The Bone Garden: A Novel

Jack looked up at Fanny, who stood over him, her gaze narrow with questions.

— Not a good night — was all he said. He drained his glass.

— You think I've had a good night here? —

— Least you've spent it by the fire. —

— With this lot? — She snorted. — Not worth the trouble of unlocking the door. —

— Another flip! — the man at the bar yelled.

— Show me your coins first, — shot back Fanny.

— I have 'em. They're somewhere in these pockets. —

— Haven't come up with 'em yet. —

— Have a little pity, missus. It's a cold night. —

— And you'll be out in it straightaway if you can't pay for another drink. — She looked back at Jack. — You came back empty-handed, didn't you? —

He shrugged. — They had watchers. —

— You didn't try some other place? —

— Couldn't. Had to leave behind the shovel. And the lamp. —

— You couldn't even bring home your own tools? —

He slammed down his glass. — That's enough! —

She leaned in closer. Said, softly: — There are easier ways to make money, Jack. You know that. Let me put out the word, and you'll have all the work you need. —

— And get hanged for it? — He shook his head. — I'll stick to my own profession, thank you. —

— You come home empty-handed more often than not these days. —

— The picking's aren't good. —

— That's all I hear you say. —

— Because they aren't. They just get worse. —

— You think my trade is doing any better? — She jerked her head toward the nearly deserted room. — They've all moved on to the Mermaid. Or the Plough and Star, or to Coogan's. Another year like this and we won't be able to keep it. —

— Missus? — the man at the bar called. — I know I have the money. Just one more, and I promise I'll pay you next time. —

Fanny wheeled around at him in fury. — Your promise is worthless! You can't pay, you can't stay. Get out. — She stomped toward him and grabbed him by the jacket. — Go on, get out! — she roared.

— Surely you can spare one drink. —

— Not one bloody drop! — She hauled the man across the room, yanked open the door, and shoved him out into the cold. She slammed the door, then turned, panting and red-faced. When Fanny was angry, it was a terrifying sight to behold, and even Jack shrank into his chair, quailing at what might happen next. Her gaze landed on the lone customer still remaining, the man who had fallen asleep at the corner table.

— You, too! It's time to leave! —

The man did not stir.

Being ignored was the final affront, one that made Fanny's face flush purple and the muscles bulge in her stout arms. — We're closed! Go! — She crossed to the man and gave him a hard cuff on the shoulder. But instead of waking, he rolled sideways and toppled off his chair, onto the floor.

For a moment, Fanny just stared down in disgust at his gaping mouth, his lolling tongue. A frown creased her forehead and she leaned in, shoving her face so close that Jack thought she was going to kiss the man.

— He ain't breathing, Jack, — she said.

— What? —

She looked up. — You give him a look. —

Jack hauled himself out of the chair and groaned as he knelt beside the man.

— You seen enough corpses, — she said. — You oughta be able to tell. —

Jack looked into the man's open eyes. Drool glistened on purple lips. When had he stopped snoring? When had the corner table fallen silent? Death had crept in so furtively they hadn't even noticed its entrance.

He looked up at Fanny. — What's his name? —

— I dunno. —

— You know who he is? —

— Just some blow-in from the wharves. Walked in alone. —

Jack straightened, his back aching. He looked at Fanny. — You strip off his clothes. I'll go harness the horse. —

He didn't need to explain a thing to her; she met his gaze with a nod, a canny glint in her eye.

— We'll earn our twenty dollars after all, — he said.

Sixteen

The present

— RESURRECTIONIST, — said Henry, — is an old word, no longer used. Most people today have no idea that it refers to a grave robber or a body snatcher. —

— And Norris Marshall was one of them, — said Julia.

— Only by necessity. It was clearly not his trade. —

They sat at the dining table, the pages of the newly discovered letter from Oliver Wendell Holmes spread out beside their coffee cups and breakfast muffins. Although it was well past midmorning, the fog still hung thick outside the sea windows, and Henry had turned on all the lamps to brighten the murky room.

— Fresh corpses were valuable commodities in those days. So valuable, in fact, that there was a booming trade in them. All to supply the new medical schools that were popping up around the country. — Henry shuffled over to one of his bookcases. From the yellowing volumes on the shelves, he pulled down a book and brought it back to the dining table where he and Julia had been reading over breakfast. — You must understand what it was like to be an American medical student in 1830. There were no real standards, no official certification for medical schools. Some were decent, others little more than moneymaking schemes to suck up tuition fees. —

— And the college that Dr. Holmes and Norris Marshall attended? —

— Boston Medical College was one of the better ones. But even their students had to scramble for cadavers. A wealthy student could pay a resurrectionist to obtain a corpse for study. But if you were poor, like Mr. Marshall, you had to go out and dig up a body yourself. It appears this was also the way he paid for his tuition. —

Julia shuddered. — Now, there's a work-study program I wouldn't want any part of. —

— But it was a way for a poor man to become a doctor. Not an easy way, by any means. To get into medical school you didn't need a college degree, but you did need to be familiar with Latin and physics. Norris Marshall must have taught himself those subjects? no mean feat for a farmer's son without ready access to a library. —

— He had to be incredibly bright. —

— And determined. But the rewards were obvious. Becoming a doctor was one of the few ways to advance in society. Physicians were respected. Although while in training, medical students were viewed with disgust, even fear. —

— Why? —

— Because they were thought of as vultures, preying on the bodies of the dead. Digging them up, cutting them open. To be sure, the students often brought condemnation on themselves by their antics, by all the practical jokes they played with body parts. Waving severed arms out the window, for example. —

— They did that? —

— Remember, these are young men, only in their early twenties. And men that age aren't known for their superior judgment. — He pushed the book toward her. — It's all in here. —