Though Waters Roar

  As soon as Dr. Hammond left, Horatio’s mother descended the stairs wearing her nightclothes and dressing gown. Her hair hung loose and limp, reaching past her shoulders. She halted on the landing, staring down at Bebe like a hawk watching a mouse.

  “Are you feeling better—?”

  “I heard what you and Dr. Hammond were discussing just now. I forbid you to get involved, Beatrice.”

  “But I’m concerned that the cholera outbreak might spread to our workers and their families. Dr. Hammond said it could be stopped with a little effort. Might we ask some of the women we know to help?”

  “Absolutely not! I forbid it! You will not embarrass me by making such a request. Women of refinement and delicate sensibilities must be sheltered from such unpleasantness. How can you even think of asking such a thing?”

  Bebe felt anger building inside her chest. Mrs. Garner responded to tragedy by taking a dose of laudanum and going to bed. Worse, she had coddled and sheltered Horatio until he was unable to endure the miseries of life without a glass of scotch. But Bebe carefully suppressed her anger before speaking.

  “Helping those poor people is the Christian thing to do, Mrs. Garner. And it needs to be done quickly, before more people die.”

  Her mother-in-law descended the remaining stairs, standing so close that Bebe could see her jaw trembling with rage. “If you step one foot in that neighborhood in the middle of this epidemic, don’t you dare come back to my house!”

  Bebe took a deep breath. “This is Horatio’s house now, and I’m his wife. I know that I need to ask his permission before I go down there, but I’m certain he won’t forbid me to help people who are suffering and dying. Now if you’ll excuse me, please, I need to change into my work clothes.”

  She brushed past her mother-in-law and hurried up the stairs, aware that she probably had sacrificed all hope for a peaceful relationship with her. Bebe slammed her bedroom door a little louder than necessary and tore two buttons off her blouse in her haste to change out of her clothes. Mrs. Garner had purchased these clothes for her, and they were as suffocating and pretentious as she was. The woman was heartless. So were all the other women in her social circle. Mrs. Garner probably had been right about one thing: Those snobs would never lower themselves to help someone else, even if it meant saving a life.

  Bebe thought of her own mother as she slipped into the dress that Hannah had sewn for her, the one she had worn when she arrived there three years ago. If only she could be more like Hannah, whose gentle, loving spirit never seemed to waver. But Bebe despaired of ever becoming like her mother.

  She sighed and dropped to her hands and knees to search for her sturdy work shoes from the farm, digging through the back of the wardrobe. Horatio had nearly convinced her to throw them away since they were too small for any of the servants to wear, but Bebe’s frugality hadn’t allowed her to toss out perfectly good shoes.

  She tried to think of someone else who might volunteer to help her, and thought of the tannery foreman, Neal MacLeod. If his wife had grown up in The Flats as he had, she might know some of the families in that neighborhood. Since Bebe intended to go to the tannery anyway to ask Horatio for his permission, she could easily ask Mr. MacLeod about his wife at the same time.

  Bebe hurried down the servants’ staircase and out the rear door to avoid running into her mother-in-law again. In her heart she knew that asking for Horatio’s permission was simply an excuse to go to the tannery and check up on him. Was he really at work or had he already left for the saloon?

  Bebe had never been inside the tannery before and had viewed it only from a distance—a messy, sprawling collection of buildings situated near the railroad tracks and the river. She asked the driver to take her to Horatio’s office, and he halted the carriage in front of a long, low building with a small overhanging roof. The aroma of freshly cut wood scented the air as Bebe climbed down, along with the smell of smoke rising from the tall smokestack. But nearly drowning out all the other scents was an animal-like stench she couldn’t quite place.

  As soon as she walked through the main entrance, Bebe understood what Horatio meant about the terrible noise. The deep rumble of machinery roared in her ears like a dozen locomotives, and she had the urge to put her hands over her ears to drown out the deafening sound. Much worse than the noise was the terrible smell that caught in her throat and made her want to gag. She had grown up on a farm and was used to the odor of animals and manure, but this was something altogether new and horrid—a combination of strong chemicals and putrid flesh.

  Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she saw that the noise came from several huge machines a few yards away. Two workmen stood in front of each one, feeding hides into the machine’s mouth while the monster spit piles of discarded animal fat, flesh and hair at their feet. Another row of workers bent over wooden stands, scraping flesh and hair from animal hides with two-handled blades. Farther back in the shadowy building she glimpsed huge wooden vats and bales of hides stacked in tall bundles.

  Poor Horatio, forced to spend his days in such a dreary, airless place. No wonder this job had killed his spirit. No wonder he preferred to remain in bed every morning than to come here. The stench of death was everywhere—and Horatio had experienced his fill of that stench on the battlefield.

  As she stood looking all around, trying to decide where to go, she saw Neal MacLeod striding toward her. She had forgotten how tall and solidly built the foreman was—like a walking oak tree.

  “If you’re looking for your husband, Mrs. Garner, he’s upstairs in his office. Would you like me to take you there?”

  The relief Bebe felt was like shedding a heavy, wet coat. Horatio was at work, just as he said he would be. “Yes, you may take me to him in a moment. But may I have a word with you first?”

  “Certainly, Mrs. Garner.”

  “I’ve been reading about the cholera outbreak down in The Flats, and I’m worried about our workers and their families. I just spoke with our family doctor, and he believes the epidemic could be stopped if we gathered some volunteers together and educated the people about the need to boil their drinking water. I’m willing to do that, but I’ll need help. I wondered if your wife might be willing to assist me.”

  He looked away, already shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Garner, but—”

  “We will be perfectly safe,” she said angrily, “as long as we take the precautions that the doctor outlined.”

  He stared at the floor, rubbing his square chin as if she had landed a punch to his jaw. “You’ve misunderstood me, Mrs.

  Garner,” he said softly. “I was about to say I’m sorry—but I’m not married.”

  “Oh.” Her anger drained away, replaced by embarrassment.

  “But my sister Mary may be willing to help you,” he continued. “I share a home with her and my mother. I can give you our address, if you’d like. I think that what you’re doing is very courageous.”

  “My fair Beatrice is undoubtedly courageous,” Horatio said as he approached Bebe from behind. She hadn’t heard him coming because of the factory noise and his voice startled her. He rested his hands on her shoulders as if staking his claim. “How is it that you’ve discovered my wife’s courage?” he asked his foreman.

  Bebe saw MacLeod glance from Horatio to her and back again, as if unsure if he should reply or allow her to explain. She quickly told Horatio about the cholera epidemic and what Dr. Hammond had advised her to do. “You’re not going to forbid me to help, are you, Horatio?”

  “No, darling. Of course I’m not going to forbid it.” But Horatio’s cheeks colored as he glanced at MacLeod, and Bebe sensed from the way that he shifted his feet that he might have refused her request if they had been alone. “I’m proud of you for being so brave. You are certain that it is safe, though?”

  “Yes, of course. Ask Dr. Hammond.”

  “Well, then.” Horatio smiled. “You had better be on your way while we get back to work.”

  The carria
ge driver followed Neal MacLeod’s directions, halting in front of a small, plain bungalow on a quiet street. Bebe was surprised to discover that the foreman lived only one block west of the house that she had wanted to buy. She wondered if Horatio had known where MacLeod lived, and if that was the reason he had seemed so tense the day she had taken him to see the house. Bebe suddenly had second thoughts about initiating this friendship. What if it enflamed Horatio’s jealousy? She nearly turned away from the door, but Mary MacLeod must have spotted Bebe’s carriage through the window because she opened the door before Bebe had a chance to change her mind.

  “Please, come inside out of the rain,” she said, beckoning to her. Her smile was warm and welcoming. Bebe liked the woman the moment she saw her. Mary was sturdy and large-boned like her brother, with the same ruddy complexion and plain, honest face. Bebe glanced around at the inside of her cottage and wished that she and Horatio lived here instead of in their cold, echoing mansion.

  “Thank you so much, Miss MacLeod. I’m Beatrice Garner, Horatio Garner’s wife.”

  “Yes, I know. I saw you at the funeral.”

  Bebe stared for a moment, too surprised to speak. She could understand why Neal MacLeod would attend Mr. Garner’s funeral, but why would his sister? She decided not to pursue it and quickly explained why she had come. “Dr. Hammond assured me that we’ll be perfectly safe,” she said when she finished, “as long as we’re careful to take precautions.”

  “Of course I’ll help you,” Mary said without hesitation. She untied her apron, wrapped a warm shawl around her shoulders, and climbed into Bebe’s carriage without a second thought. “I’ll talk to my minister tonight,” Mary promised. “Perhaps we can gather a few more volunteers from my church to help out tomorrow.”

  “That would be wonderful. I don’t think the women from my church would ever volunteer. They’re mostly high-society women, and . . . well . . .”

  “You don’t need to explain,” Mary said. “I’ve lived in Roseton all my life. I understand.”

  “Back home in New Canaan, the women from my church would gladly help out. Some of them risked their lives to help slaves escape before the war.” Bebe listened to the horses’ hooves splashing through the rain-drenched streets, then added, “I wish I could attend a different church, but Horatio’s family has belonged to this one for several generations.”

  “And it isn’t our business to judge them, is it? The choices people make are between them and God. And may I say that I admire you very much for going against their opinion and doing this, Mrs. Garner.”

  “Please, call me Bebe.”

  By the time they arrived in The Flats, Bebe was certain she had found a new friend. In the few minutes that they had conversed, it seemed as though they had always known each other. But they both fell silent when they reached their destination and saw the devastation. Water flooded the streets in every direction as far as Bebe could see. It surrounded all of the houses and tenement buildings until they appeared to be floating in a vast lake.

  “This is as far as I can go,” the driver told her. “The water is too deep.”

  “That’s fine. We can walk from here.” Bebe’s concern for the residents increased as she and Mary climbed out of the carriage and waded into the knee-deep water. Bebe headed for the nearest tenement, snatching down one of the signs the city had posted to warn of the cholera epidemic and carrying it with her.

  “How many of these people can even read?” she asked.

  “Not many,” Mary replied. “Most children are forced to drop out of school so they can work and help support their families.”

  Bebe pointed to the nearest building and said, “Let’s start right here.”

  Shin-deep water filled all of the main floor apartments. The tenants had salvaged whatever items they could from their meager possessions and carried them to the upper floors. Bebe was astonished to see that many of the families were now living in the hallways or on the landings. She saw small children asleep on the floor beside mounds of soggy bedding, cooking pots, and rickety wooden chairs. Some upstairs tenants had taken pity on their neighbors, jamming dozens more people into the apartments on the upper floors.

  For the next few hours Bebe went door to door with Mary throughout that first tenement, then to every other home and apartment building on the block, showing residents the sign and explaining what it meant. “Don’t drink that water,” she warned, pointing to the public faucets. “It isn’t safe. It’s making people very sick. Drink only boiled water. You must boil all of the water you use from now on.”

  In house after house they found the main floors flooded and the tenants doing their best to live in despicable conditions. “Doesn’t the city realize that these people have no place to live?” Bebe asked her new friend. “I wish we could do something.”

  “I’ll ask our minister if we can open a shelter for some of them at our church—if these people will come to it, that is. They don’t always like to accept charity.”

  Bebe nodded. She thought of all the extra rooms in Horatio’s spacious home. They could house entire families there. But she knew better than to extend the offer without Horatio’s permission. And she knew that his mother would never allow him to grant it.

  Bebe and Mary talked to as many people as they could that afternoon, then promised to come back tomorrow with more help. When she returned home, Bebe put her own cook and all of the maids to work preparing extra food to distribute. They filled crocks and pails with clean drinking water for Bebe to take with her tomorrow. She loaded everything into the carriage early the next morning and stopped to pick up her new friend on the way. Mary had recruited six other women from her church. “And a dozen more ladies are working to turn the church into a temporary shelter,” Mary told her. “Others are collecting donations of food and blankets and clothing.”

  “That’s wonderful news, Mary.” Bebe knew it was what her own mother would have done—and what all Christians should do—and she made up her mind to live her life differently from then on.

  In one of the first tenements Bebe entered, a little girl met her at the door, begging for help. “Please come. My mama is sick. She needs help.”

  Bebe found the mother and three of her children lying on soiled bedding, sick with cholera. The apartment stank so badly of illness and mildew that Bebe feared she might become sick herself, but she knelt beside the mother’s bed with a cup of clean drinking water. “Here, you need to drink this. Your children need water, too.”

  The woman’s lips were parched. She gulped thirstily. She looked both young and old at the same time. “What’s your name?” Bebe asked her.

  “Millie,” she whispered. “Millie White. Please help my babies.”

  “Don’t worry, Mary is taking good care of your children. Let me help you wash and change your clothes and bedding.”

  “Wait, let me do that job,” Mary said, stopping her. “It’s not fitting for a woman like you to do it. You shouldn’t have to.”

  “No task is beneath me, Mary. I’ll change this bed while you look after the children.”

  “The baby looks very ill to me,” Mary whispered a few minutes later. “He’s so weak he can’t even swallow.”

  “I’ll run downstairs and have my driver fetch Dr. Hammond.”

  All day long the women cared for the sick and moved flood victims to the shelter at the church. Bebe and Mary returned the next day and the next. “You are angels, sent from above,” an elderly woman told them.

  But even with additional volunteers, their efforts weren’t always successful. Four days after Bebe first helped Millie White, she watched helplessly as Millie’s baby boy died in his mother’s arms. Bebe was so furious that she climbed into her carriage and drove straight to the mayor’s office.

  “Is the mayor expecting you?” his clerk asked.

  “I’m Mrs. Horatio Garner,” she said with as much dignity as she could, mindful that she was wearing muddy shoes and dripping work clothes. “The mayor’s wi
fe and I belong to the same social circle. I need to have a word with him.” When the surprised clerk didn’t respond, Bebe stormed past him and through the open door into the mayor’s office. He appeared surprised and disgruntled, as if she had awakened him from a nap.

  “My name is Mrs. Horatio Garner,” she began, calmly enough. “My husband owns the tannery, as you well know. I have been helping out down in The Flats for the past several days, and I thought you should know that people are dying. Needlessly! Every single one of the cholera deaths this past week—including Millie White’s infant son who died a few minutes ago—could have been prevented if this city had provided proper sanitation down there.”

  His obstinate expression never changed. With his long narrow face and overly large ears, he reminded Bebe of one her father’s mules. “I don’t understand how this concerns you, Mrs. Garner. Your family isn’t affected in the least.”

  His attitude fueled her rage. “It concerns me because these are our workers and their families. We owe them a decent place to live. Furthermore, it concerns me as a citizen of this town, because our public works are supposed to be for the good of all, not just for the wealthy. And finally, it concerns me—as it should you—because the Bible commands us to help the poor.”

  The mayor looked her up and down. “My wife has mentioned making your acquaintance. She told me that you were . . . unusual.” He had the audacity to smile as if she were an entertaining child. “You’re not originally from Roseton, are you?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “You have no idea how we do things here, so allow me to give you some advice. If you value your husband’s reputation in this community, I suggest that you run along home now and leave this business to others.”

  Bebe wanted to leap across the desk and punch him. “You think this is a joke? How would you like it if I dumped contaminated water into your well or your cistern? How would you like to watch your children die of cholera?”

  “Does your husband know you’re meddling this way?”