All She Left Behind

  “He’s so soft.” Her gaze was languid, so different from her agitated state when she’d been in the parlor. The kid brought her comfort, reminding Jennie of the way that Quilton had once given such calm to Douglas. Jennie looked at her son. His eyes drooped as though tired too. He moved his hands slowly so as not to startle the kid, leaning over the short wall to scratch the animal’s ears.

  “Looks like you’ve found your show animal.” Josiah went on to describe the pedigree, answer questions. The Stacys nodded, said “Ja, ja” often, agreeing in their German.

  “Time to go, Daughter.”

  Nora nodded, moved ever so slowly. She stood up, grimaced a little, darting eyes returning.

  “Are you all right?” Jennie’s doctor/mother instinct on alert.

  “My stomach feels upset.” She looked at the kid. “I think I’ll name her Penelope because she had to wait so long for me to find her. Oh”—she clutched her stomach—“I don’t feel well.”

  “Our girl loves the classics, especially Odysseus.” Her father beamed.

  Anxiety? “I have licorice root tea I could send with you. It might make your stomach feel better.”

  “She be alright when we get home.”

  They loaded the kid into the wagon. By now, Nora’s eyes were darting again. She massaged her hands as though she had a ball of dough in her palms.

  “Just excitement,” Mrs. Stacy said. “She’ll be fine, we get her kid into its own pen. Right on the porch.”

  Douglas looked sleepy too as they sent them on their way. Josiah put his arm around Douglas’s shoulder and they walked back to the house. Jennie carried Josie on her hip, held Gracie’s hand as she skipped and tugged her toward every wind-dancing daffodil she could find.

  “Going to my room,” Douglas said, lengthening his stride.

  Jennie met Josiah’s eyes over the top of the girls’ heads.

  Douglas had left them, moved on ahead and out of sight.

  The knock on the door came not long after the Stacys had left. Jennie and Josiah had just started up the stairs to the girls’ playroom.

  “She’s taken real ill, Missus,” Mr. Stacy said. “Thought we’d check with you.”

  “Nora? Could she have a reaction to something we served here?” Jennie tried to remember what was in the tea cakes, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. “I’ll come, see if I can help. You sent for the doctor?”

  He nodded. “You work with herbs and oils. You can help her?”

  “Is she vomiting?”

  He nodded. “She’s so sick, Missus. Sweating and shaking all over.” He shivered and Jennie watched fear spread through his body like a snake slithering from head to toe.

  “I’ll get licorice root.” She ran to her medicine cabinet, grateful to have a remedy. It was unlocked. She remembered then that Douglas had taken the nux vomica down to the barn. She did a quick scan for the licorice root, grateful the plant grew wild and she had harvested some last summer. “Chop into warm water and see if you can get her to drink it, like a tea.” She handed the paper package to Nora’s father. “Go home. We’ll come shortly.”

  He nodded, mounted his horse, and was gone.

  Douglas snored a contented sleep, so she closed his door and she and Josiah rushed to the Stacys’, Lizzie tending the girls. Once there, the kid bleated on the front porch in its pen.

  The doctor shook his head as they entered to Mrs. Stacy’s wails. “We’re too late. Strychnine poisoning.”

  Strychnine. “Poor child. How?” My suggestion of licorice root tea would have made it worse, if she’d been able to keep it down.

  “She was comatose when I arrived. The symptoms, white foam.”

  “I don’t know where she gets it. None here.” Her father’s eyes pooled with tears.

  Coldness washed over her. “Josiah, the nux vomica. Did you use it all?”

  He frowned. “I didn’t need it. I had crystals for the rats, a small amount and in the corner, far away from the pens. It couldn’t have been that.”

  “But you sent Douglas for it?”

  “I didn’t.”

  She gripped his arm. “He—Douglas said you needed it. We need to go. Find out if Douglas—”

  Guilt, regret, anger rode in the carriage. She set those emotions aside. She knew what it was like to outlive your child. She prayed she wouldn’t outlive another.

  “I didn’t mean to! I only wanted a taste of laudanum, just a little. I took both bottles. I thought she only had some of the sleep stuff. Did she drink the nux?”

  “Yes, she did.” Jennie shook. “And she’s dead. She’s dead, Douglas.”

  “Dead?” His color faded. “I said it would calm her down, but she was drinking the laudanum. She drank—the bottles look alike. I didn’t . . . I didn’t know she took it. I didn’t, Mama, I didn’t.”

  He covered his head with his hands as though to ward off blows.

  “Oh, Douglas. I’m so, so very sad. What made you think you had to have laudanum in the first place? And why take the other bottle at all? To cover your lie that Josiah had sent you for it?”

  He cried now. “It makes me feel better. I thought it would help her. I didn’t know she took the other.”

  The bottles did look similar; such a fatal error. Jennie’s own mistake in letting him use the key without rising and going there for him.

  “She must have consumed what was left in the bottle.” Josiah’s voice carried the defeat Jennie felt.

  There was blame enough to go around and surely the Stacys, if they chose to, could win a lawsuit. They would find a way to grieve and do what they could to serve the Stacys in theirs.

  Nora’s parents took the information in silence, remorse the cape they wore as they spoke of the two children—for they were still children at twelve—drinking what they thought would make them calm, not knowing that what Nora took would do great harm, given the amount. Douglas told them of his lie, sobbing his regrets. Mrs. Stacy kept a handkerchief to her nose, her eyes as red as beets. Mr. Stacy shook his head. “You are children, making childish choices. We know you did not intend. It was an accident.” The kid bleated and he asked Josiah if he could give the animal back.

  “Of course, of course. And we will provide all you need for the funeral.”

  “Ja, that would be good then. Like the apostle Paul, we seek to rejoice in all things, be content, he says. But this, it takes some time for.” He caressed Nora’s doll.

  The Statesman reported on the death of Nora, saying she’d been playing at “the Parrish household and got into strychnine and died at home before anyone knew what had happened.” Jennie hated that Josiah’s name—his name—was associated with death, when always before his reputation carried the highest standards of compassion, good judgment, and generosity. His name appeared in articles about a pioneer picnic he spoke at or his good citizenship in giving land for public uses, even his marrying Jennie, “an old man and a young woman” looking happy. Now it would be forever tainted. Worse was the great loss of a child because of carelessness—Jennie’s—in not overseeing what was taken from the medicine cabinet, in not supervising carefully her own son.

  But blame and accusation can only stall one on the road to healing and hope. One had to return to the commitment, to love and to life.

  Josiah and Jennie spent the following days discussing Douglas’s penchant for escape. Perhaps there was something genetic in his struggle, his father having had that same thirst. When Jennie thought of Charles, she cringed, as there seemed no hope, reports of his drinking coming from many sources. But some blame must be with her, she decided. She’d gotten caught up in her world of a loving husband and babies and had not participated in the anti-saloon efforts. She hadn’t attended city meetings dealing with beer and its effects; she hadn’t spoken up when she’d seen children carrying home their pails of beer lined with lard to keep the foam down so more brew could be brought to their parents. She hadn’t once signed a petition to pass a prohibition liquor law as her fath
er and brother had.

  She’d barely paid attention to Mary Hunt’s work either, letting anti-drinking information into textbooks or Frances Willard’s passion with the Women’s Christian Temperance Union. What had she done with her own passion of seeking medicine to stave off that thirst? After Charles left, she had turned her thoughts to her world, her life.

  Like Douglas, she had hid from painful things, found sham contentment in the mind’s escape.

  “Do you think that asylum doctor, Hawthorne, could help Douglas?” She knitted a sweater for Gracie.

  Josiah was thoughtful. “It’s worth the effort. People get crazy after liquor. Laudanum, spirits, even beer, despite the brewers calling it ‘liquid bread.’ I’ll make a contact.”

  “No, let me. It’s something I should do.”

  “It’s only for a short time, Douglas. They think they can help you stay away from . . . well, you know.”

  “Liquor, laudanum, Mother. You can say them.” They sat in the parlor, Jennie across from him. “Let’s add opium. Yes, I saw Chen in Chinatown. And then there’s the white powder of cocaine. Lovely stuff.”

  “Oh, Douglas. Please don’t mock this. What you’re doing, it’s killing you. And us too. The heart can only take so much.”

  “My heart or yours?”

  “Please. Give Dr. Hawthorne a chance. His hospital . . . it will be a good thing. We’ll visit. I’ve spoken with him. He’s a good man. The hospital is clean and—”

  His eyes watered. He was just a child. She reached for him. He jerked away. Would she ever find again that happy boy who had lived behind such grand green eyes? Could medicine offer any silence for those tragic siren calls?

  33

  Forcing the Fiend Away

  You need to silence the fiend,” Ariyah said. They were in her parlor, the heavy brocade drapes pulled back to expose the sun.

  Jennie frowned.

  “Nicholas Rowe, the English writer. He said that guilt was ‘the avenging fiend that follows us behind with whips and stings.’ You’ve whipped yourself enough about Charles and Douglas and now dear little Nora. It’s time you looked through a new lens.”

  “I no longer know how.”

  “When I feel guilty, I have this practice.” Ariyah set her teacup down. “I first confess to my wrongdoing. That could take some time.”

  “I’ve confessed so loud and long I think the Lord might have gotten clouds to stuff in his ears.”

  “Then I seek forgiveness and accept it. The hardest part. But it lets me consider what sort of personal change I’m being called to make, to address whatever it was that made me feel guilty in the first place. I put my focus there, then set my heart on what I can do, instead of on what I can’t.” She patted her friend’s hand. “I know this is difficult, but the Greeks say wisdom comes from suffering.”

  “Has anyone ever told you how wise you are?”

  Ariyah laughed. “It’s one of the things I miss most about dear Peleg. He thought I was the smartest woman he’d ever met. He told me often.” She sighed. “I miss that.”

  Jennie took her words to heart. What personal change could she make? What new lens might she see her world through?

  The curriculum at Willamette included “Scientific Temperance Instruction” from the work of Mary Hunt, a former chemistry teacher turned reformer. Jennie was grateful the school took drinking seriously—as had school boards across the country. The drinking on the streets of Salem was so pervasive, one could smell the mash while walking by a saloon, and it did not mask the scent of vomit in the gutters. Jennie had ignored that as much as she could until now.

  But the school primer “facts” concerned Jennie when she read them. “The majority of beer drinkers die of dropsy.” They do not. “When alcohol passes down the throat, it burns off the skin, leaving it bare and burning.” There’s no evidence for that. These “facts” were efforts at intimidation rather than science, and she couldn’t imagine that such miseducation would stop someone like Douglas from drinking.

  They’d had him admitted to the Hawthorne hospital. He had gone without complaint, perhaps as defeated as Jennie felt. She had visited, conferred with the doctor. She so hoped this psychiatry field would offer him release.

  After church one fall morning several months after the death of Nora, Josiah helped Jennie into the carriage, newly arrived from around the Horn. The service had spoken to her, or the one Charles Wesley hymn at least. Forth in Thy Name, O Lord. It was the second verse that struck her.

  The task thy wisdom hath assigned,

  O let me cheerfully fulfill;

  in all my works thy presence find,

  and prove thy good and perfect will.

  The door lock clicked with a firm sound, reminding her of the day they’d left Douglas at the Hawthorne hospital. He was back with them now, in school, no warmer to Josiah or her, but he was pleasant with the girls, and Van still curled in his lap. There’d been no incidents at Willamette. She hoped he was truly better. But she wondered, did her works reflect “thy good and perfect will”?

  The driver chirped to the team and they clop-clopped down State Street, the scent of horse droppings on the road strong in the summer heat. The girls were dressed in their “Sunday best,” sitting on either side of Jennie, Josiah across from them all. She put her arms out to protect instinctively as the carriage hit a bump.

  “You saved us, Mama,” Gracie said, straightening her straw hat.

  “Yes, if I hadn’t held you, you’d have fallen right into your papa’s arms.”

  Josiah grinned.

  In that unexpected moment warmed with love, perhaps because her spirit had been opened from the hymn, Jennie felt an Einsicht. “I want to go to medical school.”

  “I’d say it was about time.” He grinned at her as though he’d just discovered fire. Perhaps he had. Her fire.

  “I’ll have to find a doctor to read with first. When he thinks I’m ready, if he does, I’ll try to enroll.”

  “When he thinks you’re ready? Why not study with a female physician? Bethina Owens now has her degree and is back in Oregon.”

  “She is? Is she in Portland?”

  “Southern Oregon.” He leaned against the padded back, straightened his hat still grinning like a man just learning he had fathered a child.

  “You’re not the least surprised?”

  “I knew the time would come.”

  She shook her head, smiling. Then, “It does feel a bit like a betrayal, not reading with a woman, but a male doctor will lend legitimacy when I apply or try to join a medical society.”

  “First a preceptorship, then medical school, then president of the medical society.” He clapped his hands and the girls did too, with no idea of what they cheered.

  “I’ll need a certain kind of physician.” The memories of her learning to read with her brother’s patience rushed back; the long hours of deciphering texts Josiah had bought her before the girls were born. Maybe she couldn’t do this. Maybe she was already too old at thirty-three or too set on an arc of a wife and mother to now find a way to serve beyond. And yet her whole life had taken her to this decision. Her gifts with oils and herbs; a family who encouraged her despite her challenges; friends who turned to her for nurture and who gave back; and a husband who had both the means and intention to seek and trust and model that for her. “It’ll take time.”

  Josiah nodded agreement. “Somehow we think we must be large enough to finish before we first begin. You’ll make a gain by just beginning.”

  “Yes. Just begin.”

  “I can make inquiries.”

  “No, I want to do this myself, without your influence. Now, don’t pout.” He’d rolled his lower lip out like a child. Both girls giggled, Josie first. He exaggerated the gesture, wiggled his graying eyebrows at them.

  “Papa’s funny,” Gracie said. She pointed her finger. She’d be four soon. They’d just celebrated Josie’s third birthday.

  “Your papa is funny.” Jennie smoothe
d the ruffles on her dress.

  “I only want to help in any way I can.” His hands crossed over on the cane’s top to hold hers. “What’s the benefit of being president of the board of trustees if I can’t assist my own wife?”

  “You do contribute, greatly. Being there for the children, offering me a space to work and the time. And letting me cry on your shoulder when I’m frustrated.” He kissed her gloved hand and released it. “It took me nearly a year to get through Women’s Concerns. Douglas’s trials have my name written beside his. Maybe I can find a way to alleviate the degradation that comes from consumption, though Prohibition laws may be the best defense.”

  “There will always be home brews and distilleries and ‘medicinal uses.’ There’s a little alcohol in sauerkraut, you know,” he teased. Jennie couldn’t see the lightness. She was already planning how to find a physician. Josiah softened his voice. “Some things are worth doing, Jennie, regardless of how they turn out. I’m so pleased you finally believe that.”

  34

  Reading Life

  The girls can come here for piano lessons. Alex would love the company.” Ariyah took to the idea of Jennie’s reading and added to it. “JoJo’s a little young, but Gracie’s the perfect age for piano. Maybe Josiah will order one for them to have at the house, so they can practice in between lessons.”

  “Let’s see how they like it first. Gracie enjoys the bands in the park but sitting for practice, well, I guess we’ll see. I think the hardest part about this will be worrying over the children getting enough attention. Lizzie’s so good with them, but . . . I’ll miss them.”

  “They’ll want your attention, but it won’t be forever that they have to share you with texts. School is only for two years, isn’t it? It takes longer to become a preacher than a doctor, didn’t you say?”