The Spirit Room (13 page)

Izzie knew young women her age didn’t go out publicly with men unescorted. In the world she grew up in, no one followed those kinds of rules. But in this physician’s world, people did. Perhaps he wanted to talk more about her mother or Spiritualism.

He seemed to see her hesitation and grinned. “You could explain your view of immortality to me. As a Spiritualist, that is.”

She’d never been to the Gem Inn on Water Street. She’d never been any place that served meals to the public and she’d never been asked to explain her view of anything.

“
Yes, I have time.”

<><><>

IZZIE AND DOCTOR MACADAMS SETTLED THEMSELVES at a small table by the windows. A cast iron stove warmed the room. Just outside, rain drained hard off the Gem Inn’s blue awning. Underneath it, waiting for the deluge to subside, a mother and daughter huddled, arms linked and hidden by the bulk of their capes and bonnets.

It was late afternoon and most people were at home or at work. The Gem’s dining room was nearly empty except for a few pairs of men and two young simply dressed women nearby engrossed in earnest conversation. While Doctor MacAdams read the menu on the chalkboard, Izzie caught a word here and there from the women, “legislature,” “petition,” “signatures,” “Garrison’s views,” “convention,” “property rights”. She wanted desperately to hear more of what the women said, to be the teapot on their table, but her eavesdropping was interrupted by a tiny old gentleman in a white apron who came to their square table and asked Doctor MacAdams what they wanted to eat. MacAdams was so tall and the man in apron so short, there seemed no more than a foot between their heights with one sitting and the other standing. After asking Izzie what she wanted and she had told him rice pudding, MacAdams repeated the “rice pudding” to the short man, then rattled off an entire roster of things he wanted to eat.

She watched him closely while he ordered. The thickness, length and curl of his dark eyebrows still astounded her. Did he brush them every morning? If he didn’t, she supposed he’d look like a wild mountain man, not something his patients would likely appreciate.

While Izzie enjoyed a cup of tea and her pudding, Doctor MacAdams consumed fried oysters, boiled corned beef and cabbage, turnips, and then, chicken pie. As they ate together, they gazed off and on out the large window at the rain and chatted about the arrival of spring and muddy roads, the newest steamboat to be launched, the P.H. Field, and the terrible fire at the canal barn on Bradford Street that destroyed three buildings the previous Tuesday. He asked her about the spices in the rice pudding.

Then he wiped his long mustache several times with a napkin, picked up the white teapot and poured the tea, his hands careful and thin, filling her cup, then his.

“
Do you think we should go to war to free the slaves in the south?”

“
If we cannot free them otherwise.” She dipped her spoon into the pudding.

“
So you believe the freedom of black men is worth the lives of whites?”

“
If it must be.” Izzie slowly put the pudding in her mouth. It was sticky and had already cooled down.

“
And if your brother Billy became a young soldier and died in battle?”

Startled, she hastily lifted the blue and white cup, a fine, almost invisible crack running from its base to the lip.

“
I’d rather not give up my brother,” she said and, without drinking, replaced the cup to its saucer with a clink. “Anyway, he’s only thirteen. That’s too young to be a soldier.”

“
Yes. But a war could be several years away or last a very long time. Passion for anything, the freedom of men, or women for that matter, requires a price. A high price. Don’t you agree?” He shoved the empty chicken pie plate away from him.

“
Most everything I know is from books, Doctor MacAdams. I know little about prices paid for idealistic causes, at least first hand.”

“
You mustn’t underestimate what you know from books. It is from Frederick Douglass’s narrative of his life that many northerners, myself included, understand the lives of slaves, and besides, your life is before you. I think you will have plenty of opportunity, for better or worse, to discover about passion and beauty and justice, and their costs. We must hope that Billy is not a cost.”

The door to the Gem, just behind Izzie, opened and let in a cool draft along with the sound of rain battering the walk and a carriage slopping by. Izzie knew, and had read, the book Doctor MacAdams referred to. It was in Mrs. Purcell’s library. Glancing down at the cotton napkin in her lap, she smiled to herself. Doctor MacAdams was the first man to speak to her as though she were an educated woman. He was asking her about political ideas.

“
Have you heard any more voices as you did when you were ill?”

“
No.”

“
There. I thought so. You mustn’t worry.” He swallowed the last sip of tea from his cup. “I must get back to a late appointment at the Hygienic Institute.” He gestured toward the man in the apron. “Would you like a tour of the Institute? Except for those steamboats out there, it is the most interesting thing in Geneva.”

The crow’s feet spread around his cheerful eyes as he grinned at her. Why on earth did he want to take more time with her? He couldn’t still be apologetic for what he implied about Mamma at his office and surely he was very busy in his hydrotherapy practice. And ... he couldn’t possibly want to court her.

“
Thank you, but I can’t come now. I have a spirit circle soon.”

“
Ah, the séances. We didn’t get to our immortality discussion.” He raised a hand and ran two fingertips down his long sideburn from his ear until his fingertips rested on his bare chin. “Could you come next week, say, Wednesday at five in the evening?”

Izzie nodded and let a smile spill out. But Wednesday was an entire week away, a week of seven days, seven long days, each one with hours and hours between one sunrise and the next. She couldn’t wait to get to the Spirit Room and tell Clara about the Gem Inn and next Wednesday.

Twelve

AT NEARLY FIVE O’CLOCK on the next Wednesday, Izzie was a little breathless and impatient as she waited for a small herd of brown cows to pass by on Main Street. When her way was clear of the cows, she crossed the street, passed through a narrow gate, and traversed Pulteney Park. A strong gust of wind swooped at her. Grabbing her bonnet, she leaned forward and forged across the square green toward the Geneva Hygienic Institute.

She hadn’t told Papa where she was going, not that he paid much attention. Since he had such a scathing opinion of doctors, she knew he wouldn’t approve. She hadn’t told him about the Gem Inn either, and had asked Clara not to mention it.

She entered the front door. Going from bright to dim light, she was disoriented for a moment. Appearing as eerie silhouettes, a handful of men and women milled about the immense hall. Pausing to untie and remove her hat and let her eyes adjust, Izzie smelled pine wood, vinegar, and cigar smoke.

Halfway down the corridor two men stood conversing. The first man she recognized as Doctor MacAdams. The other was a hunched-over man propping himself on a cane. Now that she could see more clearly, she walked ahead past the reception office toward them.

“
The hot water bath is turning my skin red and the cold water bath is making my back hurt more than it did before I came here.” The man with curvature struck the tip of his cane sharply against the floor several times.

Izzie stopped where she was and waited.

“
I’ll consult with Edgar first thing in the morning and we’ll see about some adjustments. Be sure to get your rest tonight.”

“
When is Doctor Smith coming back?”

“
Not for another month, I’m afraid.”

“
Yes. Yes. Well, I want Edgar in my room bright and early, bright and early.” The man passed Izzie as he shuffled toward the stairwell. Dressed in a brown satin robe, the old gentleman grumbled under his breath, nearly spitting as he ranted to himself.

“
Miss Benton.” Smiling, hands deep in the pockets of his black coat, Doctor MacAdams stood looking down at her. “You are perfectly on time. I am delighted.” He tilted his head toward the stairwell. “Excuse the old fellow. Very bad case of spine curvature. I’m eager to try magnets on him, but the director ordered no experimenting while he was absent.”

Drawing his long hands from his pockets, Doctor MacAdams rubbed them together as though warming them.

“
Shall we?”

He led her back down the hall, chattering about building dimensions, a gymnasium, private rooms, renovations. He was like a boy bragging about shooting his first rabbit.

They arrived at a long room with two sets of double doors, both wide open. It was a colossal parlor full of stuffed sofas, chairs, tables of all sizes, an emerald green rug, and a huge fireplace at one end. They stood just inside. Cigar smoke swirling around them, four men played cards at a square table. At the end of a pink sofa, a frail young woman with hair so blond it was nearly white sat alone reading a book.

Without speaking, Doctor MacAdams stepped back into the hallway. Izzie followed him to a dining room. It was vast, with high ceilings and two extraordinary, huge glass chandeliers. Tables were set with linen and sparkling silverware. Along the far wall, lush olive-green velvet draperies framed tall windows.

It was quite grand, not at all what she expected. She thought people who took the water-cure either dunked themselves in water baths, drank boat loads of water, or both. Surely they didn’t need such a fancy establishment for that.

“
The building used to be the Geneva Hotel,” Doctor MacAdams said. “Many of the visitors today think of this as a resort because of the healing spring waters and the quiet. We use the White Spring Aqueduct.” Squaring his shoulders, he gazed around the room as though checking that everything was in its proper place. He certainly was proud, even if his post was temporary.

“
The White Spring Aqueduct?”

“
The water you drink. The water you wash with. All the city’s water comes from the White Spring. It’s about a mile and a half southwest of here. The water runs into town through cast iron pipes the whole way. Used to be log pipes.” He gestured toward the end of the hall. “Here, let me show you a treatment room.”

He smiled again, then turned and sped off toward the west end of the building. His stride was so long that it took her two or three steps for his one just to keep up.

“
How many patients are here, Doctor MacAdams?”

He paused and looked at her. “Please call me Mac. I hope we will be friends. My friends call me Mac.” His eyelids fluttered a little as he said this about being friends, but then he started walking again and kept right on speaking. He hadn’t really waited for her reply. But he did say “friends.” Was he hinting at courtship?

“
There are about ninety patients right now, but we can have up to a hundred and fifty. Each one pays ten dollars for a week of room, board, and treatment.”

Lawks
. Ninety people who could take time away from work to take baths and pay ten dollars for it? He certainly couldn’t be trying to recruit her as a hydrotherapy patient. He already knew she didn’t have ten dollars.

“
Come along,” he said.

Nearly at a run, she scuttled after him. Goodness, he was exuberant. But it couldn’t be courtship he wanted with her, could it? After all, she was only seventeen years old and he was probably thirty-five. She wasn’t educated. He was a learned man. A physician. She was poor and a humbug medium. He was a scientist. Now her curiosity really began to burn. What was it? He wouldn’t have invited her here if he didn’t want something from her. He was sharing this Water-Cure Institute with her for some reason. If he didn’t tell her what it was soon, she would ask him. Even if he thought it rude, she’d ask. She had nothing to lose. Perhaps he wanted to experiment on her, magnets, something new, something radical. She swallowed hard.

But experiment on what ailment? She had none. Unless he was interested in her feverish delusions. Mac came to a halt again. He was saying something about soaking and water temperatures and submersion. Then a brunette woman in a simple green walking dress approached and passed them. She and Mac nodded at each other as she went by.

He paused, turned and watched her until she was some distance away.

“
We have many women here seeking relief from female diseases, such as the conditions that come from irregular menses.” His voice was quiet, discreet.

A tickle caught Izzie’s throat and she coughed into her hand.

Mac looked at her with concern, his curly eyebrows settling low over his dark eyes.

“
Is that a cough left over from your illness?”