A White Room (24 page)

He nodded again, looking as if he might cry. I realized he was younger than I had thought, in his early twenties.

“Lottie, I need a bottle of strong spirits.”

She started upstairs again.

“Something strong!” I called out.

She stopped halfway. “What, like blackstrap?”

“We don’t have that. Just grab something, anything.”

Lottie came back down and handed me a bottle of scotch, a substandard wedding gift from one of John’s St. Louis friends. He wouldn’t even notice it was gone. I handed it to Mr. Turner. “Drink this.”

He did without question. From my satchel I took a book that described how to close a wound with needle and thread. It was just like mending, I told myself. I’m just mending—mending a glove.

Mr. Turner kept at the bottle, swallowing large gulps. I couldn’t believe how easily the liquid flowed from the bottle to his mouth. Scotch wanted to be sipped. As Mr. Turner grew lethargic, he swayed back and forth against the table.

“Lottie, I can’t do this with him standing. Clear the table.” She and her husband removed a couple of bowls, some wooden spoons, and the tin of flour. “Mr. Schwab, lift him up.”

Lottie nervously rubbed her right eyebrow, clearly realizing we were about to lay out a drunk and bloody field laborer on the same table we prepared food on. Oliver didn’t hesitate. I poured water over Mr. Turner’s wound again and put an antiseptic on it. The antiseptic should have stung, but Mr. Turner had slipped beyond minor sensations.

“What’s that?” Lottie asked.

“It’s to kill germs,” I said.

“What are germs?”

“Germs—they make you sick.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Oliver said. “I heard ’bout ’em. They on everything, too. People get ’em off of telegraphs and from books and sich.”

“No.” Lottie clasped a hand to her chest, fingers splayed out.

“Yes, they be causin’ a real scare.”

“What is to be done about ’em?”

“I gather what she be doin’.” Oliver pointed at me.

“They’re all over, always have been,” I said. “That’s why you clean to prevent illness.”

“Oh,” Lottie said.

“I’m ready,” I said.

Lottie handed me a needle with white thread tied to it. Mr. Turner had his eyes closed and appeared to be sleeping. He held the nearly empty bottle against his side. I took a long, deep breath and let it out. I positioned the needle against the side of the gash. Holding the skin taught, I pushed and felt the pop as the needle punctured the skin. Mr. Turner let out a dreadful cry and yanked his hand away as the rest of us winced. I heard the clink-clang of the bottle hitting the ground and the gurgle of draining liquid.

I held my hands up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Mr. Turner mumbled something angrily, and then followed it with submissive apologies.

“Mr. Schwab, I need you to hold him down.”

Oliver refocused. He hesitantly placed a hand on Mr. Turner’s chest and the other on his forearm.

I took the needle hanging by the white string from his hand. The needle slid stiffly through one side and then the other as I pushed forcefully and Mr. Turner howled.

“More spirits, Lottie!”

Lottie picked up the bottle. “He drank it all.”

“Get more.”

She hustled noisily up the stairs.

Her husband stood at the opposite side of the table. Neither of us spoke—waiting. Then he lifted his gaze. “Thank you.”

I looked up.

“Most would have turned us away.”

I nodded, accepting his gratitude and looked away. We stood silently until Lottie returned, but she stopped halfway down and leaned over the wooden banister.

“Where are the spirits?” I asked.

“When I went up I heard a knockin’. Mrs. Grace and Mrs. Williams are in the parlor.”

I’d forgotten they were coming. I couldn’t stop now. I had already begun to mend his hand, and we had already used an entire bottle of Scotch from John’s liquor stores. I couldn’t let him sober up and start over later. “Tell them I am in the middle of an important task and will not be able to see them. Send my regrets.”

Lottie moved her lips and shook her hands as if repeating it in her head as she clomped up the steps.

“Wait,” I whispered loudly.

She stopped.

“Get the spirits.”

She hustled back up.

“Ple—please miss,” Mr. Turner slurred. “Don’ lemme put ya ow.”

Rushed, I decided to test the spirits and laudanum again. This time I held the wound together and drove the needle through both sides at once. He wailed, and I gritted my teeth. Oliver jumped and covered Mr. Turner’s mouth, muffling the sound. Mr. Turner’s smothered curses were followed by stifled apologies.

Lottie returned.

“What?”

“They said they’d wait, and then they hear Mr. Turner’s cry and I couldn’t explain it. They think sometin’ wrong.”

I moved toward the stairs. “I’ll just have to explain it to them myself.”

“You can’t.” Lottie pointed at my dress.

I beheld the splattered blood all over my shirt and apron. I clenched my fists. “Lottie, you have to get rid of them.”

“They won’t go.”

I looked back at Mr. Turner on the table. “Tell them I am coming, but it will be a few minutes.…And get the spirits.”

I pointed at Oliver. “Do not let him make a sound. We can’t wait.”

Oliver placed his hand over Mr. Turner’s mouth, and I forced the needle in again, pulling the string to close the edges together. Mr. Turner grunted, heaved, and wailed. It sounded so loud, but we couldn’t wait, so I did it again and again and again.

Lottie returned with the spirits.

“Can you hear that up there?”

“A little. More in the hallway.” She handed the bottle to me, and I passed it to Oliver, who fed it to Mr. Turner.

“Go talk to them. Try to keep them from hearing the noise. Ask them questions, tell stories, anything.”

“They’ll think I’m mad.”

“I don’t care.”

I signaled Oliver, and he put his hand back over the drunken Mr. Turner. I drove the needle in and cringed as cries escaped Oliver’s hand. We continued this until Mr. Turner finally fainted, whether from the liquor or the pain I couldn’t say.

About ten minutes later, Lottie plodded down the steps as I worked on the next-to-last stitch. My stiff lip and bulging eyes demanded a report.

“They told me to leave them be.”

I shoved the needle in again. “I’m almost finished, but my dress is soiled. I need clean garments.”

She nodded and ran back up.

I’d finished by the time Lottie reappeared with a suitable ensemble. I washed the blood off my hands.

“They’re talking about your health,” she said.

“Quick, help me.” I swished around to find Oliver staring in shock.

“Oliver, turn around,” Lottie said.

He obeyed.

I sighed in disbelief at my current situation.

“Sorry, miss.” Lottie peeled off my shirtwaist and camisole and then my walking skirt. “What are you going to say?”

“I have no idea. I have to explain what I’ve been doing—what the noises were.”

Lottie re-tightened my corset. She slipped the black skirt over my head because I couldn’t step into it while wearing petticoats. She put a fresh camisole over my head and helped me into a clean shirtwaist with little black flowers on it and fastened my belt. “Go.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to say.” I patted my head, making sure my hair was secure. “What would be so important that I would try to cancel a call?”

“I thought callers were supposed to willingly leave if the miss said she couldn’t see them,” Lottie said.

“It’s my health. Everyone thinks they are excused from manners.”

Lottie handed me a cloth. “Your brow, ma’am.”

I dabbed the sweat away and fanned my face. It was the first time I’d realized how warm I was in spite of the constant temperature of the cool basement.

“You seem healthy to me,” Oliver said. “You should tell ’em they ain’t allowed to not have any manners no more.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” I wiped my hands with the cloth. “Prepare some tea.”

I hustled up the stairs but hesitated at the top. I realized I hadn’t felt hopelessness in the basement that entire time. Then voices drew my attention, and I crept closer to the parlor.

Francis was snide. “I think we should notify Mr. Dorr and Dr. Bradbridge straightaway.”

Ella lowered her voice. “While we’re there, we should mention something about
our trip
.”

“What?”

“We should tell people ahead of time. It will set in their minds, and they won’t question anything later.”

“I don’t know. I’d prefer we not draw any attention to it at all.”

“What will people say when we suddenly go away without reason?”

Francis sighed. “What if someone catches us in a lie?”

What in tarnation were they talking about? A lie? About a trip?

“They won’t. We’ll go over our stories together. It won’t take much.”

They stopped speaking and I waited, hoping to hear about this trip. Someone sighed.

“This is ridiculous. If I don’t see that woman in here in five seconds, I’m going to—”

I swept into the parlor. “Ella. Francis.”

They stood up from the green sofa. “Good day, Emeline. How are you feeling?” Francis accused more than asked.

“I’m well. And you?” I lowered myself into a chair, and they sat back down.

“We are very well, thank you.”

“It seems I’ve missed some intriguing discussion.”

“Uh—um…we were speaking of your servant girl.” Francis tripped over her words.

“Oh?”

Then she snapped back to her usual self. “We’ve been here a good twenty minutes and haven’t seen a spot of tea.”

“Twenty minutes, you say?”

Ella looked down at her hands.

“She’s brewing it now. I’m sorry you waited so long, but I believe Mrs. Schwab tried to inform you I was busy and unable to see you right away.”

“You were aware of our visit, were you not?” Francis asked. “We informed you well ahead of time.”

“Of course, and I would have sent word, but an urgent matter arose at the last possible moment.”

“The polite thing would have been to inform us yourself so that we could be sure you were in good health instead of sending your handmaid.” Francis used sharp and exaggerated gestures.

“It is acceptable decorum as far as I am aware.”

“You were recently ill,” Ella said. “We were concerned.”

“We
are
concerned,” Francis said. “Then we heard those strange noises.”

“As you can see, I am well, and I have been well for several weeks now. Dr. Bradbridge confirmed it. You no longer need be concerned with my well-being. And those strange noises are exactly why I asked that you return another day.”

“Pardon me?”

It came to me. “A horse of mine is injured. It is—”

“Those noises were not that of an injured horse, and they sounded far closer than your stables,” Francis barked.

“I have a few windows open to keep the heat from building. Perhaps that is why you presumed to hear the noises closer. I do not appreciate having to defend my attempts to be dutiful, which, of anyone, I believe you would appreciate, Francis.”

A thick vein throbbed in her forehead.

“Of course, Emeline,” Ella said. “We are only interested in your well-being.”

“Thank you. I understand your concern. I am only requesting you no longer use it to intrude.”

“Emeline, I find your objection to our aid an insult,” Francis said.

“I’m afraid I must insist, and I must also request you depart.” I stood. “As I tried to inform you before, I am tending to an urgent matter.”

Francis tried to object. “Wait—”

Ella touched her daughter’s arm. “Come now, we should be on our way.” She rose.

Francis hesitated a moment until her mother’s nudging persuaded her to move for the door.

“Thank you for your time, Emeline,” Ella said. “We’re happy to see you doing so much better.”

“I appreciate your understanding, Ella.”

Francis snapped her head back but said nothing.

They walked out as Lottie brought in the tea from the opposite entrance. “That was like greased lightning. What happened?”

I shrugged and flashed a little grin. “They left.”

We lugged Mr. Turner, half-asleep and half-drunk, to Lottie’s. After dropping him onto a mattress, Oliver crouched to observe him and then looked at me. “Thank you, Mrs. Dorr, for this.”

“I am just glad I could help.” I moved to leave.

Lottie touched my shoulder to stop me. “Would you do it again?”

I turned. “Do what?”

“You know ’bout stuff not everyone know,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since that Coddington come to town, none of the poor folk been able to get any help with sickness and the like.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You know…”

I raised my eyebrows.

“He finds people who ain’t got a doctor’s license. People ’round here used to help one another out of kindness and God and such. They helped with stuff ain’t need no doctor for but stuff not everyone know ’bout. Like midwives, who knew things ’bout babies and helped with deliveries. Then that lawyer come down from the big ol’ city and gave them people papers and threw big bug words at ’em until they stopped or left.”