Five

Of course it’s not Rebecca Holmes. We moved her to another room,” Dr. Hazzard said. “I needed to check on one of the young sisters from England, They’re orphans, poor things. I told you not to enter.” She then crooned to the woman in the bed. “How are we today, Claire? Are we ready for our massage?”

“A little food. Would make . . . me . . . stronger.” The whispered response still held a British accent, such as it was. The skeleton’s eyes were bloodshot.

“Yes, but it will also make you ill. Your body is not ready for more food yet, Claire. You must trust me. You do trust me, do you not?” The woman barely moved her head. She looked as though she was sixty, her face sagging over bone, but Dr. Hazzard had called her “young.”

Dr. Hazzard motioned for the nurse who had been sitting beside Claire to move as she looked at a chart attached to the bed. Grace’s eyes met the nurse’s, who looked away. The nurse knows the woman is starving! Claire made no eye contact but merely stared out the window as though a dark sky held her captive.

Before she could stop herself, Grace began to sing a lullaby. “Guardian angels God will send thee, all through the night.”

The skeleton in the bed turned her eyes to Grace, searching for a moment before finding the source of the sound. A smile formed on her cracked lips. “My nanny sang that. Is my Margaret here?”

“No! Your nanny is not here.” Dr. Hazzard glared at Grace. “I told you music was not a proper form of treatment. See how it distresses her.”

Grace didn’t think she looked distressed from the music—but she did look distressed. And emaciated. Starved.

“I’ll be back shortly for your massage, Claire.” Dr. Hazzard gave the nurse the chart, then trudged past Grace. “Come this way.”

The room they entered was across the hall, one of the rooms farthest away from the two main doors. The woman sitting at the side of the bed, her head between her hands, shivered as she straightened to the sound of Dr. Hazzard’s sing-song “Rebecca. This woman says she is your friend.”

Rebecca gazed at Grace, the lack of recognition like a sword cutting Grace’s heart. “It’s me, Rebecca. Caroline sends her love.”

“Grace? Grace Hathaway? Was that you singing? I thought it was angels.”

“Yes, it’s me, Grace.” Grace dropped to her knees, her skirts swishing on the hardwood floor. She stared up at her friend, blinked back tears. Gently, she moved dry and flattened hair stuck to the side of Rebecca’s face. “It’s so good to see you. You look . . .” She stroked her friend’s arm, touched her bony thighs beneath a faded nightdress. “You look like you’ve lost weight.” Such a lame comment, but Grace hadn’t known what to say about this thin woman with hollowed-out eyes and cheekbones. Her collarbones stuck out like a mountain ridge across a caved desert of pale skin.

Rebecca smiled. “Yes. I’ve lost my baby fat. Dr. Hazzard is helping me get well, though I am tired of tomato juice. I will never make another batch as long as I live.” Despite her attention to Rebecca, Grace thought she saw Dr. Hazzard’s shoulder sag in relief. Was she worried that Rebecca would condemn the doctor?

“Your friend,” Dr. Hazzard crooned, “thinks we can help her as well. Of course we’ll do so, as we did with the Williamson sisters.” She turned to Grace. “They began their treatment in Seattle, in an apartment I keep for patients there. The sisters have traveled the world but chose my sanatorium to improve their health. But here, we can treat you while you stay where you are in Olalla.”

“Oh. Not in one of the little cottages?”

“All of them are spoken for. I think it best if you come in each day until we see how the fasting affects you. If you need more support, then of course we’ll bring you in to the facility. Meanwhile, I think we have enough time now with your friend, don’t you think so, Rebecca?”

“Oh please.” She reached toward Grace. “I’d love to have her stay. She hasn’t told me how Caroline is yet. Or how she came to be here.”

“Plenty of time for that. She can visit a few minutes each day she comes for treatments. But now, see how your hand tremors. The excitement is too much for you. It’s time you rested and prepared for your massage.” That honey voice again.

Rebecca nodded agreement and Grace helped lift her legs and swing her friend back to lie down. As she did so, the claw that had been Rebecca’s hand grabbed Grace’s and she narrowed her eyes, mouthing, “Thank you,” before her eyelids fluttered and she fell asleep.

Grace was returned by a nurse to Dr. Hazzard’s office where she was told to wait until her final admission information could be reviewed. She wasn’t sure what good it would do to be a patient if she couldn’t be here at the sanatorium. But it also meant that Dr. Hazzard had patients in Seattle whom she must visit occasionally, leaving the sanatorium without her dominating presence. Nurse Johnson had told her the doctor took the two-hour ferry at least twice a week. “Do you know where Dr. Millikan’s office is?”

“Dr. Millikan?” Nurse Johnson looked puzzled. “Oh, you mean the apothecary representative. Yes, he’s in the laboratory most of the time looking at the potions and pills that Dr. Hazzard provides to relieve discomfort and to assist with the elimination issues and speed the wasting process. He hasn’t been here long.” She whispered then, “I’m surprised the Hazzards allowed it. But then they need the money and his company pays them for allowing his research here.”

Dr. Millikan paid to be a part of this? How despicable. Just to duplicate their potions and make money selling them to other unsuspecting patients. Grace’s impression of Claude descended like a fallen soufflé. Yet the memory of his kind eyes shivered her flesh. What sort of woman was she with such contradictory responses?

Her stomach growled and she wished she’d tried to sneak in a sandwich, but Sam Hazzard would have found it anyway. The nurse smiled at her. “Beginning a fast is the most difficult. Be sure to drink lots of water.” Grace excused herself for yet another “toilet moment” that Nurse Johnson was quite accustomed to by now, reminding her to use the outdoor privy as she wasn’t yet a patient. Returning, Grace remembered Caroline’s drawing, which she picked up, then decided to take it to Rebecca’s room. She slipped down the hall, pushed back the curtain over the door marked 3, and whispered, “Rebecca?”

But the bed was empty. The room cleared of anything that suggested anyone had been in that room less than three hours before. What had they done with her?

Grace made her way back to the lobby–living area, then down the alternate wing where Dr. Hazzard had her office. She wondered where the laboratory was, then remembered seeing a sign near the stairs pointing to the second floor. Were their patients there too? Or only the laboratory and private residence of the Hazzards? She hesitated at the landing, then decided she’d explore it tomorrow. She didn’t want to miss Dr. Hazzard’s return. She stroked the smooth wood of the banister, wishing for just a moment that Claude Millikan would walk down those steps. At least she’d see him at the evening crossing. She wasn’t sure how much she’d tell him or why she even thought of him.

“You wired my parents? Whatever for?” Grace felt invaded. “It’ll just disturb them to think I’m ill.”

“You are a single woman and we had to be certain you were your own guardian. After all, we wouldn’t want to scrape against the law by treating without guardian consent. I assure you, my husband did not alarm them. He simply requested verification that you could make your own medical decisions and had the necessary resources to pay for such treatments.”

“They’ll be worried nonetheless. I’ll have to wire them myself, reassure them.”

“Of course. But meanwhile, we can begin the treatments. Starting now, you will eat only cornmeal and a broth we will prepare for you and send home with you. Where are you staying?”

“The Olalla Hotel.”

“Ah, yes. You will have to endure the scent rising from the kitchens there. But it will be for your best health. I’ve analyzed your specimen and you do indeed have a parasite of some kind that makes you need to void frequently.”

“I do? And you could find it so quickly.”

“Yes. Have you traveled outside of America much? To Mexico or Europe?”

“I visited a Canadian province last year, a brief visit to Victoria.” She’d gone with Rebecca and Caroline as a way to distract them from the loss of a husband and father, but they’d contracted no illness there, she was sure of it. There was nothing wrong with her, but the Hazzards had found something to cure. At least their discovery of a “disease” when there wasn’t one made her feel better that Rebecca had no disease either. Taking her away wouldn’t harm her; giving her food would bring back her health.

“British Columbia. Yes. The Williamson sisters also stayed there last year. Well, it’s good we’ve found the source of this terrible epidemic and we know that with our approach you will be well in no time.” She rustled some papers and then smiled a smile as toadying as anything Grace had yet seen in the woman. “Do we understand the needs here? I will weigh you before you leave and you’ll be weighed each day. If I find you are unable to sustain the fast without support, we will arrange for a nurse for you at the hotel or, if space allows, bring you here. But of course it will be much less expensive if you can monitor the treatment on your own. Understood?”

“Oh yes. I’m so grateful that you’ve found what’s wrong with me and that the cure is within reach, like a gold apple in a silver bowl.”

Dr. Hazzard returned to her hawk’s stare as she said, “You might start thinking of analogies that don’t remind you of food. Fasting tends to brighten the mind for food and will only make you hunger more.”