The Moon by Night (32 page)

Cheney finished the last sip of her coffee. “I suppose I'd better report in. There's a lady with four children going into the dispensary. Mr. Roe, shall I take Shannon with me?”

The old man looked down at the dog near his feet and chuckled. “Looks like you'd have to carry her, Dr. Duvall. See, she's just like a big baby, all tuckered out and sound asleep. If you're of a mind, you're welcome to leave her here. We'll look after her until you decide where to house her while you're a-doctoring.”

Relieved, Cheney said, “Oh, thank you, Mr. Roe, I would like some time to see about a place for her down in the laboratory and make some arrangements. Still, do you have anything to feed her? I could go ask Mrs. Tuttle if she has something in the kitchen.”

Mr. Roe sucked his teeth for a moment, then said thoughtfully, “Andrew's dogs, now they like oats mashed with a bit of hot milk and treacle. Not for every day, you understand—they'd get too fat and slow—but for special treats when it's particular cold. That may do the little girl.” He prodded Shannon gently with his foot. She didn't stir.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Roe. Now I won't have to worry about her at all,” Cheney said gratefully. “I'll be back later this evening to check on her and maybe take a walk, if possible. Thank you again! Good-bye, Mr. Jack!” She waved and hurried out the paddock door to the stone walk where a feeble elderly gentleman, assisted by a woman, was making his way into the hospital. Cheney hurried, coming up to help them, holding the door open and introducing herself as they made their way inside. She helped get them settled in the dispensary, then went to the nurses' station to speak to Mrs. Flagg. The dispensary had been very busy, but Dr. White and two nurses had it well in hand.

“Mostly influenza,” Nurse Flagg told Cheney. “Dr. White does very well in the dispensary, no matter how busy it gets.”

Cheney nodded. “Very good, Mrs. Flagg. What time will Dr. Pettijohn return?”

In a neutral tone she answered, “He won't be back today, Dr. Duvall. He said that he had a very pressing personal matter to attend to.”

Cheney frowned but realized that this was really not much different from the other doctors trading off-duty hours; after all, she had asked Cleve to cover for her on several occasions when she and Shiloh went out. Quickly she said with a smile, “It must have been a pressing matter indeed, because I saw him leave, still wearing his coverall. Oh, well, I've forgotten a time or two myself. Speaking of which, I need to get mine on and get to work. I'm going to do rounds on the women's ward, Mrs. Flagg, in case anyone needs me.”

Cheney first went to the private suite to visit Annabeth Forbes. When she had checked in she had been pale, her pretty face drawn looking and thin. Today she looked better. She was a very pretty woman of twenty-five, with a blooming complexion, thick glossy hair of a rich chestnut brown, and lovely big dark eyes with long thick lashes. She was a tiny woman, and this baby seemed to be a rather hefty size, which caused Cheney some concern. But otherwise Annabeth seemed to be doing well.

“I saw Annalea today,” Cheney told her as she checked her over. “She's doing very well, Annabeth. And now she is evidencing differential symptoms of rubella, so I'm glad I went ahead and isolated you from her. I know it's hard on you both, but I assure you it's absolutely necessary.”

“For how long?” she asked worriedly.

“The general rule is at least four days, no more than seven,” Cheney answered. “But considering the risks to your pregnancy, I would recommend at least ten days. I'll visit Annalea every other day to make certain that the disease is running its regular course, and I'll keep you informed.”

Annabeth smiled and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “To tell you the truth, I'm enjoying the rest and pampering more than I would have thought possible. At home I have every luxury and a large staff, but running a household and attending to a husband and child can be tiring sometimes.”

Cheney patted her hand. “It certainly can, and I can tell that you've benefited from the rest. Or maybe from the peace and quiet. Annalea is a darling, but she certainly is an energetic child. Besides being angry with me for taking you away, she was also angry that I wouldn't let her go to the park with Nurse. And then my husband, who has medical training and certainly does know better, came upstairs to the nursery, scooped her up, whirled her around, and told her he was going to take her outside to see our new dogs. And there is Annalea, all over spots! Of course I had to be the villain and say no—to both of the children, Annalea and Shiloh. She'll probably never forgive me.”

“But she will,” Annabeth said softly. “Both Mason and I tell her the story of how you and Shiloh saved her. We've turned it into an adventure story, something like a fairy tale, with all the terror edited out, of course. But we want her to remember it all of her life. And by the way, Dr. Duvall, thank you again. Thank you for saving Annalea's life and now for saving this baby's life. You've been a blessing to our family ever since the first time we met you. Mason and I will not forget.”

“You're very welcome, Annabeth,” Cheney said simply. “I'll see you again after dinner.”

Cheney next went to Mevrouw de Sille's room. She was asleep, and Cheney didn't want to awaken her, so she merely stepped close to her bed to listen to her breathing. It was labored, and she still had heavy congestion, but she seemed to be sleeping soundly. As Cheney left the room she reflected,
I know I can smell whiskey. I didn't know Mevrouw was a drinker, but she must be. There's no mistaking that liquor smell
.

Next she visited Cassandra Carteret. She wasn't feeling bad, other than the discomfort of the shingles, but she was always a little fretful on Kitty Kalm's days off, so Cheney stayed and talked to her awhile. Cassandra was a longtime patron and member of the New York Historical Society, so Cheney asked her about the inscription on the pediment above the front door.

“The story is that it took Kiliaen van Dam two years to build this house,” she said, her faded eyes focused faraway. “His wife, Abigail, was so obsessed with the house that she stayed here every day as it was being built, badgering the men, overseeing every brick and board. And then she spent an outrageous sum of money—the documents say twelve hundred dollars, a fortune in those days—furnishing the house, and she would not move into it until it was completely finished and furnished.

“So Kiliaen and Abigail moved into this house in August of 1754. The first night they stayed here, Abigail was so excited she walked the floor half the night, just looking in all of the rooms and admiring all of her fine furnishings. Finally she went to bed. When Kiliaen awoke in the morning, Abigail was dead. She had simply passed away in her sleep. That day he had the inscription carved, for he said that this house was her tomb.”

“What an interesting story,” Cheney said thoughtfully. “It's a rather odd motto for a hospital, you must admit, Mrs. Carteret, but then again, I'm sure very few people actually can translate the Latin. Those who do probably don't know that it originated on Roman tombs.”

“I'm sure you're right,” Cassandra agreed, lying back on her pile of pillows and closing her eyes.

Cheney could see she was tired, so she rose to leave. Turning at the door, she asked, “One more thing, Mrs. Carteret, would this story have anything to do with the moon?”

Without opening her eyes Cassandra's mouth twitched into a smile. “Ah yes, the moon ghost. That is Abigail, you see. She waited for a night of the full moon to move into the house so she could go into every room and admire it by the moonlight. And it is said that she still walks this house, but one can only see her in the moonlight.”

It's a wonder Carlie's not spooked,
Cheney reflected.
Even I got all weird and strange in the cellar, and now I suppose I'll be seeing Abigail in the moonlight! Along with the invisible mice, of course!

“I'll check on you later, Mrs. Carteret,” she said softly.

“You watch out for those moon ghosts, Dr. Duvall,” she said sleepily.

Cheney moved on, stopping at the drawn curtain of Rebecca Green's cubicle to listen. She could hear Becky talking, and as usual, she sounded upset and unhappy. Cheney sighed with regret; she hated not being able to at least speak an encouraging word to a patient. Before Ira Green had forbidden Cheney to see his wife, Cheney had prayed with Becky once. It seemed to help, and she hoped that before the girl died, she would have a chance to talk to her and pray with her again.

For Rebecca Green was dying. After close scrutiny and notation of her condition, her attitude, her reaction to medication, and a thousand other small things that good physicians can sense but cannot name, Dev had decided that Mrs. Green was in a final decline. He had not exactly told her and Mr. Green that, but he had told them that he had failed to get all of the tumor and that it was going to be very difficult for Rebecca to gain enough strength for another surgery. He tried to communicate to Ira Green that he should be lifting up his wife instead of staying in a constant state of anger and resentment, which was causing such turmoil in their lives. But Ira Green seemed blind to the damaging effect he was having on his wife. Even though Cheney had seen the two together very little, she knew that Ira loved Becky, but he was one of those people who seemed unable to translate that love into kindness and tenderness.

After a few moments she went into the next cubicle, where Alice Farley lay in bed, her Bible across her chest, her eyes closed. Cheney knew she was not asleep, and as soon as Alice opened her eyes and spoke, Cheney could tell that she had contracted influenza.

“Hello, Dr. Duvall,” Alice said cheerfully. “It's always so nice to see you. You're my favorite doctor.”

“Oh, Mrs. Farley, dear, you sound as if you aren't feeling well at all, but you're always so sweet,” Cheney said warmly. “Now how did you go about catching the influenza? Have you had any visitors?”

“Just my son,” she answered, “and he's not sick, thank the Lord.”

“What about the other patients?”

“No, Dr. Duvall, I haven't been out visiting since my legs swelled up so three days ago. And no one's been in to visit with me, other than just saying hello from the doorway.” Cheney had left strict instructions with the nurses that Mrs. Farley be, in effect, isolated. She was a very sick woman. The diabetes was interfering with the blood flow to her legs, and Cheney thought that both of them might have to be amputated in the near future. Her hands were crippled with rheumatism, and she was almost incapable of taking care of herself.

For forty years Alice Farley had been a charwoman, and she boasted that the only days she ever took off were when her son, Edward, was born and when he was baptized. Alice's husband had died when Edward was three. She took him with her, bound up in a papoose on her back, or later in a woven basket, while she walked the streets and scrubbed front door stoops. At night she took in washing and did ironing. After public school Edward had gotten a job at a bookbinder's and had attended Cooper Union at night.

Now he was the head librarian of the popular and thriving Payson's Bookshop and Circulating Library. He had never married, and he visited his mother every day. But Cheney knew that Edward couldn't possibly take care of Alice now, and she made herself a note to check with the Amory Convalescent and Invalid Home, a lovely little sanitarium out on Long Island. It was expensive, but Cheney thought she would recommend that Edward apply to the Steen Foundation for a charitable endowment.

“Your son hasn't been in to see you yet today, has he?” Cheney asked as she wrote the note both in Alice's file and in her own personal journal.

“No, ma'am. Generally on Fridays he likes to go to market to see if he can find me something special to eat,” Alice said with pride. “He's such a fine son. The Lord has blessed me mightily.”

“‘The Lord is gracious, and full of compassion; slow to anger, and of great mercy,'” Cheney quoted in agreement. “I just read that this morning, and isn't it so true? Now, Mrs. Farley, I'm going to make rounds, and then I'm going to fix you a little poultice for that congestion and give you some medicine that will help with the fever and will help break up some of the stuff in your nose and throat. Does Edward generally come at a certain—”

Ira Green loomed up in the doorway like a dark cloud passing over the sun. “'Scuse me, Mrs. Farley, but I need to ask Dr. Duvall a question, and I don't hardly like to wait because Becky's doing real poorly.”

“I'm so sorry, Ira, please, go ahead. I'm sure Dr. Duvall can help Becky, whatever's wrong,” Mrs. Farley said mildly but pointedly.

He shook his shaggy head and turned to Cheney. “I just need to know if there's a real doctor here. I can't find a nurse anywheres to ask.”

“Dr. Gilder and Dr. White are the only other physicians here at the moment,” Cheney said. “May I help?”

“No,” he growled. “Dr. Gilder? Is that the giddy rich boy?”

Dr. Gilder was somewhat of a young man-about-town who did, indeed, come from a wealthy family. But Cheney said evenly, “He's a fine intern, Mr. Green, and yes, his family does happen to be wealthy, but that's hardly a consideration. Dr. Buchanan is extremely wealthy, and he's the best physician and surgeon in this city, perhaps in the country.”

“Yeah, but he married it,” Ira Green said suspiciously, and Cheney wearily wondered what point it made, but the man went on, “No, I don't want no pretend almost-doctor either. When is Dr. Buchanan gonna grace us with his presence today?”

“I'm not certain,” Cheney replied politely, “but I'll be glad to check for you, Mr. Green. Is there anything else I can do?”

“No.” He turned and stamped back into Becky's cubicle, yanking the curtain closed savagely.