Chapter Thirty Frankie
THIRTY FRANKIE
You can’t just send me off!” Aunt Margaret declared. The three of us were in the kitchen eating breakfast, though it was closer to dinnertime. Aife was under the table, hoping for one of us to drop some scraps.
At Uncle Thomas’s insistence, I’d gone to my room and slept fitfully for a couple of hours, tossing and turning in my narrow bed. A little after ten a.m., I’d given up on sleep and hurried to the dining room to check on the patients. Uncle Thomas was in there alone.
“Where are they?” I’d asked, a wave of shock washing over me.
“Gone.” His face was as pale as a sheet of paper. He gripped the back of a maple chair, his hands trembling slightly.
“But… what happened?”
“They’re just gone, Frankie,” he’d snapped, turning away from me. “There’s nothing more we can do about it.”
He and I had tidied the dining room in silence, picked up the blankets, tucked the chairs back under the table. I didn’t dare ask more about what had transpired with the injured townspeople, who were now God only knew where.
Afterward, Thomas had gone out for an hour, returning with the latest news on the sickness in town. And more than that, he had a plan.
“It’s all arranged,” Thomas told Aunt Margaret now as he stirred honey into his oatmeal. “You’ll go with David, Mercy, Chauncey, Harold, and Stewart.”
“Chauncey’s leaving?” I asked, realizing after I’d said it that I’d sounded a little too enthusiastic.
“He doesn’t want to, but he’ll do what his father thinks best.” Uncle Thomas frowned at me. “He wants to take Pearl with him.”
A lump formed in my throat, high and tight.
“But the roads,” Margaret said. “They’re impassable. And all the horses are gone.”
“You’ll use snowshoes and go on foot. David and the boys will use a toboggan to carry what few supplies and clothing you’ll bring. You’ll have guns. Provisions. If you leave first thing in the morning, you should make it over the mountain and to Amsterdale by nightfall if the weather holds.”
“No. I won’t leave you.” She looked from Uncle Thomas to me. “Either of you.”
He took her hands. “You must, Maggie. You can’t stay here. If you won’t do it for me, do it for our child.”
Her hand fluttered to her pregnant belly.
She looked out the window, then turned and looked at me. “What do you think, Frances?”
“I think,” I said, forcing the words out, “that staying here is dangerous. For you and the baby.”
Uncle Thomas explained that nearly half the town was sick now.
Some in advanced stages, any number of them having disappeared into the woods.
Charlotte was sick, her herbal remedies and charms useless.
She’d had Thomas barricade the door to her bedchamber from the outside, fearing what she might do as the disease progressed.
The practice of leaving offerings for the knackerman—food and money, dead chickens—seemed to be spreading.
Frightened residents hung crosses on their doors, dangled bundles of St. John’s wort from the doorframe, and sprinkled lines of salt on the threshold.
Uncle Thomas grimaced as he gave us the report. “They remain convinced that it’s supernatural. That the knackerman is the devil himself and he’s bewitching the townspeople, possessing them and ferrying them off.”
There were still reports of the knackerman, Clarice, and Emile being sighted around town, now joined by others who’d taken ill.
It seemed impossible. They should have perished from exposure.
By all accounts, they were naked, running mad through the snow.
Some claimed to have heard them, moaning and howling in the woods.
Some said they heard their own names being called, that they were being beckoned into the woods and there was something enticing, mystifying even, about the voices of the sick carried through the wind that made people want to go and join them.
The sickness was casting darkness and fear over the entire town, even those who weren’t infected.
Robbie Prichard stole apples and a keg of cider from the Millers’ cellar, knocking old Mr. Miller down so hard he broke three ribs; Robbie claimed that the devil made him do it, though he showed no signs of illness.
Emile LaRue’s barn was burned to the ground—no one knew if it was arson, but suspicions ran rampant.
Lester Styles was tackled and beaten by a group of men as he left Loon’s Call, evidently because he was mistaken for the knackerman with his full beard and dark hooded coat.
Men carried guns every time they left the house.
Women and children stayed inside, doors locked tight.
Whatever this sickness was, it had settled into Boone’s Ferry like the dense fog that often blanketed our valley, blocking out the sun. There was surely no stopping it now.
“I will not leave unless you two come with me,” Aunt Margaret said. “We can all go away from this place. We can start over. Maybe even go back to Boston. Wouldn’t you like to go back to Boston?”
Uncle Thomas’s expression was pained. I knew how he missed Boston, how part of him had always wished to go back.
Aunt Margaret continued, “Think how good it would be, not just for us, but for Frances.” She turned to me.
“You could go to medical school. You’re clever.
The most clever girl I’ve ever known! And your uncle knows people.
He can get you in.” She looked back at Uncle Thomas. “Please, Tom. Let’s all go.”
Uncle Thomas sighed, rubbed his red-rimmed eyes. “You know I can’t do that,” he said in a low voice, taking her hand. “I’m the doctor. The whole village will soon be sick.”
“But Tom, there’s little you can do. You said so yourself. You—”
“I’ve got to try.”
He turned, looked at me. “I think you should go with your aunt. With Pearl. Go wait this out in Amsterdale.”
There was nothing I wanted more than to run off with Pearl. Than to be with her, whatever it took.
The lump in my throat hardened. Tears pricked my eyes and I wiped them with the back of my hand.
“No,” I said. “If you stay, I stay.”
“Frankie, I admire your—”
“If you stay, I stay,” I repeated, boring my eyes into his. “You’ve taught me everything I know. Everything I am, it’s because of you. And everything you taught me, it was for a reason. For this. For helping the sick and injured. You can’t do this on your own. If you stay, I stay.”
“Very well,” Uncle Thomas said, a sad smile on his face.
“But if what you’re saying is true,” Aunt Margaret said, “and anyone who stays is doomed… becomes mad—”
“We don’t know that they stay that way,” Uncle Thomas said. “Benjamin Stoddard has been unconscious for the last twelve hours. He’s still got a fever, but it’s gone down.”
“So he’s recovering?” Aunt Margaret asked.
“It’s impossible to say. Mrs. Stoddard had been unconscious, but then awoke and got out of bed.”
“And attacked her husband and is now roaming the woods naked and mad,” added Aunt Margaret.
“And yet, she’s alive,” Uncle Thomas pointed out. “Perhaps the madness will pass. I’m hoping that watching the progression of symptoms in Benjamin will shed some light, help Frankie and me to understand what we’re dealing with.”
“You truly think they might survive?” Aunt Margaret asked.
“I don’t know, Maggie. But we can hope. God knows there were people who survived the flu who had been on death’s doorstep just the night before.
The human body can surprise us with the way it fights back.
And as with the flu, some might have some sort of innate resistance and never get sick to begin with even if they’re… exposed.
“I can’t leave any of them,” Uncle Thomas continued. “But it’s because of all these unknowns that it is safest for you and the baby if you go to Amsterdale with your brother and his family as I ask. Frankie and I will join you there as soon as we’re able.”
But even as he said the words, I knew the truth.
I knew, deep down in my soul, that my uncle and I would never see Amsterdale.
Once Aunt Margaret strapped on her snowshoes and trudged out of town with David and Mercy and the boys, we’d be saying good-bye to her for the last time.
Uncle Thomas would never meet his child, never know if he had a son or a daughter.
And if Pearl went with them, I would never see her again.
I felt cracked open, ruined.
Who are we without the people we love most? What do we become when we are no longer looked at through their eyes? No longer seen for who we truly are?
“Trust me,” Uncle Thomas said as he held tight to Margaret’s hand. “It will be all right. Whatever happens, it will be as God intended.”
I FOUND PEARL at home. Her father was still unconscious. Pearl was alone in the kitchen, making squash soup.
“Last of the fall squash from the pantry,” she told me as she stirred. It smelled rich and buttery. Pearl dipped a spoon into the pot, took it out, blew on it, then gave me a taste. “Stay and eat with me?”
“Of course,” I said.
She set down two place mats at the table, two spoons on cloth napkins. “Would you like some brandy? Father has loads of it.”
“That would be lovely,” I said, and was surprised to see Pearl get down two glasses. Pearl usually passed when alcohol was offered—her parents had taught her it wasn’t ladylike to imbibe.
“A toast,” Pearl said, raising her glass.
“What shall we drink to?” I asked.
Pearl looked lost for a second, like she couldn’t think of a single thing. “To squash soup,” she said.
“To squash soup,” I said, clinking my glass against Pearl’s. We both let out a small laugh.
Pearl looked pale and exhausted. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her dress was wrinkled and stained with bits of orange squash. Even in this state, she was so beautiful I found myself forgetting how to breathe, hardly able to believe she was real.
“I know,” she said. “I look a fright. I’m surprised you can stand to be in the same room with me.”
I laughed. “You look lovely,” I told her. “And there is nowhere else I’d rather be.” I touched her cheek and she closed her eyes, smiled. I kissed her then, right there in her kitchen. It was a deep and long kiss, and for that brief moment, the rest of the world melted away.
Pearl served the soup, topped up our brandy glasses.
We ate and talked about the weather. About when spring would come. About flowers and squash.
We did not talk about Pearl’s parents or the sickness. We did not talk about the knackerman. There was no mention of the devil.
We let ourselves pretend that none of what was happening around us, outside that room, was real. For an hour, there was only her and me, talking quietly, touching each other’s hands, cheeks colored from brandy and the warmth of the kitchen.
When we finished, we did the dishes together, side by side.
“This is nice,” Pearl said, leaning into me. “Having you here like this. It’s like… like we always talked about.”
I smiled.
“Shall we go into the parlor? You can smoke your pipe and maybe give me a puff?”
“You? Smoke a pipe?”
“I’ve had cigarettes,” Pearl admitted.
“Yes,” I agreed. “But a pipe—”
“Is not very ladylike at all, is it?” Pearl finished, laughing. “Come on, now I’m eager to try it.”
We sat side by side on the settee, puffing on the pipe I pulled from my jacket pocket and loaded with tobacco from my pouch.
“I much prefer this to cigarettes,” Pearl said.
I laughed. “I’ll have to get you your own little pipe then.”
“And we’ll smoke each night together like this, sipping brandy, telling each other all about our days.”
We were quiet for a few moments, passing the pipe back and forth, filling the parlor with the sweet smoke.
“Pearl,” I said at last, hating to break the spell, to ruin the night, but I knew it had to be done. Pearl had her head on my shoulder and was trying to blow smoke rings.
“Yes, my love?”
“There’s something I need you to do.”
I felt it again—that thick, hard lump in my throat that made speaking difficult.
“What is it? Do you want coffee? Dessert? Or shall we go up to my room?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye. “There’s no one here to catch us. My father hasn’t so much as twitched since yesterday. He’s dreaming, though. I can see his good eye moving behind the lid. And he mumbles in his sleep.”
I shivered a little, imagining the things Benjamin might be dreaming.
“No,” I said, though I wanted nothing more than to have Pearl lead me up to her room, let me undress her slowly, stretching each second of pleasure out as long as I could, memorizing each detail of her body.
“Well, what is it then?” Pearl lifted her head, looked at me.
“I want you to go away. To leave Boone’s Ferry.”
“When will we go?” Pearl asked.
I swallowed hard. “Not with me. With Aunt Margaret. She’s leaving with David, Mercy, Harold, and Stewart.” I paused a second, then forced myself to finish, to spit the name out. “And Chauncey.”
Pearl’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “Wh—”
“Tomorrow morning, on foot. Going to Amsterdale. You must go with them.”
“You—”
“Has Chauncey asked you to join them?”
Pearl blew out an angry breath. “Yes, he asked me. But I told him no! I am not running off with Chauncey. I’m not leaving my father. I’m not leaving you.”
I took her hand tightly in my own. “I want you to go.”
Pearl drew back and gave a wicked laugh. “You’re fooling, right? You truly want me to run off with Chauncey Banks?”
I laughed bitterly. “I hate that vile bastard, and nothing can change that. But you’ll be safest with the group and away from all this.
When this is over, Uncle Thomas and I will come and meet you all in Amsterdale.
Then, if you still wish, you and I can leave.
There’s a train station there. We can go to Boston. Start a new life together.”
“Why don’t you come with us tomorrow?”
“I can’t. I need to stay and help my uncle.”
“Then I’ll stay too. I can help you. I can be your nurse. Blood doesn’t trouble me at all. You saw yesterday, didn’t you? How helpful I could be. And I’m clever, Frankie, you know that. A quick learner. We can work together, side by side, and it will be—”
“Pearl,” I interrupted, “that’s just why you must go.
What if Aunt Margaret needs help with the baby on the journey?
Thomas and I are going to be worried sick about her, but if you’re with her, my clever Pearl, that will be a comfort.
I’m begging you. Please. Do this one thing for me. This one, huge, hard thing.”
“But I—”
“I need to know you’re safe. I need to know you’ll be there in Amsterdale, waiting for me.
Waiting for us to go off and start a new life together.
I can’t keep you safe here. And if anything were to happen to you—” My voice faltered.
I took her hands and held them tightly, kissed her lovely fingers.
Pearl was quiet, thinking, biting her lip. “You’ll come? You’ll meet me there as soon as you’re able?”
“Yes.”
“Do you promise?”
“I swear on my life,” I said. “Nothing could keep me from you.” I pulled Pearl to me, held her tight, my chin on her shoulder, grateful that she couldn’t see my face; couldn’t know that though I meant the words with all my heart, I didn’t truly believe them.