A Good Woman (13 page)

The young couple went back to New York in early September, Josiah to his duties at the bank, and Annabelle to hers on Ellis Island. She was getting more and more involved there, and had a deep affection and respect for the people she ministered to and assisted, most of whom seemed to be Polish, German, and Irish. And her mother still worried about her health, being in such close contact with them. They had so many illnesses, the children were often sick, and Consuelo knew that tuberculosis was rampant. What she didn’t know was that Annabelle was fearless and unconcerned in their midst. She worked there more than ever that fall, despite her mother’s warnings and complaints.

Josiah was busy at the bank, handling some very sensitive matters. As a neutral power, the U.S. government, although sympathetic to their plight, had refused to officially finance or supply the Allies’ war efforts in Europe. As a result, private enterprise and some very wealthy individuals had stepped in to offer their assistance. They were sending money, as well as shipping goods, not only to the Allies, but sometimes to their enemies as well. It was creating a huge stir, and managing those transfers required the ultimate discretion, and Josiah found himself handling many of them. As he did with most things, he had confided in Annabelle about it, and shared his concerns with her. It bothered him considerably that certain important clients of her late father’s bank were sending matériel and funds to Germany, due to ties those clients had there. It didn’t sit well with him to play both sides of the fence, but he had to fulfill their clients’ requests.

It was an open secret that transactions of that nature were happening, and in order to stop the influx of supplies to Germany, Britain had begun mining the North Sea. In retaliation, the Germans were threatening to sink any ship belonging to Britain or her allies. And German U-boats were patrolling the Atlantic from beneath the seas. It was surely not a good time to be crossing the Atlantic, but in spite of that, a steady stream of immigrants continued to appear on Ellis Island, determined to find a new life in the States.

The people Annabelle was seeing there were sicker and in worse shape than she had seen in years. In many cases, they had left dire conditions in their home countries and kissed the ground when they disembarked in the States. They were grateful for every kindness offered and everything she did. She had tried to explain that to her mother, to no avail, about how desperately she and others were needed, to assist the immigrants when they arrived. Her mother remained staunchly convinced that she was risking her life every time she went, and she wasn’t completely wrong, although Annabelle didn’t admit it to her. Only Josiah seemed to understand and be supportive of her work. She had bought a number of new medical books, and studied them now every night before she went to bed. It kept her occupied when Josiah was busy, had to work late, or went out with his men friends to events at clubs that didn’t welcome women. She never minded when he went out without her. She said it gave her more time to read and study late into the night.

By then, she had seen several operations performed, and had read conscientiously everything she could lay her hands on about the contagious diseases that plagued the people she ministered to. Many of the immigrants died, particularly the older ones, after rigorous trips, or from the illnesses they were carrying when they arrived. In many ways, Annabelle was considered, among the medical staff there, as a kind of untrained, unofficial nurse, who often proved to be as competent as they, or more so. She had great insight, and an even greater talent for diagnosing her patients, sometimes in time to make a difference and save their lives. Josiah often said she was a saint, which Annabelle brushed off as generous but undeserved praise. She continued to work harder than ever, and often her mother thought that she was trying to fill the void in her life that a baby would have filled. She mourned the continued absence of children for her, even more than Annabelle seemed to herself. She never mentioned having children to her mother.

Henry joined them at her mother’s for Christmas again that year. The four of them shared a quiet dinner on Christmas Eve. It was their third Christmas without Arthur and Robert, and on the holidays their absence was sorely felt. Annabelle hated to admit it, but she could see that so much of the life and spirit of her mother had gone out of her after her husband and son died. Consuelo was always grateful for the time they spent with her, and interested in what was happening in the world, but it was as though after the terrible tragedy on the
Titanic
more than two years before, she no longer cared what happened to her. Henry seemed to be the only one who could still make her laugh. For Consuelo, the double loss had just been too hard. She only wanted to live long enough now to see Annabelle with children of her own. She was growing more and more worried that something was wrong and that her daughter was unable to get pregnant. But the bond between her and Josiah continued to seem strong.

And as always, even on Christmas Eve, their conversation turned to the war by the end of the meal. None of the news was good. It was hard not to believe that, at some point, out of sympathy if nothing else, America would get into the war and that many young American lives would be lost. President Wilson was staunchly insisting that they would not get involved, although Josiah had begun to doubt it.

Two days after Christmas, Annabelle stopped in to see her mother for a visit, and was surprised when the butler told her that she was upstairs in bed. Annabelle found her shivering under the covers, looking pale, with two bright red spots on her cheeks. Blanche had just brought her a cup of tea, which she had refused. She looked very ill, and when Annabelle touched her forehead with a practiced hand, she could tell that she had a raging fever.

“What happened?” Annabelle asked, looking concerned. It was obviously influenza, and hopefully nothing worse. It was precisely what her mother always feared for her. But Annabelle was young and her resistance to illness was good. Particularly in the last two years, Consuelo had become more frail. Her ongoing sadness over her losses had diminished both her youth and her strength. “How long have you been sick?” Annabelle had seen her only two days before and had no idea she was unwell. Consuelo had warned Blanche not to worry her daughter, and said that she’d be fine in a few days.

“Just since yesterday,” her mother said, smiling at her. “It’s nothing. I think I caught a chill in the garden on Christmas Day.” This looked like a lot more than a chill to Annabelle, and Blanche was worried too.

“Have you seen the doctor?” Annabelle asked, frowning as her mother shook her head. “I think you should.” As she said it, her mother began coughing, and Annabelle saw that her eyes were glazed.

“I didn’t want to bother him right after Christmas. He has more important things to do.”

“Don’t be silly, Mama,” Annabelle chided her gently. She left the room quietly, and went to call him. She was back at her mother’s bedside a few minutes later, with a bright smile that was more assured than she felt. “He said he’d come over in a little while.” Her mother didn’t argue with her about seeing the doctor, which was unusual too. Annabelle realized that she had to be feeling very ill. And unlike with the people she nursed so capably on Ellis Island, she felt helpless at her mother’s bedside, and somewhat panicked. She couldn’t ever remember seeing her mother so sick. And she had heard nothing about an influenza epidemic. The doctor confirmed that to her when he arrived.

“I have no idea how she got this,” he said in consternation. “I’ve seen a few patients with it over the holidays, but mostly older people, who are more frail. Your mother is still young and in good health,” he reassured Annabelle. He felt sure that Consuelo would feel better in a few days. And he left some laudanum drops to help her sleep better, and aspirin for her fever.

But by six o’clock her mother was so much worse that Annabelle decided to spend the night. She called Josiah to let him know, and he was very sympathetic and asked if there was anything he could do to help her. She assured him there wasn’t and went back to her mother, who had been listening to the call.

“Are you happy with him?” Consuelo asked her daughter faintly, which Annabelle thought was an odd question.

“Of course I am, Mama.” Annabelle smiled at her, and sat down on a chair next to the bed and reached for her mother’s hand. She sat there holding it, just as she had when she was a child. “I love him very much,” Annabelle confirmed. “He’s a wonderful man.”

“I’m so sorry you haven’t had a baby. Has nothing happened yet?” Annabelle shook her head with a serious expression and gave her their official line.

“We have time.” Her mother only hoped that she wasn’t one of those women who was never able to have a child. She thought it would be a tragedy if they never had children, and so did Annabelle, although she wouldn’t admit it to her mother. “Let’s just get you well,” she said, to distract her. Consuelo nodded, and a little while later she drifted off to sleep, looking like a child herself, as Annabelle sat next to her and watched her. Her mother’s fever rose over the next hours, and by midnight Annabelle was bathing her forehead with cool cloths, as Blanche prepared them. They had far more comforts at their disposal than she did when she worked on Ellis Island, but nothing helped. She spent the night awake at her mother’s bedside, hoping the fever would break by morning, but it didn’t.

The doctor came to see her morning and afternoon for the next three days, as Consuelo continued to get steadily worse. It was the worst case of influenza the doctor had seen in a long time, and far worse than the one Annabelle had had three years before, when she missed the fateful trip on the
Titanic.

Josiah came to sit with his mother-in-law one afternoon, so that Annabelle could get a few hours’ sleep in her old bedroom. He had left the bank to do so, and was surprised when Consuelo woke and looked at him with clear bright eyes. She seemed far more alert than she had the day before, and he hoped she was getting better. He knew how desperately worried his wife was about her mother, with good reason. She was very, very sick, and people had died of influenza before, although there was no reason why she should with such good care. Annabelle hadn’t left her side for a moment, except to sleep for half an hour here and there, when Blanche or Josiah sat with her mother. Consuelo hadn’t been left alone for an instant. And the doctor came twice a day.

“Annabelle loves you very much,” Consuelo said softly from where she lay, smiling at him. She was very weak and deathly pale.

“I love her very much too,” Josiah assured her. “She’s a remarkable woman, and a wonderful wife.” Consuelo nodded, and looked pleased to hear it from him. More often than not, she thought he treated her like a younger sister or a child, and not a wife or a grown woman. Perhaps it was just his way, since she was so much younger than he was. “You have to rest and get better,” he encouraged his mother-in-law, and she looked away, as though she knew it wouldn’t make any difference, and then she looked directly at him again with an intense gaze.

“If anything happens to me, Josiah, I want you to take good care of her. You’re all she has. And I hope that you’ll have children one day.”

“So do I,” he said softly. “She’d be a perfect mother. But you mustn’t speak that way, you’ll be fine.” Consuelo didn’t look as sure, and it was obvious to him that she thought she was dying, or perhaps she was just afraid.

“Take good care of her,” she said again, and then her eyes closed and she went back to sleep. She didn’t stir until Annabelle came back into the room an hour later, and checked her fever. Much to her dismay, it was higher, and she signaled that to Josiah as her mother opened her eyes.

“Feeling better?” Annabelle asked with a bright smile, as Consuelo shook her head, and her daughter had the frightening feeling that she was giving up the fight. And so far, nothing they had done for her had helped.

Josiah went back to the apartment then, and told Annabelle to call for him in the night, if there was anything she wanted him to do. Annabelle promised she would, and as he left the Worthington house, he was haunted by what Consuelo had said. He had every intention of taking care of Annabelle. And the fact that he was all she had in the world, other than her mother, was not lost on him. In some ways, particularly if her mother died, it was a heavy burden for him.

On New Year’s Eve the doctor told them that Consuelo had pneumonia. It was what he had feared would happen from the first. She was a healthy woman, and not of a great age, but pneumonia was a dangerous illness, and he had the feeling that Consuelo was far too willing to let go of life, and they all knew why. She seemed to be slipping away before their eyes, and they couldn’t win this fight alone. They needed her help, and even with it, a happy outcome was not sure. Annabelle was looking terrified as she sat at her bedside. The only time she seemed to perk up was when her mother was awake, and she was trying to coax her to eat and drink, and assuring her that she would be fine soon. Consuelo didn’t comment, was barely eating enough to sustain herself, and was being devoured by the fever. She wasted away day by day, while the fever refused to abate. Blanche looked as devastated as Annabelle as she ran trays up to the sickroom, and the cook tried to concoct meals that Consuelo would eat. The situation was frightening for them all.

And on the sixth of January, Consuelo quietly gave up the fight. She went to sleep in the early evening, after a long, difficult day. She was holding Annabelle’s hand, and they had talked for a little while that afternoon. Consuelo had smiled at her before she went to sleep and told Annabelle she loved her. Annabelle had been dozing in the chair next to her at eight o’clock that night, when she suddenly sensed something different and woke up with a start. She looked at the smooth expression on her mother’s face and instantly saw that she wasn’t breathing, as Annabelle gasped. For the first time in two weeks, her mother’s face was cool, unnaturally so. The fever had left her, and taken Consuelo’s life. Annabelle tried to shake her awake, and saw that it was useless. She knelt at her mother’s bedside, holding her lifeless form in her arms, and sobbed. It was the final goodbye she had never been able to say to her father or brother, and she was inconsolable as she cried.