I stood there silently, waiting for her to say something. She suddenly took off on her short legs, disappearing down a hallway that led away from the room on the right. I didn’t know if I were supposed to follow her, but quickly decided it was my best option. I hurried to catch up to her. Her heels echoed down the airy hall. She turned and started up a staircase. It was in the same shabby shape as the front door—peeling white paint that covered dull, splintered, gray wood. The stairs were unpainted, and a few uneven planks every few steps indicated they had been replaced more than once.
I kept following the silent nurse until we reached a landing on the second level. I walked through a small door into a hallway. The hallway had an array of closed doors and the girl opened one, the second one from the stairs. I couldn’t see what lay behind the door from where I stood in the hallway, but as I approached it, the ungodly silence stretched the moments it took me to reach her. I finally saw a small room.
Inside, stood a tall, single bed with iron railings and metal supports that reminded me of the front legs of a praying mantis at the footboard. Against the wall, a tall desk with a stool beneath it caught my eye. Cluttering the desk’s surface were myriad brown and clear vials and jars, each containing various colors and quantities of liquids. A pile of wispy, irregularly-sized cotton balls spilled from a mason jar on the counter. A single wooden chair occupied one corner and light streamed in from a cracked window that overlooked the large, brown yard at the far end of the room. As I entered, I turned back to ask the nurse what I should do but she wordlessly shut the door behind me.
A strong, ominous gust of wind blew outside that rattled the cracked window. It made an eerie whoosh! Walking over to the window, I looked out to see if I could spot Drake’s cab from the higher vantage point. Beyond the tops of the sparse trees, I managed to make out the main road leading to the house’s driveway. Thomas Dickerson’s car was parked in front of the house but there wasn’t a cab or any other vehicle in sight. I gulped and tried to swallow but my throat was too dry as I helplessly waited for whatever happened next.
Dorothy Arnold’s unsolved disappearance was the talk of the century. A respected and high profile woman in her community one day, she was gone the next, virtually expunged from the world, never to be seen or heard from again. And here I was, possibly occupying the same room Dorothy was in not twenty-four hours ago.
Had she come here to get an abortion without realizing she was already too far along? Did she run away? Or did something much more tragic occur? Did her father become a raging murderer at the possible threat of her tarnishing the family name like Drake had originally suggested? It seemed extreme but not totally outside the realm of possibility. Or maybe the father of her baby came back into the picture? I read online something about a summertime romance between her and a strange man. The only shred of hope I had to rely on was Alice. The baby. Dorothy had to be alive long enough to give birth to a baby, and someone had to help her accomplish that.
As if in response to my anxiety-filled questions, the door opened and snapped me out of my reverie. I nearly leaped out of my skin. This time, I didn’t see the small, quiet nurse. Instead, I saw a man. He was tall and thin, and his skin was sickly pale. He wore a white kerchief on his head just like the one the nurse was wearing, and his dirty blond hair jutted out in sparse strands beneath it. A few scant mustache hairs darkened his upper lip and his long, thin nose extended almost comically beyond his face. His eyes were too close together and the color reminded me of deep, slimy, greenish-brown pond water. His bushy eyebrows looked like caterpillars when he raised them in an expression of pleasant surprise. His mouth was full of sharp, pointy teeth. He swiftly wetted his thin, anemic lips with a fast, flickering tongue that made me think of a lizard.
“Hello, Mrs. Montague. I’ve been expecting you.”
SIXTEEN
“Hello, Doctor,” I replied as calmly as I could manage.
I’d been in the room for less than a minute and already felt like sprinting toward the door as fast as my legs could carry me. His unconcealed, lecherous stare made my skin crawl.
“I don’t want you to feel nervous,” he began, examining me microscopically with his probing eyes. “Many women come to me asking for assistance. I have plenty of experience. I can make you very comfortable.” His voice was high and thin and he prolonged the “s” sound at the end of words, making it sound like a whistling hiss.
“Thank you,” I answered nervously.
“Sit down,” he said with another flick of his lizard tongue over his lips. He gestured toward the bed. Only then did I realize I’d been clutching the window frame so hard, my knuckles had turned white.
“I don’t want you to feel nervous,” he said again. He leaned against the counter with all the vials. The vials and jars made a few clinking sounds as his weight settled. I found myself staring at the door, wondering how difficult it would be to overpower him and escape. Disgust rattled me, and my heart wrenched for Dorothy.
He watched me with amusement, entertained by my obvious discomfort.
“How did a pretty girl like you end up here?” he asked.
I debated whether to play along or just ask him straight out about Dorothy. I needed all the information I could get, but I also valued my life. I hadn’t seen another soul inside this “hospital” except for the peculiar nurse.
“No need to be shy,” he said, instantly misinterpreting my far away look.
“My friend said you help women who have… blockages?” I said, struggling to remember the word Lola used. “Maybe you remember her? Her name is Dorothy.”
His smug smirk vanished, replaced by a dark, menacing scowl. He straightened and moved away from the desk, which nearly fell over, making the vials clink again as they tipped precariously.
“I don’t know anyone by that name,” he replied sharply. Then he seemed to compose himself and coolly resumed his relaxed posture.
Clearly he’d tried to conceal his reaction to hearing Dorothy’s name but there was something undeniable there. I refused to accept this was just a dead end. Assuming she arrived at the “hospital,” Dorothy was here just yesterday; yes, he was definitely concealing something. I just didn’t know how to uncover the truth. I had to find out pretty quickly though—Drake and I were running out of time. But I dared not risk bringing up Dorothy’s name again for fear of his reaction. He might become more irritated than the first time I mentioned it.
“I do what I can to help a lot of young women, Mrs. Montague. I can’t remember everyone’s name; so many consult me for assistance, I’m sure you understand.” He smiled suggestively at me again, his tongue flicking in and out from behind his pointed crocodile teeth. “Although I have to say I’m sure I’d have a hard time forgetting someone like you.”
I had to fight the shudder that threatened to expose my true discomfort. I remembered what Drake said: no self-respecting doctor would perform such an operation.
“How long have you been a doctor?” I asked.
“I can assure you, my dear, I’m more than experienced,” he hissed, his voice dripping with lurid suggestion. “Although I must admit some surprise at seeing you here. I rarely assist married women who come to me. Although it does happen, of course. But most married women are overjoyed and grateful when they learn they are with child. You should be grateful too. What you’re carrying inside you is truly a gift.” He looked pointedly at my midsection.
I had to shelve the thought of having Drake’s baby because it left me feeling completely perplexed.
“Well…” I hedged, trying to think of a plausible excuse. “Now just isn’t the best time for my husband and me to raise a child, you see. My husband recently lost his job and we have no permanent place to live at present.” The lie felt beyond obvious and I waited anxiously for him to call me out.
“I see.” He took a big breath. “Your last name is Montague?”
Fuck! I thought to myself and inwardly shrunk. Of course he’d realize the Montagues w
ere beyond wealthy. Why hadn’t I thought of that earlier? “Yes, but my husband is the black sheep of the family,” I said, searching for any explanation I could.
“I see,” he said again.
“Is this procedure dangerous?” I asked, eager to gather clues about what happened to Dorothy, if she got that far.
“It can be difficult at times. It is not always easy to determine how a woman’s body will react. Of course, much of it depends on how long the blockage has been in existence. Many times, it’s as easy and painless as your monthly bloodletting. Other times, it can become more complicated.”
“Has anyone ever died because of it?”
He paused to scrutinize me for a long moment.
“Yes,” he started, “unfortunately, it does happen. However, I can assure you not to worry; you have nothing to be nervous about.”
“What happens when they die?”
“Those questions are not becoming from a young lady! You need not concern yourself with such thoughts of morbidity, rest assured!”
I was beginning to realize that this conversation was futile. And the longer I spent in the year 1910 without getting any answers, the more difficult it would become to return to the present. The thought of facing Jill and Ada empty-handed haunted me. But this situation with this slimy doctor was going nowhere.
Yes, my best course of action now was to find Drake and come back with a better plan. I could ask Thomas what he knew since he should have certainly remembered driving away with a woman and her baby, or not! My mind stilled at that thought. Maybe it was a normal event for Thomas Dickerson to leave the ominous building with an empty backseat? The doctor said there had been previous deaths.
My only accomplishment so far was uncovering a litany of more unanswered questions. I was in way over my head.
“Of course, we must discuss my payment. You’ve been apprised of my price, I trust.”
I saw my first opportunity. “Well, after my husband lost his position, our budget has become much more limited in scope. At least for right now. I’ll need a bit more time… I must confess he doesn’t know I’m here.”
The doctor seemed instantly upset.
“You have to understand, Mrs. Montague! I am in a dangerous and very vulnerable position by providing this service to women such as yourself. I only want to help, of course, but I must confine my services to those that are, shall we say, ready and able to pay. And, of course, secrecy is of the utmost importance. My specific talents are rare and costly.” He took a deep breath. “I’m more than willing to help you but my price cannot be reduced under any circumstances.” His murky eyes left my face and trailed down to my bust as he added, “Of course, my compensation does not always have to be in currency. There are plenty of other forms such as real estate and human services.” His tongue flicked across his salacious lips, leaving them raw and shiny.
“I, um, I didn’t realize,” I replied quickly, suddenly claustrophobically desperate to leave the too small room. Every second I stayed in the room felt like one more opportunity for something bad to happen.
“Payments can take many forms of currency,” he said with a lascivious smile.
“I’ll discuss payment, ahem dollar payment, with my husband first,” I replied, hoping that was enough to grant me passage out of the too small room. I could not wait to reconvene with Drake. Where was his cab?
“Ah, yes,” he said, unaware of my intention to end our meeting. Or maybe he had no intention of letting me go. “If not, we’ll work something out.”
“Thank you,” I said, although I didn’t want to stick around to hear any more of his ideas.
He leaned away from the desk again and approached the bed, placing a feeble, bony hand on my knee.
I stood up quickly, reacting almost violently to the contact of his skin.
“I really should be going,” I said, taking a step back from him.
“But I haven’t examined you yet, and seeing as this is just a consultation, am I correct in assuming you brought your first payment today?”
He came toward me with an evil gleam in his eye. Just then, a loud, piercing cry echoed from somewhere outside the room. It ended in a series of short, spluttering coughs, but it was unmistakably the sound of a newborn infant! My eyes widened in disbelief and I immediately imagined Dorothy’s baby.
“What was that?” I asked the doctor.
“Nothing. Just another patient. Now then, Mrs. Montague,” said the doctor, suddenly looking very anxious. “Now let’s have a good look and see how far along you are, shall we? You can’t be more than two months, judging by your slender waist and lithe figure. That’s good.”
He returned to the desk with the vials and opened a drawer from beneath the table. Dorothy was somewhere in this hospital with her baby! I was sure of it now; he was definitely hiding that. But why?
“I have to use the restroom first,” I lied.
He sighed but didn’t turn away from the drawer. “Very well,” he said. “Go back to the main floor and the nurse will point it out to you.”
He walked over to the door and opened it, tapping his foot impatiently until I hurried out. I started for the stairs but once he closed the door, I stopped and listened hard for another cry. I hoped that the baby was with Dorothy. Then it occurred to me that maybe Dorothy was already gone? I hadn’t heard a woman screaming, just the baby. Complications during childbirth happened all the time, even in my century. A disconcerting silence stopped me in my tracks and I was unsure of what to do. Then I noticed one of the doors in the hallway was slightly open. At the far end, I spotted the door that was ajar.
Ever so slowly, I edged along the hallway towards the door. My black heels clacked against the hard, cold hospital floor and I prayed that the doctor wouldn’t hear me. The hallway seemed to go on forever, like a bad dream, but I finally reached the end of the hall and peeked through the crack in the door.
Inside was a room very much like the one I just left, but the curtains were drawn shut on the window. That made the room unnaturally dark for this time of day.
Sitting on the bed with her face partly obscured in shadow, I saw the long nose, dark hair, and elegant features of a woman. She was holding what looked like a bundled blanket and propped up on a high stack of pillows. She was wearing a white nightgown. Our eyes met and I shivered with immediate understanding. Her resemblance to her granddaughter was uncanny. I stood rooted where I was, unable to move an inch, as I stared into the unflinching, and very much alive, eyes of Dorothy Arnold.
Dorothy clutched the bundle a little tighter to her chest, but her gaze remained steady, although somewhat unfocused. Her skin was pale and damp with sweat. Her hair was unkempt and wild around her face. I felt drawn to her when our eyes met and for a moment, we just looked at each other. She didn’t seem like a woman of the past at all, but very real, and so alive. It rattled me to predict very soon she wouldn’t be.
Drake’s warning about interfering echoed in my brain, and I felt guilty. He would surely discourage me from speaking with Dorothy. Anything I did would be directly viewed as meddling with the past, but when our eyes met in that drab, empty room, my heart ached for her. Almost out of habit, I thought the words to shut Drake out but then realized I didn’t have to. I was here… alone. I made my choice and slowly opened the door before slipping inside.
“Hi, Dorothy,” I said, unsure of how to greet her. How could I help her if nothing had happened yet? Did she realize she was in danger?
“Who are you?” she asked, and a tone of trepidation crept into her young voice. She slurred the words slightly, as if she were very weak. I found her remarkably beautiful and my heart sank at the thought of her dying so young and not being able to raise her child.
“I’m…” I struggled to think of my identity. “I’m someone who only wants to help. I know all about the baby.”
She clutched the bundle even tighter and stared down at it. For a moment, she said nothing and when she looked back up at me, her some
what glazed eyes were glistening with tears. I came closer and offered her a compassionate expression to convey a sense of safety.
A tear rolled down her cheek and she stared into the bundle before replying quietly, “Did Junior send you?” she asked, and the fear was evident in her voice.
“Junior?” I replied, instantly confused. “No, I’m a friend of your family.”
“Oh,” she said, leaning back in her seat, her eyes sagging.
“Dorothy, what happened?”
“He can’t know, he can’t know,” she chanted incoherently. As I watched her, I realized she wasn’t quite with it. Her pupils were fully dilated and she looked like she couldn’t quite focus on me or anything else in the room. The more I studied her, the more I realized she was fading in and out and I couldn’t make sense of her words. I was unsure what sort of stress having a baby puts you under, but Dorothy’s confused state seemed heightened somehow. I looked into her wide pupils and concluded she most likely had been drugged. I didn’t know how much time we had left and I needed coherent answers. Fast.
Casting a nervous glance back at the door, I walked to where she was sitting on her bed and knelt down in front of her, placing a hand on her knee.
“I only want to help,” I said.
She nodded and sniffled before her tears became no more than a few sporadic hiccups. The bundle at her chest remained silent. I couldn’t see the baby.
“Junior,” she said wearily, her head lolling slightly as she leaned back on the pillow, looking exhausted. “He doesn’t know the truth. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want it. He wanted it to go away. He’ll kill us, I know.” She began softly crying again.
“Dorothy, who will kill you? The doctor?”
“Just tell him, please! Just tell him I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please.”
She looked at me with sudden lucidity—and her eyes were full of hurt and anguish. I felt my own eyes welling with tears. I just didn’t understand what she was going on about. Junior? The doctor? Who was she scared of?