The Moon by Night (11 page)

“That's them,” Mr. Jack agreed. “When Mr. Shiloh and Miss Cheney got back from their honeymoon, they had to have their new house worked on, like, and they had no horses of their own here in New York, havin' been fol-der-rollin' all over the country and leaving horses here and there like they was dropped hankies or summat. And Miss Cheney's two tantes in New Orleans wouldn't send back their two horses because Miss Tante Elyse was so foolish over them. So Miss Cheney and Mr. Shiloh decided to give poor Captain and Mrs. Blue a vacation and sent them out there to the back side of the badlands to bring back these two horses. And they stayed at the orphanage and took care of that little Laura Blue while Captain and Mrs. Blue took their holiday, the first they'd ever had, either of 'em.”

Mr. Roe nodded, now with approval, and started to respond, but Shiloh came thundering in on Balaam. Balaam reared up and pawed the air, grunting and growling around his bit as if he were in close battle.

“There you are, finally,” Cheney said merrily from her languid stance by the door. “Eugènie and I took a little turn around the block before we even came in.”

“Did you hear that, you old grump,” Shiloh muttered as he dismounted. Balaam immediately calmed down and shifted hard on his feet, as if one hoof had gone lame. “I'd be ashamed, you big lazy heifer, letting that fancy-pants Eugènie beat you. Huh? Oh no, no, mister, I know better. You just stand up straight, and James or John will be in here to fetch you in a minute, and I don't want you to give them any nonsense about a stone bruise either. They know your little game as good as I do, you old swindler.” Shiloh slapped him affectionately as James, grinning, came in and grabbed Balaam's bridle. Balaam mouthed it noisily with much slobber and followed him outside with a pronounced limp.

“You didn't either circle the block. You're as big a sharp as Balaam is,” Shiloh said accusingly, grabbing Cheney around the waist. Neither of them had noticed the two men down at the far end of the stables.

“I couldn't be half the ham he is,” Cheney scoffed.

Shiloh, with his hands resting on her waist, leaned back for a moment and looked her up and down. She looked stunning. She was wearing a black velvet riding habit with a black satin top hat and swirling black veil draped jauntily over one shoulder. Her cheeks were glowing coral from the icy air, her green eyes positively sparked, her wide mouth was winter-colored a rich red. Shiloh's fingers almost touched around her slim waist. “You are the most beautiful woman who ever walked, and you look nothing like any ham I ever saw,” he murmured as he bent to her. She giggled a little but lifted her face for his kiss, throwing her arms around his neck.

At the far end of the stable Mr. Roe and Mr. Jack hastily looked away and up and out and around until John came running back in from the paddock. “Mr. Shiloh—oh, 'scuse me. I was just…just—”

“Caught us fair and square,” Shiloh said, releasing Cheney and grinning at the boy's confusion. “Anything wrong, John?”

“No, sir. I was just wondering if you were going to be here long enough to—er—show me another punch. Like you used in your fights,” he said, cutting his eyes toward Cheney guiltily. Shiloh Irons, the Iron Man, had gained some fame with his two fights in '66 with Mike McCool and James Elliott.

Cheney stuck her fists on her waist and said with mock anger, “So you've been out here fighting with the stable boys, you great bully?”

Shiloh rolled his eyes at John. “Don't let her fool you, John. This woman skewers me every Saturday with her fencing foil, so she can't say much if us poor men try to figure how to defend ourselves.”

John, a susceptible seventeen-year-old, visibly swelled with pride at Shiloh including him as another one of the poor men.

“Pshaw. No one feels sorry for you, or that silly old Balaam either,” Cheney asserted saucily. Whirling toward the door, she finally caught sight of the two men down by the stove watching with amusement. “Oh, hello, Mr. Roe, Mr. Jack. Mother told us you were here visiting. No, no, please don't get up,” she called, waving. “Mr. Jack, would you tell Mr. Roe about your special winter mash for Romulus and Remus? I think it would do Eugènie good. She's as picky about her feed as they are. Thank you!” Over her shoulder as she left, she teased Shiloh, “Are you coming with me, sir, or are you and John going to stay out here in the barn and have a scuffle?”

“I'm coming with you, ma'am. I have to watch you every minute,” Shiloh said gruffly. “We're not staying long today, John, but I'll catch you next week. Some night when I come to pick up the doc, I'll come in a little early and show you my special duck-and-jab-and-duck. I'm better at the duckin' part than the jabbin' part….” His voice faded away as he hurried to catch up with Cheney.

Thaddeus Roe Sr. had opened Roe's Livery and Stables in 1752 on the corner of West Twenty-Fourth Street and Seventh Avenue. That far north in Manhattan had mostly still been forest, but on this same square of cleared land was the old van Dam place. At that stage of its metamorphosis it had been converted into assembly rooms, tavern, and gardens and dubbed Maidenfair Gardens. Down through the years, the old van Dam place had gone through several more transformations, but Roe's Livery and Stables had remained the same. When Thaddeus Roe Sr. had retired, he left the stables to his son Thaddeus Roe Jr., who had retired three years previously and left the stables to his son Andrew. Some day Andrew would likely leave them to his eldest son, James.

Now Roe's served the bustling community of the Upper West Side, including, of course, St. Luke the Physician Hospital. The hospital had invested in Roe's so that they could add the big oval paddock, special stables for the great Clydesdale horses that pulled the ambulances, and the ambulance barn. A flagstone path that led from the livery all the way to the rear emergency entrance of the hospital had been installed, and it was a well-worn path, for the Roes had become good friends with most members of the hospital staff. James and John took care of the hospital horses and even drove the ambulances in an emergency. Cheney and Cleve gave the entire family free medical care. Oddly, though Thaddeus had been best friends with Old Mr. Pettijohn, Dr. Marcus Pettijohn's father, Marcus never visited with any of the Roes and never offered medical care to them.

After his father died, Dr. Marcus Pettijohn never moved back upstairs in the small flat above the apothecary shop where he had grown up. When he had been given his post at the hospital, he had sold the shop to old Mr. Roe and his wife, Helen. The older couple lived right next to the livery now, and James and John stayed upstairs in the flat. It had worked well for everyone, since Andrew had four other children in a farmhouse up on Fortieth Street. But still, Dr. Pettijohn acted as if he had never known the Roes or even remembered the quaint little apothecary shop that he had been born in and grown up in and worked in.

Shiloh was thinking of Dr. Marcus Pettijohn as they walked up the path toward the hospital. He looked back at the tidy little cottage, remembering Mr. Pettijohn, a kind, hardworking old man who had taken every opportunity to mention his son when he was attending medical school in Paris. The snow blanketed the cottage now and the herb garden that had supplied Mr. Pettijohn with so many of the ingredients of his very own prescriptives. Idly Shiloh wondered if any of those had been saved by Dr. Pettijohn. In particular Shiloh recalled a eucalyptus and menthol liniment that had proved to be very soothing on Shiloh's hands, which often were sore because he continually trained in the pugilistic arts just to keep healthy and strong.

“Is Dr. Pettijohn the doctor on call this weekend?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cheney answered. “Why?”

“I've never met him,” he said thoughtfully as she entwined her arm in his.

“You haven't?” she said with surprise. “I had no idea…but wait, you must have met him at the grand opening. Perhaps you've just forgotten.”

Shiloh shook his head. “Nope. I was just thinking of old Mr. Pettijohn. I miss him. I'd remember if I had met his son that he was so proud of.”

“Mm,” Cheney said noncommittally. Shiloh was not at the hospital very much—Cheney was careful not to involve him in her medical affairs—so it was very possible he had never met Dr. Pettijohn. After all, Dr. Pettijohn did work days only, except for the weekends that he was the on-call physician. Cheney had not come in to the hospital on her weekends off, until today.

Cheney knew that she must spend some time with Shiloh, so she had decided to go ahead with their regular visit to Duvall Court for her fencing lesson and dinner with her parents. But she knew that she must go by the hospital to check up on Cornelius Melbourne. He still was in critical condition, though he rested comfortably, tolerated pain medication very well, and drank water and broth. Cheney had not even told Shiloh about him. The day after the accident had been so busy that she hadn't had an opportunity. She knew she should tell him about Cornelius Melbourne, but now it seemed to her that the time to speak about him had passed. When she had told Shiloh that morning that she would like to stop by the hospital, she merely said that she wanted to check up on some of the more critical patients.

It was also true that she was worried about Mevrouw de Sille, the patient she had checked in the previous day. Cheney had admitted her in the afternoon with severe catarrh and respiratory distress. Mrs. de Sille had not been in serious enough condition for Cheney to cancel out on dinner at her parents' and the opera. But still, Cheney felt slightly guilty for leaving early last night.

Shiloh was watching her face and sighed a little as he saw Cheney's frown and dark introspection. But lightly he asked, “So you're worried about Mevrouw de Sille?”

Even after all these years, these moments of mind melding still startled Cheney. “What? What did you say?”

“I said, Doc,” he repeated slowly, “you're worried about Mevrouw de Sille? What's the matter with her, anyway? I've got an idea she's probably sick with embarrassment over her rotten husband.”

“So you've read the gossip page of the
World
too,” Cheney observed grimly. “So has everyone else in Manhattan, including poor Mrs. de Sille. But it's not like everyone didn't already know about Peter de Sille's awful red-headed chorus girl, prancing around in her pink tights at Niblo's. I swear, the de Silles are an old respected family, and you'd think that even if he chose to ignore the moral aspect of his behavior, he would at least have better taste. And you'd better not ever think that you're going back to go see
The Black Crook
either, Mr. Iron Head.”

“Ow, Doc, you've got a grip like a gator when you pinch! I didn't do anything! I'm not the one with the red-headed woman!” Shiloh protested vigorously.

“I should think not,” she sniffed. “Anyway, here we are, and I don't have to remind you not to mention any names aloud while we're in the hospital, but the lady in question—not the one with the pink tights, but the other one—actually asked about you yesterday. I'd like for you to come talk to her for a few minutes. I get the impression that she's so sensitive about men right now that she can hardly bear to look at one, so I thought it was unusual for her to remember you and ask after you. When we talk to her, just be sure to listen very carefully to the sound of her voice. You know how well you can tell if someone's going into pneumonia just by listening to them speak.”

They came in through the double emergency entrance doors, which faced the long desk of the nurses' station. The two nurses, Kitty Kalm and Miss Nilsson, clad in gray uniforms with starched white aprons and modest mobcaps, jumped up when Cheney entered the vestibule of the emergency clinic and dispensary. Cheney and Shiloh just smiled at them, and Cheney waved for them to sit down as she kept talking to Shiloh in a low tone.

In the women's ward, of the fourteen patients, Shiloh had met two of them on the ward—a former charwoman named Alice Farley and one of Victoria's housemaids, Rebecca Green. One thing that Cheney had suggested during the planning stages of the wards was that wooden cubicles with curtained doorways should be built for privacy. Cheney felt that when one was ill, lying in an open ward would be uncomfortable, and the board had agreed with her. Even though it took up much space—leaving room around the beds for the doctors and nurses to work—they had still managed to get eleven cubicles, four private rooms, and one luxurious suite in each of the wards.

Both Mrs. Farley's and Mrs. Green's curtains were pulled, and Cheney was relieved. Mrs. Farley in particular was a talker, and she would talk to Shiloh—he would stand there and listen politely, never dreaming of interrupting a lady—until kingdom come. Hurriedly she pulled him along down the hall, giving quick nods to the women who looked up and watched them pass by.

Mrs. de Sille occupied Room A, next to the last on the end except for the private suite, which spanned the width of the wing. Cheney entered the room, motioning Shiloh to wait, and immediately came back and asked him in.

Mevrouw de Sille had a fever, he immediately saw, and when she greeted him, he could distinguish the odd thick bass note in her voice, a sure sign of thick congestion. “Mr. Irons-Winslow, how kind of you and Dr. Duvall to drop by to see me,” she said weakly, holding out her hand, which he took between both of his own.

He leaned over as close as he could to listen to the timbre of her voice. “The doc wanted to check on you, and when she told me you'd asked after me, I had to come see you to thank you for remembering me—and my name,” Shiloh said lightly. “So far you're the only person among our acquaintance who doesn't call me Mr. Duvall.”

“I doubt that very seriously,” she said, closing her eyes. “I'm sure that people recall your name perfectly well…Please forgive me. I'm so tired.”