Chapter Fifty-Six Frankie
FIFTY-SIX FRANKIE
We buried my uncle this morning. Only a handful of people came: Luther St. James and his son, old Mrs. Cutter who played the organ in the church and attended every funeral.
Reverend Davies led us in prayer as we stood around the freshly dug grave, the pine coffin resting at the bottom.
Pearl had wanted to come, had insisted she could get out of bed and make the walk to the cemetery, but I’d forbidden it.
I’d told her about her parents. Tears filled her eyes but she had nodded bravely, told me she’d been expecting the news, preparing for it.
She’d taken my hand in hers, kissed my knuckles.
“You’re all I have left now,” she’d said. “Don’t you dare leave me too.”
“I will fear no evil,” Reverend Davies had said as he stood over my uncle’s grave, “for you are with me; Your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.…”
I’ve never been much for praying, so I closed my eyes tightly and made a promise to my uncle instead: I will become the doctor you believed I could be.
I will put all of your lessons, all of your faith in me, to good use.
I will go to Boston. I will get help because a good doctor knows when they need help.
I opened my eyes, looked at the small gathering, thinking it sad that my uncle didn’t have more people to send him out of this world and on to the next. He might have been an outsider, but he’d earned the respect of just about every resident in Boone’s Ferry.
But I knew everyone else was either sick or hiding in their houses with the doors locked, afraid to come out.
And there was a reason for that fear. So many of the sick now ran through the streets attacking passersby, drawing blood, spreading the sickness.
When you went outside now, it was best to take a weapon—a shotgun, an ax—and to keep your eyes alert for any movement in the shadows.
These last few days, we’d watched as familiar neighbors—Mrs. Hodgson, my old grade-school teacher; Jack Dorsey, the sweet boy who ran the lathe at the factory—turned into something else, their eyes yellow, their breathing raspy.
They’d throw off their clothes and attack anyone who crossed their paths.
It was like something from a nightmare or a terrible book about a living hell.
To make matters worse, the sick were still being gunned down.
Shots were heard at all hours of the day and night.
Bodies carted off to the church to be prayed over and buried quickly, without questions.
People continued to leave food, coins, and rum on their doorsteps—offerings for the knackerman. They did it even now that he was dead so that his spirit would be appeased and spare them.
“What are we going to do?” Pearl asked now.
We were in my room, resting together in my bed. I’d just changed Pearl’s dressing—her wounds looked good, showed no trace of infection.
I bit my lip, tucked a piece of hair behind Pearl’s ear, smoothing it.
“I’m going to go get help. The weather’s been clear for days, most of the snow is gone.
I’ll walk through the pass to Amsterdale.
I’ll find my aunt. Then I’ll board the train to Boston and go to the hospital where Uncle Thomas used to work.
I’ll look for some of the men he worked with there, men who trained him. ”
Pearl sat up and threw her legs over the edge of the bed, fluttering her hands over her nightgown.
She flinched a little from the effort. “We’ll need to go to my house to get clothing and a suitcase.
I don’t need much. I have money and I can buy things in Boston.
It’ll be dark soon. We shouldn’t travel at night. We should go first thing tomorrow.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head firmly. “You’re going to stay here.”
“Like hell!” Pearl said. “I’m coming with you. You’re not leaving me.” She grabbed my wrist with a strength that surprised me.
“Pearl,” I said in a soothing voice, “you’re not well enough to travel. You were shot and had surgery. You need to rest and to get well.”
“But what am I supposed to do? Just stay here all by myself?”
“You’ll have Aife for company,” I said, calling the dog, who trotted in from her bed in the kitchen near the woodstove. Her toenails clicked as she hurried to us across the wood floor. She came and rested her chin on the edge of Pearl’s bed. Pearl stroked her head.
“There’s plenty of food—there’s all that’s in the pantry, and the canned goods in the cellar.
I’ll bring armloads up for you,” I went on.
“You’ve got all the books in my uncle’s library to keep you entertained.
You are going to stay here with the door locked and not open it for anyone until I return. Do you understand?”
Pearl only stared.
“Promise me,” I said. “Promise me you’ll stay here and wait for me.”
“And what are you going to do if I say no?” Pearl asked. “Shoot me again?” She gave me a wicked little smile.
“That’s not funny. You know how terrible I feel about what happened. How guilty I feel that you’re here in this bed because of me.”
“Because I jumped out at you,” Pearl corrected.
“I could have killed you,” I said, looking away.
Pearl reached for my face, turned it toward hers, stroked my cheek.
“But you didn’t. And personally, I think I’m going to have a rather fetching scar.” She grinned her fox grin. “Something that ties me to you forever.”
I shook my head. “I’d much rather it was a piece of jewelry I’d given you that tied us together and made you think of me each time you saw it.”
“Like a wedding ring?” Pearl asked.
My face and ears grew red.
Pearl crossed her arms defiantly over her chest and pouted. “Are you saying you don’t want to marry me, Frances O’Massey?”
“No! That’s not what I’m saying. But what you’re asking… it’s…”
“If you say it’s impossible, I’ll remind you we’ve had our share of impossible things happening around here lately.”
I nodded. “Indeed we have.”
“I’ll make a deal with you, Frankie. I’ll stay here and be a good housewife all on my own, but when you come back from the big city, you bring me a ring. Is that an agreeable arrangement?”
I smiled. “Very agreeable indeed,” I said, and leaned in to kiss Pearl. She pulled me to her.
“Careful,” I said, “I don’t want to hurt you or rip your sutures. I just put on a clean dressing and—”
“The hell with the dressing,” she said, kissing my lips, my cheek, nibbling my neck while her deft fingers unbuttoned my shirt.
LATER, WHILE PEARL rested, I spent much of the afternoon preparing. I went to Pearl’s house to gather some of her clothing and belongings. I got Benjamin Stoddard’s Winchester rifle and brought it to Pearl.
“Just in case,” I said. “Do you know how to use it?”
“Of course I do,” Pearl said, picking up the gun, checking to see that it was loaded. “My father used to take me duck hunting when I was younger. I was a better shot than he.”
I stuffed my old canvas knapsack with bread, hard cheese, salami, and a flask of water. I packed my pipe and tobacco and threw in a couple of changes of clothes, extra wool socks, and my uncle’s Smith and Wesson. The same revolver he’d used to put a bullet in his own head.
Our last night together, I slept beside Pearl, spooned against her, listening to her breath and trying to time my own to match hers.
Pearl would be safe here. She had to be.
I’d get to Boston and back as quickly as I could.
“I will come back for you,” I whispered as my beloved slept beside me. “I will come back with a ring in my pocket.”
Just a few days, I told myself. If the weather was right and the trains were running, I should be back in four or five days at the latest.