Believing the Dream (46 page)

Elizabeth helped her off the examining table. “Would you like to lie down for a bit until you feel stronger?”

“No, I have to feed the young’uns. He’ll be all right for a while now, you know? If only he had a job again. Nothing like this happened before all the trouble with the railroads.”

Later, when they had finished supper, Elizabeth turned to the doctor. “There must be something we can do.”

“Which something are you referring to?” Dr. Morganstein looked up from the paper she was studying. “Here, I think you should read this.” She slid the paper toward her charge, pushed her glasses back up on her nose, and concentrated on Elizabeth, a trait Elizabeth found both intimidating and encouraging, depending on what had been the action or conversation just before.

“Thank you, I will. I’m referring to the number of women coming into the hospital suffering injuries at the hands of their husbands.”

“Yes, it’s the worst I’ve seen.”

Elizabeth waited, certain her mentor would have, if not a solution, at least some suggestions. Finally the silence had stretched so long, Elizabeth had to say something or ask to be excused. “So?”

“So what do you suggest? Throw them in jail? Kidnap their wives and children? Implore the railroad or the mills to put these men back to work? Go to Eugene Debs and ask him to make the union men behave? Sic the government on them? The church?”

Elizabeth could feel her jaw drop and thud on her chest. “Ah.” She sighed. “I’m being idealistic, aren’t I?”

“Yes, and I wish I could help you stay that way, but short of bludgeoning these husbands and fathers who are most likely cursing themselves for not providing for their families, so they go drinking . . .” The good doctor clasped her hands on the table. “If only life were simple.”

“I think it is more so in Northfield.”

“Does this burden of suffering women and children make you want to run for home where, I’m sure, there are green trees, flowers and grass, clean cold water, and no black underbelly of despair?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No. I want to make things better. I want to do more than patch people up. I want to keep mothers and babies from dying before they live. I want to understand what causes tuberculosis and typhoid and what can be done to stop them before they begin.”

“Don’t you believe all these are either the scourge of the devil himself or retribution for our many sins?” The words lay gently upon the table, but the doctor’s eyes grew obsidian sharp.

Elizabeth thought only a moment. “I believe that God could take all this suffering away in the blink of an eye if He so chose. But when Adam and Eve sinned, sin invaded the world and brought with it all diseases of body, mind, and spirit. And we’re stuck with them until Christ comes again. But in the meantime, God gave us brains to use and wills to fight for life. There have been changes in medicine, and there will be more. I want to be part of that, God willing.”

“Well said, my dear. I pray that the battle doesn’t change your mind.” She reached across the lace-covered table and took Elizabeth’s hand in hers. “I understand that God gave you the gift of music with these hands, but I have seen them bring comfort and healing, a far greater mission.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat, tried to speak, and blinked hard. She tried again. “Thank you. I must go check on the little girl brought in late this afternoon. I wish I knew her name.”

“I fear she is one of the street waifs. If we can give her enough nourishment to fight, we will have helped. I fear she is too weak to—”

“Annie is with her, spooning chicken broth and bathing her to bring down the fever. Might help with the vermin too. I washed maggots out of the ulcer on her leg.”

“They at least eat the putrefaction. I read a paper that said that during the war, they learned that maggots could clean a wound better than anything man had yet to devise. Carbolic not withstanding.”

Elizabeth shuddered. “I’m afraid I washed them away.”

“Perhaps they had done their job. Alcohol is a viable alternative.”

“Thank you.” Elizabeth rose, and taking her kerchief out of her apron pocket, tied the triangle over her hair again. The two made their way down the hall to the children’s ward.

Annie met them at the door. “I-I’m sorry, she’s gone. There just wasn’t time to help her none.”

Elizabeth sagged against the wall. “What happened?”

“She just quit breathing.”

“You should have called me.”

“ ’Twas too late.”

Elizabeth nodded. “You did the best you could.”
Why, Lord, did I stop for supper and a visit with the doctor? I should have stayed here. Perhaps I . . .
She slumped against the wall, lost in her recriminations.

“No, my child, you do not waste your energy on what has been. You save it to fight for the next one. Only God has control over life and death, in spite of how hard we try.” Dr. Morganstein took her arm and led her back up to her room. “You go to bed early, and things will look better in the morning. Often I have to remind myself that weeping endures for the night, but joy comes in the morning. That’s one of the verses I cling to when despair seems imminent.”

Through the next three weeks Elizabeth had many opportunities to remember the doctor’s words and take them for her own. When the day arrived that she was to leave, she trailed through the hospital, imprinting each ward and room in her mind. She gave Patrick a hug, which turned his ears bright red.

“Th-thank ’ee, miss.”

Back in the doctor’s office, she felt like a little girl called before the principal.

“You’ll have one more summer before you start med school. You are welcome to spend as much of it as you want or are able to here with us.” Dr. Morganstein handed her an envelope. “Just a bit to show our gratitude.”

“But it is I who must be grateful.” Elizabeth stuttered to a stop. “You do want me to come back?” Joy burst like a firecracker.

“I don’t want you to leave, but your mother will be here any moment, and I know she is looking forward to your time together. We will keep in touch, and I will send a letter of recommendation to whomever you need me to. Between my dear friend Issy Josephson and I, we will get you into a medical school somewhere. You can count on that.”

“Thank you.”
Please, Mother, come before I turn into a weeping puddle right here
.

That night at the hotel, her mother asked, “Was it all you hoped?”

“Far more than I could even dream, but I have a favor to ask. Could we have dinner brought here to our room so I could spend an hour or two in that lovely bathtub?”

“Of course, dear. But tomorrow we shop. You promised.”

Elizabeth groaned but leaned over to give her mother a hug, cheek to cheek. “You look well again. Thank you for my summer.” As if she would ever get it out of her mind.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Northfield, Minnesota
August 1894

“Elizabeth, I have to talk with you.”

Thornton’s voice sounded strange, even over the telephone. “Fine, but I haven’t even been home two hours.” Elizabeth rubbed her forehead where a headache had started up during the last hours of the train ride. Or had it started during the long hours of shopping with her mother in Chicago? Why was it that shopping made her far more weary than the longest shift at the hospital?

“Would it be all right if I came over about three?”

“Why don’t you make it four and plan on staying for supper?”

“We’ll see.”

Elizabeth hung up the earpiece and stared at the oak box. What was it she heard in Thornton’s voice? She trailed one hand on the banister as she climbed the stairs to the upper hall.

“Who was that?” Annabelle asked, coming out of her room.

“Thornton. He’ll most likely be joining us for supper.”

“On our first night home?”

“I know. Something is wrong, I’m afraid, but he wouldn’t say, just that he’d see me at four.”

“Hmm.” Annabelle peered more closely at her daughter’s face. “Are you feeling all right?”

“A headache is all. I’m going to take a bit of laudanum and lie down.”

“That sounds like a marvelous idea. Just what I planned too, the lie-down part, that is.” Annabelle took her daughter’s hand. “Thank you for the shopping and the concert. I feel better than I have for so long. And your Dr. Morganstein is an amazing woman. You are fortunate to have such a fine patroness.”

“I know. Rest well.” Elizabeth kissed her mother’s cheek and crossed to her own room. In spite of the humidity of this August day, a breeze lifted the sheer white curtains at her window. After removing her travel clothes, she wrung out a cloth in the cool water of the pitcher and lay down with the cloth across her forehead and eyes. Within moments she was sound asleep, her last thought about Thornton.

“Dear.”

Elizabeth felt her shoulder being shaken and her mother’s voice but somehow failed to find the energy to respond.

“Elizabeth, Thornton is here. He’s waiting out in the garden to talk with you.”

Elizabeth opened her eyes and stretched her arms above her head. “I was having such a nice dream.” She tossed the now dry cloth toward the basin and sat up. “Please tell him I’ll be there in a few minutes. How I would have loved a bath first.”

“I’ve told Cook to expect another for supper. I was thinking of a tray in my room, but . . .”

“Thank you. I know he wouldn’t have called if it weren’t something important.”

Elizabeth slipped into a light robe and spent as little time in the bathroom as she could manage, resisting even looking at the tub, sure that her longing alone would turn on the taps. The fragrance of bubble bath would be such a treat after the weeks of running full speed ahead at the hospital.

Back in her room feeling some refreshed, she chose a dress of white lawn with bluebells sprinkled over it and a blue sash at the waist with matching trim above the skirt ruffle. After slipping it over her head, she sat down at the dressing table to brush her hair. She’d worn it coiled in back for so long that brushing it out to flow over her shoulders felt almost sinful. She tied it back with a blue ribbon the same as her sash, slid her feet into doeskin slippers, and made her way downstairs. The piano called to her from the music room that no longer held the bed she’d set up for her mother, another visible sign that Annabelle was, if not back to normal, at least close. Half an hour at the piano would set her spirits to right; perhaps Thornton would rather listen to her play than talk.

“I have lemonade ready for you anytime you want and the lemon cookies Mr. Wickersham likes so well.” Cook nodded to the tray.

“Thank you. I’ll take that out with me.” Elizabeth blew her old friend a kiss and took the tray outside, opening the screen door with her elbow.

“Elizabeth, I could have come for that.” Thornton sprang to his feet and rushed to help her.

“I know, but I was on my way out.”
If only he knew of all the truly heavy things I’ve been lugging around these last weeks
. She let him take the tray, the better to observe him for a moment. Surely something was bothering him. His eyes tattled.

“Won’t you sit down?” He motioned to the wrought-iron chair padded with thick cushions in red-and-white check.

Elizabeth took one of the glasses and settled into the chair. “Cook made your favorite cookies.”

He nodded without looking at her. “I . . . I know.”

“Come, Thornton, whatever can be so bad? Tell me, and perhaps I can help.” She kept her voice light and her smile ready.

Head hanging, elbows on his knees with hands dangling between, he looked like he’d been severely castigated.

“Thornton, what is it? You are frightening me.”

“Ah, Elizabeth, forgive me.” He looked across the glass-topped table. “I just don’t know where to start.”

“They say to always start at the beginning. That’s easiest.”

“Perhaps, but not necessarily in this case.” He reached across the table and laid his hand palm up. She put hers into it, keeping her gaze on his face.

“I . . . I’ve received a call, a call to the mission field.”

“Already? I thought you had decided to attend seminary first.”

“Me too, but the pastor friend that I told you about has requested that I come now and work under him. He is that desperate for assistance.”