July 1877
The first light softened Amelia’s face in the last moments of sleep. Al wanted to slide his fingers along the smooth contour of her jaw, to slip his hand over her partially exposed breast. He wanted to please this woman, to offer her anything to make her happy. She wanted a better man, and he wasn’t sure he could be that man. He watched her stir, easing toward him in half-sleep. He welcomed her touch, holding himself back from the urge to crush her against him.
“This is the big day.” She mumbled against his chest. “We better hurry if we’re going to get you into town to meet that train.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? Toby’ll be expecting you.”
“You two need time alone. I’ll be helping get the food ready. I can already smell the smoke from Hébert’s and Mundy’s pit.”
You’re expecting me to heal this breach with Toby. He pulled her onto his shoulder, kissed her cheek. “They’d already started the fire when I came in from patrol.”
She lifted her head. “I hear them hauling the tables from the barn. She kissed him quickly and slipped out of bed, pulling her gown over her head. “We don’t want them to catch us still in bed.”
Al groaned. “Why not?” He pushed himself to a sitting position. “I don’t see any point in doing those damn exercises this morning if Toby’s going to cut off my leg.” He watched her turn, clutching her drawers in one hand, her face a mask of worry. He wished he’d kept his big mouth shut.
“You don’t want to do it, do you?” She knelt before him, bent to kiss his aching leg.
He ran his hand over her tousled hair, soft as down. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass. I’d like to get rid of the pain, but I’m not sure I want that fake leg. I keep thinking about hooking on barrel staves and having hinges that squeak like a dried-out wagon wheel––”
“You don’t have to use it. Helga’s oldest son came home from the war with gangrene. I helped Dr. Stein cut off his leg. He’s still getting around on crutches.”
“You were his nurse?” Al stood and pulled her into his arms.
“Only when he asked, especially after we sold the store. I’ll help Toby if he needs me. I want to make sure you don’t hurt. Dr. Stein was stingy with morphine. He feared Hermie would get dependent on pain medicine. He let the boy suffer way too much.”
Al watched Amelia dress, her body moving quickly into drawers and a loose-fitting work dress that hid the flame he knew so well. He would shut his mouth, stop tormenting her with his indecision.
Disappointment wrenched the energy out of Al when he couldn’t find Toby in the first-class coach and saw him emerge from the second-class railcar. Damn fool. I let myself hope he’d changed his mind. The boy was grimy with coal dust, taller, and bulging the shoulders of his two-year-old coat. His hat sat at a rakish angle, but his grin was the same old smile––half cocky and half unsure. Al sucked in the pleasure of the boy’s hand pounding on his back and looking into eyes glassy with tears.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get here. We stopped at every telegraph pole.” Toby looked around. “Where’s Amelia? Did you run her off?”
“She wants us to have the day to ourselves. There’s a big welcome tonight. She’s right in the middle of it.”
“I can’t wait to see everybody. One more year, and I’m back for good.” Toby slung his arm around Al’s shoulders as they walked toward the carriage. “I need to pull the buggy up close. I’ve brought so many medical supplies and books for the kids that I can barely lift the crates.”
Al reached for the long package laying across Toby’s trunks. “Is that my new leg?”
Toby heaved the load into the back of the carriage. “It pays to be at Harvard. James Hanger gave me return privilege.”
“I’m itching to look at it.” Al swung himself onto the carriage seat, handed the reins to his son.
When they reached the store, Wally’s stomach bounced as he hurried to meet them. “You still got that short haircut?”
I’m not the only one who was hoping he changed his mind. Al crossed his arms, holding the ache that spread over him.
Toby bent to scoop his arms around Cora and Wally. “Yep, afraid this is the real me.”
“Tell us about the doctoring. Are you cutting people open?” Wally backed up, hitched his thumbs in his saggy trouser pockets and bestowed a rosy smile on Toby.
“Doctor Henry Jacob Bigelow, the finest surgeon in the world, is my teacher. He’s been letting me assist. I’ve helped with abdominal surgery and several amputations.” Toby looked at Al. “He’s a genius, Pop. He’s written books, designed medical equipment, even a special operating table.”
Al settled behind the counter and propped his leg on a keg of nails. He wanted to get back home, soak his knee before time for the party, but he knew Cora and Wally claimed Toby as part theirs. Besides, it felt good to hear Toby welcomed with so much love. He’d get more tonight. Maybe inoculate him for the slurs that the recent trials were going to elicit.
Al noticed that Toby put his hat on before they stepped out the front door “You want to stop at McIntyre’s for lunch?”
“Only if you’re hungry. I had a two-hour layover in Hempstead. Found a colored joint. Ate a steak that hung off the sides of my plate.”
“Let’s head home.” Al felt relieved not to face a restaurant full of people still stewing over the Packerman outcomes. He hated for Toby to hear all the remarks about his mother, even though Al knew the boy would probably take it better than him.
They had barely passed Camptown when Toby said, “So how bad is the pain in that leg?”
“Not too different.” He didn’t intend to whine about counting the days until Toby gave him some relief.
“Doctor Bigelow doesn’t give much hope of getting out the shrapnel. It’s become part of your leg by now.”
“So, we need to cut it off?” Why the hell did he care? What made him want to keep something that goaded him like an inflamed boil?
“If you trust me to make that call.”
“Trust you?” The words stung. This was what Amelia wanted him to repair. “You’re the smartest man I know. If you say cut it off, I’ll go along.” Al looked at his son’s face in time to see the flicker of a frown, and his gut said that he had missed the time to make things whole.
They rode without speaking, and then Toby glanced sideways at Al. “Bigelow says cutting off parts, even gangrene parts that are about to kill you, can feel like losing your manhood. He doesn’t think women have that attachment.”
Al rearranged the pillows that Amelia always stacked in the buggy and maneuvered his leg onto the running board. “Truth is, I’d probably be a lot better man if I didn’t have this distraction.” He saw Toby’s sideways grin, and they both laughed.
“Tomorrow, we’ll see what we can do for your manhood.” Toby snorted and then looked up in surprise. “Ol’ Nehemiah’s wife has hung out her apron. She’s probably aiming for us to buy some of her bread. You think they’ll come tonight?”
Sunshine reluctantly slowed and pulled off the road to the little house whose porch sank like an open jaw.
“I’d be surprised. Nehemiah has trouble with anybody having success.” Al waved to Malcolm whose toes hung off the edge of the porch, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his overalls.
“You want something?” Malcolm, almost as tall as the sagging roof, tilted his head back, looked down his nose.
“Sure thing, Malcolm,” Toby said. “We want some of your mama’s good bread.”
“We ain’t coming to your party. We got chores too early to spend time hooting and hollering.”
“Sorry, you can’t make it.” Toby swung himself off the seat and bounded onto the porch with his hand extended. “Good to see you.”
Malcolm looked at Toby’s hand, turned away, and ducked his head to enter the darkness of the front room. Toby ambled in behind him, chattering about the time he ate a whole loaf of that good bread on the way home.
The field of cotton stretched in straight green rows behind the house. The soil looked loose and free of weeds. Nehemiah Waters might have skin as black as a crow, but he drove his kids as hard as any white planter worked his slaves.
Al heard the voices––one almost barking, the other too low to detect the tone. Then Toby stepped out of the darkness onto the porch with three fat loaves under his arm. His eyes had faded to a steely gray, and his smile looked like a grimace.
“Let’s go find some friends.” Toby snapped the reins, never looking back at the black figure leaning against the front door. “Malcolm said everybody had always known I was a nigger. It was about time I got to pay the price.”
“Nehemiah is the most hate-filled man I know, and he’s taught it to his kids. Soon as he got that land, he let me know he was finished with us Waters.” Al clenched his jaw.
Toby blew out an exasperated breath “I know you’re busting a gut not to say you told me so. When I saw you searching for me in that first-class train coach, I knew for sure that you were still hoping I’d decide to be a white man.”
Al looked at his son, jaw set, nostrils flaring as he sucked in air. He turned his face away to keep the boy from seeing how hard he was trying not to cry.
Relieved that he’d said it, gotten it off his chest, Toby leaned forward toward home as Sunshine picked up her pace into the last bend in the road. He breathed in the welcome scene. The school—larger by half––had windows that opened like shiny eyes into the classroom. Regina’s and Hébert’s house sprawled beyond a path edged with a riot of red roses.
Mama Zoé’s little white house had windows so close together that he could see through to the woods beyond. And then they were there. The old circle drive lined with cedars led to his pop’s and Amelia’s simple two-story farmhouse.
Toby dove from the buggy into the arms of those he had known all his life, relishing the loud and boisterous homecoming. It felt so far away from the constant pressure to meet the standards set by Doctor Bigelow, to prove that he could master every surgical technique, score at the top in every class, and even show Reverend Perkins that he was worthy of Caroline.
When he finally moved through the crowd to Amelia, she hugged him as hard as any of the people he had known all his life. He had planned for months to ask her how to heal the open sore with his pop. Now, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to try. She was easy to watch moving about through the crowd, her long creamy braid and porcelain-white face stood out among the wavering shades of black and brown. And he noticed Al’s eyes trail across the faces until they rested for a second on her and then satisfied, move on.
He was glad he hadn’t stopped to unload the books at the school. Regina squealed the name of each title as she bent over the crate. The kids passed them around with the reverence of communion wafers and then clutched their favorite against their chests. When the evening drew to a close, the kids helped Regina carry the prizes to the school following promises that the next day they could check out a book for home reading.
The full moon guided Toby down the new stairs and back to the kitchen where he fumbled to light the lamp. He had finished making the coffee and heated enough milk to cut it to his taste when Amelia appeared, hair freshly braided and an indigo day dress that made her eyes as blue as marbles.
“I listened for you to get up so I could talk to you before Al comes down.” She slipped onto the bench across from Toby, sipped her coffee, grimaced, and reached for the milk. “I’ve never learned to drink this stuff black.”
“Pop’s still a Creole when it comes to his coffee.” Toby waited for Amelia to speak.
“If you amputate Al’s leg, do you have something to ease his pain?” She shuddered. “I don’t want him to suffer like my nephew when his leg was amputated. I could not convince my husband to give him enough morphine. He suffered for days and days. Needlessly, I felt.”
“Doctor Bigelow gives his Mass General patients chloroform during surgery. Afterward, he uses morphine, also laudanum.” Toby nodded toward the door. “Here comes Pop.”
Al limped, leaned heavily on his cane. “I didn’t exercise or soak my leg yesterday. Paying the price this morning.”
Toby pushed back his bench and went to the pump for fresh water. “Let’s cool down your leg. After breakfast, I’ll look at it.”
“I saw your big black bag. I guess you’ve brought all the saws you’ll need to cut it off?” Al scooped scrambled eggs onto the plates as Amelia sliced bread.
“Bigelow supervised the packing. I’m prepared to do whatever is necessary.” Toby wondered if he sounded confident. He’d amputated several limbs, but they did not belong to his father.
“Did Amelia tell you she helped Dr. Stein?” Al cradled his arm on her shoulder.
“Really? I’d hoped you and Mama Zoé would be willing.”
“We’ve finished weeding the cotton. I’m ready to get it done.” Al pushed back his plate. “Why don’t we see if Mama Zoé’s available?”
Toby’s pulse quickened. He’d expected to wait a few days, make sure Al was ready. Or maybe it was to make sure he was ready.
Amelia rose, patted Toby’s shoulder and headed toward the back door. “I’ll go ask Mama Zoé. Do you want me to get this table ready?”
Toby’s mouth felt dry. “Please. I’ll get my equipment set up.”
Mama Zoé and Amelia moved about the kitchen––silent as the nurses at Mass General––covering the table with clean sheets and draping more over the serving board. Toby washed all his instruments in a solution of carbolic acid. “Last year, Bigelow heard Joseph Lister speak at a medical congress in Philadelphia. He came back convinced that we could stop sepsis with a solution of carbolic acid. Infections have been way down.” Toby soaked sponges and washed the gleaming silver instruments in the solution.
While he set up the metal pot that began spewing the kitchen with the sweet-smelling carbolic spray, he watched his pop out of the corner of his eye. Al rocked in Amelia’s old chair, the rhythm creaking like a metronome. He made no comment about the cloying odor of the yellow mist settling on everything.
After positioning Al on the table, he directed Amelia and Mama Zoé to wash their hands. “Carbolic acid burns the skin. You’ll need to scrub it off as soon as we finish.”
He counted the drops of chloroform onto the cloth that Amelia held over the metal frame. He watched his pop relax under its spell. Then he dipped his hands into the solution, swabbed Al’s thigh, and tied the tourniquet. When you have a cut, make it, make it. Bigelow’s words ran through his head as the knife opened Al’s leg. Don’t manipulate it. Look at it. His fingers probed the tissue, felt the flesh in clumps, grown as hard as rocks around the shrapnel. Don’t waste time, move on.
Toby lifted his head. “I’ve got to amputate. Give him two more drops of chloroform.” He made a clean incision. Was it quick enough to meet Bigelow’s standard? The flesh rolled back as the blade slit the tissue and the muscles separated. He clamped on the retractors to assuage bleeding and sponged the opening. Thank God for Bigelow’s fine instruments. The saw cut through the bone as smooth as he’d seen the master do it. He didn’t have to tell Mama Zoé to grab the severed leg. Pinch that artery. Shut with silk thread. Don’t slow down. Ligate the vessels. His fingers––wet with Al’s blood––molded the cut with a cloth to form a drain. He sutured shut the flaps of skin, smooth as a fold of pie dough.
Plunging his hands into the pan of carbolic solution, he watched his pop’s blood wash away, paling to a lifeless rust. He couldn’t stop the shaking in his shoulders as his sweat dripped like chloroform drops into the acid. The coolness of Mama Zoé’s cloth wiping his forehead settled him down. He reached for the rag and scrubbed his face.
Amelia handed him a towel and a cup of water. “You did a fine job. Rest in my rocker while we clean up.”
The two women moved about the room––sails in a gentle breeze––whisked away the leg in a box of sawdust. They tossed the bloody sheets into a tub of water and covered Al with fresh linens. He began rousing, and they made cooing dove sounds while they slipped morphine between his lips. When his color returned, and his pulse and respiration remained normal, Toby climbed the stairs to wash and change clothes.
Distant sounds of children leaving school and chasing the hoop up and down the road marked the passing of the day. Ella slipped into the kitchen, anchored herself between Amelia and Mama Zoé. Her eyes followed Toby’s every move. When he held Al’s limp wrist, he said, “It tells me his heart is beating steady.”
“Can I feel it?” Ella stepped close, allowed Toby to move her fingers to find the steady thump. Her eyes grew big. “Can I feel that in all people?”
“Of course. Take my wrist.” Toby rolled back his cuff. “Now, feel yours.”
Ella turned away, reached for Mama Zoé’s and then for Amelia’s.
“Count the beats in Ezra’s pulse after he’s been chasing that hoop. It will be a lot faster,” Toby said.
“I’m going now.” Ella hurried through the house and out the front door to the boys running up and down the road.
“I bet she checks every one of them,” Toby said. “Maybe we’ll have a nurse someday.” He wanted to hug Amelia and Mama Zoé for ignoring his fear. All the training and watching Bigelow and practicing on all those charity cases didn’t matter. This time he cut on his pop.
Late in the day, Mama Zoé headed home, and Hébert helped carry the bed downstairs to the kitchen. When they moved Al, his only response was a deep sigh, and a mumbled, “Amelia.”
“We’ll let him start waking up tomorrow. Give him enough morphine to keep him from hurting too much.” Toby turned to head upstairs. “You were terrific, Amelia.”
“You were too, Toby.”
She crawled in beside her husband. His hand reached for her leg as she slipped into exhausted sleep.