room you installed downstairs,” Bedelia said. “It’s spacious and very nice not to have to run upstairs when in need.”
“I agree, especially since my room is downstairs.” Faith smiled at Nancy and motioned as if she were ringing a bell. “Don’t forget, we’re here for you.”
By the middle of February, Portland had been cleaned up enough that most businesses could operate. There was still plenty to do, but life had to move forward. Word trickled in and then came like a flood that all up and down the coast, the effects of the storm had been severe. As far north as Seattle they had received several feet of snow on top of a record twenty-four inches that had been dumped on them the week before. It was unusual for Seattle to have that amount of snow, and it brought transportation to a halt and shut down the city, leaving many people without proper heat or food. To the south, the storm had brought Salem and Eugene several inches of snow and strong winds, while in Coos Bay the winds had driven a schooner ashore. But it was the damage to trees that seemed most readily noted throughout Oregon. It was rumored that for every ten feet of distance, one tree had fallen. Thousands of trees had been destroyed in the storm along the coast and as far inland as The Dalles. Beaverton alone claimed six hundred trees had fallen across the train tracks, rendering the railroad inoperable.
Nancy’s brother Gabe had come to town purportedly to oversee their sawmill interests but perhaps even more to check on the well-being of his sister and fiancée. Meanwhile, the newspaper noted that hundreds of workers had been brought in from California in order to continue the cleanup. Gabe hoped to employ a good number of them for the sawmill. What was clearly an ordeal for the city looked to be a boon for the logging industry.
There had also been a small article in the paper that Faith noticed and brought to Seth’s attention.
“It says the army captured several crates of rifles that appeared to be bound for Grand Ronde reservation. What do you know about that?”
Seth shrugged. “Someone tipped off the army as to where they could find the rifles. I talked to Major Wells from Fort Vancouver. He said it was much too orderly to suit him. It almost seemed like the entire thing had been staged, which raises the question—why?”
Faith frowned. Why indeed? From what little she knew about Berkshire and Lakewood, neither man struck her as the kind who would allow something like that to happen by chance, and if it were staged, what were they hoping to gain? Faith gathered her breakfast dishes and headed for the kitchen with that question on her mind.
“Will you be going to classes today?” Bedelia asked.
Classes at the college had been cancelled until all provision could be made to ensure safety. Faith had been glad for the extra time to work on her thesis and rest. It was apparent to her that her head wound was much worse than she’d allowed herself to believe at first. Little by little, the dizziness and pain left, and she found herself able to study again without having to stop due to her injury.
“Yes. We have a couple of lectures regarding the mortality rates of women and infants during and after childbirth. It’s quite fascinating. A doctor named Louis Pasteur believes he has narrowed the cause down to tiny microorganisms that you can’t see without the aid of a microscope. Years ago, another doctor realized that by washing in chlorinated lime solution between patients, the mortality rate dropped significantly. The two theories are likely connected.”
“Any fool knows that cleanliness is vital.” Bedelia’s expression showed disgust. She turned away and began to fill the sink with hot water.
Faith knew from Nancy that the elder Clifton was critical of modern thinking, and figured she probably didn’t approve of Faith’s interest in medicine. Yet she was a stickler for sanitation. Faith had hoped her comments might resonate with the old woman’s penchant for cleaning and open her mind to think more favorably of women in medicine. That didn’t appear to be the case.
Faith gathered her books and papers and put what she could into her large satchel. There were so many times she wished she could just pull a small wagon around from one class to the other.
“Are you heading off to school?” Mrs. Weaver asked.