HENRIETTA COULD NOT BEAR TO SEE DAN SICK. WATCHING HIM ARRIVE home in a state of near collapse, she had been overwhelmed by fear and panic but composed herself. She knew that her husband would not wish for her to be in such a state. She had asked Sally calmly to go to North Street to fetch his friend and colleague Patrick Dore.
Thoughts crowded her mind as she considered the many diseased hovels her husband attended, as well as the workhouse and graveyards, but she reminded herself that in the years since they had first met, Dan Donovan had never been sick a day or complained even of being unwell or in pain. He was a strong man and, as he said himself often enough, had the constitution of a horse.
She dispatched the children to play in the back garden and warned them to be quiet as their father was not feeling well.
Meanwhile, Dr Patrick Dore arrived promptly and went upstairs to examine Dan. His face was serious when he told her that Dan had contracted typhus fever, was very poorly and would need good care and nursing.
‘I have already had typhus,’ Henrietta informed him as she promised to follow all his instructions with regard to Dan’s medical care.
‘I will call to see him tomorrow,’ the doctor promised, ‘but if there is any change for the worse during the night, please send for me.’
Henrietta slept in the chair at Dan’s bedside as his fever raged. A reddish macular rash covered his body and his head was splitting with the pain, causing him to thrash around and moan. She did everything in her power to cool him down with cold compresses and keep him comfortable.
The following day he would not even open his eyes and lay curled in their bed like a small child.
When he made his promised visit, Dr Dore reassured her that even though Dan appeared seriously ill, it was the normal progression of the disease.
‘I may consider bleeding him in the next day or two, if it is needed,’ he told her. ‘But, knowing Dan, I am hopeful that he has the strength to fight this disease.’
Patrick Dore was a fine physician and he and the town’s other doctors, Cornelius O’Driscoll and Thomas Tisdall, all assisted by seeing patients at the dispensary, while Patrick temporarily took over Dan’s workhouse duties.
Father John was the only visitor Henrietta permitted to see Dan, and both of them prayed for his recovery. The priest told her that their friend Tim McCarthy Downing was, like Dan, very ill. Poor Mary Hegarty from the hotel was bereft as her daughter had died a few days ago. So too had Major Parker.
The next week and a half passed in a blur, and the children remained wide eyed and fearful for their father’s health. The older boys and Ellen hovered at the bedroom door, terrified whenever Dr Dore called to see their father.
‘What will happen if Father dies?’ Jerrie asked with worry.
‘I will not have you talk like this,’ Henrietta said, hugging him. ‘Your father is a man of good health and his body will fight this illness.’
Her reassurances were as much for her own benefit as for her son’s and she prayed with all her might for Dan to recover.
One evening, when Henrietta had dozed off in the bedside chair, Dan stirred and sat up. To her amazement, almost in a whisper, he asked her for a sip of water before slumping back on to the pillows and falling into an exhausted sleep again. The following afternoon he asked for fresh sheets on the bed and the morning after that, to her relief, Dan took not only more water but also three small spoons of milky porridge.
Each day, Henrietta watched as her husband, little by little, regained his strength. Ellen would come in to sit and read a story to him that she had written, while young Daniel and Harriet showed him drawings they had made for him: Dan in his tall hat and long coat in a sunny garden, and a family portrait of Dan and Henrietta surrounded by all seven of their children.
‘What wonderful artists you are!’ he encouraged them. ‘I will treasure them always.’ Henrietta’s heart soared to see Dan gladdened by the short visits of his children.
In no time Dan began to demand that he be allowed to dress and return to work.
‘You have been very sick, Dan,’ Henrietta pleaded with him. ‘Dr Dore says that you must have a period of convalescence.’
‘Henrietta, I have had more than enough of lying down and convalescing,’ he complained, exasperated. ‘It is high time for me to return to work and tend to my patients.’
Two days later she watched as her husband, in his usual long frock coat and black hat, set off for the dispensary, medical bag in hand and a zealous glint in his eyes.