Quarantine: A Novel (17 page)

his own. He could no longer expect to be told what to do. He

had been told—ordered—not to leave the house until his father

returned, but now in this morning light such a command had no

more weight than the cold ashes that he stirred in the fireplace.

He pulled on his jacket, took the last of the bread in the

kitchen, and went out the front door. As he started walking toward Market Square, seagulls clustered on shingled roofs looked down

on his passage, smug and, perhaps, curious. Orange Street was

empty and most of the houses were boarded up. It was as though

time had stopped.

R

After about an hour, Giles returned to the skiff, which then

stood off from the ship as two horses were hoisted up out of

the hold and lowered into the water. Enoch, his hands on his

waist, bellowed commands. When the horses were in the river,

they were tethered to the stern of the skiff. As the rowers began to pull, the horses swam behind, their nostrils f laring with the effort of keeping pace.

“They have been too long aboard ship,” Enoch said. “They’ve

grown fat. Such exercise will be good for them.”

“Provided they don’t drown,” Giles said. They were, indeed,

handsome animals, and their long powerful necks rising out of the boat’s wake gave the impression that some mythical two-headed

sea monster was in pursuit.

“You know where these horses come from?” There was a

note of pride in Enoch’s voice. “Monticello. They are a gift

from Mr. Thomas Jefferson. We’ve conducted business over

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the years—everything from lumber to molasses to slaves—and

this is a gesture of appreciation from the great man himself.”

Enoch glanced at Giles, his eyes sly, even conspiratorial. “He is a gentleman, even if he is a Virginian. But I’ll wager that he won’t prove to be any friend to New England commerce.”

“Particularly if we engage in hostilities with Britain again

someday,” Giles said.

“On that we agree. But politics bores me.” Enoch pressed close

and looked him in the eye—it was a crazed, addled stare, riveting and determined. “Tell me, you have seen horses copulate?”

“Of course. Why?”

“I’m curious. From a medical standpoint, that is. The stal-

lion’s member, when it is unsheathed and fully erect, it is a most considerable instrument, no?”

Giles tried to look away, but Enoch’s face only came closer,

seeking an answer. “Is there a point to this?”

“A point, yes.” Enoch folded his arms and gazed with satis-

faction toward the two horses as they swam in the skiff’s wake.

Then he scratched his cheek, shooing away a fly, and his brow

furrowed. “You’ve heard the stories about the late Catherine the Great, queen of Russia?”

“What stories?”

“About her amorous adventures. Certainly you’ve heard that

her blood was not only royal but hot—unusually so. The woman

had an insatiable appetite in the boudoir. There was a line of

counts and dukes outside her door. By God, I would love to have

met such a woman. And it went beyond the bedroom, apparently.”

“It did?”

“My dear half-brother, really.” Enoch nodded toward the horses,

which were now snorting with great effort as they swam after

the boat. “You must have heard that she was fond of some rather

unorthodox practices, some of which took place in the royal stables.”

Giles now turned and looked back at the two stallions. The

sound coming from them was rhythmic and bestial, sensual in its

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own way; it suggested the enormous capacity of their lungs, their prowess and stamina.

His brother removed his cocked hat, almost as a rever-

ential tribute, and whispered, “Honestly, does it not stir the

imagination?”

R

Leander spent the morning walking through the North End.

Looking downhill, he could see the shipyard, closed due to the

quarantine, where several unfinished hulls sat on the blocks, their exposed ship’s knees resembling the skeletons of some ancient

beasts that seemed to have washed up on the riverbank.

On Broad Street he found a group of men filling in a swampy

culvert. The constable in charge sat in the shade of a willow, fanning himself with his tricorn hat.

“I’m looking for my father, Caleb Hatch,” Leander said.

“Ain’t seen him,” the constable said.

One of the men stopped pulling at the mud with a hoe. “He

was in Market Square this morning. Took a team of men to

work—a block over on Tyng Street.”

“Thank you, sir.”

R

Miranda came out into the courtyard when the coach arrived.

Enoch ignored her, as he often did, and gave orders to the stable boys regarding the horses. The two new stallions were stunningly handsome, and she approached one as it was being led into the

stable, until Enoch said, “Please, Mother, exercise a little restraint.”

His laugh had always irritated her.

She wheeled around, clutching her skirts, and started back

toward the kitchen door, but stopped when she saw Giles climb

down from the coach. “My dear Doctor,” she said. “You look

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exhausted. If you do not rest, you too will be a victim of this epidemic.” She turned to Cedella, who was standing in the kitchen

doorway, and said, “Well, prepare him a
bath.”

R

There was no work crew on Tyng Street, though there were clear

signs that they had filled in culverts of standing water. Leander found a pewter cup lying in the middle of the road. A little farther on, a candle snuffer. And then a plate. A girl’s poppet, with no head. A broken glass goblet. He followed this trail for a block until it went off the road, through a broken wooden gate, and up the steps to a front door, which was standing wide open. An old

woman sat on the threshold, holding what appeared to be a chair

leg in her lap. The side of her face was red and swollen.

“Ma’am, are you all right?”

She straightened up, raising the chair leg as though it were a

club. “Don’t you come near,” she called. “There’s nothing left

worth taking anyhow.”

“Can’t I help?”

“Help?” Now she lowered the chair leg, snorting. “Oh,
that’s
fine. Where were you when them boys was here?” She nodded

toward the house next door. “Last night they cleaned out Betsy’s dining room next door and had the gall to come back for more

early this morning.”

“How many?”

“Four, five.”

“You know who they are?”

“They’re not from the North End, I can tell you that. North

Enders do not pillage in times of misfortune.” She studied him a moment. “You’re not from round here.”

“No, I’m not.”

“From across the river, Amesbury or Salisbury?”

“No, Ma’am. Orange Street.”

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“Below Market Square—that’s bad enough.” She waved him

away with her hand. “Move on. If my husband were still alive,

your arse would be full of birdshot, but they stole his gun, too.

Now leave me be.” Wearily, she got to her feet, went into the

house, slamming the door behind her.

R

Giles had dozed off in the iron tub, so he was startled when the door opened and Marie entered the small, steamy room.

“Monsieur,”
she said, closing the door behind her. “I wish only to say
merci
for your most kindness earlier.”

“You’re most welcome,” he said as he shifted his legs so that

his knees were beneath the suds and water. “You look as though

you’re feeling better.”

“I am, how you say,
feet
as the
feed-dle?”

“Fiddle,” he said.

“Fid-dle. Better?”

“Much.”

“I wish to know how I must to repay you.”

“No compensation is required.”

Marie came toward the tub, pushing up the sleeves of her dress.

“I might to wash your back and shoulders, no?” She picked up

the washcloth draped over the side of the tub.

“Now, there’s fair compensation.” Giles leaned forward as

she knelt behind the tub and began to run the hot cloth over his shoulders. “I paid a visit to the
Miranda
this morning,” he said.

“The crew is very ill.”

“I had this fever, in the Caribbean.” Her hands were gentle

yet thorough. “The first winter after I leave France I nearly die from the chills. It is most horrible, no?”

“It is. More will die here before it passes.”

“Your hair,” she said. “I must to wash it.”

“I would be most grateful.”

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As her fingers began kneading his scalp, she said, “You have

been to the Caribbean?”

“During the war,” he said. “The air—I recall how it could be

hot and moist, like this steam, and it has the power to open up

the skin.”

“Yes, and the country was so green and
loosh.”

“Lush.”

“Lash.”
She laughed as she picked up a small bowl from the floor next to the tub; she dipped it in the suds as though she were going to scoop up his genitals. “Close eyes,
s’il vous plaît.”
Which he did as she poured hot water over his head, rinsing his hair. “The
sheep
,
Miranda,”
she said. “It will stay at the anchor in the river?”

“As long as it’s under quarantine.” He opened his eyes and

looked at her through long strands of wet hair clinging to his face.

Her face was coated with the slightest sheen of moisture, and her skin had turned a pleasant rose color. “Why?”

She looked away, taking a towel off the chair beside the tub.

“This
sheep,
it is very
stronge.
The crew, they. . . .” She stood up and draped the towel over his head.

“What about the crew?” He lifted the towel off his face so he

could see her.

“There was the captain—Captain Frothingham—he was a

good man, but he has many enemies on board.” She stood with

her hands on her hips, gazing down at him with an assessing eye.

“Tell me, Doctor, will you inspect the
sheep
again?”

“Most likely. What is it about the ship?”

She turned her head toward the light from the window and

seemed to have come to some conclusion. “Nothing,” she said.

“I am
joost
curious, and I think I remain here too long. Someone might think it is, how do you say, in pro-
pear
for me to see a man in a tub of the bath?”

“The word is ‘improper.’”

“Oui,”
she said as she went to the door.
“And this is a very
improper
houz.”

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“It’s my brother’s doing.” He began toweling his hair. “But

you have had some experience in bathing men, no?”

“Doctor, I have washed the royalty in France.” As she raised

the door latch, she looked over her shoulder, offering a complicit smile. “And I have to make this great discovery. They have heads and backs, and even the
derrière
—just the same as you.”

“Welcome to America, Marie.”

R

Leander heard a scream, the voice of a girl coming from behind the house to his right. He ran into the yard, down the side of the house, and entered the yard, where several boys were standing outside a shed, looking in the open doorway. They were all younger and

smaller than he was, and when they saw him they scattered, some

scrambling over the fence into the next yard. There was one boy

inside the shed, and a girl of about twelve struggled in his arms.

She wore a soiled nightgown that was torn away at one shoulder.

She screamed again when she saw Leander, who reached through

the door and pulled the boy out into the yard by his shirt. Leander vaguely recognized the boy, though he couldn’t remember from

where, some game perhaps that had been played up on the Mall.

The boy had been drinking—the smell of rum came off him—and

he wasn’t very steady on his feet. Plus, his trousers were unbuttoned and they began to fall down about his hips. He took a swing at

Leander, which was easy to dodge. Leander shoved him hard with

both hands, and he fell to the ground. The boy got to his feet, a rock in one fist, and held up his pants with his other hand.

“All right, come on,” Leander said.

The boy seemed to reconsider and, backing away, dropped the

rock. He pointed at Leander, saying, “You’re Hatch, ain’t you?

We’ll remember you.” He retreated toward the back fence and

climbed over with difficulty, his pants falling enough to expose his pale buttocks.

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Leander listened to the boys run off, shouting and cursing at

him, and then he turned to the girl, who was crouched inside the doorway of the shed. “You all right?”

She was crying, her tears streaking the dirt on her cheeks. “My

ma and pa, they sent me here to my aunt’s, but she’s gone—they’ve all gone to the pest-house.”

Leander went to the door and reached inside, but the girl

withdrew, clutching her torn nightgown to her shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said. He removed his jacket and offered it to her. “Put this on, and we’ll go to the pest-house. See what we can find out about them.”

The girl eyed him warily, but then she took the jacket and

pulled it on as she stepped outside the door. She was barefoot,

and as they walked out to the street her thin fingers took hold of his right hand.

R

After being bathed and fed, Giles took his leave from his brother’s house in the late afternoon. He went out the front gate and saw