In February 1878, seven of my great great grandfather’s children from his two wives died of diphtheria. I found this tragedy covered in the Deseret news and more interestingly a follow up letter by the quarantine physician Dr. Seymour Young who presented a different take on this horrible event. Why would they not have sought medical help? This is one of the poignant episodes of my novel Resolution.

 

Article from the Deseret News:

 

“Three more children of Brother George B. Bailey have died of that dreadful malady, diphtheria, in three successive days, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. These make seven in the same family within the short space of one month that have succumbed to the fearful disease, the demise of five of them having occurred within one week.” 

 

“Everything that could be thought of to arrest the progress of the disease was done for the suffering little ones, but all of no avail.”

 

Responding to the above announcement, the Quarantine Physician, S. B. Young, M. D., made the following statement that was printed in the Deseret News on March 9th.

 

“There are many able medical men in Salt Lake that Mr. Bailey could undoubtedly have called to his aid if he had so desired. When I learned that he had not done so and he had no professional help through all the terrible scourge to which his family had been subjected, then from feelings of humanity, I called at his home and inquired what course of treatment they had pursued for hose that had died, and what was done for the safety of the living.

 

“I left the family what medicine I had carried with me and instructions to procure more, and to disinfect their house and family and suggested precautionary measures to be adopted by the neighbors who were compelled to visit at the house as nurses and helps, etc.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Excerpt from Resolution:

 

“Excuse me. Sister Brown?” He held his black hat in his gloved hands and wore a thick black wool coat. His beardless face seemed too young for the streaks of gray in his hair. Anna’s eyebrows lifted in surprise that he called her by her name. But then, there were two Sister Browns, she remembered.  

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“I am Anna Brown,” she murmured. “Eliza is my sister wife. Perhaps you wish to speak with her?” Anna had slightly turned her body toward the parlor, allowing a few inches for the man to peer into the dark interior. He cleared his throat, placing a gloved hand to his lips.    

“I do not want to be an imposition on you at this difficult time. My name is Seymour Young. I’m the Quarantine Physician for the city.” Anna’s face changed. She looked away from the doctor and kept her eyes on the tips of his shiny boots that had somehow escaped the mud and snow as he had crossed to their door.  

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“It’s too late,” she mumbled. The young doctor inhaled quickly.  

“Sister Brown, I am so sorry about this terrible tragedy. I learned about it just a few days ago, and I felt compelled to visit Brother Brown, and Sister Brown, and you. May I please come in?” Anna again looked at the doctor who seemed too young to be a doctor, uncertain about what to do. But at that moment, Eliza’s voice cut through her indecision.  

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“Who is it, Anna?”

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“A Dr. Young, Eliza. The ... the what?” Anna turned back to the doctor who quickly filled in the missing information.

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“Quarantine Physician.” Anna stepped aside as Eliza appeared at the door. Her face was thin and colorless; her dress hung on her as if a size too big.  Dr. Young took in her gaunt countenance, the circles beneath her eyes, and met her lifeless eyes with his own steady but compassionate gaze. “Eliza Brown? I’m Dr. Young. May I please speak with you and with Brother Brown? I know that this is a very difficult time.”  

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Eliza blinked in momentary confusion but opened the door and stepped back so the doctor could enter. She watched the young stranger step into the parlor and remain there, waiting for her and Anna to follow. “Brother Brown is in his workshop,” she stated quietly as she returned to the parlor. “Anna, could you go tell him Dr. Young has come to see us. Please sit down, Doctor.” Eliza shivered. The cold dampness had filtered into the dark room from the open door and she realized that the fire had nearly burned out. She went to the fireplace as Dr. Young selected a corner chair not far from the entry and pulled out a small notebook from his coat pocket and a short pencil. Eliza stirred the coals absently, then laid a log into the cast iron grate.

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“I’m sorry,” she said. “What did you say your name was? I’m not a very good listener these days.” She looked more closely at the man, perched on the edge of his chair, his hat resting on his knees. He looked like a doctor. “I’m not being very polite. May I take your hat, your coat?”

He gave her a quick and sympathetic smile as he shook his head.  “No, I will only be here a few minutes. But thank you. Dr. Young, my name is Dr. Seymour Young. I am the attending physician at the Quarantine Center.” Eliza absorbed the information for a moment, then slowly returned to the sofa and sat down. She noticed that he had kept his gloves on as he held the short pencil, ready to write.  

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“I’m afraid Anna was right, Doctor. You are too late.” Eliza’s words were barely audible and directed at her inert hands. He opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind, pressing his lips together as he decided to wait. It was Eliza who finally broke the stillness.  

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“It was Sallie Ann first, you see. We think she may have caught the illness from Mina, a young woman in the ward who had come to our house for a singing lesson with my husband. I think it was from her muff. Sallie Ann held it to her face, you see. That’s all I can figure. Then a week later, our boy Aaron, then baby Rhoda.” Her voice was toneless, empty of emotion, and her eyes studied the edge of the braided rug just beyond her shoes. “We thought that may be the end of it.” Her eyebrows lifted as if a surprising thought had suddenly flitted across her mind, then drew downward as she droned on. “One week more, then it was Anna’s Hattie, my Clara a few days after, then Hattie’s sister Ellie.” She lifted her eyes from the floor and looked at the doctor, troubled, confused as she pulled together the names and memories of the past month. “Then last week…” As if she had suddenly awoken from a bad dream, she gasped sharply, drawing her hands to her mouth, and the raw terrible grief twisted her face as she sobbed.   

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Dr. Young stood up automatically but remained near his chair even as his face reflected the sorrow that filled the room. “Sister Brown ... I,” he began. Eliza looked up, past the doctor and out the front window. A puzzled look came over her face.

“Hyrum came ... our oldest. He came when he heard the news about the boys ... his little brothers, you see. He didn’t really know the girls. They came much later, after he had gone to West Jordan. But the boys ... oh he cried when he saw the two of them laying there, side by side.” She stopped, and the doctor could see that she was pulling together the details of that last visit. She worked her mouth and frowned before she continued. “Hyrum told his father we should burn this house down ... move away from Mill Creek and start over. Said there was infection everywhere.” She knitted her eyebrows together and looked down at her hands. “He must’ve been right.” The grandfather clock continued its relentless ticking while she paused. “We got word two days ago that when he returned home to West Jordan, he fell sick.” Her voice trailed off as she finally looked up at the doctor, her eyes a dull light. “And died.” Eliza reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a folded letter. She studied it for a moment before she continued. “He was a new daddy. Just married a year.”  

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Anna suddenly appeared from the kitchen, her cheeks ruddy from the cold. She stood in the dining room, waited for a moment, then took a seat next to Eliza. “I can’t find him,” she whispered. Dr. Young studied the two women seated close beside each other. It might have been mother and daughter, he thought. Neither woman looked at him until he spoke.

“May I ask you both a few questions?” The sincerity and warmth of his voice drew their faces toward him. Eliza nodded and Anna murmured yes. The doctor looked down at his notebook for a moment, then raised his head to ask his question. “When did the first child, Sarah Ann, become ill?” Eliza and Anna looked at each other, each searching for the answer from the other.  

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“She was ill for … four days. And died January 26.” The doctor awkwardly scribbled the information on the small pad.  

“When she became ill, did you get medical help?” He looked up at them, his face open, curious. Eliza looked away and Anna stared straight ahead without making eye contact.  

“I … I wanted to ... but we thought ... Joseph really believed that she was just sick with a bad cold ... He gave her a blessing.” Eliza’s voice grew softer. “He believed that it was in the Lord’s hands…” Dr. Young looked at her, then dropped his gaze to the paper while he wrote.  

“And later, when the other children became sick? What precautions did you take?” Eliza looked at him, confusion clouding her face. She moved her lips to form an answer. Anna turned and looked at her, waiting, then looked away toward the doorway to her bedroom. Thomas’ soft burbling rose to a hungry cry on the other side of the door. Anna got up and left the room. Eliza watched her go, then turned toward the doctor.  

“I don’t understand your question.”  

“Did you separate the children who were ill?” He kept his voice very gentle, prodding her to remember. “Or send the others away?”  

“My bedroom became the sick room. It is where we all took turns helping nurse the sick.” He looked at her, waited for her to complete the details. “It seemed like we could manage it with Sallie Ann. But it was like that children’s game…” she looked about the room trying to think of the word. “Catch, no tag. Tag you’re it. They just passed it on. It didn’t seem to matter what I did! Or what I could do…” Her face crumpled in emotion.  

“Sister Brown. I’m certain you did everything you knew how ... But your other children…” He gently prodded her to look at him. “You must now think of them. How many ... how many are here in the house with you?” Eliza listened closely and seemed to weigh his question.  

“Four,” she answered. “No, five. Anna has baby Thomas. August, Pearl, Israel and my baby Nora. My oldest girl, Caroline, doesn’t live here. She’s in West Jordan.” Eliza opened and closed one hand in her lap, as if counting off the fingers for each remaining child.  

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Dr. Young stirred in his seat and spoke with a sharper tone of authority. “Sister Brown, please listen to me. As soon as I leave, I want you to go take all the bedding in your house, every blanket, every sheet and pillowcase, and boil them in the hottest water. Open your windows if you can and clear the air in your house. Take a bucket of strong lye soap to each room where the sick children lay, and I want you to scrub the floors, the walls, every surface you can see.” Eliza sat up, her posture matching the fervency of his voice. “Diphtheria is a very, very infectious disease. It may be worse than Smallpox. Your children who are right now in this house may be the next victims. Sometimes, sometimes we don’t understand why, some patients get a very mild form or are carriers ... never show symptoms at all. But they can spread the infection. So it is very important that for at least four weeks your family stays away from neighbors, or … or anyone who may want to come in and help.” He suddenly realized how he was violating his own advice but continued. “And for the sake of your children, call for a doctor if anyone becomes sick! They should be isolated immediately!” He hadn’t meant to let his voice rise to such a level of emotion. “Sister Brown,” he added with emphasis. “The Lord expects us to do our part.” 

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Eliza stared at him, blinking several times as she quietly absorbed his instructions. Anna stood frozen in the doorway, her arms wrapped around baby Thomas who was hidden in his bundle of blankets. Dr. Young closed his notepad and slipped it into his coat pocket as he stood up. “My heart breaks for your loss, sisters. This was a terrible tragedy.” It seemed that his eyes had filled with angry tears. “Please share everything I’ve told you with Brother Brown,” he instructed. He let his words hang in the air and checked that each woman was listening. “No need to see me out.” He held up his hand as Eliza rose from the couch. “Thank you and may the Lord bless you.” He carefully positioned his hat on his head and turned first to Eliza and then to Anna, gave them each a polite nod, and left the room. Eliza listened to the door open and then close before she crossed the parlor into the entry. She placed both hands on the heavy pine door and leaned her forehead against it.