Even from a distance, she could tell when Linnaeus was speaking; he punctuated his speech with broad gesticulations. His energy, olive skin, and hair the color of black lacquer provided a sharp contrast to the doctor’s calm demeanor and fair complexion.
Dr. Gettler pointed at the main hospital building, and Cora fantasized that he was inviting Linnaeus to become his lab assistant. “The research is daunting,” the doctor might be saying, “but with your sharp mind, we will succeed.” Mere months later—so went her daydream—she would be leaving this hellish place by ferry, hand-in-hand with Linnaeus.
He lit a cigar, his body still for the first time since he’d exited the church.
With false hope, she waited for him to cast his smoldering eyes toward her in shock at what had been hidden within plain sight.
He did no such thing. A schooner sailed past, and Linnaeus tugged on Dr. Gettler’s sleeve. The doctor’s hobby of constructing ships in bottles for his patients was well known.
When the ship had disappeared, Linnaeus consulted his watch, then nodded to the doctor and hustled toward the staff house behind her.
Cora’s heart throbbed. He would pass within twenty feet of her. She stood stock still and held her breath so that none of her germs could possibly reach him.
He waved to her without slowing, and she nearly collapsed from the sudden weight of his attention. Maybe the doctor had let the orderly in on their secret. To find out, she hurried toward him, the first few steps faltering until she’d regained her composure.
“Good morning.” Dr. Gettler flashed her a smile as she stopped a safe distance away. “I see the way you look at him.”
Her cheeks blazed, and she was glad her hood concealed her reaction. “How can you?” she asked loudly so he could hear her.
He snorted. “Silly Fräulein. His features are attractive and his future promising. He would be a good match for you.”
Cora bit her lip. “Did you tell him about me?”
He shook his head.
“Maybe . . .” Cora ground the leather of one glove against the other. A barge steamed past, and she spotted its captain, grimacing in her direction. Often, sailors gawked at Riverside, rife with outcasts. To them, the sighting of her leper’s cloak must be particularly, entertainingly macabre. She longed to rip it off and show them the girl beneath.
Turning her thoughts back to Linnaeus, she continued, “Maybe he could be of use in the lab.”
“Oh, Coraline. I wish that were possible. You’re a lovely young woman who deserves to experience romance. But it won’t come this way. It can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Until I find your cure, you cannot go near that man.”
The girl. The thought of her now cut through any disappointment Cora might have otherwise felt at the doctor’s edict. “How is Elena?”
He grinned. “Her fever broke around three this morning. I expect a full recovery.”
Cora squealed in relief, so loud that the noise startled her. She’d forgotten what her voice sounded like when she was happy. A tear welled at the corner of her eye, but wiping it away would contaminate her glove.
“Thank you, God,” she whispered. “I will keep my promise. No matter how hard it gets, I will trust in You.”
Too far away to have heard her vow, the doctor clicked his tongue. “I’m happy too, but her survival doesn’t mean we can be less vigilant. You absolutely cannot go near Linnaeus. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
The euphoric sensation evaporated, and Cora dropped her chin to hide her face within her hood.
“During my courtship with Rolene, in Bavaria,” the doctor continued, “her parents didn’t approve of me. Because I wasn’t a Lutheran. I know firsthand that forbidden love emboldens the heart. The patients in the measles ward depend on that man. Riverside cannot lose him.”
To prevent the doctor from seeing her despair, she pulled her hood farther down over her eyes.
“Any day now, you could have your breakthrough,” she announced through the wool. “Then it won’t matter.” She pictured with beside Linnaeus and wondered if she would ever have the chance—or courage—to kiss him the way nurse O’Toole had greeted her husband.
“That would be wonderful. I’m trying, so very diligently.” He ran his finger along the ribbon of his hat for good luck—the only superstitious habit the man had.
“Miss McSorley?” He draped his suit jacket over his forearm and peered at her through his spectacles.
The formality of his tone drew a pool of dread into her stomach. “Yes?”
“I must be honest with you: I’m concerned.”
“About what?”
“The concentration of Ricksettia prowaezekki, the typhus bacterium, in your samples has been increasing. And the laboratory mice have been dying more quickly from Rubeola.”
A tingling sensation raced through her body, and she pictured angry packs of wolf-like germs marauding through her organs. “What are you saying?”
“I’m worried that the animalcules have been growing stronger and will eventually be able to best even your immune system.”
The sound of snapping jaws clattered in her brain. She shook her head, but the din only grew louder. She scratched at her stomach. Somehow, she had to get them out. Whatever thoughts she’d had of suicide, they’d been foolish. With 100 percent conviction, she realized she wanted to live.
“You have to help me.” Her voice had sounded husky, and she knew the germs were trying to prevent her from speaking. She forced out the words: “I’ll do anything. You mentioned cleansing my blood, running it through a filter? Shouldn’t we try that?”
He pressed his hat to his head, and his eyes disappeared beneath the brim. “Let’s walk.”
She followed him, her legs shaking
