The Americans (27 page)

avuncular man with white side whiskers. He identified himself as another friend of Jim Olaf so. The crimp must have paid off half the damn town! The charge was defrauding an innkeeper. Carter tried to speak in his own defense but was gaveled to silence. The magistrate sentenced him to thirty days in jail. On the eleventh day of his jail term the fringe of a tropical storm brushed Galveston with heavy rains and howling winds, and Carter was glad to be indoors. The food wasn't bad in jail, either. Each meal included greasy grits, but at least the plate and tin cup were shoved into his cell three times daily. Even so, he nearly went crazy in the confines of the six by ten foot cell with its plank sleeping platform, its bucket of tepid, bug-infested wash water, and its second, uncovered pail for his own wastes. The jailor was supposed to empty the waste pail once a day but he often forgot. Complaints were useless. A small, high window in the cell overlooked a side street bar that Carter often watched for hours by standing on the plank platform. Late one afternoon, he saw Olaf drive by in an expensive buggy, two finely dressed girls riding with him under parasols, chatting and laughing. One was the little yellow-haired trollop. Carter clutched the bars and stared after her with a stricken look. The month in the Galveston jail was an experience that scarred Carter, just as other brushes with violent death and deceitful people had scarred him. The cell was the most potent proof he'd yet encountered that if you didn't run others, they'd run you. He thought about the yellow-haired girl, and of how * T foolishly he'd trusted her. Under the influence of beer and what surely must have been cigars impregnated with some kind of drug, he'd even gotten sentimental over her. And while the girl was no one he really cared about, her deception humiliated him. He thought a lot about the Greek woman, too. In a way, he had also trusted Helen Stavros. He'd trusted her beauty, her warm eyes, her smile-and they had deceived him. She had meant for them to do that. Helen Stavros had made him suspicious of all women, disand now the yellow-haired girl had confirmed and solidified that suspicion. Women had their place, he supposed. A man needed them for physical satisfaction. But as for loving them- trusting them-he had been suspicious of that before he came to Galveston, and now he knew he was right. As for trusting men-strangers such as Olaf who smiled and pretended to be decent, generous, helpful-well, the cell demonstrated where that got you. He concluded that the only people in the entire world it would be safe for him to trust were his mother, Will, and Gideon-none of whom he'd ever see again, probably. Therefore he was alone in a world of Olafs and Lu Anns-a world of potential enemies. He'd long suspected it. Now he knew it. So if he didn't behave accordingly, he was a damn fool- Which was exactly what he'd been thus far in Galveston. Like the fearful lesson of the Red Cod, that was another he wouldn't soon forget. * iv On the day he was released, a policeman escorted him to the ferry and paid his passage across to the mainland. It was a gray November morning, unseasonably cold for Texas. A light drizzle was falling. The policeman turned up the collar of his old overcoat and said: "On your way, now. Don't let us see you in Galveston again, boy." "You won't." "Where you headin'? North?" Carter hadn't the slightest idea. He gazed out past the docked ferry and the rain-stippled Gulf to the coast; a vast, slate-colored flatland embracing Galveston Bay. Earth, water, and dark gray sky seemed to fuse into one immense and hostile waste in which he had no home, countless en, emies, little future, and less hope. His spirits sank. What good were the lessons he'd learned? What good was cleverness, ambition-anything? He was alone and all that had happened to him in Galveston could well happen to him again, no matter how carefully he guarded against it. Then the unquenchable Kent optimism came to his aid. He brought his chin up. Forced a smile that surprised the shivering policeman. "Don't know where I'm going," he answered. "But you'll hear from me one of these days, you can bet. Galveston's going to feel bad about treating me the way it did." He said it with such conviction, the officer couldn't bring himself to laugh. Cocking his head, he asked: "That a threat or just a promise?" Carter held up both hands. "Oh, a promise. Threats can get you killed." Smiling that dazzling smile, Carter stepped onto the ferry and tried to ignore the rain, the freezing wind, the great empty vista of water, and forlorn sky in which he, of all human beings, had no place. But surely, in a land so vast, there should be a place for* him. He'd keep traveling in search of it, trusting no one. And he wouldn't stop unless they buried him. CHAPTER III Jo. WILL'S COLLISION WITH A fellow student on the steps of the medical school proved to be the start of a friendship. Will soon discovered that Drew Hastings had a first-rate mind, an interest in medicine that was almost a passion, and a desire to succeed that matched or exceeded Will's own. Drew's ambition was due in large part to the dedication with which his mother and father had approached the task of educating him. His parents were storekeepers; people of modest means, to whom the annual tuition of two hundred dollars plus incidental fees was an enormous sum. They had scrimped for years to accumulate the money. Drew was the sole recipient. He had a younger sister, Will learned, and he was devoted to her; but his devotion didn't extend to a belief that she should receive higher education. The family could afford just one standard bearer. Drew, older, and male, was the clear choice. He made no secret of liking it that way. Each young man brought certain qualities to the friendship. Drew brought the steadiness and authority that went with being two years older. He liked having a friend to whom he could expound about medicine. He'd read extensively before coming to Boston, and he knew some startling things. On one occasion he astonished Will by telling him that Hippocrates, the famous Greek physician of the fifth century b.c., probably had little to do with the body of medical writing known as the Hippocratic Collection. Some scholars said he had no connection with the famous oath bearing his name. Many skilled doctors had taught and written at the medical school on the island of Cos, Drew said. Hippocrates was among the most famous. He had also been born on the island. So it was undoubtedly inevitable that his name would be ascribed to aphorisms and bits of advice actually authored by others. Drew's favorite was, "Not only must the physician be ready to do his duty, the patient, the attendants, and external circumstances must conduce the cure" The first time Drew quoted the saying to Will, he went on, "But tell that to someone living in a city slum. Those people don't have time to think about good health, let alone do something about it. All their energy goes into surviving. As to their circumstances-what could be more conducive to sickness than a tenement? The poor need doctors more than the rich do. Hippocrates knew that." Will didn't agree with Drew's conclusions, but he was fascinated by the breadth of his friend's knowledge. Hence one of his contributions to the friendship was the devotion of a pupil eager to learn. On the other hand, at certain times during the first term, he turned out to be the teacher. The practice of medicine interested Drew, but not the preparation that was fundamental to it. He hated the scientific studies required of first-year students-general chemistry, physiology, materia medica. Only anatomy held any appeal. Because of his attitude, he was soon flirting with dismissal. Even when studying physiology under an acknowledged master such as Henry Bowditch, he refused to attend most of the eight-man laboratory sessions. Instead, he relied on Will's notes, and Will's good memory. On the night before a test, Will would drill him for hours on the periodic table or Latin terms they were expected to know. Drew would absorb just enough information to squeak by. There were two hundred and seventy-five students in the medical school, ninety-six of them in the first class. They lived in a closed universe consisting of the school building, its various annexes and laboratories, the City Hospital and Massachusetts General, where demonstrations took place and charity patients were observed, and the rooms in which they did their studying. Since Charles Eliot's inauguration as President of Harvard, the medical curriculum had undergone extensive revision and improvement. Courses were more complex and more difficult than they'd been just a few years earlier. Will and Drew had to keep up with daily and weekly work, but they also faced comprehensive examinations in the spring; examinations covering all the material studied during the year. Only by passing those examinations did a student earn the right to advance to the next class. During his first term at the school, Will worked twelve, fourteen, sixteen hours a day-Sundays included. Sometimes the work load became so heavy, he existed for days in a state of near exhaustion. Once in a while he grew deeply discouraged. But when he did, he would recall standing in the rain outside the Vanderbilt mansion, or lunching with Vlandingham, or promising his stepbrother he'd amount to something. Any of those memories, but especially the last one, was enough to overcome his discouragement and keep him going without sleep and without complaint. Occasionally there was a short respite from the routine. One came in mid-November. Drew announced that his father would be arriving on Saturday, to check on his son's progress. He'd be staying overnight. Will was invited to join them for supper. To Will's surprise-and Drew's-another member of the family turned up, too. Drew's younger sister. The three members of the Hastings family invited Will to eat at a Boston fish house not noted for low prices. Will had already heard that Mr. Hastings had been forced to travel from Hartford in a borrowed farm wagon; he couldn't afford train fare. So Will insisted that he pay for supper, and made Drew's agreement a condition of his acceptance of the invitation. Joab Hastings was a stout, soft-spoken man with rough skin and a red face. He was almost uncomfortably in awe of the two students, because they were venturing into intellectual realms wholly foreign to him. But his pride in his son was obvious. Less impressed was Drew's fifteen-year-old sister, Joanna, whom everyone called Jo. Her father said she'd nagged him in such a cheerful but determined way, he'd been forced to bring her along. His smile said it wasn't an imposition, though. "She clerks at the family store," he explained to W. "She's a hard worker. She deserved a little holiday." Perhaps Joab Hastings was appeasing his guilt, Will concluded a few minutes later, when all of them were enjoying the first course-roasted oysters from a huge silver platter. Making conversation, he said: "Did you enjoy the ride up here, Miss Hastings?" "I enjoyed the scenery. But I couldn't help thinking how it all might have been different" "What do you mean?" "If I were a boy, I could go to medical school. Since I'm a girl, I have to settle for a trip." Drew cracked a shell, then used his oyster knife to cut out the small, tender nugget inside. He forked the oyster into a dish of hot melted butter. "You see, Will, five or six years ago, my little sister fell in love with the late Miss Nightingale. And with her profession." "Calling," Jo said as Drew ate the buttered oyster. "I've told you a million times, Drew-Miss Nightingale always referred to nursing as a calling. She said the word has more spirituality than profession does. Don't you agree, Mr. Kent?" She fixed her blue-green eyes on him with a directness for which he wasn't prepared. "Oh, certainly, Miss Hastings," he said with a straight face, reaching for another oyster. He found the girl's adolescent behavior by turns funny and annoying. She gave a vigorous nod. "I knew you'd feel that way." Drew laughed. She shot a wrathful glare in his direction. Will lifted his napkin to his mouth to hide a smile. He studied Jo covertly while they finished the oysters and awaited the chowder. Although she didn't share Drew's stoutness, she could easily be recognized as his sister. Will found her attractive, though not in a conventional way. She was slim, and flat-chested. She had long, shining red-gold hair that gave off a pleasing smell of homemade soap. Her face was a well-proportioned oval, marred just a little by a nose many would have called too large. But the nose was counterbalanced by a nicely shaped mouth. There was a light scattering of freckles on her cheeks. Unlike so many girls, she didn't bother to powder them into invisibility. They gave her face a touch of the tomboy that Will found charming. She was obviously bright, too. And quite conscious of the limits imposed on her by her sex. That was surely why most everything she said had an edge to it. Julia would have appreciated and encouraged her attitude, he supposed. Gently, Joab Hastings put his hand over hers. He said to Will, "Joanna would like to study at one of the Nightingale schools they're starting here in the States. I'm sure she'd make a fine nurse. But there isn't enough profit in selling corn meal and pins to pay for two educations." "So the world decrees it's the girl who stays home," Jo said. "The world and our circumstances," Hastings agreed with a sad smile. Jo wasn't willing to let the subject drop: "One day brothers and sisters will have an equal chance. Do you understand what I'm saying, Mr. Kent? I don't want Drew not to study medicine. I just want the same opportunity. What do you think?" "I think I have no business meddling into a family's-was "Oh, pooh!" she cut in. "Answer the question." Her father frowned. "You're being impertinent, Joanna." "I'll answer," Will said lightly. "I think your brother will need to support himself all through his life, while you'll undoubtedly have a husband to look after you. So in theory, Drew needs more education than you. That may not be right, or fair. But for the time being it's the way the world operates." "I don't care a fig for the way the world operates!" she exclaimed. "Or for marriage, either. I have no intention of submitting myself to the whims of a man. Or to the idiotic marital laws that prevail in this country." "Joanna," her father said, a little more sharply. She ignored him: "I have no intention of doing any of that merely to pay the bills!" Will said to Drew, "Your sister should meet my stepmother. They'd certainly see eye to eye." To Jo: "My stepmother's a suffragist." "Young lady, I want you to settle down and mind your tongue," Joab Hastings said, sounding severe for the
first time. Jo glanced at her father, started to retort, then saw the set of his jaw. She looked at her lap. During the rest of the meal, Will found himself avoiding the girl's eyes. They had taken on a strange intensity, and he seemed to be its object. For no reason that he could explain, the attention bothered him. His cheeks and neck were almost as pink as the lobsters they ate for the main course. Jo made no further pronouncements, however. After dinner the two students escorted father and daughter back to the modest hotel where they'd engaged two rooms. Will and Drew said goodnight-Jo shook Will's hand for over ten seconds-then started walking down the dark, quiet street toward the river. "I hope Jo's frankness didn't offend you," Drew said. "We're used to it around home. And to be fair, she really cares a lot about the family. Of course that doesn't mean she approves of everything that goes on. Such as Ma spending heaer entire life doing whatever Pa asks. Trouble is, Jo's protests hide all the kindness and love that are part of her, too. Strangers see the prickly exterior and think there's nothing else." My impression exactly, Will thought, though he wouldn't have said it. "Pa and I hope that prickly attitude will disappear as she gets older," Drew continued. "Jo's-uh-somewhat late to develop. She'd deny it with her last breath, and kill me for saying so. But deep down, I think she craves a puffed-up figure." caret "You're probably right. Most girls these days want to look like Lillian Russell." "I certainly hope she gets her wish. Maybe she'll be less grumpy." Will laughed. "Well, I wasn't offended by anything she said. She's a spirited young lady." "She's smitten with you, too." "What?" "Didn't you see her start making sheep's eyes halfway through supper? That was when she realized she liked you." Will stopped under a street lamp, buttoning the collar of his overcoat against the night wind. With an awkward laugh, he fibbed, "No, I didn't notice any special looks." "Then we'd best rush you to City Hospital. You've gone blind." They resumed walking. "I've seen a similar expression on my sister's face once or twice before. She fell in love with her schoolmaster when she was nine or ten. At thirteen it was the man who directs our church choir. She always seems to pick the brainy ones. She certainly got fooled this time," he finished with a chuckle. Will ignored the joke. "I can't believe she'd give two hoots about me." Drew's expression changed to one of puzzlement. Will's words struck him as strangely abrupt and serious for a conversation essentially light in tone. He tried to preserve that lightness: "What's the matter? Don't you think you're good enough for my sister?" Sometimes I don't think I'm good enough for anyone or anything. Again he kept the thought to himself. Drew continued in a jocular way, "Truth is, brother Kent, I 3on*t either. But we needn't worry about it. Adolescent girls have a crush a day, practically. They're in love with being in love. She'll grow out of it." Will believed him. Both of them were wrong. ffl Two days before Christmas, Drew arrived at the Kent house with a cylindrical object wrapped in brown paper. Grinning, he handed the package to W. "It arrived this morning-along with a note asking me to give it to you with all due speed. I'm to wish you a Merry Christmas in the bargain." Will turned the package over and over. "Who's it from?" "My little sister." "Jo?" "I have only one little sister, as I recollect. Seems she's still smitten. Unbelievable. Well, open it-open it!" Will removed the paper and found an eighteen-inch-wide roll of fabric, which he carefully spread out on a table. He caught his breath. On a dark blue background, in small, neat letters of white thread, Jo had reproduced a block of prose which began, still will look upon him who shall have taught me this Art even as one of my parents. "My Lord," Will said. "The Hippocratic oath." "Every last word. Needlepoint, I think they call it. She made one for me, too. She must have done them at night. She works all day in the store." Will brushed his fingertips over the tiny letters. "It must have taken her hours and hours. It's a beautiful present. I'll write her right away and thank her." Drew sat in a chair that creaked under him. "Don't be too free with your compliments. She might turn up on your doorstep, pleading for a proposal." "I doubt that. She said she hates the idea of marriage." "And the idea of men dominating the world-and their wives. But those are merely ideas. You, on the other hand, are a living, breathing man. She can detest men in the abstract and dream about you and never see a smidgin of inconsistency." A shrug. "She's a young girl. That says it all." Will smiled. "I guess so." He was touched by the gift. He thought of Jo's blue-green eyes, and the freckles she didn't bother to hide. He thought of how she longed for a woman's maturity, and that was funny, yet touching, too. She was a very engaging girl- But one he mustn't think about with any seriousness. There was no room in his plans for a girl who lacked social connections. That might be regrettable, but it was also the way things had to be. CHAPTER IV The Students EVERY FEW WEEKS throughout the winter and spring of 1887, Will received long letters from Drew's sister. Usually the letters contained comments on happenings in Hartford or events on the national scene; the comments were always made from the viewpoint of an avowed suffragist. Usually Jo's ardor amused him. But there were unconsciously sad passages, too, as when she wrote about one wish that would remain forever unfulfilled; a wish that she could travel to London and study at St. Thomas's Hospital. St. Thomas's was the first Nightingale school endowed by subscription funds raised by Miss Nightingale herself. Jo took pains to emphasize that she didn't want to become a nurse in order to flaunt herself as an educated woman. She wanted to serve others, as Will and Drew would after they graduated. Her humanitarian impulses were as strong as her brother's, Will soon realized. No wonder she'd given him that particular Christmas gift. Will had framed the needlepoint and hung it on the wall of his room on Beacon Street. It quickly became as much a part of his life as the tea bottle or the Kentucky rifle downstairs. He had no time to write letters as lengthy as hers. Now and then he sent her a short note, tut these became even less frequent as he settled down to study for the yearend examinations. He also tutored Drew. When they passed, they got drunk in a North End tavern to celebrate. Drew went home to Hartford for the summer, and Will spent almost every day in the deserted medical school library, reading. Fall arrived, and the program this second year was more to Drew's liking..even chemistry became tolerable against a background of courses in the clinical curriculum. Topographic and pathological anatomy. Clinical medicine. Clinical surgery. Their surgical studies consisted of lectures, observation in the operating theaters at Massachusetts General, and demonstrations in the basics of bandaging. The bandaging section met six days a week at eight in the morning. It was there Will finally realized how innately suited for the profession his friend was. Drew was the first pupil singled out by the faculty demonstrator, Assistant Professor Warren, to show that he'd mastered the lessons taught so far. The patient was a young male charity case at City Hospital. The day before, he'd had a small mole removed from his left shoulder blade by a student in the minor surgery class. Drew took off the old, stained bandage and put on a new one. He worked extremely slowly. But when he was done, the bandage was perfect. Warren pointed that out. "Hastings clearly possesses one of the most basic qualifications of the good practitioner," he said. "Patience. You will all have to develop that patience, whether it is innate in your character-or not. You see, gentlemen, modern medicine is structured so as to make the following an immutable law: if you disare a practicing physician, you will of necessity be a practicing surgeon. The term surgeon is a very large umbrella. It covers many disciplines, and you must be expert in every one. Excellence, however, is far more than the sum of knowledge and a certain dexterity. But permit me to quote the head of our department, Dr. Cheever. To be an excellent surgeon, it is not enough merely to be a competent operator. One must be a pains- taker." Mr. Hastinps is." And he had superb hands, Will discovered. Pudgy with fat, almost feminine in their gentleness and grace, they nevertheless possessed great strength. One night a drunken fourth classman teased Drew, pushing him and mincing back and forth in front of the door to his room in the dormitory. The upper classman kept calling Drew "ladyfingers" until Drew had enough of the bullying and laid him out cold with three fast punches. Will watched from the doorway; he and Drew had been going over the day's notes. Roosevelt all over again, Will thought. The comparison was accurate in other respects, too. They'd had some discussions about a doctor's responsibilities in which they'd disagreed sharply. And sometimes Drew sounded uncomfortably like a nagging conscience. Drew dumped water on the upper classman, then helped him get up and limp away. Will's compliment about the way Drew had thrown punches led the older student into some half-joking remarks about his hands, and his weight: "Know how I decided God must want me to be a doctor? "First I realized I was fat as a tub. Next I found out I could do damn little about it. Still can't. Day after day, I eat nothing but melon and drink nothing but hot tea, and I never lose a pound. So these-was He held out his hands. "com^the seem to be my only assets. It's always struck me as smart to work with what you have. I mean- what are the alternatives? There's really only one. You can refuse to make anything of what little you've been given, but if you do that, you're guaranteeing yourself a state of misery all your life. I'd rather try to be useful. Ergo-in God's grand if frequently murky plan, Hastings was meant to be a doctor. An obese one who will no doubt advise his patients to reduce their girth or face dire consequences." Will's amusement concealed a good deal of envy. He'd never be as skillful as Drew and he already knew it. But he could follow Drew's example and be a concerned, caring physician, a doctor who took to heart the words stitched into the dark blue fabric Jo had sent him. That was a mark well worth aiming at, he decided. T ii The fall of "87 repeated the pattern of the preceding autumn. Will became more deeply immersed in his studies as the days went by, and less aware of events that stirred the collective mind and heart of the country. Gideon, of course, remained fully aware of those events. One such-and a major one-took place on the eleventh of November. In Chicago, four of the accused Haymarket conspirators-Albert Parsons, August Spies, Adolpfa Fischer, and George Engel-were hanged. A telegraphed account of the execution was delivered to Gideon's office at Kent and Son late that day. He put everything aside to read the dispatch from the Union's midwest correspondent. What he read filled him with dismay: "Oh my God, Miss Vail-listen to this. Just before the trap dropped out from under him, Fischer cried, "Hoch die Anarchic!" Another of the four shouted in English, "Hurrah for anarchy!" was He flung the dispatch on his desk. "What a sad, sorry business. The Haymarket set the cause of the working man back fifty years." Helene Vail was seated at a desk which faced Gideon's. From it, she could take his dictation or easily hand him a paper just pulled from her typewriting machine. The papers on her desk were neatly arranged, while those on his remained a jumble, despite her daily attention. Miss Vail wasn't sympathetic to Gideon's views on the Haymarket issue: "Which one of the traitors did that?" "Engel. I remind you, Miss Vail-they were not proven guilty. That damn Chicago Daily News drove "em to the gallows with its hue and cry for justice." He lit a match and touched it to a fresh cigar. Miss Vail continued to look at him with disapproval. "Justice," he repeated. "What a joke. There was no conclusive evidence, and all the judicial niceties of a kangaroo court in a mining camp-Judge Lynch presiding. Yes, the views of those men were abhorrent to me-and counter to the views of a majority of people in this country. But by God, just because someone's views are unpopular-or even downright repulsive-doesn't mean they can be denied a fair trial. If anything, we have an obligation to be scrupulously fair with such people. Otherwise the right to dissent could be destroyed." "That's a subtlety I find hard to appreciate, Mr. Kent." "You and a few million others. John Adams didn't fail to appreciate it. He served as the defense lawyer for the redcoats who caused the Boston Massacre in 1770. It nearly cost him his livelihood, but he understood that someone had to defend-was The clanging of the telephone bell interrupted. Miss Vail rose to answer. Gideon puffed his cigar. He felt tired. Thanks to the Union's position on the trial of the Haymarket defendants, he was constantly on the defensive these days. White-faced, Miss Vail turned from the telephone. "It's the telegraph office. There's a message from New York." "Who's it from?" "Mr. Jesperson, the copy editor at the Union." Gideon scowled. "Why the hell didn't he put it on the direct wire?" "Please don't keep cursing, Mr. Kent. I don't know why. Perhaps he's upset and confused. He says that Mr. Payne went for a noon walk along Park Row and on his way back, he was stricken with a heart seizure. He's dead."'* ill Theo Payne's sudden passing brought sorrow and consternation to the Kent household. Gideon was greatly upset by the loss of a close friend and invaluable associate. Will traveled to New York with his father and stepmother to attend the funeral services. He returned to Boston alone; Gideon and Julia moved into the suite at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, planning to stay until Gideon could find a new editor-no easy job. Miss Vail packed up and joined them. Saturday of the third week in November was a bitter, blustery day. Will spent it in a hired wagon heading for the New Hampshire border directly north of Lowell. He and Drew had left Boston two hours before daylight. They didn't reach their rendezvous point until five in the r afternoon. By then Will was nearly frozen despite his overcoat, two sweaters, muffler, and gloves. Drew pulled the wagon into the shelter of some trees and scanned the autumn-withered landscape. A dirt road led into a large, barren grove just beyond a stone marker at the state line. The sky had the look of dark gray paint. "You still haven't told me who asked you to do this," Will said. Drew rubbed his mittened hands