Darkness

Natchez

Samuel Duncan

“Go straight home,” I tell Ben.

He shrugs, and I know that stubborn expression. “I know what you’re thinking,” I say, “and don’t do it. Don’t try to go to work at Gregor’s house. You know he’s not even there, right? Just go home, rest, don’t exert yourself. You aren’t actually fully recovered yet, and you know it.”

His mouth, his wonderful mouth that can bring me so much pleasure, thins under his beard. “Look,” I say, “you don’t have to stay in bed if you don’t want. Just sit on the sofa and read or something quiet. You can read Benjamin Franklin’s Autobiography some more, or even Udolpho if you want. I just really need to make sure you are resting. It’s only been a couple of days, you should still be feeling sicker than you are, and I’m not sure I trust this fever to not come back.”

He waves his hand, as though to brush aside my concerns.

I look straight at him, and quietly say, “Please? I don’t want to have to worry about you.” His warm brown eyes seem to melt, and I think he finally realizes that he’ll be doing me a favor by following my instructions.

David comes into the room, where I am sitting on the side of Ben’s bed trying to reason with him. “Taxi’s here!” David announces.

“I’ll walk,” Ben replies, and I don’t even get the chance to admonish him.

“Don’t be an idiot,” David tells his best friend, thwacking him across the back of the head. This makes Ben wince, obviously because he still has a bit of a headache. “There!” David says triumphantly. “See? Go get in the wagon, Ben.”

Ben sighs and shakes his head. Between the two of us, David and me, we are usually able to get him to admit defeat.

“I’ll come up and check on you later,” I tell Ben. David walks him out the door, while I go to discharge the next patient.

Uncle Samuel has brought his buggy down to pick up Matilda, and they are waiting in her room. I put my hand on her forehead. Still no fever. “Well, young lady,” I tell her, “ready to go home?”

She nods fervently.

“All right, but you have to just rest, stay up in the nursery with your nursemaid for a few days, all right? Tell your parents if you start feeling sick again.”

“Yes, Samuel,” she tells me. “Will you come and see me?”

“I will,” I say, planting a little kiss on her forehead. “Be nice to your little brother.” Us younger brothers have to stick together in this family.

We soon have the rest of the patients being discharged sitting on the wagon with Ben, and David guides the horses away, up the hill. I watch as they go. I’m glad Ben is feeling better, but I won’t stop worrying about him until I know he is back to normal.

Going back into the infirmary, I take stock. There are currently eight beds filled in the infirmary. The initial patients have all been discharged. Most of the current patients arrived yesterday, but they are already showing signs of recovery too. It is most perplexing. I wonder how many patients will arrive today? Or is this outbreak over, and we won’t have any new cases?

My question is answered soon, when two men arrive supporting a third between them, who is barely able to stay upright. “Come in here,” I tell them, leading them back into one of the unused patient rooms. Gregor’s staff is already busy making up the beds in the rooms that were just vacated.

“Lay him here,” I say, and they ease him down onto the bed, where he immediately closes his eyes. He looks quite ill, his skin very jaundiced, sweaty and trembling. I look up to his companions, who have taken their hats off their heads and are standing watching him with concern. I realize they are with the slave patrol, I recognize the hats they are holding. Well, it won’t make any difference to me. As a doctor I am sworn to help anybody, regardless of whether I disapprove of their profession.

“How long has he been sick?” I ask, laying my hand on his forehead to feel his extremely high fever, checking his pulse which seems thready and uneven.

“A few days,” one of them replies.

“Really? He should have come here earlier,” I say, continuing to tend to him, dunking a cloth into a basin of fresh water and mopping his sweaty face, trying to cool him a little. He shudders under the cold cloth, the intense fever causing him to shiver as though he is cold rather than hot. He is barely conscious, and clearly in no condition to answer questions.

The other man shrugs. “He didn’t want to come here, and he said he was getting better. But this morning when we went to check on him he seemed so bad that we decided to just drag him down here.”

“Well,” I say, “you did the right thing. I’ll do what I can for him.” I wonder, though, if anything I can do will be enough. This is definitely the sickest patient I have seen so far during this outbreak. If he has been ill for several days, started to get better and now is this sick, I believe this is a relapse, the most dangerous phase of this disease.

Homochitto

Gregor

Moses stands in the yard, staring, as the last worker leaves his house. He seems equal parts emotional and numb with disbelief. Behind him are the flowers and vegetables and shrubs that Jake and Marcus planted in tidy rows at his direction. Inside, the walls are painted, the furniture is arranged, small throw rugs are on the floor in each room, the kitchen has a little stove with a pile of wood at the ready. There is very little left to do.

Tomorrow only a few things remain, and my crew doesn’t need to be involved with that. Beds need to be made, dishes stored in cupboards, a few knick knacks placed about. We have left a couple of paintings that he can hang on the walls.

But the cabin itself is ready. It’s Friday now, and I know the wedding is planned for Tuesday, but honestly he wouldn’t even need to wait that long if they wanted to get married earlier. However, Wolk tells me that the ladies have spent their day arranging quite an elaborate scheme for Tuesday’s celebration, and a great many things will have to fall into place for that.

So the cabin will just have to wait for a few days before it sees its first residents come in through the front door.

My crew is in the process of packing up all of the tools and unused materials, cleaning the area around the cabin so that it looks like a home and garden, not a construction site.

I raise my voice a little. “What fantastic work you all have done,” I shout to the crew. “Look at this!” I wave my hands over to the cabin, sitting all shiny and new and ready where five days ago there was nothing. I start applauding their efforts, and they all join me, cheering and clapping and congratulating each other. Jake and Marcus join right in, Charley standing by their side. The three of them seem to have become very friendly with each other over the course of the day. Three lads, with very different backgrounds, but so similar to each other after all, adolescents on the cusp of growing up.

“Well, go ahead and finish packing up and heading home,” I tell the crew. “I’ll meet you down at the boarding house a little later so we can make plans for the next week.”

Turning to Moses, I say, “Well, my friend, shall we go back and find out what Dalila has planned for you?” I have to grin at his widened eyes, as he realizes that his part in this endeavor is done. Now all that remains is going along with the plans made for the wedding.

We stroll back towards the house, very satisfied with a job well done, Jake and Marcus chattering happily behind us. They both seem to have enjoyed the day a great deal. Before Marcus leaves us to take the path towards the slave cabins, I take his hand in both of mine, giving him a lingering handshake and some more healing. With a chronic condition such as his, I would never be able to simply heal him. This is a lifelong affliction, and I can only help him while we are together. I know that Ayola will continue her efforts.

When James lets us in the door, Stephen is coming out of his study, where he was clearly avoiding the wedding planning. The ladies all seem full of energy and secrets. Rosalind and I gather together with the Duncans in the parlor again. Moses and Jake go off into the back with Dalila and Sarah and even Ayola. The little one seems to be trying so hard to behave, I believe trying to model her behavior after her mother’s. After a slave. I slightly shake my head. I am not going to allow my ongoing dispute with Stephen about the nature of slavery to interfere with Rosalind having a pleasant day with her friend.

I sit next to my wife and pull our child out of her arms, snuggling him to me. Stephen smirks a little. Oh, just you wait, my friend, I think, until you have one of your own. I suspect he’ll cuddle his babies as much as any other new parent.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Margaret asks us.

I look over at Rosalind. I am willing, unless she is too tired, or thinks that Vernon needs to get home. Wolk tells me, “She wonders if you need to get back to Natchez, since Harriet has been here all day and unable to provide reports about what is happening in town.”

Oh yes, I suppose that’s true. And that means that as soon as I get back I’ll no doubt be needed at the infirmary, rather than able to linger at home whipping up an omelet for Rosalind. I don’t imagine another hour at Homochitto will hurt anything.

“Darling,” I tell her, giving her a little shrug to convey that I received her question, “it’s up to you. Are you tired? Or would you like to stay for supper?”

“I’d like to stay, if that’s all right with you,” she replies.

“Great,” Stephen says, and leans back to call out, “Hester!”

She comes immediately in from the kitchen. “Two extra places for dinner, please,” he tells her. Then he seems to remember that I brought Jake. He looks to me and says, “Um, would your houseboy like to eat with us or with the servants?”

“Probably with the servants,” I say, “he’ll want to spend time with Moses. Thank you for asking.” I do not comment on the fact that he only offered to allow the one white servant to dine with us. Still a work in progress, I remind myself.

Hester nods and returns to the kitchen.

“Well,” I say, turning to Rosalind and Margaret, “while we are waiting, are you going to keep it a secret, or can you tell us about the ceremony?”

Stephen actually rolls his eyes, probably perfectly happy to be kept in ignorance. Not me! I want to know.

Margaret gives Rosalind a significant glance, and nods her head over at me. Oh my, what is this?

Rosalind looks at me with an expression of mischief. “Gregor, I have volunteered your services,” she tells me, apparently trying to suppress laughter. Even Wolk is snickering. But I can’t imagine anything I wouldn’t be perfectly happy to do for my friends.

“Of course,” I smile at her, “what can I do to be of service?”

“The service,” she replies, and looks at Margaret, and they both burst out laughing.

“What?”

It takes a moment, while I look over at Stephen, baffled, and he shrugs. Margaret finally adds, with a gentle smile, “Dalila would like for you to officiate the wedding service, Gregor. If you would be willing.”

Oh!