Chasing Secrets (20 page)

R
oumalade has gone now. He left written instructions for how to take care of Maggy. Bed rest. Fluids. Cold sponge baths. Standard procedure for most diseases. He still won't admit Maggy has the plague. What is the matter with him?

Aunt Hortense and I do our best to care for Maggy as we wait and wait for Papa. When will he be back?

I've just run a cool cloth over Maggy's forehead when I hear John Henry's
clip-clop
on the cobblestones. I rush downstairs and practically jump onto Papa as he climbs down from the wagon. “Papa, am I glad—”

“Lizzie.” His voice is strained. “Go to the Sweetings' house and stay there.”

“What? Why?”

“Now.” His voice is sharp.

“But I'm taking care of Maggy. I need to—”

“Lizzie!”

I run across the way and up the steps.

Papa calls out instructions to Jing. I don't hear what he says, but Aunt Hortense comes out and stands with me, her face white. Her shoulders shaking.

My father and Jing are unhooking the back of the wagon. Papa scrambles in and gently cradles a man in his arms.

Billy!

Jing is on one side, Papa on the other. Their arms are laced under Billy. He is half walking. Mostly they are carrying him.

“Was he in a fight?” I ask Aunt Hortense. Though I know Papa would not send me away if it were that.

“No,” Aunt Hortense whispers.

I feel sick to my stomach. Maggy. Now Billy. Are we all going to die?

Billy is tough. He can fight anything. Papa is here. Nobody is going to die.

How did Billy get it? He had the Yersin's, didn't he?

Maybe it doesn't work.

Did he catch the plague in Chinatown?

I'm the one who made him go. Is it my fault?

But Maggy has it, too. She never leaves the house. The disease isn't just in Chinatown.

The rats gave it to Maggy, and Maggy gave it to Billy. Or Billy gave it to Maggy but it took longer to show in him. Or…

Papa says even when you know how a disease is passed from person to person, tracking the path of contagion is like chasing the wind.

But Papa is a wonderful doctor. He'll take care of Maggy and Billy. He'll make them well. I try to push out of my mind the memory of Papa caring for Mama.

Aunt Hortense takes my hand and holds it tight. We watch Billy, Papa, and Jing go inside.

Papa does not come out again. Jing hangs the yellow plague flag, then leaves a message in a basket at the Sweetings' that says we are to stay here.

“Wait, Jing!” I wave to him as he crosses back over the cobblestones. “Papa needs my help.”

Jing shakes his head. “You stay where you are.”

Aunt Hortense flies out of the house. “Elizabeth! Under no circumstances are you to enter a house with a plague flag.”

“But I've already—”

“Do you hear me?” she roars.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Noah. What about Noah? Thank goodness Jing and Noah had the Yersin's. And Billy? He had it in time, didn't he?

I get a chair and one of Aunt Hortense's sweaters and make myself comfortable on the balcony. I can't see Noah's window from here. But Jing is there. Jing will take care of Noah. Papa will care for Billy and Maggy. I write a note to Papa and leave it in the basket outside.

Dear Papa,

I've been taking care of Maggy already. Can't I come help?

Love,

Lizzie
 

P.S. Ask Billy if he took the Yersin's.

For dinner, Aunt Hortense warms up clam chowder for Uncle Karl and me. The bread is stale. We dip it into the soup to soften it.

“Any news?” Uncle Karl's eyes search our faces.

We shake our heads.

All night we worry. Nobody sleeps.

In the morning, Jing has left a note from Papa.

Dear Lizzie,

Billy is fighting. Maggy is doing better. You are to stay put.

Love,

Papa

“He's fighting. That's good, isn't it?” I ask Aunt Hortense.

Her hands tremble as she fits the tea cozy over the teapot.

I pace the balcony, my mind full of the magic tricks we did when we were little. Billy blindfolded catching the only red chicken in the coop. Billy tied up with a lead rope,
untying himself with his teeth. Billy pulling bunny droppings out of a hat.

If the tricks didn't work, Billy would figure out how to make everyone laugh.

Even now with the fighting, he got a black eye and needed stitches. But he never got seriously hurt. And he won a lot of the fights, didn't he?

Nothing can happen to him. He's Billy.

I think about him at La Jeunesse dancing with the dark-haired girl in the crimson dress. All eyes were on her, but she only had eyes for Billy.

Does the plague flag hanging from our house mean our barn, too? I decide against asking and take the back way to our stable. I can't stand being cooped up at the Sweetings' any longer.

Up to the loft I climb, looking for Orange Tom. Maybe he came home with Noah. If Noah is still here, he will have written to me.

Sure enough, Orange Tom is prowling the loft. But when he sees me, he skitters down the ramp. I chase after him around the barn. He slips out the door and up to our house, where he sits taunting me.

I run all the way back to the Sweetings' kitchen, looking for food to bribe him. In the cold storage, I find anchovies. Outside with the stinky greasy fish in my hand, I look again for the cat.

Not on the porch. I go back to the barn. Not there. Around to the side yard. Behind the chicken coop. I finally find him under a garden chair.

I throw a piece of anchovy his way. His tail switches.

He walks lazily to it and picks it up in his teeth. I toss another. He watches it land, then strolls over and snatches that one.

One more anchovy and he's close enough for me to grab him by the neck.

But there is no thread on his collar. No message. Nothing.

—

When the brand-new motorcar gets delivered, I figure Uncle Karl bought it for Billy. He thought it might give him one more reason to fight this off.

Uncle Karl comes out onto the porch, his eyes on the shiny automachine. “That was nice of you,” I say, and plant a kiss on his cheek.

He gives me a stony look.

“You got it for him, right?”

“No.” His voice is gruff.

“But Billy didn't have the money yet,” I say.

Uncle Karl's keen blue eyes lock on the motorcar.

“How'd he…”

“He sold it,” Uncle Karl whispers.

“Sold what?”

Uncle Karl doesn't answer.

“What did he sell, Uncle Karl?”

Uncle Karl's face is crumbling. I've never seen him look this way.

“Not the Yersin's,” I say. “He didn't sell the Yersin's.”

Uncle Karl grinds his cigar into the ashtray so hard, the ends splay. “He did.”

“No!”
I shout.

I run down to the motorcar and kick the tires as hard as I can. I bang the brand-new doors with my fists until my hands hurt. That stupid, stupid thing. I keep bashing until I feel Aunt Hortense's arms around me. Her lavender smell.

“Lizzie,” she whispers. “That's not going to help.”

“How could he? He sold the Yersin's for this…this hunk of—”

“Lizzie…”

“Billy!” I holler as loudly as I can. “Why are you so stupid?” I'm sobbing now. I can't stop.

Uncle Karl turns his back. He walks inside.

T
he next day, I'm out there with a cloth, shining every last inch of that stupid contraption. Aunt Hortense comes out with me. “Tell him it's perfect, Aunt Hortense. I didn't scratch it. I hardly even put a dent in it,” I whisper. “Tell him it's waiting for him. He has to drive it. We're all waiting for him to drive it. Tell him.”

Tears flow down my cheeks. They drip down my chin.

“Tell him he's not stupid. Tell him he's the best grumpy brother in the whole world.” I sob.

“I'll tell him, Lizzie.” She dabs at her eyes with her handkerchief.

“Maybe if we get the girl in the crimson dress. The beautiful one he took to the cotillion. Maybe if he sees her out the window,” I say. “She could be all dressed up, just like she was.”

“Maybe.” Aunt Hortense sniffs.

“She was beautiful, Aunt Hortense. You should have seen her. And the boys he wants to fight. Maybe we could set up a fight ring down on the driveway so he could see. And we can get him brand-new fighting clothes. And make a stage for him to do his magic tricks. And tools with lots of bicycles to fix and…and…Papa has to make sure Billy comes to the window. He has to see. Can we do that, Aunt Hortense? Can we?”

Uncle Karl is on the porch pacing. Aunt Hortense has moved her chair out here, too. We all want to be as close to Billy as possible.

—

This is where we are a few hours later when my father finally comes out of our house. He sinks down onto the kitchen steps; his head drops into his hands.

“No!”
Aunt Hortense wails. She holds me close. “Not Billy. Not our beautiful boy. Please, please not him.”

Uncle Karl goes back behind the stable to where the servants chop wood. We hear him with the ax chopping and chopping.

I watch our house as if I'm in the sky looking down. This can't be true. It isn't true. Billy will walk down the stairs as he always does, his pocket jingling from the nickels he earned fixing bicycles. He will grab a piece of Jing's pie, harness John Henry to the wagon, and off he'll go, calling me a pest and telling me no, I can't come along.

I hold my breath, waiting. Let it out and hold it again.

But Billy does not come down the stairs. Soon the black undertaker's wagon arrives.