With Every Breath (13 page)

“The sanitariums only accept early cases when people can still hope for a cure,” Trevor continued. “You’ve seen the patients I care for. They are destitute. The sanitariums are expensive, and the likelihood of a cure is low, but what if . . .” Trevor leaned forward, and his voice thickened with intensity. “What if it isn’t the quality of the air, but the
sunlight
that is curing them? It’s a free treatment anyone in the world can afford. No need to move to another part of the country for years, no doctors or expensive sanitariums draining a family’s life savings. Don’t you see the possibility, Kate? The potential is too great to ignore. I have to try.”

Her fingers curled along the rim of her seat. When Trevor was flushed with excitement like this, he was irresistibly attractive. She tore her gaze away to glance around the roof. “Are you thinking of testing it here?”

Trevor stood, excitement gleaming on his face. “Follow me, and I’ll show you what I’m planning.”

Turrets on either side of the hospital bracketed the space, with two acres of flat asphalt stretched between. He pointed to the far side of the roof. “I want to re-pave that area with tile for the wheelchairs. Something will need to be done for the drainage, but I’ll hire an architect for that. The biggest challenge will be constructing an elevator to get the patients up here.”

Kate walked to the chest-high wall surrounding the roof. From this vantage point she could see all the way to the US Capitol. How clean the city looked from up here. She closed
her eyes to savor the cool breeze on her face. It was soothing merely being up here.

“Do you think it’s an insane idea?” Trevor asked. The caution in his voice startled her. He was actually holding his breath as he awaited her answer.

“It’s nice up here,” she said. “I expect the patients will like it as well.”

Trevor moved to stand beside her, bracing his hands on the wall and gazing out toward the horizon. “You have no idea how badly I want to find a cure. Sometimes I snap awake in the middle of the night with ideas. Theories. Prayers.” Longing was carved into every line of his face.

“When I first started researching this disease, it was a time of such hope. Dr. Brehmer had just discovered how to isolate the tuberculosis cell. After hundreds of years of speculation, we
finally
knew how it spread. Everyone was convinced we were on the cusp of finding the cure. I woke up each morning with such hope, I couldn’t wait to run to the laboratory. Literally run. I thought if I wanted something badly enough, worked and prayed hard enough, it was bound to come true. I would pay any price. Make any sacrifice.”

Trevor’s hands clenched the brick wall so hard his knuckles went white. He dipped his head, and his voice grew soft. “When I was finishing my studies at Harvard, the janitor who cleaned the laboratories came to me and begged for help. He had two children he believed had consumption, but no money for a doctor. I agreed to treat them for free. The look on that man’s face . . .”

Anguish clogged Trevor’s voice, and he swallowed hard. “It was the first time anyone ever looked at me with that terrible combination of hope and desperation. He was frantic to save his children, and I was convinced I could do it. I thought . . .”
His voice trailed off. The hope on his face drained away and he shook his head.

“What happened?” she asked.

He drew a breath to speak, but then must have thought better of it because he turned and headed for the doorway leading downstairs. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

She grabbed his elbow to stop him from reaching to door. “Trevor, what happened?”

She wasn’t certain why it was so necessary that she know what happened all those years ago, but Trevor was becoming very important to her, and she was desperate to understand him better. When he tried to pull away from her, she tightened her grip.

“Tell me,” she said. “Please, I need to understand.”

At last, he conceded and turned to brace his hands atop the wall, staring out over the treetops.

“They were twins,” he finally said, as though the words had to be dragged from him. “They were only twelve years old . . . Jack and Amy Collison. Everything about their home was designed to foster tuberculosis. The whole family shared the same sleeping room, with the windows closed because they thought the night air was dangerous. Jack and Amy showed immediate improvement as soon as I got their father to keep the windows open and improve their diet. After that, everyone in the family looked at me like I was a savior. I let myself become close to them. I celebrated their thirteenth birthday with the family. I went to Sunday services with them. Jack’s wildest dream was to climb to the top of Jay Peak in the Green Mountains, and I promised that when he could blow into a spirometer long enough to keep a ball suspended in the chamber for twenty seconds, I would take them. I worked so hard to get them both healthy. Jack practiced blowing into that stupid device
for months, but it worked. His lungs got stronger, and I knew if they could climb to the top of that mountain, there was nothing that could stop us.”

Once Trevor began talking, the story began flowing out of him, as if the memories had been bottled up for so long that they could no longer be contained. His face took on a faraway look, and it was easy to get caught up in the elation that lay just beneath his words.

“You can’t imagine what that day was like,” he said. “Jack was grinning the whole way up the mountain. When Amy grew tired, I carried her on my back. We kept climbing, and when we got to the crest of the mountain . . . sometimes in life you know when you’re in a perfect moment, and that was one of them. When we got there, the air was sweet and clean. The wind, the sky, the sheer exhilaration . . . I felt that if I reached my hand out, I could touch God himself. It was
that
pure. As long as I live, I will remember that moment of blinding joy. I felt a calling and knew what I was destined to do with the rest of my life. I broke down and wept. So did Jack and Amy. I clung to those children and
knew
I would cure them. The whole world spread out below us, and I vowed to find a cure for tuberculosis or die trying. I wanted it too badly to fail.”

His voice began to quiver. “Of course, I
did
fail. It almost destroyed me when Amy died, and then Jack less than a year later. I loved every member of that family, but I won’t ever make that mistake again. My spirit almost broke, and I had to learn different ways of working with patients.”

He turned to face her. “I know the people at the hospital think I’m cold. I know using patient numbers seems heartless, but I won’t be able to last in this job if I do it any other way. You can’t imagine the misery I’ve seen. I’m human. I feel. And it hurts every time I lose a patient.”

The exhaustion in his voice was staggering. He looked beaten and drained as he braced himself against the wall. “Dreams are hard,” he said. “You work toward them, struggle and sacrifice, but that doesn’t always mean you will get there. I used to believe if I wanted something badly enough, I was destined to win it so long as I never gave up trying. Now I’m not so sure. I don’t know if I’ll be able to cure this disease, and I don’t know how to handle that.”

There was a hollow look in his eyes, and Kate ached to reach out and hold him, but he hadn’t stopped talking.

“Most people with this disease are too poor to afford a sanitarium, but if they can be treated with sunlight? I’ve got to try, Kate. I know whoever dares to suggest sunlight might be a cure is opening himself up to ridicule.” His face darkened, and she knew he was remembering the scathing articles in the
Washington Post
. “They’ll probably call me a quack, a charlatan.”

“Nobody who knows you thinks that,” she said.

A look of surprise crossed his face. Strange, but before this afternoon, she never realized how much her opinion mattered to Trevor. He shook off the fog of old memories, and excitement flushed his face. “I’ve already had an architect make a preliminary draft for the renovation,” Trevor said. “Come on, let me show you.”

She followed him downstairs. The tubercular ward seemed dim after the splendor on the rooftop, but his excitement was infectious. While Trevor fetched the architectural plans, Kate went to his desk to clear some space. Her eye was caught by a simple note in the center of his desk.

I remember
.

Those were the only two words on the note.
I remember
. Before she could process what the strange note meant, Trevor
arrived with the plans, beaming with suppressed excitement until he saw the note.

“What’s this?” he asked and picked up the two-word note.

“I have no idea.” They were going to need space and light to see the plans properly. She was about to move his pencil cup aside when little silver balls strewn across his desk caught her eye. She squinted. Sunlight glinted on their surface, perfectly round little globs not much bigger than kernels of corn. She reached out to touch one and it jiggled, quivering in the sun, even after she took her finger away.

Trevor dropped the papers and sucked in a fierce breath.

“Don’t touch it!” he shouted. His arm cut into her middle as he hauled her backward, then dragged her out of the office and toward the nurses’ station. He plunged her hand into a pitcher of water.

“What are you doing?” she gasped. The water was freezing, and it hurt.

He dragged her hand out and scrubbed it with a handkerchief in rough, painful swipes. He threw the handkerchief on the floor. “Dump out that water and throw the pitcher away,” he said to Nurse Ackerman. “Throw out the handkerchief as well, but be careful. Don’t let it get on your skin.”

He went back into his office, Kate close behind. Trevor stared at the trembling little globs of silver, horror on his face.

“What are they?” she asked.

“Mercury.” He swallowed hard, then grabbed a pencil and nudged one of the silver balls. It wobbled and merged with another, making a larger glob of shimmering silver.

The mercury was all over his desk, his chair, scattered around the floor. She glanced around the room. Her desk was clean, as was the rest of the office.

“Let’s get out of here.” Trevor’s hand clamped around her arm and propelled her out of the office.

He rapped out a series of questions to Nurse Ackerman. Had she seen anyone in his office today? Was there any sign of a break-in? The nurse didn’t see anyone suspicious, but four attendants had delivered the meals, and an orderly took a patient downstairs for a dental treatment. The mail clerk had been here, and a janitor and plumber to tighten some pipes.

“We need to get security in the ward,” Trevor said. He dragged a hand though his hair. “I’ll pay to have a guard here around the clock.”

Kate didn’t know much about mercury, but it must be dangerous because Trevor was flustered, and it took a lot to fluster Trevor. Sweat beaded up on his forehead, and he was struggling to control his breathing.

“I can help you clean it up,” she whispered.

“No,” he said brusquely. “I know how to handle mercury and will be the only one to clean it up. I’m going downstairs to arrange for a security guard, but no one is to go into my office. You may as well go home. I don’t want you back in the office today.”

* * * *

After Trevor dismissed her, Kate waited on the steps of the hospital, playing with the mangy dog she’d named Princess. Though a homely creature, the mutt was sweet tempered, and Kate slipped the dog a piece of her lunch every day.

She was glad for the dog’s company, because quite frankly she was frightened. She didn’t understand how serious this was until she saw how the hospital staff reacted to news of the mercury splashed across Trevor’s desk. Guards were positioned at the front and rear doors of the clinic. Two police officers arrived to interview the staff. Kate stopped by the medical reading room
and learned that mercury was a toxic element that could be dangerous even from touching. It was probably her imagination, but the tip of her finger where she’d touched one of the silver globs seemed to tingle.

She would tolerate no more of Trevor’s evasiveness. He wasn’t leaving the building without telling her what had sparked this rash of bad publicity. And he surely knew whoever wrote the chilling note,
I remember
.

She hugged the dog. “You need a bath, Princess,” she whispered. Maybe she would take the dog home for a quick scrub. Her parents forbade pets in the boardinghouse, so it would have to be done quickly.

“Please tell me you haven’t been feeding that dog again.” Trevor stood on the step above her. There were shadows under his eyes, and for the first time she noticed lines on his face. He must be exhausted.

“Trevor, I need to know what’s going on.”

He darted down the stairs without looking at her. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“It most certainly does.” His long legs devoured space, and she had to run to keep up with him. “The book I consulted says mercury is a poison, and someone dumped it all over
our
office.” The sun was beginning to slip behind the trees, casting long shadows. It was a warm August evening, but she still felt chilly.

“They’re mad at me, not you.”

“Who’s doing this?”

A muscle worked in his jaw, yet he kept striding forward, his eyes angry. “I don’t know.”

“But you do know
why
.”

He didn’t deny it. The sidewalk was dense with pedestrians, and Trevor wasn’t about to spill his secrets out in the open. Try
ing to keep up with him was like swimming upstream, angling around a paper boy and a vendor pushing a coffee cart.

A churchyard and cemetery was on their right, bordered by a low brick wall. As they passed the gate, she grabbed Trevor’s arm and steered him inside. He didn’t resist, but his glower could scorch her skin.

“Why is this happening, Trevor? I can’t help unless I know.”

His fists were clenched. Scanning the churchyard, he nodded to a bench in the corner. “We won’t be overheard in the far side of the yard.”

They moved to a stone bench in the corner, where it was cool under a couple of shade trees. The cold of the bench penetrated through her skirts. Anxiety made her hands clammy, and she blew on them to generate some warmth.