{"id":4367,"date":"2026-01-04T00:21:45","date_gmt":"2026-01-04T00:21:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/the-bone-garden-gerritsen-tess\/"},"modified":"2026-01-04T00:21:45","modified_gmt":"2026-01-04T00:21:45","slug":"the-bone-garden-gerritsen-tess","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/the-bone-garden-gerritsen-tess\/","title":{"rendered":"The Bone Garden – Gerritsen, Tess"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Book Preview<\/h3>\n
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<\/p>\n

The Bone Garden<\/span><\/span>
A Novel<\/span>

Tess Gerritsen<\/span>


BALLANTINE BOOKS
NEW YORK
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<\/p>\n

\nIn memory of Ernest Brune Tom, who always taught me to reach for the stars<\/span>
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\nACKNOWLEDGMENTS<\/span>
\n
\n<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

It\u0092s been a long, hard year for me as I labored to bring The Bone Garden<\/span> to life. More than ever, I\u0092m grateful for the two angels who\u0092ve stood by me, rooted for me, and always told me the truth\u0097 even when I didn\u0092t want to hear it. Here\u0092s a huge thanks to my agent, Meg Ruley, who knows all about the care and feeding of a writer\u0092s soul, and to my editor, Linda Marrow, who has some of the best story instincts in the business. Thanks also to Selina Walker, Dana Isaacson, and Dan Mallory for all the ways they made this book so much better. And to my wonderful husband, Jacob: If they gave out awards for \u0093best writer\u0092s spouse,\u0094 you\u0092d win it, hands down!<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

\nMarch 20, 1888<\/span>\n<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

\nDearest Margaret,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\nI thank you for your kind condolences, so sincerely offered, for the loss of my darling Amelia. This has been a most difficult winter for me, as every month seems to bring the passing of yet another old friend to illness and age. Now it is with deepest gloom that I must consider the rapidly evaporating years left to me.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n



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\nI realize that this is perhaps my last chance to broach a difficult subject which I should have raised long ago. I have been reluctant to speak of this, as I know that your aunt felt it wisest to keep this from you. Believe me, she did it solely out of love, as she wanted to protect you. But I have known you from your earliest years, dear Margaret, and have watched you grow into the fearless woman you have become. I know that you firmly believe in the power of truth. And so I believe that you would want to know this story, however disturbing you may find it.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

Fifty-eight years have passed since these events. You were only an infant at the time, and would have no memory of them. Indeed, I myself had almost forgotten about them. But this past Wednesday, I discovered an old news clipping that has been tucked all these years in my ancient copy of Wistar\u0092s<\/span> Anatomy, and I realized that unless I speak of it soon, the facts will almost certainly die with me. Since your aunt\u0092s passing, I am now the only one left who knows the tale. All others are now gone.<\/span><\/p>\n



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\nI must warn you that the details are not pleasant. But there is nobility in this story, and heartbreaking courage as well. You may not have considered your aunt endowed with these qualities. No doubt she seemed no more extraordinary than any other gray-haired lady whom one passes on the street. But I assure you, Margaret, she was most worthy of our respect.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n



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\nWorthier, perhaps, than any woman I have ever met.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n



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\nNow the hour here grows late, and after nightfall, an old man\u0092s eyes can stay open only so long. For now, I enclose the news clipping, which I earlier mentioned. If you have no desire to learn more, please tell me, and I will never again mention this. But if indeed the subject of your parents holds any interest for you, then at my next opportunity, I will once again pick up my pen. And you will learn the story, the true story, of your aunt and the West End Reaper.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\nWith fondest regards,<\/span>
\n

\n O.W.H.<\/span>
\n
\n<\/p>\n



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\n
\nOne<\/span>
\n<\/span>
\n
\n<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

\nThe present<\/span>\n<\/p>\n



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SO THIS IS HOW a marriage ends, thought Julia Hamill as she rammed the shovel into the soil. Not with sweet whispers goodbye, not with the loving clasp of arthritic hands forty years from now, not with children and grandchildren grieving around her hospital bed. She lifted a scoop of earth and flung it aside, sending rocks clattering onto the growing mound. It was all clay and stones, good for growing nothing except blackberry canes. Barren soil, like her marriage, from which nothing long lasting, nothing worth holding on to, had sprouted.<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

She stamped down on the shovel and heard a clang, felt the concussion slam up her spine as the blade hit a rock\u0097 a big one. She repositioned the blade, but even when she attacked the rock at different angles, she could not pry it loose. Demoralized and sweating in the heat, she stared down at the hole. All morning she had been digging like a woman possessed, and beneath her leather gloves blisters were peeled open. Julia\u0092s digging had stirred up a cloud of mosquitoes that whined around her face and infiltrated her hair.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

There was no way around it: If she wanted to plant a garden in this spot, if she wanted to transform this weed-choked yard, she had to keep at it. This rock was in her way.<\/p>\n



\n
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Suddenly the task seemed hopeless, beyond her puny efforts. She dropped the shovel and slumped to the ground, rump landing on the stony pile of dirt. Why had she ever thought she could restore this garden, salvage this house? She looked across the tangle of weeds and stared at the sagging porch, the weathered clapboards. Julia\u0092s Folly<\/span>\u0097 that\u0092s what she should name the place. Bought when she hadn\u0092t been thinking straight, when her life was collapsing. Why not add more flotsam to the wreckage? This was to be a consolation prize for surviving her divorce. At thirty-eight years old, Julia would finally have a house in her own name, a house with a past, a soul. When she had first walked through the rooms with the real estate agent, and had gazed at the hand-hewn beams, spied the bit of antique wallpaper peeking through a tear in the many layers that had since covered it, she\u0092d known this house was special. And it had called to her, asking for her help.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093The location\u0092s unbeatable,\u0094 the agent had said. \u0093It comes with nearly an acre of land, something you seldom find anymore this close to Boston.\u0094<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

\u0093Then why is it still for sale?\u0094 Julia had asked.<\/p>\n



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\u0093You can see what bad shape it\u0092s in. When we first got the listing, there were boxes and boxes of books and old papers, stacked to the ceiling. It took a month for the heirs to haul it all away. Obviously, it needs bottom-up renovations, right down to the foundation.\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093Well, I like the fact that it has an interesting past. It wouldn\u0092t put me off buying it.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The agent hesitated. \u0093There\u0092s another issue I should tell you about. Full disclosure.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093What issue?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
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\u0093The previous owner was a woman in her nineties, and\u0097 well, she died here. That makes some buyers a bit squeamish.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
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\u0093In her nineties? Of natural causes, then?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093That\u0092s the assumption.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Julia had frowned. \u0093They don\u0092t know?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093It was summertime. And it took almost three weeks before one of her relatives discovered\u0085\u0094 The agent\u0092s voice trailed off. Suddenly she brightened. \u0093But hey, the land alone is special. You could tear down this whole place. Get rid of it and start fresh!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The way the world gets rid of old wives like me, Julia had thought. This splendid, dilapidated house and I both deserve better.<\/p>\n



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That same afternoon, Julia had signed the purchase agreement.<\/p>\n



\n
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Now, as she slumped on the mound of dirt, slapping at mosquitoes, she thought: What did I get myself into? If Richard ever saw this wreck, it would only confirm what he already thought of her. Gullible Julia, putty in a Realtor\u0092s hands. Proud owner of a junk heap.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

She swiped a hand over her eyes, smearing sweat across her cheek. Then she looked down at the hole again. How could she possibly expect to get her life in order when she couldn\u0092t even summon the strength to move one stupid rock?<\/p>\n



\n
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She picked up a trowel and, leaning into the hole, began to scrape away dirt. More of the rock emerged, like an iceberg\u0092s tip whose hidden bulk she could only guess at. Maybe big enough to sink the Titanic.<\/span> She kept digging, deeper and deeper, heedless of the mosquitoes and the sun glaring on her bare head. Suddenly the rock symbolized every obstacle, every challenge that she\u0092d ever wobbled away from.<\/p>\n



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I will not let you defeat me<\/span>.<\/p>\n



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With the trowel, she hacked at the soil beneath the rock, trying to free up enough space to pry the shovel underneath it. Her hair slid into her face, strands clinging to sweaty skin as she reached deeper into the hole, scraping, tunneling. Before Richard saw this place, she\u0092d turn it into a paradise. She had two months before she\u0092d have to face another classroom of third graders. Two months to uproot these weeds, nourish the soil, put in roses. Richard had told her that if she ever planted roses in their Brookline yard, they\u0092d die on her. You need to know what you\u0092re doing, he\u0092d said\u0097 just a casual remark, but it had stung nevertheless. She knew what he\u0092d really meant.<\/p>\n



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\nYou need to know what you\u0092re doing. And you don\u0092t.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

She dropped onto her belly and hacked away. Her trowel collided with something solid. Oh, God, not another rock. Shoving back her hair, she stared down at what her tool had just hit. Its metal tip had fractured a surface, and cracks radiated from the impact point. She brushed away dirt and pebbles, exposing an unnaturally smooth dome. Lying belly-down on the ground, she felt her heart thudding against the earth and suddenly found it hard to take a breath. But she kept digging, with both hands now, gloved fingers scraping through stubborn clay. More of the dome emerged, curves knitted together by a jagged seam. Deeper and deeper she clawed, her pulse accelerating as she uncovered a small dirt-filled hollow. She pulled off her glove and prodded the caked earth with a bare finger. Suddenly the dirt fractured and crumbled away.<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

Julia jerked back onto her knees and stared down at what she had just revealed. The mosquitoes\u0092 whine built to a shriek, but she did not wave them away and was too numb to feel their stings. A breeze feathered the grass, stirring the sweet-syrup smell of Queen Anne\u0092s lace. Julia\u0092s gaze lifted to her weed-ridden property, a place she had hoped to transform into a paradise. She\u0092d imagined a vibrant garden of roses and peonies, an arbor twined with purple clematis. Now when she looked at this yard, she no longer saw a garden.<\/p>\n



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She saw a graveyard.<\/p>\n



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* * *

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\u0093You could have asked for my advice before you bought this shack,\u0094 said her sister, Vicky, sitting at Julia\u0092s kitchen table.<\/p>\n



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Julia stood at the window, staring out at the multiple mounds of dirt that had sprung up like baby volcanoes in her back garden. For the past three days, a crew from the medical examiner\u0092s office had practically camped out in her yard. She was now so accustomed to having them tramp in and out of her house to use the toilet that she\u0092d miss having them around when the excavation was done, and they finally left her alone again, here in this house with its hand-hewn beams and its history. And its ghosts.<\/p>\n



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Outside, the medical examiner, Dr. Isles, had just arrived and was crossing toward the excavation site. Julia thought her an unsettling sort of woman, neither friendly nor unfriendly, with ghostly pale skin and Goth-black hair. She looks so calm and collected, Julia thought, watching Isles through the window.<\/p>\n



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\u0093It\u0092s not like you to just jump into something,\u0094 said Vicky. \u0093An offer on the first day you saw it? Did you think anyone else would snatch it up?\u0094 She pointed to the crooked cellar door. \u0093That doesn\u0092t even shut. Did you check the foundation? This place has got to be a hundred years old.\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093It\u0092s a hundred and thirty,\u0094 Julia murmured, her gaze still on the backyard, where Dr. Isles stood at the edge of the excavation hole.<\/p>\n



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\u0093Oh, honey,\u0094 Vicky said, her voice softening. \u0093I know it\u0092s been a tough year for you. I know what you\u0092re going through. I just wish you\u0092d called me before you did something this drastic.\u0094<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

\u0093It\u0092s not such a bad property,\u0094 Julia insisted. \u0093It\u0092s got an acre of land. It\u0092s close to the city.\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093And it\u0092s got a dead body in the backyard. That\u0092ll really help its resale value.\u0094<\/p>\n



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Julia massaged her neck, which was suddenly knotted with tension. Vicky was right. Vicky was always right. Julia thought: I\u0092ve poured my bank account into this house, and now I\u0092m the proud owner of a cursed property. Through the window, she saw another newcomer arrive on the scene. It was an older woman with short gray hair, dressed in blue jeans and heavy work boots\u0097 not the sort of outfit one expected for such a grandmotherly type. Yet one more queer character wandering through her yard today. Who were these people, converging on the dead? Why did they choose such a profession, confronting every day what most people shuddered to even contemplate?<\/p>\n



\n
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\u0093Did you talk to Richard before you bought it?\u0094<\/p>\n



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Julia went still. \u0093No, I didn\u0092t talk to him.\u0094<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

\u0093Have you heard from him at all lately?\u0094 Vicky asked. The change in her voice\u0097 suddenly quiet, almost hesitant\u0097 made Julia at last turn to look at her sister.<\/p>\n



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\u0093Why are you asking?\u0094 said Julia.<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

\u0093You were married to him. Don\u0092t you call him every so often, just to ask if he\u0092s forwarding your mail or something?\u0094<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

Julia sank into a chair at the table. \u0093I don\u0092t call him. And he doesn\u0092t call me.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

For a moment Vicky said nothing, just sat in silence as Julia stoically stared down. \u0093I\u0092m sorry,\u0094 Vicky finally said. \u0093I\u0092m so sorry you\u0092re still hurting.\u0094<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

Julia gave a laugh. \u0093Yeah, well. I\u0092m sorry, too.\u0094<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

\u0093It\u0092s been six months. I thought you\u0092d be over him by now. You\u0092re bright, you\u0092re cute, you should be back in circulation.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Vicky would<\/span> say that. Suck-it-up Vicky who, five days after her appendectomy, had charged back into a courtroom to lead her team of attorneys to victory. She wouldn\u0092t let a little setback like divorce trip up her week.<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

Vicky sighed. \u0093To be honest, I didn\u0092t drive all the way over here just to see the new house. You\u0092re my baby sister, and there\u0092s something you should know. Something you have a right<\/span> to know. I\u0092m just not sure how to\u0097\u0094 She stopped. Looked at the kitchen door, where someone had just knocked.<\/p>\n



\n
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Julia opened the door to see Dr. Isles, looking coolly composed despite the heat. \u0093I wanted to let you know that my team will be leaving today,\u0094 Isles said.<\/p>\n



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Glancing at the excavation site, Julia saw that people were already packing up their tools. \u0093You\u0092re finished here?\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093We\u0092ve found enough to determine this is not an ME case. I\u0092ve referred it to Dr. Petrie, from Harvard.\u0094 Isles pointed to the woman who had just arrived\u0097 the granny in the blue jeans.<\/p>\n



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Vicky joined them in the doorway. \u0093Who\u0092s Dr. Petrie?\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093A forensic anthropologist. She\u0092ll be completing the excavation, purely for research purposes. If you have no objection, Ms. Hamill.\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093So the bones are old?\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093It\u0092s clearly not a recent burial. Why don\u0092t you come out and take a look?\u0094<\/p>\n



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Vicky and Julia followed Isles down the sloping yard. After three days of digging, the hole had grown to a gaping pit. Laid out on a tarp were the remains.<\/p>\n



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Though Dr. Petrie had to be at least sixty, she sprang easily to her feet from a squat and came forward to shake their hands. \u0093You\u0092re the homeowner?\u0094 she asked Julia.<\/p>\n



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\u0093I just bought the place. I moved in last week.\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093Lucky you,\u0094 Petrie said, and she actually seemed to mean it.<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

Dr. Isles said, \u0093We sifted a few items from the soil. Some old buttons and a buckle ornament, clearly antique.\u0094 She reached into an evidence box sitting beside the bones. \u0093And today, we found this.\u0094 She pulled out a small ziplock bag. Through the plastic, Julia saw the glint of multicolored gemstones.<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

\u0093It\u0092s a regard ring,\u0094 said Dr. Petrie. \u0093Acrostic jewelry was quite the rage in the early Victorian era. The names of the stones are meant to spell out a word. A ruby, emerald, and garnet, for instance, would be the first three letters in the word regard.<\/span> This ring is something you\u0092d give as a token of affection.\u0094<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

\u0093Are these actually precious stones?\u0094<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

\u0093Oh, no. They\u0092re probably just colored glass. The ring isn\u0092t engraved\u0097 it\u0092s just a mass-produced piece of jewelry.\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093Would there be burial records?\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093I doubt it. This appears to be something of an irregular interment. There\u0092s no gravestone, no coffin fragments. She was simply wrapped in a piece of hide and covered up. A rather unceremonious burial, if she was a loved one.\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093Maybe she was poor.\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093But why choose this particular location? There was never a cemetery here, at least not according to historical maps. Your house is about a hundred thirty years old, am I right?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093It was built in 1880.\u0094<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

\u0093Regard rings were out of fashion by the 1840s.\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093What was here before 1840?\u0094 Julia asked.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I believe this was part of a country estate, owned by a prominent Bostonian family. Most of this would have been open pasture. Farmland.\u0094<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

Julia looked up the slope, where butterflies skimmed across blossoms of Queen Anne\u0092s lace and flowering vetch. She tried to picture her yard as it once must have been. An open field, sloping down to the tree-shaded stream, with grazing sheep meandering through the grass. A place where only animals would wander. A place where a grave would quickly be forgotten.<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

Vicky stared down at the bones with a look of distaste. \u0093Is this\u0097 one body?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093A complete skeleton,\u0094 Petrie said. \u0093She was buried deep enough to be protected from scavenger damage. On this slope, the soil\u0092s quite well drained. Plus, judging by the fragments of leather, it looks like she was wrapped in some kind of animal hide, and the leaching tannins are something of a preservative.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093She?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Yes.\u0094 Petrie looked up, sharp blue eyes narrowed against the sun. \u0093This is a female. Based on dentition and the condition of her vertebrae, she was fairly young, certainly under the age of thirty-five. All in all, she\u0092s in remarkably good shape.\u0094 Petrie looked at Julia. \u0093Except for the crack you made with your trowel.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Julia flushed. \u0093I thought the skull was a rock.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093It\u0092s not a problem distinguishing between old and new fractures. Look.\u0094 Petrie dropped to a squat again and picked up the skull. \u0093The crack you made is right here, and it doesn\u0092t show any staining. But see this crack here, on the parietal bone? And there\u0092s another one here, on the zygomatic bone, under the cheek. These surfaces are stained brown from long exposure to dirt. That tells us these are premor-bid fractures, not from excavation damage.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Pre-morbid?\u0094 Julia looked at her. \u0093Are you saying\u0085\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093These blows almost certainly caused her death. I would call this a murder.\u0094<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

* * *

<\/p>\n

In the night, Julia lay awake, listening to the creak of old floors, the rustle of mice in the walls. As old as this house was, the grave was even older. While men were hammering together these beams, laying down the pine floors, only a few dozen paces away the corpse of an unknown woman was already moldering in the earth. Had they known she was here when they built on this spot? Had there been a stone marking the site?<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\nOr did no one know she was here? Did no one remember her?<\/span>\n<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

She kicked aside the sheets and lay sweating atop the mattress. Even with both windows open, the bedroom felt airless, not even a whisper of a breeze to dissipate the heat. A firefly flashed on and off in the darkness above her, its light winking forlornly as it circled the room, seeking escape.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

She sat up in bed and turned on the lamp. The magical sparks overhead transformed to an ordinary brown bug flitting about near the ceiling. She wondered how to catch it without killing it. Wondered whether the fate of one lone bug was worth the effort.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The phone rang. At eleven thirty, only one person would be calling.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I hope I didn\u0092t wake you,\u0094 said Vicky. \u0093I just got home from one of those endless dinners.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093It\u0092s too hot to sleep anyway.\u0094<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

\u0093Julia, there was something I wanted to tell you earlier, when I was there. But I couldn\u0092t, not with all those people around.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
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\u0093No more advice about this house, okay?\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093This isn\u0092t about the house. It\u0092s about Richard. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if I were you, I\u0092d want to know. You shouldn\u0092t have to hear this through the grapevine.\u0094<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

\u0093Hear what?\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093Richard is getting married.\u0094<\/p>\n



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<\/p>\n

Julia clutched the receiver, gripping so tight her fingers went numb. In the long silence, she heard her own heartbeat pounding in her ear.<\/p>\n



\n
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\u0093So you didn\u0092t know.\u0094<\/p>\n



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Julia whispered: \u0093No.\u0094<\/p>\n



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\u0093What a little shit he is,\u0094 Vicky muttered with enough bitterness for them both. \u0093It\u0092s been planned for over a month, that\u0092s what I heard. Someone named Tiffani with an i.<\/span> I mean, how cutesy can you get? I have no respect for any man who marries a Tiffani.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I don\u0092t understand how this happened so quickly.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Oh, honey, it\u0092s obvious, isn\u0092t it? He had to be running around with her while you were still married. Did he suddenly start coming home late? And there were all the business trips. I wondered about those. I just didn\u0092t have the heart to say anything.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Julia swallowed. \u0093I don\u0092t want to talk about it right now.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I should have guessed. A man doesn\u0092t ask for a divorce right out of the blue.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Good night, Vicky.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Hey. Hey, are you okay?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I just don\u0092t want to talk.\u0094 Julia hung up.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

For a long time, she sat motionless. Above her head, the firefly kept circling, desperately searching for a way out of its prison. Eventually it would exhaust itself. Trapped here without food, without water, it would die in this room.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

She climbed up onto the mattress. As the firefly darted closer, she caught it in her hands. Palms cupped around the insect, she walked barefoot to the kitchen and opened the back door. There, on the porch, she released the firefly. It fluttered away into the darkness, its light no longer winking, escape its only objective.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Did it know she\u0092d saved its life? One puny thing she was capable of.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

She lingered on the porch, breathing in gulps of night air, unable to bear the thought of returning to that hot little bedroom.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Richard was getting married.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Her breath caught in her throat, spilled out in a sob. She gripped the porch railing and felt splinters prick her fingers.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\nAnd I\u0092m the last to find out.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Staring into the night, she thought of the bones that had been buried just a few dozen yards away. A forgotten woman, her name lost to the centuries. She thought of cold earth pressing down as winter snows swirled above, of seasons cycling, the decades passing, while flesh rotted and worms feasted. I\u0092m like you, another forgotten woman, she thought.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

And I don\u0092t even know who you are.<\/p>\n



\n

\n
<\/p>\n

\n
\nTwo<\/span>
\n<\/span>
\n
\n<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

\nNovember 1830<\/span>\n<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

DEATH ARRIVED with the sweet tinkling of bells.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose Connolly had come to dread the sound, for she\u0092d heard it too many times already as she sat beside her sister\u0092s hospital bed, dabbing Aurnia\u0092s forehead, holding her hand and offering her sips of water. Every day those cursed bells, rung by the acolyte, heralded the priest\u0092s arrival on the ward to deliver the sacrament and administer the ritual of extreme unction. Though only seventeen years old, Rose had seen many lifetimes\u0092 worth of tragedy these last five days. On Sunday, Nora had died, three days after her wee babe was born. On Monday, it was the brown-haired lass at the far end of the ward, who\u0092d succumbed so soon after giving birth that there\u0092d been no chance to learn her name, not with the family weeping and the newborn baby howling like a scalded cat and the busy coffin maker hammering in the courtyard. On Tuesday, after four days of feverish agonies following the birth of a son, Rebecca had mercifully succumbed, but only after Rose had been forced to endure the stench of the putrid discharges crusting the sheets and oozing from between the girl\u0092s legs. The whole ward smelled of sweat and fevers and purulence. Late at night, when the groans of dying souls echoed through the corridors, Rose would startle awake from exhausted slumber to find reality more frightful than her nightmares. Only when she stepped outside into the hospital courtyard, and breathed in deeply of the cold mist, could she escape the foul air of the ward.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

But always, she had to return to the horrors. To her sister.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093The bells again,\u0094 Aurnia whispered, sunken eyelids flickering. \u0093Which poor soul is it this time?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose glanced down the lying-in ward, to where a curtain had been hastily drawn around one of the beds. Moments ago, she had seen Nurse Mary Robinson set out the small table and lay out the candles and crucifix. Although she couldn\u0092t see the priest, she heard him murmuring behind that curtain, and could smell the burning candle wax.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Through the great goodness of His mercy, may God pardon thee whatever sins thou hast committed\u0085\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Who?\u0094 Aurnia asked again. In her agitation, she struggled to sit up, to see over the row of beds.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I fear it\u0092s Bernadette,\u0094 said Rose.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Oh! Oh, no.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose squeezed her sister\u0092s hand. \u0093She may yet live. Have a bit of hope.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093The baby? What of her baby?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093The boy is healthy. Didn\u0092t you hear him howling in his crib this morning?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Aurnia settled back against the pillow with a sigh, and the breath she exhaled carried the fetid odor of death, as if already her body was rotting from within, her organs putrefying. \u0093There\u0092s that small blessing, then.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Blessing? That the boy would grow up an orphan? That his mother had spent the last three days whimpering as her belly bloated from childbed fever? Rose had seen far too many such blessings<\/span> over the past seven days. If this was an example of His benevolence, then she wanted no part of Him. But she uttered no such blasphemy in her sister\u0092s presence. It was faith that had sustained Aurnia these past months, through her husband\u0092s abuse, through the nights when Rose had heard her weeping softly through the blanket that hung between their beds. What good had faith done poor Aurnia? Where was God all these days as Aurnia labored in vain to give birth to her first child?<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

If you hear a good woman\u0092s prayers, God, why do you let her suffer<\/span>?<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose expected no answer, and none was received. All she heard was the priest\u0092s futile murmurings from behind the curtain hiding Bernadette\u0092s bed.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, be there quenched in thee all power of the devil, through the laying on of my hands, and through the invocation of the glorious and holy Virgin Mary, Mother of God.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Rose?\u0094 Aurnia whispered.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Yes, darling?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I\u0092m greatly afeard \u0092tis time for me as well.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Time for what?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093The priest. Confession.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093And what small sins could possibly trouble you? God knows your soul, darling. Do you think He doesn\u0092t see the goodness there?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Oh, Rose, you don\u0092t know all the things I\u0092m guilty of! All the things I\u0092m too ashamed to tell you about! I can\u0092t die without\u0097\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Don\u0092t talk to me of dying. You can\u0092t give up. You have to fight<\/span>.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Aurnia responded with a weak smile and reached up to touch her sister\u0092s hair. \u0093My little Rosie. Never one to be afraid.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

But Rose was afraid. Terribly afraid that her sister would leave her. Desperately afraid that once Aurnia received the final blessing, she\u0092d stop fighting and give up.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Aurnia closed her eyes and sighed. \u0093Will you stay with me again tonight?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Surely I will.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093And Eben? Hasn\u0092t he come?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose\u0092s hand tensed around Aurnia\u0092s. \u0093Do you really want him here?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093We\u0092re bound to each other, himself and me. For better or worse.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Mostly for worse,<\/span> Rose wanted to say, but held her tongue. Eben and Aurnia might be bound in marriage, but it was better that he stayed away, for Rose could scarcely abide the man\u0092s presence. For the past four months, she had lived with Aurnia and Eben in a Broad Street boardinghouse, her cot squeezed into a tiny alcove adjoining their bedroom. She had tried to stay out of Eben\u0092s way, but as Aurnia had grown heavy and weary with pregnancy, Rose had taken on more and more of her sister\u0092s duties in Eben\u0092s tailor shop. In the shop\u0092s back room, cramped with bolts of muslin and broadcloth, she had spied her brother-in-law\u0092s sly glances, had noticed how often he found excuses to brush against her shoulder, to stand too close, inspecting her stitches as she labored over trousers and waistcoats. She had said nothing of this to Aurnia, as she knew Eben would certainly deny it. And in the end, Aurnia would be the one to suffer.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose wrung out a cloth over the basin, and as she pressed it to Aurnia\u0092s forehead, she wondered: Where has my pretty sister gone? Not even a year of marriage and already the light had left Aurnia\u0092s eyes, the sheen gone from her flame-colored hair. All that remained was this listless shell, hair matted with sweat, face a dull mask of surrender.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Weakly, Aurnia lifted her arm from beneath the sheet. \u0093I want you to have this,\u0094 she whispered. \u0093Take it now, before Eben does.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Take what, darling?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093This.\u0094 Aurnia touched the heart-shaped locket that hung around her neck. It had the genuine gleam of gold, and Aurnia wore it night and day. A gift from Eben, Rose assumed. Once, he had cared enough about his wife to give her such a fancy trinket. Why was he not here when she needed him most?<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Please. Help me take it off.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093It\u0092s not the time for you to be giving it away,\u0094 said Rose.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

But Aurnia managed to slip off the necklace by herself, and she placed it in her sister\u0092s hand. \u0093It\u0092s yours. For all the comfort you\u0092ve given me.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I\u0092ll keep it safe for you, \u0092tis all.\u0094 Rose placed it into her pocket. \u0093When this is over, darling, when you\u0092re holding your own sweet babe, I\u0092ll put it back around your neck.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Aurnia smiled. \u0093If only that could be.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093It will<\/span> be.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The receding tinkle of bells told her the priest had finished his ministrations to the dying Bernadette, and Nurse Robinson quickly scurried over to remove the screen in preparation for the next set of visitors, who had just arrived.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Everyone in the room fell silent with expectation as Dr. Chester Crouch walked onto the maternity ward. Today, Dr. Crouch was accompanied by the hospital\u0092s head nurse, Miss Agnes Poole, as well as an entourage of four medical students. Dr. Crouch started his rounds at the first bed, occupied by a woman who had been admitted just that morning after two days of fruitless labor at home. The students stood in a semicircle, watching as Dr. Crouch slipped his arm under the sheet to discreetly examine the patient. She gave a cry of pain as he probed deep between her thighs. His hand reemerged, fingers streaked with blood.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Towel,\u0094 he requested, and Nurse Poole promptly handed him one. Wiping his hand, he said to the four students: \u0093This patient is not progressing. The infant\u0092s head is at the same position, and the cervix has not fully dilated. In this particular case, how should her physician proceed? You, Mr. Kingston! Have you an answer?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Mr. Kingston, a handsome and dapper young man, answered without hesitation, \u0093I believe that ergot in souchong tea is recommended.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Good. What else might one do?\u0094 He focused on the shortest of the four students, an elf-like fellow with large ears to match. \u0093Mr. Holmes?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093One could try a cathartic, to stimulate contractions,\u0094 Mr. Holmes promptly answered.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Good. And you, Mr. Lackaway?\u0094 Dr. Crouch turned to a fair-haired man whose startled face instantly flushed red. \u0093What else might be done?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I\u0097 that is\u0097\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093This is your<\/span> patient. How will you proceed?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I would have to think about it.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Think<\/span> about it? Your grandfather and father were both physicians! Your uncle\u0092s dean of the medical college. You\u0092ve had more exposure to the medical arts than any of your classmates. Come now, Mr. Lackaway! Have you nothing to contribute?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Helplessly the young man shook his head. \u0093I\u0092m sorry, sir.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Sighing, Dr. Crouch turned to the fourth student, a tall dark-haired young man. \u0093Your turn, Mr. Marshall. What else might be done in this situation? A patient in labor, who is not progressing?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The student said, \u0093I would urge her to sit up or stand, sir. And if she is able, she should walk about the ward.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093What else?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093It\u0092s the only additional modality that seems appropriate to me.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093And what of bleeding the patient as a treatment?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

A pause. Then, deliberately: \u0093I am not convinced of its efficacy.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Dr. Crouch gave a startled laugh. \u0093You\u0097you<\/span> are not convinced?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093On the farm where I grew up, I experimented with bleeding, as well as cupping. I lost just as many calves with it as without it.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093On the farm<\/span>? You are talking about bleeding cows<\/span>?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093And pigs.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Nurse Agnes Poole snickered.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093We are dealing with human beings here, not beasts, Mr. Marshall,\u0094 said Dr. Crouch. \u0093A therapeutic bleeding, I\u0092ve found in my own experience, is quite effective for relieving pain. It relaxes a patient enough so that she may properly dilate. If the ergot and a cathartic don\u0092t work, then I will most certainly bleed this patient.\u0094 He handed the soiled towel back to Nurse Poole and moved on, to Bernadette\u0092s bed. \u0093And this one?\u0094 he asked.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Though her fever has abated,\u0094 said Nurse Poole, \u0093the discharge has become quite foul. She spent the night in great discomfort.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Again, Dr. Crouch reached under the sheet to palpate the internal organs. Bernadette gave a weak groan. \u0093Yes, her skin is quite cool,\u0094 he concurred. \u0093But in this case\u0085\u0094 He paused and looked up. \u0093She has received morphine?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Several times, sir. As you ordered.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

His hands came out from beneath the sheet, fingers glistening with yellowish slime, and the nurse handed him the same soiled towel. \u0093Continue the morphine,\u0094 he said quietly. \u0093Keep her comfortable.\u0094 It was as good as a death pronouncement.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Bed by bed, patient by patient, Dr. Crouch made his way down the ward. By the time he reached Aurnia\u0092s bed, the towel he used to wipe his hands was soaked with blood.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose stood to greet him. \u0093Dr. Crouch.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

He frowned at her. \u0093It\u0092s Miss\u0085\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Connolly,\u0094 said Rose, wondering why this man could not seem to remember her name. She had been the one to summon him to the lodging house where, for a day and a night, Aurnia had labored without success. Rose had been here at her sister\u0092s bedside every time Crouch had visited, yet he always seemed flummoxed when they met anew. But then he did not really look<\/span> at Rose; she was just an accessory female, unworthy of a second glance.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

He turned his attention to Nurse Poole. \u0093And how is this patient progressing?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I believe the daily cathartics you prescribed last night have improved the quality of her contractions. But she has not complied with your orders to rise from bed and walk about the ward.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Staring at Nurse Poole, Rose was scarcely able to hold her tongue. Walk about the ward? Were they mad? For the past five days, Rose had watched Aurnia fall steadily weaker. Surely Nurse Poole could see the obvious, that her sister could scarcely sit up, much less walk. But the nurse was not even looking at Aurnia; her worshipful gaze was fixed on Dr. Crouch. He reached beneath the sheets, and as he probed the birth canal, Aurnia gave a moan of such agony that Rose could scarcely stop herself from wrenching him away.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

He straightened and looked at Nurse Poole. \u0093Although the amniotic sac is ruptured, she is not yet fully dilated.\u0094 He dried his hand on the filthy towel. \u0093How many days has it been?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Today is the fifth,\u0094 said Nurse Poole.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Then perhaps another dose of ergot is called for.\u0094 He took Aurnia\u0092s wrist and felt the pulse. \u0093Her heart rate is rapid. And she feels a bit feverish today. A bleeding should cool the system.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Nurse Poole nodded. \u0093I\u0092ll assemble the\u0097\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093You have bled her enough,\u0094 cut in Rose.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Everyone fell silent. Dr. Crouch glanced up at her, clearly startled. \u0093What relation are you again?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Her sister. I was here when you bled her the first time, Dr. Crouch. And the second time, and the third.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093And you can see how she\u0092s benefited,\u0094 said Nurse Poole.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I can tell you she has not.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Because you have no training, girl! You don\u0092t know what to look for.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Do you wish me to treat her or not?\u0094 snapped Dr. Crouch.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Yes, sir, but not to bleed her dry!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Nurse Poole said, coldly: \u0093Either hold your tongue or leave the ward, Miss Connolly! And allow the doctor to do what\u0092s necessary.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I have no time to bleed her today, anyway.\u0094 Dr. Crouch pointedly looked at his pocket watch. \u0093I have an appointment in an hour, and then a lecture to prepare. I\u0092ll stop in to see the patient first thing in the morning. Perhaps by then, it will be more obvious to Miss, er\u0097\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Connolly,\u0094 said Rose.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093\u0097 to Miss Connolly that further treatment is indeed necessary.\u0094 He snapped his watch closed. \u0093Gentlemen, I shall see you at the morning lecture, nine A.M. Good night.\u0094 He gave a nod, and turned to leave. As he strode away, the four medical students trailed after like obedient ducklings.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose ran after them. \u0093Sir? Mr. Marshall, isn\u0092t it?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The tallest of the students turned. It was the dark-haired young man who\u0092d earlier questioned the wisdom of bleeding a laboring mother, the student who\u0092d said he\u0092d grown up on a farm. One look at his ill-fitting suit told her that he indeed came from humbler circumstances than his classmates. She had been a seamstress long enough to recognize good cloth, and his suit was of inferior quality, its woolen fabric dull and shapeless and lacking the sheen of a fine broadcloth. As his classmates continued out of the ward, Mr. Marshall stood looking at her expectantly. He has tired eyes, she thought, and such a weary face for a young man. Unlike the others, he gazed straight at her, as though regarding an equal.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I couldn\u0092t help but hear your words to the doctor,\u0094 she said. \u0093About bleeding.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The young man shook his head. \u0093I spoke too freely, I\u0092m afraid.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Is it true, then? What you said?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I only described my observations.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093And am I wrong, sir? Should I allow him to bleed my sister?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

He hesitated. Glanced, uneasily, at Nurse Poole, who was watching them with clear disapproval. \u0093I\u0092m not qualified to give advice. I\u0092m only a first-year student. Dr. Crouch is my preceptor, and a fine doctor.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I\u0092ve watched him bleed her three times, and each time he and the nurses claim she\u0092s improved. But to tell God\u0092s truth, I see no improvement. Every day, I see only\u0085\u0094 She stopped, her voice breaking, her throat thick with tears. She said, softly: \u0093I only want what\u0092s best for Aurnia.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Nurse Poole cut in: \u0093You\u0092re asking a medical student<\/span>? You think he knows better than Dr. Crouch?\u0094 She gave a snort. \u0093You might as well ask a stable boy,\u0094 she said, and walked out of the ward.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

For a moment Mr. Marshall was silent. Only after Nurse Poole was out of the room did he speak again, and his words, though gentle, confirmed Rose\u0092s worst fears.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I would not bleed her,\u0094 he said quietly. \u0093It would do no good.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093What would you do? If she were your own sister?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The man gave the sleeping Aurnia a pitying look. \u0093I would help her sit up in bed. Apply cool compresses for the fever, morphine for pain. I would see above all that she receives sufficient nourishment and fluids. And comfort, Miss Connolly. If I had a sister suffering so, that\u0092s what I would give her.\u0094 He looked at Rose. \u0093Comfort,\u0094 he said sadly, and walked away.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose wiped away tears and walked back to Aurnia\u0092s bed, past a woman vomiting in a basin, another whose leg was red and swollen with erysipelas. Women in labor, women in pain. Outside, the cold rain of November fell, but in here, with the woodstove burning and the windows shut, the air was close and stifling and foul with disease.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Was I wrong to bring her here? Rose wondered. Should I have instead kept her at home, where she would not have to listen all night to these terrible groans, these pitiful whimpers? The room in their boardinghouse was cramped and cold, and Dr. Crouch had recommended Aurnia be moved to the hospital, where he could more easily attend her. \u0093For charity cases such as your sister\u0092s,\u0094 he\u0092d said, \u0093the cost will be only what your family can bear.\u0094 Warm meals, a staff of nurses and physicians\u0097 all this would be waiting for her, Dr. Crouch had assured them.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

But not this, thought Rose, looking down the row of suffering women. Her gaze stopped on Bernadette, who now lay silent. Slowly, Rose approached the bed, staring down at the young woman who, only five days ago, had laughed as she\u0092d held her newborn son in her arms.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Bernadette had stopped breathing.<\/p>\n



\n

\n
<\/p>\n

\n
\nThree<\/span>
\n<\/span>
\n
\n<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

\u0093HOW LONG CAN this blasted rain keep up?\u0094 said Edward Kingston, staring at the steady downpour.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Wendell Holmes blew out a wreath of cigar smoke that drifted from beneath the hospital\u0092s covered veranda and fractured into swirls in the rain. \u0093Why the impatience? One would think you have a pressing appointment.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I do. With a glass of exceptional claret.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Are we going to the Hurricane?\u0094 said Charles Lackaway.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093If my carriage ever shows up.\u0094 Edward glared at the road, where horses clip-clopped and carriages rolled past, wheels throwing up clots of mud.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Though Norris Marshall also stood on the hospital veranda, the gulf between him and his classmates would have been apparent to anyone who cast even a casual glance at the four young men. Norris was new to Boston, a farm boy from Belmont who had taught himself physics with borrowed textbooks, who\u0092d bartered eggs and milk for lessons with a Latin tutor. He had never been to the Hurricane tavern; he did not even know where it was. His classmates, all graduates from Harvard College, gossiped about people he did not know, and shared inside jokes he did not understand, and although they made no overt efforts to exclude him, they did not need to. It was simply understood that he was not part of their social circle.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Edward sighed, huffing out a cloud of smoke. \u0093Can you believe what that girl said to Dr. Crouch? The gall of her! If any of the Bridgets in our household ever spoke that way, my mother would slap her right out into the street.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Your mother,\u0094 said Charles, with a tone of awe, \u0093quite terrifies me.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Mother says it\u0092s important that the Irish know their place. That\u0092s the only way to maintain order, with all these new people moving into town, causing trouble.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

New people.<\/span> Norris was one of them.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093The Bridgets are the worst. You can\u0092t turn your back on \u0092em or they\u0092ll snatch the shirts right out of your closet. You notice something\u0092s missing, and they\u0092ll claim it was lost in the wash or that the dog ate it.\u0094 Edward snorted. \u0093Girl like that one needs to learn her place.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Her sister may well be dying,\u0094 said Norris.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The three Harvard men turned, obviously surprised that their usually reticent classmate had spoken up.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Dying? That\u0092s quite a dramatic pronouncement,\u0094 said Edward.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Five days in labor, and already she looks like a corpse. Dr. Crouch can bleed her all he wants, but her prospects do not look good. The sister knows it. She speaks from grief.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Nevertheless, she should remember where charity comes from.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093And be grateful for every crumb?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Dr. Crouch is not bound to treat the woman at all. Yet that sister acts as though it\u0092s their right.\u0094 Edward stubbed out his cigar on the newly painted railing. \u0093A little gratitude wouldn\u0092t kill them.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris felt his face flush. He was about to offer a sharp retort in defense of the girl when Wendell smoothly redirected the conversation.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I do think there\u0092s a poem in this, don\u0092t you? \u0091The Fierce Irish Girl.\u0092\u00a0\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Edward sighed. \u0093Please don\u0092t. Not another one of your awful verses.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Or how about this title?\u0094 said Charles. \u0093\u00a0\u0091Ode to a Faithful Sister\u0092?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I quite like that!\u0094 said Wendell. \u0093Let me try.\u0094 He paused. \u0093Here stands the fiercest warrior, this true and winsome maid\u0085\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Her sister\u0092s life the battlefield,\u0094 added Charles.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093She\u0097 she\u0097\u0094 Wendell pondered the next verse in the poem.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Stands guard, unafraid!\u0094 Charles finished.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Wendell laughed. \u0093Poetry triumphs again!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093While the rest of us suffer,\u0094 Edward muttered.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

All this Norris listened to with the acute discomfort of an outsider. How easily his classmates laughed together. How little it took, just a few improvised lines of verse, to remind him that these three shared a history he was not part of.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Wendell suddenly straightened and peered through the rain. \u0093That\u0092s your carriage, isn\u0092t it, Edward?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093About time it showed up.\u0094 Edward lifted his collar against the wind. \u0093Gentlemen, shall we?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris\u0092s three classmates headed down the porch steps. Edward and Charles splashed through the rain and clambered into the carriage. But Wendell paused, glanced over his shoulder at Norris, and came back up the steps.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Aren\u0092t you joining us?\u0094 said Wendell.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Startled by the invitation, Norris didn\u0092t immediately answer. Though he stood almost a full head taller than Wendell Holmes, there was much about this diminutive man that intimidated him. It was more than Wendell\u0092s dapper suits, his famously clever tongue; it was his air of utter self-assurance. That the man should be inviting him to join them had caught Norris off guard.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Wendell!\u0094 Edward called from the carriage. \u0093Let\u0092s go!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093We\u0092re going to the Hurricane,\u0094 said Holmes. \u0093Seems to be where we end up every night.\u0094 He paused. \u0093Or have you other plans?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093It\u0092s very kind of you.\u0094 Norris glanced at the two men waiting in the carriage. \u0093But I don\u0092t think Mr. Kingston was expecting a fourth.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Mr. Kingston,\u0094 said Wendell with a laugh, \u0093could use more of the unexpected in his life. Anyway, he\u0092s not the one inviting you. I am. Join us for a round of rum flips?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris looked at the rain, falling in sheets, and longed for the warm fire that would almost certainly be burning in the Hurricane. More than that, he longed for the opening that had just been offered him, the chance to slip in among his classmates, to share their circle, if only for this evening. He could feel Wendell watching him. Those eyes, which usually held the glint of laughter, the promise of a quip, had turned uncomfortably penetrating.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Wendell!\u0094 Now it was Charles calling from the carriage, his voice raised in an exasperated whine. \u0093We\u0092re freezing here!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I\u0092m sorry,\u0094 said Norris. \u0093I\u0092m afraid I have another engagement this evening.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Oh?\u0094 Wendell\u0092s eyebrow lifted in a mischievous tilt. \u0093I trust she\u0092s a charming alternative.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093It\u0092s not a lady, I\u0092m afraid. But it\u0092s simply something I can\u0092t break.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I see,\u0094 said Wendell, though clearly he didn\u0092t, for his smile had cooled and already he was turning to leave.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093It\u0092s not that I don\u0092t want\u0097\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Quite all right. Another time, perhaps.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

There won\u0092t be another time, thought Norris as he watched Wendell dash into the street and climb in with his two companions. The driver flicked his whip and the carriage rolled away, wheels splashing through puddles. He imagined the conversation that would soon take place in that carriage among the three friends. Disbelief that a mere farm boy from Belmont had dared to decline the invitation. Speculation as to what other engagement, if not with a member of the fair sex, could possibly take precedence. He stood on the porch, gripping the rail in frustration at what he could not change, and what could never be.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Edward Kingston\u0092s carriage disappeared around the corner, bearing the three men to a fire and a convivial evening of gossip and spirits. While they sit warm in the Hurricane, thought Norris, I shall be engaged in quite a different activity. One I would avoid, if only I could.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

He braced himself for the cold, then stepped into the downpour and splashed resolutely toward his lodgings, there to change into old clothes before heading out, yet again, into the rain.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

* * *

<\/p>\n

The establishment he sought was a tavern on Broad Street, near the docks. Here one would not find dapper Harvard graduates sipping rum flips. Should such a gentleman wander accidentally into the Black Spar, he would know, with just a glance around the room, that he\u0092d be wise to watch his pockets. Norris had little of value in his own pockets that night\u0097 indeed, on any night\u0097 and his shabby coat and mud-spattered trousers offered little enticement to any would-be thieves. He already knew many of these patrons, and they knew his impoverished circumstances; they merely glanced up as he stepped in the door. One look to identify the newcomer, and then their disinterested gazes dropped back to their cups.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris moved to the bar, where moonfaced Fanny Burke was filling glasses with ale. She looked up at him with small, mean eyes. \u0093You\u0092re late, and he\u0092s in a foul mood.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Fanny!\u0094 one of the patrons yelled. \u0093We gettin\u0092 those drinks this week or what?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The woman carried the ale to their table and slammed down the glasses. Pocketing their money, she stalked back behind the bar. \u0093He\u0092s around back, with the wagon,\u0094 she said to Norris. \u0093Waiting for you.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

He had not had time for supper, and he glanced hungrily at the loaf of bread she kept behind the counter but didn\u0092t bother to beg a slice. Fanny Burke gave nothing away for free, not even a smile. With stomach rumbling, he pushed through a door, walked down a dark hall crammed with crates and trash, and stepped outside.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The rear yard smelled of wet straw and horse dung, and the interminable rain had churned the ground into a sea of mud. Beneath the stable overhang, a horse gave a nicker, and Norris saw that it was already harnessed to the dray.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Not going to wait for you next time, boy!\u0094 Fanny\u0092s husband, Jack, emerged from the shadows of the stable. He carried two shovels, which he threw in the back of the wagon. \u0093Want to be paid, get here at the appointed hour.\u0094 With a grunt, he hoisted himself onto the buckboard and took the reins. \u0093You comin\u0092?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

By the glow of the stable lantern, Norris could see Jack staring down at him, and felt the same confusion he always did, about which eye he should focus on. Left and right skewed in different directions. Wall-eyed Jack<\/span> was what everyone called the man, but never to his face. No one dared.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris scrambled up into the dray beside Jack, who didn\u0092t even wait for him to settle onto the bench before giving the horse an impatient flick of his whip. They rolled across the muck of the yard and out the rear gate.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The rain beat down on their hats and ran in rivulets down their coats, but Wall-eyed Jack seemed scarcely to notice. He sat hunched like a gargoyle beside Norris, every so often snapping the reins when the pace of the horse flagged.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093How far we going this time?\u0094 asked Norris.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Out of town.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Where?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Does it matter?\u0094 Jack hacked up a gob of phlegm and spat into the street.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

No, it didn\u0092t matter. As far as Norris was concerned, this was a night he simply had to endure, however miserable it might prove to be. He wasn\u0092t afraid of hard work on the farm, and he even enjoyed the ache of muscles well used, but this<\/span> sort of work could give a man nightmares. A normal man, anyway. He glanced at his companion and wondered what, if anything, gave Jack Burke nightmares.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The dray rocked over the cobblestones, and in the back of the cart the two shovels rattled, a continuous reminder of the unpleasant task that lay ahead. He thought of his classmates, no doubt sitting that moment in the warmth of the Hurricane, enjoying a last round before heading off to their respective lodgings to study Wistar\u0092s Anatomy<\/span>. He\u0092d prefer to be studying, too, but this was the bargain he\u0092d struck with the college, a bargain he\u0092d gratefully agreed to. This is all for a higher purpose, he thought, as they rolled out of Boston, moving west, as the shovels rattled and the dray creaked in rhythm to the words running through his head: A higher purpose. A higher purpose<\/span>.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Came by this way two days ago,\u0094 said Jack, and spat again. \u0093Stopped at that tavern there.\u0094 He pointed, and through the veil of falling rain, Norris saw the glow of firelight in a window. \u0093Had me a nice chat, I did, with the proprietor.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris waited, saying nothing. There was a reason Jack had brought this up. The man did not make pointless conversation.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Said there\u0092s a whole family in town, two young ladies and a brother, ailing from the consumption. All of \u0092em doing quite poorly.\u0094 He made a sound that might have been a laugh. \u0093Have to check in again tomorrow, see if they\u0092re getting ready to pass on. Any luck, we\u0092ll have three at once.\u0094 Jack looked at Norris. \u0093I\u0092ll be needing you for that one.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris gave a stiff nod, his dislike of this man suddenly so strong he could scarcely abide being seated next to him.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Oh, you think you\u0092re too damn good for this,\u0094 said Jack. \u0093Don\u0092t you?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris didn\u0092t answer.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Too good to be around the likes of me.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I do this for a greater good.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Jack laughed. \u0093Some high-and-mighty words for a farmer. Think you\u0092re going to make a fine living, eh? Live in a grand house.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093That\u0092s not the point.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Then the more fool, you. What\u0092s the point if there ain\u0092t money in it?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris sighed. \u0093Yes, Mr. Burke, of course you\u0092re right. Money is the only thing worth laboring for.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093You think this will make you one of those gentlemen? You think they\u0092ll invite you to their fancy oyster parties, let you court their daughters?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093This is a new age. Today, any man can rise above his station.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Do you s\u0092pose they<\/span> know that? Those Harvard gentlemen? Do you s\u0092pose they\u0092ll welcome you?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris went silent, wondering if perhaps Jack had a point. He thought once again of Wendell Holmes and Kingston and Lackaway, sitting in the Hurricane, sleeve to well-tailored sleeve with others of their kind. A world away from the filthy Black Spar, where Fanny Burke reigned over her foul kingdom of the hopeless. I, too, could have been at the Hurricane tonight, he thought. Wendell had asked, but was it out of courtesy or pity?<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Jack snapped the reins, and the dray jolted ahead through mud and ruts. \u0093Still a ways to go,\u0094 he said and gave a snorting laugh. \u0093I hope the gentleman<\/span> here enjoys the ride.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

By the time Jack finally pulled the rig to a stop, Norris\u0092s clothes were soaked through. Stiff and shaking from the cold, he could barely make his muscles obey as he climbed out of the cart. His shoes splashed ankle-deep in mud.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Jack thrust the shovels into his hands. \u0093Make quick work of it.\u0094 He grabbed trowels and a tarp from the cart, then led the way across sodden grass. He did not light the lantern yet, as he did not want to be seen. He seemed to know the way by instinct, weaving among the headstones until he stopped at bare earth. There was no marker, only a mound of dirt turned muddy in the rain.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Buried just today,\u0094 said Jack, taking a shovel.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093How did you know about this one?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I ask around. I listen.\u0094 Eyeing the grave, he muttered, \u0093Head should be at this end,\u0094 and scooped up a shovelful of mud. \u0093Came through here a fortnight ago,\u0094 he said, flinging the mud aside. \u0093Heard this one was near to giving up the ghost.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris set to work as well. Though it was a fresh burial and the dirt had not settled, the soil was soaked and heavy. After shoveling only a few minutes, he no longer felt the cold.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Someone dies, people talk about it,\u0094 panted Jack. \u0093Keep your ear to the ground and you\u0092ll know who\u0092s about to go in. They order coffins, buy flowers.\u0094 Jack flung aside another scoop and paused, wheezing. \u0093Trick is not to let \u0092em know you\u0092re interested. They get suspicious, you got yourself complications.\u0094 He resumed digging, but at a slower pace. Norris did the lion\u0092s share, his shovel splashing deeper and deeper. Rain continued to fall, puddling in the hole, and Norris\u0092s trousers were caked with mud all the way up to his knees. Soon Jack stopped shoveling entirely and climbed out of the hole to squat at the edge, his wheezing now so loud that Norris glanced up, just to be certain the man was not on the verge of collapse. This was the only reason the old miser was willing to share even a penny of his profits, the only reason he ever brought along an assistant: He could no longer do it alone. He knew where the prizes were buried, but he needed a young man\u0092s back, a young man\u0092s muscles, to dig them up. And so Jack squatted and watched his assistant work, watched the hole deepen.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris\u0092s shovel hit wood.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093About time,\u0094 grunted Jack. Beneath the cover of the tarp, he lit the lantern, then grabbed his shovel and slid back into the hole. The men scraped away mud from the coffin, working so close together in the cramped space that Norris gagged on the odor of Jack\u0092s breath, foul with the stench of tobacco and rotten teeth. Even this corpse, he thought, could not smell so putrid. Bit by bit, they cleared away the mud, revealing the head end of the coffin.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Jack slipped two iron hooks under the lid and handed one of the ropes to Norris. They climbed out of the hole and together pulled against the lid, both of them grunting and straining as nails squealed and wood groaned. The lid suddenly splintered and the rope went slack, sending Norris sprawling backward.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093That\u0092s it! That\u0092s good enough!\u0094 said Jack. He lowered the lantern into the hole and looked down upon the coffin\u0092s occupant.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Through the shattered coffin lid, they could see that the corpse was a woman, her skin pale as tallow. Golden ringlets of hair framed her heart-shaped face, and resting upon her bodice was a nosegay of dried flowers, the petals disintegrating under the falling rain. So beautiful, thought Norris. An angel, too soon called to heaven.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Fresh as can be,\u0094 said Jack with a happy cackle. He reached through the broken lid and slipped his hands under the girl\u0092s arms. She was light enough that he could drag her, unassisted, out of the coffin. But he was wheezing as he lifted her from the hole and laid her on the tarp. \u0093Let\u0092s get her clothes off.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris, suddenly feeling nauseated, didn\u0092t move.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093What? Don\u0092t want to touch a pretty girl?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris shook his head. \u0093She deserves better.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093You didn\u0092t have no problem with the last one we dug up.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093That was an old man.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093And this is a girl. What\u0092s the difference?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093You know there\u0092s a difference!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093All I know is that she\u0092ll fetch the same price. And she\u0092ll be a lot pleasanter to strip.\u0094 He gave a soft cackle of anticipation and pulled out a knife. He had neither the time nor the patience to undo the buttons and hooks, so he simply slipped the blade under the neckline of the corpse\u0092s dress and rent apart the fabric, tearing the gown open down the front to reveal a gossamer-thin chemise beneath it. He went at his task with gusto, methodically ripping open the skirt, pulling off the tiny satin slippers. Norris could only watch, appalled by the violation of this young woman\u0092s modesty. And to be violated by a man such as Jack Burke! Yet he knew it must be done, for the law was unforgiving. To be caught with a stolen corpse was serious enough; to be caught in possession of a corpse\u0092s stolen property, even a fragment of her dress, was to risk far worse penalties. They must take nothing but the body itself. So Jack ruthlessly stripped away the clothes, removed the rings from her fingers, the satin ribbons from her hair. He tossed them all into the coffin, then glanced at Norris.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093You gonna help carry her back to the wagon or not?\u0094 he growled.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris stared down at the naked corpse, her skin white as alabaster. She was painfully thin, her body consumed by some long and unforgiving illness. She was beyond help now; perhaps some good could still come of her death.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Who\u0092s out there?\u0094 a distant voice shouted. \u0093Who trespasses?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The challenge sent Norris diving onto the ground. At once Jack doused the lantern and whispered: \u0093Get her out of sight!\u0094 Norris dragged the corpse back into the open grave, then both he and Jack scrambled into the hole as well. Pressed close to the corpse, Norris felt his heart pounding against her chilled skin. He did not dare move. He listened for the footsteps of the approaching watchman, but all he could hear was the beating rain, and the thump of his own pulse. The woman lay beneath him like a compliant lover. Had any other man known the touch of her skin, felt the curve of her bare breast? Or am I the first?<\/span><\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

It was Jack who finally dared to raise his head and peer out of the hole. \u0093I don\u0092t see him,\u0094 he whispered.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093He could still be watching.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093No man in his right mind would be out in this weather any longer than he has to.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093What does that say about us?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Tonight the rain\u0092s our friend.\u0094 Jack gave a grunt as he rose, straightening stiff joints. \u0093Best we move her quick.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

They did not relight the lantern, but worked in the darkness. While Jack lifted the feet, Norris gripped the nude body beneath the arms, and he felt the corpse\u0092s damp hair drape across his arms as he lifted her shoulders from the hole. Whatever sweet fragrance had once blessed those blond ringlets was now masked by the faint odor of decay. Already her body had begun its inevitable journey to putrefaction, which soon would erode her beauty as skin disintegrated, as eyes sank to hollows. But for now the girl was still an angel, and he handled her gently as he lowered her onto the tarp.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The rain slowed to a drizzle as they quickly refilled the hole, shoveling mud back onto the now vacant coffin. To leave the grave open would only advertise that resurrectionists had been at work here, that the body of a beloved had been snatched. They took the time to cover their tracks rather than risk setting off an outraged inquiry. When the last of the earth had been replaced, they smoothed over the ground as best they could with their shovels, working only by the dim glow through the clouds. In time, the grass would grow in, a headstone would be planted, and loved ones would continue to lay flowers on a grave where no one slept.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

They wrapped the corpse in the tarp, and Norris carried her in his arms like a groom bearing his new bride across the threshold. She was light, so pitifully light, and it took no effort at all to bring her across the wet grass, past the gravestones of those who had passed on before her. Gently he set her on the cart. Jack carelessly tossed the shovels beside her.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

She was treated with no greater care than the tools rattling next to her, her corpse jolted like mean cargo as they rode through an icy drizzle back to town. Norris found no reason to exchange words with Jack, so he kept his silence, longing only for the night to be over so he could part ways with this repellent man. As they neared the city, they shared the road with other carts and carriages, other drivers who would wave and occasionally call out greetings of shared misery. Not a night to be out, eh? How\u0092d we get so lucky? It\u0092ll be sleet by morning!<\/span> Jack cheerily returned the greetings, betraying not a hint of anxiety about the forbidden load he was hauling.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

By the time they turned onto the cobblestoned street behind the apothecary shop, Jack was whistling. Anticipating, no doubt, the cash that would soon line his pocket. They rumbled to a stop on the paving stones. Jack jumped down from the dray and knocked on the shop\u0092s back door. A moment later the door opened, and Norris saw the glow of a lamp shining through the crack.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093We got one,\u0094 said Jack.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The door opened wider, revealing the bearded, heavyset man holding the lamp. At this hour, he was already dressed in his nightclothes. \u0093Bring it in, then. And be quiet about it.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Jack spat on the stones and turned to Norris. \u0093Well, come on, then. Bring her in.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris lifted the tarp-covered body and carried her through the open doorway. The man with the lamp met his gaze with a nod of recognition. \u0093Upstairs, Dr. Sewall?\u0094 asked Norris.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093You know the way, Mr. Marshall.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Yes, Norris knew the way, for this was not his first visit to this dark alley, nor was it the first time he had carried a corpse up this narrow stairway. On the last visit, he had struggled with his burden, panting and grunting as he\u0092d dragged the corpulent body up the stairs, fat naked legs bumping against the steps. Tonight, his burden was much lighter, little more than the weight of a child. He reached the second floor and paused in the dark. Dr. Sewall squeezed past him and led the way up the hall, his footsteps creaking heavily across the floorboards, the flame of his lamp casting dancing shadows on the walls. Norris followed Sewall through the last doorway, into a room where a table waited to receive its precious merchandise. He gently set down the corpse. Jack had followed them up the stairs and stationed himself at one end of the table, the sound of his wheezing magnified by the stillness of the room.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Sewall approached the table and pulled back the tarp.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

In the flickering lamplight, the girl\u0092s face seemed to glow with the rosy warmth of life. Wet tendrils of hair released droplets of rainwater that trickled down her cheek like glistening tears.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Yes, she\u0092s in good condition,\u0094 murmured Dr. Sewall as he peeled away the tarp, exposing the naked torso. Norris had to suppress the urge to stay the man\u0092s hand and prevent this violation of a maiden\u0092s modesty. He saw, with disgust, the lascivious glint in Jack\u0092s eyes, the eagerness with which he leaned in for a closer look. Gazing down at the girl\u0092s face, Norris thought: I am sorry that you must suffer this indignity.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Sewall straightened and gave a nod. \u0093She\u0092ll do, Mr. Burke.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093And she\u0092ll make for some fine entertainment, too,\u0094 said Jack with a grin.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Entertainment is not why we do this,\u0094 Sewall retorted. \u0093She serves a higher purpose. Enlightenment.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Oh, of course,\u0094 Jack said. \u0093So where\u0092s my money? I\u0092d like to be paid for all this enlightenment<\/span> I\u0092m providing you.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Sewall produced a small cloth bag, which he handed to Jack. \u0093Your fee. There\u0092ll be the same when you bring another one.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093There\u0092s only fifteen dollars in here. We agreed on twenty.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093You required Mr. Marshall\u0092s services tonight. Five dollars is credited toward his tuition. That adds up to twenty.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I know damn well what it adds up to,\u0094 said Jack, ramming the money into his pocket. \u0093And for what I provide, it\u0092s not nearly enough.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I\u0092m sure I can find another resurrectionist who\u0092d be quite satisfied with what I pay.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093But no one who\u0092ll deliver \u0092em to you this fresh. All you\u0092ll get is rotten meat crawling with worms.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Twenty dollars per specimen is what I pay. Whether or not you need an assistant is your decision. But I doubt that Mr. Marshall here will work without adequate compensation.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Jack shot a resentful look at Norris. \u0093He\u0092s my muscle, that\u0092s all. I\u0092m the one who knows where to find \u0092em.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Then keep finding them for me.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Oh, I\u0092ll have one for you, all right.\u0094 Jack turned to leave. In the doorway, he paused and reluctantly looked back at Norris. \u0093The Black Spar, Thursday night. Seven o\u0092clock,\u0094 he snapped, and walked out. His footsteps thumped heavily down the stairs, and the door slammed shut.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Is there no one else you can call on?\u0094 asked Norris. \u0093He\u0092s the worst kind of filth.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093But those are the people we\u0092re forced to work with. All resurrectionists are alike. If our laws were more enlightened, then vermin like him would not be in business at all. Until that day, we\u0092re forced to deal with the likes of Mr. Burke.\u0094 Sewall moved back to the table and looked down at the girl. \u0093At least he manages to procure usable cadavers.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I\u0092d happily choose any employment but this, Dr. Sewall.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093You wish to be a physician, do you not?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Yes, but to work with that<\/span> man. Is there no other task I could perform?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093There\u0092s no need more pressing to our college than the procurement of specimens.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Norris gazed down at the girl. And said, softly: \u0093I don\u0092t think she ever imagined herself as a specimen.<\/span>\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093We are all specimens, Mr. Marshall. Take away the soul, and any body is the same as another. Heart, lungs, kidneys. Beneath the skin, even a young lady as lovely as this one is no different. It\u0092s always a tragedy, of course, for one so young to die.\u0094 Briskly, Dr. Sewall pulled the tarp over the corpse, and it gently billowed down over the girl\u0092s slender frame. \u0093But in death, she will serve a nobler purpose.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n

\n
<\/p>\n

\n
\nFour<\/span>
\n<\/span>
\n
\n<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

THE SOUND OF MOANING awakened Rose. Sometime in the night she had fallen asleep in the chair beside Aurnia\u0092s bed. Now she lifted her head, her neck aching, and suddenly saw that her sister\u0092s eyes were open, her face contorted in pain.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose straightened. \u0093Aurnia?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I cannot bear this any longer. If only I could die now.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Darling, don\u0092t say such a thing.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093The morphine\u0097 it gives me no relief.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose suddenly focused on Aurnia\u0092s bedsheet. On the stain of fresh blood. She shot to her feet in alarm. \u0093I\u0092ll find a nurse.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093And the priest, Rose. Please.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose hurried from the ward. Oil lamps cast their weak glow against the shadows, and the flames wavered as she ran past. By the time she returned to her sister\u0092s bed with Nurse Robinson and Nurse Poole, the stain on Aurnia\u0092s sheets had spread to a widening swath of bright red. Miss Poole took one startled look at the blood and snapped to the other nurse: \u0093We move her to surgery at once!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

There was no time to send for Dr. Crouch; instead, the young house physician, Dr. Berry, was roused from his room on the hospital grounds. Blond hair in disarray, his eyes bloodshot, Dr. Berry stumbled sleepily into the surgery room where Aurnia had been rushed. Instantly he paled at the sight of so much bleeding.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093We must be quick about it!\u0094 he said, and fumbled through his bag of instruments. \u0093Must evacuate the womb. The baby may have to be sacrificed.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Aurnia gave an anguished cry of protest. \u0093No. No, my baby must live!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Hold her down,\u0094 he ordered. \u0093This will be painful.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Rose,\u0094 pleaded Aurnia. \u0093Don\u0092t let him kill my baby!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Miss Connolly, leave the room!\u0094 snapped Agnes Poole.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093No, we\u0092ll need her,\u0094 said Dr. Berry.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093There are two of us to hold down the patient.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Even you and Nurse Robinson may not be strong enough once I begin.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Aurnia writhed as a fresh contraction gripped her, and her moan rose to a scream. \u0093Oh, God, the pain!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Tie down her hands, Miss Poole,\u0094 ordered Dr. Berry. He looked at Rose. \u0093And you, girl! You\u0092re her sister?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Yes, sir.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Come here and keep her calm. Help hold her down if need be.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Shaking, Rose moved closer to the bed. The iron smell of blood was overwhelming. The mattress was soaked a brilliant red, and Aurnia\u0092s blood-streaked thighs were fully exposed, all attempts at protecting her modesty forgotten in the more pressing concern of saving her life. One glance at young Dr. Berry\u0092s ashen face told Rose that the situation was grim. And he was so young, surely too young for such a crisis, his mustache a pale wisp on his upper lip. His surgical instruments were soon scattered across a low table as he frantically rummaged for the right tool. The instrument he picked up was a frightening device, by all appearances designed to maim and crush.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Don\u0092t hurt my baby,\u0094 Aurnia moaned. \u0093Please.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I\u0092ll try to preserve your child\u0092s life,\u0094 said Dr. Berry. \u0093But I need you to lie perfectly still, madam. Do you understand?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Aurnia managed a weak nod.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The two nurses tied down Aurnia\u0092s hands, then stationed themselves on either side of the bed, each grasping a leg.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093You, girl! Take her shoulders,\u0094 Nurse Poole ordered Rose. \u0093Keep her pressed to the bed.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose moved to the head of the bed and placed her hands on Aurnia\u0092s shoulders. Her sister\u0092s milk-white face stared up at her, long red hair spilling across the pillow, green eyes wild with panic. Her skin gleamed with sweat and fear. Suddenly her face contorted in pain and she tried to rock forward, her head lifting off the bed.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Hold her still! Hold her!\u0094 ordered Dr. Berry. Grasping his monstrous forceps, he leaned in between Aurnia\u0092s thighs, and Rose was grateful that she did not have to witness what he did next. Aurnia shrieked as though her very soul was being wrenched from her body. A burst of red suddenly splattered the young doctor\u0092s face and he jerked back, his shirt sprayed with blood.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Aurnia\u0092s head flopped back against the pillow and she lay panting, her screams now reduced to whimpers. In the sudden quiet, another sound rose. A strange mewing that steadily crescendoed to a wail.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\nThe child. The child is alive!<\/span>\n<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The doctor straightened, and in his arms he held the newborn girl, the skin bluish and streaked with blood. He handed the baby to Nurse Robinson, who quickly wrapped the crying infant in a towel.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose stared at the doctor\u0092s shirt. So much blood. Everywhere she looked\u0097 the mattress, the sheets\u0097 she saw blood. She looked down into her sister\u0092s face and saw that her lips were moving, but through the wails of the newborn she could not hear the words.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Nurse Robinson brought the swaddled infant to Aurnia\u0092s bed. \u0093Here\u0092s your little girl, Mrs. Tate. See how lovely she is!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Aurnia struggled to focus on her new daughter. \u0093Margaret,\u0094 she whispered, and Rose felt the sudden sting of tears. It was their mother\u0092s name. If only she were alive to see her first grandchild<\/span>.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Tell him,\u0094 Aurnia whispered. \u0093He doesn\u0092t know.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I\u0092ll send for him. I\u0092ll make<\/span> him come,\u0094 said Rose.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093You have to tell him where I am.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093He knows where you are.\u0094 Eben just never bothers to visit<\/span>.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093There\u0092s too much bleeding.\u0094 Dr. Berry thrust his hand between Aurnia\u0092s thighs, and she was now so dazed that she scarcely flinched at the pain. \u0093But I can feel no retained placenta.\u0094 He swept aside his soiled instruments, sending the forceps thudding to the floor. Pressing his hands on Aurnia\u0092s belly, he kneaded the flesh, vigorously massaging the abdomen. The blood continued to soak into the sheets, seeping in a wider and wider stain. He glanced up, and his eyes now reflected the first glint of panic. \u0093Cold water,\u0094 he ordered. \u0093As cold as you can get it! We\u0092ll need compresses. And ergot!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Nurse Robinson set the swaddled infant in the crib and scurried from the room to fetch what he had asked for.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093He doesn\u0092t know,\u0094 Aurnia moaned.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093She must<\/span> lie quiet!\u0094 Dr. Berry ordered. \u0093She exacerbates the hemorrhage!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Before I die, someone must tell him he has a child\u0085\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The door flew open and Nurse Robinson hurried back in, carrying a basin of water. \u0093It\u0092s as cold as I could make it, Dr. Berry,\u0094 she said.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The doctor soaked a towel, wrung it out, and placed the frigid compress on the patient\u0092s abdomen. \u0093Give her the ergot!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

In the cradle, the newborn cried harder, her wail more piercing with each breath. Nurse Poole suddenly blurted: \u0093For pity\u0092s sake, take that baby out of here!\u0094 Nurse Robinson reached for the infant, but Nurse Poole snapped: \u0093Not you! I need you here. Give it to her<\/span>.\u0094 She looked at Rose. \u0093Take your niece and quiet her down. We need to attend to your sister.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose took the screaming infant and reluctantly crossed toward the door. There she stopped and looked back at her sister. Aurnia\u0092s lips were even paler now, the last remnants of color slowly draining from her face as she whispered silent words.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\nPlease be merciful, God. If you hear this prayer, let my sweet sister live.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose stepped out of the room. There in the gloomy hallway, she rocked the crying infant, but the baby would not be comforted. She slipped her finger into little Margaret\u0092s mouth, and toothless gums clamped down as she began to suck. At last, silence. A cold wind had found its way into the dark passage, and two of the lamps had blown out. Only a single flame glowed. She stared at the closed door, shut off from the one soul whom she held dear.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

No, there\u0092s another to love now, she thought, looking down at baby Margaret. You.<\/span><\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Standing beneath the single flickering lamp, Rose studied the baby\u0092s pale and downy hair. The eyelids were still swollen from the travails of birth. She examined five little fingers and marveled at the hand\u0092s plump perfection, marred only by a heart-shaped strawberry mark on the wrist. So this is what a brand-new life feels like, she thought, looking down at the sleeping child. So rosy, so warm. She placed her hand on the tiny chest and through the blanket felt the beating of her heart, quick as a bird\u0092s. Such a sweet girl, she thought. My little Meggie.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The door suddenly swung open, spilling light into the hall. Nurse Poole came out of the room, closing the door behind her. She halted and stared at Rose, as though surprised to see her still there.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Fearing the worst, Rose asked: \u0093My sister?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093She still lives.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093And her condition? Will she\u0097\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093The bleeding has stopped, that\u0092s all I can tell you,\u0094 snapped Nurse Poole. \u0093Now take the baby to the ward. It\u0092s warmer there. This hall is far too drafty for a newborn.\u0094 She turned and hurried away down the corridor.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Shivering, Rose looked down at Meggie and thought: Yes, it\u0092s far too cold here for you, poor thing. She carried the baby back to the lying-in ward and sat down in her old chair beside Aurnia\u0092s empty bed. As the night wore on, the baby fell asleep in her arms. Wind rattled the windows and sleet ticked against the glass, but there was no word of Aurnia\u0092s condition.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

From outside came the rumble of wheels over cobblestones. Rose crossed to the window. In the courtyard, a horse and phaeton rolled to a stop, the canopy concealing the face of the driver. The horse suddenly gave a panicked snort, its hooves dancing nervously as it threatened to bolt. A second later Rose saw the reason for the beast\u0092s alarm: merely a large dog, which trotted across the courtyard, its silhouette moving purposefully across cobblestones that glistened with rain and sleet.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Miss Connolly.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Startled, Rose turned to see Agnes Poole. The woman had slipped into the ward so quietly Rose had not heard her approach.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Give me the baby.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093But she sleeps so soundly,\u0094 said Rose.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Your sister cannot possibly nurse the baby. She\u0092s far too weak. I\u0092ve taken the liberty of making other arrangements.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093What arrangements?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093The infant asylum is here to fetch her. They\u0092ll provide a wet nurse. And most certainly, a fine home.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose stared at the nurse in disbelief. \u0093But she\u0092s not an orphan! She has a mother!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093A mother who most likely will not live.\u0094 Nurse Poole held out her arms, and her hands looked like unwelcoming claws. \u0093Give her to me. It\u0092s for the baby\u0092s own good. You certainly cannot care for her.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093She has a father, too. You haven\u0092t asked him.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093How can I? He hasn\u0092t even bothered to show up.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Did Aurnia agree to this? Let me speak to her.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093She\u0092s unconscious. She can\u0092t say anything.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Then I\u0092ll speak for<\/span> her. This is my niece, Miss Poole, my own family.\u0094 Rose hugged the baby tighter. \u0093I\u0092ll give her up to no stranger.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Agnes Poole\u0092s face had gone rigid in frustration. For a dangerous moment she appeared ready to wrench the baby from Rose\u0092s arms. Instead, she turned and swept out of the ward, her skirt snapping smartly with every stride. A door slammed shut.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Outside, in the courtyard, the horse\u0092s hooves clattered nervously on the stones.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose went back to the window and watched as Agnes Poole materialized from the shadows of the walkway and crossed to the waiting phaeton to speak to the occupant. A moment later the driver snapped the whip and the horse clopped forward. As the vehicle drove out the gate, Agnes Poole stood alone, her silhouette framed by the glistening stones of the courtyard.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Rose looked down at the baby in her arms and saw, in the sleeping face, a miniature in flesh of her own dear sister. No one will ever take you from me. Not while I still breathe.<\/span><\/p>\n



\n

\n
<\/p>\n

\n
\nFive<\/span>
\n<\/span>
\n
\n<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

\nThe present<\/span>\n<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093THANK YOU for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Isles.\u0094 Julia took a seat in the medical examiner\u0092s office. She\u0092d come straight from the summer heat into the frigid building, and now she looked across the desk at a woman who seemed perfectly at home in this chilly environment. Except for the framed floral prints on the wall, Maura Isles\u0092s office was all business: files and textbooks, a microscope, and a desk that looked ruthlessly organized. Julia shifted uneasily in the chair, feeling as if she were the one now under the microscope lens. \u0093You probably don\u0092t get many requests like mine, but I really need to know. For my own peace of mind.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Dr. Petrie\u0092s the one you should be talking to,\u0094 said Isles. \u0093The skeleton is a forensic anthropology case.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I\u0092m not here about that skeleton. I\u0092ve already spoken to Dr. Petrie, and she had nothing new to tell me.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Then how can I help you?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093When I bought the house, the real estate agent told me that the previous owner was an elderly woman who\u0092d died on the property. Everyone assumed it was a natural death. But a few days ago, my next-door neighbor mentioned there\u0092d been several burglaries in the area. And last year, a man was seen driving up and down the road, as if he was casing the houses. Now I\u0092m starting to wonder if\u0085\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093If it wasn\u0092t a natural death?\u0094 said Isles bluntly. \u0093That\u0092s what you\u0092re asking, isn\u0092t it?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Julia met the medical examiner\u0092s gaze. \u0093Yes.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I\u0092m afraid I didn\u0092t perform that particular autopsy.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093But there\u0092s a report somewhere, isn\u0092t there? It would give a cause of death, wouldn\u0092t it?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I\u0092d have to know the name of the deceased.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I have it right here.\u0094 Julia reached into her purse and took out a bundle of photocopies, which she handed to Isles. \u0093It\u0092s her obituary, from the local paper. Her name was Hilda Chamblett. And these are all the news clippings I could find about her.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093So you\u0092ve already been digging into this.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093It\u0092s been on my mind.\u0094 Julia gave an embarrassed laugh. \u0093Plus, there\u0092s that old skeleton in my backyard. I\u0092m feeling a little uneasy that two different women have died there.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093At least a hundred years apart.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093It\u0092s the one last year that really bothers me. Especially after what my neighbor said, about the burglaries.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Isles nodded. \u0093I suppose it would bother me, too. Let me find the report.\u0094 She left the office and returned moments later with the file. \u0093The autopsy was done by Dr. Costas,\u0094 she said as she sat down at her desk. She opened the file. \u0093\u00a0\u0091Chamblett, Hilda, age ninety-two, found in the backyard of her Weston residence. Remains were found by a family member who had been away and had not checked on her for three weeks. Time of death is therefore uncertain.\u0092\u00a0\u0094 Isles flipped to a new page and paused. \u0093The photos aren\u0092t particularly pleasant,\u0094 she said. \u0093You don\u0092t need to see these.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Julia swallowed. \u0093No, I don\u0092t. Maybe you could just read me the conclusions?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Isles turned to the summary and glanced up. \u0093You\u0092re sure you want to hear this?\u0094 At Julia\u0092s nod, Isles once again began to read aloud. \u0093\u00a0\u0091Body was found in a supine position, surrounded by tall grass and weeds, which concealed it from view beyond only a few feet\u0085\u0092\u00a0\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The same weeds I\u0092ve been battling, thought Julia. I\u0092ve been pulling up the same grass that hid Hilda Chamblett\u0092s body.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093\u00a0\u0091No skin or soft tissue is found intact on any exposed surfaces. Shreds of clothing, consisting of what appears to be a sleeveless cotton dress, still adhere to parts of the torso. In the neck, cervical vertebrae are clearly visible and soft tissues are lacking. Large and small bowel are largely missing, and remaining lungs, liver, and spleen have defects with serrated margins. Of interest are fluffy, shredded strands, presumed to be nerve and muscle fibers, found in all limb joints. Periosteum, including skull, ribs, and limb bones, also have similar fluffy strands. Noted around the corpse are numerous bird droppings.\u0092\u00a0\u0094 Isles looked up. \u0093\u00a0\u0091Assumed to be from crows.\u0092\u00a0\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Julia stared at her. \u0093You\u0092re saying crows<\/span> did that?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093These findings are classical for crow scavenging. Birds in general have been known to cause postmortem damage. Even cute little songbirds will peck and pull at a corpse\u0092s skin. Crows are considerably larger and carnivorous, so they can skeletonize a corpse quickly. They devour all soft tissues, but they can\u0092t quite pull off nerve fibers or tendons. Those strands remain attached to the joints, where they get frayed by repeated pecking. That\u0092s why Dr. Costas described the strands as fluffy<\/span>\u0097 because they\u0092d been so thoroughly shredded by the crows\u0092 beaks.\u0094 Isles closed the folder. \u0093That\u0092s the report.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093You haven\u0092t told me the cause of death.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Because it was indeterminable. After three weeks, there\u0092s too much scavenger damage and decay.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Then you have no idea?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093She was ninety-two. It was a hot summer, and she was out alone in her garden. It\u0092s reasonable to assume she had a cardiac event.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093But you can\u0092t be sure.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093No, we can\u0092t.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093So it could have been\u0085\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Murder?\u0094 Isles\u0092s gaze was direct.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093She lived alone. She was vulnerable.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093There\u0092s no mention here of any disturbance in the house. No signs of a burglary.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Maybe the killer didn\u0092t care about robbery. Maybe he was just interested in her<\/span>. In what he could do to her<\/span>.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Isles said quietly: \u0093Believe me, I do understand what you\u0092re thinking. What you\u0092re afraid of. In my profession, I\u0092ve seen what people can do to other people. Terrible things that make you question what it is to be human, whether we\u0092re any better than animals. But this particular death just doesn\u0092t ring any alarm bells for me. Common things are common, and in the case of a ninety-two-year-old woman found dead in her own backyard, murder isn\u0092t the first thing that comes to mind.\u0094 Isles regarded Julia for a moment. \u0093I can see you\u0092re not satisfied.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Julia sighed. \u0093I don\u0092t know what to think. I\u0092m sorry I ever bought the house. I haven\u0092t had a good night\u0092s sleep since I moved in.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093You haven\u0092t been living there very long. It\u0092s stressful, moving into a new place. Give yourself some time to get used to it. There\u0092s always an adjustment period.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I\u0092ve been having dreams,\u0094 Julia said.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Isles didn\u0092t look impressed, and why would she? This was a woman who routinely sliced open the dead, a woman who\u0092d chosen a career that would give most people nightmares. \u0093What sort of dreams?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093It\u0092s been three weeks now, and I\u0092ve had them almost every night. I keep hoping they\u0092ll go away, that it\u0092s just from the shock of finding those bones in my garden.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093That could give anyone nightmares.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I don\u0092t believe in ghosts. Really, I don\u0092t. But I feel as if she\u0092s trying to talk to me. Asking me to do<\/span> something.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093The deceased owner? Or the skeleton?\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093I don\u0092t know. Someone.<\/span>\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Isles\u0092s expression remained utterly neutral. If she believed Julia was unhinged, her face didn\u0092t reveal it. But her words left no doubt where she stood on the matter. \u0093I\u0092m not sure I can help you with that. I\u0092m just a pathologist, and I\u0092ve told you my professional opinion.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093And in your professional opinion, murder is still a possibility, isn\u0092t it?\u0094 insisted Julia. \u0093You can\u0092t rule it out.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Isles hesitated. \u0093No,\u0094 she finally conceded. \u0093I can\u0092t.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

* * *

<\/p>\n

That night, Julia dreamed of crows. Hundreds of them were perched in a dead tree, staring down at her with yellow eyes. Waiting.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

She startled awake to the noise of raucous caws and opened her eyes to see the light of early morning through her uncurtained window. A pair of black wings glided past like a scythe wheeling through the sky. Then another. She climbed out of bed and went to the window.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

The oak tree they occupied was not dead, as in her dream, but was fully leafed out in the lush growth of summer. At least two dozen crows had gathered there for some sort of corvid convention, and they perched like strange black fruit among the branches, cackling and rattling their glossy feathers. She had seen them in this tree before, and she had no doubt that these were the same birds who had feasted on Hilda Chamblett\u0092s corpse last summer, the same birds who had pecked and pulled with sharp beaks, leaving behind leathery shreds of nerve and tendon. Here they were again, looking for another taste of flesh. They knew she was watching them, and they stared back with eerie intelligence, as if they knew it was only a matter of time.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

She turned away and thought: I have to hang some curtains on this window.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

In the kitchen, she made coffee and spread butter and jam on toast. Outside, the morning mist was starting to lift, and it would be a sunny day. A good day to spread another bag of compost and dig in another bale of peat moss in the flower bed by the stream. Though her back still ached from laying bathroom tiles the night before, she did not want to waste a single day of good weather. You are allotted only a limited number of planting seasons in your lifetime, she thought, and once a summer is gone, you\u0092ll never get it back. She\u0092d wasted too many summers already. This one is for me<\/span>.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Outdoors, there was a noisy eruption of cawing and flapping wings. She looked out the window to see the crows suddenly lift simultaneously into the air and fly away, scattering to the four winds. Then she focused on the far corner of her yard, down near the stream, and she understood why the crows had fled so abruptly.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

A man stood on the edge of her property. He was staring at her house.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

She jerked away so he couldn\u0092t see her. Slowly, she eased back toward the window and peeked out. He was lean and dark-haired, dressed against the morning chill in blue jeans and a brown pullover sweater. Mist rose from the grass in feathery wisps, weaving sinuously about his legs. Trespass any farther on my property, she thought, and I\u0092ll call the police.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

He took two steps toward her house.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

She ran across the kitchen and snatched up the cordless phone. Darting back to the window, she looked out to see where he was, but could no longer glimpse him. Then something scratched at the kitchen door, and she was so startled, she almost dropped the phone. It\u0092s locked, right? I locked the door last night, didn\u0092t I?<\/span> She dialed 911.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093McCoy!\u0094 a voice called out. \u0093Come on, boy, get away from there!\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Glancing out the window again, she saw the man suddenly pop up from behind tall weeds. Something tapped across her porch, and then a yellow Labrador trotted into view and crossed the yard toward the man.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Emergency operator.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

Julia looked down at the phone. Oh, God, what an idiot she was. \u0093I\u0092m sorry,\u0094 she said. \u0093I called you by mistake.\u0094<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u0093Is everything all right, ma\u0092am? Are you certain?\u0094<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

Read the full book by downloading it below.<\/p>\n

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Book Preview The Bone GardenA NovelTess Gerritsen BALLANTINE BOOKS NEW YORK In memory of Ernest Brune Tom, who always taught me to reach for the stars ACKNOWLEDGMENTS It\u0092s been a long, hard year for me as I labored to bring The Bone Garden to life. More than ever, I\u0092m grateful for the two angels who\u0092ve … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":4366,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[270],"class_list":["post-4367","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-tess-gerritsen"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4367","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4367"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4367\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4366"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4367"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4367"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4367"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}