Page 48 - Fever 1793

down. Before I knew it, I was lying down with a sheet tucked so tightly over me that I couldn’t move. “That will be enough standing up, young miss,” said Mrs. Flagg firmly. “You’ve nothing to fear. Bush
Hill is now a respectable place. Your grandfather was a clever, kind man to bring you here.”
The city had turned a mansion on Bush Hill into a hospital for fever victims. According to the gossips, Bush Hill was one step away from Hell, filled with dead bodies and criminals who preyed on the weak.
It was a place to stay away from, not a place where a young girl should lay about and sip broth, even if her grandfather was mooning over her nurse.
Mrs. Flagg lifted a mug of cool tea to my mouth. “You listen to me. This here Bush Hill is not the same Bush Hill of last week. Mr. Stephen Girard, Lord bless his name, has taken over and turned this into a right proper hospital. All them thieving scoundrels have been driven off. You’re lucky you were brought here. We have doctors, nurses, medicine, food—everything a fever victim needs. And we have enough problems without you running off the ward.”
Grandfather coughed, and I handed him my tea. He emptied the cup and handed it back to me. “Mattie knows all about Stephen Girard,” he told Mrs. Flagg. “He has visited our fine establishment several times. Indeed, it has been my honor to break bread with him.”
Break bread? Since when did he call stuffing down Eliza’s cinnamon rolls in the same room as Stephen Girard (and twenty others) “breaking bread?” Grandfather did admire Mr. Girard, that much was true. Girard was a rich Frenchman with a finger in every pie; he was a merchant, an importer, and a banker. But what did Mr. Girard have to do with Bush Hill?
“He came through here like a hurricane, he did,” Mrs. Flagg explained. “He fired the slovenly devils who caused all the trouble. Then he ordered repairs on the water pumps, hired good folks like me, and laid in supplies. We even have a fancy French officer, Dr. Deveze, who supervises the patients, and Mrs. Saville for our matron.”
“With a name like Bridget you are surely not French, are you, Mrs. Flagg?” asked Grandfather.
“Good gracious, no, what a question,” laughed Mrs. Flagg. “I can barely make out what they’re saying half the time, but they work hard, and the pay is good. And I’ll tell you this,” she said, leaning closer and lowering her voice.
“You’ll hear folks say that Dr. Rush is a hero for saving folks with his purges and blood letting. But I’ve seen different. It’s these French doctors here that know how to cure the fever. I don’t care if Dr. Rush did sign the Declaration of Independence. I wouldn’t let him and his knives near me.”
I shivered as I remembered the blood Dr. Kerr had drained from Mother. Maybe Grandfather should return to the house and bring her here. What if Dr. Kerr bled her too much?
“Does Mother know I’m here?” I asked.
Grandfather sat down on my bed. “It’s quite a topsyturvy time we’re in, my sweet. We’ve been gone from home nearly five days now.”
“What! Five days!’”
Mrs. Flagg gently pushed me back on the pillow. “Easy, child.”
“Much has happened,” Grandfather continued. “Once you were installed here, I rode into the city to
see Lucille, tell her where you were.” He paused to cough. “I found the house locked up tight as you like. Knowing her, she rode out to Ludingtons’ to join us. I sent a letter yesterday.”
Mrs. Flagg picked up the tray. “There you go. Everything is right with the world. You might not hear back from your mother for a while, though. The post has become most unreliable.” She said something else, but I could only hear buzzing. My eyes closed against my will.
“Now look what we’ve done, Captain,” Mrs. Flagg exclaimed. “Here we are chatting like magpies, and your darling granddaughter still so sick.”
Grandfather patted my head. “Sleep well, child.”