What Heals the Heart

by Karen A. Wyle

  Joshua busied himself with handing the schoolteacher the rest of his books. He was afraid his secret, or rather, the secret he was bound to keep for another, would be written on his face. Along with his thought that the fictional woman’s choices hardly seemed so straightforward to him.

  He made sure to find an errand in a different direction from where Dolly appeared to be heading. But before they parted, she said, in her pretty voice, “Will you be attending the meeting next Friday? Our own congressman will be speaking.”

  The congressman had not graced the town with his presence since he had managed to get elected. Having voted for the other fellow, Joshua was tolerably curious about what the man might have to say. “I daresay I will.”

  Chapter 18

  Joshua tied off the bandage around the young prostitute’s wrist. (What was her name? Bessie? Betty? She had arrived shortly before his last visit, and he had never spent time with her.) “Keep that clean, and send for me if it gets seriously soiled. Otherwise I’ll be back in three days to change it. And I’ll tell Madam Mamie you must be excused from further attempts at cooking until that time.”

  The young woman cackled. “Just as well I’m not making my living as a cook, ain’t it? I’d be bandaged from head to foot in no time.” She winked at him. “Though if you were to do the bandaging, I might enjoy it at that.”

  Joshua gave a short smile at her banter. Flirting was a tool of her trade, and she may as well practice it.

  As he packed up his bag, he noticed that she had dropped her professional manner and was gazing at the bandage. “This brings back memories of when Mama and I and my sisters scraped lint and packed it up, and tore up her old petticoats for bandages and rolled them. I loved the lint — it was like snow that didn’t chill my fingers.” Her look went mischievous again for a moment. “And I did enjoy tearing up the petticoats.”

  Joshua had seen such makeshift bandages often enough. It was just possible that he himself, or Clara Brook, had handled the very bandages that innocent child had rolled so carefully.

  He could picture the woman (June? Jenny, that was it) as a little girl, with the dark brown hair whose roots showed beneath her brassy blonde, rolling up strips of white cloth, her lower lip stuck out in concentration the way Hope’s sometimes did. “That was very good of you and your family. I can assure you the doctors and those assisting them appreciated it. Did you write notes, as some children did?”

  “Once or twice. I remember once, after Mama told us some sad stories of wounded soldiers, she helped me write that I wished I could kiss their hurts and make them better. She kissed me, on the top of my head, when I asked her to help write that.” Jenny bit her lip and swallowed what must have been a lump in her throat. How long had it been since she had seen her mother?

  Joshua looked away for a moment to let her collect herself. But he had a most inappropriate urge to kiss the top of her head.

  * * * * *

  Joshua had often thought of asking Clara Brook about his old friend’s letter, and as often hesitated to do so. But as he left the general store, where he had stopped to drop a coin in the collection box for grasshopper region relief, he saw Clara passing by and felt for no clear reason that the time had come. Once they had exchanged greetings, he took a somewhat deeper than usual breath and said, “If I may make so bold, ma’am, a letter from a man who was with me in the Army made me wonder about something. Did you ever, in your nursing, have a patient by the name of Calvin Grey?”

  Clara frowned as if searching her memory. “That name doesn’t call anyone to mind.”

  “You might remember him by the wound he had, a sucking chest wound, in the first year —”

  She interrupted him, her face brighter. “A chubby fellow, with a round face and a gap in his teeth that made him whistle when he talked? If that’s your friend, I do remember him. A fighter, for all you mightn’t think it to look at him. At least, he knew how to fight to live. That’s the kind of fighting I came to admire most.”

  “That’s the very man, ma’am. He remembers you most kindly. He had no idea I might know you, but he told me about the nurse who stood by him when the doctor despaired of him, and kept his spirits up even as she held body and soul together.”

  Clara’s eyes glowed, and she stood very straight. He had touched the core of pride in her, and she was unwilling, in that moment, to deny it.

  The moment was broken by the approach of light footsteps. Clara’s expression shifted in an instant to closed and wary. Joshua turned to see Dolly and Hope, Dolly holding one of Hope’s hands while the girl held a stick of striped candy in the other. Hope called out gaily to him. “Mister Doctor! I have candy! I was a good girl, so Mommy bought me candy!”

  Joshua raised his hat to mother and daughter. “I’m very glad to hear you were a good girl, Miss Hope.”

  He heard heavier footsteps retreating behind him, and glanced backward. Clara had left without a goodbye to him or a word to Dolly. He looked back at Dolly to see her looking after Clara with no very friendly expression. Whatever might be between the two of them, he would rather not know it. He turned his attention back to Hope. “Do you think that if I went to the ice cream parlor, the man might let me have one of those sticks? Or would your mommy have to tell him I’ve been good, first?”

  Hope’s giggle mingled with the somewhat more refined titter of her mother. Too late, he realized his words might have been taken as flirtatious. Conversation with females was fraught with peril, it seemed, even the pint-sized variety. He excused himself, no doubt with less than the aplomb he might have preferred to display, and retreated to the safely masculine comforts of the saloon for a restorative glass of beer.

  * * * * *

  Joshua had learned over the years to assume a calm and reassuring manner, whatever the condition in which a patient presented himself. Such a demeanor calmed the patient in turn, giving confidence that the doctor could cope with whatever mishap, or even calamity, had occurred; and a calm and confident patient would be easier to deal with.

  But it took a positive effort of will to avoid any sign of alarm when Hawkins, of all people, banged at the door of Joshua’s office, pushed it open, and entered with Clara Brook leaning on his arm, shivering and pale.

  Even as Joshua stared, Clara straightened up and looked about her in evident dismay. She muttered something under her breath; Joshua could not catch the words, but it had the rhythm of a curse.

  Hawkins led her to a chair and pressed her into it before addressing Joshua. “I was passing by the town square when I noticed Miss Brook sitting on a bench nearby. I tipped my hat and said good morning, but she didn’t say nothing back to me. Well, that wasn’t like her, seeing as we’re acquainted, so I looked closer, and I saw she looked poorly, as you’ll have noticed when we come in. Well, I may know a thing or two —” Hawkins paused and thrust his chin up and his shoulders back, then slumped down again. “But I don’t rightly know what to do when a young lady gets the vapors. So I thought, may as well bring her over here and see what you could do for her. But looks as if she’s going to be just fine, without no special treatment.”

  Indeed, as much color as Clara usually possessed, if not more, had returned to her face. A moment more, and she stood up, her posture almost aggressively straight. She took the barber’s hand. “Thank you for assisting me. I am only sorry to have caused you concern.”

  “Weren’t no trouble, miss. And I’m right glad to see you looking better. I’ll be on my way.” He smiled at her before releasing her hand, nodding stiffly at Joshua, and taking his leave.

  Clara shook her head as if dislodging unpleasant images. “I hope you will believe that I am not often afflicted with what Mr. Hawkins calls ‘the vapors.’” She paused and went on more quietly. “Or at least, not for such causes as are traditionally attributed to delicate females.”

  Joshua would have very much liked to inquire as to other likely causes for her symptoms, now or in the past, but her manner made all too clear that an
y such question would be unwelcome. He could not force his diagnostic efforts on her. “Are you feeling quite well again?”

  Clara lifted her chin in a gesture echoing Hawkins’ defiant posture. “Perfectly. You’ll have no need to rummage for smelling salts or other such remedies.” She forced a smile, an expression that sat poorly on her face and troubled him more than a frown would have done. Then some thought evidently crossed her mind and gave rise to a look of more genuine amusement, or even mischief. “And I defy you to hold so firmly to your low opinion of Mr. Hawkins, after he has demonstrated such gallantry.”

  As more than once before, she left him stammering for a reply. She awaited none, but turned and fairly marched out the door.

  Chapter 19

  The day of the meeting where the congressman would speak, Joshua was called to a farm off near Rushing, and then Li Chang flagged him down as he was riding back. The Chinaman had burned himself with an iron in a moment of inattention, and felt quite foolish about the uncharacteristic accident. “My fault. I was thinking about my mother’s letter. They decide what to bring on the boat. So little room!”

  By the time Joshua made it to the meeting hall, the band was playing and most of the seats were taken. With such a mass of people, the room was warm enough that Joshua soon shed his overcoat and draped it on his arm. He took a moment to admire the place, transformed by as much bunting as if election season were still in full swing. Grabbing one of the many pieces of cake set forth on the refreshment table, he managed to find a seat near the back of the hall. Looking around, he saw Dolly in the third row. Freida had not chosen to attend — or was she too unwell to venture out on a winter evening? He would have to call on her tomorrow.

  The band launched into “My Country ‘Tis of Thee,” at least half the crowd singing along with surprisingly harmonious results. After the ringing conclusion, the band packed up and joined the friends who had saved seats for them, and the mayor took their place. Joshua tuned out the words and listened to the mayor’s speech as if to another musical instrument. So regarded, it was pleasant enough, rather like a bassoon. After a couple of minutes, however, he realized that something was amiss. It was not, after all, the congressman who had come to town. Congress was in session, and he could not absent himself merely to meet with those who had elected him. Instead, the mayor was introducing some sort of aide. Dolly had been misinformed. Joshua wondered whether the mayor had been as well, and if so, before or after he had organized this circus.

  The mayor finally reached the end of his introduction, and the aide came down the aisle, shaking hands with the men left and right in as condescending a manner as the congressman might have displayed, bobbing his head at the ladies, sweat shining on his round red face.

  Joshua tried, this time, to take in the content of the speech. After all, in less than two years, he would have to decide whether to do his one-vote best to boot the man’s employer out of office. However, he soon realized that in order to make that decision, he would have to busy himself with finding out the truth about all the splendid things the congressman was supposedly doing in Washington. He would never find the time.

  “ . . . and your representative has added his support to the Page Act, which will protect our shores from the yellow tide of strumpets, brought hither by nefarious petticoat pensioners to tempt and poison our men and offend our virtuous wives and mothers with their presence . . . .”

  Joshua whispered to Thaddeus the telegraph operator, sitting next to him, “What in the Sam Hill is the Page Act?” Thaddeus, he knew, read the out of town papers and might have an answer.

  Thaddeus whispered back, “It’s a law to keep Chinese women from immigrating, unless they prove they’re not whores. I don’t know more’n that.”

  “But — but why Chinese? I don’t know a single Chinese lady at Madam Mamie’s. Who says China’s planning to send us whores?”

  Thaddeus shrugged. Joshua returned his attention to the speaker, who had moved on to the congressman’s plan to bring more settlers to Nebraska and even make it a site for tourists to visit. Joshua let his mind wander again. It settled, uncomfortably, on the memory of Li Chang, burning his hand as he contemplated the arrival of his wife and mother. Did Li know about this Page Act? Would it pass before his family could board their ship and leave?

  Joshua got up, maneuvered his way through the row of seats, and walked out.

  Thaddeus was, albeit with some difficulty, able to get Joshua the text of the bill. It made for difficult reading. He puzzled over it, trying to match up the words with what the congressman’s aide had claimed. It seemed to be about making sure that anyone who took ship from the Orient hadn’t somehow ended up agreeing to involuntary servitude. Except it mentioned a law that already did that. This was about one kind of servitude, for “lewd and immoral purposes.” The law would put some penalties on United States citizens that tried to get away with bringing people in for such. That didn’t sound like a bad idea.

  He stopped by the inn where lawyers usually stayed when the circuit brought them to town. He was lucky enough to find one, and lucky again that the lawyer was bored and saddle-sore and in need of a drink. For the price of a couple of whiskeys, Joshua got a lawyer’s-eye view of what all the verbiage actually meant, or would mean once it was a law and people started acting on it.

  “You see, no one is going to get in trouble for stopping Chinese women from coming. The only way they get in trouble is by letting them through. And you’ve got all these people encouraged to throw their weight around. First the U.S. consul at the port they’re leaving from, and then the officials at the port where they show up. And if those officials decide some Chinese woman is here to be a prostitute, they can keep that woman, or maybe any ‘alien’ — it’s unclear — from leaving the ship. That puts the ship’s master in a bind. So whether any of the women who want to take ship are prostitutes or not, plenty of shipmasters will just say no to Chinese women passengers.”

  Joshua ground his teeth. “So even an old lady like our laundryman’s mother, not to mention his wife, might not be able to join him here.”

  The lawyer drained his glass and thunked it down. “Free legal opinions are worth what you pay for ‘em. And whiskey, however welcome, is close to free compared to what I charge for words I have to stand by. But that’s how I see it.”

  Words he would have to stand by. That was an apt phrase for what Joshua was attempting. He had never mixed much in politics, even locally — and here he was planning to raise a stink about what people were up to in far-off Washington City. But it was going to matter right here.

  When he stopped by to examine Freida — whose symptoms had not gotten appreciably worse, so she might actually be taking her medicine — he hesitated when she asked him what was new in his life. She was probably fishing for some update about his intentions toward Dolly. It was that thought as much as anything that led him to tell her what he was actually up to, that he planned to write a letter for the local paper to publish. It took a while, first to explain what the Page Act was, then to explain how it would affect Li Chang and others like him. To his relief, she was indignant for Li, and also — and this should not have surprised him — on Li’s mother’s behalf. “A man with a family, with a wife, and they want him to keep living all alone! And keeping an old lady from her son, how could they, what would their own mothers say! Is this the latest thing, old lady prostitutes? You want I should sign your letter?”

  That would almost certainly entail letting her change what he wrote. “No, thank you. But . . . I might have another idea.”

  First, he wrote the letter and dropped it by the newspaper. He did, in fact, add Freida’s thoughts to what he had already written.

  This proposed Act, while claiming to stem the flood of foreign and coerced immoral labor, has not been justified by any proof that this flood is lapping upon our shores . . . . It will, instead, condemn honest Orientals already present to continued loneliness, deprive their wives of the marital companio
nship to which they are entitled, and condemn their mothers to unsupported old age . . . .

  The editor greeted Joshua with raised eyebrows. “This is new. We usually have the same folks over and over.” From his expression, he might as well have said “the same old cranks.” “I’ll be interested to see what’s got you fired up.”

  Joshua thought of leaving before the editor could make that discovery. But sooner or later, especially with his new scheme in mind, he would have to actually talk to people on the topic. So he lingered while the editor glanced at the letter, then read it more closely. After what seemed to Joshua a rather long time studying it, the editor looked up. “Well, that’s not how I’ve seen anyone look at it.”

  “You’ll print it?”

  Another too-long pause. “I guess I will. Anything that gets people talking might sell more papers. You’d better be prepared for that talk.”

  Joshua tipped his hat in thanks for the warning and headed back to the office. He would have little leisure for the rest of the day, but by evening he should be able to give some thought to the next step in his campaign.

  The newspaper included Joshua’s letter in its next edition two days later. He bought a paper, noting with a sense of irony that the editor was already proved correct: Joshua usually bought the paper only twice a month if that, and he had bought one the previous week.

  His morning was spent traveling to several farms, at none of which anyone mentioned the letter. Most likely the paper had not made its way to them, if it ever would. But when he rode Nellie-girl back into the livery stable, the hostler was waiting for him, with a disturbing expression, something close to a leer, on his face. As Joshua handed him the reins, the man said with a wink, “Not wantin’ those government johnnies to spoil the fun, eh? I wouldn’t mind some of them Chinee girls over at Madam Mamie’s. I hear they’ve got special ways none of the local calico queens ever learned.”