Free Deadly by Julie Chibbaro Page A

or worse yet, Mrs. Browning. But a stronger thought overwhelmed me, an understanding that was too powerful to turn away from.
    It was this: The worms showed me Mr. Soper’s scientific theory.
    They showed me how one creature can live inside another, eating from it. Once sated, the creature is expelled out into the world through the feces, where another animal can pickit up. It became clear to me how the fever spreads—if the cook uses the toilet while she is working and doesn’t clean her hands well before returning to the kitchen, she passes the typhoid creature—bacteria, he called it—out of her body and into her household’s. Mr. Soper has told me that these germs are shaped like noodles, and maybe they have limbs to propel them. Fascinating how living things can live inside us. But I still don’t see why Mary doesn’t get sick herself.
    I must figure that part out, if I can.
    I wish I could get into the laboratory and look through the microscope and see for myself what this typhoid germ looks like, but Mr. Soper has not yet responded to my few subtle queries to that effect. In fact, he had me working all week at the task of contacting every employment bureau in the city by telephone to find Mary Mallon.
    I have never used a telephone and I was quite excited at first; I had the impression a voice would magically appear at the other end like in a conversation. Instead, it required heavy manual labor to produce a reply. You have to crank the handle on the square wooden box to speak to the switchboard operator, and that handset—like holding an iron against my ear! Half the bosses I reached seemed to be answering from beneath the river, the other half had tin throats. Most times,I had to yell and repeat my query, and pressed the set so close to my ear for replies, I feel as if I’ve been pummeled. I studied the instrument, the box, the wires, the metal handset, and still cannot figure out how a voice can travel through it all. Mr. Soper says the telephone converts the voice into electrical impulses, which vibrate the wire and then are transformed back into what sounds like a voice. It has to do with the characteristics of sound waves. An invention of affection, he called it—Mr. Bell created the telephone to communicate with his mother and his wife, who were both deaf.

    By the end of the week, I was almost wishing I had one of the convenient contraptions at home, imagining Anushka had one too. The wonder of it was, finally, that I could locate the cook’s present employment bureau, and all without takinga single streetcar trip. From the bureau, we found out that the cook currently works for a family on Fifth Avenue. Mr. Soper spent some time thinking of how to approach her.

    â€œI imagine she must be wondering why it is that the typhoid follows her to each job,” he said.
    â€œI think she’d be grateful to know that she carries the disease inside her and spreads it like a spice in her cooking,” I said.
    Of course, I did not mean it to be a joke, it was simply the picture that came to me, but Mr. Soper’s brow darkened at my words, and he barked at me sharply, “Prudence, this is an epidemic we’re facing here. This woman is very likely responsible for a girl’s death, and the illness of many others, and a humorous approach will not help her fathom the gravity of the situation. We must find a way to explain this in the proper manner to her, in a way she’ll understand.”
    His admonishment still rings in my head. I apologized, but Mr. Soper hardly heard me. My foolishness hung from me like a sign.
    He went on, “If she knows of the possible danger she is bringing into households, if she is made aware of it, I believe she’ll work with us. We need to convince her of the importance of testing, that we must check her bodily fluids, urine,blood, and feces. We must tread lightly with her, however,
as this is a new theory, and not yet