Chapter 31 - A Dearth of Doctors
Doctor Masterson decided not to visit the Heyes home again until he could be sure that David was dead. He thought he would wait a few more days.
In the meantime, there were certainly plenty of other people who needed his attention. The day after he'd dispatched young Hannibal Heyes to the orphan train, Masterson went to see the Browns.
Mr. Brown had made his money in the railroads and his house seemed like a palace in this part of the country. It was frequently so hard to get things delivered there that just the building materials alone were a wonder.
The doctor always tried to give them his special attention. He wanted them to view him favorably and had been fortunate enough to eat at their house a number of times.
Olivia Brown was sitting outside her house on a carved marble bench that must have cost half of the doctor's yearly salary.
She stood up to greet him when he approached. "Doctor Masterson, I'm so very glad you've come!" She was dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.
"Mrs. Brown, what is it? Surely your daughter is continuing to regain her strength?"
"Yes, Annabelle is recovering, although very weak. It's my husband, Gerald. He's sick."
"My dear lady, I'm so sorry! But I will give you some more medicine and I'm sure that he will pull through." He wasn't in hopes of this widow. She was old, short, dumpy and ill-favored. No amount of money could make him want to try and attract this one.
"It won't be enough! You gave us the medicine for Thomas and he died anyway!"
"But just look at Annabelle and how well she's recovering."
"She was never as bad as Harold. Please, I'd like you to come and look after him." Seeing him about to refuse, she added, "I'll pay you, whatever you'd like!"
He was about to shake his head when she said in desperation, "One thousand dollars! I'll pay you one thousand dollars if you come and take care of him."
As his mouth dropped open in shock, she added, "And I'll give you double that if he lives!"
He couldn't believe his ears - two thousand dollars! It was a ridiculous amount. Absurd.
Two thousand dollars!
And all he had to do was nurse her husband. Even if the man died, he'd still have one thousand dollars. He thought of all the farmers who tried to pay him with chickens and the number of people who still had outstanding debts with him.
He'd gone into the Heyes house and had been fine, and he had diagnosed the original patients without any ill-effects. He thought there was a good chance that he was immune to the disease. Some people were, he knew. Look at Elizabeth Heyes, for example. Everyone in the house had been sick and she was still healthy. And he didn't need to get too close to the man, surely. If he maintained a safe distance and kept the air fresh in the room, would it really be that much of a risk?
He felt sure he could keep the man alive if he was in constant attendance, and then who could say how grateful Mr. Brown himself might be? Two thousand dollars might be just a start!
He smiled at the thought of the direction his life was taking. An elegant, educated widow on the horizon and the promise of two thousand dollars!
"Mrs. Brown, I accept."
He may have planned to keep his distance from the patient, but Mrs. Brown was determined to get her money's worth. She pushed Doctor Masterson closer to her husband until he was standing right over him.
The man was very sick. He looked almost as bad as David Heyes. His breathing was strained and his lips had a bluish tinge.
"Well?" said Olivia Brown, as she waited for the doctor to examine her husband.
Masterson bent gingerly toward the patient and, just as he did so, Harold Brown coughed. Droplets of moisture from the man's mouth landed on the doctor's face. Masterson fell back in horror, desperately wiping at his face.
"Water!" he shouted, "Get me some water so that I may wash!"
Olivia Brown hurried to give instructions to her one remaining maid, Bertha, who quickly returned with a bowl of water and a towel. Their doctor washed as thoroughly as he could, his hands shaking.
He tried to tell himself that it was alright, that he was surely immune. He continued with his work, this time keeping well away.
Later that day, Olivia Brown became sick and Masterson found himself working furiously to save them both. If they both died, he wouldn't get a penny. Nobody would believe that Mrs. Brown had promised him one thousand dollars.
His hard work was all for nothing. Harold Brown died in the early hours of the next morning. His wife followed him a few hours later.
By the time his dream of two thousand dollars melted away into nothing, Doctor Masterson was too sick to leave.
Bertha, the old family retainer, had no time for the doctor that had let young Tom, as well as her master and mistress, die. She spent most of her time with her beloved Annabelle, continuing to nurse her back to health.
Doctor Masterson lay alone and neglected in one of the grand bedrooms in the mansion.
He died the next day.
One of the men from town rode out to see if he could find the doctor. Bertha called out the news of his demise from the window.
The man rode back to town, thinking. He knew that Harristown had three doctors. He thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to ride over there and see if one of them would like to relocate.
Everyone else in town thought that was a fine idea. It wasn't a good time to be without a doctor.
The first two doctors preferred staying where they were, rather than going to a town afflicted with diphtheria, but the third decided to go. He'd seen the disease before and he could cope with it again.
A week after Doctor Masterson's death, Doctor Schriever moved into the doctor's house and office.
He had a dilemma about the doctor's mail. He didn't want to open any personal correspondence, but some of it may be important and need to be answered. He decided that, at the very least, the man's mail might offer a clue to who they could contact about his death.
Most of it was fairly mundane business correspondence, but there was one unusual telegram. It read - 'Got work, took boy to Valparaiso. Got receipt, will send it with address for rest of pay. Arty.'
'Very odd,' thought Doctor Schriever. He filed it away and continued to go through the rest of the correspondence.
He went through the rest of the doctor's notes. Masterson had carefully recorded the dates of when he planned to lift the quarantines on every household. Schriever noticed that many of the quarantines should already have been lifted. He was going to have to go from house to house, checking that everything was as it should be before he could release anyone.
It was going to be a very busy week.
Against all the odds, three days after Han had been taken, David started to rally. Elizabeth cried with relief when she realized that the fever had broken and his breathing was returning to normal. Once she saw that her husband was beginning to recover, she was overjoyed. She found herself anxiously waiting for the doctor to return, so that she could ask him to return their son.
They could be a family again. While David slept, Elizabeth decided it was time to start clearing out the storage room beside the kitchen. She felt jittery and impatient, and it would give her something to do while she waited for the sound of hooves in the yard.
She waited.
And she waited.
Doctor Masterson didn't come. No-one came.
A week went by.
A cold, nameless fear began to grip her. She couldn't leave - the house was still quarantined and they were under strict orders to stay where they were - but no-one came near them. Even during the height of the infection, the doctor had called on them frequently… so where was he now? Why didn't he come?
She was frantic. Where was he? Was Han alright? She wanted her boy returned to her; she missed him terribly and she didn't want to think about David's reaction if he realized that Han wasn't there.
She couldn't think about the possibility of anything happening to Han.
She continued to work on the room and even pulled out scraps of fabric to make a quilt for him.
Twenty times a day she went to the window to see if anyone was coming.
She had never felt so helpless or alone.
Elizabeth should have been happy now that David was recovering, but she was sick with worry about Han. Surely Masterson wouldn't have done anything without her permission? He'd promised her - hadn't he?
In truth, she could barely remember; she'd been so tired, she remembered that day in a kind of a fog.
She hadn't told David yet - she couldn't. She was afraid the shock might kill him. He hadn't fully recovered from his illness, he was still having problems breathing and seemed to have developed a cough. In an absurd way, she was almost glad of it, because it gave her an excuse for not producing Han.
He'd asked after the boy as soon as he'd returned to consciousness and she tried to stay as close to the truth as she could - "Han only had a mild dose of the diphtheria and made a full recovery, but he was exhausted," she told him.
When he'd asked to see his son, she said she couldn't consider it until they were both much stronger, especially since she couldn't be sure that his cough wasn't infectious. David could see the sense in that. Han would still be convalescing and didn't need to be exposed to anything else. Elizabeth told him how deeply Han had been sleeping and the doctor's diagnosis of extreme exhaustion.
If Han was still so weak, then Beth was right; best let the boy sleep and build up his strength. He knew that she only ever wanted the best for her family; if she said they weren't well enough to see each other, then he would trust her judgement. She had told him that Han had recovered and that was enough for him. He knew the boy must be fine, because she'd started sewing a quilt for him. Sometimes, she brought it into the bedroom with her and sewed while she sat by his bedside.
Still, he missed his son. He couldn't even hear him speaking or moving around the place; but then, Hannibal had always been a quiet child. Talkative, yes, but low voiced, and he moved quietly with natural grace. David smiled to himself and settled back to sleep. The sooner he recovered, the sooner he would see his boy again.