Compromise with Sin Page 23

  In the cavernous lobby of the state office building, a receptionist directed her to the office of Dr. Milton Weil. “See his secretary to secure an appointment.”

  Alone with her echoing footsteps in the long gray hallway, Louise scolded herself for not having made an appointment by phone. She opened the door to a cramped office where a smartly dressed, buxom woman was watering plants. The woman, whose hair was piled high and held by a large daisy-shaped barrette, turned.

  At the sight of the unmistakable wide-set eyes, Louise froze. It was none other than Daisy Friend from New Lexington.

  “May I help—” The professional tone turned to a shriek. “Lulu?”

  The sting of that name took Louise back to the schoolyard taunts of Daisy and the other rich girls.

  “Look at you!” Daisy rushed forward and clasped Louise’s hand in both of hers.

  “Daisy?” Had Daisy forgotten tormenting her? Why was she working for a living? Had she never married? “I go by Louise. Mrs. Francis Morrissey.”

  Daisy offered her a chair and squinted as though trying to recall something. “Louise Morrissey. I remember, now.”

  What does she remember? Me wearing her Aunt Mamie’s cast-off coat?

  “You wrote to Dr. Weil, something about blind babies. I was about to send you a reply, but, oh, I’m so glad I didn’t. When he returns from his meeting, I’ll get you in to see him. And then, oh, Lulu, you have to promise me you’ll join me for lunch in the cafeteria.”

  “I would like that.” Louise said it to be polite, hoping to find an excuse to leave right after meeting with Dr. Weil. Daisy’s show of friendliness was not to be trusted. She no doubt intended to pump Louise for information she’d share later in gossiping with her old friends back home.

  As Daisy neared the door to the inner office, an attractive man came through it. He had apparently just put on his suit coat and was tugging at his shirt’s French cuffs. Without acknowledging Louise’s presence, he said to Daisy, “Something has come up. Cancel the rest of my appointments.”

  “I shall, Dr. Weil, but first I want you to meet my old friend Mrs. Francis Morrissey. We were chums growing up in New Lexington, and I have not seen her in years.”

  By no stretch of the imagination were we ever chums. Louise wondered when the snide, mocking, rich girl would surface.

  “She came from Riverbend for the sole purpose of meeting with you.”

  He grasped Louise’s hand. “Forgive my lack of manners. The morning has been hectic.”

  “My manners are lacking as well,” Louise said. “I should have secured an appointment with you first.”

  “Dr. Weil, can you spare five minutes to talk to Mrs. Morrissey?”

  He hesitated, but the plea in Daisy’s eyes seemed to move him, and he gestured toward the inner office. “By all means. Come in, Mrs. Morrissey.”

  After they were both seated, Dr. Weil leaned forward and rested his arms on his desk. If he still felt harried, it did not show.

  Nevertheless, Louise felt her mouth go dry at the prospect of broaching such an indelicate subject. Clutching her purse so tightly in her lap that her knuckles turned white, she managed to say, “I appreciate your time, and I shall get straight to the point. I imagine that being a medical doctor, you are familiar with the condition called ‘babies’ sore eyes.”

  He nodded.

  “You may also know of efforts in some states to get legislation requiring silver nitrate drops in babies’ eyes at birth.”

  “And you want Nebraska to do the same.”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned back in his chair, and Louise steeled herself for rejection.

  “Allow me to explain the Legislature’s priorities. Health and social causes aren’t among them. This state spends more money helping farmers keep their livestock healthy than on people. We have pleaded for years for a state sanitarium for consumption patients but can’t get it, so these patients stay at home and infect their families. Here is what you’re up against.”

  He ticked off each item on his fingers. “First, legislators won’t touch gonorrhea with a ten-foot pole. Second, their constituents already feel there’s too much government intrusion in their private lives. Third, who would pay for silver nitrate drops? Fourth, there would be the matter of enforcement. I could go on and on. Your cause is worthy, but to be blunt, it doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.”

  Louise felt her resolve cracking. “I was told that the Legislature acts on bills that come out of the Health and Welfare Committee, which receives guidance from you.”

  “That’s generally what happens.”

  “So you are my only hope?”

  “Not necessarily. The process can begin anywhere. A lone senator might act on pressure from powerful interests back home and use his political clout to create a bill and ramrod it through. Don’t count on that happening with babies’ sore eyes. I know these senators better than their own mothers do, and there isn’t one who would spearhead this. But legislators also respond to a groundswell of public opinion. Mustering that is your only hope. I wish I could give you more encouragement.” He placed his hands on the edge of his desk and seemed about to stand.

  Acknowledging that the meeting was over would be the polite thing to do. But Louise wasn’t ready to give up. “I appreciate your good advice and your time, but I’m at a loss as to what to do next. How does one woman on a mission arouse public opinion?”

  He leaned back. “It’s a tall order. You would have to educate the public as to what babies’ sore eyes is, show how easily it can be prevented, and make them care enough to demand legislation.” He thought for a minute, perhaps moved by her obvious distress. “You might start by getting the social workers and nurses involved. They know firsthand about babies’ sore eyes. They’re overworked and underpaid, but they thrive on causes like yours.”

  Daisy insisted on taking Louise to the Capitol cafeteria, where they waited in a long, slow-moving line. Red-faced cafeteria ladies hunched over a serving table and spooned globs of creamed chicken, scalloped corn, sauerkraut, and apple crisp onto thick pottery plates with chipped rims. Louise wondered at the ease with which her former classmate moved in the spartan setting where the clatter of pots and pans, the screech of chairs being slid, and the noise of dozens of conversations bounced off tile floors and walls, a setting far removed from Waterford crystal, sterling silver, and crisp table linens.

  Daisy leaned forward to speak to the worker who was dropping a biscuit on each plate. “So good to see you back, Mrs. Rogers. I hope you’re feeling well.”

  The woman’s dour expression softened ever so slightly. “Some better. Thank you, miss.”

  Daisy led Louise to a table in the crowded dining room. After they were seated, she laid a coarse paper napkin in her lap and lifted her fork. Every move suggested good breeding. An observer might regard both women as born to privilege, but Louise could not ignore the chasm dividing them. Fine manners were the birthright of one, the pretense of the other.

  Daisy leaned forward. “Isn’t Dr. Weil the nicest man you ever met?”

  “A very nice man.” Louise’s tone was polite without reflecting Daisy’s enthusiasm.

  “Now then, I’ll tell you why I left New Lexington. Remember Clifton Dodge? The class two years ahead of us?”

  Louise nodded.

  “Well, we ran off and eloped when I was sixteen. He was Roman Catholic, and he got a priest to marry us. Mother and Father had conniption fits. They disowned me, and Clifton’s family got the marriage annulled.”

  With a sweeping gesture she said, “Overnight, no family, no servants, no riding club. I thought the world had ended, but I said to myself, ‘Daisy, you can’t do anything about the past. Get off the pity pot. Go out and get a job.’ So I came to Lincoln, went to secretarial school, and here I am. I still dream of having a husband some day, but I’m almost thankful I had the opportunity, or necessity really, to support myself. It builds character.”

  At a ne
arby table, two loutish men talked with their mouths full, one of them stabbing the air with his fork to punctuate his remarks. Daisy seemed not to notice. Louise admired her self-assured manner that perhaps derived from being a woman on her own. If she cursed the fates that had thrust her into this noisy cafeteria it was not evident.

  “That’s very courageous.” Hoping to forestall discussion of her own past, Louise was about to ask Daisy how long she had worked for Dr. Weil, but Daisy spoke first.

  “Talk about courageous, what about you? How old were you when you left town?”

  “Twelve. I tried passing myself off as fifteen, though I doubt I convinced anyone, and got a job as a housekeeper. Later I worked at a bank where I met my husband. His family owned a hotel in Riverbend. Do you ever get back to New Lexington?”

  “No. Burned those bridges. You’re no one there without money, as you know. Besides it’s too provincial. Tell me, do you have children?”

  Louise shifted in her seat, causing her napkin to flutter to the floor. Daisy’s question was one she never got used to. She picked up the napkin. “A daughter, Marie. She and my husband were killed in an automobile accident.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “She was the child elocutionist with the Chautauqua.”

  Daisy looked away as though searching for what was familiar in Louise’s words. “Oh, yes. I remember reading about her. The beautiful blind girl who recited those long poems.”

  “Yes. Blinded soon after birth by infection from pneumococcus bacteria.” Her eyelids fluttered shut. “A remarkable child.”

  “So now I understand, at least partially, why you contacted Dr. Weil. What is this ‘babies’ sore eyes’?”

  Louise used her fork to nudge sauerkraut away from the apple crisp. She debated whether to mention gonorrhea. “It’s a blinding condition that affects newborn babies.”

  “That’s positively awful. What were you expecting from Dr. Weil?”

  “The condition is preventable, but it requires that every baby receive dilute silver nitrate drops at birth. State legislation mandating drops is the key to prevention.”

  “Was Dr. Weil helpful?” Daisy dabbed her lips with the napkin.

  “He seemed understanding but not optimistic, at least when it comes to getting the Legislature to act. He advised mobilizing nurses and social workers to build public awareness.”

  “He’s right, you know,” Daisy said. “Women are the power behind social reform. Look at Harriet Tubman and Jane Addams. Forget doctors and senators for now. You have groundwork to do.”

  Inspired by the prospect of women as the moving force, Louise straightened, feeling a burden start to lift. She did not have to be a lone woman trying to influence men. Motivating women came naturally. But hope was tinged with caution. “Daisy, there’s something I didn’t tell you. You might not be so encouraging if you knew the cause of babies’ sore eyes.”

  Daisy looked puzzled. She set down her fork.

  “It’s hardly a subject for the dinner table, if at all.” Louise folded and unfolded the napkin in her lap.

  “Don’t leave me in suspense. Go on.”

  Louise felt Daisy’s eyes on her and wondered about the wisdom of continuing. She shifted in her seat. “Babies’ eyes can become infected in the birth canal if the mother has . . .” She whispered, “. . . gonorrhea.”

  29

  May 1906

  As Frank would have said, it was time to take the bull by the horns. Louise would convene a group she’d call The Nebraska Committee to Save Babies’ Sight. A core group of a dozen people would be ideal. She wrote letters inviting social workers and nurses from Riverbend and surrounding towns, as well as the superintendent of Smithville State Asylum for the Blind, to an organizational meeting.

  Although Louise balked at having to explain babies’ sore eyes and its cause, she had to address the matter when she extended invitations to her friends. She hoped they would play key roles on the Committee except for Gertrude, given her belief that children’s afflictions were God’s punishment for their parents’ or ancestors’ sins. Louise hoped to find someone as conscientious as Gertrude to handle details.

  Alice lacked initiative but thrived on being of service and would wholeheartedly pitch in to carry out any assignment. Perhaps her greatest contribution would be her sweet, affable nature. She could win over people who might otherwise dismiss the campaign as the doing of uppity women who did not know their place. Alice would need continual reassurance that she was doing a good job.

  Madge was restless for a new project and would bring superb organizational skills to the campaign. Often she could be the contrary voice, an annoying trait, but one that could prevent the group from adopting an idea before giving it full consideration. But would she ally herself with something so controversial?

  Dovie, of course, would be Louise’s right hand. She would raise funds and see to it that J.D. provided free printing services and publicity.

  Daisy, who stayed in touch with Louise by telephone and letter, had already volunteered assistance in dealing with the Legislature.

  When Louise presented her concept for a Committee after a meeting of the Tuesday Bibliophiles, Dovie immediately agreed to help and Alice and Madge followed. Gertrude begged off, saying she was too busy organizing her church’s upcoming summer Bible camp.

  Louise had no sooner arrived home and put away her hat than the telephone rang. It was Dovie, sobbing.

  Louise imagined a terrible accident, probably involving one of the boys. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s J.D.”

  “I’ll come right over.”

  “No, no, he’s all right. Unless I kill him. I’ve never been so mad at him.” There was a long pause. “Louise, I don’t know how to tell you this. He forbade me to join your Committee. He says it wouldn’t be fitting for a state senator’s wife.”

  “No! Why?”

  “He says a bunch of women stirring up a ruckus over an unspeakable disease will make Riverbend the laughingstock of Nebraska. Those were his exact words. I’m so sorry. I know this means so much to you.”

  “This cause—” Louise’s throat tightened. She could not imagine the campaign without Dovie or even life without Dovie. “I can’t lose you, too.”

  “We’re friends forever, Louise, but I just can’t be on your Committee.”

  Five women, not counting Louise, sat at the library’s large reading table on Saturday morning for the organizational meeting of the Nebraska Committee to Save Babies’ Sight. Louise watched as they chatted and brushed kolache crumbs from their bosoms. A disappointing turnout, and not a single woman had an important sphere of influence. It would be naive to think this could work.

  Before opening the meeting, Louise gave herself a pep talk. These women were special in their willingness to support a controversial cause, and she would act as though this mighty little band could move mountains. “Let’s go around the table and each of you tell us your interest in the campaign.”

  Madge began. “Louise Morrissey brought the problem of babies’ sore eyes to my attention. It is positively galling to think that babies are needlessly blinded. It is time for women to challenge the taboo against talking about venereal disease, a taboo that enables philandering husbands to keep their wives in the dark. Only if we are willing to talk about this subject unfit for polite society can we awaken right-thinking men and women to this cause of protecting babies’ sight.”

  The women clapped.

  Alice, sitting to the left of Madge, smiled. “I don’t really have a speech. I’m here because Louise twisted my arm.” She clutched her arm as though injured.

  Amid chuckles, Irina Taylor, now a nurse at Riverbend Hospital, nodded and laughed as she pointed to a woman knitting a navy blue scarf. “Bonita twisted my arm.”

  Irina, the woman with blue-violet eyes. Louise recalled the admiring look Doc had given her the night of The Twister. If only she could forget. Even more, she wished it didn’t bother her.
>
  Bonita Hobbs, a visiting nurse, was as plain and stoic as Irina was pretty and engaging. Her knitting needles clicked as she spoke. “Babies’ sore eyes hits close to home. Not just in my work. My sister’s boy, too.” She looked down and bit her lower lip.

  Jerrylynn Knudsen, a social worker at Smithville State Asylum for the Blind, spoke in a gravelly voice. “When parents bring their child to the asylum, I witness their last good-byes. It never gets any easier. It infuriates me to see so many cases of preventable blindness.” She paused. “If I don’t do something constructive with my anger, I’ll explode. This Committee has a formidable task, but we can and must succeed.”

  Louise led the women’s applause. “Yes, we can and must succeed. Great things happen when women band together in pursuit of a cause. When you look at social movements like child labor reform and—”

  The door opened, and Alice snickered. She looked at Louise. “You were saying?”

  Standing in the open door, Doc looked puzzled, obviously aware he was the source of amusement.

  Louise said, “I’m sorry, Dr. Foster, the library is closed till eleven.”

  He addressed Louise. “This is the meeting of the Nebraska Committee to Save Babies’ Sight?”

  Bristling at his brazen intrusion, Louise said, “It is.”

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Of course,” Madge said. “The more support from the medical community the better.”

  Irina scooted her chair around the corner of the table to make a place at the end. Louise forgot what she planned to say next. She was rattled almost to the point of trembling but sufficiently clear-headed to notice how the mood of the room had shifted. Bonita even stuffed her knitting in her tote bag.

  “You all know Dr. Foster?” Louise asked.

  The man she had tried to put in the farthest corner of her mind now sat directly across from her at the very table they had occupied the day he abandoned her and walked away scot-free.

  “Please, Mrs. Morrissey, don’t let me interrupt what you were saying.”