by Sara Donati
But she could not put any of it aside, not the idea of Manny in hiding somewhere nor of Cobb headed north. So preoccupied was she with these facts, she had walked half the length of the sick ward hallway before she realized that there were already people waiting outside the closed apothecary door, and that she had last seen faces like these by torchlight. A young woman with a high forehead, her skin the color of tea, her mouth filled with broken and bloodied teeth. A tall man with shaved head holding his wrist at an unnatural angle. A younger man with a scarred face, his eyes darting uneasily around himself as he cradled his ribs with both arms. When she stopped before them he met her gaze defiantly and went very quiet, as if he were waiting for her to decide between calling the constables and treating their wounds.
She said the first thing that came to her. “You’re here to be vaccinated, no doubt. Come this way, it will be just a minute until I get the office ready.”
Later it would occur to Hannah that she had been very fortunate to avoid the doctors while she treated the three rioters in the institution office. She set the broken wrist, thankful that the skin was not broken; she cleaned out the woman’s mouth and removed the remains of two broken teeth, and packed her jaw with gauze to stop the bleeding.
The man with the scarred face watched her work but his expression never changed. When she began to examine him, he turned his head aside and looked at the wall.
“You have some broken ribs on the right side. I will bind them, but you will have to take care.”
He grunted in reply, but he raised his arms in the air while she wound the bandage. His torso was covered with scars, ivory and delicate pink against black skin. A long scar an inch wide curved across the tight plane of his abdomen. It looked as though someone had tried to gut him with a dull knife and come very close to succeeding, but far worse than that was the scarring left by lashings. His back had been flayed to the muscle in places, and more than once.
That he had survived such beatings told her what kind of man he must be, one who would survive because his anger would not let him die. His back pronounced him a slave more clearly than anything he might have told her.
“How did you know to come to me? Did Manny send you?”
He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded.
“Is he safe?”
He blinked at her, and it occurred to Hannah that he might not understand. The French words came to her almost without bidding. “Manny, est-il en sûreté?”
It was the woman who answered, her words coming muffled through her swollen mouth, in the accent of the islands. “We are none of us safe, miss. Not even you, not now.”
Chapter 26
Early Monday morning as Cicero handed Hannah up into the carriage for the ride to the Almshouse, he pressed a note into her hand. The paper was thin and the ink was poor, but it was written in a strong, careful hand, one that Hannah did not recognize.
A man needs medical help. If you will attend to him, be outside the Almshouse kitchen door at three this afternoon. We will see that you are back by four. Mr. Spencer has no part in this, and neither should he, for his own welfare.
Hannah worked all day with the note folded in her bodice, measuring its shape and weight with every breath she took. A man who needed help. A note from a stranger about a stranger, passed to her by Cicero, who never even met her eye when he put it in her hand. A man who needed help, who dared not come to the Almshouse or the dispensary or the hospital, all places where someone without money could get treatment.
It might be Manny. It might not.
It was the worst kind of folly, and yet Hannah found herself planning. She could be away from the sick wards for an hour, if the work in the vaccination office was finished. Dr. Simon would assume she was in the nursery; Dr. Scofield would assume she had gone to the hospital with Dr. Simon; Dr. Savard might come looking for her, but it was unlikely: Dr. Simon would be amputating a leg this afternoon, a procedure that called for many assistants.
A man needs medical help.
It could be fever or a broken bone or a knife wound. Hannah checked the lancets and scalpels she had been given by Hakim Ibrahim, instruments she had used with the supervision of Dr. Todd or Curiosity or Dr. Simon. She checked the vials and bottles strapped to the side of the bag. Her supply of willow bark for fever tea was low, and she refilled it from the crock in the apothecary.
At two, when she had finished with the last of the day’s vaccination work and she was about to close the office, Dr. Simon came in. Hannah could hide her distress, but not her surprise.
“I was just on my way to change some dressings,” she said. “I thought you would be at the hospital by now?” Making a question of it, the way Amanda did when she was offering direction to her husband.
“I was about to leave when a visitor arrived,” said Dr. Simon, with his usual quiet smile. And with that an idea came to Hannah, outlandish and very appealing all at once: she could put the note in his hand, and let herself be guided by his counsel. Dr. Simon’s antislavery sentiments were public knowledge; he would not do anything to harm people in need.
“Yes?”
“And then I remembered your vaccination.”
Hannah glanced down at herself, confused now. “I don’t understand what an unexpected visitor has to do with my vaccination. Am I overlooking something?”
“Is this not the eighth day since you were given the virus?”
“Yes.” She flushed a little to admit such absentmindedness, but Dr. Simon did not seem to be worried by this lapse on her part.
“I have a special favor to ask of you, then. Today I received a letter from President Jefferson.”
Hannah forced herself to smile and listen.
“He is very interested in this work of ours, you see, and he has asked for a supply of our virus, as fresh as possible. His secretary is here and he will take it with him to Washington. He leaves this evening.”
“Captain Lewis.” Hannah had forgotten about the president’s personal secretary entirely in the aftermath of the riot.
Dr. Simon nodded. “Yes, he mentioned to me that you have been introduced. That is a fortunate coincidence.”
Hannah made a sound in her throat, but the doctor took it for agreement.
“The president has given the captain the assignment of learning everything he can about vaccination. He has had samples of virus from many doctors, but he would like ours as well, to see if our method of preparing it for transport might be superior to the others he has been shown.”
Hannah had turned away so that the doctor could not see her face, busied herself with straightening papers on the desk. “I have no objection,” she said. “It doesn’t matter to me where the virus goes once you’ve taken it.”
There was a moment’s silence and Hannah could not help it; she must turn to see his face. Dr. Simon was rarely at a loss for words, but he seemed now to be searching.
“Is there something else, sir?”
“If Captain Lewis had come earlier in the day I would not have to ask you this, but I see you’ve already finished with the other eighth-day vaccinations.”
“I have. But I’ve said I don’t mind if the virus taken from me goes to Washington with Captain Lewis. Is there some other problem I’m overlooking?”
“Captain Lewis would like to see the preservation method from its start. I am concerned for your modesty.”
Hannah could not hide her smile. “I see. Maybe it will help you to know that when I met the captain I was wearing a very fashionable evening gown I borrowed from Mrs. Todd,” she said. “Today he will see far less of me than he did that evening. If we can do this quickly, I have no objection.”
Hannah put on a sleeveless kirtle while the doctor and his guest waited in the hall. She could hear them talking as she set out the lancet and the rest of the materials the doctor would need. Generosity, she heard the captain say, and the doctor in response: She has surpassed my highest expectations.
She didn’t know whether to be irritated or complimented and so Hannah satisfied herself with saying exactly what was required of her when they came in, and nothing more.
Dr. Simon, never unduly worried by long silences and concerned with providing all the information that the president might want, seemed not to notice at all. But Captain Lewis was ill at ease. Hannah was far more comfortable observing him than he was her.
His height surprised her, and she had forgotten the way his hair fell forward over a high brow. He had a straight nose and wide-set eyes that were bloodshot. Though he would not look at her directly she could see that he was suffering the effects of too much wine and not enough sleep.
Dr. Simon was far too polite to take note. He began to lecture in the tone he used with his students, quick and competent and full of sober enthusiasm. He held up the lancet.
“The vesicle is perfect, exactly as you see it in the diagrams. When I open it—” He made a decisive movement with the lancet, and Hannah registered the sting. “A very gentle touch is all that is required. You see the fluid, which many describe as pearly. This fluid contains the virus itself. Would you hand me one of the vaccinators, please? You see, those bits of ivory. It is a delicate business to catch all of the fluid on the end of the vaccinator, but you see it is flat at one end, and a hollow has been carved into it. Here we have it, kine-pox virus. Miss Bonner is now immune to smallpox.”
Captain Lewis asked good questions of the doctor, and listened carefully to the answers. Hannah might as well have been a statue sitting before him for all his attention, and it irritated her that he did not include her in the conversation.
“How long will the virus need to dry on the vaccinator?” asked the captain.
Dr. Simon said, “We have recently discovered that it is best not to let the virus dry on the ivory. Or I should say, Miss Bonner suggested it to me when she first arrived. Perhaps you should explain this, Miss Bonner.”
Hannah kept her expression still. “It was not my invention. Another physician wrote to me about his methods. The virus seems to remain active longer if the entire vaccinator is put in a small glass vial of purified water and sealed with wax.”
“A tremendous improvement,” said Dr. Simon, who had moved to Hannah’s other arm and was bent forward to extract the virus from the second vesicle. “And so much easier to pour the contents of the vial into an incision than to rub it raw with the vaccinator itself.”
There was a knock at the door, and Dr. Simon looked up. “That will be Dr. Savard, we must go. Miss Bonner, may I ask you to finish with the captain? He would like to see our vaccination records, and I’m sure he has some questions.”
Hannah could not deny Dr. Simon such a simple request, but very much wanted to be rid of both of them. When he closed the door behind himself she first glanced at the clock that stood on the desk.
Captain Lewis said, “Perhaps this is too much of an imposition?”
Hannah cast him a sidelong glance. She took a plug of wax from a dish on the worktable and sealed the vaccinator vial, and then held it up for his inspection. “Here you are. Fresh vaccination material for the president. It is important that there be no air at all left in the vial, please note. The record books are on that table behind you. If you have no questions I have some work to attend to.”
“I do have one question,” said the captain. “Will you be vaccinating your own people when you go home?”
Hannah pulled up short. “Yes. That is why I am here.”
“And you will keep records?”
“Of course.”
He looked thoughtful for a long moment. “It would be of some assistance to me—to the president—if you would agree to send us copies of your records.”
All of Hannah’s irritation left her suddenly, to be replaced by surprise. “Why would the president be interested in the vaccination records of a small village on the edge of the wilderness?”
“The president is interested in a great many things,” said Captain Lewis.
Some men were most easily taken to task with silence, and Captain Lewis was one of them. He might be able to put other women in their place with a mention of the president, but she would wait until he had answered her question truthfully.
After a long moment he said, “I need to learn about the actual practice because I may find myself in a place where I have to carry out large-scale vaccinations.”
“Ah,” said Hannah. “You are planning on traveling to the Missouri.”
Captain Lewis stilled suddenly. He opened his mouth and then shut it again.
Hannah said, “It is a very reasonable deduction, Captain. At dinner you asked Mr. Davis so many questions about provisions for his journey and the conditions on the way, and now you stand here asking about vaccinating a great number of people. Whatever other work you undertake for the president, I hope you are not a spy. I fear you wouldn’t last very long at all. Your expression gives away far too much.”
He let out a great rush of air and rubbed the flat of his hand along his jawline, as if a tooth had begun to ache. “I have been indiscreet.”
Hannah turned away to tidy things on the desk. Behind her he cleared his throat roughly.
“I must ask you not to speak of this to anyone. Not to Dr. Simon or to Mr. Spencer.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Then you do travel west, I see.”
He winced slightly. “That is the president’s hope, but Congress has not yet been approached about this expedition. It is all very … sensitive.”
“France and Spain would not approve,” said Hannah, almost to herself. And then: “You need not look so surprised, Captain Lewis. I can read a newspaper as well as any man. And even understand what I read.”
“I have offended you. I apologize. But if I could have your word that this discussion will go no further—”
“You have my word,” Hannah cut him off. “You may plan your journey without fear of interference from me.”
“By your expression I can see that you do not approve.”
Hannah was not quick to anger, but Captain Lewis seemed to know what to say to irritate her most. “And would it surprise you if I did not approve?”
He did not try to hide his surprise. “On what grounds?”
Hannah crossed her arms and rocked forward with her chin lowered, working very hard to stop herself from speaking the things that she most wanted to say. She must choose her words carefully, not so much because she was worried about offending the president’s secretary—she feared that could not be avoided—but because she wanted him to understand her.
“For many years my grandfathers predicted that sooner or later the whites would need more land and begin to move west.” She paused, and saw by the captain’s expression that she was not far from the mark.
“And if that were so?”
“You see the color of my skin, Captain Lewis. I know very well what will happen to the Indians once the west is open. You will speak of treaties and land purchases but in the end you will take what you want. By force.”
There was a long silence, and Hannah saw that she had struck a nerve. He was very angry, but to his credit—she must grant that much—he did not offer false explanations or excuses. She was both relieved and disappointed in him, and she turned back to her work.
“If there is nothing else, Captain?”
He said, “Will you send me copies of your records?”
“Will you promise to vaccinate Indians as well as whites as you go west?”
He blinked at her. “For as long as I have active vaccination material, yes.”
“Very well, I will send copies of my records.”
The captain picked up his hat and hesitated at the door. “You are a most unusual young lady, Miss Bonner.”
“Yes,” said Hannah. “I am. And a very busy one too.”
When she got to the kitchen doors just before three Hannah found a boy waiting for her, no more than eight years old, barefoot and bareheaded, with
a quick smile and nothing to say at all. Hannah had to trot to keep up with him as he dashed up one alleyway and down another, five minutes or more in which they never touched foot on a main street. They came finally to the back entrance of an old brick building in the Dutch style, with a gabled roof and windows shuttered even in the spring sunshine. The alleyway and the steps were covered with a fine dusting of flour, and the smell of baking bread was in the air.
Hannah followed the boy again, this time down five steps into a cellar. The first room was overheated and poorly lit by a single betty lamp hung from the ceiling. The corners were crowded with bags of grain, and in the middle of it all stood Manny.
Relief and anger surged so strongly in Hannah that she put down her bag to take both his hands in hers. They were cool to the touch and his pulse was steady and strong; she could see no sign of illness in his face.
“Manny Freeman,” she said. “If you are not hurt it will be my duty and great pleasure to injure you myself. Why are you still in this city?”
He managed a smile, but the expression in his eyes remained untouched. “There’s nothing wrong with me that some sleep won’t cure.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“There’s no time for that,” he said. “Come.”
The next room was slightly larger, darker, and crowded with people. Some lay on pallets on the floor, and others sat. In the far corner was a slop bucket and a water barrel. Every one of the people in the room—all of them black—looked at Hannah with expressions that ranged from barely contained anger and agitation to exhaustion. She nodded to the woman whose broken teeth she had extracted, but saw no sign of the two men.
“Over there,” said Manny, pointing her toward a tick mattress that had been spread across some crates. The man who had been given the privilege of a bed elevated off the floor seemed to be sleeping. Hannah recognized him from Bowling Green, where she had seen him now and then driving Madame du Rocher’s carriage. He was of middle years, strongly built and wide through the shoulders.
Next to him an elderly woman Hannah didn’t know sat wrapped in shawls. In one hand she had a dipper while with the other she held down a corner of his mouth to let the water dribble in. The neckline of his shirt was wet, and Hannah wondered if he was swallowing anything at all.