Free Deadly by Julie Chibbaro

entire countenance snaps shut like an irritated clam. Once their masters are retrieved, the true story arises. Her lady came down the stairs, and when we put to her the same inquiry, her eyes brightened. “Why, of course, Mary Mallon,” she exclaimed, “she was such a darling help when the children were ill.” She turned to her maid and said, “You remember, Sally, you were ill too, and Mary nursed you to health.”
    Mr. Soper asked, “What illness?”
    The lady answered, “Why, the typhoid fever. It came not long after Mary, maybe two or three weeks later, I guess. It was late fall of that year, and as cold outside as a chicken’s beak. She stayed with us for about six months, till the spring of 1903, when we moved here. For an Irish girl, she was quite the angel. The children loved her.”
    I could see Mr. Soper pale. He asked how many in thehousehold had fallen ill, and she counted on her fingers, her two children, the maid, and the laundress.
    â€œDid they all recover?” he asked.
    â€œWhy, yes,” she said.
    He asked if the lady knew of Mary’s present whereabouts, but she did not. She mentioned another employment bureau that placed the cook in her next job. She asked if we needed a recommendation for Mary’s services, which she’d be happy to provide. Mr. Soper politely declined. We bid the woman good day and left.
    Riding the elevated train to the next family on our list, I think we were both too surprised to say anything. It felt as if Mr. Soper’s idea had been proven—not a good feeling—quite terrible, in fact. For if this woman
has
been carrying around disease, we don’t know where she is. And an even bigger question stands: How is she
able
to carry typhoid if she’s never
had
typhoid?
    We reached the next home, where the lady remembered Mary, and the sickness. There, a girl of eighteen had
died
from the fever. The sadness of that muted me, a girl nearly my age succumbing.
    The following day we continued down the list, and each time, yes, they caught the fever, and the cook nursed them,or left shortly after. Of the nine households we visited last week, six suffered from typhoid fever during the time Mary cooked for them. At the other three homes, no one answered our call.
    All totaled: Twenty-seven ill, one dead. And these are only the families we know about.
    By the end of the week, Mr. Soper appeared struck as if hit by a physical blow. It was quite obviously painful for him to have his revolutionary idea confirmed. I could think of no way to console him, nor could I ease my own heartsickness.
    Once we spoke to the last family, my chief sat me down in our office and explained the new scientific theory that was fueling our search. Dr. Koch, a scientist in Germany, has put forth this idea: That a healthy person can carry disease inside himself without suffering from it, and can transmit this disease without knowing it, a so-called healthy carrier. This is a theory I simply cannot understand. If it’s true, then how did Mary get the disease inside her in the first place? Why doesn’t she become ill herself? How come the sickness doesn’t go away like it normally would once it has run its course?
    This news, this trail of fevered and dead, has left me sore inside, and deeply sad.
    The challenge ahead of us is to find this elusive cook and test her for the typhoid germ by examining her body fluids. Mr. Soper has charged me with telephoning all the employment bureaus in the city next week, not giving up until I find her.

November 30, 1906
    C rossing Cherry Park yesterday, I encountered a sick dog expelling from its body wormlike creatures—it was particularly offensive, but I found myself drawn to watching the worms move about on the ground after dog and owner left. I wondered at my own fascination, and the lowly act of observing excrement in the dirt. I thought what I might do if one of my schoolmates were to see me,