Fever 1793 Read online

  Grandfather stayed silent until we approached a limping man dressed in dark rags, pushing a cart.

  "Wonder where that fellow's going?" he said. "Looks like he belongs on the waterfront."

  A thin white arm flopped over the side of the cart as it jostled over the cobblestones.

  "Hullo there, good man!" called Grandfather. "There is no place for the dead up here. Hullo!"

  The man ignored us and pressed on steadily.

  "Perhaps he is transporting a poor woman to Rickett s Circus, like Mr. Carris said," I suggested.

  "She should be moved at night, when good people are safe in their beds. Now what is he doing?"

  The man had stopped at the corner of High and Seventh, in front of our coffeehouse.

  Grandfather sped up. "Sir, I protest most vehemently!"

  I lifted my skirts and ran ahead of Grandfather. An

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  unnamed fear shot through me. My eyes filled with tears.

  "No, this is too much," Grandfather called angrily. "Sir," he shouted. "Take that away from my home. Off with you now and take your cargo, or I should call the constable."

  The man turned back and looked at Grandfather, then lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow and dumped the woman on the street.

  "Mother!" I screamed.

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  CHAPTER NINE

  September 2nd, 1793

  He's the best physician that knows the worthlessness of most medicines.

  -Benjamin Franklin Poor Richard's Almanac, 1733

  1 stood dumbly while Grandfather knelt by Mother's side.

  "She's alive!" he said. "Take her feet, Mattie. We must get her inside."

  Eliza screamed as we carried Mother through the front door. She dropped a clay pitcher on the floor. It shattered into bits.

  "Is she... ?"

  "She was overcome by the heat," said Grandfather. "She'll be fine after a short rest. That's all she needs. A short rest."

  Mother didn't open her eyes until we tucked her into bed. She looked around in confusion.

  "You fainted," Eliza explained.

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  "It's what you get for working too hard," added Grandfather.

  I waited for Mother to throw off the quilt and scold us. Instead, she shivered.

  "I'll sleep a few moments, then I'll feel better," she said patting my hand. "Go downstairs, Matilda. Be useful."

  Something was desperately wrong. Mother was sleeping in the middle of the day. I wanted to stay and watch over her, but Eliza and Grandfather shooed me out of the room. There was no time to argue; a customer banged through the front door and called for something to drink.

  Nothing went right that afternoon. The coffee urn leaked. The biscuits burned in the oven. I dropped an entire drawer of tea leaves on the floor. The gentlemen were all quarrelsome and fractious. I snuck upstairs once, but Mother still slept. Eliza gave me what-for when she caught me.

  As I cleared the dirty mugs off the last table, Grandfather stood deep in conversation with Mr. Rowley. I motioned to Eliza.

  "Isn't he a doctor?" I asked.

  Eliza shook her head.

  "Not a proper physician, but he sees sick folk and prescribes medicines. All the real doctors are down on Water Street. It's been a terrible day there. They say bodies are piling up like firewood."

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  "I don't believe it."

  "Shush," said Eliza. "I heard it at the Society. If Reverend Allen said it, you can believe it's the truth. Here they come."

  Grandfather introduced Mr. Rowley. I curtsied.

  "Mr. Rowley here has vast experience treating female complaints," said Grandfather. "He'll get Lucille back on her pins in no time."

  I had my doubts. His hands were uncommonly dirty, and he smelled of rum.

  It seemed immodest to let a strange man into our bedchamber, but Grandfather and Eliza showed him in to see the patient. I followed close behind.

  He first took Mother's pulse, then felt the skin on her ankles and wrists, then peered down her throat and under her eyelids. He worked without a word, grunting occasionally, and making a tsking sound with his tongue. Mother did not wake. I wanted to throw a bucket of water in her face. It was against the laws of nature for her to lie in bed with the sun so high.

  At last Rowley rose from the bed. We waited for him to speak, like a congregation expecting the minister's benediction.

  "It is not yellow fever," he said.

  Grandfather sighed in relief.

  "But Dr. Rush says yellow fever is spreading everywhere," Eliza said.

  "Dr. Rush likes to alarm people," Mr. Rowley

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  replied. "There is a great debate about this pestilence. Yesterday a physician I shall not name diagnosed yellow fever in an elderly woman. Her family threw her into the street. She died, but she didn't have yellow fever. It was all a mistake. I use the diagnosis sparingly. And I assure you, there is no fever in this house."

  Grandfather beamed.

  "See, Matilda? I was right. We have no cause to run out of the city like children scared by a ghost. Lucille will be scolding us by sunrise," he chuckled.

  Rowley wagged his finger at Grandfather.

  "I wouldn't predict that," he said. "She'll need more than a good nap to recover. Be sure to bathe her every four hours and keep her clean and cool. I'll give some remedies to your servant. And now," he said, holding out his hand and showing his gray teeth, "my fee."

  Giving my mother a bath felt upside down and backside front. I didn't want to do it. Daughters aren't supposed to bathe their mothers, but Eliza could not manage alone.

  We moved my bed to Grandfathers chamber and replaced it with the tin bathing rub. Every four hours, we filled the rub with hot water mixed with black pepper and myrrh. The worst part was dragging Mother from her fitful sleep and getting her to sit in the water. The fever had taken hold of her senses, and she wept, calling my father's name.

  While Mother dozed in the rub, we stripped the

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  linen from her bed and laid on fresh. She was supposed to drink dittany tea sweetened with molasses, but it tasted too horrible. As soon as we had her back in bed, Eliza emptied the tub and put more water on to boil.

  Mother shivered so hard, her teeth rattled. Even with all the blankets in the house on her, she could not warm. She lay under the faded bedding like a rag doll losing its stuffing, her hair a wild collection of snakes on the pillow, her cornflower blue eyes poisoned with streaks of yellow and red. It hurt to look at her.

  After the sun set, Eliza set a candle by her bed.

  "You grandfather is sleeping at old man Carris's house," she explained.

  "Just as well," I said. "Are you going home?"

  "I must," she said. "My brother is expecting me."

  I nodded. Eliza lived with her brother's family. They would be very worried if she didn't come home.

  Til be fine," I said. "I think she'll sleep through the night."

  Eliza kissed my forehead. "Don't forget your prayers," she said. "I'll come early and try to bring a doctor with me."

  After she left, I locked the doors and closed the shutters. A church bell struck ten times and I shivered. The coffeehouse was filled with shadows and dark noises. I took two extra candles from the clothespress and hurried upstairs to watch over Mother.

  She did not notice when I entered the room. Her face was pulled taut in pain, and she jerked in her sleep.

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  I so wanted to touch her. The tops of her hands were roped with muscle and veins, but her skin was wrinkled and soft. Had she ever enjoyed anything? Had every day been a struggle? Perhaps death would be a release, a rest for the weary.

  A slight breeze waltzed through the room. Silas strolled in and jumped onto the bed. He settled himself so gently by her feet that she did not stir. No mice would disturb her, that was understood.

  Mother wrinkled her brow and moaned. I smoothed her hair.

  "I'm here, Mother," I whispered
. "Be still."

  She shook her head from side to side on the pillow.

  Tears threatened again. I sniffed and tried to control my face. No one could ever tell what Mother thought or felt by looking at her. This was a useful trait. I needed to learn how to do it. There were so many things she had tried to teach me, but I didn't listen. I leaned over to kiss her forehead. A tear slipped out before I could stop it.

  I quietly sat beside her and opened my Psalm book, praying for deliverance, or at least the dawn.

  I must have dozed off. One moment, the room was still, the next, Mother flew off the pillows and was violently ill, vomiting blood all over the bed and floor. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

  I jumped up from the stool.

  "Eliza!" I screamed. "Help!"

  There was no answer. Eliza was gone. I was alone.

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  I forced myself back to the bed. Mother panted heavily.

  "Everything will be fine," I said as I sponged her face clean. "Just lay still."

  Her eyes opened and I smiled at her. Tears pooled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She opened her cracked lips.

  "Go ... away," she whispered. "Leave me."

  I recoiled as she leaned over the bed and retched a foul-smelling black fluid onto the floor.

  "Oh, stop, please stop," I begged.

  "Leave me!" Mother shouted in a ragged voice. "Leave me, go!"

  I tried to help her back onto her pillows, but she pushed me away and shook her head.

  "Go away!" she repeated.

  I ran sobbing to the window. Breathing in the fresh air helped calm my stomach. The houses along the street were shuttered tight and dark. I had to help her. She was depending on me.

  "Let me clean you up," I began as I turned away from the window. "You'll feel better in a clean shift. Maybe a bath. Would you like a bath again?"

  She was breathing as fast and heavy as a runaway horse. Her hand fumbled along the mucky sheet until it found the small book of Psalms I had dropped.

  "I'll put some water on to boil."

  Mother threw the book weakly at my head.

  "Out," she croaked. "Don't want you sick. Go away!"

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  CHAPTER TEN

  September 6th, 1793

  The patient is to be placed in a large empty

  tub, and two buckets full of water, of the temperature 75 or 80 degrees Fahrenheit's

  thermometer,... are to be thrown on him.

  -Dr. Adam Kuhn

  Philadelphia, 1793

  Eliza shook my shoulder. I woke at once, with a sharp breath. Outside the sky was turning pale gold. Mockingbirds were singing. Mother slept, her skin the color of an old weathered barn. At least she was alive.

  "Your grandfather and I have found help," Eliza whispered. "Dr. Kerr. He's educated, from Scotland."

  Dr. Kerr nodded to me. He was a small man wearing a black coat and carrying a small medical case. He set the case on the floor and opened Mother's eyelids with his fingers. She slept on.

  "Where's Grandfather?" I asked.

  "Waiting downstairs," Eliza said.

  "How was she in the night?" Dr. Kerr asked as he started his examination.

  "I did everything Mr. Rowley instructed. I bathed her and gave her tea. I tried to keep the bedclothes clean, but . . . we'll wash today. She finally slept after midnight. Do you think she looks better? She feels a little cooler to me. Mr. Rowley said it was just an autumnal fever, nothing serious."

  Eliza pulled me close to her. "Shhh," she said gently.

  Dr. Kerr rose off the bed. "Damned fool," he growled.

  "Excuse me?" I said.

  "Rowley, the imposter. Autumnal fever indeed. Your mother has yellow fever. There's no doubt at all."

  Yellow fever.

  My mouth moved, but I could not breathe. It made no sense. Mother wouldn't allow it. She had given birth to me in the morning and cooked supper for ten that night. She survived the British occupation while my father fought with Washington's troops. Mother would beat back illness with a broom.

  A loud moan interrupted my thoughts. Dr. Kerr laid his fingers on Mother's wrist.

  "Her pulse is fast and strong," he said. "This is the crisis. She must be bled."

  Dear God. "Won't that weaken her more?" I asked.

  "Bunkum," Dr. Kerr said angrily. "Dr. Rush has

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  proven that bleeding is the only way to save a patient this close to the grave."

  "But she could mend yet," Eliza said.

  Dr. Kerr took a small lancet from his bag. It glinted in the sunlight. He handed me a basin and told Eliza to hold Mother's shoulders. I felt faint.

  "Her pulse is full, quick, and tense," he said, pushing up Mother's sleeve. "Hold the basin right against her arm. The pestilence boils within her blood and must be drained."

  I flinched as the lancet flashed and blood from Mother's arm poured into the basin. Dr. Kerr handed me a second basin when the first was full. My stomach turned over, but I clenched my jaw and stood firm.

  "There," he said finally. He bandaged the cut on her arm and rolled down her sleeve. Mother lay still and silent, but she was breathing. "That was ten ounces of blood. I'll come back tomorrow to take another ten. She needs to purge the disease still in her stomach and bowels. She'll need ten grains of jalap and ten grains of calomel. It will be dirty work to care for her, but it should clean her system efficiently."

  "But she's so pale," I said. "Can't the medicines wait a day or so?"

  Mother finally roused. She blinked her eyes and pointed at me. "Get her out!" she whispered. "Out!" A cough choked off the rest of her words.

  Doctor Kerr and Eliza struggled to calm her.

  "Go wait in the kitchen, Mattie," Eliza said. "She

  won't settle until you are gone. She doesn't want you here. She's afraid you'll get sick."

  Dr. Kerr took me by the arm before I could protest. He led me down the stairs like a lamb on a string.

  "She doesn't want you to see the worst. You can help down here. I'm sure Eliza would appreciate a cup of tea. Lucille is a strong woman. With God's mercy she will survive this peril."

  Grandfather was waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs.

  Dr. Kerr got right to the point. "Yellow fever, William. There's no doubt. I advise you send Matilda out of the city at once."

  "What?" I asked.

  Grandfather sat heavily in a kitchen chair. "Lucille has been wanting her out of town."

  "No!" I stamped my foot on the floor. "You can't send me away! I need to be here-I need to help! You can't send me away."

  Dr. Kerr frowned. "I understand, Matilda. These are difficult days for us all. Sensible people have turned mad overnight. They're rinsing their clothes in vinegar and wearing tarred ropes around their necks. This is no place for a young girl like you."

  I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. "Why can't Mother come with me? Wouldn't it be better for her in the country air?"

  "No town will let her in," explained Dr. Kerr. "They

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  turn all fever victims away. Your cook can care for your mother. Your grandfather can travel with you. This is the best for all."

  Grandfather tried to smile. "We'll make it an adventure, lass." He turned as Eliza came down the steps carrying filthy sheets.

  "I've explained to Matilda that she'll be leaving," Dr. Kerr said.

  "'Tis best," Eliza said.

  "I advise you to hire a wagon as soon as possible," Dr. Kerr said. He picked up his medical case. "They're scarce as hen's teeth. Remember to tie a yellow cloth to the front railing. This coffeehouse is officially closed."

  As he closed the door behind him, I started to argue. "We haven't heard from the Ludingtons! I can't turn up without an invitation. Let me stay one more day, Eliza. Grandfather, surely you understand!"

  "We want to keep you safe, lass," Grandfather said as he pulled himself to his feet. He paused to cough, then put on his hat. "I'm off to find us a coach.
"

  This could not be happening. They were sending me off, sending me away to strangers!

  "You'll let me stay, won't you Eliza?"

  Eliza swung the kettle over the fire to boil. "Mattie, you are like kin to me, as is your mother. I can't let you stay here. Lucille doesn't want it and neither do I."

  Her face was grim and set in a way I had never seen before. No amount of cajoling would change her mind.

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  "I'll pack a hamper of food for your trip," she said. She paused by the sideboard to pick something up. "I nearly forgot. This was by the front door when I came in. It's addressed to you."

  "Who would send anything to me?"

  The parcel was flat and as large as my hand. I fumbled with the brown paper, trying to unwrap it carefully so we could use the paper again.

  Eliza looked over my shoulder and made an approving noise, "Um-um-um."

  It was a painting, a vase full of delicate flowers, bright blue, lavender, and red carefully painted on a scrap of wood. The flowers looked alive, like they would move if a breeze stirred through the kitchen.

  Eliza rummaged through the wrapping paper. "Here," she said. "He sent a note."

  Mattie-I write you in haste. Master Peale is closing up the house with his family and assistants inside. To protect us from the fever. We have water from the well and food stored.

  My thoughts race. These flowers are for you. Take good care, Mattie. I would not want you sick. We shall watch for balloons again, when this plague has passed.

  N.B.

  Morning came too quickly and it was time to leave.

  "Mattie! The wagon is here!" Eliza called.

  It was hard to tell which would collapse first, the

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  wagon or the horse pulling it. The farmer and his wife sat up front, holding a baby with dried snot across its face. Grandfather rode in the back, waving triumphantly. Eliza eyed the horse with doubt.