Joseph nearly dropped the lamp.
CHAPTER 46
To perform the operation, the surgeon should therefore be steadfast and not allow himself to become disconcerted by the cries of the patient.
— Lorenz Heister, “Of Cancer of the Breasts” (1718)
The next morning, Joseph offered Mass for his sister. Then he returned to his family’s home with Father Baker. When they reached the gate, a sign greeted them:
Surgery today.
Please do not summon the police.
Joseph grimaced. He peered up through the balustrade to watch his father and Henry carrying part of their dining table onto the third-floor piazza. Surely Dr. Mortimer did not intend to operate inpublic?
Joseph found Tessa on the first-floor piazza, cradling Clare on the joggling board. She did not see them at once, so intent was she on her daughter. On such a day, this beautiful idyllof mother and child was a welcome distraction; but Joseph reminded himself not to smile—Father Baker stood beside him.
Tessa rose and bowed her head in greeting, as the stomping and scraping continued above them.
“My father and Dr. Mortimer cannot mean to do this on thepiazza?” Joseph inquired.
“They plan to use a screen,” Tessa explained. “Your father says the piazza has better light than anywhereinsidethe house.” Then she looked away. “And Dr. Mortimer said it will be easier to clean.”
Joseph invited Tessa to sit again.
She told Father Baker: “Mrs. Conley is in her bedchamber.”
He went up to hear Hélène’s Confession.
Considering his sister’s behavior last night, Joseph imagined the Confession would be a lengthy one. He could not sitbesideTessa on the joggling board—they might be thrown together—so he pulled over a chair.
Tessa asked her wide-eyed daughter: “Clare, do you remember Father Joseph?”
“I hope not,” he chuckled. “She slept through your churching, so the last time she saw me, I put salt in her mouth and poured cold water on her head.”
If Clare recalled the incident, she proved forgiving. When Joseph offered his forefinger, the little girl grasped it with her tiny, perfect fingers. For someone so small, Clare was wonderfully strong. Her mouth was a rosebud, and even the two tiny moles on her left cheek became her. Joseph sang her a French verse, and Clare’s eyes widened attentively.
“David is here too,” Tessa told him. “He insisted on coming.”
Joseph should start behaving like a Priest. He climbed the stairs to find Hélène’s bedchamber door closed. Dr. Mortimer and Dr. Michaels (the assistant surgeon) were carrying the easy chair from her dressing room onto the piazza.
The men positioned the chair atop a canvas floor cloth. Reassembled across the piazza’s width, the dining table was set with a terrifying assortment of blades. They might have been pluckedfrom a butcher’s shop. The surgeons even wore bloodstained aprons. Joseph shuddered.
His mother paced past him, clutching her rosary.
He caught her attention. ‘Do you really think this is punishment for Hélène’s sins?’
His mother frowned, confusion in every line of her face. ‘How can a Priest ask that?’ She averted her eyes. ‘I only wonder that God has not struck me instead.’
Dr. Mortimer had warned them that, if the cancer had spread beyond Hélène’s breast, he would have to cut away her axillary glands and pectoral muscle as well. She might lose the use of her right arm and her ability to sign. That would punish Joseph’s mother after all. There were so few people left with whom she could converse.
Joseph turned to his nephew, who stood at one end of the dining table caressing a tall wooden case. David called to Joseph’s father, who was adding a Chinese screen to the strange assemblage of furniture. “May I set up the microscope, Grandfather?”
“If you’re careful, David.”
“I will be.” Reverently the boy undid the latch.
Joseph asked: “Are you certain you wish to be here, son?”
