda stepped down into a puddle. Benjamin held an umbrella, and the two men escorted her toward the
warehouse door. Inside, there was the smell of tanned leather and the odor of grain stored too long. The building was illuminated by one lantern, which cast long shadows against the stacked crates and barrels.
As Miranda led Fields and Benjamin toward the light, she said, “This quarantine doesn’t end soon, most everything will rot and be worthless.”
When she neared the lantern, she could see Samuel and a gray-bearded man sitting on small kegs at a table. There was a bottle of rum, and they were drinking from pewter tumblers. The old man got to his feet as she approached, but her grandson remained seated, smiling stupidly at her.
She stood before her grandson and when he continued to smile up at her, she slapped his face. Stunned, his eyes watered. She slapped him again, harder.
He raised a hand and rubbed his jaw. “We escape the pest-house and you punish me?”
“You’re lucky they didn’t hang you as soon as you were taken off your father’s ship. You would have deserved it.” She then regarded the old man. “And you are this scoundrel from Boston?”
He bowed with mock formality. “Uriah Clapp, Madame.”
“It’s one thing for my imbecile grandson to get mixed up with prostitutes and gamblers in Paris, but you, sir, are something far worse, and you’re much closer to home.”
“But had we succeeded,” Mr. Clapp said, “we would have turned a good profit. Does not everything worthwhile require some risk? Samuel has told me of your concerns regarding his father’s financial status. My only intention was to provide an opportunity to ease your concerns for your family fortune.”
“How kind of you, Mr. Clapp.” She took hold of Samuel’s earlobe, causing him to rise from his chair. “Now I am making arrangements to get him smuggled out of here, up to Portsmouth, where he will board a packet bound for Halifax, and from there take a ship back across the Atlantic.” Her eyes never left Mr. Clapp’s face. “But what are we to do with you?” She let go of her grandson and he backed away from her, rubbing his ear. “What should we do with the man from Boston who concocted this entire scheme?”