The Bone Garden: A Novel

The carriage wheels clattered onto the West Boston Bridge, and Norris knew that their journey was almost finished. Once over the bridge, it would be a short ride up Cambridge Street, then north toward the city jail. The West End Reaper, captured at last. Pratt's associate wore a smile of triumph, his teeth gleaming white in the darkness.

— Whoa! Whoa, there, — their driver said, and the carriage came to a sudden stop.

— What's this now? — said Pratt, glancing out the window. They were still on the bridge. He called up to the driver, — Why have we stopped? —

— Got an obstruction here, Mr. Pratt. —

Pratt threw open the door and climbed out. — Blast it all! Can't they get that horse out of the way? —

— They're trying, sir. But that nag's not getting up again. —

— Then they should drag it off to the knacker. The beast is blocking the way for everyone. —

Through the carriage window, Norris could see the bridge railing. Below flowed the Charles River. He thought of cold black water. There are worse graves, he thought.

— If this takes much longer, we should go 'round to the Canal Bridge. —

— Look, there's the wagon now. They'll have the nag off in a minute. —

Now. I will have no other chance.

Pratt was opening the carriage door to climb back in. As it swung open, Norris threw himself against it and tumbled out.

Knocked backward by the door, Pratt sprawled to the ground. He had no time to react; nor did his compatriot, who was now scrambling out of the carriage.

Norris caught a glimpse of his surroundings: the dead horse, lying where it had collapsed in front of its overloaded wagon. The line of carriages, backed up behind it on the bridge. And the Charles River, its moonlit surface hiding the turbid water beneath. He did not hesitate. This is all that's left to me, he thought, as he scrambled over the railing. Either I seize this chance or I give up any hope of life. Here's to you, Rose!

— Catch him! Don't let him jump! —

Norris was already falling. Through darkness, through time, toward a future as unknown to him as the waters toward which he plummeted. He knew only that the real struggle was about to begin, and in the instant before he hit the water, he braced himself like a warrior for battle.

The plunge into the cold river was a cruel slap of welcome to a new life. He sank over his head, into a blackness so thick he could not tell up from down, and he thrashed, disoriented. Then he caught the glimmer of moonlight above and struggled toward it, until his head broke the surface. As he took in a gasp of air, he heard voices shouting above.

— Where is he? Do you see him? —

— Call out the Watch! I want the riverbank searched! —

— Both sides? —

— Yes, you idiot! Both sides! —

Norris dove back into icy darkness and let the current carry him. He knew he could not fight his way upstream, so he yielded to the river and let it abet his escape. It bore him past Lechmere Point, past the West End, bringing him ever eastward, toward the harbor.

Toward the docks.

Twenty-nine

The present

JULIA STOOD at the ocean's edge and stared out to sea. The fog had finally dissipated, and she could see islands offshore and a lobster boat, cutting across water so calm it might be tarnished silver. She did not hear Tom's footsteps behind her, yet somehow she knew he was there, and could sense his approach long before he spoke.

— I'm all packed, — he said. — I'll be catching the four thirty ferry. I'm sorry to have to leave you with him, but he seems to be stable. At least he hasn't had any arrhythmias in the past three days. —

— We'll be fine, Tom, — she said, her gaze still on the lobster boat.

— It's a lot to ask of you. —

— I don't mind, really. I'd planned to spend the whole week anyway, and it's so beautiful here. Now that I can finally see the water. —

— It is a nice spot, isn't it? — He came to stand beside her. — Too bad it's all going to slide into the sea one of these days. That house is on borrowed time. —

— Can't you save it? —

— You can't fight the ocean. Some things are inevitable. —

They were silent for a moment, watching as the boat growled to a stop and the lobsterman pulled up his traps.

— You've been awfully quiet all afternoon, — he said.

— I can't stop thinking about Rose Connolly. —

— What about her? —

— How strong she must've been, just to survive. —

— When people need to, they usually find the strength. —

— I never did. Even when I needed it most. —

They walked along the ocean's edge, keeping away from the crumbling cliff.

— You're talking about your divorce? —

— When Richard asked me for it, I just assumed it was my fault that I couldn't keep him happy. That's what happens when day after day you're made to feel your job's not as important as his. That you're not as brilliant as his colleagues' wives. —

— How many years did you put up with that? —

— Seven. —

— Why didn't you leave? —

— Because I started to believe it. — She shook her head. — Rose wouldn't have put up with it. —

— That's a good mantra for you from now on. What would Rose do? —

— I've come to the conclusion that I'm no Rose Connolly. —

They watched as the lobsterman tossed his trap back in the water.

— I have to leave for Hong Kong on Thursday, — said Tom. — I'll be there for a month. —

— Oh. — She fell silent. So it would be a whole month before she saw him again.

— I love my work, but it means I'm not home half the time. Instead, I'm chasing epidemics, tending to other lives while forgetting I have one of my own. —

— But you have so much to contribute. —

— I'm forty-two and my housemate spends half the year at the dogsitter's. — He stared at the water. — Anyway, I'm thinking of canceling this trip. —

She felt her pulse suddenly quicken. — Why? —

— Partly because of Henry. He's eighty-nine, after all, and he won't be around forever. —

Of course, she thought. It's all about Henry. — If he has problems, he can call me. —

— That's a lot of responsibility. I wouldn't wish him on anyone. —

— I've grown rather attached to him. He's a friend now, and I don't abandon my friends. — She looked up as a seagull soared past. — It's strange how something like a bunch of old bones can bring two people together. People who have absolutely nothing in common. —

— Well, he certainly likes you. He told me that if he was just ten years younger… —

She laughed. — When he first met me, I think he could barely tolerate me. —

— Henry can barely tolerate anyone, but he ended up liking you. —

— It's because of Rose. She's the one thing we have in common. We're both obsessed with her. — She watched as the lobster boat motored away, leaving a white line etched on the bay's metallic gray surface. — I'm even having dreams about her. —

— What sort of dreams? —

— It's as if I'm there, seeing what she saw. The carriages, the streets, the dresses. It's because I've spent way too much time reading all those letters. She's seeping into my subconscious. I can almost believe I was there, it's all starting to seem so…familiar. —