The Plague Doctor. E. Joan Sims
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“Please, call me Horatio. It seems there are a few rumors floating around town as to the reason for your visit to our little neck of the woods. What does Rowan Springs have that would interest a man of your experience and talents?”
“Ethan, have you been holding back on me?” teased Cass.
It was too dark to see him blush, but I’m sure he did. It was something he did often. It made him look almost handsome—like a young Gary Cooper.
“Your young man here is quite well-known in certain scientific circles, Cassandra. Before he went to work for the Centers for Disease Control, he was in Kinshasa trying to find the original vector for the Ebola virus.”
“What’s a ‘vector’, Ethan?”
Horatio went on as if Cass had asked him instead of her boyfriend.
“Let me finish showing off here, my dear. I learned all of this from the Internet this afternoon when my curiosity about this young man could be contained no longer. A vector is the creature, insect or animal, which carries a viral or bacterial agent—an illness if you will—to man. An example would be the mosquito whose bite causes malaria. The vector that causes Marburg Disease, or the Ebola virus, has yet to be identified. Am I correct young man?”
“Right you are, sir. You’re a fast learner.”
Horatio smiled, obviously pleased with himself. “I also found out that young Dr. Ethan McHenry went into a cave in Africa where the original case of Marburg was contracted. I would say that is comparable to Daniel going into the lion’s den.”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly like that. I was wearing protective gear.”
“Nonsense, my boy. Daring to enter a dark and dangerous cavern in search of an unknown entity which causes a deadly untreatable virus—why, I call that damned heroic!”
Ethan laughed, a rich full laugh, and there was that smile again. I saw “son-in-law” written all over him.
“My colleagues called it damned foolish.”
“Well, I should say so! I hope you’re not doing anything like that now,” Cass scolded. “You’re not are you?”
“Africa’s a long way from Lakeland County, Cassie.”
“I know, Mother, but Mabel said…never mind,” she trailed off.
Ethan reached over and took Cassie’s hand in his big one.
“What is she saying about me?”
“Only that you went to see her last week and asked all about her pregnancy. She said you were asking other women the same thing. Lots of other women.”
Mabel had been my mother’s part-time housekeeper for years. She had confided to me a few months ago that she and her husband were determined to have another baby before she turned forty. She said she could not imagine her home without a little one around to get underfoot and pull the dog’s tail. I guess she had told Cassie the good news first.
“Do we have some sort of medical problem here in town, Ethan? Something we should know about? I mean, if you are at liberty to discuss it.”
“That’s the problem, Mrs. Sterling, I’m really not supposed to discuss it. But I can see that the rumors are flying.”
“You don’t know the half of it, son,” said Horatio as he topped off his liqueur glass. “You’re on par with the little green men from Mars.”
“I guess I should have gone about this differently, but we usually have more information to go on. Most of the time one of the local docs calls us in. This time the call came from the state, and I came in blind.”
“What are you investigating, dear?”
“The truth is I don’t really know, Mrs. Sterling.” Ethan shrugged his big bony shoulders. “At first I was thinking about bacteria in the water. And then I considered some sort of infection from the local wildlife getting into the domestic animal reservoir—chickens, pigs, that sort of thing. But none of the specimens I sent back to the lab have shown anything unusual. It’s like Marburg all over again. A big question mark.”
“But what does this unknown agent do? What does it cause?”
“Miscarriages, abortions. There hasn’t been a viable baby carried to term in Rowan Springs in the last six weeks.”
“You mean they are all born dead?” I was stunned.
“Either dead or dying. But since most fetuses are lost in the first trimester, I suspect we don’t even know the full extent of the problem.”
“Why is that?” I was beginning to feel Ethan’s frustration and concern.
“Sometimes women don’t realize they’re pregnant, and when they abort spontaneously, they think they’re just having a heavy cycle. It happens more often than you might think. It’s nature’s way of getting rid of abnormal cells. I suspect that’s the truth with whatever phenomenon is going on here. What we see is just the tip of the iceberg.”
“And what is the count on the iceberg, my boy?”
“Enough to make the State Medical Examiner call the CDC and ask for an investigation. The difficult part is that neither of the local doctors seem to want to cooperate.”
I couldn’t control myself. “Well, Winston Wallace is an asshole, but what is the excuse Doc Baxter gave you?”
Ethan laughed again. “Don’t tell anyone, but I couldn’t agree with you more about Dr. Wallace. Ed Baxter is something else again. He’s a sweet old guy, but he seems depressed and exhausted. I understand his wife died last year, and he had open heart surgery shortly thereafter. Maybe he’s never really fully recovered. He’s begged off several appointments we’ve made, and I understand that he’s cut back on his patient load. He’s not seeing any maternity patients at all now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Mother smiled softly. “Ed delivered Paisley and Cassandra. He’s a dear man. I haven’t seen him since last Christmas when he had dinner with us.”
“Jeez, pity the poor baby that has to see Winston’s mug with his first breath.”
“Paisley, that’s very unkind.”
“Don’t worry much about that, Mrs. DeLeon. The way things are going there may not be any babies to pity.”
Chapter Three
Before my father died, he and my mother had enjoyed what many think of as the good life. Most of their indulgences were kept within the realm of genteel good taste; however, my mother was guilty of excess in one area: bed linens. She loved the luxurious feel of soft, silky sheets. Pretty lace coverlets, warm cashmere blankets, satin duvets, and down pillows were her downfall. I could sleep on a wooden floor, but I must admit, I loved being the pampered recipient of the objects of her obsession.
The sheets on the four poster bed—the one I’d had since I was ten years old—were of the finest pima cotton in a lovely soft pink. Four plump down pillows graced the head of the bed, and a beautiful old Grandmother’s Flower Garden quilt in shades of rose and green was folded across the bottom. The quilt just happened to have been made by my own grandmother from hundreds of pieces no bigger than a nickel. It was all the cover I needed at this time of the year. The big old house was up on a hill, and we always enjoyed a pleasant breeze from the direction of the lakes. At night I opened all three of the tall bay windows in my room so I could hear every note of the nighttime chorus of crickets and frogs.
I had fallen asleep listening to this symphony of nature shortly after ten. I was still snoozing soundly in my soft cocoon of luxurious pink comfort when Cassie banged loudly on my bedroom door at one o’clock in the morning. She flung it open without waiting for me to invite her inside.
“Mom! Wake up!”
She disappeared