~*Chapter One*~ user Normal user 1 1 2001-10-30T01:11:00Z 2001-10-30T01:12:00Z 2 1752 9988 83 19 12265 9.2720 4.5 pt 2 2

~*Chapter One*~

                "Look! There she be, Seamus! The Statue of Liberty! Oi…she be quite a sight…"

                "Aye, that she be, Evelyn…that she be…"

                Quatre looked out towards Ellis Island as the nearby Irish couple spoke; just like them; he knew not what awaited him here; especially in the slums of this large and unpredictable city. It had been a long way here, and Quatre was quite thankful to be able to set foot on solid earth once again. The sea breeze ruffled through his hair as the ship took to port, and after registration as a temporary citizen of America, he took a ferry to the mainland.

                He glanced around at the large assortment of people all over the shores, speaking in all sorts of languages. Beside him sat his trunk of belongings and his suitcase, and he was amazed at how crowded with people the port was. He began forward, carrying his trunk and suitcase beside him. Carriages passed him by on the streets as he tried to make his way through the teeming crowds; people were pushing about him every way he went without even an apology.

                "Hum…Iria had been quite right when she said that these Yankees were rude. One can't even walk down a footpath without having his toes rung on!" he said to himself, barely able to hear his own words as he passed. Along the narrow dusty streets, people were doing business with street vendors in many different languages, and carts passed by with such amazing speed that many feared to be trampled by them as they passed. The British doctor kept his eyes open for any sight of a temporary transport; he had no fond wish of walking through this strange city with his luggage on his back. He stopped briefly and glanced around though the throngs of people; when he found a carriage letting a young woman in a fine dress off onto the sidewalk. With surprising efficiency, Quatre pressed his way though the people and passed squawking chicken carts until he reached his destination. He stopped and dropped his trunk at his feet beside him; then spoke up in a loud, unmistakable voice.

                "Excuse me, Good sir! I am in need of assistance!" he began, promptly fetching the driver's attention.

                "What d'ya need, sir?" came the reply; a refreshingly polite reply in comparison to what the doctor had recently been exposed to. The young man was obviously Irish; there could be no mistaking it. Quatre smiled and continued.

                "I need a ride to St. Mary's Sanctuary for the Poor and Destitute. Could you supply me with adequate transportation? I do not wish to hinder you if you have other things to do." The young doctor laid a hand upon his belongings, as if to signify his need of a ride.

                The equally young driver nodded quickly and smiled. "Sure, sir, just hop right in. I'll get ye where ye need t'be."

                With a gracious thank you, Quatre hoisted his trunk and other belongings into the cart, then stepped up himself, taking a seat in the soft leather seats. The young man turned to him as he sat down and cleared his throat.               

                "Now, where was it that ye said y'needed t'be?" he asked slightly.

                "St. Mary's Sanctuary for the Poor and Destitute. I am to be the new doctor there; I came to aid in the cholera outbreak."

                "Aye, I understand ye now, sir. The cholera got me sis and bro. Me mom and father survived with only me. I hope ye can help us all."

                As they began to move, Quatre took a breath. "I'm very regretful about your family. I will do all I can to assist."

                After a few moments of silence, the driver spoke up again. "Ye may be a bit surprised when you see th' place ye be headin' to. It be a rough, unfriendly place. Quite unlike what ye upper-class socials be accustomed to, I bet."

                "Of that I can be quite sure of, young man. This entire town has been exactly what London was not. How can this place be any different?"

                The Irish lad said nothing; but they came to a stop thereafter, and he turned to the young doctor with an unsure gleam in his eyes. "We be arrived, sir. The price be 2 dollars and 47 cents."

                Quatre looked slightly taken aback. "I'm dreadfully sorry…I only have pounds, shillings, and pence. Would you accept this?" The doctor held out some of his funds to the driver, who smiled brightly. "I'm sure that it's more that the amount you asked for, but I don't mind letting you keep it."

                "Aye, that be adequate! Me family take any kind of money that we can; we need to desperately." The young man said with a jovial gleam in his green eyes. The doctor nodded warmly and opened his door, putting his feet lightly on the small black iron steps. As soon his polished shoes hit the dirty cobblestone below, a detestable scent hit his nose. He recoiled slightly and glanced back and down the street upon which he stood. His blood curdled at the sight.

                All up and down the filthy streets, people sat in rags, dirty and disheveled. Rats, flies, and the scent of death was rampant, and even the people seemed desolate and removed. The cries of hungry children and babies echoed down the deathly quiet streets, and no one seemed to care of worry; as though it was only routine. No light of any kind of a smile was upon anyone's face, and the stench of human waste invaded his nostrils. Quickly, he covered his face with a handkerchief and retrieved his trunk and other things.

                "Thank you again, lad. Farewell," Quatre mumbled from underneath his cloth, then turned to face his destination; a tall, cramped looking building with a rotting wooden door. Overhead hung a dilapidated sign with crudely painted letters across it that read, "St. Mary's Sanctuary for the Poor and Destitute". Determined yet unsure, he stepped forward and opened the rotten door. As he did so, several cockroaches scuttled out from the inside, as though they had been imprisoned inside. Quatre quickly raised his left foot in disgust, then entered the decrepit building.

                Regrettably, Quatre removed the cloth from his nose prematurely, and nearly wretched at the smell inside the poorhouse. If the stench was appalling outside, then it was tenfold over inside the building. He could feel the slight jump of fleas upon his lower legs as they went over his shoes, and he could smell the rat feces in the heavy air. He glanced around at the few people who sat in the large, sparsely furnished room; they sat on ripped up, grungy chairs, and another couple sat on the floor, one with a newspaper in hand. He seemed to be reading to the young woman next to him quite intently. He stepped forward gingerly and closed the door behind him. He could tell that they were on the brink of starvation; and he felt penitent that he did not have anything to offer them as nourishment.

                About that time, a tall, imposing looking young man strode purposely over to Quatre, a malicious gleam in his eyes. He took a glance at the fine apparel that the young doctor wore and sneered at him disdainfully. "My name's Mueller; I run this God-forsaken institution. Now, what the Hell does a damn rich bastard like you need in this shithole?"

                Quatre looked up at him with a stately gaze and crossed his arms condescendingly, meeting Mueller's contemptuous gaze with his own aloof look and took a breath. "Mueller, did you say it was? Well, I've got one thing to ask you. Are all Yankee Americans as bloody rude as you? If so, then I do believe that I will have a hard time adjusting to this atmosphere. Well, in all actuality, I would have a hard time adjusting to this place even if you Americans were as refined as God himself, because frankly, I can't see how any human being could stand living in such horrendous conditions."

                Mueller looked a bit taken aback at this; he had never been stood up to like this before, and certainly not by someone he'd never even met before. He regarded the young British doctor for a few seconds, not really sure of what to make of this cheeky fellow.

                "Now, if you'll kindly let me in….I am Doctor Quatre Winner from London. I was sent here to aid in the cholera epidemic...but having a large brute like yourself in my way is making it quite difficult to walk."

                "Oh, you're that guy. I heard about you coming over here." Mueller grumbled incoherently as he let Quatre enter, not paying mind to the cloth that Quatre again placed to his face to keep out the noxious stench. "Your room is up this way. Follow me."

                Irritated, Quatre followed the lumbering Mueller up a narrow, crumbling stairwell; marveling at how it was still stable enough to hold people.  After a few flights and many rats scuttling underneath their feet as they stepped, Mueller stopped in front of a rotting oak door and shoved it open, ignoring the termites that fell from the rusted hinges.

                "Here's your room. If you need anything, get it yourself." And with that, the lumbering head of the poorhouse made his way back down the stairs, grumbling inarticulately.

                Tentatively, Quatre stepped inside and could hardly believe that there was even a bed in this room. Not only was there a bed, but there was a dilapidated chest of drawers, a cracked, foggy mirror, and an old clouded window that even opened to show in a bit of sunlight as well. He quickly decided that, by the look of the state of the room; he'd rather leave his belongings inside the trunk that they came in. He set it against the wall and turned back to leave; he felt that he should get himself acquainted with the residents of this home; it may help him become more accustomed with his new surroundings.

                As he emerged from the ramshackle stairwell; a young woman in her late 20's met him with a smile. Her cornflower eyes were framed with golden eyebrows and long flowing blond hair. Her dress was of Irish make, although it was tattered and dirty. Behind her, a younger woman in her late teens was sitting on a chair sewing a small doll in her lap.

                "Hello, newcomer. Me name be Dorothy; and this be me younger sister Catherine. Ye d'not need to fret over Mueller; I rather enjoyed seein' someone stand up t' that lumberin' idiot o' a man." Dorothy accented this with a hearty chuckle, and with a charming smile she led him over to meet her sister, who had laid her sewing down and turned to face him with a sweet smile. Her short light brown hair shook gently around her ears as she looked towards him.

                "Oh, g'day, sir. I was quite amused when you told off that uncouth Mueller. He's been the same way towards us all ever since Dorothy and I came here 4 years ago. It were right after our father and brother died of the cholera. We couldn't find any work. It was because of the Potato Famine that we had to leave our homeland. And now we find ourselves 'ere. Some day we'd hope t' get out o' 'ere, but it don't see very likely." Catherine sighed softly, and Quatre laid a hand on her shoulder.

                "I promise that I will try to make conditions here better as best I can, miss." At this, Quatre turned his attention to the young Chinese couple that sat upon the floor. One was a young man who wore a pair of beaten up bifocals over his onyx eyes, and he seemed to be reading to the young woman that sat next to him out of the newspaper; seemingly about the slowly uprising of the womens' rights advocates. Quietly and with a bit of curiosity, he leaned over towards Dorothy and gave a her a curious look. "Who are they?"

                Dorothy smiled a bit. "Them be the Chang family, Wufei and Merian. They came all the way from Shanghai for a better life in America, just as us; but because of their race, they were put in here; seen as inferior. She can speak English, but not read it, unlike Wufei, who is brilliant. He is fluent in it, and reads to her ev'ry day from th' paper. Mighty kind o' him if ye ask me."

                Quatre nodded and continued to glance around when he saw a strange door across the room from him. It had grungy bars inset into the small window, and a small sound was coming from behind it.

                "That door seems quite unusual for a poorhouse. What exactly is it for? Surely not to keep the poor," Quatre stated, looking at it with worry. Catherine looked at him and shook her head, her voice filled with indifference.

                "Oh no, Doctor. That door to be for the poor. That door leads to the asylum, it does."