The Grays of Truth, page 2
Jane turned to General Ketchum, who was looking at her in confusion. “Do you have paper and pencil close by?” With a nod, he rose and walked to the writing table near the window and retrieved a pencil and a piece of paper from the drawer and handed it to Jane. She hastily scratched out a note and folded it.
“Tell Dr. Barnes I need him here right away,” she said as she passed the paper to Daniel. “He’ll know what to do.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Daniel said, and hurried from the hall. A moment later, they heard the front door open and slam closed.
“What do you think it is?” Ketchum asked.
Jane bit her lip. “I can’t say as yet. We need to wait for Dr. Barnes.” She turned toward the adjoining room. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, and went back into the bedroom.
“I gave her the medicine, but she won’t take water,” Esther said. “And she’s still talking crazy.”
“Dehydration is congesting her brain,” Jane said. “I’ve called for Dr. Barnes.” Jane looked at Rebecca, who was restless and mumbling. “Would you give me a minute with her?”
Esther nodded. “Call if you need me.”
“Becky,” Jane whispered as Esther closed the door and the two were alone. “What have you done?”
“It was not my intention,” Rebecca said, more to herself than Jane as she thrashed in the bed. “I was so young . . . I tried. I really tried. Oh, I prayed. God, how I prayed. And then . . . how could I? Again. And again. And again and again . . .” Rebecca curled her hands into fists and began beating on the mattress as she chanted the word “again” over and over.
Jane held her arms, trying to calm her. “Whatever it is you think you have done, it is not so bad that you should harm yourself. Now you must tell me, did you ingest the hulls?”
Rebecca continued thrashing her head from side to side, still chanting.
“Becky!” Jane said, nearly shouting as she shook her. “Please, Rebecca. Did you eat the outer shells of the beans?”
Rebecca brought her dilated eyes to Jane’s and nodded, sobbing. “I can’t live with it any longer.”
“Oh, Becky,” Jane said, trying to think of what had happened to cause Rebecca to want to end her life, while at the same time wrestling with how to save her.
“When did you take them?” Jane asked. Rebecca was drifting off again. “Rebecca!” Jane shook her again. “Did you consume them last night or this morning?”
“Both,” Rebecca mumbled.
“Both times?” My God! Jane thought. “How many? How many beans did you ingest?”
“All of them,” Rebecca said languidly as her eyes rolled white and she fell unconscious. Jane checked her pulse. Her heart rate was too slow. Jane was losing her. Think, Jane, think! She was at a loss.
By the time Dr. Barnes entered the bedroom, Rebecca was comatose and barely breathing. He asked everyone to wait in the sitting room while he conducted his examination. Everyone except Jane. After listening to Rebecca’s chest and abdomen, Dr. Barnes removed the aural tubes of the stethoscope from his ears. Jane recognized the hopelessness on his face before he spoke. “I’m sorry, Jane, but the assessment in your note is accurate. Did she tell you how many castor beans she consumed?”
Jane shook her head. “Only that she ingested them last evening and then again this morning.”
“And you are certain that it was a deliberate act?” he asked.
Jane nodded. “Rebecca had been using the beans for years to prevent pregnancy. She knows the husks are toxic and that they must be removed.”
“And you know this how?”
“Because I taught her how to use them,” Jane said. A look of disbelief engulfed Barnes’s face. “My father introduced them to me after the very difficult birth of my daughter.” Barnes stared at Jane in astonishment. Jane let out a frustrated sigh. “After Rebecca’s sister died in childbirth, Rebecca was fearful, so I suggested using castor.”
“So, the two of you use the beans regularly.”
Jane did her best to ignore his judgment. Men could never understand what it was like to suffer the curse of Eve, or the risk of childbirth.
“As I said, Rebecca knows how to use them safely. When she told me that she ate from the palm of Christ, I knew exactly what she had done.” The castor plant was often referred to as “the palm of Christ,” not only because of its hand-shaped leaves, but also because of the reputed ability of its oil to heal wounds and cure ailments. When ingested during ovulation, the beans were fairly effective in preventing pregnancy. And in Jane’s experience, when its oil was used during coitus, castor proved even more effective. But the hulls of a castor bean were deadly.
“And you gave her yellow jasmine?” Barnes was saying.
Jane shook her head to clear her mind. “Yes. To reduce the circulation and slow the effects of the toxin. I also administered a half grain of cerium oxalate to calm the bowel. Initially I was going to give her a little belladonna to paralyze the abdominal muscles, but once I learned she had consumed the husks, I was afraid it might amplify the toxicity of the poison.”
“Prudent,” Barnes said with a nod. “And while yellow jasmine will slow the progression of the toxin, it won’t counter it.”
“Can we take her to the naval hospital for further treatment? Surely they have an antidote of some sort.”
“I’m sorry, Jane, but there is nothing we can do at this point to stop the destruction of her organs. Perhaps had she not ingested more of the beans this morning, we might have had a chance to save her. The best we can do now is keep her comfortable until . . . ,” Barnes’s voice drifted off.
“Will you tell the family?” Jane asked, her gaze lingering on Rebecca.
Barnes nodded. “We’ll need to come up with a palatable lie first.”
Jane turned to him, her brows questioning. “Lie?”
“I would think a lie is better than telling them that their beloved wife, mother, and friend decided to kill herself, the inference being that the grave was preferable than spending the rest of her life with them.”
Jane winced. That’s not how it was at all. Suicide had nothing to do with hurting one’s family; it had everything to do with one’s hopelessness. She shook her head as a great sadness pressed heavy on her breast. Although she didn’t know what had been weighing on Rebecca to compel her actions, Jane understood that Rebecca wouldn’t want her decision to upset her family any more than necessary.
“What do you suggest?” Jane asked, realizing that Barnes was right.
“Did she leave a note or indicate her intentions to anyone?” Barnes asked.
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Then I suggest we keep this between ourselves—and Rebecca.”
“What will you tell the general?”
“That she died from complications resulting from a rupture of her appendix.”
Jane furrowed her brow and frowned. “Peritonitis?”
Barnes nodded. “The symptoms of sepsis mimic the last stages of this type of poisoning. It’s certainly less painful for the family than suicide.” He riffled through the contents of his bag. Jane watched the doctor pull a silver hypodermic needle and a vial from the case.
“It’s too soon for more morphine,” Jane said as Barnes filled the syringe. “Her last dose was not two hours ago.”
Barnes gave Jane a sympathetic look. “It’s for the best.”
From the depths of her mind rose a distant voice, desperate and pleading: “I beg you, Janie.” Lips swollen and blistered, eyes without lashes wide with misery. “Please.” Jane jerked her head to shake the memory away.
Barnes removed Rebecca’s arm from under the sheet and administered the injection.
“How long?” Jane asked, watching the rise and fall of Rebecca’s chest slow further.
“A few hours perhaps,” Barnes said as he closed his bag. “I’ll stay at the house to ensure she doesn’t suffer.” He put a hand on Jane’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. But now we must tell the family.” Barnes gave her shoulder a reassuring pat before leaving the room. Jane followed him and stood in the doorway between the two rooms, watching as Barnes relayed the grim news. Jane felt for General Ketchum, seeing the anguish on his face as he battled to keep his emotions in check. When Daniel broke down, Octavia rushed to embrace him. The two had been courting before Daniel ended their relationship the previous year. As Octavia neared, Daniel raised a straightened arm with his palm toward her to keep her away. An angry flush rose on Octavia’s face as she stopped where she stood and glared at him. Daniel turned from Octavia and went to his father. General Ketchum lost his composure as he tried to console his son.
Ellen, too, was crying, and her sobs quickly turned to wails. Until that moment, Jane had forgotten the bond Ellen and Rebecca had formed during the years that their families were stationed together in Arkansas. Jane went to Ellen and took her in her arms.
“I feel so horrible,” Ellen cried, resting her head on Jane’s shoulder. “Like it’s my fault.”
That’s an odd thing to say.
Perhaps she’s just upset, Jane thought, dismissing the notion.
“There was nothing you or anyone could do,” Jane assured her, patting Ellen’s back. “And no reason to blame yourself.”
Chapter 2
Wharton Residence, Washington, DC
“Where in God’s name have you been?” Edward “Ned” Wharton demanded as Jane entered the dining room of their home in Franklin Square. Ned was a short man with a full face and a balding head. What little hair he possessed had grayed to the same color as his steely eyes. With a sweating glass in front of him, he sat coatless at the end of the long cherrywood table, having supper alone.
“I was at the Ketchums’,” Jane explained. “Rebecca—”
“I’ve had a dreadful day,” Ned interrupted. “Did you forget that the new director would be announced today?” He glared at her as she took the seat to his right. “Once again, I have been robbed of that to which I am entitled!”
Ned had told her last week that the Engraving Division of the Coast Survey Department, where he worked, would name a new director on Monday. Jane also knew that if Ned hadn’t been informed long before the public announcement, someone else was getting the promotion. She had not dared share her logic with him, or risk being accused of not being a loyal wife.
“I—I didn’t forget,” Jane stammered, as she often did when he berated her.
“You did. Perhaps if you spent less time practicing voodoo in that shed of yours and more time doing your job as my wife, my standing in this city would be such that I am not passed over!”
Jane felt heat rush through her chest. She wasn’t certain what angered her more, his disregard for her work or being blamed for his misfortune. She had done more than her share of hosting soirées and introducing him to the many government officials she had met while serving at Armory Square, but she knew better than to correct him. She knew that the promotion at the Coast Survey had nothing to do with her or her efforts to support his career. Despite his pedigree, law degree, and last name, Ned Wharton had failed at nearly every endeavor he had attempted. From practicing law in Philadelphia to farming in Virginia to working for the government, Ned lacked the drive and determination to attain the success he desired. And with each setback, he became increasingly bitter, and cast blame onto everyone except himself. Jane glanced at the glass of gin sitting next to him. She carefully considered her next words.
“This morning, I was called to the Ketchums’. Rebecca had taken ill.” She lowered her head, casting her gaze to the table. “Sadly, she passed away a few hours ago. I would have come home earlier, but Esther asked me to stay.”
“Rebecca Ketchum died?” Ned asked, straightening his shoulders against the back of the chair. Jane nodded, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling. In the frenzy to comfort the family, she had pushed her own grief aside until now.
“Why didn’t you send a messenger letting me know?” Ned said, his tone softening. “I would have come straight from the office to pay my respects.”
Jane lifted her gaze to her husband. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. There was such commotion, and with so many people in the house—”
“Who all was there?”
“Oh, I don’t remember everyone with so many comings and goings. General Ketchum, of course. He wouldn’t leave his wife’s bedside. So distraught, he was.” Jane clicked her tongue. “There was the general’s sister, Esther. And her husband, General Brice, stopped by as well. Secretary Stanton and Mrs. Stanton came by, too, but I didn’t have a chance to talk with them. Nell and Octavia were there, since they are staying at the Ketchums’ this week—”
“Is my brother with them?” Ned asked, cutting her off again.
“Nell said that Hank has meetings at the War Department,” she said, bracing for what was coming next.
“They always stay here when they are in the city. Why are they with the Ketchums?” Ned’s voice was rising along with his agitation.
Jane shrugged her shoulders. “I had no reason to ask.”
Ned scowled. “He’s avoiding me.”
“What reason would Hank have to avoid you?”
“It’s nothing that concerns you.”
“Perhaps the trip was last minute,” Jane suggested. “Hank knows how you want the house in perfect order for them, and with the pending announcement at the Coast Survey, he didn’t want to cause you undue burden.”
Ned turned his head and glared at her. “Why is it that you are always defending him?”
“I . . . I’m not.”
He scoffed. “We both know why, don’t we?”
Jane felt her face flush, and she lowered her gaze. It had been twenty-six years since she had been engaged to Hank Wharton. Nearly a lifetime ago.
Jane poured herself a glass of water as a cold silence fell between them. She took a drink and stared into the glass, deciding whether she should excuse herself or force herself to stay. As she was about to push back from the table, Ned cleared his throat.
“It’s too bad about Rebecca. I know you two go back.” He took a long pull from his gin. Jane acknowledged him with a nod as she watched the condensation pool on her glass. A maid with flaming red hair pushed through the swinging door carrying a plate of supper, disrupting the stillness that had settled in the room.
“Not tonight, Molly,” Jane said, waving her off.
Molly furrowed her brows. “You sure, ma’am?”
“I’m fine,” Jane replied, and Molly left with the plate in hand.
“I just can’t understand why I did not receive that promotion,” Ned said after a moment. “I have worked so diligently. The use of punches instead of cutouts was my idea. Mine! I received a commendation in the report to Congress for my actions during Lieutenant Clark’s absence. Yet when he leaves the position permanently, my contribution is completely ignored. Forgotten. And they name that heel Saxton director.”
Exhausted and grieving, in that moment, Jane couldn’t care less about the machinations of his office or his disappointment. She closed her eyes to gather herself.
“There will be other opportunities,” Jane said in the most supportive tone she could muster. “Surely something will open for you soon.” You are being the good wife and telling him what he wants to hear.
“That’s what you always say,” Ned said with a shake of his head.
Jane offered him a weak smile, and the room grew quiet again.
“In the morning, I will send a telegram to our daughter,” Ned said at last. “Mary Louise needs to be with her betrothed at the funeral.”
Jane straightened her shoulders and looked at him, puzzled. “‘Her betrothed’?”
“I made the arrangement with Scott Ketchum a few weeks back,” Ned said with a flick of his hand.
Jane was stunned. “You did what?”
“Ketchum and I came to an agreement for her to marry Daniel,” Ned said. “I had planned to wait until she returned from school to inform her. But, with his mother dead, I think it is best that she come home now and attend the funeral.”
How dare he!
“Don’t you think Mary Louise should have a say in whom she marries?” Jane said, her anger rising. “And don’t you think you should have discussed your plans with me?”
Ned looked at her, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Why would I confer with you? You have no say in my decisions.” He extended his index finger and tapped his chest. “I am her father. And as her father, I will decide what is best for Mary Louise.” He turned the finger toward Jane, pointing at her. “Not you. And not she.”
Chapter 3
Wednesday, April 4, 1867,
Wharton Residence, Washington, DC
The storm that had started the previous day continued through the night with drenching rain pouring from a gunmetal sky. Jane was in the tea room, composing a letter to her sister-in-law Achsah in Baltimore, sharing Ned’s plans for Mary Louise and her own feelings of helplessness. A loud banging at the front of the house interrupted her concentration. At first, she thought a shutter had blown loose until she realized that someone was knocking at the front door. Since the maid was busy in the kitchen, Jane stood from the chair and headed to the foyer.
She saw him through the sidelight. A broad-shouldered man in an officer’s uniform, with unruly graying sandy-brown hair and a scruff of a beard, was standing on the stoop. As always, Jane’s breath hitched at the sight of him, and she opened the door.
