Free The Callender Papers by Cynthia Voigt Page B

and a grasping man. For the poorer folk he had a unique system of payment: pay first, then get medical service. He was well hated. He had made too many mistakes: not recognizing appendicitis or setting a broken arm so that it left a man permanently crippled. But he was the only doctor available.Nobody went to him unless they were desperate. The Jenkinses were desperate. The boy coughed blood.”
    I nodded my head.
    â€œJenkins could have gone elsewhere for help but he was proud. He had friends who would have helped out gladly, if they had known.”
    He was off the subject so I asked, “But what did Mrs. Bywall do?”
    â€œShe stole some silver teaspoons. At the trial there was no question of that, she never lied about her guilt.”
    â€œBut they caught her. So they had the spoons back, didn’t they?”
    â€œEnoch Callender insisted on prosecuting the case.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œHe never confided in me. His father and his sister tried to dissuade him. That may be why. He argued that when respect for property declines, the legal and social shape of the world is endangered. He said he must do the right thing. He said it caused him pain to do so.”
    Mr. Thiel’s face was hidden in shadows. “You don’t sound as if you believed that,” I said. Those struck me as good reasons.
    â€œDoing the right thing,” he answered. “I don’t know about a phrase like that. My own history . . . I wonder if I can be said to have done the right thing.”
    â€œYou mean during the war?”
    â€œYour aunt told you? Of course she would. I still think I did the only possible thing, but was it the right thing? In any case, Enoch Callender did the right thing, and Mrs. Bywall was sent to prison. That was 1880 and she was sixteen. The year before I had married Irene Callender, which is how I come to know a little more about the affair.”
    â€œWhat more?” I asked.
    â€œThat Josiah Callender, my father-in-law, argued with his son about his actions. That when Enoch wouldn’t change his mind, his father paid for a defense attorney from Boston. That afterwards he did everything possible to help the Jenkins boy. To no avail.” So the Callenders had helped after all, as Enoch Callender must have known they would.
    â€œBut I’m a native here myself,” Mr. Thiel said, interrupting my thoughts. “I had known Florence Bywall since she was a girl, a child. So I know what prison did to her.” His voice was so cold I felt a sudden chill.
    â€œShe is only thirty years old,” I said. I had been working it out.
    â€œThe life aged her. Prisons,” he said, and then stopped. Of course when Charlie ran away—”
    â€œHow long after was that?”
    â€œAlmost a year.”
    â€œHe certainly didn’t wait very long.” I was indignant.
    â€œThe boy died,” Mr. Thiel continued.
    â€œPoor Mrs. Bywall,” I said.
    â€œAnd of course, since she had been in prison, people would have little to do with her when she returned. They sympathized with her, but from a safe distance.”
    â€œWhat a terrible thing. What about you? What did you do?”
    â€œWhat I had to do with it needn’t concern you,” he said sharply. It was as if I had reminded him of who he was, and who I was. “That is the story you’ve asked to hear. I don’t know what you will make of it.”
    â€œI will have to think carefully about it,” I told him. I did not think the Enoch Callender who had been so entertaining and so kind to me would have acted with the capricious cruelty Mr. Thiel hinted at. I wondered if my employer had kept silent about something he preferred to keep secret. His dark face gave me no clue.

    The next day it rained, just as Mr. Thiel had predicted. The rain poured down out of a gray sky, pounding on the roof, splashing on the ground. It was a steady, hard, stubborn rain. As was my custom,