Chapter 10

Tuesday October 13

I slept poorly, despite having such a heavy day of work and not sleeping much at all the night before at the hospital. If I had dreams I did not remember them, and I did not allow my mind to ruminate on any topic for too long-but that meant I was mentally wrestling with myself all night. On Tuesday morning I did my best to fix myself up and hide any internal distress behind a calm façade and one of my other favorite blue outfits. I was hoping for a day of distractions, but sadly that was not to be. Briefly, I considered calling on Isaac or Paul or trying to schedule to visit one of the free clinics, but could not make myself pick up the telephone or send a letter around.

There were no new bodies and I was not called out to any crime scenes so I worked on developing samples, so I could send them to the University for analysis while I completed the more routine lab work. The morgue was silent – not the quiet I usually enjoyed, but it seemed empty and I was uncharacteristically fretful. Mr Baynes, my assistant, was helping one of the area undertakers deliver the now properly-identified M. La Rue to be prepared for burial and in the solitude I drifted off…

***William and I were sharing his bed, spooning closely, not a stitch of fabric at all between us, while I enfolded him in my arms and could taste the salty skin on his back with my tongue. I felt beautiful abiding sensations where his hands had stroked me, where he had deeply and passionately filled me… He had fallen asleep after being sated, and I reached over to turn him towards me, needing to have truth between us. He showed me his handsome countenance and opened his warm brown eyes.

"Why can't we always be like this?" he asked, searching my face.

I knew the answer, of course. "Because we want different things. You want children. You want a family," I told him.

"I only want you," he insisted, and looked at me with such love and longing it nearly broke my heart.

I was compelled to touch him, to look deeply into his eyes. "That's not true William. You know it."

"All I know is I will never love any one, like I do you." He seemed so genuine and so sincere in his belief.

I sighed. "We never love the same way twice. But you will love again." I said it to him tenderly, with all my affection. "Love is like gravity William, you have to let yourself fall…"

Part of me wondered if I was talking to him or to myself. I did not want to leave the dream, hoping somehow the ending would be different, and I held on to him as tightly as I could… but the dream shifted to William surrounded by Mrs Jones and her son…***

…I woke up suddenly with a gasp and decidedly bittersweet emotions. My head had been deposited on the pages of my ledger and I looked frantically around, hoping no one had caught me sleeping. Fortunately I was quite alone and could gather my composure, with the images still imprinted in my mind. My ledger was forgotten.

What was that? It seemed so real….A dream? A vision? If a dream, why was it, I wondered, that I dreamed of William more when he was most unattainable? And such a sensual dream at that. I also wondered, not for the first time, if he ever dreamed of me, sensual or not…

Or was it a vision and was my vision the truth? Did he actually want a family and a child that I could not give him? Why did I have that, for lack of a better term, 'encounter', now, today? I have never had an experience quite like that before and was confounded by the immediacy of it all—it did not seem like a dream at all, and it was certainly no memory! What in heaven's name had just happened? I thought of the cheerful Gaelic governess my family had for a time when my sister and I were little girls. She told us stories about mystical beings and people having the An Da Shealladh, or "second sight," and those tales sounded just like my dream… Was I losing touch with reality?

Worse yet…Did I love him? I thought, followed by a more difficult idea that disturbed me greatly. And more to the point, if I truly loved him, did that mean I had to let him go?

# # #

It was barely ten minutes later when Mrs Jones burst in upon me telling me "William" was in distress and asking me to come and see to him. My immediate reaction was fear of an infection setting in, so I grabbed my bag and rode with her in a fast two-horse carriage to his boarding house, my reverie all but forgotten.

During the trip we attempted awkward conversation, and I could not help but take the opportunity to examine her closely. I noticed she was conventionally pretty—young but dignified, petite with rosy skin and in obviously robust health with a womanly figure. I discovered myself thinking: Mrs Jones is already proven to be fertile and someone who was the marriage-type. I could see William being comfortable with this intelligent and domestic companion. She would of course be attracted to his good looks and to his clean and upright habits. She would take care of him, his home and family and he would in turn protect and provide for her. It would be uncomplicated, traditional, and logical so perhaps…

I stopped there, reviewing what happened to me at my desk while I was asleep. Mrs Jones reminded me of Liza a little, so it occurred to me she was more William's usual "cup- of- tea", so to speak. Everything I was not, I heard myself thinking. Mrs Jones made a statement to me about fighting for what was important that I suspected covered a lot of territory. It gave me pause to consider...

I was ultimately grateful Mrs Jones called on me because the detective was indeed in a bad way and needed immediate dosing to combat infection and something to bring his fever down. I found myself, against my own sensibilities, not wanting to leave his side, Or not wanting to leave her with him, I guessed, but we were quickly dismissed Mrs Burgess (Mrs Kitchen's church-friend) and back out in the street, looking uncomfortably at each other. I decided to take charge and hailed a cab for us to share, taking her first to her home and then me on to the morgue.

After a long silence I started the conversation. "Mrs Jones, I am happy you asked Mrs Burgess to put cold compresses on his head and neck…that helped tremendously. I am surprised Mrs Burgess did not send for me earlier, but it was a lucky thing you stopped by to see…him…" I could not say, "William" or "Detective Murdoch."

"I am used to caring for the sick, Dr Ogden. First my parents, and then my husband…and now of course Alwyn. I recognized right off William was in unusual distress. Do you think it is infection?" she asked.

"William"…I noticed again that already it is "William" between them…. I dragged myself back. "I am not sure, I hope that is all it is. The detective is strong and otherwise healthy. Medicine only does so much, the rest is up to the patient's constitution." I stared out the window, not sure what to think and still wondering what sparked the decided downturn in his recovery.

"I wanted to thank you also, Dr Ogden for dropping everything and rushing over. I did not know who else to call upon…" She paused and took a breath and exhaled. "So, doctor, may I ask a personal question?" She looked directly at me, unflinching.

I knew very well what she wanted to know, and for a wild moment wanted to lie. I crushed the instinct. "About Detective Murdoch?" She nodded and looked steadily, but I saw she was holding her breath. "We are professional colleagues, and nothing more…" I forced it out and looked to the window again before coming back to her. "The detective and I tried dating, only once it turned out, but it didn't really suit us." Not exactly a lie, I thought, but honest enough about the outcome… "I confess it was probably not a good idea in the first place." That part was certainly true. "But he's a good man, and all of… his fellow officers…care for his welfare very much."

"Yes, he has spoken highly of his workmates too," she said as she exhaled, and seemed content with that as we came up to her home. "Doctor, I will look after him, and I promise to call again if there are any other issues. And I will check the bandage for infection and let you know," she said before disembarking, leaving a pleasant odor of lavender behind her in the cab.

I thanked her, understanding that she was dismissing me from any excuse to look in on Detective Murdoch, so I told the driver to move on to the morgue. I used the time in the carriage to reorder my thoughts and focus once more on what I could actually do something about.

I finished all the work that was due or overdue by that point. Despite being very tired my mind would not be quieted. Something was worrying the back of my brain and it was not just my thoughts of Enid Jones and William Murdoch, but the answer was elusive and would not yield to my frustrated attentions.

I therefore made arrangements with Isaac for supper the next evening and to visit one of the University clinics, and then I took myself over to the archery range and loosed arrows for almost an hour while the daylight was still good, feeling quite satisfied at each thwack as the points struck the target. I moved back from 50 feet easily through 75 feet and finally on to 100 feet with only slight loss of accuracy until I got the rhythm at each new distance with my forty-five pound recurved bow. I was usually amused when one of the men tried to borrow my equipment and struggled with the draw; or if they could draw, not be able to find the target. The 1900 Paris Olympics will be having archery for the first time as an official Olympic sport, but women will not be invited, despite the fact that even a female amateur like myself could outshoot some of the men at the club. I found that infuriating, and today it added to my pull on the string. The finest club archer was in fact a woman, Mildred Abernathy, and she and I had a small bet going about which of the men would try and outshoot her, and by how much they would fail!

My complaints to Isaac about misogyny aside, surgery and autopsy work did indeed require upper-body strength and when I did not keep up with my exercise I usually felt the aches more readily after a long day of hauling, turning, cutting, pulling and weighing bodies. I suppose it was fortunate that women's clothing styles favored covered arms so that my muscles were not obvious; it was hard enough many times to appear demure and ladylike especially with my height…. Being alone and undisturbed on the range completely suited my needs and I must say I was much more relaxed when I was done even though my back burned and my arms and shoulders quivered a bit with exhaustion. The boy who retrieved arrows was going to have a job ahead of him.