Fever 1793 Read Free Page A

officer his whole life, and was happiest when serving under General Washington. He tried to instill some military training in me, but always sweetened it with candy.
    I held the tray over my head as I squeezed past the crowded tables. Grandfather sat with two government officials, a lawyer, and Mr. Carris, who owned an export business. I set the tray in front of Grandfather, and he patted my hand.
    "Look here, gentlemen, sweets offered by the sweetest filly in the Commonwealth. What will you have?"
    "Can that be little Mattie?" elderly Mr. Carris asked as he squinted through his bifocals. "Why, she's grown into a fine young lady. Much too fine for this type of work. We'll have to find a husband for you."
    "A husband! A husband!" King George squawked.
    My face flushed as the men laughed.
    "Hush, you old thing," I muttered to the bird. It would have been rude to hush Mr. Carris. "I'll feed you to Silas if you don't close that beak."
    Grandfather gave the pest a piece of gingerbread, and Mr. Carris went back to his original subject.
    "It's that heap of rotting coffee beans on Ball's Wharf, I tell you," Mr. Carris said to the other men. "It's the source of a deadly miasma, a foul stench, indeed.
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    There are noxious fumes all around the district. Mark my words, it will be a killer yet."
    Is that what killed Polly? A miasma? I could feel the tears stinging my eyes, but I couldn't escape, not with Grandfather holding my hand. I wanted to tell him what happened; he'd understand. But not in front of all these people.
    The lawyer shook his head in disagreement.
    "It creates an awful stench, yes, but no one dies from a bad smell. If they did, every farmer spreading manure would be long dead and us city-dwellers all hungry!"
    Grandfather roared with laughter and slapped his knee.
    "Hungry," echoed King George.
    "Hold there, Marks, hold there, I say," interjected the government clerk. His left eye blinked with a nervous twitch. "I've heard stories of a fever among the Santo Domingan refugees. They live close to Ball's Wharf, you know."
    A doctor at the next table looked up from his backgammon board and interrupted the conversation.
    "It is not just the refugees," the doctor said. "This morning I spoke with a colleague who was called to the Shewall home. Mary Shewall died soon after of a bilious fever, and one could hardly fault her character. There may well be a disease in the air again. Yellow fever."
    The room grew quiet as the entire company listened in.
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    "A woman dies of some illness and you talk of yellow fever?" the lawyer asked. "We haven't seen yellow fever in Philadelphia for thirty years."
    "It is too early to tell," the doctor agreed. "But I know of some who are sending their wives and children up to the country, to healthful air and cool breezes."
    "You doctors are all alike, scaring us to earn more business. My family will stay right where they are, thank you," the lawyer replied.
    "All the same, a trip to the country sounds refreshing," Mr. Carris said.
    Grandfather thumped his boot on the floor.
    "Balderdash! Bad coffee is a nuisance, but it won't kill anyone. Some poor soul dies of a fever every August. That's why my boy had the good sense to open this fine establishment so far away from the river, away from the smells, filth, and disease. Enough fever talk. Mattie girl, bring us more tea. And who will tell me why Mr. Jefferson wants to quit his job? Isn't being secretary of state good enough for him? Or does he want something more?"
    The men all shouted. They loved to argue about Mr. Jefferson.
    I fetched a fresh pot of coffee from the kitchen. Eliza and Mother didn't say a word to me; there was too much work to do. I poured coffee and tea, served oyster loaf and Indian pudding, carried the dirty dishes back to Eliza, and tried to keep the floor swept clean. I didn't
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    have time to worry about fevers or husbands or rude parrots.
    Eventually the hour struck and the customers donned their hats and said their