Glimmers of Change (7 page)

She gasped when she opened the door to Abby’s beautiful home and felt warmth pour out toward her. “Heat!” she cried joyfully.

“Shut that door!” a voice called. “It’s taken us all afternoon to get the house warm.”

Janie laughed as a wave of delicious aromas flowed to her on the warm air. “Gladly! Especially if I really am smelling barley soup and bread. Please tell me I’m not having hallucinations.”

Elizabeth Gilbert, her round face smudged with flour, appeared from the kitchen with a broad smile on her lips. “You’re not having hallucinations,” she answered. “You’re smelling bread and soup — just not barley soup. Alice and I got out of class early today because our professor was called into an emergency. We decided to use it to surprise you and Florence.” Her eyes held a question as she looked beyond Janie.

“Florence will be here in a just a little while,” Janie assured her. “Doctor Anderson wanted her to stay after class a little while today. I offered to wait, but she insisted I come ahead. I believe Dr. Anderson is going to have her driver bring her home.”

Elizabeth relaxed. “Good. I hate to think of her walking the streets alone after dark.”

“I wouldn’t have let that happen,” Janie said firmly. She lifted her nose and sniffed. “If it’s not barley soup, what is that remarkable smell?”

“Mulligatawny soup,” Elizabeth answered promptly.

Janie stared at her. “
What
kind of soup?”

Elizabeth grinned. “Our southern belle hasn’t ever heard of Mulligatawny soup?”

“Is it meant to be eaten?” Janie asked. “It sounds rather like a strange disease.”

Elizabeth laughed loudly, her Massachusetts accent even more pronounced when she called over her shoulder. “Alice, our little southern belle has never heard of our famous soup!”

Alice Humphries appeared moments later, her blond hair creating a stark contrast to Elizabeth’s dark Italian features. “I told you she would be surprised!” She grabbed Janie’s hand. “Come on. The soup will be a little while longer, but we have hot tea brewing on the stove.”

Janie sighed and followed willingly, the torture of walking home forgotten now that she was warm again. “Please tell me about Mulligatawny soup.”

Alice laughed and pointed her to the recipe box on the counter. “This soup is my grandma’s specialty. My brothers and I grew up on it.”

Janie picked up the recipe card as she settled down at the table. She took a moment to gaze around the light blue kitchen with white cabinets and counters. Even after three months of being here, she hadn’t lost her sense of awe that Abby had so generously offered her Philadelphia house to live in while she was in medical school. The first few weeks had been rather lonely. The loneliness had disappeared when her fellow medical students, Elizabeth, Alice, and Florence, moved in with her. They had been here little more than a week, but they already felt like family. The situation suited everyone.

Janie accepted the hot cup of tea Elizabeth held out to her, pushing her soft brown hair absently back from her face. Pulling off the thick winter hat always undid her half-hearted attempts to keep it tamed with a bun. She focused her light blue eyes on the recipe card.

MULLIGATAWNY SOUP
Ingredients:
 2 tablespoons of curry powder, 6 onions, 1 clove of garlic, 1 ounce of pounded almonds, a little lemon-pickle or mango juice to taste; 1 fowl or rabbit, 4 slices of lean bacon, 2 quarts of medium stock or, if wanted, very good, best stock.
Mode:
 Slice and fry the onions of a nice color; line the stew pan with the bacon. Cut up the rabbit or fowl into small joints and slightly brown them; put in the fried onions, the garlic, and stock, and simmer gently ‘til the meat is tender; skim very carefully, and when the meat is done, rub the curry powder to a smooth batter. Add it to the soup with the almonds, which must be first pounded with a little of the stock. Put in seasoning and lemon-pickle or mango juice to taste, and serve it with boiled rice.
Time:
 2 hours.

“This looks like Indian cuisine,” she said with surprise as she looked at Alice’s blond hair with a raised brow.

Alice smiled. “My grandma had a good friend from India when she lived in England. She came over to America when I was about five years old. She brought the recipe with her. My brothers and I made her cook it for us every time we went to visit. When she learned I was going to medical school, she wrote up the recipe so I could make it here.” She gazed around the kitchen. “I couldn’t imagine I would have a place to cook,” she said in wonder. “I thought surely I would be stuffed into some tiny, drab, freezing room.” She waved her arm. “Instead I am living in the home of one of the wealthiest women in Philadelphia in absolute splendor.”

The odors wafting from the pot grew more wonderful by the moment. Janie patted her growling stomach and looked at the stove yearningly. “The recipe says two hours. How much longer?”

“You just have time to go up and get into more comfortable clothes,” Elizabeth said. “The soup is done. We’re just waiting on the bread. It should be ready when you get back.”

Janie closed her eyes with a happy sigh. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

“Yes,” Alice said, pushing her from the chair, “but you can do that in your room. We’re going to start eating when the bread comes out, whether you are here or not,” she warned.

Janie laughed, gave both Alice and Elizabeth a quick kiss on their cheeks, and spun from the room, laughing even harder at their surprised looks. “I love you both!” she called over her shoulder. Her wonderful new Yankee friends were warm and loving, but they hadn’t yet learned to deal with what they called her unique brand of southern hospitality.

Janie gazed longingly at the closed door to what would be Carrie’s room when she arrived. She loved her new friends and had been completely accepted, but there were times she wearied of being the only southern woman at the medical school. The original plan was that she would wait for Carrie to arrive in the spring before she started classes. Dr. Anderson convinced her there was no reason to wait — that her years at Chimborazo gave her enough practical experience and knowledge.

Carrie had been so excited about Janie’s news in the letter she had sent before Christmas.  Janie smiled as she envisioned the beauty of crisp, clean snow at Cromwell Plantation. She wondered if everyone had left the plantation after the holidays and gone back to their busy lives.

When she entered her room — chillier than downstairs, but still warm because of the constant flow of warm air from the oil heaters — she felt the quick tug in her heart that constantly reminded her of how much she had to be grateful for. The nightmares of Clifford coming for her had almost disappeared, but she had not yet stopped looking for him when she walked home from school, anticipating every man would have his angry face and eyes. Looking into the mirror, she raised a hand to her face. She never wanted to forget the yellow and purple bruises that had covered it after Clifford hit her. The memory of the pain and humiliation kept her focused on doing whatever it took to stay in complete control of her life so no one could ever have the power to hurt her again.

A call from downstairs made her turn away from the mirror and quickly change into a more comfortable dress. She had a brief vision of Carrie in the riding breeches she had become so fond of. Janie thought longingly of how much warmer they would be on the streets of Philadelphia and then shook her head with a laugh. She was becoming stronger and more independent, but she was not quite the rebel Carrie was. She raised enough eyebrows and ire simply by choosing to study medicine. There were some female protocols she was content to live with, even if she wished it were different.

Florence pushed in through the front door just as Janie hurried down the stairs, drawn by the smells of dinner that were even stronger than before. She laughed as Florence staggered in and closed the door behind her, her red curls spilling out when she pulled off her hat.

Tall and angular, Florence was not necessarily pretty, but her commanding presence pulled attention to her everywhere she went. She shrugged her coat off as she slipped out of her boots. “We’re breaking records tonight,” she announced.

“Records?” Alice asked, peering out from the kitchen.

“It’s minus eighteen degrees outside,” Florence muttered, her voice strengthening as she lifted her face to smell the air. “Is that dinner?” Her face split in a grin. “Have I really come home to a prepared, hot dinner?”

“Just don’t get used to it,” Elizabeth called, breezing into the room. “I will admit it’s a welcome break from cold sandwiches while we study, though.” She rubbed her hands in anticipation. “I’m glad you made it in time. I just filled your bowl and plate. Do you need to change?”

“Forget changing,” Florence stated. “Lead me to the food!”

Laughing, the four women filed into the kitchen.

Florence looked at the bowls of soup on the table, her grin growing even wider. “
Mulligatawny soup!” she cried. “I haven’t had it in years.”

Janie shook her head. “Yankees,” she said lightly, her eyes bright with laughter. “I’m quite sure this soup has never made it past the Mason-Dixon Line. I can’t imagine that a single friend of mine would have any idea what this is.”

“Which explains why you Rebels aren’t as bright as we are,” Florence retorted, knowing her comment would be taken with the humor it was meant to carry.

Janie shrugged. “Bright enough to
make an A on my first physiology exam,” she said playfully, immediately regretting her words when she saw her friend’s expression.

Florence scowled. “Oh sure, rub it in my face.” Her eyes showed discouragement. “I studied my heart out and I still struggled,” she admitted. Then she grinned as she ate a spoonful of soup, followed by a chunk of bread slathered with butter. “Not that it seems important right this minute.”

Janie felt a tug of sympathy. She knew how hard Florence studied. She also knew Florence envied how easily Janie’s grades came to her. “Don’t feel badly,” she said quickly, her voice thick with remorse.

Florence waved her hand casually. “I don’t. I may have difficulty taking tests, but I stayed later today because I’ve been asked to assist Dr. Anderson with some of her patients in the clinic. It seems my natural abilities are outshining my dismal academic record.”

“That’s wonderful!” the three women cried in unison.

Florence shrugged, only her eyes showing how excited she was. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I almost miss the war. No one seemed to care about my credentials when I was out on the battlefield.” Instead of serving in the city hospital, Florence had gone out onto the battlefields, treating wounded soldiers until they were carried back to the hospital. There was no telling how many lives she saved. She had wanted to be a doctor since she was old enough to understand what they did.

Janie understood. “I know just what you mean. Carrie and I worked as a team at Chimborazo. She got to do more than I did, but none of the soldiers questioned our abilities. They were simply glad we were there to help them. At the beginning of the war, people were horrified that we were practicing medicine. By the end of the war we were almost viewed as heroes.”

Elizabeth stood abruptly. “That reminds me. A letter came for you today. I think it’s from Carrie, the mystery lady we hear about all the time.” She walked over to the counter, filling her bowl with more soup before she returned with the letter.

Janie eyed it with anticipation but merely stuffed it in her pocket.

“You’re not going to read it now?” Elizabeth asked, disappointment obvious in her voice.

Janie shook her head. “I like to read them slowly and savor them,” she replied, not trying to explain that each letter felt like a hand reaching out from home. Carrie was the closest thing to a sister she had ever had. She missed her every single day and could hardly wait until she arrived in the spring. Right now, with cold wind whistling at the windows, it seemed a lifetime away. She knew they were in for more months of brutal cold.

“What is the plantation like in the winter?” Alice asked.

Janie smiled. Plantation life was something all of them were curious about. None of them had ever been to the South. They had sat mesmerized when Janie described the unique relationship Carrie, Rose, and Moses had. All of them had served in the abolition movement and truly believed all slaves were treated badly. Janie was careful not to downplay the horrible conditions many slaves had lived under, but she also wanted them to understand all southerners didn’t feel the same way.

“I don’t have a lot of firsthand experience,” Janie admitted. “I only visited once in the winter. The rest of my time there was in the summer and fall, but Carrie has told me about it. Things move more slowly, but there is so much to be done to be ready for the spring. The year I was there, we had a deep snowfall.” Her eyes softened with the memories. “It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I grew up in the city and had never seen undisturbed snow like that.”

The other three women nodded their understanding. Elizabeth had grown up in Boston, Alice in New York, and Florence in Philadelphia, though her parents had moved away several years earlier to a small town in Illinois where her father practiced medicine.

“Doesn’t all snow turn gray?” Alice teased.