There was a small, fraught silence in which Anna knew she and Sophie were thinking the same thing: Mrs. Campbell had asked about contraceptives, and Sophie had sent her a pamphlet, anonymously.
Sophie asked, “How was he with you?”
Anna would have liked to forget Archer Campbell, who had raged at her like a man dressing down a groom responsible for the loss of a valuable mare. She had held on to her temper and swallowed her irritation, and most of all she had subdued her own feelings about losing a patient. Campbell was condescending and insulting, but he was also newly bereaved and must be shown both patience and compassion. Nothing she said had satisfied him, and in the end he went off to see what was keeping the coroner.
“He didn’t know she was pregnant,” Anna said to Sophie.
Sophie inclined her head to one side as if she had something to say, but then thought better of it. Instead she hummed, a low rough sound.
“He’ll never accept that she had an abortion. I can only imagine what he’s telling the coroner.”
Jack rubbed her shoulder. “They’ll do an autopsy, won’t they?”
Anna made that same soft sound, neither yes or no.
“Get used to that sound,” Cap told Jack. He sat a little apart from them, wrapped in blankets even in the warmth of the sun. To Anna he seemed content and agitated all at once, as though he had just come back from a long and strenuous hike and was determined to leave on another in short order.
“Used to what sound?” Jack asked.
“That rough humming in the back of the throat. They both do it. Ask any medical question that has to do with an actual human being and their voices drop a register and all you get is that noncommittal throat clearing. I think they’re taught how to do it in medical school, like a secret handshake.”
Sophie gave him a half smile. “Oh dear. Who told you about the secret handshake?”
Cap turned to Anna. “How many vertebrae in the human spine?”
She considered not answering, and then gave in. “Five fused together that make up the sacrum, the four coccygeal bones that form the tailbone, then seven cervical, twelve thoracic, and five lumbar vertebrae.”
“Thank you,” Cap said. “I’ll get out my abacus to add that all together later. Now I’ve been meaning to say that I’ve had a stitch in my side all day. Does that mean something?”
Anna and Sophie turned toward him, heads canted at the same angle, and hummed in exactly the same key. Then they exchanged a glance and laughed.
“You’ve figured us out,” Sophie said to Cap. “Now I will have to show you the secret handshake.”
“So he’s right,” Jack said. “You do hum when you’re asked a medical question.”
“I suppose so.” Anna rubbed a knuckle between her brows. “It’s a way to encourage the patient to talk without interrupting or giving away findings.”
“The patient doesn’t want to know what you’re thinking?”
Anna said, “Certainly. But it’s a truism that patients lie without reservation, and anything I say will only add to the confusion.”
“Patients often lie for no obvious reason,” Sophie added. “Most don’t even realize that they are lying.”
“There’s a trick to it. They tell you what’s wrong,” Anna went on, “and you have to try to sort out what’s true, what’s supposition, imagination, wishful thinking, and unadulterated prevarication. So you see, you can’t give your thoughts away.”
“I would guess it’s a lot like police work,” Cap said.
Sophie looked surprised. “In a way. People who are sick often feel guilty about work left undone or the people who need them. It’s one of the things that get in the way of figuring out what’s wrong.”
“There is some similarity,” Jack said. “There are people who will confess to any crime out of fear of the police.”
Anna thought again of her patient’s husband. “If Archer Campbell had been able to read my mind, he might well have shot me on the spot.”
Jack frowned. “What were you accusing him of in your mind?”
With some vehemence Sophie said, “A man has to be both blind and heartless to not see that the person he sleeps beside every night lives in terror.”
“That’s a strong word,” Cap said.
“Hardly strong enough. Look at what her desperation drove her to.”
Anna clapped her hands suddenly. “Too dark a subject for a beautiful summer afternoon. I came hoping for Mrs. Harrison’s wafer cake and coffee.”
Sophie got up. “I’ll tell her we’re ready.”
Halfway to the French doors that opened into the house proper, she turned back. “Cap, you’d tell me if you did have a stitch in your side, wouldn’t you?” And smiled, embarrassed, when they all laughed.
• • •
THEY PLAYED CARDS and talked, about the Greber house and Aunt Quinlan’s delight at the turn of events that would install Anna and Jack if not in the same house, close enough to see every day.
“It needs a lot of work,” Jack said. “The plumbing and gas lines and wall sconces have to be replaced, and none of the fittings in the bedrooms are sound. I wonder that the place didn’t burn down long ago.”
“It’s a big house,” Sophie said, the corner of her mouth curling upward. “It will take you some time to fill it up.”
Anna wrinkled her nose at her cousin. “Don’t start.”
“I’ve been wondering if you might like to put in a suite of rooms for a private practice,” Jack said to Anna.
Anna felt her mouth fall open before she could catch herself. She closed it on a click, trying to find something sensible to say in the flurry of thoughts that were racing by.
Jack raised a brow. “Not a good idea?”
“I don’t know,” Anna said. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“You are grimacing,” Cap said.
“Am I?” Anna shook her head to clear her thoughts. “I suppose I am. It’s just that there are so many decisions to make. Jack’s sisters have been bombarding me already about drapery fabrics and table linen and bedding.”
“Poor Anna,” Cap said. “Forced to choose between periwinkle and primrose, silk and brocade and linen.”
“It’s worse than that,” Anna said. “I have to talk about prices.”
“There you have it,” Cap said to Jack. “Our Anna’s biggest secret. Any merchant can overcharge her without fear of accusation. I think she’d break out in a rash before she challenged a price.”
“I’ll have to pay attention now,” Anna said. “Or I’ll bankrupt us before we get started, and send Jack’s sisters to the poorhouse while I’m at it. He says I can’t pay them or even reimburse them for materials.”
“They would be insulted,” Jack agreed. “And you won’t put them in the poorhouse. My mother has everything well in hand.”
“You see,” Anna said. “I’m doomed.”
“But you like the house,” Sophie prompted.
“Oh, I love the house and I especially love the garden. Weeds and all.”
“Then everything will work out in the end.” Sophie leaned over and kissed Anna’s cheek. “You must tell yourself that every morning and every evening. And Jack must remind you when you forget.”
• • •
THEY TOLD STORIES, Jack about his family and his time studying in Italy, Cap and Sophie and Anna about their childhood misadventures, most of which put Anna in a central and less than angelic spotlight. As the sun was setting they ate a light supper of lamb, new potatoes, and peas braised in cream and dressed with mint. All Cap’s favorites, which reminded Anna that it was also the last time he would sit down to Mrs. Harrison’s cooking. Her appetite left her just that suddenly, and it was hard work to get down even half of what she had been served.
When Jack went to sit closer to Cap to talk about
the journey, Sophie’s mind turned back to Janine Campbell.
“She came to see me weeks ago, asking questions I couldn’t answer for fear that Comstock was behind it. She was distraught but I didn’t think she was in such despair that she would risk—what she risked. You think she aborted herself?”
Anna said, “From the angle of the puncture wounds, yes. But in the end I don’t think it’s possible to know unless whoever did it comes forward to confess, and you know that won’t happen. The coroner will have an opinion.” Anna took her cousin’s hand. “It’s a terrible thing, Sophie. But you have to put it out of your mind now. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”
“I don’t feel guilty,” Sophie said quietly. “I am just terribly sorry and sad. For her and for those little boys. And I’m frustrated, that I have to admit. I may as well have been bound and gagged when she came to see me, for all the good I did her.”
• • •
IT WAS HARDLY seven when Cap excused himself to retire for the night. The fireworks were still an hour off but he was wan, his hair and face damp with perspiration. They all knew what these things meant and it would do no good to point out the obvious, and still Anna found it difficult to stand back when he was so clearly in distress. If by some miracle he lived another thirty years with tuberculosis, she knew she would never be able to accept the necessity of distance between them.
She heard herself say, “Do you remember when we were little, how we napped together in Uncle Quinlan’s hammock between the apricot trees?”
“I remember you turning over so suddenly that I ended up on the ground.” Cap’s smile was faraway and sad and still Anna was glad to have raised this image, this picture of themselves as children with no worries on a summer afternoon, able to sleep in the shade of trees heavy with fruit, simply because it pleased them.
To Jack Cap said, “You’ll have to watch out for her, she’s a turbulent sleeper.”
“It will be my privilege to watch out for her,” Jack said. “Always.”
• • •
WHEN THEY WERE alone they sat in companionable silence for a good while.
“Sophie has always been the soul of calm in any storm,” Anna said. “She is fearless when it comes to her patients; she’ll confront anyone even against her own best interests. But after tomorrow her natural inclination to protect Cap will be underwritten by law. And I’m glad of it, for both of them.”
“You find it hard to let him go,” Jack said. “To say good-bye.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. When she had control of it again she said, “I’ve always wondered if what Sophie experienced in New Orleans during the war took the ability to be frightened from her.”
“She had a difficult time of it, I take it.”
Anna gave him a grim smile. “I don’t know exactly. She has never spoken of it to any of us. I’m sure Cap knows, but I have never pressed her for the details. Someday maybe she will talk to me about it. I’ve been short with everyone this last week, but I’m especially sorry to have been short with her.”
Jack leaned forward, took her by the wrist, and pulled her out of her chair and onto his lap.
“They’ll be gone at this time tomorrow,” Anna said, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. “I know that, but it still doesn’t feel real.”
The urge to tease her was more than he could withstand. “Just now you feel pretty real to me.” He slid his hand from her waist down over her hip, and she shivered and turned her face to hide her smile.
“You make me blush like a little girl.”
“You are anything but a little girl to me, Savard.”
Anna began to yawn and then caught herself.
“You have a busy day tomorrow too,” Jack said. “Do you want to skip the fireworks for a good night’s sleep?”
After a very long pause she said, “It will be hours before anyone comes home.” Her voice had gone low and a little rough. “I can’t remember the last time I was in the house by myself.”
The sound of band music came to them on the breeze, drums and trumpets and horns too faint to make out a melody. “Such a fine summer evening,” Jack said against her hair. “It would be a shame to spend it alone.”
• • •
THEY WALKED TO Waverly Place at a comfortable pace, holding hands and talking very little. The city streets were far emptier than usual but as it turned out, the citizens of Manhattan had only migrated upward onto roofs. It seemed that everyone who had not gone to the new bridge had found a high place to perch, and voices drifted down to them now and then. Fretting children, young people excited by the novelty and the day’s festivities. There were rooster calls back and forth followed by laughter.
“What is that about?” Anna wondered.
“Mrs. Roebling had the honor of crossing the bridge first, since she did all the work after her husband was injured,” Jack told her. “Apparently with a rooster in her lap for good luck.”
Good luck. Anna had never taken comfort in such ideas, but she wished, just now, that she could. If there was any good luck to be had in the world, Sophie and Cap should have it all.
“Where has your mind gone?” Jack’s voice, low and a little gruff, set something off in her, a prickling that raced down her back to spread out and out. She pressed his hand and leaned against his arm, as if she meant to push him off the sidewalk. Jack Mezzanotte, as solid as a wall.
“I’m just where I want to be,” Anna said. “Except for one odd thing. I’ve walked this way home too many times to count, but tonight it seems to have stretched to double the normal distance.”
“You’re impatient.” He pulled her closer. “And that puts me in a good mood.”
He kissed her, full-mouthed, intent, his hands framing her face. When he lifted his head he said, “You make the most intriguing sounds. Little squeaks and a soft clicking at the back of your throat. As if you were drinking me in.”
“That’s a backhanded compliment,” Anna said, laughing. “If it’s a compliment at all.”
She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. He spread his hands to span the full width of her back. “Take me to your bed, Savard, and I’ll come up with compliments to make you blush for days.”
They ran the rest of the way, breathless, laughing.
• • •
INSTEAD OF USING the front door they circled around to the passageway that led to the carriage house, passing the small stable and the garden sheds, the chicken coop closed up tight, an icehouse. The air smelled of newly cut grass and hay, ripening compost and flowering lilac bushes, taller even than Jack, that divided the working parts of the garden from the rest.
Anna went ahead, gesturing for him to wait where he was.
He wandered through the garden, lit by the moon and the reflected glow of the streetlamps. It surprised him still, this quiet island behind brick walls. There were fruit and specimen trees and flower beds that even his father could not have found fault with, a rose arbor overhung with vines weighed down with buds, the neat rows where vegetables had been planted.
The pergola reminded him of home, where the family ate out of doors in the warm months at a long table under a grape arbor. Someone familiar with the way things were done in Italy and southern France had designed this place, for privacy and comfort. Jack sat down on a wide chaise longue upholstered in dark velvet and piled with cushions. Shadows moved with the breeze, every leaf and shoot, blossom and vine dancing.
Jack thought, It seems I am turning into a poet.
Now he realized that Anna wasn’t going to take him to her bed after all, but she would come to him here. They would lie down together in a bower of blossoming lilac and wait for the fireworks to arch across the sky. And he would have her here. It had been too long, and he wasn’t willing to wait even one more hour.
Things hadn’t gone as planned today, but it occurr
ed to him that a doctor was the right wife for him; she really would understand when work kept him out late or took him away unexpectedly. He knew more than a few detectives with unhappy wives and sour views on marriage, something that had kept him from thinking too much about the institution for himself. Until Anna.
And now she came around the corner carrying an old-fashioned hurricane lamp, as round and bright as a sun in the new dark. It covered her in light and lifted her face out of the night, and Jack heard himself catch his breath. She had changed into a loose white gown of some fine fabric and let her hair out of its pleats and tucks so that the breeze sent it twisting and twirling around her like a dark lacy shawl.
The words that came to mind were ones he could not say. To tell Anna Savard that she looked like an angel would embarrass them both with such triteness. To say she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life would diminish the truth of it. And so he got up and went to her. He took the lamp from her and put it on the table. The pergola came to life, the crockery vase filled with white lilac and deep red Rose de Rescht he had sent from the greenhouse, the blue leather binding of a book that had been left out, the jumble of cushions, yellows and greens and pinks, that lined the chaise longue with its velvet upholstery worn thin and silky as a woman’s skin.
She was looking over her shoulder into the dark garden, as if she did not trust herself to look at him. He caught her wrist, threaded his fingers through hers, long and strong and tough with constant scrubbing and still gentle enough to remind him that she was female, and fragile in ways she would never admit to him or herself.
“Look,” she said, her voice hoarse as he drew her into his arms. “Look, Jack. The first fireflies.”
He took his time with her, exploring skin that never saw the light of day: the backs of her knees, the soft crease between thigh and buttock, the small of her back. He pressed his face to her belly and slid up to nuzzle her breasts, suckling with a wet and greedy mouth until she gasped and tried to twist away. He would have none of it. He held her down to take what she wanted to give him, and here was another shock: she liked being at his mercy.