Chapter One

New England can rival the swamps of the South for it’s humidity in July, and despite the early morning my safety spectacles kept fogging up as I cut back the herbs in my garden. The rawhide gloves made me clumsy, and while trying to clear my vision with a finger, I knocked the specs askew and tangled the frames in my hair. I cursed in annoyance.  Perhaps not the most lady-like reaction, but I did not regard myself as your typical New London lady, and this was not the typical kitchen garden.

I untangled the glasses from my hair, and removed the gloves, careful to avoid touching the parts that had been in contact with the Belladonna Nightshade. The plant could be so beneficial when given in the correct subtle dose, but was deadly in an untrained hand. That described most of the plants I coaxed to life as best I could in my tiny plot of rocky soil.

My male colleagues, loathe to recognize our collegiality, dismissed the tinctures I drafted from these cultivations. “Housewife medicine” they called it.  Still, I had a small following of patients who had come to rely on my medicinals, usually when my colleagues had failed them, or their prices were too high. Patients came to me out of desperation. Even a female doctor was better than conceding to death, or chronic pain.

During the war, my patients had not been so choosy. I had not heard a single soldier complain that it was me, and not some male doctor, tending to their wounds. It was on the battlefields in the South that I learned there is nothing more intoxicating than holding a life in your hands, knowing that if not for the sharpness of my own mind, the skill of my hands, someone would die. I was good at my job. Objectively, my patients had more positive outcomes than my male counterparts’ patients. Not that it had mattered to Dr. Stevenson, the head doctor of the regiment at Vicksburg.

“Here she is, caught in the act! What do you think you’re doing?”

In my memory, the words are as obnoxious as the moment they were uttered. 

“I’m amputating this man’s leg before he dies.”

The bloody stump was before me, the artery clamped shut, keeping the soldier’s life blood from spilling out onto the packed earth of the dusty canvas tent that was our surgery theater. I spared a quick glance behind me to confirm what I expected to see. The head doctor for the Union encampment in Vicksburg, looking proper and prissy in his clean white suit and polished shoes, and a young man - boy really - in a too-big Union uniform, serving as his MP escort.  

Matilda let out a little squeak, and I turned to the girl beside me who was holding the man’s leg steady, all of her scant body weight on him, though he had long since passed out from the pain. She met my eyes, saw my anger and resolve, and steel slipped into her jaw line. It was this trait, even more than her dextrous, dark fingers, that made her my favorite nurse. She was also the only one at the camp that dared to work with me. 

You will do nothing of the kind! You are not an operator! You are--” 

“We have had this conversation, Doctor. I am a woman, with more education and experience than you. I have been performing surgeries for the past four months.”

I didn’t bother to look up from my patient.  I had his artery in my fingers now, the most delicate step of the operation.  If I didn’t apply just the right pressure, his heart would pump his life away.

“Matilda, quick, bring the tray and come here where you can see my hands.”

With the grace of a cat, she shifted her position so that she was right beside me, her eyes fascinated as I showed her how to carefully constrict the blood flow. She was 13, and had shown remarkable aptitude, and I had taken to teaching her as much as I could. It was impressive for someone who, only a few months ago, would have been beaten or worse for learning to read.  That only made the doctor more angry.

“Stop encouraging her! She shouldn’t even be here. You’re killing these men with your unorthodox practices!”

“My unorthodox practices have saved lives you gave up on.” 

It was true, I didn’t strictly adhere to the text books when it came to my surgical practice.  My results spoke for themselves, though, much to the chagrin of the other doctors, especially Dr. Stevenson. I had managed to keep more men alive, with more of their limbs intact, than any of the other operators in the camp. 

With a twist of my fingers, I secured the artery, and let out a pleased, “There, that does it.” 

I removed the clamp and dropped it onto the tray Matilda held.  I might have done it with more of a flourish as was strictly necessary, which made blood spatter toward the Doctor and MP. Crimson dotted the doctor’s lapel, and spoiled his shiny shoes. 

“You see! Brazen! She is doing criminal surgery on that man right in front of us,” He spluttered at the MP, who was pale and sweaty, his wide eyes staring at the pile of amputated limbs stacked in the corner.

I turned back to my patient, and began to pull the skin together, preparing to close.

“No one else wanted to come here.”

“I am here now, I am in charge, and I order you to stop what you are doing and leave at once,” Dr. Stevenson blustered.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.” The MP was trying so hard to sound official, but I detected the adolescent squeak in his voice.

“Officer, if you force me to go, you will be killing this man.” I replied. 

“Nonsense, I can easily fix the damage you have no doubt inflicted...What in God’s name have you done here?!” Dr.Stevenson spluttered, as he looked over my work, which looked alien to him.

I admit, my heart swelled with pride at his reaction. The artery was closed with a technique I had refined over the past few months. 

“It’s my new technique. It seals the artery even better than the old method.  You see? If you look…”

Dr. Stevenson’s anger finally boiled over, and he used his larger girth to forcibly push me aside. Matilda grabbed my arm and pulled me back, holding me against her. I felt the child tremble, a reaction to seeing the White doctor’s anger. I took a breath to rage at the doctor, my own patience gone, but before I could get a word out, another hand was on my shoulder.

“Miss, Doctor, Ma’am…” The MP flubbed. “Please, will you come with me? Both of his hands were on my shoulders, and he was pushing me and Matilda toward the tent opening.

“You are leaving this man to a butcher.” I turned and looked into the MP’s face, and I saw the recognition in his eyes.  He knew what I meant.  He knew the crude work of some of the doctors who were more eager to cut than to heal.  Men like Dr Steveson, intoxicated by the power of the craft, pretended to be God, and wielded a scalpel with reckless abandon. Still, he pushed me and Matilda out of the tent. 

“I’m only doing my job.”

“That’s what men like you always say.”

“JOANNA!” 

It took a moment of blinking to realize I was no longer in the operating theater in Vicksburg, and that I was back in my own little garden, in my tiny house, and that my husband, Leo, was shouting for me.

“Joanna, are you alright? I’ve been calling your name.” Leo said, a smile on his tired face. His uniform looked rumpled and dirty. 

I shook off the remaining memories, and gathered my herb cuttings into my apron, and I followed him into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Dear, I got absorbed in cutting back the mint.” I had learned not to talk to Leo about the war, and especially my service in it.  Leo never spoke about what he had been doing during the war, but that wasn’t so unusual with the returning service men. Some wounds don’t show on the outside.

“What brings you home so soon?” I asked, as I put my gardening things away and stored my herb clippings in the dark pantry to dry.

“Oh, I was dismissed early from a crime scene.  Lucky, right?” 

Now, I don’t proclaim to be the detective that Scarlett was, who I had yet to meet, but even I could sense that there was something amiss in my husband’s tone and manner. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I pressed him.

“Nothing, I’m just hungry.” He lied. “Make me a ham and egg sandwich before I head to bed?”

“Yes of course,” I said, and he knew I meant the sandwich. “But I know that look on your face.  What’s bothering you?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Joanna.” He said, in that tone that told me that there was indeed something wrong, and he was trying to hide it from me.  “It’s just politics.”

At that, I scoffed. I had thought, after the war, after we had stamped out the evils of slavery, that things would return to a kind of better normal.  Then President Lincoln was assasinated, and his idiotic successor had allowed the South to rejoin the Union without so much as a stern rebuke for their immoral behavior and the loss that we had all suffered for their evil “Lost Cause.” Leo, much to my annoyance, always tried to keep the news of the latest travesty from me. Did he think I was blind?  Did he think that I didn’t notice how, with one hand the government gave to the freedmen, and with the other took back what had been given and more.  Two steps forward, one step back, he always said to me, preaching patience. Faith, he said.  Have faith in those who men have been entrusted with power. He didn’t, couldn’t realize, that as a woman, I have watched men, like Dr. Stevenson, do things with power that would make anyone doubt.

“Nothing is just politics anymore.” I said, as I donned my kitchen apron. “What is it?”

“It’s just a case.” Leo said wearily, lowering himself into a kitchen chair.

“Your face says it's more than that.”

“It’s just...Something didn’t feel right at that crime scene, Joanna. Gates…”

“Detective Gates?  That barbarian you’ve been telling me about? The one who likes to beat up the freedmen in Lucky Town for kicks?”

Leo looked at me with mild reproach. 

“Yes, and our Police Union leader.  He’s got more power than the mayor, I’m telling you, be careful how you speak of him.”

“Here in my own kitchen?  I doubt he’s got little birds spying for him at our window.”

Leo did not laugh at the jest, but gave me a reproachful look. He was right, Gates was a dangerous man, and not to be taken lightly.  I prompted Leo to go on with a wave of my hand, that was also an acknowledgement that he had a point.

“A wealthy gentlemen was found in an apartment building near the edge of Lucky Town. Gates says he wants it handled quietly for the family’s sake because it was, uh, well…”

“A brothel?” I offered, based on Leo’s discomfort.

Leo gave me a level, annoyed look. 

“Among other things. I was on patrol, and heard a cry for help, went up to find a fella holding a brick, standing over a dead man, hollering for all he was worth. By the time I got the fellow calmed down, but before I could send word to the station, Detective Gates showed up. Told me I was relieved and to clear his crime scene.“

Leo pursed his lips and shook his head, and continued. 

“Something didn’t feel right. Why would Gates come to Lucky Town? Even for the Murder of a white man. He usually stays in Uptown. Plus I can count on no hands the number of murderers who holler for help when they’re done.”

“Who was the victim?” I asked.

“Pierce Drebber. He’s the Southern gentleman who just opened the new tavern in Lucky Town. Gates told me to keep my mouth shut about what happened, didn’t want word to spread.”

I laughed in his face. “That’s not going to happen.” 

In New London, especially the Uptown borough, gossip flew on the wings of Hermes himself. 

Leo half-smiled and shrugged, acknowledging my point. 

“Anyway, I had found this on the body.” Leo reached into his jacket pocket, and gingerly pulled out what looked like an old, stained ladies handkerchief, it’s lace border yellowed and fraying. I took it from him to examine it more closely. There was a black stain in the center, blackened and flaking.  I raised it to my nose, and knew immediately.

“This is blood.”

I must have handled it too roughly, for Leo practically leapt from his skin at my motion. 

“Be careful!” he exclaimed.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked, surprised at his outburst.

“It’s...evidence.” Leo said weakly. He blushed.

“You weren’t there.  You didn’t see him. His dead eyes staring out, his mouth open like he’d been screaming, like the devil himself had come to escort him to the other side. That lying on his chest like a curse. Or a warning.”

“So, you think it’s an evil hanky?” I said, trying to keep the laugh out of my voice. He heard it anyway.

“Joanna…”

“Do you think it was witches then?  Perhaps a voodoo priestess at work?” I mocked. 

“Would you let that thing be?” Leo sighed, exasperated. I set the handkerchief down before him at the kitchen table, and began to take out the ingredients for the Leo’s sandwich.  I placed the eggs on the counter, and started to carve slices from the remnants of last night’s dinner ham.

 “That’s not the important bit, anyway.” Leo said after a moment.

“What’s the important bit, then?” I asked, as I poked the wood coals to glowing, and placed the heavy iron skillet on the stove. I picked up an egg.

“The man they arrested for the murder is...er...a patient of yours.  That cabbie from Lucky Town with the bum leg.”

This revelation took me by such surprise, the egg splattered on the floor at my feet. 

“You must be joking.  Nathan? Nathan couldn’t hurt anyone.”

“I believe you.” Leo said, holding up his hands as though trying to surrender.

“It’s not a matter of belief. It’s science. It’s fact. He’s barely able to ascend a staircase. It took months of rehabilitation for him to be able to climb into his cab without assistance. Overcome a grown gentleman? That’s absurd, even if he had the disposition to do it, which he most certainly does not.”

“I BELIEVE you.” Leo said again, trying to calm me down, but I was already getting up a head of steam.

“Well then, what are you going to do?” I challenged. Leo looked surprised, which only irritated me more.

“What? Do? There is nothing I CAN do, have you not heard a word I’ve said about Gates?” Leo said.

“What about the Captain?  He’s a good man, he likes you, why don’t you take this case to him?”

“And jump the chain of command?  Get on Gate’s bad side?  No chance.”

“What about the mayor?”

“Joanna...”

“So, we’ll just let an innocent man die?

“He’ll get a trial”

At this, I just stared at my husband, disbelief and disdain clear upon my face. He crumbled.  He knew as well as I did how much freedmen could count on our justice system to give him a fair trial.

“They’ll sell tickets to his hanging.” I said, my voice hard.

“Joanna!” I turned away from Leo, unable to look at him in my anger.  I grabbed a rag from the counter and began to sop up the gooey egg from the floor, my movements jerky and too rough for the task, but I was furious.

“Oh, no, you’re right. They would want to make sure to make as big a spectacle as possible, hanging a black man for the murder of a white gentleman. Free of charge!”

Leo jumped back as I stood up abruptly, throwing the dirty rag onto the counter.  I picked up my cleaver and took a whack at the ham.  

After a moment of silence, Leo dared to speak. “Joanna, there’s nothing I can do.”

I cracked another egg into the hot pan.

“There is nothing you will do.” I muttered under my breath, but Leo heard me.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he challenged.

I looked at my husband, his face, the frustration and fear evident on his face. 

“Nothing.” I said between my teeth.

The egg sizzled in defiance of the strained silence between us.

 There was no point in fighting with him.  He was not the problem.  Or, at least he was not the biggest problem. He was a good man, but I knew that there were those on the police force with whom he did not get along, precisely because he insisted on being a good man. He never took a bribe. He never lost evidence, or ignored a witness.  All factors why he was still a patrolman, years after he should have been made a detective. As I assembled Leo’s sandwich, I racked my brain for some way out for Nathan.

“Perhaps I can speak to the judge. As Nathan’s doctor, I could testify…”

“You will do no such thing!” Leo was reaching his limit. ‘It’s dangerous. I warned you that no good would come of taking patients from Lucky Town.”

It was my turn to reach my limit, but instead of raising my voice, a knot of anger formed in my throat, and hot tears welled in my eyes. It was the same old fight, and he had pushed on the same old sensitive spot. I lowered my head so Leo wouldn’t see, but my voice came out thick. “No one else will come see me. They are the only patients I can get.”

“Is it so awful to just be my wife.” Leo said quietly, his voice pleading.

“Yes,” I thought. Shame at the thought spread across my face, and I realized in horror that Leo had seen it. Leo broke the heavy silence after a minute.

“Leave it alone, Joanna. You’re right, I’m being ridiculous, and shouldn’t have bothered with this…” He moved to pick up the handkerchief, but I snatched it from the table before he could, and secreted it in a pocket of my skirts. 

“No, you were right, Leo. This could be important.” I squared my shoulders and said in a calm, steady, practical voice. “I’m going to bring this down to Pastor LeStrade at Unity Church. He might know something about it.” Before he could object, I injected a lightness into my voice I didn’t feel. “Do let me try. What’s the harm? No one will take notice of me going to church.”

“I don’t like it.” Leo said, his tone short, but there was a note of surrender in it.

“Then don’t think about it,” I replied brusquely plunking his assembled sandwich before him.

“Eat your sandwich.”