All She Left Behind

  27

  Gingerly

  On hot spring days as her body changed, Jennie gave up her corset and instead wore loose wrappers. She cooled herself with thin wooden fans boasting “Smith Furniture and Undertaking” written on the side. “Nine months seems excessive,” she told Ariyah as the two sat in the shade.

  “At least you’ll have greens to eat, fresh peaches and apples, rhubarb pies and berries. Lots of berries.”

  “If this baby arrives looking like a blueberry, I’ll know why.”

  Lizzie’s presence proved a blessing, as the morning sickness didn’t stay to morning alone and it didn’t cease at three months. The doctor Josiah hired, Dr. Joseph Wythe, had once been the dean at Willamette Medical College and taught classes. He’d been “let go” when he was found smoking outside the building, a violation of the university’s strict code of ethics. His private practice was mostly in Portland, where he’d returned to serve as pastor at Portland’s Taylor Street Methodist Church.

  “I’m not sure it’s necessary to have a doctor of such renown,” Jennie told Josiah. The man had written a book on the use of the microscope, and Jennie remembered her simple glass and brass and vowed to show it to him the next time he visited. He had also trained in Philadelphia and was one of the first to perform an ovariectomy to remove a tumor on a woman’s ovary. She’d read about it.

  “He’s my friend and a very good doctor.”

  “Even though he got fired for smoking?” she teased.

  “The trustees made those rules. We had to follow them.” Josiah brushed at his tie. It seemed to need straightening.

  “If he can stop this morning sickness, I’ll be grateful!” She’d lost weight and began to worry over the baby’s health.

  Jennie had used a small amount of nux vomica, or strychnine, to halt the vomiting, but it had not helped. It was a poison, of course, used to kill rats, but very tiny amounts extracted from the seeds could aid digestion and help with nausea. She kept it among her aromatics and oils in a small glass vial clearly marked with the universal sign of danger, the skull and crossbones.

  “Compresses.” Dr. Wythe asked, “I suspect it’s worse in cold, windy weather?” He’d made the trek from Portland, for which Jennie was eternally grateful. She nodded. “And between three and four in the morning?”

  She was surprised. “And with spicy foods. I’ve given up any seasoning.”

  “Don’t give up ginger,” he said. “That may do the trick.” He sat beside her bed.

  “Ginger?”

  He patted her hand, then stood. “I expect your Chinese cook will have some. Chew on it now and then. Try to get up to exercise a bit, even when you think you might vomit.”

  “I will. Thank you.” He had a nice bedside manner. She wanted to ask him about some itching in a private place, but didn’t. She thought then how nice it would be to have a woman physician to confer with. He and Josiah left to have coffee in the parlor and discuss politics.

  Jennie closed her eyes. “Ginger. How could I not have known that, Van?” It was such a simple remedy. Van lay at the foot of her bed, his little brown spots for eyebrows lifting at her voice.

  “How could you not have known what?” Ariyah said as she entered. She sat her son down on the Persian carpet of many knots and colors.

  “That ginger might help this nausea. I should have thought of that.”

  “You’re being much too hard on yourself.”

  “I’m trying to do everything right this time. The last pregnancy—” It was a sorrow seven years in the past that still reached out to pluck her breath.

  “I’m sure you didn’t do anything wrong and you won’t this time. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain.’ There’s the promise.”

  Jennie thanked her for the uplifting verse from Revelation. She liked thinking of that time when there would be no more death.

  “That’s what I pray for you, Jennie. That there’ll be no more death for either of us in our lives for a very, very, very long time.”

  Ariyah allowed Alex to wobble from the bed to the chair to the table and back again, making an unsteady circle of the room. It was April and the friends both had anniversaries to celebrate (Jennie’s wedding and little Alex’s arrival); but there were sad dates too. Peleg had been gone two years already. He’d left Ariyah with sufficient funds, so she didn’t have to wonder over finances the way Jennie once had to. Unbeknownst to Josiah, Jennie still made payments out of the household accounts, as Charles Winn had yet to release her from the loan. It was a bit strange—using Josiah’s money to pay off a loan to him, but Jennie didn’t want his sons thinking she didn’t remember her obligation. Jennie knew all she needed to do was ask Josiah for a bit more if she needed something for the baby; or tell him about the loan payments being made to the estate through Charles Winn. But she didn’t like asking for money. From anyone. Josiah had recently donated a full block of lots he owned for a school for the deaf and feebleminded. The paper had speculated that it was worth $2000, so money wasn’t a worry for Josiah.

  “How are your piano lessons going?” Jennie asked.

  “Wonderful. He’s not the instructor Peleg was, of course, but he’s reliable and I know I’ll be totally absorbed for at least an hour that day, my mind not wandering to Peleg memories. It’s very refreshing, the piano. And practicing in between, I love that time too.” She fiddled with the lace at her bodice, turned to see Alex had plopped on his bottom and now reached for Van, who darted toward him, then backed up, darted forward, then danced back to Alex’s giggle, his tail sweeping the floor. The dog’s rear was high in the air, his front paws and face near the carpet, a position of play.

  “What does Douglas think about the baby?”

  “So far, he’s been happy about it. I think Lizzie’s devotion to him really makes a difference. He’ll be almost ten when the baby is born, so we’ve been talking about how important he’ll be to his little brother or sister in growing up.”

  “You don’t think he’ll be jealous?”

  “He worried over Baby Ariyah, and when she died, he wondered if he’d go to heaven too. I decided after that to never refer to death as ‘God took his angel home.’ It’s frightening for some children.”

  Ariyah looked away, drummed her fingers together, then tugged at the strings of her hat she’d removed and kept on her lap, almost like a barrier between the two of them. That in itself was rare. “Jennie—”

  “Doctor man say give you ginger, right away.”

  “Thank you, Chen.” The small man step-stepped into the room then, his black eyes holding worry. Jennie took a bite from the root he’d handed her. Bitter, but if it helped she would not complain. “This is perfect, Chen. Thank you.” He nodded. “What were you going to say, Ariyah?”

  “Oh, nothing. We can talk about it later. Right now I need to get Chen’s recipe for that mango sauce he served at Easter.” The small man beamed. “Mangos shipped from San Francisco, I imagine. It was perfectly delicious.”

  “I haven’t eaten anything but hard tack and tea. Josiah even made up pemmican, hoping that would ease the discomfort.”

  “He’s attentive the way Peleg was.” Ariyah sighed.

  Lizzie, along with Douglas, joined Jennie and Ariyah as Chen left. “Mrs. P, would you like to sit in the chair for a while?”

  “What’s this?” Douglas picked up the vial of nux vomica.

  “It’s a medicine.” He was close enough that Jennie put her hand out, and he put the vial into her palm. “Thank you. It’s very dangerous. You mustn’t pick up any of Mommy’s vials and potions. I wouldn’t want you to get sick from taking them by mistake.”

  “All right,” he said. He stood back while Lizzie helped her up, and she suggested that they walk the hallway both for exercise and to see if the ginger helped. Douglas led Alex by one chubby hand, walking him slowly down the hall, and then found the library where Josiah and Dr. Wythe talked, and there Douglas
abandoned his younger charge.

  “He’s no longer acting the older brother,” Ariyah said, lifting Alex.

  “He’s still young and has no practice.” He’d been appropriate. She wasn’t sure why Ariyah’s comment had upset her.

  “Are these the same paintings that were here when Elizabeth was alive?” Ariyah asked.

  Jennie nodded.

  Ariyah paused before an oil landscape of green fields and mountains with a sunset behind them casting a yellow glow. She bounced her son on her hip. “Maybe you should bring in some of your style to the house. I bet Josiah would allow that.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Jennie to suggest to Josiah that they engage in furnishing changes. She liked Elizabeth’s taste, and the settee and bedsteads and vases and paintings were familiar to him—and to her now too. She wasn’t preoccupied with her surroundings. Her medical books Josiah had sent for lured her into their world, so what hung in the halls or the furniture they sat on were not places she thought to change. It was the interior world that captured her and the universe of relationships that spun their webs. These were the accoutrements she fussed over: Douglas’s response to a younger child, Josiah’s encouragement of her medical interests, Ariyah’s observation left unfinished.

  “But you’re a society woman now, married to Josiah Parrish, soon to have his child. You have to look the part.”

  “None of those society women will see the upstairs hall,” Jennie said. “Though they could. Lizzie keeps it sparkling.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. P.” Lizzie held her elbow. “They might like seeing the indoor bathing room. All those tubs!”

  “I can imagine a tour of that room. Should we plan it for Christmas? Hang mistletoe in the shower?”

  The women laughed with Jennie and she warmed to their presence. They were a hundred times more relaxing than the society women who brought their calling cards to take tea and ogle.

  “Josiah’s really a simple man with simple tastes. I’m not much interested in style or fashion. That’s one reason I need you to remind me now and then.” Jennie looked at the table in the wide hall below the painting. It held a spray of wheat that picked up the color of the yellow sunset. It was lovely. “I might not need to change my surroundings, but noticing them now and then might be wise.”

  “Did I tell you I’ve taken up artistry?” Ariyah hadn’t. “It’s another place I find relief. Art and music,” she mused. “They help fill this empty hole I wonder how I’ll ever fill.”

  The three women finished the afternoon before Jennie realized she’d gone a full two hours before she needed the emesis bowl. But afterward, she didn’t continue into spasms. Perhaps the ginger really would work. She sipped water and it stayed down. Jennie even felt well enough to get up on her own and walked Ariyah to the door where sunlight poured through the glass panel. Jennie didn’t try to lift Alex but touched his head, thanked him for being such a good boy. To Ariyah she said, “I needed this visit.”

  Ariyah hesitated but said only, “Thank Douglas for his walking Alex.” Then she hugged Jennie and swished out the door.

  Jennie made her way back up the stairs, wondering what Ariyah had planned to say before Chen’s interruption and then before she left. She let it go when Douglas came into the room, dragging Lizzie by the hand. “We’re going to plant the garden tomorrow, can we, Mama?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “I love carrots. The seeds are teeny tiny. Lizzie showed me.”

  He turned to Lizzie with adoring eyes and Jennie felt that familiar twinge of regret that her son had never looked that way at her. Perhaps one day this child she carried would.

  28

  The Education of Jennie

  Josiah kept busy with his college board, lamented greatly the burning of the old Institute building that had housed the first school in the territory. University Hall now contained the entire college, with expanding music and theology and biblical classes and offering degrees in medicine, a business school, and music. Jennie labored through a textbook from the 1820s titled Women’s Concerns. The author was somewhat condescending and Jennie hoped one day a woman physician would write another. Maybe Bethina Owens would. Josiah had learned that Bethina no longer had her hat shop but had instead placed her son with Abigail Scott Duniway, a friend and women’s rights activist, then left for medical school in Pennsylvania, the same one Dr. Wythe had attended. She would become a doctor, sacrificing time with her son to do it.

  “You can do that too,” Josiah told her. They strolled the boardwalk on a sunny afternoon, Douglas and Van running in front, but the dog at least coming back to check on their slow pace. No longer hampered by morning sickness, Jennie felt whole again and joyous in the summer day. Josiah tipped his hat to Mr. Gill, owner of the new bookstore building and Jennie thanked him for ordering in her medical books. Women’s skirts took up the walkway so the men had to step out onto the cobbled street while the women chattered about the weather, and Jennie kept her eye on Douglas poking a stick at the horse manure in the street. Josiah signaled Douglas that they were turning back.

  “I wonder why Mrs. Owens didn’t come to Willamette’s medical program.” A flock of birds rose before them, became a black garland sweeping across the sky.

  “Perhaps the reputation of Mrs. Sawtelle spreads,” said Josiah, “that we aren’t fair to women—who don’t pass anatomy.” He was a little sensitive about Willamette’s not graduating Mrs. Sawtelle, even though he made light of the attack of unfairness.

  “I suspect it was more the faculty dissension that caused her to depart,” Jennie offered. “I’m plowing through this book of Women’s Concerns, and the general tone is one of women being frail, needy creatures and the doctor required to bounce between pampering and dogmatically telling women what to do.”

  “It’s an older text, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I suspect little has changed about the male attitude toward women. ‘Bouncing’ isn’t the correct word, but you get my meaning.”

  Josiah nodded.

  “Women, I’ve found, are neither in need of pampering nor parenting,” Jennie said. “We bear children every other year while still cooking, cleaning, plowing fields, sewing, harvesting, drying foods, quilting, milking cows, tending horses, chopping wood, making deals, selling wheat and buying beans, teaching children, wiping runny noses, all while often suffering from boils and bruises and childbirth and acting the perfect wife.” She sounded annoyed even to herself and she wasn’t sure why.

  “Her husband and children praise that Proverbs 31 woman you’ve just described,” Josiah reminded her.

  “I suspect she might have preferred a little help.”

  He laughed. “One day you’ll be a doctor and you’ll treat your female patients differently.”

  “If that ever happens, I’ll ask their opinion and not assume they don’t have one.” Her dream of becoming a doctor was like looking through the glass and brass the wrong way: instead of bringing an object closer to her, it got smaller and farther away.

  “Mrs. Sawtelle did get her degree, by the way. In New York.” Josiah broke into her reverie. “Her husband is entering Willamette Medical this fall and she’s opened a practice here in Salem.” They dodged fat slugs squiggling on the boardwalk as they strolled.

  “She has? It would be much more practical to have her tend me than Dr. Wythe. He’ll have to stay with us because it’ll be so difficult to come from Portland. And what if the baby comes early?”

  “I think we should stay on the course we’ve started,” Josiah said. “I want the best for you and that’s Wythe. He has the degree, has written a specialty book, practiced and taught.”

  “And apparently passed anatomy.”

  “The medical curriculum does have demands, Mrs. Parrish.”

  “Why don’t you go to medical school, Mr. Parrish?”

  “At my age?”

  “Didn’t Tabitha Brown start Pacific University when she was even older than you? And imagine how you could c
ombine your native healing with science.”

  “I’ll pass it on to you and you can use it. When you have your degree.” He squeezed her arm. “But if you think it would help, I’d be pleased to read the texts while you take notes.”

  “Or I could knit while I memorize. I’d like that.” His confidence both warmed and warned: that someone who loved her thought she could achieve a childhood dream brought on the warming; the warning came from the risk involved in pursuing that dream. If she actually committed to doing it, there’d be no one else to blame if she failed.

  “I’d glean wisdom from everywhere,” Jennie continued. “Even Mrs. Sawtelle—Dr. Sawtelle. Imagine being her colleague.”

  Josiah said nothing and she thought it might be awkward for him to have this first female medical student at his university—one who had been asked to leave—now be his wife’s colleague, let alone her patient. But Jennie vowed she’d seek her out after the baby was born. She’d be her doctor if Jennie liked her bedside manner. And maybe Jennie would find in that relationship the encouragement to do what Mary Sawtelle and Bethina Owens did.

  That fall, they enrolled Douglas in the new elementary school at Willamette. A few weeks later, they met to discuss Douglas’s needs.

  “He’s bright but . . . a scamp. He teases other students. He’s bigger than many of his classmates and isn’t always aware that he is, shall we say, rough at times.” The teacher fidgeted as he spoke of his concerns. Jennie imagined it wasn’t easy to tell a trustee that his child was known less for his academic achievements than for his less-than-stellar behavior. “But we’ll manage. He seems quite taken with science and with the construction of things, though nothing seems to interest him for long.”

  “What can we do to assist you?” Jennie said. They were in the teacher’s office on a warm September day.

  “Oh, I think you’ve done quite enough in that realm, Mrs. Parrish.” Jennie frowned. “Some punishments don’t seem to work with troubled boys like Douglas.”