hand.
Dr. Barker felt for a pulse.
Henry’s face was pale, ashen. His eyes were red, opened wide. “I see—” And then he stopped moving. His hands fell limp, and he stared unblinking at the bright ceiling.
Dr. Barker wiped his hands on a towel and dropped it to the floor.
Wolfgang drew the sign of the cross over Henry’s body and closed his eyes. “Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua eis.” Wolfgang looked upward. “Grant them eternal rest, O Lord.” He touched Henry’s forehead. “And may everlasting light shine upon them.”
Dr. Barker walked toward the solarium porch and stopped at the threshold. He was tall; probably six three or six four, and the top of his head nearly reached the frame over the doors. “Wolfgang,” he asked. “Where were you?”
“Upstairs. With Miss Schultz.”
Barker shook his head. “What was it this time? The violin, the trombone?”
Wolfgang was silent.
“These patients need medicine, Wolfgang. They need rest, not music.”
“I got down here as fast as I could.”
Dr. Barker pointed his long finger toward the bed. “Henry said he had sins that needed to be cleansed.”
“I played for him last night. He mentioned nothing.”
“Perhaps you couldn’t hear him over the sound of your harmonica .” Barker was practically sneering. “You are their doctor,” he said. “Just—stop wasting time.” Barker pulled a small flask from his coat pocket and tossed it to Wolfgang, who caught it awkwardly. “I found that under Henry’s pillow. Know anything about it?”
“Henry liked his bourbon,” said Wolfgang. “It was a dying wish.”
“Of course he did.” Dr. Barker left with a swift turn that spun his white coat in a dove-like swirl.
Lincoln stepped back in the room.
Wolfgang handed him the flask and sighed. “Help me clean him.”
Lincoln was usually a jokester, but now his face just sagged as he stared at the bed, Henry’s body, and the bloodstained sheets. They’d all lost a dear friend in Dr. Waters, and the hurt was no less painful for Lincoln just because he was lower down on the totem pole. A big part of his job was to see to the bodies after they were dead. Lately, if not chasing after escaped pigs, he spent most of his time in the morgue. “The morgue is full, Wolf. I need more help in the chute.”
“I’ll see that you get it.”
“I’m calling it the Death Tunnel now,” he said. “I spend all day in there. It never stops. The smell is getting to me, Wolf.”
Wolfgang nodded as if he understood, but he didn’t. He wasn’t stuck in the chute all day long, accompanying the dead as they descended the hillside, unseen, all hours of the day. Wolfgang handed Lincoln a clean towel, and together they began to wipe blood from Dr. Waters’s neck.
Chapter 6
Wolfgang spent the rest of the bright day in a somber mood. He had an afternoon gathering in the chapel, where he gave a sermon on hope to seven patients—three Catholics, two Protestants, a Jewish woman, and an atheist searching for answers. Susannah showed up afterward to help two elderly patients back to their rooms. Before leaving the chapel, she waved to Wolfgang and smiled.
Wolfgang returned the gesture and then eyed a patient in the back row, a hulking farm boy with a crew cut named Jesse Jacobs. The baby-faced young man, who appeared barely over twenty, had been with them at Waverly for almost four months with not one appearance in the chapel. Every morning during rounds, though, he’d ask Wolfgang to pray for him and his roommate, Ray, a dark-haired young man who was as thin as Jesse was large, a man whose name never failed to escape Wolfgang’s overtaxed brain.
Jesse’s skin was naturally pale, his cheeks pink and scattered with freckles. He had a toothy grin that filled out his box-like jaw. Jesse had already gained much of his pre-tuberculosis weight back. His arms were thick, strong, one of those kids who could lift a Buick over his head but still look fat
Dr. Barker felt for a pulse.
Henry’s face was pale, ashen. His eyes were red, opened wide. “I see—” And then he stopped moving. His hands fell limp, and he stared unblinking at the bright ceiling.
Dr. Barker wiped his hands on a towel and dropped it to the floor.
Wolfgang drew the sign of the cross over Henry’s body and closed his eyes. “Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua eis.” Wolfgang looked upward. “Grant them eternal rest, O Lord.” He touched Henry’s forehead. “And may everlasting light shine upon them.”
Dr. Barker walked toward the solarium porch and stopped at the threshold. He was tall; probably six three or six four, and the top of his head nearly reached the frame over the doors. “Wolfgang,” he asked. “Where were you?”
“Upstairs. With Miss Schultz.”
Barker shook his head. “What was it this time? The violin, the trombone?”
Wolfgang was silent.
“These patients need medicine, Wolfgang. They need rest, not music.”
“I got down here as fast as I could.”
Dr. Barker pointed his long finger toward the bed. “Henry said he had sins that needed to be cleansed.”
“I played for him last night. He mentioned nothing.”
“Perhaps you couldn’t hear him over the sound of your harmonica .” Barker was practically sneering. “You are their doctor,” he said. “Just—stop wasting time.” Barker pulled a small flask from his coat pocket and tossed it to Wolfgang, who caught it awkwardly. “I found that under Henry’s pillow. Know anything about it?”
“Henry liked his bourbon,” said Wolfgang. “It was a dying wish.”
“Of course he did.” Dr. Barker left with a swift turn that spun his white coat in a dove-like swirl.
Lincoln stepped back in the room.
Wolfgang handed him the flask and sighed. “Help me clean him.”
Lincoln was usually a jokester, but now his face just sagged as he stared at the bed, Henry’s body, and the bloodstained sheets. They’d all lost a dear friend in Dr. Waters, and the hurt was no less painful for Lincoln just because he was lower down on the totem pole. A big part of his job was to see to the bodies after they were dead. Lately, if not chasing after escaped pigs, he spent most of his time in the morgue. “The morgue is full, Wolf. I need more help in the chute.”
“I’ll see that you get it.”
“I’m calling it the Death Tunnel now,” he said. “I spend all day in there. It never stops. The smell is getting to me, Wolf.”
Wolfgang nodded as if he understood, but he didn’t. He wasn’t stuck in the chute all day long, accompanying the dead as they descended the hillside, unseen, all hours of the day. Wolfgang handed Lincoln a clean towel, and together they began to wipe blood from Dr. Waters’s neck.
Chapter 6
Wolfgang spent the rest of the bright day in a somber mood. He had an afternoon gathering in the chapel, where he gave a sermon on hope to seven patients—three Catholics, two Protestants, a Jewish woman, and an atheist searching for answers. Susannah showed up afterward to help two elderly patients back to their rooms. Before leaving the chapel, she waved to Wolfgang and smiled.
Wolfgang returned the gesture and then eyed a patient in the back row, a hulking farm boy with a crew cut named Jesse Jacobs. The baby-faced young man, who appeared barely over twenty, had been with them at Waverly for almost four months with not one appearance in the chapel. Every morning during rounds, though, he’d ask Wolfgang to pray for him and his roommate, Ray, a dark-haired young man who was as thin as Jesse was large, a man whose name never failed to escape Wolfgang’s overtaxed brain.
Jesse’s skin was naturally pale, his cheeks pink and scattered with freckles. He had a toothy grin that filled out his box-like jaw. Jesse had already gained much of his pre-tuberculosis weight back. His arms were thick, strong, one of those kids who could lift a Buick over his head but still look fat
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