Streams of Mercy (21 page)

Thomas surely heard the sheriff’s voice, because he was frowning, leaning forward attentively.

“What are you saying?” Thorliff’s spirit thudded.

“Plague train! They stopped here wanting to use our medical facilities, and we chased them away. Drove ’em off, and good riddance. I called around and learned that a couple other towns chased them away too. I’m really sorry Blessing didn’t, Bjorklund.”

We were such fools! God, why did you not
warn us?
Thorliff sighed heavily. “You turned them away. What legal precept was that? I mean, what legal basis did you have?”

“Bjorklund, I’m sworn to protect the citizens, and the citizens’ lives were at stake. I didn’t need any legal basis. I did it.”

“But we need some sort of legal basis here, I think.”

“You’re right. You gotta elect yourselves a village constable to handle this sort of thing.”

They chatted a few more minutes as the sheriff asked about Miriam, Elizabeth, and Astrid. Finally he hung up.

Devlin sat back. “Well, that explains much.”

“Too much.” Thorliff’s heart ached. If only they had known . . . “I suggest we put a line on the flyer that if anyone has had diphtheria before, we need their help in caring for the sick.”

“Good idea.”

Thorliff crossed to the door and propped it open to get some air moving through the building. “This heat sure isn’t helping any.”

Together they wrote and designed the flyer. Thorliff set the type, and Thomas ran the printer. He held up the first sheet for their fast edit and mutual approval and then cranked out the printed flyers. They handed them out, and within an hour most of the people in town had received the paper. Copies were posted in all the public places.

Thorliff kept busy, refusing to allow the bone-wracking fear to take over. Elizabeth had gone out to the train. He’d not asked her if she’d had the disease as a child or received the antitoxin while in Chicago. But as far as he could figure, they might not have had the antidote yet when she received her medical training there. And she never had regained her full strength after the birth of Roald. Lack of knowledge was a strong part of that fear. So far all they knew was that diphtheria was most deadly to small children and older people with infirmities.

He started calling around. He learned that Miriam and her family had been exposed and had light cases. Mrs. Geddick remembered having croup, at least. Mr. Sidorov said he had lost two brothers and a sister but had lived through it. Reverend Solberg wasn’t sure if he’d had croup or diphtheria. Both of the student nurses had been inoculated when they went into the nursing program. Those who had grown up in Blessing and came from Norway were the vulnerable ones.

Everything hinged on the arrival of the antitoxin. And nothing could bring it faster than the train.

Thorliff went in search of his wife and Astrid at the hospital.

The door was blocked with a sign saying
No admittance. Call for assistance.
Head nurse Deborah MacCallister saw him standing there and came to speak to him through the door.

“How can I help you, Thorliff?”

“What is happening here?”

“Another of the circus children died, and we are hoping to get
supplies in time to save the others. Astrid has done two tracheotomies. Everything here has to be boiled with carbolic acid. It’s a good thing we only had three patients here before this hit. Elizabeth did an inspection of the circus train and told them what they must do to try to save other lives. There are too many more sick people out there. They are setting up an infirmary tent behind the mill.”

“Thomas Devlin is immune. I suggest you put him in charge of helping those on the train and don’t allow any more into the hospital.”

“That’s what Dr. Elizabeth wanted to do—isolate them somewhere else—but we can’t just let people die without help.”

He told her about the flyers and what they were doing, but he did not mention Stetler’s perfidy. He handed her the list of people they knew were immune. “I’ve asked them to come help as we need them. How are you staffwise?”

“Everyone is exhausted, but Mrs. Geddick just keeps cooking. Keeping ahead of the sheets and bedding to wash is impossible. Miriam’s sisters and eldest brother are here helping with laundry and meals, but the youngest two were born after their family had it.”

“We’ve sent some of the men over to the cemetery to dig graves.” Thorliff rubbed his forehead. “And we thought we had a pretty good emergency plan for here.”

“I have to go. I’m needed.”

“Thank you.” He headed back to the newspaper office to start a special edition of the paper. And answer the telephone.

“Thorliff,” Sophie called from outside the door.

“Come on in.” He hoped he smiled at her, but by this time he was not sure.

“Do you suppose anyone who came in on the train that dropped off the circus train could have caught diphtheria from being on the same train?”

“You’d have to ask Astrid or Elizabeth about that, but from what I know, it is not likely.”

“If someone brings it into the boardinghouse . . .” She shook her head. “We should never have let that circus train stop here.”

“We had no idea what they were carrying. All the owner said was he had some sick people aboard. He failed to mention he had two dead bodies.”

“News travels fast here in Blessing, and I tell you, people are already close to panic. Perhaps we should just send them on their way.”

He stared at her. Sophie glared back at him. “So you want us to reload the sick and dying onto the train and expect another town to take them in?” All the while he was shaking his head. “Sophie, we have to deal with things the way they are. As long as none of your boarders were involved when the train stopped and you don’t go near the hospital, you and your family should be safe.”

“In an article I read, they burned the bodies and all the clothes, everything that touched the sick person.”

“True, but boiling with carbolic acid works the same, and those at the hospital are doing their best to contain it.”

“But what if their best isn’t good enough? What if . . . what if the disease is carried on the breeze? What about the bodies they are going to bury? Maybe burning them would be better.”

Thorliff tipped his head from side to side, trying to stretch out his shoulders and neck. “You are asking questions that God alone knows the answers to. Now go back to the boardinghouse, warn everyone, and make sure your children stay home. We’ll post quarantine signs if we know of a house and family that have been infected. The antitoxin should be here the day after tomorrow.”

“Are they sending enough for the whole town?”

“I have no idea.”

“What if someone has already been exposed? Will the inoculation stop the disease?”

“Sophie, I am not a medical doctor. I don’t have all the answers.” He raised a hand. “And before you ask, yes, Elizabeth has been exposed, as have all the others working at the hospital. Only God knows tomorrow.” He knew he was quoting Reverend Solberg, because right now he wasn’t sure if he trusted God to protect them or not. Or to heal those who were ill.

She asked, “Do you know when Hjelmer will be back in town?”

“No, and don’t go ask Penny. Use the telephone.”

Sophie glared. “You needn’t be condescending. I have every right to be concerned.”

“Don’t we all?” He didn’t tell her that Elizabeth had been home to sleep beside him before they learned the true diagnosis. She’d held her children. Could that bring it to them also? He watched the screen door slam behind her and ran his fingers through his hair. The headache did not want to go away. If only he and the others had not answered the call when their wives asked them for help in transporting patients from the train to the hospital.

The stench on that train should have scared them away right from the beginning.

Every time he closed his eyes, the horror of it blasted him again. Two or three dead bodies, people coughing and choking, children crying, some fighting to breathe, others lying in their bunks turning blue. The quarters so close, a narrow aisle between rows of bunk beds, some holding two sick ones. The lanterns hanging from the ceiling cast more shadows than light, like ghostly figures reaching to strangle the suffering. He had to step outside before he vomited. He’d never smelled anything
like that, not even years earlier when they had to burn all the cloven-hoofed animals due to the hoof and mouth disease that had come in from the south. He could still see his pa crying as they shot all the milking cows and calves and rolled them into a pit to burn.

But now it was people dying, and more still coming down with the disease. He had scrubbed himself raw when he got back to his house, drained the water, and scrubbed again. But still the stench lingered. That gut-wrenching miasma could be creeping into the homes and streets of Blessing, and they had no way to stop it.

The telephone rang his signal. Like an old man, he pushed himself to his feet and went to lift the earpiece.

“How is the list coming of those who can help?” John Solberg didn’t bother with a greeting.

“Let me get it.” Thorliff read him the list. “I have a question mark next to your name.”

“I know. I remember Mor telling me I had the croup as a child. I don’t remember it, but we don’t know if it was diphtheria or not. I am going on the assumption that I am immune, since I did not die.”

“I see.”

Solberg continued, “Devlin is on his way over to the train after talking with Astrid and Elizabeth. I sent Boris Sidorov with him.”

“Miriam and the older ones of her family are over there now, doing whatever they are asked, and Trygve and the two younger ones have been ordered not to show up.”

“But Trygve helped move sick ones from the train,” Reverend Solberg protested.

“I know. As did you. I am making a list of those who have been exposed and reminding all of you to be there when the
train comes in. You will be first in line for the inoculations. We’re going to set up the inoculations at the schoolhouse, so you needn’t go into the hospital. I think Miriam will be in charge of that.”

“I’ve told your mor not to come into town.”

“As did I. She is calling to gather sheets and making more cough syrup. They are out of so many things at the hospital.” Thorliff thought for a moment. “Has anyone put out a call for butchered chickens to make soup? Mor always said that chicken soup was the best food to feed the sick.”

“No, but I will put someone on that, to ask the farmers, since so few of them have a telephone. Right now I am so grateful that school was already out for the summer.”

Thorliff hung up, shaking his head. Good thing someone could find something to be grateful for. All he could think was
What if?
And it was all way beyond anything he could control.

He left the office and mounted the stairs to the porch, hoping for a breeze to lighten the heavy air. He didn’t need to open the door to hear Roald crying, “Ma, Ma.”

Inga met him. “I want to go to Grandma’s to make sure she does not have sad eyes again. Roald won’t quit crying.”

“You cannot go to Grandma’s because everyone is being asked to stay in their own house.”

“But we are not sick.”

“I hope not. But that is the rule, and we must obey it.”

She clamped her arms across her chest. “Can I go outside at least?”

“Ja, but you have to stay in the yard and not talk to anyone.” Thorliff took his son from Thelma’s arms and jiggled him as he went out on the porch, where now there was a tiny breeze. “Hush, son. Ma will come back soon.” Roald’s eyes were red and swollen from crying, and he rubbed them again, with his
nose running too. Thelma wiped his nose with a piece of muslin and rubbed some salve on his red nose and cheeks.

“Poor little one.” Indomitable Thelma looked to be close to the end of her rope too.

“Inga, how about pulling Roald around the yard in your wagon?”

She glared at her little brother. “Do I have to?”

Thorliff swallowed before answering. Even so, his words were clipped sharp. “Yes, you have to.”

With a snort, she stomped down the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

“To get the wagon.”

Thelma handed him a bottle of milk, but Roald pushed that away and started to cry again.

Thorliff lifted a pillow from the chair on the porch and put it in the wagon for a cushion, then set Roald on top of it. Scooter jumped up to lick his face, but Roald even pushed him away, something unheard of. If anything could make Roald laugh, the little dog was always successful.

“Be gentle with Scooter,” Inga ordered, leaning over to pat her dog and get her cheek kissed. She set Scooter up on the wagon and pulled them off around the corner of the house, sending a glare over her shoulder. The one-and-a-half-year-old kept on crying.

Thelma carried a tray out on the porch to set on the table. “Lemonade and cookies. Perhaps you can have a few minutes to yourself here.”

Thorliff drank half a glass and held the cool surface to his face, tipped his head back against the cushion, and inhaled. The exhale brought his shoulders down somewhere toward normal. He repeated the pattern and sipped from the glass.

A pain-filled shriek jerked him to his feet. Roald! He leaped
down the steps and around to the front yard. “What happened?” His son was sitting in the grass, bellowing.

“Scooter jumped out and he reached for Scooter. I grabbed for him, and the wagon fell over, and he banged his head on the wagon, and . . .” Inga gulped air.

Thorliff glared at her and scooped up his son.

Thelma charged out the front door and down the steps. “What happened?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Inga looked ready to cry. He didn’t need two of them.

Thorliff checked the baby’s head for any bumps. Scooter yipped. Inga tried to quiet the dog.

“You have to be more careful!”

Inga burst into tears and stomped up the stairs, grabbed the screen door handle, and let the door slam behind her.

“Here, I’ll take him.” Thelma ignored the cries for “Ma!” and rocked back and forth, at the same time whispering mother songs.