Distant Dreams (47 page)

“Will you go with him to Harper’s Ferry?”

“I have no intention of living in Harper’s,” Virginia stated flatly. Then a strange look crossed her face, and she changed the subject. “What is this fascination you share with James regarding the railroad? I’ve never understood what drives him to give his life to this thing.”

“What drives any man to give his life to his profession?” Carolina said. “James finds rewards in working for the railroad. I think you should be proud of him, instead of badgering him about his choices. And since when has any daughter of Margaret Adams been trained up to question her husband’s choice of trade? Mother has always maintained that it is a man’s prerogative to work at what he will, so long as he’s a good provider for his family.”

“Yes, I know that full well,” Virginia agreed. “But why the railroad?”

For once Virginia seemed sincerely interested in Carolina’s views, and Carolina tried to respond honestly. “From what I know,” Carolina said, not wishing to share her intimate knowledge of James, “he sees the future in it. He knows the railroad will be responsible for opening the West. As the West is settled, the nation will grow stronger, and our position in the world will become more secure.”

“Oh, bother our position in the world,” Virginia said, getting to her feet. “Such matters are so unimportant to everyday life here. We needn’t concern ourselves with what takes place across the ocean.”

“Then why go there for your honeymoon?” Carolina felt a bit smug for her quick thinking.

Virginia’s only answer was a huff before sweeping from the room as gracefully as her anger would allow her. Carolina shook her head and wondered at her sister. She could be so conniving and cunning, yet in matters beyond the plantation or society, Virginia was truly blind.

Carolina tried not to think how she would have responded to James had she been his intended. But of course the thoughts came anyway. And she knew she’d pack her bags so quickly to join him in Harper’s Ferry that he’d hardly be able to catch his breath. How ironic life could be at times. Her papa talked so often about God’s plan in the lives of His children, but Carolina saw no logic in such a mismatched pair as James and Virginia when the perfect match, in her mind, was so close at hand.

51

Fever Strikes

Autumn rains finally came to break the heat of summer, but the dampness seemed to permeate everything, making it nearly as uncomfortable as the heat had. Carolina went about her duties as instructed, but at any given chance she could be found in the library, book in hand, intently seeking to escape the reality of her life.

One hot muggy afternoon she retreated to her room and perched on the window seat, which was rather cool as it was shaded by a tall magnolia tree. She had just opened
The Merchant of Venice
when her mother’s voice penetrated the partially closed door of her room.

“Carolina! Carolina!”

Looking up from her book, Carolina dreaded the beckoning voice. Lately that voice seemed only to mean more work for Carolina, but she was involved in the intriguing story and had been allowed little time in the last few days to pursue it. Thus she resented the interruption. “I’m here, Mother!” she called, still hoping she wouldn’t have to leave her reading.

“Carolina!”

Seeing there was no escaping her mother’s call, Carolina rose, and taking her time, she straightened her skirt of green-and-white checkered muslin and retied the green sash.

“Come quickly!”

Now Carolina heard the urgency in her mother’s voice, which held a clear tone of alarm.

Carolina hurried her steps a bit and checked the upstairs sitting room. No one was there. The music room was also vacant.

“Where are you, Mother?” Carolina cocked her head to listen for a reply.

“In the nursery. Hurry!”

Now Carolina was sure she detected panic in her mother’s voice. Something was wrong! She burst through the door to Penny and Maryland’s shared room and frowned. Her mother was bent over the flower-sprig coverlet of Penny’s bed. “What is it?”

Margaret Adams straightened up, a fearful look overtaking her face. “Penny has a fever.” Her voice strained to say the words. “Mary, too.” Margaret nodded toward the cradle bed where Maryland lay fitfully sleeping.

Carolina held her breath. “A fever? How bad is it?”

“Bad enough!” her mother snapped. “Get Hannah and don’t dally like you did getting here.”

Carolina swallowed back an angry retort. I didn’t dally, she thought. Not on purpose, anyhow. She went in search of Hannah and sighed. Perhaps she had dallied. “Hannah, Mama says come quick. Mary and Penny have a fever,” Carolina announced, coming into the kitchen where Hannah was helping Naomi peel potatoes. The two women were enjoying a quiet afternoon together, but the moment of pleasure was clearly broken by Carolina’s announcement.

Hannah pushed the unpeeled potatoes from her apron and struggled to her feet. “I be comin’. Ol’ Hannah’s bones be achin’ sumptin fierce on account of de rain.”

Carolina looked out the window. It had indeed started to rain again. But her mind was on her sisters. “What can I carry for you?” she asked, knowing the old mammy maintained regular supplies to be used in treating bouts of fever.

“Dat blue bag,” Hannah pointed, then turned to instruct Naomi on having one of the boys bring up a caldron of water for the fireplace in the girls’ room.

Carolina hurried back to the nursery with the bag under her arm. It was a fearsome thing to realize fever had come upon them. In the nineteen years since Hampshire’s and Tennessee’s deaths, the family had escaped the horrors of fever epidemics, and Joseph had always called them blessed. Carolina wondered if now they would find themselves cursed as so many other families had been in the past. It had only been two years since Kate Milford’s younger brother had died from fever. Then there were the terrible slave losses suffered by the Williams and Cooper families. Was Oakbridge to be next? The very thought struck fear in her heart.

She entered the room and, noting her mother’s harried expression, no longer felt angry for the harshness of her mother’s words. The sight of Penny’s pale face took away all thought of strife. “Hannah’s coming, Mama,” she said, feeling a tenderness toward her mother. Sometimes Margaret Adams made it difficult for her children to draw close to her, but at times like these Carolina saw the facade of strength crumble, and her mother became human and fallible, just like everyone else. Placing the bag on a table, Carolina went to Maryland’s cradle. “When did they get sick?”

“I don’t know,” her mother said wearily. “Penny seemed sluggish at breakfast, and Hannah suggested a dose of castor oil might work wonders. Mary refused to wake up from her nap, and when I checked on her I found her burning with fever.”

“Is it Yellow Jack?”

Margaret looked at Carolina as if she’d spoken some intolerable word. “I pray it is not.”

“But—”

“I do not know, Carolina,” Margaret replied harshly. “I simply do not know. Perhaps Hannah will tell us. Where is she, anyway?”

“I’s here, Miz Adams,” Hannah panted, forcing her bulky body forward. “I’m a mite down and my bones are a-achin’.” She mumbled on about the rain while checking first Maryland and then Penny. Carolina watched as Hannah put out a big brown hand to Mary’s tiny forehead. Shaking her head, she waddled to Penny and did the same. “We bes’ send fer de doctor. These chil’en be mighty sick.”

“What is it? Flux?” Margaret demanded in a strained voice. She was still avoiding the dreaded mention of her worst fears. She’d lost two infant sons to the fever, and the very utterance of the word brought her grave sorrow. Carolina wondered if her mother, who still openly wept at the mention of the long-dead babies, could bear yet another loss. It was a seldom mentioned memory that Margaret Adams had suffered a tremendous breakdown after the deaths of her babies.

“Chil’,” Hannah said, looking at Carolina with serious brown-black eyes, “go tell Jericho to fetch de doctor.”

Carolina glanced at her mother and then back to Hannah. When there was no affirmation from her mother, who simply stared blankly at her daughters, Carolina went in search of the house slave.

A sudden crack of thunder made the skin on the back of her neck prickle. Trembling from the sudden noise, Carolina felt such trepidation within her soul that she could scarcely take a step forward. Halting at the stairs, she took a deep breath. Was it the fever? She ran a hand down her arm and shuddered. Would they die as so many others had? Would she, too, fall ill?

Her only other thought as she looked for Jericho was that Papa was away in Washington City. He had taken Virginia there to shop for her wedding. Carolina never felt the need for him more.

————

Dr. Granger from Falls Church arrived late that evening. The rain was falling in sheets now, and his carriage had gotten stuck in the mud several times. He told them the river was already overflowing its banks.

“The children are upstairs,” Carolina said, holding the doctor’s bag while Bartholomew took his rain-drenched overcoat and top hat. “My mother and Hannah are with them now.”

The thin man was hardly any taller than Carolina, but his stern expression and air of authority gave him instant credibility. “Take me to them,” he said, retrieving his bag from her hands.

After a cursory examination Dr. Granger turned to face Carolina and her mother. “It’s yellow fever. I’ve seen nearly forty cases elsewhere in the county. I’ll need to bleed them, then give a good strong dose of calomel to purge the system of poisons.”

Margaret paled. “Bleed them? But they are so little and weak.” Carolina put an arm around her mother for fear of her fainting.

“I assure you it’s the only thing I can do for them at this point. If they are strong enough, it will cleanse them and aid in their recovery. If not, their skin will turn yellow with poison, and they will surely die. I wish I could be more gentle in the telling, but the truth is, I’m exhausted beyond my means and see no chance for rest in the near future. I’ve been treating cases such as these for over two weeks, and I see no end in sight.”

Carolina felt her mother begin to tremble. “Come sit down, Mother,” she said, leading her to the nearby rocker. Margaret seemed to be in a daze and said nothing more while the doctor went about his tasks.

“I’ll need some bowls,” he said, and Carolina instructed Hannah to send for them. “Also build up the fire and keep this room good and warm. The other family members should avoid the sickroom.” Carolina nodded and turned to Margaret.

“Mother, should I send someone for Papa and Virginia?”

Margaret stared at her with vacant eyes. The news had been too much for her, and all her worst fears appeared to have been confirmed. Carolina went to her side and knelt down to take her mother’s hand. “Mother?”

“No . . . they’ll be better by morning, I just know it,” Margaret finally replied.

“It is late and miserable out there,” assured the doctor. “I doubt it is necessary for such urgency.”

As Dr. Granger attached a tourniquet to Mary’s arm, Margaret seemed suddenly to come to life. She jumped to her feet and threw herself between her child and the doctor. “No, you aren’t going to bleed them. They’re too little.” She pulled the tourniquet off and tossed it across the room.

“Mrs. Adams,” he protested, “bleeding is a common response to yellow fever.”

“I do not care!” Margaret said, taking a firm stand. “You will not bleed my baby.”

“Be reasonable, Mrs. Adams.” He looked at Carolina. “How far away is Mr. Adams?”

“He is in the city,” Margaret replied, taking up Maryland’s lethargic body. She tucked a blanket around the moaning child and sat down in a rocker. “You will deal with me on the matter or no one at all.”

“I cannot help these children if you will not follow instructions. A good dose of calomel to purge the bowels followed by tartar emetic to bring about vomiting will help cleanse the system. Bleeding will allow the impurities to pass out through the blood. You cannot hope to see these children survive without doing just as I say.”

“Then leave us,” Margaret said softly, yet firmly. “We will treat them as best we can, but you will not drain the very life out of them.”

He shook his head and looked to Carolina as if expecting help.

“My mother feels quite strongly about this,” Carolina said by way of explanation. “Perhaps there is another way?”

“If there is, it has not yet been told to the good physicians of this country,” the doctor replied. He looked once more at Margaret Adams, gathered his things, then strode from the room still shaking his head.

Carolina lingered in the nursery a moment before following the doctor.

“Mother, why are you so against bleeding?”

“It’s a hateful practice. No one will ever convince me it does any good.” She paused and cast a haunted look at her babies. Then she added, “They bled your baby brothers when they were sick. They both died. . . .”

“Oh, Mother!”

“Carolina, where are your manners? Please see the doctor out.”

Carolina left reluctantly and only because she had some further questions to ask the doctor.

“Dr. Granger,” she said when she caught up to him on the stairs, “I read something in the
Niles Register
about a medicine called quinine.”

Dismissing this idea with a brusque shrug, Dr. Granger spoke harshly. “Silly notions! Should your mother come to her senses, send someone to find me, and pray it is not too late. Should your father return, tell him of this conversation. Being a rational man, he will know what is best.”

“I doubt my mother will change her mind,” Carolina said, handing the man his hat and coat. She was angry at the implied message that because her father was a man he would not only be more rational about the matter but be more knowledgeable as well. For all her father’s love of his children, she seriously doubted he’d spent more than a few hours in the nursery. Her mother was the one, along with Hannah, who best knew the children’s needs.

Dr. Granger looked as though he might say something more, but instead, he hurried through the pouring rain to his carriage. Carolina found herself secretly wishing he might have argued with her. She wanted to tell him what she thought of his barbaric actions, and she wanted him to comment on the
Niles Register
article and the possibilities of using opium and quinine to treat cases of yellow fever.