EIGHT

Laura Appleby continued. “Yes, Charlotte and I went with Dr. Stone that day. I was searching for an herb to help one of my patients who had a stomach malady. Nothing else she has tried has worked for her.”

“Mrs. Appleby is skilled in herbal remedies,” Miss Howe explained.

“My late husband was an invalid for many years,” Mrs. Appleby added.

“He was a very eminent physician,” Miss Erickson said softly.

Laura Appleby patted her hand. “It is true. Marcus continued his work despite his health problems. When he became blind as a symptom, he came to depend on me to continue his work. For him not to continue would have been a form of death. So I became his eyes and I made it a study to search out treatments that might relieve the pain. He resisted, as so many physicians do. As men of science, they disparage the age-old remedies, despite the evidence that they remain in use because they are effective.

“My late husband was as skeptical as Charlotte’s father.” She shook her head. “So stubborn. But in the end Marcus could not deny the relief he felt. My searches led me to Mr. Lo. The Chinese herbalists have certain remedies that are passed on from generation to generation, from one family member to another. Lo had one that gave Marcus great respite and he had another that eased the pain for Charlotte’s dear mother in her final days.” She patted the young woman’s hand again. “Dr. Erickson still disdains it. He won’t hear of it. Actually Mary…Dr. Stone…was attempting to convert Lo to the use of Western medicines as well as herbal remedies. So, of course she knew Mr. Lo. She often met with him. The herbal recipes are closely guarded secrets, you know. The exact proportions are known only to the initiated. Mary was studying with him. She introduced him to certain Western medicines in return for learning herb lore from him.” Mrs. Appleby looked around at all of us, as a waiter filled small cups of tea for her and Miss Erickson. “Mr. Lo had been suffering from an infection of the ear. After much discussion, Dr. Stone convinced him to try a soothing wash of some sort. He submitted willingly enough. We had finished our purchases for the day, so we left them together. I cannot imagine that the treatment could have done him any harm.”

Fitz cleared his throat. “Lo died that night. He went into a fit and foamed at the mouth. There were others who witnessed Dr. Stone’s treatment. They went to Hip Lung the next day and accused her of poisoning him.”

“Outrageous,” Miss Howe sputtered. “She was helping the man.”

“Certainly there were others in the shop who witnessed it,” Mrs. Appleby told him. “But there was no subterfuge. He willingly submitted to the treatment. They had some back and forth in the Chinese language but I took it to be a kind of banter.”

Ida spoke up then. “It is perhaps due to superstition. The other customers must have heard what they thought was a dispute between Old Lo and Mary. They are ignorant. They did not understand that it was merely two scholars debating. They are suspicious of Western medicine, especially from a woman who claims to be a doctor. So when the man died, they thought she had cursed him and caused his death.”

“But that is absurd,” Miss Howe insisted. “Why would she harm him?”

“They were friends,” Mrs. Appleby agreed. “She was always respectful of him.”

“But these other men do not understand that,” Ida suggested.

“Besides,” I commented, “if Dr. Stone was not to blame and this Mr. Lo died suspiciously, then they might worry that one of them would be suspected.”

Fitz put down his fork and pushed his plate away. “Now there you have a point, Mrs. Chapman.” He seemed to roll my name around his tongue as if to get used to it. “It’s a sensitive topic, you see. That’s why Hip Lung has asked for our help.” He gestured towards himself and Mr. Kenna, who was pouring the last of his beer down his throat.

“Exactly what do you have to do with this, Mr. Fitzgibbons?” I demanded. Fitz was a politician and I had come up against him in the past. He had his own ideas about what was right. I had come to the conclusion that, while he usually had the interest of his constituents at heart, he could be unscrupulous in fulfilling goals he determined were necessary.

He frowned at me. “Our friends Hip Lung and Sam Moy are careful men. They know the customs of their countrymen are not the same as those of Americans and they are anxious to avoid misunderstandings. So they cultivate friends in the community to help keep things smooth. They want peace in their neighborhoods, same as anybody else. And, well, a lot of their men don’t speak the language, see, so Hip and Sam, they make sure things don’t get messed up in translation, if you see what I mean.” Fitz’s Irish brogue reminded me that he was no more a native than the Chinese he was discussing. “So, now you see, when something like this happens they wouldn’t like the authorities to take it against their community. What with the exclusion laws and the Geary Act, it’s a very sensitive topic, don’t you know.”

“So they jump on the opportunity to blame an outsider like Dr. Stone?” I asked bluntly.

“It’s outrageous,” Miss Howe repeated.

“How awful!” Mrs. Appleby added.

“Now, now.” Fitz put his large hands up, as if to ward off blows. “Perhaps it’s naught but a misunderstanding, ladies. Hip Lung asked us to see if we couldn’t help the authorities to talk to the right people. He wants to do the right thing now.”

“Hmph,” Miss Howe grumbled. “Only because we went to the wives and got them on our side.”

Fitz raised his bushy eyebrows, gazing at her with respect as he lowered his hands. “It never does to underestimate the influence of the ladies. We know that for a fact now, don’t we, Hink?”

The bowler-hatted little man beside him just grinned. Finished with his sandwich, he was chomping on a pickle.

Before Miss Howe could start another tirade, Fitz rose. “Ladies, what do you say we go and visit Lo’s shop? Perhaps his son can set us straight and give us something we can take to the authorities to free Dr. Stone.”

There was a bustle of activity as we paid the bill, gathered our belongings, and bade Mrs. Appleby and Miss Erickson goodbye. I noticed that Mr. Chin approached Ida with a worried look on his face and she talked with him in a low voice. I thought he looked somewhat lost as we all hurried out of the dining room and it made me wonder what Ida had told him. We made our way down the steep stairway to the street where Mr. Kenna ducked back into his saloon as Fitz led us to a doorway half a block down the street. I marveled at what a strange mixture of saloons, laundries, restaurants, and less savory establishments made up this part of town. From doorway to doorway you passed to different worlds—Irish, Polish, Chinese, and others I was not sure I could identify.

A bell jingled merrily as Fitz held the door for us and we entered a tiny shop. It was clean but with a dusty feel to the air and a hint of strange-smelling powders. We made our way through a deep, narrow space with crates and barrels stacked along the sides and shelves filled to the ceiling with wooden drawers, rolls of paper, and glass vials. About halfway down on the left three Chinese men in ill-fitting Western suits and hats sat around a small round table. They hunched over tiny cups of tea and had their feet on battered suitcases, marking them as travelers. We passed them single file to reach the counter at the back, where a tall young Chinese man in cotton pants and jacket, which were worn but clean, was measuring herbs on a weighted scale. His face was square and flat with a very high forehead. He wore a queue down his back and had a small black cap perched on his head.

The man stopped what he was doing and bowed from the waist as we formed a semicircle in front of him. Little paper-wrapped packages, each marked with Chinese characters, were lined up along the counter. A mortar, pestle, and other tools were on a shelf behind him. Ida spoke to him in Chinese. He nodded as he answered her.

“He says he is Lo Zhong Di, son of Herbalist Lo,” she told us. Then she turned back and questioned him, with Miss Howe occasionally injecting a word or two.

I looked around, suddenly uneasy. Fitz was staring at me as we waited for them to interpret. I felt a catch of my breath as if discovering a loss. I felt bereft. I was missing something valuable, then I realized my arms felt heavy with emptiness. With a flash of panic I thought of Lizzie and longed to feel her in my arms. What was I doing here, when my children were at home without me? Logic told me that Delia was well able to care for them in my absence. But what if something happened to her? What if she fell sick? What if something happened to Lizzie and Jack because I was not with them? I felt a visceral fear as if I were at the edge of a pit.

I took a deep breath, aware that Fitz was still looking at me. Realizing it had been a very long time since I had been out of the presence of my children for so many hours, I struggled to calm down. I had to force myself not to run from the shop and find a way home immediately. If I went home the children would be there, but Stephen would not. I reminded myself that I was uniquely qualified to help sort out this misunderstanding. I had an obligation to help Mary. Until she was released, I couldn’t stop.

“Mrs. Chapman, are you unwell?” Fitz reached out and took my arm to steady me. Ida and Miss Howe looked up with concern.

“I’m fine. What is he saying?”

They exchanged a glance. They were not satisfied with his testimony. “He says he was not here when Mary treated Herbalist Lo. He was out delivering medicines to regular customers, including Mrs. Moy. When he returned, his father was not well and he went to the back to rest. The son, here, was left to take care of the shop. That was when the other customers told him of what had happened. They said Herbalist Lo and Mary Stone disagreed. She put medicine into his ear and left. They thought she did something bad to him. The son went to check on his father, found him having convulsions and quickly he was gone. The son was very afraid. He sent to Hip Lung for help. They are all afraid to deal with American authorities. They always go to Hip Lung. Hip Lung helped him to tell the police what had happened. The police came and took the body away. He waits for the body to be returned for funeral rites. He knows nothing else.”

Just as Fitz took a step forward to ask a question the doorbell jangled violently. I turned to see Detective Whitbread stride into the room, followed by two other men in suits and four uniformed policemen.

“Stay where you are!” he shouted. “You are under arrest for being in the United States unlawfully!”

The three Chinese men at the table sprang to their feet. But it was too late. They were surrounded.