Glimmers of Change (38 page)

“Have you provided a quarantine hospital?” Elizabeth asked.

Dr. Benson shook his head heavily. “No. In spite of our best efforts, we’ve not been able to secure a location.”

Carrie searched her mind for what she had read about New York City medical establishments. “There was a quarantine hospital on Staten Island,” she remembered. “What happened to it?”

“It was burned,” Dr. Benson replied. “A group of thirty arsonists destroyed the entire compound in 1858 after some neighborhoods on Staten Island were infected with smallpox. The people were convinced it was because of the hospital.”

“Could it have been?” Carrie asked. “If we’re just discovering the true causes of these diseases, isn’t it possible the surrounding neighborhoods were in danger?”

“Unfortunately, the answer is yes,” Dr. Benson admitted. “It was also unfortunate to lose such an extensive facility.”

“All the patients were killed?” Abby asked with horror.

“No,” Dr. Benson answered quickly. “Evidently the administrators had been warned of the attack. When the fires started, the few staff working that night tried to rescue the patients, as well as the animals they used to feed them. No one was there.”

Alice gaped. “They had evacuated everyone? Where did they take them?”

“That’s a good question,” Dr. Benson said grimly. “The fires that destroyed the quarantine hospital forced the patients into areas not so well protected, but no one ever revealed where they were taken because they were afraid the same thing would happen.”

“People are terrified of getting ill,” Abby observed. “With good reason.”

“True,” Dr. Benson agreed, “but that still leaves us with no facilities in case there is another serious cholera outbreak. We find buildings that could work, but the judges block us.”

“I thought the Board of Health was given unprecedented freedom,” Wally protested. “How can the judges stop your efforts to move forward?”

“The joy of politics,” Dr. Benson said mirthlessly. “The judges owe their seats on the bench to people with power and money. They are quite adept at blocking our efforts. When they created the board, they gave us quite broad power in dealing with outbreaks, but we have very little power when it comes to prevention. A quarantine hospital is considered preventative right now, so every move we make is blocked.”

“But that’s absurd!” Carrie cried. “Isn’t it far better to take action before people are sick and dying?”

“Welcome to the real world. It would be so simple if logic was the criteria for decision making. Unfortunately, that is not always the case,” Wally said, his eyes shining with sympathy. “I believe New York will rise above all its challenges, but it is only going to happen because there are enough of us who refuse to stop working to make things better. It seems like every time we take two steps forward we get knocked back, but we’re not going to stop trying,” he said firmly. “Failure is simply not an option. There is too much at stake. Too many people are counting on us.”

A long silence fell on the table as everyone absorbed his words.

“How are the patients going to be treated?” Florence asked.

Dr. Benson stared into his coffee cup for a long moment and then slowly shook his head. “There is no treatment for cholera,” he replied. “There are things doctors do, but we have learned they are ineffective. About half of everyone who comes down with cholera will die from the disease. The best we can do is keep them warm, give them liquids to try to keep them from becoming dehydrated, and do everything we can to keep it from spreading.”

“There are still doctors who believe bleeding them, or purging the patients of fluids will help,” Janie observed.

“There are also people who still believe the earth is flat, but that doesn’t make them right,” Carrie responded angrily. “I was appalled by how many doctors at Chimborazo used old methods that had been proven not to work.”

Dr. Benson nodded. “Doctors feel they have to do
something
. Unfortunately, their methods do nothing to help the patient, and in many cases actually increase their suffering and quicken their death. Patients who have cholera die from dehydration. Purging or bleeding them simply speeds up their death, making them more miserable in the process.”

Carrie felt sick as the truth of his statement sank in. “There are good reasons that the European medical establishment looks down on American medicine.”

“Why do you say that?” Dr. Benson asked keenly.

Carrie plunged ahead, not caring if he was offended by her observation. After so many years of dreaming of becoming a doctor, she was determined to let nothing stand in her way. People were already offended by women becoming doctors. They were also offended by outspoken women who didn’t observe the traditional roles expected of women. She didn’t care that she fit in both categories. She didn’t think Dr. Benson thought either of those things, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he did. “Too many medical colleges have abysmal requirements for their students. They seem to view their schools as nothing but a business endeavor. As long as someone can pay, they are willing to give them a medical degree. Every time that happens, the respect for our profession is diminished.”

Dr. Benson nodded thoughtfully. “I agree with you.” He held her with his gaze. “Are you quite certain The Women’s Medical College is different?”

“I am,” Carrie said confidently. “Women willing to go against the tide of societal expectations will accept nothing but the best. We expect to be challenged and pushed. Dean Preston is working hard to continually raise the standards, and she is also pushing for us to get even more clinical experience by working with the Philadelphia College of Medicine.”

“And she believes the men will allow that?” Dr. Benson asked, his voice skeptical.

“It will be a fight,” Carrie agreed. “But when something is important, you simply keep fighting until you win.” She eyed Dr. Benson. “Surely you understand that. You have had to fight tremendous challenges as a black man to become a doctor and have the influence you do.”

“Oh, I understand it
too
well,” Dr. Benson replied with a smile. “I was just making sure you are up for the challenge.” His smile deepened into a grin. “My conclusion is that anyone who attempts to stand in your way will simply be rolled over.”

Carrie laughed along with everyone else, but she felt warmed by his approval. She glanced around the table. “I’m afraid I have monopolized the conversation,” she said apologetically.

“Not at all, my dear,” Nancy replied. “We have all learned things. I find I have a better understanding of my own city after all your questions.” She turned to Dr. Benson. “I do have another question. I’m aware a colleague of yours moved to Memphis, Tennessee in the last six months. Dr. Pearlman is a longtime friend of my family. I’ve known him since I was a child. He used to come for dinner every Sunday. Have you heard from him?”

Dr. Benson hesitated. “I have,” he answered carefully.

“What’s wrong?” Nancy asked, concern once more darkening her eyes. “And, please just tell me the truth.”

Dr. Benson exchanged a long look with Elsie. “I got a letter from Howard just a couple days ago. He is thinking about leaving Memphis.”

“Why?” Nancy pressed.

“Because Memphis is a powder keg getting ready to blow. He is concerned for his family’s safety,” Michael answered. “The racial tensions are much like the tensions that exploded into our draft riot three years ago. I have heard terrible things about the police force in Memphis. They are convinced the blacks are the reason for all their troubles. The state is trying to bring things under control, but it might not happen in time. The Irish seem to be looking for an excuse to unleash their fury on the black populations.” He scowled. “We have all experienced what happens when things get out of control. I have a friend in Nashville who is trying to change things, but he fears violence is inevitable. He suspects they have plans to provoke a riot. Soon. He predicts it will be bad.”

Jasmine appeared at Carrie’s side with an envelope. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Borden. I forgot to give this to you earlier. A letter came for you today.”

A grin broke out on Carrie’s face as she saw Robert’s familiar handwriting on the envelope. “Thank you, Jasmine,” she said warmly. She caressed the envelope but slid the letter into her pocket. It would be rude to read it now.

“Oh, read it,” Nancy laughed. “I can tell the look of a woman who misses her husband dreadfully. If you don’t read it now, you’ll just be wondering what it says for the rest of the night.”

Carrie blushed but laughed. “You’re probably right,” she admitted. “No one minds?”

“Read it,” Abby commanded. “I want to know what is going on at home, as well.”

Carrie smiled, used her knife to slit the seal of the envelope, and then pulled out the single sheet. The blood drained from her face as she read it.

“Carrie?” Abby asked sharply. “What is it?”

Carrie read the few sentences again more slowly and then looked up. “Robert sent this letter a week ago. He was on his way to Memphis with Matthew and Moses. They are there right now.”

Moses leaned against a parapet on the walls of Fort Pickering. He gazed out over the city he had already developed an intense dislike for in the past three days. He had seen very little of Robert and Matthew since their lunch, but he had spoken with them long enough to explain why he felt the need to stay in the fort. At least what little of it he understood himself. He was still trying to figure out the compulsion that had prompted him to make the decision. He liked the men he had met, but he still wasn’t clear what he was doing in the fort.

He forced himself to relax as he stared down at the muddy waters of the Mississippi River. Fort Pickering had been built as a strategic command post for the Union Army during the war. It stretched nearly two miles along the South Memphis bluffs, commanding an amazing view of both the river and the city it protected. The fort included a hospital, a rail depot, water works, and a saw mill. Right now the only troops occupying the fort were a detachment of the Sixteenth US Infantry Regiment, a few quartermaster troops, support personnel, and remnants of the Third Colored Heavy Artillery Unit that had remained behind to enforce the Union presence after the end of the war. Just like in Richmond, the presence of the black troops fueled intense resentment among the white population.

Every man in the unit had been mustered out the day before. The city hoped the cessation of black troops would relieve the tensions. Unfortunately, the men had still not been paid. Moses, after a few days at the fort, realized the truth of the situation. The men had not received six months of pay. Most of them were destitute and unable to support their families that were housed nearby. They had also received very poor food supplies. Anger boiled in Moses as he understood the reality that the United States Army was treating the men as if they were indeed inferior. They had officially been mustered out on April thirtieth, but most remained in uniform because they had no other clothes and they were choosing to remain in the fort while they waited for their pay.

Moses knew the Third had its share of rowdies and criminals. Most of the soldiers were good men looking forward to a new life as free men, but discipline was much more lax than it should be. He had seen fights break out among the men and heard the rumors of petty theft. They were forbidden to drink, but many of them readily found alcohol. They hung out on the streets drinking, getting louder and more boisterous as time passed. More serious were the soldiers who committed burglary and theft in homes and shops. He knew most of them were propelled by desperation to provide for their families since they were not being paid, but their actions had fueled the anger of white Memphis against everyone in army clothing.

Now that they were mustered out, he suspected it was going to get worse.

Moses pulled his hat down over his eyes to block out the rain, a sense of foreboding growing in him as dense as the slate gray clouds hovering over the city.

“I thought I would find you here.”

Moses turned and smiled briefly, moving over to make room for Roy. “My gut tells me something is going to happen today.”

Roy scowled as he stared out over the city. “We ain’t getting our bonus,” he said bitterly.

“What bonus?”

“We was promised a bonus when we mustered out. Not only ain’t we been paid — they ain’t giving us our bonus. The fellas be pretty upset.”

Moses nodded. He could feel the tension building on both sides of the walls of the fort.

“Carl was brung back last night.”

Moses looked up sharply. “The soldier the police beat about ten days ago?”

“Yep.”

Moses frowned. Carl’s story was the one that had prompted him to come to the fort. Five policemen had arrested Carl for no apparent reason. His only crime had been walking down a Memphis street in broad daylight. As they led him away, he had begged for an explanation. Their answer was to club him savagely on the head until he fell face-down into the muddy street, his body twitching spasmodically. The policemen laughed, summoned a dray, loaded him onto it, and sent him off to jail. Justifiably, the other soldiers in the area had been upset and angry. “How is he?”

“He’ll live,” Roy said shortly. “I guess he can be thankful for that.”

“Did they ever tell him why they arrested him?”

“Nope. And he learned not to ask if he didn’t want more beating. They pulled him out of the basement jail this morning and dropped him off at the fort walls. They told him if he knew what was good for him he wouldn’t come out of the fort again.” Roy clenched his fists. “It ain’t right.”

Anger pulsed through Moses. “No, it isn’t right,” he agreed, trying to think clearly through the fury burning his body.

“Why are you here, Moses?”

Moses watched a steamer plowing slowly up the flooded Mississippi and then turned to Roy. “I wish I knew,” he admitted. “When I heard Carl’s story, I wanted to do something to help.” He shook his head. “I haven’t been able to do a thing.”

“There’s some little girls who done think you’re a hero,” Roy said with a grin.

That was enough to make Moses’s fury abate. He had made it a special point to visit the school nearest the fort. He knew Rose would want a report. The teacher had begged him to talk about his time as the first Union spy. Moses had regaled them with stories, enjoying the look of pride lighting their eyes. He knew how important it was to prove to them they could be more than white society told them they could be. Four of the little girls had clamored for his attention. One of them, ten-year-old Felicia, had stolen his heart with her soft, eager eyes and her gentle smile.

“You done give some of the boys hope,” Roy continued. “There’s some of them still not believing you actually own half a plantation in Virginia, but me and some of the others know you ain’t lying. I heard them talking about the fellas working there who have their own land now and are building houses. It makes them hope that someday somethin’ like that might happen for them.”

“I wish I could hire them all,” Moses muttered.

“You reckon things can really change?” Roy asked, doubt mixing with the hope in his voice.

Moses hesitated and then nodded. “I do, but it’s going to be a long, hard road.”

“Can’t be as hard as slavery,” Roy responded.

Moses wasn’t so sure. “It might be,” he said slowly. “It just might be as hard in a different kind of way.” He thought of the school burning…of Carl being beaten…of Abby being accosted by thugs outside the factory. “Getting our freedom was just the first step. Now we are going to have to fight to actually
live
free. Most of the South doesn’t want us to be free. Most of the North doesn’t know what to do with us now that we are.”

“You figure they just used us to win the war?” Roy asked heavily.

Moses wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. He chose to not answer directly. “Whatever their reason, we are now free,” he said firmly. “Whatever it takes, we are going to stay free.” Visions of John and Hope filled his mind. He saw Rose standing in front of a class full of eager children. “It’s up to us to create the life we want to live.”

They sat together in silence for a long time, the wind whipping waves on the Mississippi and causing the clouds to scuttle across the sky as they deposited a soft rain. Moses struggled to find release from his agitation, but red flags were waving wildly in his mind. “Something is going to happen today.”

“You hear what happened last night?” Roy asked after a long silence.

“I heard.” Three of the soldiers had come back with the story of an altercation with the police when they were returning to the fort around mid-afternoon. The soldiers had given way to the policemen on the sidewalk, but words and taunts had been exchanged. By the time the incident was over, one of the soldiers had been clubbed by a pistol so viciously that the gun had broken in half. He had returned to the fort bleeding both from his head and from his nose. He had been taken immediately to the hospital. Another had been hit in the back of the head with a rock. He too, had received medical care.

“From what I can tell,” Moses said slowly, “there was blame on both sides, but the soldiers definitely caught the worst of it.” His eyes continued to scan the horizon. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he could feel it coming.

Moses was heading back to the barracks with Roy when Harry stopped them.

“Come on out with us,” Harry called.

“Out where?” Moses asked cautiously.

“A bunch of us are going to Grady’s saloon to let off some steam,” Harry replied.

Moses glanced up at the sky as he thought about how he wanted to respond. The clouds had cleared. Sun and breeze were working hard to dry the ground.

“Come on, Moses,” Harry pressed. “You’ve done little but stay inside the fort for the last three days. There are some fellas that want to talk to you. I’m figuring you decided to stay in the fort ‘cause you got things you want to learn. You’ll find the fellas talk a little easier when they got some drink in them.”

Moses still hesitated, quite certain the fellas were also less likely to be cautious when they were drinking. He couldn’t shake the feeling of imminent trouble.

“Do what you want, Moses,” Roy said. “I’m going out.”

Moses stared at him, not liking the reckless look in his eyes. He made up his mind. “I’m coming,” he announced. He had grave doubts about his decision, but he wanted to be where he could do some good if his new friends needed him.

Harry grinned and headed for the fort’s gate. “Let’s go do some celebrating. We’re no longer in the army!”

Moses’s tension grew as they approached a boisterous group of several dozen soldiers bunched together on a corner. They had evidently decided to leave Mary Grady’s saloon. He knew their loud yelling and laughter was fueled by the whiskey in their canteens. Several of them were quite obviously drunk. He could see shop owners and residents scowling at them, but they seemed oblivious. If the soldiers felt the disapproval, they didn’t care.

Just as they reached the group, Moses saw four policemen approaching.

“What are all of you doing?” one policeman called.

“Just drinkin’ and goin’ on,” a soldier responded with a drunken laugh. He raised his canteen and guzzled some more whiskey.

Moses didn’t know the man who answered, but he could see the fury in the policemen’s eyes.

The same policeman stepped forward. “You must cease your carousing and get off the street,” he ordered brusquely.

Moses stiffened as the entire group ignored the policemen, acting as if they weren’t even there. He sidled up to Roy and Harry. “We should go,” he said quietly.

Roy scowled. “They ain’t got no right to tell us to leave,” he protested. “We ain’t hurting nobody.”

“Perhaps not,” Moses responded, “but things are about to get bad.” Everything in him was telling him to go back to the fort, but he was hesitant to leave Roy and Harry.

“Let them get bad!” Harry sneered, reaching for a canteen a fellow soldier was holding out to him. His eyes flashed with anger as he raised the canteen. “Hurrah for Abe Lincoln!” he called out.

Moses saw the policemen’s eyes flash with contempt.

“Shut up!” the policeman yelled.

“Your old father, Abe Lincoln, is dead and damned!” another policeman yelled.

Moses stepped back into the shadow of a building, watching as the altercation escalated. He could feel the tempers growing on both sides. He forced himself to remain calm and figure out what he should do. His decision to stay in the fort did not include heckling the police with a group of drunken soldiers who were doing nothing but causing trouble for every black in South Memphis. Perhaps they had the right to drink on the street corner, but everything in him said they were about to bring down a terrible wrath on innocent citizens who were trying to do nothing but live.

“Get out of here!” one of the soldiers yelled, rage twisting his face.

Moses recognized Charles Nelson, a self-proclaimed enemy of the white race. He had been imprisoned for sixty days of hard labor under ball and chain after trying to stab an Irish policeman. After he was released, days later he was arrested on a false arson charge and beaten severely.

“That’s the man who beat me!” Nelson howled. He grabbed a club and lunged toward the offending policeman.