Glimmers of Change (8 page)

“Not on Cromwell Plantation,” Janie assured her. “It stays pure and white, reflecting back a million diamonds when the sun hits it.” She smiled as she remembered. “It seems to swallow sound…” Her voice trailed off. “It makes you feel”— she searched for the right word—“safe,” she finally said. “I know that sounds odd, but that’s how it made me feel. Like the snow created a barrier from the rest of the world — especially the war. They were the most peaceful days I spent during the war.”

The kitchen fell silent, all of them with their own thoughts and memories of the war. Alice stood to fill her bowl with more soup but not before Janie caught the bright sheen of tears in her eyes. “Alice?”

Alice stiffened as she faced the stove, remaining silent while she dished up her soup. “I got a letter from my parents today,” she finally admitted. She turned slowly, her face tight with pain. “My brother is not doing well.”

Janie frowned. “The morphine?”

Alice hesitated and then nodded. “He was caught breaking into the local dispensary to steal some.” Her voice caught. “My parents say they don’t know how to help him. His doctors say he doesn’t need it anymore, but he’ll do anything to get it.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I’m hearing that story from all over the North,” she said.

“And the South,” Janie said quickly. “We don’t have quite as big of a problem because the blockade stopped the flow of drugs long before the war was over, but there is still a large addiction problem. Morphine and opium may have been hard to come by, but moonshine is easily available in the South.”

“They’re blocking out memories,” Florence said quickly. “All of them have so many horrible memories of what happened to them. Not to mention pain they will suffer for the rest of their lives from their injuries. Addiction is a very real thing,” she said angrily. “Dr. Anderson told me today that there are hundreds of thousands of war veterans suffering from addiction. I know our doctors thought they were doing the right thing when they continued to give morphine for the pain, but the long-term results are disastrous.” She scowled. “Forget what I said earlier about almost wishing the war wasn’t over. I’ll be happy if I never have to walk onto another battlefield covered with dead and dying men,” she said fiercely. “So many are going to live with the consequences for the rest of their lives.”

“The people around them will suffer as well,” Alice said quietly, her blue eyes dark with worry. “My parents have tried everything to help my brother. He was only sixteen when he went to war. My parents tried to stop him, but he snuck off one night with some friends because he didn’t want to miss the adventure,” she said bitterly.

The three women remained silent, knowing her brother’s
adventure
had sent him home minus a leg below the knee and with an addiction that was destroying him. He had just turned twenty.

“He got married during a leave from the war,” she revealed for the first time, “but his wife left him a few months ago because of his rages.”

Janie flinched, knowing all too well what that was like. “Is it easier up here?” she asked impulsively.

“Easier?”

“To leave your husband?” Janie asked, knowing she was off topic, but all the talk had reactivated her memories. She gripped her napkin tightly to conceal her shaking hands.

Florence looked at her closely and then reached under the table to take hold of one of her hands. “What haven’t you told us?” she asked perceptively.

Janie shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said contritely. “We aren’t talking about me.”

“We are now,” Alice responded, her eyes warm with compassion. “Janie?”

Janie stared at the three women, swallowing back her tears at the looks of compassion and kindness on all their faces. She had not wanted to talk about Clifford. Starting a new life meant leaving him in the past. Most days she could do it, but then something would happen to trigger her memories, and she would be right back in the swirl of anger and fear that almost destroyed her.

“I was married,” she began, smiling slightly at the looks of surprise. “Clifford was one of my patients. He lost an arm during a battle outside Richmond. We fell in love and got married.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “The war changed him. Or maybe it was losing the war,” she clarified, the pain rising up in her again.

“Take your time,” Elizabeth said softly, reaching over to put a hand on her shoulder.

Janie took strength from the kindness in her eyes. “He became angry and bitter,” she continued. “He wasn’t the same man I married. It got worse every day.” She saw the understanding on Alice’s face and knew she was thinking of her brother who had gone off to war a happy-go-lucky teenager and returned a broken, bitter man. “When we returned to North Carolina after the war, he kept me hostage in the house, not wanting my liberal feelings about blacks and the war to impact his law practice and his political ambitions.”

“Janie!” Alice gasped.

Janie plunged ahead, wanting to get it over with. “Most of his abuse was verbal. He convinced me I was nothing but a worthless woman who deserved what he was dishing out.” She smiled softly. “My housekeeper convinced me differently. She gave me courage to search for a way out, so I began to put aside little bits of money so I could escape.”

She swallowed back tears again as she told the rest of the story. “Clifford hit me the last night I ever saw him.” She flinched as she relived his fist exploding in her face, the pain and humiliation as fresh as the night it happened. “I escaped that night,” she said softly. “I had just enough money to catch a train to Richmond.”

“He didn’t come after you?” Alice asked breathlessly.

“He did,” Janie admitted. “Carrie’s husband, Robert, convinced him it wouldn’t be wise for him to come again.”

“He beat him up,” Florence said bluntly.

Janie smiled. “Yes.” The smile widened to a grin when the women cheered. “Robert helped me find a judge who would grant me a divorce.”

“Not easy in Richmond, I bet,” Elizabeth said.

“It helped that Carrie’s father worked in the Virginia government,” Janie added. “He was able to point Robert in the right direction.”

“Pays to know the right people,” Florence murmured.

“But you’re still afraid,” Elizabeth observed.

Janie saw no reason to deny what they obviously saw. “Most of the nightmares have stopped, but I’m still afraid he will show up one day.”

“Let him try,” Florence said threateningly, the look of battle in her eyes. “He’s never faced four angry women before.”

“That’s right,” Alice said staunchly. “If we can put up with all the abuse people have dished out on us for becoming doctors, weakling one-armed lawyer can’t do a thing!”

Janie laughed now, the fear ebbing away as the support and warmth of her new friends surrounded her. “Y’all are the best!” she exclaimed. “Do you know that?”

Florence raised her eyebrows. “I still can’t believe I’m sharing a house with someone who says
y’all
,” she said playfully. “And of course we know we’re the best.”

“And modest too,” Elizabeth said ruefully.

Florence shrugged. “My grandmother always told me I shouldn’t bother to hide my light under a bushel basket. If Janie wants to believe we are the best, who am I to refute her?”

Laughter rang around the table, pushing aside all sadness and fear.

Alice grinned. “We’re not done with dinner yet,” she said.

Elizabeth cocked a brow. “I helped you cook dinner,” she reminded her. “There’s nothing else.”

Alice looked coy. “Did I say anything about cooking it?” She stood and walked over to the pantry. “I barely got this hidden before you came in,” she teased Elizabeth. She smiled broadly as she reached into the pantry, pulled out a dish covered in a towel, placed it on the table, and whipped the towel off.

“Pie!” the women cried in unison.

“Not just
any
pie,” Alice said proudly. “This is—”

“Opal’s apple pie! She always puts a little apple shape on the crust on one edge as her signature,” Janie said in awe. “How did you…?”

Alice tried to look nonchalant. “I got out of class a little before the rest of you so I decided to swing by Eddie and Opal’s restaurant. I’ve been thinking about this pie ever since you took me there last week. She had some coming out of the oven just as I got there.” She grinned again. “It helped keep my hands warm on the way home.”

Elizabeth jumped up to get a knife. “I’ll cut it,” she offered.

“Into four pieces,” Florence instructed.

“Four?” Alice asked doubtfully. “We always cut pies into eight slices.”

“That’s because you didn’t grow up with three brothers,” Florence answered. “Mama always let us cut the pie into four pieces.” She rubbed her hands in anticipation. “That way we always got a quarter of a pie.” She smacked her lips. “I’m tall, but my brothers are much bigger than me. It took a lot to fill us up. What’s the point of a tiny piece of pie? We have no one to impress with our feminine sensibilities. I say we eat enough to count!”

“Sounds great to me,” Janie said enthusiastically, as she laughed and eyed the pie. “We’ll need the extra calories to stay warm in all this cold weather.”

Alice still looked doubtful.

Elizabeth, a big smile on her face, carefully cut the pie into four slices. “Alice, really?” she asked. “You are going against every convention of proper society to become a woman doctor, and you’re struggling with cutting a pie into quarters?”

Alice finally laughed and reached for her plate. “You’re absolutely right,” she admitted. “It’s amazing to me how someone’s beliefs can become your own even when there is no justification for it. I had a man call me a pitiful excuse for a woman today when I started into class.”

The three women nodded with sympathetic understanding. All of them had experienced it.

“If I can stand against that, what will keep me from eating a quarter of a pie? In fact, I might buy another one and eat the whole thing myself,” Alice finished defiantly. She dug into the pie, took a bite, and rolled her eyes. “Opal makes the best apple pie in the world,” she declared. She closed her eyes for a long moment and opened them to look at Janie. “Opal and Eddie asked about you. Opal said to tell you she had a sweet potato casserole with your name on it.”

Janie pretended to swoon as she finished chewing a big bite. “Next to her apple pie, Opal’s sweet potato casserole is the best thing in the world.” She brought another bite to her lips. “How are they doing?”

Alice hesitated.

Janie put her fork back down. “Alice?”

Alice shook her head. “They didn’t say anything,” she said quickly. “It was just something in Opal’s eyes. She didn’t seem as happy as she did when we were there before.”

“She’s probably freezing to death,” Florence observed. “Isn’t this her first northern winter?”

“Yes,” Alice agreed. “That might be all it was. They had their woodstove blazing in the middle of the restaurant, but I know that place is hard to keep warm. If they’re not home all day long, I imagine they go back to a very cold home.”

Janie nodded, knowing Opal and Eddie lived in little more than a shack so they could pour all their money into the restaurant. She could imagine the strain was adding up, but she made a mental note to go by the restaurant on the way home from school the next day so she could see for herself. She had gotten closer to them since moving to Philadelphia, counting on Opal to feed her before her housemates had joined her. She’d spent her whole life with housekeepers cooking for her. Even during the war she had eaten most of her meals at Carrie’s house, with May doing all the cooking. She knew pitiful little about feeding herself. She felt no real motivation for that to change, not when there were people in the world like Opal to cook for her.

The women laughed and talked as they finished their pie, but Janie couldn’t rid herself of the worry niggling at the back of her mind. She was suddenly eager for tomorrow to arrive so she could visit Opal and Eddie.

The weak sun did little to warm the frigid air as Janie made her way toward the restaurant. Clanging bells from streetcars, shouts from wagon drivers, and the steady clap of carriages filled the air. Record breaking low temperatures seemed to have done little to slow activity in the city.

Janie huddled deeper into her coat. She kept her thoughts busy with what she learned that day in class as she joined the flow of people on the sidewalk. It was easy to be preoccupied with the information she had received in class that morning.

After seventeen years, cholera had returned to the United States.

Dr. Anderson had delivered the news that morning. The
Atalanta
, an English mail steamer, had sailed for New York from London on the tenth of October. She docked at Le Havre on the eleventh, and took aboard twenty-four cabin and 540 steerage passengers. When she dropped anchor in New York’s lower bay in December, her master reported sixty cases of cholera and fifteen deaths.