Fever 1793 (10 page)

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Bush Hill of last week. Mr. Stephen Girard, Lord bless his name, has taken over and turned this into a right proper hospital. All them thieving scoundrels have been driven off. You're lucky you were brought here. We have doctors, nurses, medicine, food-everything a fever victim needs. And we have enough problems without you running off the ward."

Grandfather coughed, and I handed him my tea. He emptied the cup and handed it back to me. "Mattie knows all about Stephen Girard," he told Mrs. Flagg. "He has visited our fine establishment several times. Indeed, it has been my honor to break bread with him."

Break bread? Since when did he call stuffing down Eliza's cinnamon rolls in the same room as Stephen Girard (and twenty others) "breaking bread?" Grandfather did admire Mr. Girard, that much was true. Girard was a rich Frenchman with a finger in every pie; he was a merchant, an importer, and a banker. But what did Mr. Girard have to do with Bush Hill?

"He came through here like a hurricane, he did," Mrs. Flagg explained. "He fired the slovenly devils who caused all the trouble. Then he ordered repairs on the water pumps, hired good folks like me, and laid in supplies. We even have a fancy French officer, Dr. Deveze, who supervises the patients, and Mrs. Saville for our matron."

"With a name like Bridget you are surely not French, are you, Mrs. Flagg?" asked Grandfather.

"Good gracious, no, what a question," laughed Mrs. Flagg. "I can barely make out what they're saying half the time, but they work hard, and the pay is good. And I'll tell you this," she said, leaning closer and lowering her voice.

"You'll hear folks say that Dr. Rush is a hero for saving folks with his purges and blood letting. But I've seen different. It's these French doctors here that know how to cure the fever. I don't care if Dr. Rush did sign the Declaration of Independence. I wouldn't let him and his knives near me."

I shivered as I remembered the blood Dr. Kerr had drained from Mother. Maybe Grandfather should return to the house and bring her here. What if Dr. Kerr bled her too much?

"Does Mother know I'm here?" I asked.

Grandfather sat down on my bed. "It's quite a topsyturvy time we're in, my sweet. We've been gone from home nearly five days now."

"What! Five days!'"

Mrs. Flagg gently pushed me back on the pillow. "Easy, child."

"Much has happened," Grandfather continued. "Once you were installed here, I rode into the city to see Lucille, tell her where you were." He paused to cough. "I found the house locked up tight as you like. Knowing her, she rode out to Ludingtons' to join us. I sent a letter yesterday."

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Mrs. Flagg picked up the tray. "There you go. Everything is right with the world. You might not hear back from your mother for a while, though. The post has become most unreliable." She said something else, but I could only hear buzzing. My eyes closed against my will.

"Now look what we've done, Captain," Mrs. Flagg exclaimed. "Here we are chatting like magpies, and your darling granddaughter still so sick."

Grandfather patted my head. "Sleep well, child."

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

September 22nd, 1793

Wives were deserted by husbands, and children by parents. The chambers of diseases were deserted, and the sick left to die of negligence. None could be found to remove the lifeless bodies. Their remains, suffered to decay by piecemeal, filled the air with deadly exhalations, and added tenfold to the devastation.

-Charles Brockden Brown

Arthur Mervyn; or Memoirs of the Year 1793

For long days and nights, stories flew over my head as I slept in my narrow bed at Bush Hill. Nurses and doctors, weeping relatives, and volunteers from the Free African Society whispered their sorrows. They echoed around the beautiful hall with the glittering chandelier.

They told of a small child found huddled around the body of her dead mother. As volunteers placed the mother in a coffin, the child had cried out, "Why are you putting Mamma in that box?" They had to turn the child over to a neighbor and take the mother away for burial.

They told of the dying man who pulled himself to the window of his bedchamber and begged people to bring him a drink of water. Many passed by, hurrying away from the sound of his voice, until a brave soul entered the house to help him.

They told of thieves who crept in and stole jewelry off the dead and dying.

They told of good people who refused to take any money for helping strangers, even though they themselves were poor and near destitute.

They told of the mighty who had fallen ill: Secretary of the Treasury Alexander Hamilton and Dr. Rush himself. Both had recovered, though Dr. Rush's sister had died. Hamilton had fled the city.

They told of terror: patients who had tried to jump out of windows when the fever robbed their reason, screams that pierced the night, people who were buried alive, parents praying to die after burying all their children.

I laid my pillow over my head to protect myself from visions of the dead, but I could not breathe. No one told stories of a painter's assistant named Nathaniel or a cook named Eliza. No one told of my mother. A breeze stirred through the open window, and the crystals of the chandelier struck a gentle chord. The voices faded.

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On the tenth morning, I was visited by a French doctor, Dr. Deveze. He did not carry a lancet or bowl. He seemed most concerned with the color of my eyes and tongue, and the temper of my pulse. He grunted with satisfaction.

"She will live," Dr. Deveze said. He turned to Mrs. Flagg. "She stays here one more night, then move her to the barn. You have the hunger?" he asked me.

"Yes," I answered. "I'm famished."

"Feed this girl," he said with a smile. "It is good to see a patient who eats." He patted my hand and moved on.

"Excuse me, excuse me, please," I called after him. What would happen to me? Did we have to walk to Gwynedd? How could we get home? My voice was too weak to carry far, and the doctor was already concentrating on the next jaundiced face.

"What's the trouble, love?" asked Mrs. Flagg as she brought a dinner tray. As I poured out my concerns to her, she tucked a napkin under my chin.

"Too many questions. You'll make yourself sick again. There is only one thing for you to worry about: finishing this here meal. You won't be leaving here for a few days at least. You can't solve tomorrow's problems today, but you can put some meat on those skinny bones."

I nodded and dug into my supper. It didn't take long to finish the small portion of mutton and bread. When

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it was gone, Mrs. Flagg handed me a bowl of rice and boiled prunes.

"It's got a wee bit of sugar on it," she whispered. "Young ladies need something sweet. And when you're done with that, you'll have a good wash and move to your new bed over in the barn."

The barn wasn't at all what I imagined. The faint smell of manure was everywhere, but the walls were whitewashed and the dirt floor swept clean. The oak doors stood open to let in sunshine and whatever breeze there was. Thick stone walls kept the inside as cool as a cellar. I preferred the smell of hay and horses to the death stench of the hospital. It was a relief to be around people who had the strength to sit up and didn't cry out in pain.

Grandfather looked in on me several times a day. I think he was uncomfortable being around the sick. Mrs. Flagg filled me in on his activities: He helped to organize the delivery of food and the burning of filthy mattresses and rags; he sat in on the committee meetings where decisions were made about raising money and caring for the sick. He had pitched a tent in the yard and told me stories about watching the stars at night. I think he secretly enjoyed the commotion. It reminded him of the War again. It gave him something to do.

I would gladly have joined him, but I was too tired. I spent several days eating mutton that tasted like saw-

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dust, picking bugs off my blanket, and sleeping. I did not have any more nightmares, but I always woke confused, thinking I was surrounded by people I knew, instead of sick strangers. Once I thought I saw Nathaniel, but it was another nameless orderly. I wondered if I were being haunted by ghosts.

How had Nathaniel fared? Was he lying in a sickbed thinking of me? Doubtful. He was probably painting flowers for one of Master Peale's daughters who watched him with stupid cow eyes. I couldn't remember where I had put his painting before we left home. Had I shown it to Mother? What if she found it? Would she burn it?

Thinking of Mother made me twist and turn restlessly. She had not responded to the letters Grandfather sent to the Ludingtons. I could see her ordering the Ludington pigs to march in a straight line, or replanting their corn fields in orderly rows. If I had recovered from the fever, surely she was on her feet again. Unless ... I couldn't think of that possibility. But why hadn't she written?

Maybe she was glad to be rid of me for a while. Eliza would miss me, but I had no idea how to find her. Some thought that black-skinned people couldn't get yellow fever, but I had seen two sick in the hospital. Eliza lived close to the river, where the disease had started. Who would take care of her if she were sick?

Every day I felt stronger and had more questions. By

JOC?

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the sixth morning, I felt ready to explode with frustration. I left my bed for the first time and walked to the necessary without assistance. This was a sweet victory. After lunch, I was visited by Mrs. Flagg and a frowning clerk with a spotted face who carried an account book, an ink pot, and quill.

"We have not been able to contact your mother, Miss ...," said the man as he squinted to read the writing on the page.

"Cook."

"Miss Cook." He scribbled on the page. "You are well enough to leave. It would be immoral to turn a child out into the streets, so you will be taken to the orphan house."

"No! I am not an orphan."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Where is your father?'

"He died years ago."

"Your mother was ill, according to Mrs. Flagg, but you do not know her whereabouts."

"She was sick, but I'm sure she's better now. She's at home, the Cook Coffeehouse. If you will just send me there."

"Other relatives?"

Mrs. Flagg interrupted. "Mattie is the granddaughter of Captain William, the gentleman who has been such a help in the kitchen. I'll fetch him now. He has been waiting for the doctor to release her."

The clerk did not look pleased that I had a living rel-

ative. His heart was set on sending me to the orphan house, I could tell. His pen scratched along the page. He blew on it to dry the ink, then closed the book and folded his glasses. He opened his mouth once to say something, but closed it again. He looked like a toad.

Mrs. Flagg returned with Grandfather in tow. His face was bright red and his shirt was stained, but I thought he looked as handsome as ever.

"What's this I hear about you being ready to go back into battle?" Grandfather asked.

The toady clerk answered for me. "Patients who have recovered enough to walk on their own must be discharged, Sir. Provisions can be made to send this child to the orphan house, if you prefer."

I squeaked a protest. "I am not a child!"

"She can stay in the orphan house until her mother is found. If she is found," the clerk amended. "She would be cared for quite well, Sir, I can assure you of that. Life will be difficult for us all until these dark times are over. The orphan house may be the safest place for her."

Grandfather puffed up his chest and crossed his arms. "No kin of mine goes to an orphan house, not as long as I have breath in my body. Your recommendation is insulting, Sir. I served with President Washington himself. I commanded troops that sent redcoats running back across the ocean, and you suggest that I cannot care for this little snippet of a girl? I shall report your impudence to the president."

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The man pinched the top of his nose and wrinkled his brow.

"If President Washington is displeased, you may encourage him to come here and speak to me directly," the clerk said. "We have too many lost souls wandering the city streets. I wouldn't want to see this girl join them. But you need not listen to me. My work is done. There is a wagon going into the city tomorrow. You may ride along."

He gave Grandfather the smallest of nods, gathered his supplies, and hopped off.

"Foolish, meddling nitwit," grumbled Grandfather. He would have said more, but just then he broke into a fit of coughing. He pulled at his collar and gasped for air. Mrs. Flagg pushed him down to sit on my bed, and I pounded his back in alarm. When the fit passed, he sat motionless for a moment, then opened his eyes.

"Look at the two of you," he laughed. "What? Did you expect me to expire right here? No such luck. I've got a girl to care for, and," he lifted Mrs. Flagg's hand to his lips, "a lady whom I've promised to take to a ball one day."

Mrs. Flagg dissolved into giggles that reminded me of the Ogilvie sisters.