The Bone Garden: A Novel

Six

1830

ROSE DRAPED HER SHAWL over her head, wrapped it tight against the November chill, and stepped outside. She had left baby Meggie nursing greedily at the breast of another new mother in the lying-in ward, and tonight was the first time in two days she'd left the hospital. Though the night air was damp with mist, she inhaled it with a sense of relief, grateful to be away, if only for a short time, from the odors of the sickroom, the whimpers of pain. She paused outside on the street, breathing in deeply to wash the miasma of illness from her lungs, and smelled the river and the sea, heard the rumble of a carriage passing in the fog. I've been locked away so long among the dying, she thought, I've forgotten what it is to walk among the living.

Walk she did, moving swiftly through the bone-chilling mist, her footfalls echoing off brick and mortar as she navigated the warren of streets, toward the wharves. On this inhospitable night, she passed few others, and she hugged her shawl tighter, as though it offered a cloak of invisibility against unseen eyes that might regard her with hostile intent. She picked up her pace, and her breath seemed unnaturally loud, magnified by the thickening fog that grew ever denser as she moved toward the harbor. Then, through the rush of her own breathing, she heard footsteps behind her.

She stopped and turned.

The footsteps moved closer.

She backed away, her heart hammering. In the swirling mist, a dark form slowly congealed into something solid, something that was coming straight at her.

A voice called out: — Miss Rose! Miss Rose! Is that you? —

All the tension drained from her muscles. She released a deep breath as she watched the gangly teenager emerge from the fog. — Dash it all, Billy. I should box your ears! —

— For what, Miss Rose? —

— For scarin' me half to death. —

From the pathetic look he gave her, you'd think she had boxed his ears. — I didn't mean to, — he whimpered. And of course it was true; the boy couldn't be blamed for half of what he did. Everyone knew Dim Billy, but no one wanted to claim him. He was a constant and annoying presence on Boston's West End, wandering from barn to stable in search of a place to bed down, begging a meal here and there from scraps handed out by pitying housewives and fishmongers. Billy wiped a filthy hand across his face and whined, — Now you're all wrathy at me, ain't you? —

— What're you doing out and about at this hour? —

— Lookin' for my pup. He's lost. —

More likely ran away, if the pup had any sense. — Well then, I hope you find him, — she said, and turned to continue on her way.

He trailed after her. — Where're you going? —

— To fetch Eben. He needs to come to the hospital. —

— Why? —

— Because my sister is very ill. —

— How ill? —

— She has a fever, Billy. — And after a week in the lying-in ward, Rose understood what lay ahead. Within a day of giving birth to baby Meggie, Aurnia's belly had begun to bloat, her womb to drain the foul discharge that Rose knew was almost invariably the beginning of the end. She had seen so many of the other new mothers on the ward die of childbed fever. She had seen the look of pity in Nurse Robinson's eyes, a look that said: There is nothing to be done.

— Is she going to die? —

— I don't know, — she said softly. — I don't know. —

— I'm afraid of dead people. When I was little, I saw my own da dead. They wanted me to kiss him, even though his skin was all burned off, but I wouldn't do it. Was I a bad boy not to do it? —

— No, Billy. I've never known you to be a bad boy. —

— I didn't want to touch him. But he was my da, and they said I had to. —

— Can you tell me about it later? I'm in a hurry. —

— I know. Because you want to fetch Mr. Tate. —

— Go look for your pup now, why don't you? — She quickened her pace, hoping that this time the boy would not follow her.

— He's not at the lodging house. —

It took her a few paces to register what Billy had just said. She stopped. — What? —

— Mr. Tate, he's not at Mrs. O'Keefe's. —

— How do you know? Where is he? —

— I seen him over at the Mermaid. Mr. Sitterley gave me a spot of lamb pie, but he said I had to eat it outside in the alley. Then I saw Mr. Tate go in, and he didn't even say hello. —

— Are you sure, Billy? Is he still there? —

— If you pay me a quarter, I'll take you. —

She waved him away. — I don't have a quarter. I know the way. —

— A ninepence? —

She walked away. — Or a ninepence, either. —

— A large cent? A half cent? —

Rose kept walking and was relieved when at last she was able to shake off the pest. Her mind was on Eben, on what she would say to him. All the anger that she'd been holding in against her brother-in-law was now rising to a boil, and by the time she reached the Mermaid, she was ready to spring on him like a cat with claws bared. She paused outside the doorway and took a few deep breaths. Through the window, she saw the warm glow of firelight and heard the rumble of laughter. She was tempted to simply walk away and leave him to his cups. Aurnia would never know the difference.

It's his last chance to say goodbye. You have to do this.

Rose pushed through the door, into the tavern.

The heat from the fireplace brought prickles to her cold-numbed cheeks. She paused near the entrance, gazing around the room at patrons gathered at tables, huddled at the bar. At a corner table, a woman with wild dark hair and a green dress was laughing loudly. Several men turned to stare at Rose, and the looks they gave her made her pull her shawl tighter, even in that overheated room.

— You want to be served? — a man called out to her from behind the bar. This must be Mr. Sitterley, she thought, the barkeep who'd given Dim Billy a taste of lamb pie, no doubt to shoo the boy out of his establishment. — Miss? — the man asked.

She said. — It's a man I'm looking for. — Her gaze came to a stop on the woman in the green dress. Sitting beside her was a man who now turned and shot Rose a resentful look.

She crossed to his table. On closer inspection, the woman seated beside him looked thoroughly unappealing, the bodice of her dress soiled with spilled drink and food. Her mouth gaped open, revealing rotting teeth. — You need to come to the hospital, Eben, — said Rose.

Aurnia's husband shrugged. — Can't you see I'm busy grieving? —

— Go to her now, while you can. While she still lives. —

— Who's she talking about, darlin'? — the woman said, tugging on Eben's sleeve, and Rose caught a nauseating whiff of those rotting teeth.

Eben grunted. — My wife. —

— You didn't tell me you had a wife. —

— So I'm tellin' you now. — He took a sip of rum.

— How can you be so heartless? — said Rose. — It's been seven days since you've been to see her. You haven't even come to see your own daughter! —

— Already signed over my rights to her. Let the ladies at the infant asylum have her. —

She stared at him, appalled. — You can't be serious. —

— How'm I supposed to care for the brat? She's the only reason I married your sister. Baby on the way, I did my duty. But she was no cherry, that one. — He gave a shrug. — They'll find a good home for her. —

— She belongs with her family. I'll raise her myself, if I have to. —

— You? — He laughed. — You're just months off the boat, and all you know is a needle and thread. —

— I know enough to look after my own flesh and blood. — Rose grabbed his arm. — Get up. You will come with me. —

He shook her off. — Leave me alone. —

— Get up, you bastard. — With both hands, she hauled on his arm, and he stumbled to his feet. — She has but a few hours left. Even if you have to lie to her, even if she can't hear you, you will tell her you love her! —

He shoved her away and stood swaying, drunk and unsteady. The tavern had fallen silent, save for the crackle of flames in the fireplace. Eben glanced around at all the eyes watching him in disapproval. They'd all heard the conversation, and clearly there was no sympathy for him here.

He drew himself up straight and managed a civil tone. — No need to rail at me like a harpy. I'll come. — He gave his jacket a tug, neatened his collar. — I was only finishing up my drink. —

With head held high, he walked out of the Mermaid, stumbling over the threshold as he stepped out the door. She followed him outside, into a mist so penetrating, the dampness seemed to seep straight into her bones. They'd walked only a dozen paces when Eben abruptly turned around to face her.

His blow sent her reeling backward. She staggered against a building, her cheek throbbing, the pain so terrible that for a few seconds the world went black. She did not even see the second blow coming. It whipped her sideways and she fell to her knees, felt icy water soaking into her skirt.

— That's for talking back to me in public, — he snarled. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her across the cobblestones, into the mud of a narrow alley.

Another blow slammed into her mouth and she tasted blood.

— And that's for the four months I've had to put up with you. Always taking her side, always lined up against me, the two of you. My prospects ruined, all because she got herself knocked up. You think she didn't beg me for it? You think I had to seduce her? Oh, no, your saintly sister wanted it. She wasn't afraid to show me what she had. But it was spoiled goods. —

He wrenched her to her feet and shoved her up against a wall.

— So don't play the innocent with me. I know what kind of trash runs in your family. I know what you want. The same thing your sister wanted. —

He rammed up against her, pinning her against the bricks. His mouth closed over hers, his breath sour with rum. The blows had left her so dazed she could not summon the strength to push him away. She felt the hardening against her pelvis, felt his hand groping at her breasts. He yanked up her skirt and clawed at her petticoat, her stockings, tearing through fabric to reach naked flesh. At the touch of his hand on her bare thigh, her spine snapped taut.

How dare you!

Her fist caught him beneath the chin, and she felt his jaw slam shut, heard teeth smack together. He screamed and staggered backward, his hand clapped to his mouth.

— My tongue! I've bit my tongue! — He looked down at his hand. — Oh, God, I'm bleeding! —

She ran. She darted out of the alley, but he lunged after her and grabbed a handful of her hair, scattering pins across the stones. She twisted away and stumbled over her torn petticoat. The thought of his hand on her thigh, his breath on her face, sent her scrambling back to her feet. Hiking her skirt above her knees, she bolted headlong into the disorienting mist. She did not know which street she was on, or in which direction she was headed. The river? The harbor? All she knew was that the fog was her cloak, her friend, and the deeper she plunged into it, the safer she would be. He was too drunk to keep up, much less navigate the maze of narrow streets. Already his footsteps seemed more distant, his curses fading, until all she could hear was the pounding of her own feet, her own pulse.

She rounded a corner and came to a halt. Through the rush of her own breathing, she heard the clattering wheels of a passing carriage, but no footsteps. She realized she was on the Cambridge road, and that she'd have to double back to return to the hospital.

Eben would expect her to go there. He'd be waiting for her.

She leaned down and ripped away the entangling strip of petticoat. Then she started walking north, staying to the side streets and alleys, pausing every few paces to listen for footsteps. The fog was so thick, she could see only the outline of a wagon passing on the road; the clop of horse's hooves seemed to come from all directions at once, the echoes fractured and scattered in the mist. She fell in step behind the wagon, trotting after it as it moved up Blossom Street, in the direction of the hospital. If Eben attacked, she would scream her lungs out. Surely the wagon's driver would stop and come to her aid.

Suddenly the wagon turned right, away from the hospital, and Rose was left standing alone. She knew the hospital was straight ahead of her, on North Allen, but she could not yet see it through the fog. Eben was almost certainly waiting to pounce. Staring up the street, she could sense the threat that loomed ahead, could picture Eben hulking in the shadows, anticipating her arrival.

She turned. There was another way into the building, but she would have to trudge across the damp grass of the hospital common to the rear entrance. She paused at the edge of the lawn. Her route was obscured by fog, but she could just make out, through fingers of mist, the glow of hospital windows. He would not expect her to hike across this dark field. Certainly he himself would not go to such an effort if it meant soiling his shoes in the mud.

She waded into the grass. The field was saturated with rain, and icy water soaked through her shoes. The lights from the hospital intermittently faded out in the mist and she had to stop to regain her bearings. There they were again— off to the left. In the darkness, she had veered away from her goal, and now she corrected course. The lights glowed brighter now, the fog thinning as she climbed the gentle slope toward the building. Her sodden skirts clung to her legs, slowing her down, making every stride an effort. By the time she stumbled out of the grass, onto cobblestones, she was clumsy on cold-numbed feet.

Chilled and shivering now, she started up the back stairway.

Suddenly her shoe slid across a step slick with something black. She stared up at what looked like a dark waterfall that had cascaded down the stairs. Only as her gaze lifted to the source of that waterfall did she see the woman's body draped across the stairs above, her skirts splayed, one arm flung out, as though to welcome Death.

At first Rose heard only the drumming of her own heart, the rush of her own breath. Then she heard the footstep, and a shadow moved above her like an ominous cloud blotting out the moon. The blood seemed to freeze in Rose's veins. She looked at the looming creature.

What she saw was the Grim Reaper himself.

Her voice mute and choked with terror, she stumbled backward and almost fell as she hit the bottom step. Suddenly the creature swooped toward her, black cape billowing like monstrous wings. She whirled to flee, and saw empty lawn ahead, roiling with mist. A place of execution. If I run there, I will surely die.

She pivoted to the right and sprinted alongside the building. She could hear the monster in pursuit, its footsteps closing in behind her.

She darted into a passage and found herself in a courtyard. She ran to the nearest door, but it was locked. Pounding on it, she shrieked for help, but no one opened it.

I am trapped.

Behind her, gravel clattered across the stones. She spun around to face her attacker. In the darkness she could make out only the movement of black on black. She backed up against the door, her breaths coming out in sobs. She thought of the dead woman, and the waterfall of blood on the stairs, and she crossed her arms over her chest in a feeble shield to protect her heart.

The shadow closed in.

Cringing, she turned her face in anticipation of the first slash. Instead she heard a voice, asking a question that she did not immediately register.

— Miss? Miss, are you all right? —

She opened her eyes to see the silhouette of a man. Behind him, through the darkness, a light winked and slowly became brighter. It was a lantern, swaying in the grasp of a second man, now approaching. The man with the lantern called: — Who's out here? Hello? —

— Wendell! Over here! —

— Norris? What's all the commotion? —

— There's a young woman here. She seems to be hurt. —

— What's the matter with her? —

The lantern swung closer, and the light dazzled Rose's eyes. She blinked and focused on the faces of the two young men who were now staring at her. She recognized them both, just as they recognized her.

— It— it's Miss Connolly, is it not? — said Norris Marshall.

She gave a sob. Her legs suddenly went out from under her and she slid down the wall, to land on her rump against the cobblestones.