Walt and Miss Zacky keep watch on Elizabeth while she sleeps. She looks peaceful—her face is clean and her hair combed. When Whitman and Sheriff Petty first arrived at New York City Hospital with Miss Blackwell two hours earlier, she was hysterical. Dr. Liston had administered laudanum, and she slipped into a daze that soon led to sleep. Just before she did, the doctor told her she would make a full recovery, and the welts on her neck were only a fraction of the damage that her near strangulation might have caused. “You’re lucky,” he told her. “Most people would have died going through what you did.”
Miss Zacky arrived only minutes later. She hugged Walt, and it was different from before—he sensed a hesitation, a welcome development given his own ambivalence toward what happened in the hotel. She laid her head on his chest and cried.
Dr. Liston had dressed Elizabeth’s wounds with a thick white pad, then cleaned her body with a sponge. He told them about a man hanged six times using the short-drop method. Each time, they assumed he was dead until reports trickled in that so-and-so had seen the man at this or that place. They called him the Resurrection Man.
Miss Zacky asked, “What happened to him?”
“They shot him,” the doctor said. “No coming back from that one, I’m afraid.”
Now, suddenly, Miss Blackwell yawns and opens her eyes.
Miss Zacky leans forward. “How do you feel?”
“Light-headed.” She can only whisper because of the damage done to her vocal cords.
“Your neck?”
She traces her fingers along the white bandage, then looks at Walt. “You saved me.”
“It was not I alone.”
The doctor feels her head, then examines her neck. “Still doing well,” he says. “I’ll check on you again in an hour.”
Miss Blackwell waits for the doctor to leave before she says in a hoarse voice, “What will happen now?”
Whitman recounts Dr. Barclay’s confession and his willingness to testify, how once the sheriff heard that confession, he became more open to any other information Walt might have. “The sheriff is on our side now,” he says.
“It’s good news, but—” She stops.
“But what?”
“It’s just that, to know that all these people died for nothing, well—” She can’t finish.
Walt can only nod.
A knock at the door interrupts them. Isaiah Rynders and Sheriff Petty step in.
“The doctor tells us you will make a full recovery,” Mr. Rynders says.
Mr. Rynders places his stubby hand on her shoulder. His deep-set eyes suggest genuine concern for Elizabeth Blackwell’s welfare, but Whitman remains skeptical.
“On behalf of the mayor of the City of New York, I want to offer you an apology.” The long scar on his oval-shaped head twitches when he speaks. “Nothing we can say or do will offset the damage of this catastrophe, but if you’ll permit me to make an offering.” He glances first at Miss Blackwell, then Walt Whitman.
“Mr. Bennett?” he calls.
The editor of the Herald limps into the room. “Mr. Whitman. Miss Blackwell. Good evening. The committee has decided that you both should split the reward money. Five hundred twenty dollars apiece. That was the agreement, to give the money to those who helped apprehend Mr. Saunders’s murderer.”
“Did you arrest Samuel Clement?” Walt says.
“I locked him up myself,” Petty says.
“And why should I believe he’ll be prosecuted as he should?”
The men look at each other. “Allow me, gentlemen,” Rynders says. “We regretfully acknowledge our mistakes, but you’ll understand why we can’t admit it publicly. I’m very sorry.” He takes a deep breath. “Our justice system, for all its successes, does have its limitations.”
“That’s it?” Walt says. “After all the people who have died—that’s the best you can do?”
Sheriff Petty steps forward. “Mr. Whitman. Please accept the reward money as a token of our appreciation.”
“Rebuild your school, Miss Blackwell.” Rynders steps forward. “This money gives you the means to do so, and you have our full support.” He lets the words hang in the air before he continues. “This is the best any of us can do.”
Whitman’s face turns red, but he says nothing—he owes it to Elizabeth and Miss Zacky to hear what they have to say first.
Miss Blackwell closes her eyes.
Isaiah Rynders and Sheriff Petty face him.
Walt leans in. “What will happen to Clement?”
“He’ll hang for sure.”
“And James Warren?”
The sheriff nods. “Reduced sentence. Prison.”
“Mr. Bennett has your money,” Rynders says. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have more work to do tonight.”
After Rynders and Petty leave the room, Mr. Bennett hands both Walt and Miss Blackwell envelopes full of money. “This is the best we can hope for, Mr. Whitman.”
“Maybe it’s the best you can hope for.” Whitman hands his envelope to Miss Zacky for safekeeping and leaves the room. He catches up to Isaiah Rynders and Silas Petty as they exit the hospital.
“Miss Blackwell might be satisfied, but I am not.”
Rynders says, “Excuse us for a moment, will you, Sheriff?”
“I need to get back to the watch house, so I’ll say good night. Mr. Rynders. Mr. Whitman.”
“No,” Walt says. “I need to talk to the sheriff. Alone.”
“Very well,” Rynders says. “Then perhaps you’ll give me a word?”
Whitman nods, and Rynders steps away to give them privacy.
“What is it?” Petty says.
“You know that Samuel Clement killed Abraham Stowe and Henry Saunders, and you know that Mr. Rynders was in on it. Possibly the mayor.”
“What would you have me do?”
Walt has no answer.
The sheriff continues. “We’ve done all we can do. I’m sorry innocent people have died, but bringing down Rynders, or going after the mayor, won’t fix it. Your good work proved Clement is a murderer. He will get what he deserves, and life will go on.”
“Not for Henry. Not for Lena and Abraham. Not for Mary Rogers. Not for their families.”
“I’m sorry about your friends,” Petty says, “and I’m not saying you asked for it, but those articles you wrote about us—”
“But they were true!”
“Truth is a funny thing. How many more people are dead for it?”
Whitman scowls.
“Oh, and I almost forgot,” the sheriff says. “The body of that Runkel girl is at the New York University Medical College. They put her back together as best they could and are waiting for you to pick her up. Her parents are anxious to get her back, I’m sure.”
“You found Maggie Runkel?” Walt can’t conceal his surprise.
“I’m not all bad, Mr. Whitman.”
“The Runkels will be relieved. Thank you.”
“I’ll say good night, then.” Sheriff Petty tips his hat and leaves.
Whitman pauses before he turns to Isaiah Rynders.
“I know you don’t think much of me,” Rynders starts, “and I can’t say that I blame you—but try to understand the larger implications of what has gone on here. If we announce that we hanged an innocent person, we lose all credibility, and that won’t change what’s happened to your friends. Clement will hang, and that has to be sufficient. The end result is the same.”
Walt shakes his head. “You covered up what really happened.”
“This city has many more problems. The majority of citizens fear anatomical dissection, for one. It doesn’t matter what the truth is—they believe that dissection keeps them out of heaven. And how can anyone convince them otherwise? At the same time, every medical professional in the country understands that dissection is necessary for medical progress. In the future, medicine can prevent disasters like the cholera epidemic a few years back.”
“Until then, the city will hang innocent citizens?”
“Mr. Whitman, please. Body snatching has become an industry that supplies jobs, placates the public, and helps medical progress. You’re intelligent enough to see what’s at stake here. The Bone Bill would eliminate the industry so abruptly that it would take the city half a century or more to recover. Abraham made a choice, and all that has happened in the past three weeks is unfortunate but necessary, given that choice. Your friend Henry didn’t die in vain, and maybe one day—”
“In a few days, I will see his parents at the funeral. What do I tell them?”
“The truth.”
“That he died to protect the traffic of dead bodies?”
“Tell them he believed in his job as a journalist enough to expose the injustices of a business that disproportionately hurts the poor, and that in doing so, he made progress in clearing the way for legislation that will one day end that business.”
“But nothing has changed.”
“The Bone Bill will pass someday, but it will take time.”
“What about Mary Rogers?”
Rynders seems surprised. “What about her?”
“I know Barclay altered her autopsy report to hide the botched abortion, and I know Sheriff Harris ordered him to do so,” Walt says. “What I don’t know is who botched the abortion. Or who the father is.”
Rynders sighs. “What changes if I tell you the mayor had an affair with Rogers? What changes if I tell you that he and Miss Rogers went to Quigley for help? And what changes if I tell you that when the procedure failed, the mayor told Harris to look away while Clement cleaned it up?”
“What changes?” Whitman says. “Everything changes. The truth comes out. Victims are vindicated. Justice is served.”
“But how many more people are hurt in the process?”
“All of New York believes that Abraham killed Mary Rogers and that Lena killed him.”
“Mary Rogers is dead, Abraham and Lena Stowe are dead, and nothing will bring them back.”
Whitman starts to speak, then stops. Rynders is not wrong, but he is not completely right, either. The gap between truth and narrative can be wide and deep, Walt knows, and should he allow himself to live in that world, everything around him might fall away—the hospital, the carriages lined up out front, the streetlamp, the cobblestones, Elizabeth and Miss Zacky, his family, the Stowes, the women’s college, his time with Henry—all of it slipping away into nothingness. Walt cannot let that happen, and so he looks Mr. Rynders in the eye and says, “The truth is the truth.”
“I’m very impressed by you,” Rynders says. “If you turn some of that idealism into action, you will accomplish great things. If there’s anything I can ever do for you, please let me know. Now, good night.”
“There is something else,” Walt calls out.
Rynders stops, turns. “Oh?”
“Azariah Smith.”
“What about him?”
“Azariah needs a family, Mr. Rynders. He has done everything you asked.”
“I will think about it.”
Whitman watches until Rynders disappears around the corner before he returns to the hospital. In the hall, he passes Mr. Bennett.
“If you ever need a job,” Bennett says, “come see me. I know a newspaper in New Orleans that might need an editor. Great experience for a young writer who needs to work on his prose.”
Whitman pauses only a moment. “You are as bad as they are.”
Back in the room, Walt sits down with the two women. “Don’t waste your voice on those men,” he says.
“But we can rebuild the school with the reward money.”
“But how can you trust the likes of Rynders?”
“God oversees all,” Elizabeth whispers. “Abraham and Lena understood the importance of the college, and the only way to honor their sacrifices—and Henry’s—is to make the college relevant and part of something larger.” She looks at Miss Zacky. “With your help.”
“Of course.”
“You know something else?” Elizabeth’s eyes have that spark again, evidence of an inner strength Walt envies. “You are part of this too. God has preserved you for a reason.”
Whitman counts out one hundred dollars of his own money and hands it to her. “For the college.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you for everything.” She puts the money in her envelope. “And now I’ll be resting—I’m so tired.”
Walt sits back in his chair and plans what he will do with the rest of his money. Two hundred to the Runkels and another hundred to August and Edie Saunders—that’s what Henry would have wanted. The last hundred is for his family.
Across from him, both women have fallen asleep.
Whitman closes his eyes, and the blackness closes in on him until he slips out of consciousness. He dreams that Henry is there with him, dressed in his striped pantaloons and black jacket, clean-shaven and smiling, his chest put back together.
“Walt.” Henry pulls him close and whispers: “Every one that sleeps is beautiful, every thing in the dim light is beautiful, peace is always beautiful, the soul is always beautiful.” Henry recedes now, the dimple in his chin, his black hair and eyes, and white teeth. “The wildest and bloodiest is over, and all is peace.” He smiles and nods, then vanishes.
And Walt is left alone.