Free City of God by Beverly Swerling Page A

building would be five floors of white marble on prime land further up the town, Broadway and Canal Street. A temple raised to celebrate success, and Jacob Astor to get all the credit for it. The thought lodged in Sam’s belly like a half-digested meal he could neither vomit up nor shit out. He kept his face and voice neutral, however. “You arrived from Providence, did you not, Doctor? A few weeks back?”
    “Not quite two weeks, in fact.” He was making a hash of this, Nick decided, and taking too long. Men of business were always in a hurry. Science, on the other hand, demanded patience and thoroughness. Since he’d decided that an appeal based on science would be better than one calling on human fellow feeling, it was up to him to bridge the gap. “I’ve been working at Bellevue since I came to New York.”
    “Ah yes, the almshouse hospital.” Sam had presumed the visit would be about money. Now he knew what for.
    “We are woefully underfunded, Cousin. Since you’re a member of the Common Council I thought you might—”
    “I’m afraid I have little influence over council business. Frankly, I doubt anyone has. Too many men with too many different agendas.” Damned council nattered on about one thing or another at least twice a week. Sam didn’t manage to attend more than one meeting in six, and those only because Jacob Astor insisted on it. It was he who had decided it was appropriate that the manager of Devrey’s have a seat on the town’s governing body; so, of course, it was arranged. But as far as Sam knew,Jacob Astor had no interest in the Bellevue Almshouse. “Frankly, Dr. Turner, I believe we appropriate quite enough of the taxpayers’ money to the care of sick and deranged paupers. I think it unlikely the council will entertain the idea of any increase.”
    “Then they are the most short-sighted men in this city, sir.” Damn! Nothing would be served by losing his temper. “Cousin Samuel, allow me to explain. It’s absolutely in the best interests of New York’s taxpayers to—”
    Sam raised a forestalling hand, snapped open his pocket watch, and laid it on the table between them. “Nearly four. I can give you five minutes more, Dr. Turner. Then you must excuse me. I have urgent matters of business.”
    His dinner more likely, and not to be disturbed by discussions of diseased paupers. “I take it that’s five minutes exactly, Cousin Samuel. By your watch. To decide on who in this city of two hundred thousand should live and who should die.”
    “Actually, Dr. Turner, it is now four minutes and fifty seconds. And don’t you think your characterization of the matter a bit extreme?”
    “No, sir. I do not.” Nicholas had conceived the plan in the few days since Manon Turner suggested he come here. Ask for money for something they would see as beneficial, then siphon some of it into the day-to-day care of the ill. “I’m suggesting we immediately inaugurate a program of scientific research at Bellevue. If we do so, we can learn ways to shorten the healing time for many diseases. Perhaps most. We can begin to understand the causes of the epidemics that so frequently lay waste to this city. Yellowing fever, typhus, the worst attacks of cholera…” Two summers earlier cholera had claimed almost four thousand lives. “If we understand these evils, I promise we can eventually cure them. Surely every taxpayer in the city would judge that an excellent use of his money.”
    Devrey’s face remained impassive, but at least he was interested enough to ask a question. “How much money are we discussing, Dr. Turner?”
    “Two thousand a year.” Not very much in terms of the city budget the council oversaw.
    “Two thousand a year, and we can cure diseases such as yellowing fever and typhus and cholera. That’s your promise?”
    “Not a promise. Nothing in science can be that certain. But I believe it to be a reasonable hope.”
    “I see. Well, for my part, Dr. Turner, I believe it to be