#jed foster

Mary, super pissed-off, Kate mouthed at Hal. He shrugged, because he’d warned her and because he loved when Mary gave Kate what-for. That wasn’t Kate’s incisive insight, Hal had come out and said it, repeatedly, including in front of Mary, who said that’s the bully in you.

“I’m sorry. You know I’m sorry just like you know I wanted to call,” Kate said.

“I know. I’m still pissed. You got out before it got intense,” Mary said.

“I went into a warzone, Mare,” Kate argued.

“Not with Hastings,” Mary countered.

“I was hoping Sam would let you know,” Kate said. Hal had said there was a chance and if Mary heard from Sam, all they’d be looking at was Mary’s updated version of a care-package, which usually meant the most expensive collection from Zingerman’s and some homemade sour cherry jam. You could take the girl out of Michigan, but you’d pry Mary’s sour cherries out of her cold, dead hands and then you’d have to deal with Jed, who put up with the Michigan shit by buying them a vacation place on Mackinac Island. Kate and Hal had a standing invitation and hadn’t made it there once yet to date.

“That would’ve been nice. Didn’t work out that way,” Mary said.

“How’s Jed doing? And the kids?” Kate said. She’d been hoping to save the family question for later in the conversation but Mary still sounded really upset and she’d always been stubborn as hell.

“He’s fine. Being the department chair is hard but it’s good for him and when he gets too ticked off, he goes for a run or calls Robby. He calls Robby a lot and Robby takes the call like 40% of the time. Daniel’s finally moved on from the Harry Potter stuff thank God and neither of the girls seem like they’ll get into it. They’re all trying to convince me to get another kitten, which they have agreed to name Squivers,” Mary said.

“That’s not a bad name for a kitten,” Kate said.

“Emma said you’d try to change the subject and I should let you, but I don’t think I should, do you?”

“It all happened so fast,” Kate said.

“It was Hal, wasn’t it?” Mary asked, getting to the heart of the matter.

“What?” Kate stalled. It was a terrible stall, one word, no distraction, but maybe she didn’t want to avoid it with Mary. Mary, who other than Hal was the one person who knew about the miscarriages, who sent a card or postcard or text message every year on Arden’s due date, who’d confided in Kate about Jed’s heroin addiction, Mary who always knew right from wrong and suffered over it. 

Mary, who loathed Hastings and still recognized brilliance, still put up with shit because that was what was required. Who understood the value of charm and used it and never fully trusted it. 

“Katherine,” Mary said.

Kate glanced at Hal. Mary wasn’t on speakerphone but he’d figured out where they’d gotten to. Anyone else would see him as totally relaxed, dressed like he was ready for a GQ cover shoot, one arm resting along the back of the couch that faced hers because they were sitting in a room big enough to have two couches and not be crowded and she was used to that now. Anyone else would miss the tension in his dark eyes, too focused on the curve of his lips.

“It was Hal. Mostly. I could’ve stopped him but I didn’t,” Kate said.

“It was Hal and circumstances and you couldn’t have stopped anything once Rayburn was born,” Mary said.

“You mean once he dropped dead,” Kate said.

“Nope. I love you, Kate, but you always underestimate the web, the other players. You’ve gotta watch that now. This isn’t another chess game you’re going to lose to me in three moves,” Mary said.

“Tell her I used the Fried Liver Attack and it worked like she said,” Hal said.

“Of course it did,” Mary replied, somehow hearing Hal, even though he hadn’t spoken that loudly. Jed would mutter mother’s ears and Mary might have argued, would just sort of beam and make Kate regret again that Mary had left government service.

“I sincerely hope you both mean in an actual game of chess,” Kate said.

“I know you do,” Mary replied.

"Have you some sudden objection to alcohol?" Jed was the picture of confusion. "Has my wife turned traitor to the… trolls shouting for temperance?"

"I've no objection whatsoever to liquor of any kind, or to its consumption, as you well know, Jed."

"But you've some objection to this money, or the way that it was got, or you wouldn't be making such a fuss. It's a full laboratory, Mary - and in a hospital that's fully funded and will be so for a long time to come."

"Dublin is …such long way from Boston, Jed."

"That's rather the appeal," Jed said strongly, before he realized what he'd really said. "Ah."

"It's not a complicated reason, Jed. Who will we know there? The children will need friends and playfellows and I will need -" She pulled herself up short and reframed her thoughts. "I have been the stranger in a strange land more years than I care to count, Jedediah, and I can… manage, as I must. But the children do not have the same reserves."

"I'm sure there will be colleagues at the hospital with …wives and families. And I've been given assurances that I may have my choice of assistants, as I desire. Carte blanche."

"You think the brother of the Conservative MP for Dublin City will have little objection to a married woman working in a laboratory?"

"I'm told he's rather open-minded in his views. If it was good enough for Lavoisier.." Jed was fishing, and he knew it. He knelt by Mary's chair and took both of her hands in his own. "I'll write to him. Confirm the terms, as it were. Will that be good enough for you?"

"Tell him your plans exactly - none of your half-mirrored truth. I'd rather he knew what he was agreeing to before we move the whole family half-way across the world only to be told Sir Edward Guinness objects to women who work."

Mary sighed, and opened her eyes again to look around again at the gleaming newness of the place. Well, they were here now, for good or ill. And she would make the most of it.

"Are you finding everything you need?"

Mary looked up from her inspection of the glassware and tried not to look annoyed by the interruption. The visitor was a woman in grayish blue, a smart little confection of a hat perched on her head. One of the hospital auxiliary, no doubt. A doctor's wife would hardly be here in the middle of the day. "Yes, thank you," Mary said, trying to keep the conversation as short as possible, moving a little closer to the notebook and pencil she'd laid out on the center counter. "I have everything well in hand."

"You're Dr. Foster's wife - I had no idea you'd be coming with him today. The staff is all thrilled that he's accepted the research appointment. A real honor for the hospital. Are you here today just to see the place?"

"Rather more than that," Mary said, still trying to curb her annoyance. She had no idea how long Jed's meeting would be and there was still so much to inspect. "I oversee his laboratory and his research - I'm here to make notes for what will be required to bring the space up to operational standards."

"Really?" the woman said with an almost impressed smile, "I'd heard that but didn't quite believe it. Such things aren't usually done in Dublin."

"He has an assurance from Sir Edward himself that it will be allowed," Mary said, thinly. "It was part of their agreement, and is written in the contract so. I was myself a nurse for many years and have always assisted him in his work - both in and out of theatre."

The young woman looked impressed. "You have a very rare marriage, Mrs. Foster."

Why is that any business of yours? Mary thought to herself. "I pity anyone who has otherwise."

But she did not have time for anything more - Jed had appeared in the doorway, accompanied by a younger man with dark hair and a rather severely cut suit coat. "Ah, Mary, my darling. Just the woman. Sir Edward, my wife, Mrs. Foster. Mary, this is Sir Edward Guinness, our new employer and benefactor."

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Sir Edward," Mary said, stretching her hand out to shake the businessman's hand, focusing her attention on the man in front of her rather than her random interloper. If she was a member of the auxiliary, doubtless she was already known to the hospital's founder and chief benefactor.

"And you, Mrs. Foster. A day long in coming. I trust the space is to your liking? I was told you have the word of final approval, since it is to be your home away from home, so to speak."

Mary looked around at the tall windows, the cabinets and the slate counters. "There are some minor alterations to be made but on the whole it is quite satisfying, Sir Edward, yes. I see that you've spared no expense."

"I confess it was a rather novel request," Sir Edward said with a hint of smile. "Most of our researcher's wives ask for their pick of houses and wall papers, rather than beakers and gas fittings."

"You will find that Mary is not like most wives, Sir Edward," Jed said with a little-hidden smile.

"I must confess, Sir Edward, I am curious as to why you agreed to the arrangement," Mary said, watching him closely. "Most men of your standing would say they've staked enough on a research program without allowing any ..unorthodox staffing along with it."

This time it was Sir Edward's turn to smile - something she got the impression he did not do very often at all, his pleasure only hinted at by the slight upturn of his lips. "Well, I'm afraid you'll have to thank my wife for that, Mrs. Foster. She wouldn't let me say no."

"Then I will certainly thank her when I see her," Mary assured him.

More of the smile. "I'm afraid you already have." Sir Edward dipped his head towards the door and Mary, turning, realized that the woman from earlier was still there. "Mrs. Foster, Lady Adelaide Guinness. My wife."

Mary felt her face fall. "Lady Adelaide."

"Mrs. Foster was rather engaged when I came in," Adelaide said with a smile, taking Mary's half-hearted hand with a surprising warmth. "I confess introductions may have been missed."

"I don't mind saying that Dodo was most anxious to meet you, Mrs. Foster." Sir Edward revealed, smiling at his wife with a mixture of appreciation and fondness that Mary had often seen on Jed's face. "She has a keen interest in the sciences - as well as their social applications. And I think she is selfishly hopeful that you will not be too busy here and she may persuade you into some of her own projects."

"And here were you thinking you wouldn't have a friend in the world," Jed said quietly, with a nudge to her ribs.

Mary looked at Adelaide, eyes twinkling and smile evident, and let herself relax a little out of her surprise. "Lady Adelaide, does your husband tease you incessantly when he's been proven right?"

Adelaide's smile was wide and knowing. "Tragically, he does."

Mary looked at Jed, practically silently crowing with delight, and saw at once a kindred spirit and fellow sufferer. "I think we're going to get along just fine."

He shouldn’t have humored Jed.  

He should have just read Luke, maybe some John to appease Jed’s literary sensibilities.  But Henry had started with Matthew, the very beginning of the New Testament, hoping to guide the Mansion House patients and staff into a contemplative observance of Christ their Savior, born this day.  About thirty seconds in, Dr. Foster had complained about the long list of names and insisted on reading excerpts from Dickens’s popular tale A Christmas Carol and so now Henry was awakening from a nightmare, the ghost of his past bothering him as he remembered the sins of his youth, envious of Jed’s ability to slumber peacefully a few feet away. 

Henry sat up in his bed, his hands curled into fists, remembering how it felt to hit with such anger and how it had felt, later still, to know that the boy had died, confused and cold, still not recovered from the beating.  He tried to focus on the promise of forgiveness, the familiar way his hands clasped together in prayer instead of into fists, the way the nightmare was just that  - a memory and not a prophecy. “As far as the east is from the west,” he whispered, his lips barely forming the words he knew so well in his heart, “so far he has removed our transgressions from us.” 

He eventually slept again, but was interrupted by another ghost who could rival those of Ebeneezer Scrooge, this one the Confederate shooting at Emma. Henry woke and thought the sweat on his brow was from the river; thought himself back there, drowning a man so he and Emma wouldn’t die. He gasped and threw the covers off as if they were holding him down in cold water and then paced the length of this room. 

It was harder to pray about this ghost.  Sins of the past have time to settle, the sharp pain has had time to dull, the consequences have been meted out and lived with. The mind has had a chance to believe that forgiveness is real, is given, has been received.  Or so Henry told those he counseled. As Emma pointed out to him angrily in the chapel, he hadn’t been acting like he believed it.

Jed stirred but did not wake so Henry risked lighting a candle, deciding to read instead of sleep. 

And then the last of his ghosts visited.  

That’s what she must be.

Emma, in his doorway, startling a bit to see him but smiling nonetheless. All in white from her long nightdress and shawl to the satin boots on her feet, with her long hair floating around her shoulders. A future that he wanted - one where he could see her like this every night - but one that felt as impossible as Jed waking before the sun. 

“You caught me in the act, Henry.  I was leaving Christmas oranges for you and Dr. Foster. Belinda managed to find some and we wanted to surprise you.” Her hands had been hidden in the folds of her nightdress and shawl but she lifted them now, revealing the bright orange fruit. “Merry Christmas.”

He put his hands out and she placed the oranges in them. 

At the touch of her hand, he knew she must be real. 

“Thank you, Emma.” She smiled and as she turned and walked back down the hallway, he thought she might be a future he could have after all.  If he could come up with the words to ask for it.  If he could forgive himself and believe her forgiveness.

She had hoped it might be so, from the lively conversation of the night before, the cozy evening spent with tea, cigar and pleasant company without a medical emergency or undesired intruder to disturb them, and was glad his good humor had not dissipated since.

Thus emboldened, she entered the room, closed the door and took the chair opposite him.

“Oh, a private entretien?” he asked, leaning forward eagerly over the desk. "Whom are we gossiping about?”

“No one,” she scoffed, then reconsidered. “Or rather, me.”

“Hmmmm… irregular, but intriguing. Go on.”

She took a moment to order her thoughts, wondering which best way to broach the delicate subject, and finding none. She settled instead for the familiar beats of polite conversation.

“Dr. Foster, you come from Maryland, don’t you?" she asked, her forced bright tone unconvincing to her ears. "From an old, slave-holding family?”

He frowned. “Yes, my family has owned Foster Plantation for four generations. And dozens of slaves along the years to work it. Not a particular proud point, as far as I’m concerned, but one rather necessary in our Southern ways.”

“Speaking of which,” she pursued, “why did you find yourself employed by the Union army? Why not be a surgeon with the Confederates, if that is where your family loyalties lie?”

The frown deepened. “My loyalties lie with my patients, be they from the Union or Confederacy. I only care of their welfare and relative comfort, which is not something that can be said for all doctors on staff here. I believe you know this quite well, and I fail to see how it pertains to yourself, Miss Green.”

At the increased crossness of his tone, Emma slumped somewhat in her seat, biting the inside of her cheek. Noticing her distress, he softened his approach. “Please, just speak plainly. If I can help, I will. What is troubling you?”

She raised her eyes to meet his, and could not find an ounce of judgement in them, only inquisitive kindness. She took a deep breath.

“Doctor,” she finally spoke slowly, almost wincing with every word. “What do you do, when everything you have always believed may not be true, nor even right?”

“Phew….” Jed exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “Quite the rhetorical topic, and I am but a simple man of science. Wouldn’t questions of morality better be addressed to, say… Chaplain Hopkins?”

“I do not want to ask him,” she muttered, remembering Henry’s fury at Tom’s death, his gentle touch at her father’s imprisonment, his so uncharacteristic demeanor the night before, in turns gallant, playful and self-dismissive, as he escorted her home, skipping across the flooded streets. Their joined hands, their final almost embrace, cut short by the rain. Her own almost admission, cut short by Belinda’s timely interruption. All conflicting situations, confusing feelings she did not wish to revisit right now.

Foster caught her embarrassment, and managed to keep his grin hidden. “No, I suppose you do not,” he agreed as seriously as he could, making an enthusiastic mental note of seeking out Mary Phinney as soon as the chance presented itself to share this new development. “Besides, what answer would a kindly Yankee preacher have that you haven’t already thought of yourself? Prayer? More prayer? Ha, great deal of good, that does. No, it is Judas’ opinion you seek. The other Southern traitor in your colorful entourage.”

“I’m no traitor!” she gasped. “I haven’t done anything to betray the Cause!”

“Maybe not yet, but to doubt is the very first step. No army wants its soldiers doubting the orders they are given. Anything short of blind obedience is mutiny. Outright rebellion.”

Her brow furrowed at this, the implications dawning on her bitterly. “What made you doubt, then?”

He shrugged. “I have always believed in the strength of the Union, of its greater possibility for progress and innovation. I’ve seen the formidable strides made forward in Europe with industrialization, modern medicine and improved hygiene. There is no such thing in the South. The Confederates would have slaves planting tobacco and cotton while they reaped the profits and lazily sipped on mint juleps until the end of days.”

“So your reasons are… purely economic?” she wondered.

“Economic, intellectual, political; humanist, even, in a way. One side fights to keep living in its past of privilege for a lucky few, and the other to ensure a brighter future for most through progress and prosperity. My choice was easy to make.”

“Even if it meant crossing your family?”

At this, Jed sighed, the memory of his last family reunion and the morphine-induced torture that followed it still cruelly felt. “Children rarely follow the course desired by their parents. You would not be the first, nor the last, pariah out of the South. It may prove quite difficult, as doing what is right typically is, but you may very well find yourself a new family along the way; one that will welcome you with all your rebellious ideas, and not despite them.”

To rebel against the Rebels. The irony of it was frightening, but perhaps not as much as it might have been a few months past. She thought of her parents, so steadfast in their desire to protect her innocence. Of her siblings, doing their best to support the Confederacy despite their limitations. Of Frank, of his alterego and undercover work, undertaking some secret mission right across the street from Mansion House. She thought of them, and could not face walking away from them, despite her growing doubts as to the righteousness of their Cause.  “I have not reached that point yet.”

“Maybe not, but -and I’m sure I speak for many others here-, please know that my door will still be wide open if ever you do.”

There was no mischief in his voice then, only friendly concern. She did not know what to respond to such an unexpectedly sympathetic overture, and all she could muster were mumbled gratitudes.

“Do not make too much of it,” he dismissed it. “After all, it would be foolish of us to turn you away now that you’re finally becoming an adequate nurse. And you challenge Nurse Phinney to keep a fairer disposition towards all our patients, which is how I prefer our Head Nurse.”

I could think of a few other dispositions you’d prefer her in, Emma thought wryly, but held her tongue and only smiled instead. She stood and smoothed her skirts. “Thank you again for your time and counsel, Dr. Foster. You've given me much to think about. I shall let you get back to your work.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically at the pile of forms before him. “I’d much rather you didn’t, but the men need your entertaining conversation more than I do.”

“I’m sure Nurse Hastings will be by shortly with a long list of recriminations,” she quipped slyly.

He groaned at this. “Then do be sure to call for my most urgent, non-negotiable help within a minute of her entry. God, that woman can be worse than paperwork.”