by Oak, B. B.
Henry gazed out at the fallow fields. “I wager you did not teach agriculture.”
“No, indeed,” Mr. Shrove conceded.
But Mrs. Shrove became more affronted. “If you are implying that my husband is not a good farmer, I assure you he did the best he could with this sorry piece of land. And we did the best we could for that sorry boy, too. Noah Robinson is no kin to us, yet we did our neighborly duty by taking him in after the fire.”
My heart jumped. “What fire?”
“Why, the one his parents perished in, of course,” Mrs. Shrove said. “You must have seen the charred ruins of their cottage on your way here from town. Mr. Robinson managed to save his son, but when he went back inside to find his wife, he died along with her.”
“How did the fire start?” Henry asked.
“A faulty chimney, it is assumed,” Mr. Shrove said. He glanced up at the crumbling chimney of his own domicile. “The place the Robinsons rented was in as bad a shape as this one.”
“Have you been troubled by fires yourself?” Henry asked.
“Not in the chimney, thank God.”
“But elsewhere?” Henry pressed gently.
“Well, some rags in the corner of the kitchen caught fire,” Mrs. Shrove said. “A hot coal from the stove must have rolled into the pile.”
“Was Noah living with you at the time?”
“He was the one who discovered the fire and stomped it out,” Mr. Shrove said.
Mrs. Shrove eyed Henry suspiciously. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“So I have been told.”
“Well, we have little time for them. We must make ready for our journey.” With that, she went back inside the house.
Mr. Shrove, although not so abrupt as his wife, also made it clear that he had better things to do than talk about Noah with us. So Henry and I bid him Good Day and went on our way.
As we crossed the rocky field together, heading for the road, neither of us mentioned Noah at first. Instead, I commented that the weather had turned much colder, and Henry predicted that the ponds would freeze solid by week’s end. Finally, I asked him if his true reason for stopping by the Shroves had been to inquire about a possible surveying job.
“I would have accepted one readily enough, so there was no lie in such an inquiry,” he replied. “I did have another reason, however, that I did not wish to reveal to the Shroves. Like you, I wanted to find out more about Noah.”
“But I was not motivated by suspicions regarding him.”
“Nor was I,” Henry said. “Suspicion often proceeds from the apprehension of evil, and I do not think the boy evil. Yet I do think it would be unwise for you to ignore what you heard today, Julia. Noah has been associated with three recent fires.”
“There is no proof that he started any of them.”
“No concrete proof,” Henry said, “but some circumstantial evidence is very strong, as when a boy is found alone in a burning barn beside four struck matches.”
“I allow there is a possibility that he started the fire in my barn,” I said. “But childish carelessness such as that does not make him an arsonist.”
“You should also allow for the possibility that he might set fire to your house, either deliberately or carelessly,” Henry said. “You have reason to be concerned for your safety as long as Noah stays under your roof, Julia.”
“But what about his safety? If I do not keep Noah under the protection of my roof, he will become a ward of the town again and most likely end up working at the charcoal pit. That would put him in grave danger.”
“So it would. ’Tis a dilemma for sure.”
I waited for him to say more, but he did not. “Well, Henry, have you no opinion regarding the matter?”
“Yes, but the evidence that supports it is hardly irrefutable. Hence, I hesitate to express it. Moreover, you do not need to hear my opinion to help you determine what course to pursue, Julia. All you need do is listen deeply to your own inborn intuition, and you will make the right decision.”
By now we had reached the road, and I took Henry’s hand before we went off in opposite directions. “You are a good friend to me and always have been,” I said.
“Even though I do not give you advice?”
“Better yet, you give me wisdom,” I said, and I would have kissed his cheek if I had not feared he would balk at such a physical demonstration of my regard.
Before we parted, he brought to my attention the bright-yellow sulfur lichens gilding a tumbled stone wall along the road. Such intense, glowing color! And to think I would have passed by without noticing this unexpected gift from Nature on such a cold, drab winter day. Thank you, dear Henry.
ADAM’S JOURNAL
Monday, December 13
Today began badly and ended badly, and I foresee only more misery to come. The Consumption spreads, and some say that a wrathful God is punishing Plumford. For what I cannot fathom. Our once peaceful little town of hard-working shopkeepers, craftsmen, and farmers is hardly Sodom or Gomorrah. It is almost easier to credit Solomon Wiley’s explanation that vampyres led by the ancient Indian Witiku have taken over our community, fastening their fangs into victims to infect them. I myself believe something even more insidious and destructive has caused this venomous disease to consume so many of our population of late: contagion. Most of my medical colleagues reject this contagious theory as a superstition on par with vampyrism, convinced that the disease spontaneously begins from within. But I am of the opinion that Consumption enters the body from without, else why would we be having this epidemic? How the infection is transmitted from one to another I know not, however, and my inability to cure my suffering patients troubles me exceedingly.
Julia’s proximity is also troubling. To have the woman you love close at hand is sublime, but to have the woman you love but cannot have close at hand is pure hell. Although I try to stay away from her as much as possible, I had no choice but to seek her out first thing this morning. Found her mixing paints in her studio.
“Julia, someone has been stealing laudanum from my office,” I announced without preamble. “I have two bottles less than I can account for and cannot help but suspect Mrs. Swann.”
“No, of course you cannot help it.” Julia impatiently tossed aside her palette knife and wiped her hands on her apron. “You have been prejudiced against the woman from the moment I took her on as my housekeeper.”
“She has full access to my office, does she not? I keep the front door locked when I’m away, but there is no lock on the inside door.”
“I have instructed Mrs. Swann, along with Noah, to never enter your office.”
“That does not mean they heed you.”
“You are accusing Noah, too? Why not accuse me as well?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Julia. I consider you above reproach.”
She threw up her hands. “All you do is reproach me!”
I ignored this baseless accusation, for although it is true that I blame her for my discontent, I believe I have shown great restraint in expressing my feelings to her.
“And as for Noah,” she continued, “I do not think him a thief any more than I think him a fire starter.”
“A thief, no,” I agreed. “But who else could have started that fire in the barn?”
“Why don’t you simply blame poor Mrs. Swann for it? As you do for everything else?”
It came back to me then—the absolute exasperation I have always felt arguing with Julia. As a girl she irritated me beyond measure with her convoluted reasoning, and my impulse at age twelve or so had been to end such arguments by throttling her. Instead, I would turn on my heel and walk away. And she would run after me and hook her arm in mine and look up at me with the sweetest smile on her little heart-shaped face and all would be well between us again. Oh, how easy it was in those days.
“Let us get back to the topic that brought me in here,” I told her most patiently. “To wit, two missing bottles of laudanum.”
“
Are you sure you counted correctly?”
“Pray do not insult me by questioning my ciphering abilities, Julia.”
“Could a patient of yours be the culprit?”
“I do not think it feasible that a patient could manage to steal a bottle of tincture of opium before my very eyes.”
“Do you lock up your supply?”
“The medicine cabinet doesn’t even have a lock. Doc Silas never had reason to distrust the inhabitants of his house.”
“Nor do you, Adam.” She turned from me and busied herself mixing paints again.
Impossible woman! Left her and went on my rounds.
When I returned in the late afternoon I discovered the laudanum thief. I simply walked into the office from the kitchen passageway, and there she was, about to stuff a bottle of the potent drug into her lace-trimmed drawers. So startled was she at my arrival that she dropped it instead, and it shattered on the floor, filling the office with the scent of the brandy into which I dissolve the opium powder.
“Miss Phyfe,” I said. “What in God’s name do you think you are doing?”
Arabel stood wordlessly before me, staring at me with eyes sunken in their sockets but morbidly bright. Her cheeks were hollow to an emaciated degree that went beyond fashionable thinness, and there was a hectic flush upon them. I might well have been looking at a painted death mask, for I saw the unmistakable signs of galloping Consumption infusing her every delicate feature.
“I think I understand,” I said gently. “The laudanum relieves your pains. But it will only make you sicker if you take too much.”
“My system has become accustomed to the drug,” she said in a hoarse voice just above a whisper, holding her throat as if it pained her to talk. “I need it, doctor. And my need has reduced me to common thievery. Pray forgive me. Papa will repay you for the bottle I broke. And for the other bottle I confess I stole just yesterday.”
“And the one you took two days ago,” I reminded her. “If you are making a confession, it might as well be a full one.”
“But I only stole one bottle,” she insisted.
Did not press her. It mattered not to me if her father repaid me or not. In fact, I see no reason to mention this to him now that Arabel has come into my care. And much care she will need until the end.
Asked if she would allow me to examine her, and she complied only after I promised I would give her a dose of laudanum. Held her wrist. She had an accelerated pulse rate of one hundred and twenty. Took my stethoscope to her heart and heard its weak, hollow thump. Moved it to her chest and heard the gurgling, deadly congestion that clogged her lungs. Felt her legs, thin as sticks, yet swollen. Asked her about fatigue, joint pains, and night sweats. She nodded yes to each symptom. She broke into a coughing fit, and blood spouted from her mouth. Embarrassed, she covered her mouth with her palm. Gave her my handkerchief, and she continued to cough into that. When I examined it, I saw bits of lung tissue mixed with the blood and phlegm. Looked down her throat and saw ulcers.
Gave her some laudanum as a sedative, and she gulped it down with a gurgling moan. “More,” she said.
“I cannot in good conscience give you more now.”
“More!” she demanded as loudly and forcefully as she could. But then she fell back on the examining table and lightly dozed.
Left her and went to the studio, where Julia and the other two Phyfe girls were patiently awaiting her return, along with Mrs. Swann, who was reading from the Bible to them, and Noah, busily sketching his own hand. Motioned Julia to step out in the hall and told her what had occurred.
“I was wrong to jump to conclusions and accuse Mrs. Swann,” I concluded.
Julia waved away my apology. “Poor, dear Arabel. I will help you take her home.”
We went back to the office to rouse Arabel, but she was gone! We looked out the window and could see her crossing the Green, clothed only in her pink silk frock, swaying from side to side, occasionally swigging from yet another stolen bottle of laudanum. Ran out and picked her up in my arms. She was no heavier than a bag of goose feathers. Paid onlookers no mind as I carried her to her fine home at the top of the Green. Put her to bed and had the housemaid go find her father, who was out on business. Meanwhile, Julia arrived with the other two sisters in tow. They were weeping profusely. Did not want them disturbing their sister and made them wait outside the bed chamber door. Julia, however, stayed with me, soothing Arabel with words and caresses. Julia has had much practice soothing ill people, starting as a child with her mother, whose own form of Consumption caused her to linger at Death’s door for years. Whether it is a blessing or a curse, Arabel will be taken quickly. When Justice Phyfe returned to the house, I told him my diagnosis without mincing words. His response was that he would take Arabel to warmer, sunnier climes as soon as she got well enough to travel. Not sure he fully comprehended that his daughter is dying.
How the hell can anyone comprehend why our species is cursed with such inexplicable illness? I admit that, despite all my learning and training, I cannot. As a doctor I pledged to keep the sick from harm and injustice, but I am powerless to do so against this damnable Consumption. As I was leaving the house I could hear Phyfe’s other two daughters praying in the parlor. If there is a God, I wanted to shout at them, what good does He do? Julia must have seen the anger and frustration in my face, for she took me firmly by the arm and impelled me out the door. We walked home together slowly, as if we too were invalids. Yet when I looked into her lovely eyes, the energy of life coursed through me, and I wanted her so badly my knees near buckled. But we parted without so much as a hand shake, and on I went to Tuttle Farm.
JULIA’S NOTEBOOK
Tuesday, 14 December
Poor Arabel Phyfe. After examining her yesterday, Adam concluded she has galloping Consumption. ’Tis no wonder she craved laudanum. That she stole it from Adam’s office will remain a secret between him and me. Although I do not know the girl well, having met her little over a week ago, I am most distraught that she has fallen victim to this dread illness. I sensed something amiss when I commenced sketching her, but I thought it more an illness of the spirit than of the body.
Kitty Lyttle came by this afternoon with the garments she’d sewn for me and managed, as always, to lift my spirits. I brought her up to my chamber for a final fitting and lit the fire Noah had built in the hearth, as he does for me every day. The room was soon cozy, and I began trying on my new clothes. Kitty has made up the two challis gowns, one of sage and the other of plum, in the latest fashion, with long, pointed bodices, narrow sloping shoulders, and tight sleeves.
“That color in particular suits you very well,” Kitty said when I put on the sage gown.
“But the style hardly suits my work.” I raised my arm to the height of a canvas set on an easel and felt most constrained.
“I should hope you will not paint in your gowns!” Kitty said. “It would not do to bespatter them. Try on the muslin blouses. You will find them far less constricting.” She lowered her voice although we were quite alone. “You do not even need to wear a corset under them.”
“What? Not wear a corset? Unthinkable!” I shrilled. “I’ll have you know, missy, that an uncorseted woman is a bawdy woman. And the more tightly laced a lady’s corset is, the more virtuous she be.”
Kitty laughed. “That’s exactly how my mother sounds, too.”
“Actually, ’twas my Grandmother Walker I was mimicking,” I said. “She used to threaten to put me in stays when I was but eight to settle me down. She thought me quite the hoyden, and no doubt I was. My mother was too ill to concern herself with my comings and goings, and I ran around wild and free with my cousin Adam.”
“Adam Walker, the doctor?”
“The very same.”
Kitty gave me a little smile and sideways glance. “Dr. Walker is quite handsome. I wager you were in love with him as a girl.”
“I loved him beyond measure, but not in the sentimental way you imply, Kitty. We were m
ates. We shared a special bond, both having lost our mothers young. But our childhood friendship was abruptly ended when my father removed me from Plumford to live with him in Europe.”
“So until a fortnight ago, you had not laid eyes on Dr. Walker since he was a boy?”
“Actually, this is not my first visit back to Plumford since Adam and I were children. The summer before last I returned here to nurse our grandfather, who had broken his leg. Adam had taken over his medical practice whilst his leg mended, and we . . . became reacquainted.”
“Did you?” Kitty gave me an appraising look. “Were you married then?”
“No.” I turned my back to her so she could unbutton my gown. “I married soon after I left here.”
“Tell me about your husband,” Kitty said as her nimble fingers worked free the buttons.
“What about him?”
She laughed. “Well, where is he now?”
“In France.”
“And what is his business?”
“Pray stop asking me so many questions, Kitty!”
“I was just making conversation,” she said. “But I beg your pardon for overstepping. I forgot that I was merely your hired seamstress and not your friend.”
“Of course you are my friend!” I turned round and saw that her sweet kitten face was all puckered up. “And I beg your pardon for being so curt, dear Kitty. It is just that I do not care to talk about my husband. Why don’t you tell me about yours, instead?”
“With pleasure!” she said, her countenance smoothing. And as I tried on the rest of the clothes she had sewn up for me, she went on and on about how loving and kind and adorable her spouse is. I have no reason to doubt her, for I have only witnessed the tailor’s mutual adoration of her.
“But enough about my Micah,” she said at last. She fell silent and looked about the chamber, taking in the yellowed lace bed canopy, the faded toile wallpaper, the limp dimity curtains, and the worn Aubusson carpet. “What a quaint room this is. Did you sleep here as a girl?”
“Yes, and it looks exactly the same now as it did then,” I told her. “Indeed, nothing has been altered for over seventy-five years.”