Free Quarantine: A Novel by John Smolens Page A

were exposed.
    “Such fine, shapely legs,” he mused.
    Miranda approached her son, causing him to retreat instinc-
    tively, despite the fact that he was the one armed with a cane.
    With her foot she pulled the maid’s skirt down until the girl was fairly decent.
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    q u a r a n t i n e
    “Well,” Enoch said. “I’m famished from my morning’s labors.
    Might one get a morsel in his own house?”
    “Certainly, sir,” Fields said as he served Samuel a glass of wine.
    “I am, too,” Samuel said. “That ship left France with little
    more than salt cod and hardtack. What have you got, Fields?”
    “Yes,” Enoch said. “Go see what is being prepared in the
    kitchen.”
    Disgusted, Miranda went to the dining room door. “Fields,
    see if you can manage to revive the maid. Otherwise, you’ll have to serve luncheon yourself.”
    R
    Giles walked out on Sumner’s Wharf with Dr. Eli Bradshaw and
    Dr. Wilberforce Strong. Though there were perhaps a dozen ships
    tied up, there was no activity—no crew, no stevedores, no hoisting of cargo and livestock.
    “The only thing that spreads faster than an epidemic is word of
    one,” Dr. Strong said. He was the eldest physician in Newbury-
    port, and he primarily confined his practice to the great houses in the High Street vicinity. He was a short, obese man in a blue silk coat and a tricorn hat sporting a yellow plume. His slow waddle
    dictated the pace of all three men. “It’s so quiet here on the wharf, as though everyone has gone to Sunday meeting—and well might
    they pray, as it will be their only salvation.”
    Dr. Bradshaw was tall, and he walked with his long arms
    clasped behind his back. He stared at the worn boards in front of him, as though he were carefully considering his every step. “The cause of this fever is so apparent. It’s the composition of the air, the air and the soil, and their inherent putrefaction. This sort of thing has been building up for years, and now it’s being released with greater frequency. It will continue until our world is forever changed. I suspect it may eventually eliminate humanity from the face of the earth.”
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    j o h n s m o l e n s
    “The seeds of this fever,” Dr. Strong insisted, “come from
    within. It’s simply a question of behavior. Look at the Irish—look at these dark folk from the Caribbean and Africa. How do they
    live? In sin—sin, which ultimately manifests itself in the form of disease. It’s the Lord Almighty calling them to accounts, pure and simple. How often does the Bible mention plague, epidemic, and
    pestilence? These people must abandon their profligate ways if they wish to survive. You’re much too wedded to scientific notions, Eli.
    Scripture first. There lies your answer: drunkenness and fornication—eliminate them and you will have a healthy population.”
    Giles had been reluctant to meet with his two colleagues, but
    he knew that he could not refuse; to do so would constitute a
    professional insult, and it would jeopardize any attempt on his
    part to work with them should an epidemic occur. As they strode
    along the wharf, he looked out across the Merrimack toward the
    salt marshes that formed a green apron around Ring’s Island. He
    waved a hand in front of his face and asked, “Have you noticed
    the mosquitoes since the weather has turned warm and humid?”
    Bradshaw and Strong ignored his comment. They usually did.
    He was not a true physician, but a ship’s surgeon with no formal medical education who was given to drink. It was only out of
    some vague remnant of patriotism that they acknowledged his
    efforts at all. Strong had once said, “I hear you proved to be a good man with a saw.”
    When they reached the end of the wharf, Dr. Bradshaw drew
    in a deep breath. “Smell it. The air is much fresher out here over the water, whereas back in Market Square one is exposed to the
    most unhealthy vapors.”
    “God gave us all the same air to breathe,” Dr. Strong
    announced, as