Chapter Twenty-Eight Frankie
TWENTY-EIGHT FRANKIE
It was just after dawn, and Uncle Thomas had finally sent Aunt Margaret to bed.
She’d been up all night with us, helping with patients—answering the door when more came, refilling basins with fresh water, making coffee and sandwiches for the patients gathered in the dining room, doing her best to make them comfortable.
Pearl had gone to sleep in the guest room just past two a.m., but Margaret had stayed up.
By the time the sun rose, she was staggering with exhaustion. “You need your rest,” Uncle Thomas told her. “Go up and sleep for a few hours. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for the baby.”
“But there’s so much to do,” she argued. “We need more clean cloths and towels. We’re out of blankets. I can go check with neighbors, see if anyone has bedding, pillows, or cots we might be able to use. We can move that big old table out of the way and set up a row of beds. I just need to—”
“Frankie will do it.”
“But I—”
“I’ll wake you if we need you,” he said. He made her a cup of tea laced with brandy and sent her up.
“You should sleep a few hours too,” he told me. “I’ll keep an eye on the patients in the dining room.”
“After I do the washing and clean up in here a bit,” I said.
The dog was following me from room to room, hoping that perhaps her breakfast was on my agenda.
I gave her some scraps, and after eating, she settled on the bed Aunt Margaret had set up for her beside the woodstove, making herself right at home.
I was hanging a load of cloths to dry on the rack in the kitchen when there was a sharp knock at the kitchen door, startling me. Aife jumped up and followed me to answer it. I anticipated another sick or injured person waiting outside.
Then I paused, my hand on the doorknob, thinking, What if it isn’t?
Patients always used the front entrance that led to my uncle’s office.
I imagined him, the knackerman, waiting for me on the other side, his breath whistling, his eyes burning yellow like the devilish face on a jack-o’-lantern on All Hallows’ Eve.
I grabbed my aunt’s best carving knife from the counter, concealing it behind my back as I held my breath and opened the door.
“Frankie.” Charlotte Albone stood opposite me. “May I come in? I’d like to visit with you and your uncle.”
Her round face was very serious, her long gray hair seemingly whiter than the last time I saw her.
“Of course. Please come in, Mrs. Albone,” I said with great relief, holding the door open.
The old midwife was about the last person I ever expected to be inviting into my uncle’s office.
In the five years Uncle Thomas had been in town, they’d mostly avoided one another, giving polite nods and smiles when necessary.
“May I take your coat?” I asked.
She peeled off her heavy wool outerwear, giving me a sly look. “Do you often greet guests with a carving knife hidden behind your back?”
“No… I…” I stammered, flustered.
“Strange times we find ourselves in, are they not?” she asked. “Strange times breed strange behaviors. Send even the most steady-hearted of us spinning off-kilter.”
I nodded, my face burning, as I set down the knife on the counter, took the old woman’s coat.
“Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs. Albone?” I asked. “We’ve got some delicious applesauce cake Aunt Margaret made.”
“No thank you, dear. I won’t be visiting long.” She reached down and gave the dog a pat. “Hello, Aife,” she said.
“You know her?” I was surprised.
She smiled at me, still petting Aife. “There aren’t many creatures in Boone’s Ferry I don’t know.
And this girl here had worms last spring.
The knackerman came to me for a remedy. I fixed her up in no time.
” She scratched Aife’s ears, then stood up straight, looked at me.
“I understand you’ve become quite a healer under your uncle’s tutelage,” she said. Her breathing seemed labored, raspy.
I felt my cheeks grow warm. “I do my best. I’m very grateful for all of my uncle’s efforts. I’ve learned a great deal from him.”
The old woman gave me a sly smile. “Seems to me he’s the one who ought to be grateful. For having such a bright pupil. An indispensable helper.”
I looked down at the ground and gave a bashful nod.
“Just remember, Frankie,” the midwife continued. “As knowledgeable a man as your uncle is, there’s plenty he doesn’t know. And a truly skilled healer never forgets that. There are mysteries in the human body, in life itself, that cannot be explained away in any medical book.”
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“To be a gifted healer, you need to trust the part of yourself that knows things you cannot possibly know.”
I gave her a puzzled look.
“You always were an intuitive girl,” she said. “Tell me, dear, do you still have nightmares?”
I nodded again, feeling a bit uneasy. “Let’s go speak with my uncle, shall we?”
And with that I led Charlotte down the hall, through the waiting room, and into the office, where Uncle Thomas was sitting at his desk, head cradled in one hand, the other hand furiously taking notes.
“Mrs. Albone.” Uncle Thomas’s voice rose an octave; he didn’t even bother to hide the surprise in his voice. He rose from his chair.
With all the lanterns blazing in the exam room, I got a good look at Charlotte. She appeared years older than when I had run into her at the general store last week. Her eyes were yellow and sunken, the lines around her mouth deeper.
“You’re ill,” I said before I could think.
“I am.” She sounded tired, yet not the least distressed.
“How did it happen?” Uncle Thomas asked. “Were you attacked? Bitten?”
She nodded. “Like you, I’ve been tending to the sick and injured.” She showed us a cloth bandage on her arm. “I’ve been helping the ones who won’t come to see you.”
Uncle Thomas clenched his jaw.
“Did you know there’s talk, Doctor, that you’re partly to blame for this sickness?”
“Excuse me?” My uncle looked angry, but also truly perplexed.
“But that’s absurd!” I blurted out. “He’s been working himself to the bone, helping people. Our dining room is full of patients right now! He is—we are—doing everything we can to help them.”
“I know, child, and I agree,” she said. “Of course I agree. I’m just telling you the gossip.
They’re saying there’s more the doctor could have done, should have done, to stop this from happening in the first place.
They say… he should have put a bullet in the knackerman’s head when he first showed up and wasn’t himself. ”
“Mrs. Albone.” Uncle Thomas’s voice was calm and level. “Is that what you would have done? Put a bullet through a man’s head? A man sick and suffering with fever, who needed your help?”
She did not answer, simply shook her head once, dismissing the very notion. She looked into my uncle’s eyes. “Is it true? That the man died and came back?”
“It appeared that way, but—”
“Is it true, Frankie?” she asked, looking at me.
I nodded.
She fished around in her pocket, pulled out two little bags on long loops of string, and held them up. “Please, I brought these for you.”
Uncle Thomas accepted one of the sachets from her bony hands, sniffed it. “Healing charms?”
“I can’t heal this sickness. But these herbs of protection will keep the evil out of you.”
I took the other bag, smelled the pungent, bitter herbs inside, and slipped the string around my neck, tucking the bag under my shirt. Uncle Thomas set his on the exam table, careful, I thought, to treat the object with respect—at least in front of our guest.
“Not much of an offering, I know,” Charlotte said apologetically. “But then again, I don’t imagine there’s much you have to offer me, am I right?”
He nervously cleared his throat.
“You have no idea what this is, do you?” she asked.
“That’s correct. What about you, Mrs. Albone? Have you ever seen anything like it?”
She sighed, sat herself down on the stool Uncle Thomas usually used. “No. I have not. But, Tom—may I call you Tom? Your wife always refers to you as Tom, so I must admit that’s how I’ve come to think of you.”
He leaned back against his exam table.
I felt a shift in the air.
“I didn’t realize you and my wife were acquainted,” he said with obvious surprise. “May I ask—”
The old woman clucked her tongue, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, and dabbed at her damp forehead.
“To continue my answer to your original question, Tom, I have not seen anything like this. But I have prayed on it, as I do over other things that have puzzled me in the course of my life. I prayed on it and received an answer.”
“An answer?”
“From the Angel Gabriel. He came to me in a dream. He told me Judgment Day was upon us and we’d best atone for our sins.”
“Mrs. Albone, I don’t think—”
She let out a series of deep, raspy coughs, but held her hand up, signaling to Thomas that she wasn’t finished. “He said that we brought this evil on ourselves,” she said. “The entire town. We called it here.”
“With all due respect, Mrs. Albone, this is an illness, not a biblical plague.” His voice shook slightly, faltering. Was he doubting himself? He cleared his throat. “Now, I’d like to give you some aspirin for the pain. Some cough medicine. And something to help you sleep.”
She shook her head, gave a mirthful chuckle. “I’ve got medicine that can do all of those things and more, Doctor.”
“Very well. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I’m afraid not. Like you, I’ve got sick patients of my own waiting at home for me. I came here hoping that perhaps you’d have some insight into how best to help them. I had to hope, didn’t I?”
He nodded.
“There is something that’s been bothering me, though, Tom. Something perhaps you can shed some light upon.”
“Oh?” Uncle Thomas said.
She looked at him a moment, considering. Then she turned and looked at me. “Frankie, dear, would you mind giving us some privacy?”
“Of course,” I said, bowing out of the room and shutting the door.
I froze there, listening at the door, knowing I shouldn’t but needing to know what the old woman had to say.
“Are you still well?” Charlotte asked. “And Margaret? Is she well?”
“We’re both just fine, thank you. What’s this about?”
“Tom, I’d like to ask you something. It’s… delicate.” Charlotte coughed hard now.
“Go right ahead.”
“The baby your wife is carrying. Is there a reason you wouldn’t want the child?”
“What?” His voice was sharp. “Of course I want the child! It’s our dream, mine and Margaret’s. It’s all we’ve ever wanted. Something we discussed and planned for before we were even married.”
There was silence for a moment. I could only hear my own heart pounding.
“I don’t mind telling you I find the very question offensive. What on earth would make you ask such a thing?” I had never heard him this worked up before.
“Margaret came to me two months ago and asked if there was a way to end her pregnancy. When I pressed her as to why, for I knew how much she had wanted this baby, she said she feared you would not want the child.”
“But that’s absurd!”
“That’s what I told her.” Another wet cough burst through the air. I imagined particles of whatever this sickness was floating under the door and circling me.
“I’m terribly fond of your wife, Tom. That’s why I’m here, telling you all of this.
Because it’s been bothering me. I know I’ve got bigger worries—the whole town so sick, I’m sick.
All this talk of the devil himself walking around in our midst. But it felt…
well, it’s been bothering me, is all. Like a splinter left under the skin too long. ”
“Well.” Thomas was silent for a moment, and when next he spoke, he was calm again. “I do appreciate your candor, Mrs. Albone.”
“And I’m relieved to hear that you want this baby very much,” Charlotte said. “I believe you’ll both be wonderful parents.” The old woman coughed again. “Did you know your wife came to me last year, asking for help in getting pregnant?”
“No,” he admitted. “I had no idea.”
“I gave her some red clover and raspberry tea, a tincture made from nettle, chasteberry, and black cohosh to strengthen her womb, and a fertility charm to amplify her own powers of motherhood. I’d say it worked, wouldn’t you?”
“I—” Uncle Thomas began, but stopped himself. I wasn’t sure if he meant to argue with her or agree with her.
“Keep a close eye on her,” the midwife said. “And if there’s a chance, any chance at all, send her away from this place before she gets ill.”
“I will,” he promised.
“Soon, Tom,” Charlotte said. There were footsteps, the old woman readying herself to leave, walking toward the door. I slipped away down the hall, catching Charlotte’s last words: “Before it’s too late.”