It had happened entirely by accident on an icy winter morning soon after Anna had left to study in Europe. Because the roads were so treacherous and she had many stops to make, Sophie had agreed to let Mr. Lee drive her for the day.
They went first to the German Dispensary where she had been asked to consult on a difficult case. The only physician in attendance was Dr. Thalberg, difficult himself and uncompromising; he stayed nearby while she examined the forty-year-old woman deep into her twelfth and troubled pregnancy. The discussion that followed had required another hour, and by the time it was clear that there was nothing she could do for the patient, Sophie was late for her next appointment. She was pulling on her wraps as she came into the waiting room, where she stopped short.
The dispensary had been established to serve the needs of Kleindeutschland, some four hundred city blocks where English was rarely heard on the street and shop signs and newspapers were in German. It was a city within the city, with Avenue B serving as the commercial lifeline, while beer halls and restaurants and oyster bars lined Avenue A. What outsiders rarely realized was that Little Germany had its own strict internal boundaries. Sophie was aware of it herself only because of Dr. Thalberg, who often wished out loud for a second dispensary where the southern Germans could be sent, far away from his Prussian sensibilities.
Sophie wasn’t often asked to consult here, for reasons that were never discussed but clear nonetheless. While most sick women who couldn’t afford a doctor studiously overlooked the color of Sophie’s skin, the patients who came to the German Dispensary were more likely to voice an objection. Dr. Thalberg and the other doctors on staff only called on her when the patient was too sick to care.
She left through a waiting room crowded with the kind of people she would see in any other clinic: a harried mother trying to console a miserable toddler; another who looked like she had had no sleep for days; a workman cradling an injured arm; a fragile old man sound asleep, snoring softly; a stable hand in mucky wooden clogs with such a high fever that Sophie could feel it radiating off him as she passed.
And standing to one side by himself, a hand stemmed against the wall so that he could hold a foot up off the floor, was a man of some seventy years. Beside him was a leather portmanteau that had been nearly ripped in two, but he himself seemed to be unharmed beyond the need to keep the weight off his foot. He was a businessman by his dress, and one who employed a very good tailor. Everything about him was understated and of first quality, but he had the broad features and rich color of African ancestors.
A black man of property, injured. In this clinic, in the middle of Little Germany. Either he was a stranger to the city and did not realize his situation, or his visit was unplanned. She wondered if he had any idea that he would be left standing here while all the rest of the patients were seen, and would still be standing when the waiting room was empty.
Nothing of worry or anxiety showed in his expression or the way he held himself. Whether he was preoccupied by his injury or simply unaware of the dozen people who radiated distrust and dislike in his direction, that was impossible to say. All this and more went through Sophie’s mind in the two seconds it took her to wind her scarf around her neck. Without conscious thought she stepped toward him, holding out an elbow for him to take.
“Can I help you to the carriage?”
He hesitated for less than a heartbeat, nodded, and took the arm she offered.
? ? ?
HIS NAME, SHE learned as soon as they were out the door, was Sam Reason. Sophie introduced him to Mr. Lee, who helped him into the carriage in a way that did not put stress on the injured leg. Before he was properly settled, he apologized for the trouble he was causing. “Thank you kindly for stepping in. I really didn’t know what to do.”
The distraction that had begun to build once they were safely away gave way instantly. He sounded like home, like New Orleans. Sophie was so taken aback that she listened without comment while he told her of a cab that had been overturned by an omnibus just a block away.
“The poor cabdriver was thrown and killed outright,” he told her. “And his horses had to be shot on the spot. I came away with this ankle and I’ve lost nothing more than my sample book.” He seemed to remember something and touched his brow. “And a hat.”
“But why here? Why this dispensary?” Sophie asked him.
“A delivery boy who was going by with a cart brought me here. It was out of his way as it was and the police ambulance was busy with the more seriously injured.” What he didn’t say, and didn’t need to say, was that they would hardly have bothered with him anyway.