Chasing Secrets (18 page)

The small group in the back is moving forward, fire in their eyes. The leader on the small gray horse turns on them. “You immu-nozed? Any of you? You want to die?”

“Ain't going to die. Just burn the place. That'll take care of it.”

“The plague. You numskulls ever heard of it? Deadliest disease in the world.”

The Chinese are on one side with me. The mob on the other. Billy and Juliet stand between us.

“He's right!” Billy says. “You catch it, you die.”

“Hey, ain't that the fighter we saw the other night?”

“Billy!” somebody shouts. “It's Billy!”

Billy waves to them. “I'm the doctor's son. I know. It's dangerous to go in there. Don't risk it.”

“Got to get rid of it. How we going to do that?” somebody else shouts.

“Go on, then,” the mob leader shouts. “You want to kill yourself…it ain't a pretty way to go.”

“Burn it down. We can't catch nothing.”

“It don't work like that!”

“Best thing is to go home.” I hear a familiar voice. Out of the darkness, Gus appears! He trots his gray mare to our side. Gus stands with us.

“The rats!” Gus shouts. “Kill the rats! They spread the disease. That will get rid of it.”

This is such a smart thing to say. True or not, it gives the mob something to do.

“Kill the rats!” Billy takes up the cry.

“Kill the rats!” we all shout. “The rats! The rats! The rats!”

O
n the way home, I ride double behind Gus. Where exactly do I put my hands? How do I keep my legs from touching his? What if Aunt Hortense sees this? If there's anything more improper than riding bareback on your own, it's riding bareback behind a boy.

“How'd you know I'd be there?” I ask him.

“I'm starting to see how you operate.”

It seems after what I've been through, the least of my worries should be riding behind Gus, but it's practically all I think about the whole ride home. Being a girl is complicated. But it isn't all bad, I have to admit.

Noah rides behind Billy. Billy seems to know that Noah is Jing's son. How?

Gus lets me off in front of the gate. The fewer horses
that clatter across the driveway, the better. Nobody wants to wake Aunt Hortense. Noah slips wordlessly up the back stairs. Billy and I put Juliet away.

“Did you win?” I ask Billy, rubbing Juliet's legs with liniment.

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“I'm sorry.”

“That's okay. I have another plan.”

“For how to make the money?”

“Yep.”

“At least you don't look like you got beat up too badly this time. How'd you know I'd be there, anyway?” I ask, checking Juliet's water trough.

“I came home and put John Henry away. I was just finishing when Juliet trotted up, no bridle, no saddle. I ran upstairs to see if you were there. When you weren't, it wasn't hard to figure out where you'd be. You are such an idiot. Don't you realize how dangerous that was?”

“How'd you know about Noah?”

He smiles his most charming Billy smile as he tosses a flake of hay into Juliet's manger. “I went up to see the kittens.”

“You met him?”

“I found the poem you wrote for him.”

“But you didn't tell anyone.”

“Do I look like a squealer? Look.” He stops, brushing the hay out of his hair. “Keep this quiet, okay? There's more to Aunt Hortense than you think. But she'll never in a million years understand this.”

“I know,” I say, closing Juliet's stall door.

—

Upstairs, I head for Maggy's room like I used to right after Mama died. Maggy sits up in bed. “Miss Lizzie?”

I curl up in her bed. She strokes my hair as I tell her everything that happened. It doesn't matter if she doesn't understand it all. What matters is that she's here and she accepts me just as I am. When I'm finished telling her the whole long story, she settles me into my own bed.

—

In the kitchen the next morning, Jing is there, serving hotcakes. Our eyes watch each other. It's only the two of us. But he knows I know, and that makes all the difference.

“Why didn't you tell us about Noah?”

He nods as if he's been expecting this question. He wipes his hands on a dish towel. “It wouldn't have been fair.”

“Fair?” I frown at him.

“Mr. and Mrs. Sweeting would not have liked it. If I had told you, it would have put you and your papa in an awkward position. Against your own flesh and blood. It was my secret; it seemed unfair to burden you with it.”

As much as I hate to admit it, he's right.

“I'm glad I got to meet him. Is he still here?”

“Not for long.”

I nod. “Jing? Somebody's hiding the bodies of people who died of the plague in Chinatown, aren't they?”

He eyes me carefully. “It isn't just Chinatown. They're hiding them everywhere. Shipping them out on carts, on
train cars, in cargo holds. Doctors are falsifying death certificates. Nobody wants to believe what's happening.”

“Why?”

“Some are terrified. Others think it's bad for business. There's all kinds of finger-pointing and misinformation.”

“We have to get everyone immunized,” I say. “It's the only solution.”

“No!” His face is red; his nostrils flare.

“It's science, Jing. It's like the electric lights. Remember how we didn't believe that would work, either?”

He shakes his head, his face stony.

Half of my father's patients think evil spirits cause disease. They're certain a charm hung on a ribbon, a rabbit's foot, or an astrology chart is more effective than real medicine. But this is Jing. He's not like that.

I stand in front of him. “I was immunized. I can't get the plague.”

Jing turns and walks out the door.

—

In the parlor, the dark night cloth still hangs over the parrot, Mr. P. “Maggy Doyle,” the parrot chirps. “Maggy Doyle. Maggy Doyle.”

Strange, I've never heard the parrot say that before. Pretty much all he says is “dirty work” and “supper's ready.”

My boots are in Maggy's room. I go back up to get them. The hall is silent. Her door is closed. “Maggy? Are you up here?”

I knock. “Maggy?”

No answer.

I crack open the door. The room is hot and stuffy. Maggy is on her bed, shiny with sweat.

“Maggy!” I touch her forehead; heat radiates through my hand.

“You're sick,” I whisper.

She moans. Her eyes are closed, and her arms are crossed in front of her.

I try to think clearly as if this were a patient and not Maggy. Papa would wash his hands. He would take time to gather the supplies he needs. He would bring cool cloths for her fever, then examine her. He wouldn't jump to conclusions. He would remain calm.

I go downstairs, wash up, and get what I need.

Back in Maggy's room, I take the towel from her dresser, pour water into the bowl and soak the towel. Then I lay the cool cloth on her forehead, loosen her apron and high-collared shirtwaist. She must have gotten dressed for work but was too sick to leave her room.

I give her a sponge bath, gentle with her the way she is with me. I try to get her to take a sip of water.

Examining Maggy feels strange. But who is there to take care of her? Papa is gone. Dr. Roumalade won't treat a servant. There is only me. I need to find out as much as I can so I know how to help her.

“Maggy.” I try to make my voice as soothing as Papa's. “I'm going to take care of you.”

“No.” She sits up straight in bed.

“It's okay,” I whisper.

“Maggy works for Miss Lizzie,” Maggy says, trying to get out of bed.

“Today is opposite day,” I say. “Lizzie is going to work for Maggy.”

“Opposite day?”

Her arms relax, and she sinks back into bed. Then she begins shaking, thrashing, kicking off her covers.

I take a deep breath and examine her.

It's when I get to her left armpit that my hand begins to tremble. In the soft tissue of her lymph nodes are bruised swellings.

A drip of sweat slips down my back.

Don't jump to conclusions,
Papa's voice in my head reminds me. It could be a bruise. Carefully I check the right armpit, where I see the same thing a bit fainter and not in the same spot.

Maggy's eyes are closed, her head sunk back into the pillow. She's half-asleep, mumbling, talking like she sometimes does when she works. I get the worn old stuffed bear she keeps on her dresser and place it next to her.

“I'll be back.” I dash down the stairs just as Jing is coming up. “Maggy's sick,” I tell him.

His eyebrows rise.

“It looks like the plague,” I mumble.

I see the shock in his eyes, then run to Billy's room. Billy is still asleep. I gently wake him. “Billy, we need Papa. You have to get him
now
!”

“What?”

“You said Papa was in San Rafael. You said you knew where. Can you find him? It's Maggy…I think, I'm afraid…it's the plague.”

Billy's sits straight up in bed. “Get out of here so I can get dressed.”

A minute later he bolts out of the room, leaps down the stairs, grabs a cinnamon roll, heads to the barn, hooks the wagon to John Henry, and is gone.

I head for the cold box in the cold storage room, where Papa keeps his medicine. The bottles are in alphabetical order. Acetanilide, arnica, belladonna, bichloride of mercury…paregoric. No bottles say “Yersin's.”

I search the cabinets—bandages, scalpels, magnifying glasses, ointments, brace. Not a single bottle of Yersin's Plague Antiserum. I don't even know if it will work, now that she has it, but it's the only thing I can think to do.

Papa has a small practice. Maybe they didn't give him much. But what about Billy's dose? If I can find it, should I give it to Maggy? I wish I'd asked Billy before he left.

Did he immunize himself with the Yersin's? It's only one vial, and everybody needs it. Jing, Noah, Aunt Hortense, Uncle Karl, Maggy, Gemma, Gus, and Hattie. And all of those men last night. Papa said there isn't enough Yersin's.

How can you decide one life is more valuable than another?

I try to calculate how long it will take Billy to get to San Rafael and then for Papa and Billy to get home. One day. Is that too long for Maggy?

No one survives the hospital. It's unthinkable to send
anyone there. We need Dr. Roumalade, but how do we get him here for a servant?

Aunt Hortense likes Maggy. Can she persuade Roumalade to treat her?

I dash down the stairs and across the way to the Sweeting kitchen, where the quiet stuns me. No clanging of pots and rolling pins. Where is everyone? What happened?

“Aunt Hortense!” I panic, running through the empty rooms. The house echoes. “Aunt Hortense! Please!”

“Aunt Hortense!” I run up the grand stairwell and down the servants' stairs. I check the Irish quarters, then go down to the Chinese floor and back into the kitchen and dining room. Up the stairs to the music room. The whole house, as big as a hotel, is deserted.

What if Aunt Hortense is sick? She always worries about me, but I never think about her. It's just like Mama. I paid no attention, and then she was gone.

I hurry outside to the Sweeting stable. The horses are there. “Aunt Hortense!” I shout. “Don't leave me, too.” The tears run down my cheeks.

“Aunt Hortense!” I run up to our stable, my feet pounding the walkway.

And then she's here. Slipping and sliding in her fashionable boots, wearing a lavender dress that hangs loosely without her corset. Her hair is down. No hat or gloves. She reminds me so much of Mama this way.

“Lizzie,” she cries.

“I love you, Aunt Hortense. Do you love me?” My voice is cracking. The feelings are rising up in my chest, clogging my throat. She wraps her arms around me.

“Of course I love you, Lizzie. You and Billy are more important to me than anything else in the world. Don't you know that? Did you think I'd put up with all your nonsense if I didn't love you so much?”

“Maggy's sick. I think it's the plague. I read up on it. Fever, small bruised marks, a swelling in her armpit.”

Aunt Hortense freezes. The shock hits her hard.

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Where is she?”

“Her room. Aunt Hortense.” My throat is thick with fear. I can hardly get the words through it. “What about you? Have you been immunized?”

She nods. “Dr. Roumalade immunized me. Yersin's. Cost a pretty penny, too. Your papa told me he immunized you.”

I let out my breath. For a minute I just hold her, my arms trembling, aching with gratitude that she looked after herself.

“Can you call Dr. Roumalade? Will he come for Maggy?”

Aunt Hortense frowns, considering this. “Mr. Sweeting will get Roumalade.”

“He won't treat her.”

“He will if Mr. Sweeting insists.”

“Will Uncle Karl do that?”

Aunt Hortense looks at me. “I'll make certain he does.”

Whatever Uncle Karl's faults, he can bring Roumalade out when we need him. No one else could do that.