“This is my official resignation letter. Three weeks from today will be my last day on the staff.”
When she left his office her hands were shaking, but otherwise she felt great relief. She had wondered if she would feel regret or even resentment, and found instead a heady joy, a child let out of school for the summer. She so rarely took time away from work, she had forgotten what it felt like to put down the multitude of burdens, small and large, just to breathe. In another day—or even an hour—she would begin to feel guilty, that was inevitable, but she would put it off as long as possible.
In her office she sat down to finish her chart notes and then she took a piece of her own stationery and wrote out the note she had been composing in her head for a day.
Dearest,
Today I handed in my resignation at the Infant Hospital, and tomorrow I will do the same at the New Amsterdam and the Colored Infirmary. On Saturday I will come to call midmorning so that we can talk about Switzerland.
With all my love,
your Sophie
It was her intention to have everything organized and in order before she went to see him. She wouldn’t give him any opportunity to change his mind, or the terms he had offered. Given all he had arranged to force her hand, it would be foolish to underestimate his propensity for forging and then taking advantage of the tiniest of loopholes.
She stopped at the New Amsterdam to check on a patient before heading home for the day, and had just gone into her office when there was a soft knock at door. The student nurse who came in bobbed her head in apology.
“A Mrs. Campbell is here to see you. She says she doesn’t have an appointment.”
It took a moment to place the name, and then it came to her. Mrs. Campbell, four little boys and a postal inspector husband, one of Comstock’s henchmen. Dr. Heath’s patient, but here and asking to see her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Henshaw. Just a postpartum exam. Please send her in.”
Just recently there had been a rash of letters, sent to the house by strangers pleading for medical intervention and contraceptives, and now she wondered if this visit could be coincidence, or if it was just another one of Comstock’s tricks. Those thoughts left her as soon as Mrs. Campbell came in; she was a physician first, and she recognized that this woman was in trouble.
She was very pale, the flesh around her eyes so dark that in the first moment Sophie thought of healing bruises, and then saw just what would be expected when a woman had three small children and a new infant, without household help. Sleeplessness was to be her lot for some time to come. Sleeplessness, and irritability, and perhaps full-blown depression. Mrs. Campbell was a woman taxed to the point of breakdown.
“Dr. Savard. May I speak to you?”
A month before Mrs. Campbell had been rounded, cheek and hip and thigh, and strong. Now her jaw and cheekbones were more prominent, and there was a brittleness to the way she held herself.
Sophie gestured to a chair. “Please.”
The fewer questions she asked at this stage, the sooner a patient would come to the point. Mrs. Campbell started slowly, relating facts about the new baby and the older three, her hands clasped in her lap so hard that her knuckles went white.
“And how are you, how is your health?”
Mrs. Campbell drew in a breath and held it for three heartbeats. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know how I am.”
“Have you seen Dr. Heath since the birth?”
She shook her head, quite sharply.
“Then what can I do for you today?”
The pale face came up suddenly, her gaze fixed on Sophie. “I want you to examine me.”
Rather than ask questions, Sophie went to wash her hands while Mrs. Campbell disrobed behind the privacy screen. Throughout the examination she was quiet and cooperative, staring at the ceiling overhead blankly, hands still wound together.
“You are healing well,” Sophie said. “But you are losing weight, and too quickly. You need four or five small meals throughout the day. Nothing too heavy or spicy. A poached egg and a piece of bread would do, or oatmeal with cream. Meat or fish once a day, but in small amounts. Leeks, collards, spinach, any kind of bean will provide you with the iron you need as a nursing mother.”
The thin mouth contorted and an arm came up to cover her eyes.
“I’m pregnant, aren’t I.”
Sophie had turned away to pick up an instrument, but she looked over her shoulder in surprise.
“Pardon?”
Mrs. Campbell sat up, rough patches of color rising in her cheeks. “I know I am, I can always tell.”
“What makes you think that? Have you missed your menses?”
“I haven’t had a period for four years,” Mrs. Campbell said. “Doesn’t seem to matter, I fall pregnant anyway.”
“I saw no indication of pregnancy,” Sophie said.