An Honest Love: Four Historical Romance Novellas

By Doreen Milstead

Forging A Family – The Fat Man & The Thin Woman - A woman stricken with TB, or consumption, decides the only way to have a chance of getting better is to move to a state with a dry climate, and then marry a man PLUS Jacob’s Dreams of Paradise – Jacob knew he was dying but wanted a family and son more than anything else in the world. When a new woman joined their community he knew immediately that she was the one. His only problem was in telling her that he would soon be in the Lord’s service, and how she would react when he told her PLUS Jousting In The New Mexican Desert - A woman’s father sends her off via a matchmaker to a man with a castle in New Mexico. Diego takes reenactments and old Spanish artifacts to the extreme PLUS Like Night and Day - A former prostitute from London decides to pass herself off as an upper class woman on the voyage to America, and then in her new life in New York.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387261734

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An Honest Love: Four Historical Romance Novellas

An Honest Love: Four Historical Romance Novellas

By

Doreen Milstead

Copyright 2017 Susan Hart

Forging A Family – The Fat Man & The Thin Woman

Synopsis: Forging A Family – The Fat Man & The Thin Woman - A woman stricken with TB, or consumption, decides the only way to have a chance of getting better is to move to a state with a dry climate, and then marry a man. She knows he is very overweight, but does not tell him when they correspond that she is sick with a possibly contagious disease. He, on the other hand, does tell her that he has challenges; namely cutting out his drinking and gambling and losing at least a hundred pounds if he wants a family, and that he needs a woman who can help him achieve his goals.

As she sat in the waiting room for her chance to see Doctor Flick, Amanda Giddings could not help but draw the attention of other patients with a deep-throated cough. She had experienced the cough for more than three weeks, and it had taken its toll on her. She was exhausted, had chills, and was weak. Her mother, Elsa, adjusted the blanket around her daughter, as Amanda commenced shivering. Dr. Flick will be with you as soon as he can, she assured her daughter.

Amanda was crying. I have the consumption! she declared. I’m going to die!

What does a mother say to her ill child when everything they knew about consumption—now called tuberculosis—was that it was a certain death was in the offing?

Not a lot was known about the disease, except that it seemed to hit people of all ages, and was a worldwide epidemic. One of the symptoms of the disease is that the patients had little in the way of appetite, and because of that, they often experienced significant weight loss.

Amanda threw off the blanket. One minute I am very cold—the next I am very hot. And…. Her speech was interrupted by the incessant cough—that deep from the gut cough that seems to take over her whole being. This time, she darted her hand into a pocket and withdrew the now soaked handkerchief, with which she attempted to stifle the sputum coming from her stomach.

There was no question but what the malady was consumption. Several of their acquaintances had suffered the same symptoms. Some had been hospitalized there in Philadelphia, while a few of those she knew to be wealthier had been separated into one of the available sanatoria higher in the Pennsylvania mountains. These were cases, Amanda had been told, where the disease had reached the point of contagion, where simply exposing it to friends and family would add those members to the epidemic.

However, Amanda had one thing going in her favor. The doctor for whom she was now waiting was one of the preeminent medical men in the city and one whose specialty was in the treatment of tuberculosis.

The Giddings family of Philadelphia was poor by anybody’s standards. Father Barry Giddings had been killed in the summer of 1894 in an accident on the waterfront, when a crane cable snapped while offloading cargo. The cargo had fallen and crushed the father of three. Mother Elsa, left with the care of their three children—Amanda, 18; Jeremy, 14; and Andrea, 10, had managed to scrape together barely enough to survive, helped by the generosity of the little Methodist congregation of which they were members.

To the best of her ability, Amanda had helped. She was, she told them, of marriageable age, and while she was not yet at the majority age of 21, she could certainly work to help the family. She had taken employment with a middle-class Philadelphia department store and wholesale clothing manufacturer named Snellenburg’s. The company sold directly from the workroom to the wearer, and employed some 3,000 people. Within a year of going to work there, Amanda had come down with the consumption, as it was called.

The disease had taken over Amanda’s body gradually. Initially, she fatigued very easily. She would come home from work, have something to eat, and go straight to bed. While attempting to sleep, she was aware that she alternated between chills and a fever. Her cough was deep and loud, and as she coughed, her whole body shook. Occasionally she would awaken soaking-wet. When she began to avoid food and drop weight precipitously, however, Elsa decided it was time for her oldest daughter to see a doctor.

The only doctor they knew—and they could barely afford him—was Hiram Baxter. Doctor Baxter listened to her chest and her back via his stethoscope. I’m afraid I have bad news, he had told Elsa and Amanda. I think Amanda has ‘the consumption.’ They call it tuberculosis now.

No! shouted Elsa. It can’t be!

Amanda was a little calmer. How does one catch tuberculosis, Doctor? Bad food? Poison somewhere?

We don’t really know, Amanda. It’s a respiratory disease and the only way we know to catch it is directly from somebody else. You catch it when people with TB cough, sneeze, spit, laugh, or talk. Chances are that you caught it from someone where you work.

I don’t know anybody who is this sick, said Amanda.

It is possible to have tuberculosis—it’s abbreviated ‘TB’—and not appear sick. It attacks the body’s immune system, and it behaves differently with different people. That is called the ‘latent’ form of the disease. The ‘active’ form of the disease is the one to worry about. I don’t have the power to quarantine you, young lady, but I would heartily recommend that you stay home until you’re no longer barking and spitting up. You wouldn’t want to pass it on to someone else.

Is there no hope, Doctor? asked Elsa.

There is always hope. Unfortunately, there is no medicine to treat it. It has been treated by moving to higher, dryer climates, and with isolation—with the hope that the immune system will heal itself. Right here in Philadelphia we have a specialist in the disease. He is Doctor Lawrence Francis Flick. Doctor Flick has had some good experience with TB in Europe and he is the founder of a couple of sanitaria in Pennsylvania and New Jersey. I will give you a recommendation to him.

As is often the case with a renowned specialist, there was no time available on Doctor Flick’s calendar for six months. During that time, Amanda went to work when she felt well and stayed home when she felt sick. Her loss of appetite plagued her and she lost a considerable amount of weight. When she finally did get an appointment, she was at 105 pounds, down nearly 30 pounds from when she was first stricken.

She decided to learn what she could about the disease, and became aware that the Free Library of Philadelphia had been opened in February of 1895 in the old concert hall on Chestnut Street. Among the things that she had learned were that the disease had been with mankind for centuries; it was nothing new. She read about the advances that had been made in Switzerland, and about how the disease was being treated in the United States.

She read that from 1838 to 1845, Dr. John Croghan had brought a number of people with TB into Mammoth Cave, thinking that constant temperature and pure air would cure the disease. According to what she read, that was not successful.

She read that the first TB sanatorium had been opened in 1859 in Görbersdorf, Germany, in the Silesian Mountains. There, Doctor Hermann Brehmer had found that high altitude, fresh air, and careful attention to patient needs had prolonged the lives of his TB patients.

As she read, she learned about the research that had been done by a Doctor Robert Koch, who had investigated how the disease might be transmitted from cows to humans by raw milk. While he personally felt that cow tuberculosis and human tuberculosis were different, he was able to discover the tuberculosis bacillus.

She also read that Dr. Flick—the very same doctor she was now scheduled to see—was on the forefront of TB research. The disease might get her, she knew, but this doctor held the best available key for escaping the grim reaper.

The doctor will see you now. The nurse who carried the message was a kindly appearing soul, with her white uniform and her starched nurse’s hat. Hanging from her neck was a facemask, which she now proceeded to use to cover her nose. She led Amanda and her mother into the inner reaches of the doctor’s office. The doctor will be with you shortly, she pronounced, as she closed the door behind her.

A couple of minutes later, Doctor Flick entered the room and greeted his patient and her mother. He, too, was wearing a facemask. Do not be concerned about the mask, he assured Amanda. "In cases such as these, the germs are communicated through the air. We can’t take chances. In fact, I would recommend that you, and everybody in your household, obtain such masks.

Now, he said, Doctor Baxter seems to think you have TB—what used to be called ‘consumption.’ Let’s take a look.

As Doctor Baxter had done, Doctor Flick now did with his stethoscope. Please cover your mouth and cough, he directed. He repeated his directive as he listened to her lungs. Do you tire easily? he asked.

Yes. I come home, eat something, and go right to bed, said Amanda.

Have you had chills or fever?

I’ve had them both—and night sweats, as well.

Any chest pain?

Oh, my, yes, said Amanda.

This has gone on how long? the doctor asked.

Elsa said, More than six months.

Doctor Flick was a man acquainted with reality. I assume that you came to me because you want the truth.

Yes, Doctor, said Amanda.

I can tell you with some certainty that if you do nothing, the disease will get you. Eventually you will lose so much weight, it’ll kill you. I’m sorry to break it to you this way, but there is no alternative. There is no medicine to treat this. Someday it may be available, but not now. I can’t promise you that even by following my advice you can beat it, but let me tell you what is being done. This disease is worldwide. In Europe, they have opened a series of sanatoria where patients can be isolated, fed properly, and watched closely. Often there are existing medicines that will ameliorate some of the symptoms. We’ve recently opened a couple of those sanatoria, one in Pennsylvania, one in New Jersey. However, I have to tell you that it’s a short-term solution at best. There is no cure—we can only hope to control it and to sustain life as long as possible.

What can we do? asked Elsa.

I can see if I can get you into one of the sanitaria, but I must tell you, it’s frightfully expensive.

Is there another alternative, Doctor? asked Amanda.

Yes, your chances of survival improve if you can get to a high or dry climate—well up in the mountains, such as Colorado, or somewhere in the desert. There are reports that people going there do very well.

And what are those chances? asked Amanda.

In Europe, TB patients are institutionalized. The poor go to sanatoria that are nothing more than prisons. I’m ashamed to say that the survival rate there is very small. The better off, who are able to pay for first class care, go to specialized sanatoria. The literature indicates that of those, about fifty percent survive.

We’ll consider it, Doctor, said Elsa. Thank you for your time.

Fenton Forrester was a little under the weather—at least he looked that way, all sprawled out on the floor of the Hitching Post Saloon. The saloon and pool hall were popular places in the little farming community of Peoria, Maricopa County, Territory of Arizona. It was 1897, and Forrester, employed by the Sahuaro Ranch in nearby Glendale, often spent his time—and his wages—either in Phoenix or here in Peoria. Tonight was no exception, as he had drawn his wages from the ranch and was intent on becoming drunk and either doubling his money or losing it all.

Forrester was a giant of a man—taller than six feet, carrying considerably more than three hundred pounds. He was a man with an insatiable appetite, which accounted for his outsized clothes and sloppy girth. For the most part, he was a gentle giant, at least until he had managed to get a head on, after which he was a sloppy drunk, prone to argument and combative.

And when he was drunk, he was an easy target for the other men who taunted him about his tremendous size and who laughed uproariously as the large man stumbled and swung his fists wildly, attempting to even the score. The dividing line between joviality and outright anger was quickly found, and more than once, the sandy-haired thirty-year-old would lash out at his tormenters.

It took two, and often three, other men to get the best of Forrester, and when the establishment felt that it had gained most of his money, the big man often found himself in the middle of Grand Avenue, out front of the saloon. It would take several men to load Forrester into a buckboard and take him back to Glendale to pour him into bed to sleep it off. It was something that happened every Saturday night.

Glendale was a farming community, as well, but had been developed as a settlement of the Brethren Church of Illinois. Its founder, William John Murphy, had declared the name of the settlement to be The Temperance Colony of Glendale, Arizona Territory, where the sale of intoxicants is forever forbidden in the conveyance of the land, land will be granted for school houses or churches but no saloons or gambling houses, and where there will be no drunken brawls, no jails, and no paupers. Despite the lack of a jail, the settlement did have a territorial sheriff.

You need yourself a woman! said Dusty Rhodes, a companion who worked with Forrester at the Sahuaro Ranch.

"Yeah! Just