Die Once Live Twice (14 page)

The beginning of the third week found Patrick totally apathetic in mind and body. Agnew proclaimed that Patrick’s life force was in its decisive crisis. Patrick’s pulse was racing now, his fever 104 or even 105 degrees. His cheeks were bluish and his eyes sunken. He picked at his bedding and occasionally would cry out for someone to get snakes off him. When Patrick fell into a coma, Agnew sat with Katherine at the bedside continuously. Patrick’s abdomen distended as his bowel was eaten through by the bacteria. Peritonitis developed. Finally, Agnew put his stethoscope on Patrick’s chest, then lowered his eyes and shook his head at Katherine.

Hayes Agnew’s eyes were blank with helplessness as he watched Katherine’s suffering. By the age of twenty-six she had lost her mother, her father, her grandfather, and now her husband—four people who meant so much in her life. The futility of medicine sometimes tore out the doctor’s heart, squeezed it in a vice, twisted it like a pretzel, then reimplanted it in his chest, maliciously leaving him to his pain.

Chapter Thirteen

“M
y God, my God. You have forsaken me.” Katherine was kneeling by Patrick’s casket, alone but for Father John Daly who stood behind her. His hands rested on her shoulders, which convulsed as she sobbed.

“He has not left you my child. You endure the suffering of Mary, the Mother of his own Son.”

“Oh, but Father John. It is I who must bear the cross. I cannot find the strength.”

“Katherine. God gives you the strength in Jeffrey and Jonathan. You are to raise them in their father’s image. He lives on with you every day.”

Katherine turned her face up to her priest and he helped her stand. She hugged him and her wet cheek pressed his as he patted her back. No more words were said. Katherine kissed Patrick’s lips and the priest closed the lid of the casket. They walked to the rear of the sanctuary where Emma waited with the boys. Katherine took the hand of her toddler, lifted Jonathan into her arms, and with Emma she went to the carriage, where Pollard held open the door.

For three days she had not slept, sitting in a chair in her bedroom. Not tended her boys. Not prayed to God. Visitors were politely sent away by Pollard “until Madame is able to receive.” Even Commodore Vanderbilt, who had always respected Donovan & Sullivan while he competed with them fiercely, was not able to speak with Katherine. Collis Huntington was in Washington D.C., fuming that the impatient President Johnson was dying for attention from the railroads, and sent word he would visit as soon as he returned to Philadelphia. Secretary of War Stanton sent a note that Katherine should always remember that the soul is immortal. None of this stirred Katherine from her bedroom.

One visitor was entertained. Father Daly came twice a day to speak with her and make funeral arrangements. “We’ll talk, Father John, but don’t ask me to pray. I’m not on speaking terms with God.” The funeral was set for the fourth day. It was not easy finding a funeral parlor to handle Patrick’s body, even though he was a Sullivan. Fear of a contagious disease was overcome by paying triple the usual fee. The casket would be sealed shut at the Mass. The second day, Father John raised the only smile to cross Katherine’s face when in his thick Irish brogue, he told her, “I spoke with God. I have Patrick’s free pass to Heaven in hand!”

Katherine’s lonely thoughts dwelled on Patrick. She could not get rid of the memory of his change in personality while confined to bed. She became certain his body would never be at peace in a grave, even if his soul was in Heaven. She summoned Father Daly to her bedroom. Could she cremate Patrick so his body would not be confined, she asked? She knew the Catholic Church was against cremation. Father John gave Patrick’s cremation his blessing, but only after the Mass. He told Katherine that Patrick’s body must be at the Mass so he could receive the blessings and prayers to insure resurrection. Father Daly would assist with the cremation and give it his Catholic prayers, even though he did not approve of it in general. Katherine was, he knew, a woman of God and would return to Him. But he said the ashes must be buried. Katherine promised, knowing she was lying.

For days after the funeral, Katherine welcomed to her home a continuous stream of visitors who came to mourn Patrick and offer their services as needed. She was dressed in black with a black hat. She would remain in black whenever in public for two years, as society expected. She sat in a chair upholstered in black to receive guests. Every condolence was answered on personal stationery bordered in black with the heading Mrs. Patrick Sullivan.

The following month, in June, Katherine told Arthur he should run the business and she took the boys to the farm, where the wildflowers were gloriously in bloom. As they romped in the meadows, laughing and shouting, Katherine thought of the long, romantic rides that she and Patrick had taken all over the farm. She had Pollard organize two graves dug on the highest point of their land, with one headstone for Patrick and one for her. Pollard’s look of fear raised a smile. “Pollard, I am not committing suicide, but when I die, I will rest forever by my husband.”

When Pollard’s work was done, Katherine called Father Daly to the farm and explained what she wanted to do and then begged for forgiveness. “I know him better than you, Father John. Patrick needs to soar. Please forgive me and may your blessing on his soul be heard by God.” She assured him that Patrick’s bones—which had not been dissolved by the flames of cremation—would be buried.

Katherine had Pollard drive her and the boys to the grave site with the urn and the box of bones. Katherine took Jeffrey by the hand and carried Jonathan as she looked over the valley below. How many times had she and Patrick ridden together down there? She had healed his spirit in their weekends here. It was his hunting grounds, his weekend warrior games. With the two boys standing at her side, she took the urn from Pollard and threw the ashes into the wind. “Now Patrick, my love, you can soar with the eagles. You can fly free over your land and be forever the warrior that you loved being. Your boys and I will know you are here whenever we come to the farm.” Pollard buried Patrick’s bones in the grave beneath his headstone.

In the next year Katherine was most often at the farm. Riding horses into the valley was therapeutic. She could commune with Patrick. Once a week when there, she rode to the grave and took a cheese sandwich and pickles—their picnic by the brook. She left half a sandwich on Patrick’s grave. She would often take the boys, who were now three and two, and Jeffrey asked once why she left the sandwich. “Oh, it feeds the birds,” she laughed.

Near the end of the summer of 1868, Katherine rode to the grave and sat in the sun, watching the birds fly.
Are you faster than they, my love
? As she sat and looked out over the valley meditating, she saw a figure walking her way.

When it reached the foot of the hill she saw it was Emma. Worried that something was wrong with the boys, she stood and yelled, “Emma, I’m up here.” When Emma reached her she asked, “What’s wrong? Why didn’t you have Pollard bring you?”

Emma sat to catch her breath. “Nothing wrong, Miss Katherine. Just came out to sit wid ya.” Katherine looked at her quizzically. “Just need to talk a bit.”

“Yes, Emma?”

“Well, Miss Katherine, I know you as long as my own chirren—and they be gone from home sometime. I been watchin’ you and I got some advice.” Katherine sat rapt. “You been lettin’ Mr. Patrick down. You draggin’ aroun’ for one whole year. Never go to the office. No friends. Just sad.”

“Emma. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t care anymore.”

“Miss Katherine, you are givin’ up a gift Mr. Patrick give you. He loved you. Love is a rare gift. Mos’ times men love you for your privates—‘scuse me—but Mr. Patrick loved
you
like you used to be.”

“But Emma, that is why I am suffering so much. The loss of that love has torn a large hole in me.”

“Miss Katherine, dat’s what’s wrong with you. True love never dies. You should honor Mr. Patrick by showing all Philadelphia what he left you. Not a ghost of Miss Katherine, but a lady who’s driven by her gift. To bring meanin’ to your love. To give meanin’ to your life.”

Katherine stammered. “How in the world ...” she started, but Emma interrupted.

“I’m black and I’m poor, but Pollard and me have that gift, too.”

“Emma, my dear.” Katherine stood. She looked out over the valley and saw one single bird circling in the air. She turned to Emma. “You were sent by God.”

Emma looked down. “Or by Mr. Patrick.”

Katherine took her by the arm. “Come on. It will be easier getting home riding my horse with me.”

Katherine began going into the office again and spent hours with Arthur learning what happened in the business for the past year. The Central Pacific Railroad was over the summit and now could win the race to Promontory Point in Utah. It was comforting to her that Patrick’s project was successful.

She went to the office three days every week and attended all Board meetings, but Emma had touched her soul and she was no longer the same. She had lost the greatest loves of her life to diabolical diseases, and decided to devote the rest of her life to finding cures. There must be a solution to disease, the playground of the Devil. She contacted Johns Hopkins, her grandfather’s good friend, who was dedicated to improving medical education and medicine. She became a Director on the Board of Pennsylvania Hospital. The Catholic Church welcomed her return and she spent time ministering to the poor and sick of the church.

In April 1869, after two years of mourning, Katherine packed away her black clothes. She played with or read to the boys, now five and three, for some time during each day. On the farm she taught them how to ride and care for their own Shetland ponies. The boys grew into teenagers, were healthy, and brought her joy. Jeffrey was the image of Patrick with his green eyes and strawberry-blonde hair, but personally he was rather shy and withdrawn. Katherine was convinced that the lack of a father had reduced his self-confidence. Jonathan had his mother’s facial features, but his father’s solid body and indomitable spirit. He played hard, took risks, and became a first-class flirt as he grew older. They were all the family she wanted. She had no interest in another man—none seemed man enough to match Patrick. She became skilled at politely refusing advances and offers. In the men’s clubs of Philadelphia, word circulated that Katherine Sullivan was not available.

Twice in the 1870s Katherine sailed to Europe with the boys, spending six months each trip at the Pasteur Institute. Louis Pasteur was the leading name in the world in medicine, and nowhere in the United States was there a comparable figure or a laboratory like his. He discovered that the “little critters” Patrick had worried about came in two types, bacteria and viruses. Bacteria he saw under a microscope, and though viruses were too small to be seen, the chemists had proven they were there. In 1867, Joseph Lister, a protégé of Pasteur, had discovered that carbolic acid could sterilize the skin, which made surgery infinitely safer.

Katherine wanted to bring the European style of medicine and research to the United States. It provided a better education and better laboratories. American medicine was so far behind that even a revolutionary discovery like Lister’s antisepsis was not accepted. In the late 1870s, Katherine met William Welch, who felt the same desire to revolutionize American medicine. He was convinced that European methods of medical education—notably its inclusion of laboratory science, instruction at the patient’s bedside, and four-year programs of study led by full-time professors—was the model to follow. She became confident, after knowing him, that medicine would change in the United States.

By 1885 both boys were in college, Jeffrey at Yale and Jonathan at Harvard, and Arthur Hampton was running the company, profitably every year. Katherine had little interest in running the company and was driven only to elevate American medicine to a new level.

Every night, she spoke to Patrick, as had been their habit before sleep. She assured him that she was using the energy from their rare and valuable gift to bring meaning to their lives. “Medicine will rise, Patrick. Rise out of your ashes, like the phoenix, lifting us out of disease for five hundred years.”

Chapter Fourteen

—1888—

I
t was at this table I first ate lunch with Patrick. He loved my Paris perfume. I still miss him after all these years.
Katherine sat at one end of the long table while Arthur Hampton and lawyers from America’s largest corporations, including Rockefeller’s Standard Oil, Morgan’s US Steel, Vanderbilt’s New York Central Railroad and the Pennsylvania Rail Works, here at Andrew Carnegie’s urging, were in discussion to buy Donovan & Sullivan. The conversation was technical and she was uninterested, but she hoped Carnegie’s friends would win, because Andrew was a generous donor to hospitals.

He gave me my greatest heartache and my greatest years. Patrick wouldn’t believe I am selling, but the boys don’t want the company. With this money they will be able to finance my dream.
She glanced at them as they stared off into space, as bored with the negotiations as she. Jonathan was a senior at Harvard, and admitted to medical school at Harvard in the next year. He was a quick study in his schoolwork and loved girls and sports. A strapping six foot two, he had dark hair, sparkling blue eyes and a full mouth almost always in a wide grin.
If the girls in Boston knew how much money he was about to be worth, the skirts would be flying
. They already were.

Jeffrey was another matter entirely. Katherine had tried to help him become more comfortable socially, but his shyness held him back. He was handsome, like the Sullivans before him, but his eyes didn’t always shine and at times he seemed sullen. He was a likeable loner who had made only a few new friends at Yale, where he was an assistant professor in chemistry. Jeffrey thought medicine was a waste of time because it could do nothing for people but hold their hands.