Quarantine: A Novel (32 page)

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Miranda looked away from the window again. The butler’s

eyes were upon her, but he politely lowered his gaze. It was

enough. “Does he?”

“Indeed, Ma’am.”

“Interesting. Well, fine. Give them their wagon.”

“Very well, Ma’am.” The hinges creaked as the door was

pulled shut.

“Fields.”

“Ma’am?”

“Do you suppose the doctor—does he himself take the fresh

air on Water Street?”

Now Fields took his time in answering. Miranda stared down

into the courtyard, waiting for his reply. Waiting made her impatient, but she fought the temptation to ask the question again.

“I don’t know, Ma’am,” Fields said finally.

“I believe he does. When he arrived he smelled distinctly of

perfume.”

Fields was silent, the door still ajar.

“That will be all,” she said.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

253

Twenty-Four

“You handle a team well,” Giles said to Leander.

“Thank you, Doctor. My father often had the use of a city

wagon for business down at the harbor. He taught me about

horses.”

“So it goes well with you, working in my brother’s stable?”

“Well enough, sir.” They were riding the wagon along the

Newbury ridge, where they could see all the way down to the

marshes behind Plum Island. Beyond the dunes, the Atlantic was

the color of pewter, and enormous thunderheads were piled above

the horizon, with sheets of rain angling down to the water. There were frequent bolts of lightning, followed moments later by a deep rumbling, which tended to spook the horses.

“That will be a spectacular storm when it reaches us,” Giles

said. “Did you know Benjamin Franklin once visited Newbury

because of the lightning?” Leander shook his head but did not

take his eyes off the hindquarters of the team. The right horse, a smaller bay, wanted to slow down, but Leander anticipated this

with a frequent slap of the reins. “Yes; it was back in the fifties,”

Giles said. “This was before Newburyport was incorporated, you

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know, before the break with England, the war, everything. Dr.

Franklin was not yet the famous statesman, just a young man with a keen interest in science. During a fierce storm, a lightning bolt had struck the meeting-house steeple, which was quite destroyed. Pieces of the steeple roof were all over the ground, and there was some damage to the stone foundation as well. But what interested Dr.

Franklin, evidentially, was the fact that there had been a wire that ran from the bell in the steeple down through the entire structure.

After the lightning bolt struck the meeting-house, this wire was completely disintegrated—gone. The only evidence of its existence was a black line, like soot, which ran along the plaster ceiling and walls where the wire had been, and I understand Dr. Franklin found this very curious.” Giles glanced at Leander, who seemed to be

concentrating very hard upon the team. “You see, only the steeple roof and the foundation where the wire terminated were affected

by the lightning. But the wood, the plaster, everything in between was intact. What do you suppose Dr. Franklin’s conclusion was?”

“The wire was gone? Like it burned up?”

“Verily.”

“Then it seems that the bolt passed down the wire through

the meeting-house.”

“Yes, it was conducted.”

Leander clucked his tongue and slapped the reins on the bay’s

haunches. “But . . .”

“But what?” Giles looked at the boy again. His brow was fur-

rowed, knotted like a fist. “What do you suppose Dr. Franklin

concluded?”

Leander sat upright on the bench, and his expression changed

from concentration to concern. Ahead, there were two men

standing beneath an elm tree by the side of the road.

“Guards,” Leander said. “They are supposed to keep people

from entering or leaving Newburyport, though Benjamin Penrose

and I managed to get through before. I recognize the boy, but the man—he wasn’t here the last time.”

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“It’s Penuel Somerby,” Giles said. Leander glanced at him.

“I’m a surgeon,” he explained. “I know most everyone from here

down to the Parker River.”

As the wagon approached the elm, Somerby stepped out to

greet them and Leander halted the team. Somerby was a stout

man in a leather tricorn, and his side-whiskers reminded Giles

of a pair of jug handles. He smiled up at Giles, revealing the gap where his front teeth had been. “Afternoon, Doctor.”

“Penuel.”

“I’m afraid no one’s allowed farther south on this road. The

fever, you understand.” Penuel looked over his shoulder at the boy who remained leaning against the tree trunk. “My nephew there

says this lad with you came through yesterday. They shouldn’t a

let them go by. We have very strict orders.”

“I know, Penuel. Doctor Bradshaw and I issued them ourselves.

It’s essential that the population not be allowed to travel freely until this epidemic has passed.” Somerby nodded heavily, relieved that he and the doctor were in agreement. “But you see, Penuel,

I must get to Simon Moss’s farm.”

“Simon Moss? There be a problem?”

“Can’t say until I have a look-see, can I?”

Somerby took a step closer to the wagon and lowered his voice.

“Is it the fever? You think it’s got out this far from Newburyport?”

“I sincerely hope not, Penuel.”

Somerby’s calculations were in his eyes. “If it is, what will you do? Bring the sick back to the pest-house?”

“Perhaps,” Giles allowed. “And we might have to ask you to

help extend the quarantine down as far as the Parker—if it comes to that.”

Somerby took a step back from the wagon now. “My God,

will it have no end?”

“All things come to an end.”

“Yes, we must have faith. But if you bring the ill back through

this way. . . .”

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“Be assured that we’ll give you fair warning so you can stand

well off to the side of the road. Now, Penuel, we haven’t time to waste.”

Somerby removed his hat, almost as a gesture of apology. “Of

course, Doctor.”

“Thank you,” Giles said. “Tell me, having any more trouble

with your teeth?”

“No.” Somerby placed his hat back on his head and pulled it

down snug. “They’re working just fine since you pulled that last one.”

“Glad to hear.”

Leander shook the reins and the team began to walk on.

R

When they reached the dooryard at Moss’s farm, Leander drew

the team to a halt. The sky was very dark and the thunder was

getting closer, making the horses skittish. “The crates were in the barn,” he said, “in a stall toward the back.”

“Well, I’m going to the house to pay a visit to Simon.” Dr.

Wiggins climbed down off the wagon. “Why don’t you get the

team and rig into the barn before this weather breaks, and wait

for me there.” He looked up at Leander with an odd expres-

sion, one that suggested a kind of formality meant to disguise

collusion.

“Yes, sir,” Leander said. “I’ll be in the barn.”

“Good.”

The doctor walked up to the back of the house and rapped the

iron door knocker. After a moment, an elderly woman let him

into the house.

Leander drove the wagon through the open barn doors,

climbed down, and led the horses to a water trough. Then he

walked into the back of the barn, which was dark—the rear

doors were closed today. Overhead, mourning doves cooed in the

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rafters, and rain began to patter on the roof. When he reached the stall where he had seen the crates, he took another look toward

the front of the barn. The rain started suddenly, teeming on the packed earth in the yard. There was a crack of lightning, followed immediately by a deep roll of thunder, which caused animals

throughout the barn to stir.

Leander opened the stall gate, went inside, and found nothing—

only straw flattened on the ground. As he turned around there

came another bolt of lightning, and for a moment he saw a face

illuminated by the bright blue light. It startled him so that he cried out. At first he thought it might have been his imagination—the

face was lovely, with wild blond tresses—but then he saw the faint image of her step through the open gate.

“You were here before,” she said. “With Benjamin.”

He remembered—the girl that had let Benjamin into the shed.

“Yes. And there were—”

“Gone.”

“The crates.”

“Yes, they took them all away,” she said. “Early this morning.”

“Where’d they take them?”

The girl came closer. “I don’t know.”

“Who were they?”

Though he could barely see her face, he was under the impres-

sion that she was afraid. But she stepped even closer, and for a moment—to his surprise—she took hold of his hand. “Benjamin,”

she asked. “Do you see him?”

“Yes.”

“Does he speak of me?”

The rain was making a loud racket on the roof now. Leander

nodded his head.

“You tell him I must speak to him. You tell him. . . .” She

let go of his hand, and for a moment Leander thought she was

about to cry. She went to the gate, but paused. “You tell him

we must speak.” She wrapped her shawl about her shoulders—it

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seemed a regal gesture, dignified but also hopeless—and she

left the stall.

R

Giles was perturbed during the ride back to Newburyport. The

rain had let up, but he and Leander were both drenched to the

skin. The thunderstorm had been so swift and fierce that Penuel

Somerby and the boy had abandoned their post beneath the elm

tree.

Leander seemed afraid to disturb Giles’s ruminations, but

finally he asked, “What did you learn from Simon Moss, sir?”

“Nothing, really.” Giles tugged on his broad-brimmed hat,

causing water to run off and splatter on his knees. “His wife

offered me cider, and Simon wanted to know what brought me so

far out from Newburyport. I said I’d heard rumors that there were cases of the fever showing up in Newbury. But he knew nothing

of it.” He turned to Leander. “These crates, you’re sure—”

“They contained the medicine, yes.”

“And this girl says they were removed from the barn this

morning.”

“Yes,” Leander said. “Who is she? Their daughter?”

“No. They have four sons, no daughters. If she was married to

one of the sons, I’d know it. Must be a hired girl.” Giles hesitated a moment. “And you believe her.”

“Yes, sir. She was . . . troubled.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Just troubled, the way only women can be.”

“Oh,” Giles said. “That.”

They entered Newburyport, and when they reached Federal

Street, Giles indicated that they should turn. “We’ll go down

to the wharfs. We can get a change of clothes and something to

eat on Emanuel Lunt’s boat, then you can return to my brother’s

house.”

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“I’m in no hurry, sir.”

“Your position there does not suit you?”

Leander shook his head.

Giles was oddly gratified—on the ride out to the Moss farm

Leander, it seemed, would not have made such an admission

to him. “You can’t go home, I’m afraid. There’s nothing there,

Leander. It’s just charred timbers collapsed about the chimney.”

“I know.” He inhaled deeply. “But I miss the river—the smell

of low tide. I find myself thinking often of my grandfather’s house down to Joppa Flats.”

“I understand.” Giles wanted to explain to Leander about his

mother, about years ago when the colonies were at war with the

British, and how he’d been a young man then, and what that

meant. He wanted to tell the boy that he really did understand

longing and loss, and that it was something that would be carried in the heart for life, and that in some ways that was the measure of a man—how he bore such things. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know

where to begin, and it made him feel insufficient and cowardly.

“So tell me, Leander,” he said finally, in an attempt break the

silence. “Have you given any thought to Dr. Franklin’s conclusion regarding the lightning that struck the meeting-house?”

“I have given it some thought, yes,” Leander said. He slapped

the reins on the bay’s haunches, and the team picked up the pace.

“But I have yet to reach my own conclusion.”

After a moment, they both laughed.

“Be sure to inform me of it when you have.”

“You’ll be the first to know, sir.”

R

In the evening, Miranda left her room and went downstairs. She

found Cedella standing outside the library door. “How is he?”

“Seems to be resting comfortably, Ma’am.”

“Has he asked for anything? Something to eat? Tea?”

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“Nothing, Ma’am.” Cedella kept her eyes on the floor.

“What is it?”

“He’s grieving, Ma’am.”

“How so?”

“Well, Ma’am, it’s his dog.” Cedella glanced up; she was near

tears. “You see, it died not an hour ago.”

Miranda had to restrain herself from clapping her hands in

delight.

“It seems Mr. Sumner has been giving a portion of his food

to the dog, and—”

Miranda released a long, appropriate sigh. She opened the door

without knocking. The curtains were drawn, so the library was