A White Room (30 page)

“Is anyone there?”

I heard a scuff and saw a strip of dim orange light glowing beneath a closed door. “Pardon me, is someone there?”

Then more shuffling, followed by silence. I heard steps behind the door.

My voice cracked as I tried to speak over the sound of my heart drumming in my ears. “U—um—I was told to come here, someone needed help.”

The doorknob turned and the door opened. My heart pounded until the silhouette of a woman came into view and stopped.

“Forgive me—I knocked. Um…”

The woman didn’t speak for a moment then leaned forward. “Emeline?”

“What?” Was it a trick? Who was it?

“Wha—what are you doing here?” she stammered. She picked up a lamp and squeezed through without opening the door all the way and closed it behind her. With the lamp in front of her, I could see her rosy cheeks, her blond hair.

“Ella?” I stepped back. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you here?”

Neither of us answered. We both stared.

Finally, without thinking, I reacted. “Are you waiting for someone, someone named Freeman?”

Her wide eyes moved from me to my bag. She crinkled her nose. “You? No—how?”

I exhaled in relief. “It’s a long story.”

“I don’t know—”

The door behind Ella opened and Francis stepped out. “Is it her? Is she—” she jolted at the sight of me. “Emeline, um—uh…”

“It’s all right,” Ella said. “She’s her.”

“What?” Francis gave me a once-over. “No.”

“I won’t say anything if you don’t.”

Ella motioned to the room.

I wedged past Francis.

She stood stunned. “Wait—no—we can’t trust her.”

“She has just as much to lose as we do,” Ella said.

Inside the room, Annie, Francis’ daughter, lay on a bed, white, her reddish, blond hair damp from sweat. I maneuvered around to the side. I opened my bag, placed my handkerchief on an old night table, and lined up several tools. “Tell me what happened.”

Annie saw me. “What is she doing here?”

Francis went to the other side of the bed and clasped Annie’s hand. “She’s the one who’s going to help.”

“What?” Annie was obviously in pain. Lottie had said the woman in need might lose a baby. Had her informant misunderstood?

“Francis?”

Francis twisted a handkerchief in her hands tighter and tighter as she spoke. “We couldn’t do it here, so we went to the city. We had no choice. We took her to a physician—someone we knew, someone who could help her with her condition.”

“Do what? I don’t understand.”

“Didn’t someone tell you what this was about?”

“No, the message got mixed up. She said someone might lose a baby.”

“Lose?” Francis shook her head. “No. She didn’t
lose
it.”

I blinked a few times then raised my eyes up at her. Was she saying…

“We had no choice. She’s not married. If her father knew what she had done, he would cast her out—disown her. Society would taint her. No one would ever have her.”

Annie started crying, and Francis held her daughter’s hand up. Annie’s bottom lip curled and trembled a little with her sobs. “He said he—I thought he—he said…”

“I know, darling, I know.” Francis caressed her hand. “He deceived you. He deceived all of us.”

Suddenly, I understood why Francis had turned on me when I told Annie she was too young for boys—Francis had believed the boy intended to marry her daughter as well. I realized what Francis and Ella had been whispering about the day I stitched up Mr. Turner’s hand. I didn’t know how to respond other than to take out one of the books and flip through it to find the hazards of such procedures. The book had illustrations of tools and listed signs of injury and possible causes of death. I put my hand on Annie’s shoulder. “I need to do some things to see what’s wrong. It might hurt a little, but I’ll be gentle.”

Annie clenched her eyes shut and rolled her lips inward.

I moved a chair to the side of the bed. “Will you help move her?”

They did as asked while Annie used her elbows to position her lower body at the edge of the bed. Then I positioned her legs, and Francis helped Annie remove a cloth they had wrapped around her lower body to soak up the blood. The cloth wasn’t soaked through, and she wasn’t gushing when they removed it.

I cleaned her with a damp cloth and nervously checked to make sure there weren’t any tears or cuts in the outer flesh. “Bring the light close.” I read from the book and looked at her, comparing situations. I needed to be as thorough as I possibly could, but I couldn’t see anything. I remembered the picture of the man with his hand up the woman’s skirt. “I have to use my hands,” I told Francis, wanting her consent.

“Have you done this before?” Francis bundled her handkerchief in one hand and went to bite a nail but pulled it away before she could.

“I delivered Mrs. Schwab’s baby. I took classes on nursing and volunteered at an infirmary, but no, I have never done
this
before.”

The women stared at me, their faces stiff and their mouths bowed.

“Do you want me to try or not?”

Francis hesitated, nodded, and bit that nail after all.

I rolled up my sleeves and Annie tensed as I felt inside. I tried to find any cuts, but all I could identify was the slick texture of blood. I used my fingers to press on the sides. She would have reacted if I touched a cut. “Does anything hurt?” I asked.

“Not there,” she said through her teeth.

“Try to relax.”

“Breathe,” Francis whispered.

“Where does it hurt?”

She grasped the area just below her stomach.

The problem was deeper inside. I removed my hand, which was saturated with blood. Ella dunked a bowl into a pail and brought it over. I dipped my hands into it and scrubbed them. After drying them, I checked a few other things, noting her temperature and her heart rhythm.

“Well?” Francis asked.

“I can’t see or feel any cuts or abrasions.” I gently touched Annie’s hand. “Annie, you can lie back down.” I made my way toward the door while Francis helped Annie to move back. Then Ella and Francis followed. I whispered so Annie wouldn’t hear. “She does have a fever.”

“What does that mean?” Francis asked.

I hated having to say it again. “I don’t know.”

“But—”

“I don’t know. Her pain is deeper, which might be normal, but I don’t know for sure. I can only tend to minor issues. This is anything but minor.”

“Then what good are you?” Francis threw her hands up.

I looked down and my cheeks burned.

Ella glared at her daughter before her eyes softened and shifted from Francis to me. “What can we do?”

“If she has an infection, she could become septic and…it could be fatal.”

Francis cringed, covered her face, and turned away.

“If it gets worse, you’ll have to take her to a physician.”

“What?” Francis turned back. “We can’t. You know we can’t.”

“You should have taken her to one in the first place.”

“We did!” Francis shouted.

“Obviously not a good one.”

“You don’t know that.” Francis pointed at me. “You don’t know anything. You’re not a doctor.”

“No, I’m not.” I folded my arms.

Francis stepped closer to me. “You know we can’t take her to anyone and you of all people know why. We took her to St. Louis in the first place to avoid the risk of Mr. Coddington’s firm finding out.”

I didn’t like Francis and I despised her decision, but did she deserve jail? Did Annie or Ella?

Francis leaned in and kept her voice low, her hands clenched. “The boy pretended to love her. He promised to marry her. She didn’t know any better. She shouldn’t suffer because somebody deceived her.” She stepped back, placed her hand against her breastbone, and shook her head. “No, no. If we have to go to a doctor, I’m reporting you.”

I widened my eyes and dug my fingernails into my palms.

“Francis.” Ella’s voice rose.

“No one can know. We’ll be on the street or in jail.” Francis reached out and grabbed my hand. “Just do something.” Her voice quavered. She gripped my hand tighter. “We won’t say anything if you help us. Please, just help us.”

I pulled my hand away. “How?”

“The doctor in St. Louis. He’ll know what to do. Just help her until he arrives.”

“She needs to see someone soon.”

“We’ll send a wire.”

I gave Annie something for the pain and did what I could to lower her fever and stop the bleeding. As I started to leave, Francis stopped me. “Emeline, we had to do this. She would lose everything if we didn’t.”

I stared coldly at her without responding. I didn’t say anything. I just left.

Twenty-Seven

September 1901

T
he next day I received a letter from St. Louis—from James. I stared at it. Part of me wanted to throw it out. Another part of me knew that I wouldn’t do that and that I might as well just read it. I ripped the envelope, pulled out the paper and unfolded it.

My Dearest Emeline,

It pains me not to hear from you. Did you receive my last letter? I am excited to tell you Mother is wildly planning my wedding for next spring. I hope to see you there more than anyone else.

These past months of separation have weighed on me. I miss you. Without you, all adventure and excitement have vanished. I think of our explorations and intrigues often. We were wonderful detectives. I miss those days.

The three hens miss you as well. They go on and on about you all the time. Mother raves about you to everyone she sees. We all miss you. She and the girls are doing well in our uncle’s house and saving for a small apartment or cottage home. I was concerned Mother would be treated like second class, but they have become one big family.

Having not heard from you, I’m growing concerned about your situation. Please write me. Inform me of your well-being.

Yours Always,

James Evans

I clenched the letter and enjoyed the crinkling sound. I yanked open a drawer in my writing desk and ripped out a sheet of paper, slapped it down, and grabbed the pen and ink.

Dear James,

Forgive my lack of correspondence. I have been busy living an inscrutable unwanted existence. Forgive me for daring to request you fulfill your word. How foolish of me. I find it convenient you now suffer but showed no concern for my sufferings when I beseeched you. Soon you shall suffer more knowing that your lack of compassion has driven me to….

I stopped. I wanted James to suffer. I wanted him to hurt as much as I had, but I wasn’t going to mail such a letter. Besides, if I sent a letter like that, he might come to Labellum. I didn’t even know what I would do if he came to take me back now. I didn’t even know if I’d want to go with him anymore. I decided to postpone my response until after the dinner party and take some time to think about what I should write.

Twenty-Eight

September 1901

T
wo days passed without a response to the urgent wire Francis and Ella had sent. Lottie had her husband check for one daily. I checked on Annie daily, and she wasn’t getting better. Early on the third morning, Lottie told me they had received a response and it was at her house.

When we reached Lottie’s home, I spotted a young man outside with Lucy. Lucy sat atop a barrel, and the man leaned against a wall of the shanty. He wore brown trousers and a loose plain shirt. No jacket. No waistcoat. No tie. He pushed off the wall when he saw us, and Lucy jumped down from the barrel.

“Mrs. Dorr?” he said.

“Yes?”

“This is Daniel Nelson,” Lottie said.

I knew the name, but from where? Then I remembered. “Nelson as in the Nelsons who used to live here?”

“I’m pleased to finally meet you.” He pushed his dark hair from his left eyebrow and stuck out his hand to shake.