Chasing Secrets (21 page)

T
hree days later, Aunt Hortense's new maids clean our house from top to bottom, Papa takes down the plague flag, and I move back. It feels good to be home—and awful, too.

Every time I walk by Billy's room, the emptiness haunts me. His room was full of him. It felt like him. It smelled like him. But now the room is quiet. The quilt, the fight posters, the boxing gloves unmoved from one day to the next.

I wonder how I'm going to get through this. When Mama died, it was Billy who kept me busy with the magic shows, the secret bareback rides, and the barn games. “Billy,” I whisper. “Didn't you know how much I need you?”

Every day, I go to check on Maggy. Most of the time,
she's sitting up in bed, the parrot on her shoulder. Papa moved his cage upstairs. He said Maggy told him she wanted the parrot in her room. He was amazed. It's the first time Maggy has ever said she wanted anything.

Now when I walk into her room, Mr. P. chirps, “Maggy Doyle! Maggy Doyle!” like he's announcing her arrival at a cotillion.

I wish I knew why Maggy got better and Billy did not. Was it the timing of when she received the Yersin's? But Yersin's is supposed to be preventative. Does it lessen the effect of the disease once you get it? Did Papa give it to Billy once he got sick? The more I think about this, the more questions I have.

The day of Billy's service, I put on the black velvet dress Aunt Hortense bought for me.

Papa, Aunt Hortense, Uncle Karl, and I all drive in Billy's motorcar. Billy would have wanted this. We know that.

Jing is in the wagon with a few of the Sweeting servants who have returned. We are just about to go when Maggy Doyle appears wearing a dark dress no one knew she had. In the eight years she has worked for us, she hasn't ever worn anything but her uniform, and she has never left the property.

She climbs into the wagon with Jing.

At the church there are a few hundred people, most of whom I have never seen before. Everybody knows Uncle Karl's nephew died. Some people know it was the plague, and still they come. Everybody wants to pay respects. I sit next to Papa holding his hand. He has barely been able
to speak since Billy died. His heart has been crushed. We listen to the minister say a bunch of things that don't feel like they fit Billy.

But only the people who love Billy are allowed to come to the cemetery after. As we climb the hill, Gemma runs to me and holds my hand. Gus stands by, looking tall and handsome in his black suit. Gus is smart and quiet and kind—so kind. My stomach flutters when I see him, but not as much as it does when I see Noah.

I stand by Mama's gravestone, and then we all take turns speaking about Billy. Uncle Karl talks about how clever he was. The beautiful black-haired girl from La Jeunesse says how gently he held her hand. Papa tells stories about when he was little and changed all the clocks in the house so he could have his birthday party all over again. Papa says he keeps waiting for Billy to do that now.

When it's my turn, I read my poem for him. It's the one time I don't cry.

Billy had big hands. He was wild and he was grand.

He taught me to land soft when I jumped from our loft.

He taught me the knack of riding bareback

And how to fight in the dead of night.

I couldn't learn Billy's charm or sew stitches in my arm.

But when he sawed himself in half, I was his staff.

And when I was blue, he always knew.

I can vouch he could also be a grouch.

But he had a way of showing up

Just when things were blowing up.

A million times he came to my defense with Uncle Karl and Aunt Hortense.

Billy gave Papa a whole lot of woe,

And we will miss him so, so, so.

In the small cluster of Sweeting servants leaving the cemetery, suddenly I see a head I know well. Black straight hair and a white shirt. A square jaw and bright eyes. Noah! He brushes by me, pressing a note into my hand. We say nothing in the crowd of people. I feel the heat of his skin on my fingers long after he lets go.

Gemma's head whips around. “Lizzie, where are you?”

“Here.” I wave one hand while slipping the note into my pocket with the other, and hurry back to the Trotters. I walk with them, Aunt Hortense, Uncle Karl, and Papa. Nobody has anything to say.

In the powder room at the Sweetings', I unfold Noah's note.
4 p.m. Sunday in the stable.
YES! This is the first time I've been able to smile since Billy died.

—

That night in our drawing room, Uncle Karl, Papa, Aunt Hortense, and I talk things out in a way we haven't before.

I pepper Papa with questions. Billy was younger and stronger. Shouldn't he have been able to fight the plague better than Maggy? And how did Maggy and Billy get it? Is Gus right, the rats spread the plague? If so, how, exactly?

Papa is in the big chair. He's leaned over, resting his
long arms on his knees. He shakes his head. “Those are my questions, too.”

“We need to know these things,” I tell him.

“She's right,” Aunt Hortense whispers. Her voice is hoarse.

“I don't understand why Dr. Roumalade kept insisting Maggy didn't have the plague. Her symptoms were so clear,” I say to Uncle Karl and Papa.

Aunt Hortense and Uncle Karl, sitting together on the sofa, exchange a look.

“His patients are railroad money, dear,” Aunt Hortense says.

“So?”

“Word gets out we have the plague, people won't be taking the train to San Francisco.”

“Nobody likes to lose money, Peanut,” Uncle Karl says.

“But he's a doctor. He's supposed to take care of people, not worry about money.” I jump up and start pacing. I'm too upset to sit still.

“No two ways about it, he behaved abominably,” Papa says.

“Yes.” Aunt Hortense's eyes are on Uncle Karl. “Dr. Roumalade used Yersin's to immunize himself and the patients who could pay.”

“So he did believe the plague was here,” I say.

“Who knows what he believes. But he certainly made a pretty penny on the Yersin's,” Uncle Karl says.

“Oh no! That's not who Billy sold it to…is it?” I ask.

The room goes silent. Papa looks like he's going to be
ill, but it's he who answers me. “He sold it to one of his boxing buddies. A man who had been on the boat from Honolulu.”

“Is that how the plague got here?”

“Apparently.”

“Why did Roumalade say there was no plague?” I ask. “Wouldn't he have gotten more money for the Yersin's if he'd said the plague was here?”

“He was playing both sides. Keeping his wealthy railroad patients happy while making money on the side. Besides, he couldn't very well say the plague was here when the surgeon general of the United States said there was no plague,” Uncle Karl says.

“Is that what they all believed?” I ask.

“Impossible to know,” Aunt Hortense says.

“Why did you get upset about that monkey?” I ask Uncle Karl.

“Consensus was that the monkey, guinea pig, and rat business was a stunt. Dr. Kinyoun, the so-called wolf doctor, concocted the whole thing to save his hide. Nobody thought the quarantine was warranted. He wanted to prove it was. I didn't want to give credence to what everyone thought was pure nonsense.”

“It wasn't much of a quarantine. There weren't any doctors or nurses,” I say.

“Kinyoun had the power to call the quarantine, but he couldn't get the rest of the medical community on board with it,” Uncle Karl explains.

“But he was right.”

Uncle Karl sighs. “He
was
right. We know that now. But, Peanut, I'm in the news business, not the history business. I have to call events as they're unfolding. There wasn't a reputable doctor in the whole state who thought this was the plague.”

“You know who else was right,” Aunt Hortense whispers. “Hearst.”

“Mary, mother of God, woman, do you have to bring that up?”

“Hearst printed plague stories to sell more newspapers. You did what you thought was right, Karl. You kept unfounded allegations out of the news.” Papa's voice is quiet.

Uncle Karl stares at Papa. “I appreciate your saying that, Jules. Means a lot coming from you.”

Papa nods. His movements are slow, as if everything he does is painful.

“Even with all that, why would Dr. Roumalade try to give Maggy the Haffkine's? He must have known she had the plague. Did he want to kill her?”

“Do you know for certain it was Haffkine's?” Papa asks.

“I know it wasn't Yersin's,” I say.

“My bet is it was sugar water,” Papa says.

Uncle Karl nods. “Even Haffkine's costs money. Roumalade must have figured a servant who has already contracted the plague is a lost cause. Better to give her the cheapest thing possible.

“Which reminds me, Mrs. Sweeting,” Uncle Karl continues. “I got a bill from Roumalade. He charged me an arm and a leg for the Yersin's, which I was expecting. But
his bill says he immunized three Kennedy servants. It was only Maggy and Jing.”

Aunt Hortense's eyes flash to me. The look on her face is shocking. Does she know about Noah?

“That's right. Two servants,” Aunt Hortense says. “But pay it anyway. I'm on that children's hospital charity committee with his wife. I'd just as soon not have trouble with Hillary Roumalade.”

I
'm helping Aunt Hortense write cards to all the people who sent flowers for Billy. We wear black and sit at a table in her sitting room with the big windows that open out to the balcony overlooking the garden. I watch her write. She has better handwriting than I do.

“Why do people keep secrets?” I ask her.

She looks up. “Because they don't trust each other, I suppose, although there are all kinds of secrets. Some are harmless. Some are not.”

“It seems like there have been way too many secrets. I'm going to live the way Papa does. Straightforward and honest. No secrets.”

“You are, are you?” She dips her pen into the ink.

“Yes.”

She taps the excess ink from the nib. “In a perfect world, we wouldn't need secrets. But the world's a long way from perfect. Still, I try to be as straightforward as I can, which is a challenge, given who I'm married to.”

“If Billy had told us what he was doing, if he hadn't kept it secret, we could have talked him out of it,” I say.

She stops. “Billy was headstrong. He wasn't an easy one to sway.”

“If only he were here, and I could convince him now. I know just what I'd say.”

“Which is…”

“I'd tell him how important his life is to me and to Papa and to you and to Uncle Karl. I'd say he has to hold it gently in his hands as if it is the most precious thing in the world. And never ever trade it for money. I'd tell him money is only wrinkled old paper. It's nothing at all compared to him, compared to his life.”

“I wish you could have told him that, too.” Her eyes search mine. “Lizzie?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“When were you going to tell me that Jing has a son?”

I cough, almost choking.

“I saw him with Jing. They look so much alike, it wasn't hard to figure out.” She runs her hand along the pen feather.

I remember how Billy said Aunt Hortense is more complicated than I give her credit for, but there are some things she'll never tolerate. Me dancing with Noah is one of them. I tread carefully.

“He's about your age, isn't he?” Aunt Hortense asks.

“Yes, ma'am,” I say.

“But he's not working for anyone.”

“No, ma'am.”

She nods. “Why do you suppose that is?”

“He wants to go to college,” I whisper. “Like me.”

One carefully shaped eyebrow rises. I hold my breath.

She turns away. “Of course you'll need a proper education, Elizabeth, and then medical school…if you're going to be a doctor.”

I gasp.

She looks back at me. “I wanted a different life for you. Your father wanted a different life for Billy. But that didn't work, did it? You'll have to”—she can hardly get the words out over the welling in her throat—“live your life your way.”

“Aunt Hortense!” I jump up and throw my arms around her.

“My goodness, Lizzie.” Her voice is husky. She takes out her handkerchief and tries to clean up her face. But as soon as she does, more tears come down.

—

At quarter to four, I check to see where everyone is in the house. Papa is in his room. He is still so sad about Billy that he can hardly eat. I know he will get through it, just as he did when Mama died, but right now it's hard. Maggy is on the porch knitting. She's almost all better. Aunt Hortense and Uncle Karl are at their house. Jing is in the kitchen adding sugar to a boiling pot of apples. The way he watches me, I know he knows that I'm meeting Noah.

“Lizzie,” he says as I open the back door.

“Yes, sir.” The word pops out of my mouth without me even thinking about it. Papa and Uncle Karl are always “sir,” but never Jing.

Jing's shoulders pull back; his head rises. Our eyes meet. He doesn't try to make me laugh. He has no frog in his pocket, no quarter in his ear, no feather or stone up his sleeve.

He stirs the apples. “Your mama would have been proud of you,” he says.

His words are warm inside me as I walk out to the barn. He has never said anything like this before.

Orange Tom lurks in the foggy darkening afternoon, his thick fur matted on one side, tail flecked with bits of leaves and straw.

I open the barn door. Noah stands petting Juliet's muzzle.

“Lizzie.” He takes my hand. “I'm sorry about Billy.”

The heat of his hand warms mine.

We start to dance. Our first steps are stiff; then slowly the rhythm builds. My hand feels solid on Noah's shirt as we circle the stable.

Noah steadies me. I don't care if I make a wrong step when I'm with him.

We float together, breathing in the sweet smell of alfalfa. Only Juliet watches, slurping her water. John Henry is asleep.

I don't want this to end. I hold on to every minute. The world is kinder with Noah holding my hand.

When he lets go, he crouches and pounces. He jumps back onto his springy legs and then up onto his hands.

One day, I'll see Noah perform his lion dance in his costume with all of his friends. For now, it's time to go. Aunt Hortense has come a long way, but I can't upset her. Not now. Not after all we've been through.

One day, things will be different.

One day, she'll understand that Noah is my friend.

“I'll be back soon,” Noah says.

I nod.

By the chicken coop, I capture Orange Tom. He doesn't give me a chase this time. He simply allows me to scoop him up and carry him to my room. I write one last message. My hands shake as I wrap the red thread around the note.

University of California in 5 years

Noah,

Save me a chair.

I'll be there.

Lizzie