The Bone Garden: A Novel

daughter? That you didn't pay a penny to bury your own wife? —

His face flushed scarlet, and he glanced at the two diggers, who had finished their task and now stood listening, rapt with attention. Tight-lipped, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a handful of coins. — Here! — he snapped, and held them out to the diggers. — Take it! —

The older man glanced uneasily at Rose. — The lady here paid us already, sir. —

— Goddamn it, take the bloody money! — Eben grabbed the man's dirt-stained hand and slapped the coins into his palm. Then he looked at Rose. — Consider my obligation fulfilled. And now you have something that belongs to me. —

— You don't care a whit about Meggie. Why would you want her? —

— It's not the brat I want. It's the other things. Aurnia's things. I'm her husband, so by all rights her possessions come to me. —

— There is nothing. —

— The hospital told me they gave you her belongings last night. —

— Is that all you want? — She removed the small bundle she'd tied around her waist and handed it to him. — It's yours, then. —

He opened the bundle, and the soiled night frock and hair ribbon fell to the ground. — Where's the rest? —

— Her ring is there. —

— This piece of tin? — He held up Aurnia's good-luck ring with the stones of colored glass. He snorted and tossed it at Rose's feet. — Worthless. You'll find one just like it on the finger of every cheap girl in Boston. —

— She left her wedding ring at home. You know that. —

— I'm talking about the necklace. A gold locket. Never told me how she got it, and all these months she refused to sell it, even though I could've used the money for the shop. For all that I've put up with, I deserve at least that much in return. —

— You don't deserve one fine hair from her head. —

— Where is it? —

— I pawned it. How do you think I paid for her burial? —

— It was worth far more than this, — he retorted, pointing at the grave.

— It's gone, Eben. I paid for this grave, and you're not welcome here. You gave my sister no peace while she was alive. The least you can do is allow her to rest in peace now. —

He glanced at the old gravedigger, who was glowering at him. Oh, Eben was quick to hit a woman when no one was looking, but now he had to struggle to keep his fists at his sides, his abusive tongue in check. All he said was, — You'll hear more about this later, Rose. — Then he turned and walked away.

— Miss? Miss? —

Rose turned to the old digger, who met her gaze with a look of sympathy. — You already paid us. I expect you'll want this. It should keep you and the baby fed for a time. —

She stared at the coins that he'd placed in her hand. And she thought: For a while, this will hold off our hunger. It will pay for a wet nurse.

The two laborers gathered up their tools and left Rose standing beside the fresh mound of Aurnia's grave. Once the dirt settles, she thought, I will buy you a stone marker. Perhaps I can save enough to engrave more than just your name, darling. A carving of an angel, or a few lines of a poem to tell the world how much emptier it is for having lost you.

She heard muffled sobs as the mourners from the other funeral now began to file out of the cemetery. She watched pallid faces swaddled in black wool float by in the mist. So many here to mourn the loss of a child. Where are your mourners, Aurnia?

Only then did she remember Mary Robinson. She glanced around, but did not see the nurse anywhere. The arrival of Eben, spoiling for a fight, must have driven her off. Yet another grudge Rose would always carry against him.

Drops of rain splashed her face. The other mourners, heads bent, filed from the cemetery toward waiting carriages and warm suppers. Only Rose lingered, clutching Meggie as rain muddied the earth.

— Sleep well, darling, — she whispered.

She picked up her satchel and Aurnia's scattered belongings. Then she and Meggie left St. Augustine's and headed toward the slums of South Boston.

Ten

— MIDWIFERY IS the branch of medicine which treats of conception and its consequences. And today, you have heard some of those consequences. Many of them, alas, tragic? —

Even from the grand stairway outside the auditorium, Norris could hear the booming voice of Dr. Crouch, and he hastened up the steps, vexed that he had arrived so late for morning lectures. But last night he had once again spent in the gruff company of Wall-eyed Jack, an expedition that had taken them south to Quincy. The whole way, Jack had complained about his back, which was the only reason he had asked Norris to accompany him on this latest run. They had returned to Boston well after midnight, carting only one specimen in such poor shape that Dr. Sewall, upon peeling back the tarp, had grimaced at the smell. — This one has been in the ground for days, — Sewall had complained. — Could you not use your noses? The stink alone should have told you! —

Norris could still smell that stink on his hair, his clothes. It did not ever leave you, but wormed its way like maggots under your skin, until every breath you inhaled was infused with it, and you could not tell living flesh from dead. He smelled it now as he climbed the stairs to the auditorium, like a walking corpse trailing its own scent of decay. He pulled open the door and quietly slipped into the lecture hall, where Dr. Crouch was now pacing the stage as he spoke.

— ?though a branch of medicine distinct from surgery and physic, the practice of midwifery requires knowledge of anatomy and physiology, pathology and? — Dr. Crouch paused, his gaze fixed on Norris, who had made it only a few paces down the aisle, in search of an empty seat. The sudden silence snagged the attention of everyone in the room more dramatically than any shout could have. The audience turned like a many-eyed beast and looked at Norris, who was pinned in place by all the stares.

— Mr. Marshall, — said Crouch. — We're honored you've chosen to join us. —

— I'm sorry, sir! I have no excuse. —

— Indeed. Well, find a seat! —

Norris spotted an empty chair and quickly sat down, in the row just ahead of Wendell and his two friends.

On stage, Crouch cleared his throat and continued. — And so to conclude, gentlemen, I leave you with this thought: The physician is sometimes all that stands in the way of darkness. When we enter the gloomy chambers of sickness, we are there to do battle, to offer divine hope and courage to those pitiful souls whose very lives hang in the balance. So remember that sacred trust, which may soon be placed on your shoulders. — Crouch planted his short legs on center stage, and his voice rang out like a call to war. — Be true to the calling! Be true to those who place their lives in your most worthy hands. —

Crouch gazed up expectantly at his audience, which for a few seconds sat utterly silent. Then Edward Kingston rose to clap, loudly and conspicuously, a gesture that was not unnoticed by Crouch. Others quickly joined, until the whole hall echoed with applause.

— Well. I'd call that a Hamlet-worthy performance, — said Wendell, his dry appraisal lost in the din of clapping hands. — When does he roll around on the floor and perform the death scene? —

— Hush, Wendell, — cautioned Charles. — Do you want to get us all into trouble? —

Dr. Crouch left the stage and sat down in the front row with the other faculty members. Now Dr. Aldous Grenville, who was both dean of the medical college and Charles's uncle, stood to address the students. Though