The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek Read online

  I paused and raised the tip of the pen to my lips, tapped, and thought some more.

  Weren’t many of my kin I couldn’t name, but there were a few I’d missed, couldn’t recollect. There’d been cousins and great-aunts and great-uncles, a few I’d never met, those who’d been shamed, suffered embarrassment, and were driven deeper into the hills and hidden coves, and still others who’d been hanged, ones who had fled the old Kaintuck mountains and were lost and had eventually died out, Pa’d said.

  “I’m the last of me, Pa says, and I am not sure I have them all. Pa would know best.”

  Doc said, “That’s fine, my dear. I’ll have Elijah help fill in the rest.”

  It seemed Dr. Mills weren’t convinced of my smarts, and he tacked a chart onto the back of the door with lines of letters and asked me to read them from the top.

  “I already showed you I know’d my letters.” Offended, I crossed my arms and refused. Doc quickly explained about the special eye chart that would check my vision. “If your vision isn’t strong, Bluet, we could correct it and fit you for spectacles.”

  When I passed the test, they asked about food, what we ate and didn’t eat.

  “Rabbit, squirrel, berries, and lots of poke sallet…same as most when we can find it,” I ticked off. “Pa sometimes trades his game, and hunts roots and herbs to exchange for eggs, corn, and tomatoes. Sometimes we have turkey or wild boar.” I didn’t tell him that lately there hadn’t been much of anything with Pa’s sickness, other than the rare sack of rabbits he’d surprised me with.

  The men asked the ages of every single kin I could remember, and how long they’d lived.

  I perked. “Except for Mama being struck with the influenza, and Pa having the miner’s sickness, all my kin are healthy and lived good long lives, near their eighties and some past ninety, my folks always claimed. Except Daniel and the ones who’d been killed because of the color… At least a few I know’d of, more that Pa hasn’t talked about. We have the notes in our Bible back home.”

  “Remarkable longevity, don’t you think, Thomas?” Dr. Mills piped up.

  “We’re strong enough when left alone,” I said.

  Doc’s face reddened like the hospital’s rose brick. The colored doctor’s gaze fell away. Then Doc cleared his throat, picked up a paper, and studied it. The lady taking notes stopped and gave me a gentle smile, like she was proud, maybe pitying too.

  Dr. Mills coughed lightly. “Well now, let’s see.” He studied me in silence for an uncomfortable time, then turned to the old mountain doctor. “I’m stumped, old boy.”

  Doc grew excited. “Have you read Scott’s report about the hereditary blood disorder he discovered among the Alaskan Eskimos and Indians?”

  “Why, yes.” The other doctor’s eyes lit. “I recall he speculated it was caused by an absence of a certain enzyme. Could it be the same?”

  Doc answered, “I’m not sure. It might be something to consider.”

  “I’d like to admit her. Keep her for a few days, maybe a week,” Dr. Mills said. “Miss Palmer, go get the papers.”

  The woman nodded and slipped out the door.

  Alarmed, I stuck my hand inside my coat, gripped the knife handle. “I ain’t staying,” I said icily, backing up toward the door.

  “No need for that, Randall,” Doc said, his old eyes watching me. “Bluet has her job and her father to tend to. We wouldn’t want to keep her from her ailing pa and her important government job.”

  Dr. Mills shook his head and folded his arms, leaned back against the cabinet. “I don’t need consent, Thomas. I could quarantine her. It would be, say, in the public’s best health interest,” he said slyly. “My duty to the people—”

  “The hell you will!” Doc thundered. “I will not allow you keep this healthy young woman locked up here for your interest! You of all people should know what persecution feels like. You’ve worn those scarring leathers your entire life.”

  Dr. Mills flinched, touched the small of his back, like he had indeed.

  “Step out into the hall, Dr. Mills,” Doc said. To me, “Bluet, stay put.”

  The doctors left and shut the door.

  Outside I heard their voices rise, jumbling over one another. It got quiet for a bit, then I heard cussing. And more cussing, and even more hard-flying words. Then someone or something thumped against the door. I scurried over to the far wall and reached for my knife just as they walked back in.

  Dr. Mills tugged at his crumpled white topcoat that had slipped partway off a shoulder.

  “Now,” Doc said, smoothing down his own coat and running fingers through his winter-white hair. “Bluet, I think I’d like to take more blood samples to conduct this new testing to see if the Blues lack the same enzyme as the Indians and Eskimos. Would that be okay? You’d just need to roll up a sleeve, nothing more.”

  I looked over at the jar of leeches and bloodletting tools, and Doc’s eyes followed.

  “We’ll take it from an arm with a syringe, and only a small amount. Won’t hurt a bit, Bluet,” he assured me. “Then we’ll take our leave because we’ve already used enough of Dr. Mills’s time.” He cut an eye to the doctor. “Isn’t that right, Randall?” Dr. Mills brushed a hand down his topcoat and reluctantly nodded.

  I lifted my arm up a little.

  “Very good.” Doc said. “It could make you a little faint, maybe even a little nauseated.” He reached for the needle. “But it’ll pass quickly.”

  Alarmed, I tucked my arm back to the side, looked at the doctors. I’d passed out when the nuns gave me the medicine. They’d done all kinds of horrible things to me while I slept.

  “Don’t worry, it’s only a tiny pinch. Then I’ll see you back to Elijah safe and sound,” Doc pushed. “If we’re to find a cure, it’s the only way, Bluet. The only way.”

  Pa’s words rushed back in. It’s the only way to keep us from the hangman’s noose.

  “It’s absolutely necessary to find a cure,” Doc pressed. “I want to see you cured. Help your pa. Don’t you?” His eyes softened.

  To think I could rid myself of not just my color but Pa’s too, and the attacks and all the pains that came with it, would be worth the dangers now. Worth the frightening tests. Thinking about home, the folks in Troublesome, my job and Pa’s, there weren’t nothing I’d like better right now, and I rolled up a sleeve. The doctors gaped at the blue arm darkening from my excitement.

  “Bluet?” old doc asked again.

  “Yes!” I blurted, raring to take my leave, to get out, to not waste any more time.

  I shoved my arm toward him.

  Twenty-Eight

  There’d been two blocks of cheese, three loaves of bread, one jar of jam, four pieces of fruit, and a dozen small squares of molasses taffy in the food carton from Doc. I’d counted it three times and each time touching it all with shaky hands. In the distance, a church bell lifted from the valley, calling up Sunday service. Sunday, and what better day than the Lord’s Day to help the children. Most would arrive to class tomorrow with empty bellies. So I stole away with Junia in the morning darkness with the damp June air on my face.

  My lantern cast ribbons of light across the empty schoolyard, and I snuffed out the flame, slid off Junia, quickly untied the heavy pannier she carried. In the dimness, chickens rolled out soft clucks. Junia hawed back, shushing them.

  Tiptoeing up to the porch, I went to the corner post and tied the food sack to a beam, high and out of reach from any critters.

  I stepped out into the yard and inspected my work. Standing there as the sun rose over the mountains, lighting the old shadow-sleeping land in oranges and dusty yellows, felt like a prayer, like I was standing in Sunday church. And I couldn’t help bowing my head to pray to Him, giving thanks for this blessing. To think that the young’uns would have their bellies full in the morning was worth doing Doc’s tests.


  “Let’s get home, ol’ girl,” I said to Junia and mounted, my heart full, near bursting.

  * * *

  On Wednesday, I was frightened by a loud banging on the cabin door that clattered the panes, threatening the old glass.

  That night I’d been sitting, reading about Wang Lung’s youngest boy in Sons. Startled, I jumped up, flipping the chair backward. My bare feet slapped across the wood floors, and I scrambled for the shotgun.

  “Bluet,” the familiar voice boomed from outside the door, “it’s me.”

  I pushed the gun back under the bed, ran over, and opened the door with a pounding heart. “Doc, what are you doing out… Oh, you nearly knocked the color off my skin.” I pressed my hand to my chest, then laughed nervously.

  Doc grinned and raised his medicine bag. “I aim to do just that. Let’s get inside, and quick. I have something to show you.” He plopped down his satchel on the table. “It was tricky, but I’ve learned of your illness.”

  Puzzled, I quieted.

  “Well, my dear, you and your kin have methemoglobinemia.”

  “Met…globe, what?”

  “Sit down. Let me explain it.”

  I took a seat, and he picked up the fallen chair next to me, righted it, and joined me at the table.

  “It’s a blood disorder, Bluet.” His eyes twinkled. “The new blood tests revealed that you’re missing the same enzyme as the Indians and Eskimos. You have what’s called methemoglobinemia,” he said again.

  That there was finally a name to my peculiarity astonished me; that it could be as big as that word scared me.

  Doc must’ve seen my relief and fear because he reached over and patted my hand. “You’re fine. Will be just fine. It’s a rare heredity disorder that causes the blueness. Your parents carried the same recessive gene. A very rare gene.”

  “Rare gene.” Stunned, I still didn’t understand.

  “The Carters all have this in their blood, from way back to your great-grandparents and beyond. You and your kin’s blood simply isn’t oxygenated. And that makes it harder to reach the body tissues. Your skin.” He lightly pinched the fat between his thumb and finger.

  “Met…heme.” I struggled with the big word again.

  Doc raised a finger and said it real slow. “Met-he-mo-a-glo-bi-ne-mia.”

  I tasted the word on my tongue. Then braved it again and a little more correctly. “Met-he-mo-a-glo-bi-ne-mia.”

  Doc nodded his approval.

  I said it once more to claim it.

  He reached into his bag, pulled out a stethoscope, and listened to my heart. “Very good,” Doc said. Then he took out a glass bottle and a needle. “Now, the very best part. This is a drug called methylene blue, my dear. It came to my attention that it might be the perfect antidote.”

  Confused, I peered closer at the big needle.

  “I’d like to give you a shot. If it works, you won’t have to go back to Lexington anymore. I can study…um, tend to you here in Troublesome.”

  At that, I quickly rolled up my sleeve.

  “We’ll start with a hundred milligrams.” He filled the needle. “The drug will give your blood more oxygen and reverse your color. They started using this a few years ago for an antidote to carbon monoxide and cyanide poisoning.”

  Cyanide. I’d read about it in my books.

  “You let me know if anything bothers you, if your ticker acts up, gets to hurting.”

  Hurting. I pressed a hand over my heart and held my breath. Some medicinal herbs could right a person just fine, or stop a ticker dead.

  Before I could change my mind, he shot the injection into my vein. I flexed my elbow, rubbed the tiny prick. Moments later, I watched in awe as my hands turned to a normal white.

  Doc clasped his palm over mine. “A miracle,” he exclaimed, “nothing short of. Bluet, you’re as white as flour! Come see.” He pulled me over to the mirror hanging beside the pine washstand in the corner. “Astonishing,” he whispered. “How do you feel? Any discomfort?” He listened to my heart again and murmured, “Good.”

  “I feel same as before, Doc.” But I turned back to the mirror and know’d I wasn’t, nor would never be. I brushed my hand slowly over my face, poked my lips that had colored a pretty pink, my cheeks a soft rose. Normal. I peered again at the stranger looking back at me, then looked at Doc, questioning.

  “Modern medicine,” he exclaimed.

  “I’m a stranger.” I stared at my reflection.

  “A right pretty stranger at that,” Doc commented. I gazed back to the glass and inspected closer.

  Pretty. Could it be? My neck looked white, like linen that matched my hands. I raised a palm and lightly braced it against the base of my neck. A tear rolled off my cheek, then another and several more, splashing onto my white hand. I was white, and that pretty white stranger was me. Me.

  Doc squeezed my shoulder.

  Except for his rope of veins, his hands and forearm nearly matched mine. I lifted my dress to my ankles and peered down at my feet. “They’re even white,” I said unbelievably.

  “Flour white,” Doc said again, and proud.

  “White.” I pinched my cheeks, smacked my lips together twice, astonished they didn’t turn blue. Then I parted my mouth to utter my surprise when, suddenly, a pain seized my scalp and my head pounded. In seconds, my belly lurched. Covering my mouth, I flew to the door, raced out into the darkness. In the middle of the yard, I bent over and emptied my stomach, once, and then again.

  From behind, Doc called, “Bluet, my dear—”

  I swung a hand out, motioning him away.

  Doc touched my shoulder. “The nausea usually disappears. A brief thing, just a nuisance, don’t worry.”

  “My head hurts,” I said.

  “Let’s get you back inside and check your heart, get you some rest. It’s just temporary,” he said again and took my arm.

  * * *

  Temporary it was.

  The flour white, that is.

  By the time I woke Thursday morning, I could see the miracle drug leaving my skin, emptying itself into my piss jar. I carried the chamber pot down the ladder and tossed the blue urine outside.

  Doc came by shortly after Pa got home.

  My skin had nearly returned to blue. Still, I had the whiteness, and Pa could see for himself the medicine worked.

  “Elijah,” Doc coaxed, “at least have a tablet if you won’t take the injection. I’ve brought enough for both of you to take for a week, and I’ll bring more. Just one a day’ll do it.” He set the pill bottle on the table.

  “Take it,” I begged. “It’ll make things better—”

  “Try one, Elijah,” Doc urged.

  Pa said, “Look at me, man.” He held out his coal-stained hands, pointed to his dust-blackened face, then thumped his chest, smacking out a flurry of coal dust. Again, Pa hit his chest and coughed. “The only thing that I’m needing fixed is this black sickness inside of me. Have you any tonic to cure that, Doctor?”

  Doc grimaced and squeezed Pa’s shoulder. Most of his patients suffered from the lung disease.

  Dismayed at Pa’s refusal, I scooped a dipper into a bucket of water, took a big gulp, and swallowed a tablet, hoping he’d change his mind. “Pa, please, just one. One.”

  Pa waved a hand, dismissing the offer.

  Doc asked Pa questions, the names of our relatives. Absently, Pa told him. The doctor took out a pad and wrote them down, then pried some more, needling him for information on our kin.

  Shortly, my heart banged and seized hold of my head, all of it churning, turning my belly. I lifted my hands to see that I’d turned back to white.

  Baffled, Pa coughed violently. “White as a lily. Lily,” he barked out.

  For a moment I felt like his perfect little girl. I smiled and fetched him some water.r />
  “A white daughter.” Pa hushed the words and took a sip. Shocked, he sank down on the chair and studied me. Doc talked to him more about the tests and the medical journal piece he planned to write.

  “Pa, you can go to the mine as a white man. Take one.”

  But Pa weren’t listening to me or the doc, and a few minutes later, I flew out the door to relieve my stomach same as last night.

  Finished, I crept back inside. Pa gawked at me, alarmed. “Daughter, are you hurt?”

  Doc shook his head. “No. It’s temporary, Elijah. Like the drug.”

  “Temporary? Then it’s a vanity, not a cure,” Pa snapped.

  I winced.

  “She should feel better directly. It’s just a little discomfort that’ll right itself, Bluet,” the doc said with sympathy in his voice.

  “Prideful,” Pa grumbled. “Dangerous.”

  “It’s a safe cure,” Doc insisted. “And Bluet’s strong.”

  Pa scowled. “Belladonna cures ails too, and it’ll turn mean an’ slay the strongest.”

  “You can quit the medicine any time, dear, if the reaction is too much,” Doc said to me.

  I could only murmur “yessir,” but the thought of giving up my new color and going back to my ugly one sickened me more.

  Again, I urged Pa to take one too, but he just gave me a stony stare.

  Excited, Doc told Pa everything he’d discovered about the Blues, our ancestors, the rare gene, and our missing oxygen, while Pa kept a sharp eye glued to me the whole time, watching me, watching my skin.

  But I barely noticed him. My eyes kept going to my hands and bare white skin, and I couldn’t stop touching myself to see if the new flesh felt any different.

  I peeked into the looking glass and saw Pa’s reflection. He cut a disapproving look, and I stepped back. But in a minute, I returned to the mirror to stare at myself, delighted, spellbound by my normal, pretty white skin. Soon, I was practicing smiles and whispering at my reflection in my very best radio-newscaster voice.

  Twenty-Nine