The Gilded Hour (83 page)

But she didn’t go get a paper, not so much because she conquered her disquiet but because she had one emergency after another that kept her in
the operating room. It began with a woman whose hand had been caught up in the machinery at a steam cleaners, mangled and scalded both. There was no choice but to amputate, which meant that she was robbing the woman of her livelihood. She explained this to her husband, still young enough that he had very little beard, and watched his eyes fill with tears that he blinked back furiously.

Elise was serving as the circulating nurse that day, and was doing a very good job ignoring the stares and whispers that came her way. They were referring to her as the little nun with the hard fist. Apparently Anna wasn’t the only one thinking about Campbell’s visit.

“I hear you were assaulted in the hall yesterday,” Judith Ambrose said when they were scrubbing in together. “A red-haired demon, the story goes. Nurse Mercier came to your rescue with a very professional one-two punch.”

Anna had to laugh. “She says she was taught how to fight by her brothers.”

“She’s a tough one, all right. Let’s see how she handles this sad mess.”

The patient was a woman of about thirty, a charwoman so strong that it took three orderlies to restrain her. She was howling, a terrible mournful wail that cut right to the bone.

“You can’t have my baby.” Her voice was tear-clogged and hoarse. “You can’t, you can’t, I won’t let you.”

Judy Ambrose crouched down so that the patient could see her face.

“Mrs. Allen. Listen, please, Mrs. Allen. Your baby is no longer alive. Its heart stopped beating at least a month ago. I’m sorry for your loss, truly sorry, but we have to think of your health now. The medicine we’ve given you will help you deliver the child. Don’t fight it, please. If you don’t deliver the child you’ll get very sick and you will die of blood poisoning.”

“No, it’s not dead.” She strained against the restraints, her whole body arching into a contraction. When it passed she said, “I feel it kicking. Just leave it be, just go away and leave me alone. Please.”

Anna finished scrubbing in and saw that Elise was watching this exchange very closely. She was biting her lip as if to keep herself from speaking.

“Elise?”

“Just a thought.”

“Go on.”

“She might be comforted by prayer. If someone prayed with her for the soul of her child. Can a priest be called?”

“You don’t want to pray with her?”

Elise put a hand to her lower face and shook her head sharply.

“Then find someone who will,” Anna said. “We’re about to get started here.”

•   •   •

N
OT
A
HALF
hour after the conclusion to Mrs. Allen’s labor Anna was scrubbing in again, this time for a slack-faced young girl who refused to give a name. Her problem was easily diagnosed.

Elise said, “This seems to be a common . . . ailment.”

“Women who are desperate do desperate things,” Anna said. “You will see a lot of this, I’m sorry to say.”

“I thought I understood about poverty.”

“You still don’t. You won’t, until you start going out with the visiting nurses. That’s where many women give up medicine.”

“Not men?”

Anna looked at this young woman who showed so much promise, who learned so eagerly and quickly, and who still was completely unprepared for the trials to come.

“Primarily women. Few male doctors will visit patients in the worst of the tenements. I don’t know of any who treat the outdoor poor unless they come to a clinic. I personally think that all male medical students should be required to pay home visits to the poorest and most desperate for a month at least, but nobody asks my opinion.” She managed a small smile. “So let’s see to this girl. I think her case will take a happy ending.” She stopped herself.

“That’s entirely the wrong word. What I mean is, we will probably be able to save her life.”

•   •   •

O
N
THE
WAY
home she stopped to buy a variety of newspapers, and then sat on a bench in the small cemetery behind St. Mark’s to look through them. She found mention of Archer Campbell’s arrest in all of them, the articles prominently placed. There was no new information beyond the fact that he had been arrested when three stolen bearer bonds were found in his possession. The gossip rags were speculating on his role in the
disappearance of his four sons. In that they were entirely wrong, and also absolutely correct.

The names of the detectives were familiar, for the simple reason that Jack had introduced her to both Michael Larkin and Hank Sainsbury the last time she had been to police headquarters. They had been both polite and terribly awkward, because, Jack told her later, they had no experience of respectable women in their squad room and feared the wrath of Maroney if they failed to meet his standards of proper behavior.

She thought of Archer Campbell sitting in the Tombs. With his visit to the New Amsterdam he had crossed a line of no return, in Jack’s view of the world. She asked herself if she should be objecting for moral or ethical reasons. Then she thought of Mabel Stone and four little boys, and decided she should not.

S
HE
SAID
, “D
ON
’
T
you have a full day planned?”

Jack’s arms tightened around her waist. “You owe me a rainy Saturday in bed.”

“I might debate that, if it were raining. But it’s not. Jack.”

“Heartless wretch.” Just a mutter, but she heard it and she knew without a doubt that he was already asleep again. It was a trick Anna knew too; she had learned it out of necessity during her training. Somehow that made it easier to rouse him again. She pressed a hand to his shoulder.

“Jack. Don’t you have to go in?”

His eyes opened. “I didn’t get in until three hours ago.”

“That late,” Anna said. “Did you make some progress on the case?”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw and the beard stubble made a sound like a scrubbing brush on brickwork.

“Three doctors named Graham so far, none of them fit the bill. We talked to maybe ten night porters. Later today we’ll go to the registry office and have a look through the books.” He yawned and stretched, opened one eye, and waggled both brows at her.

“Come here.”

“Oh, no.” She danced away, grabbing up her robe.

“You woke me not once, but twice. Now you must face the consequences.”

She slipped out the door and ran, and he came along after her, grumbling, struggling into his robe. In the dining room she said, “Why are you following me?”

“Now you’re fishing for compliments,” he said, and gave another great yawn.

•   •   •

A
T
THE
TABLE
he showed her the text of the advertisement they were going to run in the newspapers. Anna read it while she buttered her toast.

She said, “So the idea is that if you can’t stop him right away, you might be able to slow him down?”

“At this point we have to warn the public.”

Anna reasoned that if this announcement in the newspaper frightened one woman away, it was worth the effort and expense. “But what if it makes him angry, what might that mean? Would it make him—strike out more often?”

“My sense is that it won’t make a difference,” Jack said. “I think he’s picking up his pace anyway, and that may mean he’s getting sloppy. I’ve been wondering ever since we interviewed Mamie Winthrop’s maid. She gave me the impression that women like Winthrop don’t have trouble finding a doctor to solve this particular problem, if the price is right and it can be handled privately. Is that true?”

“Nobody talks about it, but yes, probably. This is one of those areas where physicians say one thing publicly to protect themselves, but then do what they must in the patient’s best interest.”

“Or for their bank balances.”

She nodded, stiffly. “There are unscrupulous physicians, as there are unscrupulous bankers and factory owners and police. Can we talk about something else?”

Just then Mrs. Cabot brought in the mail, a letter from Amelie on the very top.

“Apparently not,” Anna said, and opened it while Jack began to look through the rest of the mail.

She said, “She sent a newspaper clipping with a note. We’re supposed to go see a woman called Kate Sparrow who lives on Patchin Place; she’s got a market stall where she sells sewing supplies, buttons and ribbons and such. I know her stall, but where is Patchin Place?”

“Just across from the Jefferson Market, off Tenth. What’s the clipping?”

Her gaze still on the letter, she handed the newspaper article over.

“From the
Morning News
.” He swallowed the last of his coffee and read aloud.

SHOCKING TESTIMONY DURING THE CAMPBELL INQUEST

LADY DOCTORS PROVIDE SALACIOUS DETAILS IN A PUBLIC FORUM

OUTRAGE IN THE GALLERY

Yesterday the jury of physicians hearing evidence in the Janine Campbell inquest heard testimony from Dr. Anna Savard and Dr. Sophie Savard Verhoeven. Questioning of Dr. Savard Verhoeven was particularly sharp and often accusatory in tone.

“She may be a lady of unusual intelligence,” commented a juror who wishes to remain anonymous. “But she is still a woman and a mulatta, and unsuited to the practice of medicine.”

In questioning Dr. Savard Verhoeven, Anthony Comstock of the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice criticized the deceased’s behavior and declared that in pursuing an illegal operation Mrs. Campbell had reaped the terrible harvest of her sins against the laws of God and man. In the testimony that followed the jury and gallery heard details of the Campbells’ marriage that were so personal in nature that Dr. James Cameron, a retired physician, left the courtroom in an outrage.

“Such topics violate all rules of decency,” he told reporters outside the Tombs. He went on to quote the second book of Timothy, verses 11–12, “Let a woman learn quietly with all submissiveness. I do not permit a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man; rather, she is to remain quiet.”

When asked whether his admonition was meant for the deceased Mrs. Campbell or the Drs. Savard, Dr. Cameron said: “Both.”

Jack said, “She underlined the name of the doctor they quote, James Cameron. In the margin she wrote: ‘He’s not dead after all.’ What does that mean?”

Anna felt as if she had been struck hard in the stomach.

“Anna, is this the old man who bellowed at the coroner and then stomped out of the courtroom?”

“I think it must be. Do you remember what he looked like?”

Jack shrugged. “Frail, bent. Very proper, old-fashioned. Walked with a cane.”

“Yes,” Anna said. “Of course, the cane.” She looked at him directly and knew that she could not hide the disquiet she was feeling. “I saw him, this Dr. Cameron, just the other day, but I didn’t recognize him. It was when I came out of the coffeehouse across from Jefferson Market.”

One of his eyebrows peaked, and she knew she had his entire attention. “Go on.”

“He was coming down from the el platform. I suppose I never really looked at him in the courtroom, I was so focused on Sophie on the stand. But he looked at me as if he knew me and didn’t like what he knew. I remember now, there was another letter he wrote, to the editor at the
Tribune
.”

Jack stood up and walked across the room and then back again to sit down where he started. “Tell me what your cousin said about him when you saw her.”

Anna closed her eyes to concentrate, and then recounted what she remembered:
a man more bent on purifying women’s souls than saving their lives.

“And she said he was old when she knew him, and was probably dead. He’s so frail, Jack. I find it hard to imagine him operating at all. And why would a woman who can afford to pay three hundred dollars settle for him? A steady hand is the very least a woman would want.”

Jack said, “They had resources, but don’t forget that all of the women we know about lacked connections. Some of them were from out of town, others were from overseas, a few were isolated for other reasons. Mrs. Schmitt’s husband is a Baptist minister, for example. None of them could go to sisters or cousins or aunts for advice on what doctor to consult. Now I wonder if we wasted a day looking for Neill Graham’s father or grandfather. I need to roust Oscar and get moving on this.”

He turned back suddenly. “This Kate Sparrow, she may not want to talk to us without you.”

“I could meet you there at noon, unless I have an emergency. And if it won’t be too long.”

He came around the table, leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Good.” He took a moment to look at her, his eyes moving over her face.

“Sometimes your eyes are brown and gold and green, and sometimes they seem mostly brown. Sometimes green. How do you do that?”

She tugged on an earlobe. “It’s a secret I dare not divulge.”

He smiled against her mouth when he kissed her, and then they both went off to get ready for work. The small bit of breakfast Anna had managed to get down lay like a lead weight in her gut.

•   •   •

E
LISE
HAD
SAVED
her time off without a specific plan for how to use it, until the trip to Greenwood came up. Even such a short trip—they would be gone overnight—was exciting. On Saturday morning she woke thinking that she had three full days, and committed herself to using the time to best advantage. She started the day by airing bedding, changing sheets, sweeping and dusting and polishing her way through all the bedrooms.

Mrs. Lee came marching upstairs, wanting to know if Elise was trying to put her granddaughter out of a job, or if she was just set on working herself to death.

“Let me,” Elise said. “Please let me. There’s enough to keep Laura Lee busy.”

Mrs. Quinlan steadfastly refused to accept any payment for board and lodging, but Elise needed to contribute in some way for her own peace of mind.

“Save your money,” the old aunt had said when Elise offered to help with household chores. “You’ll have expenses in medical school, even with a scholarship.”

Today while she worked Rosa followed her around, helping but mostly asking questions. Because, she pointed out, Elise knew more about the Catholic Church than anyone else in the house, which Elise herself had to admit was true.

So she answered questions about the Church hierarchy, about the pope and the archbishops and bishops and priests. Rosa wanted to know about nuns, and who was the boss of nuns, and if nuns and priests had to go to confession, and what if a priest or nun did something really bad?

Nothing Elise said seemed to satisfy her. The little girl wanted justice, and Elise could give her no such promise.

After lunch when the girls went upstairs for their naps, she raised the subject with Mrs. Quinlan.

“She trusts you,” Anna’s aunt said. “Do you find her questions distressing?”

Elise thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t say her questions distress me. It’s just that I left that life behind. Or I’m trying to. Not because I hold a grudge, as everyone seems to think. I have no grounds to be critical of the Church.”

Margaret pressed her lips together hard. Trying not to say what she thought of the Catholic Church, but sending the message anyway.

“I have no personal grounds,” Elise amended. “That doesn’t mean I don’t see that harm has been done—is still being done—to others. To Rosa. She wants me to be as angry as she is.”

“Maybe you should be,” Margaret said. “Maybe you will be, as time passes and you think things through.”

“Maybe that’s true,” Elise said, hearing the strain in her own voice. “Maybe I will feel that way some day. But right now I don’t have the time or the inclination to put the Church on trial. I need every bit of energy I can muster for the challenges ahead of me.”

After lunch Elise put Margaret and Rosa and the Church out of her head and settled down with her books and notes. There was an elderly woman at the New Amsterdam whose heart was failing, and she needed to understand more about what was happening to her.

Anna’s copy of
Descriptive and Surgical Anatomy
was well used, the binding loose and the covers a little warped. A whole army of paper strips populated the pages, each with notes written in a small version of Anna’s hand. She took the heavy book on her lap and it fell open of its own accord to page 570 (“The Lymphatic System of the Thorax”) to reveal a spray of rosebuds that had been pressed there for safekeeping.

In the first moment she had the odd but undeniable sense that she had opened someone else’s love letter. Then she reminded herself that Anna had given her leave to make full use of her medical library and so allowed herself to study the rosebuds, small and just partially open. Their scent lingered, faintly musky sweet.

The pages of the book itself were protected by tissue paper on one side, and on the other a large card of thick, cream-colored paper. Without disturbing anything she could make out some of the printing: an invitation to a masked ball.

A hundred questions presented themselves, when and where and mostly, why. Anna Savard didn’t seem to have any interest in high society, but she had attended this masked ball. Anna and Jack at a fancy ball was such an odd idea that she had to smile.

It felt like a love letter, Elise realized now, because it was a kind of wordless declaration. Anna Savard, who presented herself to the world as an educated woman with no need for or interest in frivolities, was also a young woman who pressed flowers for sentimental reasons. She could be both people, at once, and that very thought made Elise understand something she had been blind to.

As a little girl she had never seen people courting or falling in love, and in the convent she had been taught to think of such things as shallow and unnecessary in a purposeful life. But there was something here in these few pressed flowers that spoke very powerfully to the contrary, and in a way that surprised her.

She laughed at herself, falling in love with the idea of love, and still, she spent a long time studying the rosebuds before she remembered what she was about and turned to an illustration of the chambers of the human heart.

•   •   •

P
ATCHIN
P
LACE
WAS
a narrow lane that opened off Tenth Street, lined with cottages leaning together like crooked teeth. As soon as Anna turned into the lane, a plump little woman popped out of a doorway and gestured them closer.