The next few days passed with deadly slowness. There were no visits by the doctor, and Lorenzo’s two return trips to the offices of the Nevada City News revealed no further information about the mysterious Nicholas Carlson. It seemed as though he’d showed up in Nevada City one day out of nowhere, with only the sketchiest of backgrounds but wads of money to compensate. This he carried around with him and spent on various pet projects with the complete approval of the citizens. The only thing they didn’t realize, but we could see by just reading a few old newspaper articles, was that the man had slowly succeeded in taking over nearly the entire town.

“They may as well call it Carlson City,” scoffed Lorenzo at one point, “because he owns nearly every one and everything in it.”

By midweek, things started happening again. After waiting five days without a sign of Dr. Zeissler, we decided to send a letter to Granger. When we got to the post office, however, there was a letter already waiting for us from none other than Granger himself.

Lewis read it to me on the front steps:

Dear Gentlemen,

Immediately upon receipt of your last correspondence, I informed Captain Hunt as to your current location and situation. He is delighted that you seem to have located the whereabouts of Miss Baldwin, but also understands the difficulties you may face in extracting her from her current predicament. He has further taken the liberty of writing to the Territorial Governor, Mr. Peter H. Burnett, with whom he has been acquainted for a number of years. The Captain hopes the governor may have some means at his disposal to intervene and secure her release. At the same time, lest you become prematurely optimistic, the Captain wishes you to be aware that the governor may well prefer that the local sheriff or alcalde handle the matter, as is customary.

If action on the part of the governor does not effect a solution, and if the efforts of your attorney friend are likewise to no avail, it is Captain Hunt’s opinion that your only remaining option may be the forceful occupation of this purported asylum. Obviously, this is not an ideal solution, but if it becomes your only means for obtaining the young lady’s release, you will be pleased to know that the Captain has contacted Commander Maloney, who was in charge of the army regiment that spent some time in the desert searching for Miss Baldwin's Apache captors.

That regiment has now been disbanded owing to the end of hostilities with the Mexicans, but a number of men who were formerly attached to the unit have indicated their interest in helping you bring this matter to a close. At least a dozen of these men, army regulars all, were planning to head north for the gold fields when they learned of your dilemma from Commander Maloney. They have now indicated their willingness to head straight for Nevada City post haste, in order to make themselves available should you need their assistance at some point. These men have been instructed to look for either the two of you, or for this Mr. Sawyer upon their arrival. The Captain hopes their presence will not be necessary, but warrants that you might sleep better knowing you’ll soon have reinforcements should you need them. You can expect these men to show up on or about the end of June. Please continue to keep in touch.

Yours truly,
Mr. Linus Granger, Esq.

Lewis and I were pretty excited about this show of support and quite happy that our circle of friends was steadily growing. The end of June was just two weeks away, and though neither of us hoped we’d have to resort to a show of force, just the idea of having armed men on our side of the issue was reassuring.

There was more good news to come. The following day we received a letter from Francisco Ramirez, who wrote to tell us he’d received our note and that our old friend John was heading north to meet us. True to his word, John had looked us up in Los Angeles after getting the Bennetts situated in Sacramento. After following our path to Rev. Brier’s operation, Brier referred him to Francisco’s newspaper office (no doubt warning John to be on guard and mind his wallet when dealing with Mexicans). Francisco, in turn, told John about our recent letter and where we could be found. The only thing we didn’t know was when to expect Rogers. But knowing how fast the big Tennesseean could make tracks, it wouldn’t have surprised me if he showed up the following day.

Francisco closed his letter by saying that his brother-in-law, Sam Morgan, had sent along “a hearty hello and best wishes.” At least, that’s the way Francisco put it. Both Lewis and I were pretty sure the crusty old trail driver had used a more colorful expression than that to forward his greeting.

A day or two later, we were at last visited by the good Dr. Zeissler. Lewis and I were sitting in Lorenzo’s hotel room at the time, going over our options if the doctor didn’t show. You can imagine our surprise when a knock came on the door and a deep Germanic voice identified itself as the very man we’d been talking about.

Because the doctor didn’t know anything about Lewis and me, we tore out the window like polecats from buckshot and found ourselves stretched out on a balcony that was more ledge than veranda. It was so narrow, in fact, that there was barely room for both of us to lie back and still keep out of sight. But there was plenty of room for us to listen.

“Good afternoon, doctor,” we heard Lorenzo say, a casual tone to his voice. “I’m pleased you found the time to meet with me again.”

“I very much wished to continue our conversations,” the doctor replied, “but I’ve been so busy lately that it has been difficult to get away.”

“I can well imagine,” Lorenzo said. “I believe when we last met, we were talking about the young girl named Alice, weren’t we? I don't believe I caught her last name.”

“Nor do I know it,” the doctor replied. “I don’t handle admissions. The superintendent and a board of regents see to that, and I am given only the first names of patients.”

“Ah,” Lorenzo said, “I see. But surely you are informed as to the nature of their maladies.”

We heard the squeak of chairs as the two sat down.

“Naturally, I’m given basic information as to the reasons for their commitment,” the doctor said, “insofar as the relatives or authorities who bring them to the asylum are able to tell us. You are no doubt aware of the lay public’s immature attitudes concerning mental illness. As you know, they frequently have a tendency to jump to absurd conclusions regarding the cause of a patient’s madness. Recently, for example, I read about a person committed to a large New York asylum for idiocy supposedly brought about by traumatic shock suffered by loss of her first-born child. It quickly became clear to me that the reason more likely lay in her hereditary predisposition, or some other dynamic imbalance of motivational forces.”

“I see,” said Lorenzo, “quite true, quite true.”

Lorenzo was doing his best to act like he understood something he really didn’t know the first thing about. And I sympathized with him because I knew how hard it was to do this. I’d spent the better part of seven years in school nodding in agreement with Miss Winslow, all the while praying she wouldn’t ask me to repeat what she’d just said.

Anyway, Lorenzo made a valiant effort, but the doctor kept coming up with these complicated symptoms for mental maladies and popping off the names of famous physicians whom Lorenzo naturally should have known if he was really an expert on mental asylums. Frankly, I didn’t see how our friend could keep up his deception much longer, and my fears were realized when the doctor finally came out with this one:

“I’d be interested, Mr. Sawyer, in your views on the five criticisms brought forward in 1844 by Ray regarding the use of patient restraints.”

“... the five ... criticisms of, uh, who was it now ... Ray, you say?”

“Dr. Isaac Ray, head physician for the Maine Insane Hospital and one of the 13 founding board members of the Association of Medical Superintendents. Surely, you've heard of Dr. Ray?”

“Why, yes, of course,” came Lorenzo's reply. “I thought for a moment you meant Dr. Gray...”

“Ah, Dr. John Gray, superintendent of the Utica State Asylum, and editor of the American Journal of Insanity.”

“The very one,” Lorenzo said.

“Well, that’s not whom I meant,” Dr. Zeissler said. “It’s Dr. Isaac Ray’s theories I’m curious to explore with you. For example, how do you feel about his argument that institutionalization by its very nature implies coercion, and that some forms of forcible restraint will always be necessary to maintain the proper discipline of a mental hospital?”

“Well now, that’s always been a controversial position, hasn’t it?” Lorenzo said, trying to direct the question back to the doctor so he wouldn’t have to answer it himself.

“No, I don’t find it very controversial at all,” Zeissler said, “not at all.”

“Well, perhaps ‘controversial’ wasn't the best choice of words...” came Lorenzo's weak response.

“Then tell me this,” Zeissler said, “how do you feel about the non-restraint methods devised by Dr. Samuel White at his private asylum in New York?”

“I think the man’s doing a wonderful job,” said Lorenzo, “and he should go far in the profession. He’s a man to watch, that Sam White.”

“Well,” Zeissler said, “that would be a rather tedious endeavor – Dr. White's been dead five years now.”

“Of course,” Lorenzo said feebly, “that’s right. It must have slipped my mind.”

“Mr. Sawyer,” interrupted the doctor, “I suggest now would be an opportune time to drop this little charade of yours. It’s patently clear to me that you’ve never set foot inside an insane asylum in your life, save your brief visit with me the other day. Furthermore, for me to actually believe you are an inspector for a statewide commission on insanity would be to place myself in a good position to be committed myself!”
“Ah,” said Lorenzo, sounding momentarily confused. “Perhaps if I were to show you my card again...”

“Mr. Sawyer – if that’s even your real name – a patient of mine once had business cards printed up claiming he was the King of New Jersey,” Zeissler said. “But this evidence did little to convince me of his royal lineage.”

Lewis was shaking his head by this time. It seemed there was little chance now of getting any cooperation out of this doctor. But then, just as Lewis and I had about given up hope, we heard Dr. Zeissler continue talking.

“Now, if I might be allowed to offer a guess as to who you really are, Mr. Sawyer, and what you really want from me then perhaps you will find me to be more helpful. Despite your feeble attempt at deception, I sense that you do have some genuine interest and concern in the young lady named Alice, who is presently under my care. I haven’t yet determined if your goal is to secure her release or you are merely concerned as to the type of care she’s receiving. In either case, it’s clear you’re her friend. So let me assure you that I concur with you – she is far from being mentally incompetent. Confused, yes, perhaps even traumatized. Likely, it’s from some experience the nature of which I cannot hope to guess with so little information at my disposal. But if you can provide me with the missing facts, I may be able to lead her down the road to recovery.”

There was silence in the room as Lorenzo no doubt sized up his opponent. Then, our friend at last spoke up as Lorenzo Sawyer the attorney, something he probably should have done in the first place.

“I appreciate your candor,” he told the doctor, “and I apologize for the play acting. Until I knew whom I could trust, I thought it best to invent some governmental body that might engender some respect from Superintendent Hadley.”

“Bah,” Zeissler said, “don’t waste your time on that man. I don’t know how much you’ve checked into the operation of the ‘Safe House,’ but your Mr. Hadley is no more than a poor relation of the real man in charge.”

“Then Hadley,” Lorenzo ventured, “is related to Nicholas Carlson?”

“Ah, then you do at least know about Carlson,” Zeissler said. “I see you have done some homework. That’s good. I’ll have less to explain to you. Bizarre as it may sound, your so-called Superintendent Hadley is actually a former patient of the Lunatic, Idiot and Epileptic Asylum in Milledgeville, Ga. He also happens to be Mr. Carlson’s brother, who committed him in the first place. Later, he had his brother released and brought him out West when he had the safe house built.”

The doctor chuckled. “In some ways, I guess it’s almost fitting," he said. “Who better to oversee the care and feeding of his insane patients than another lunatic? Unfortunately, it is only role playing. Hadley may enjoy the delusion that he’s in charge, but he’s only window dressing.”

“But you,” Lorenzo said, “you’re a real physician, are you not? I mean, just how did you get roped up in this?”

“I practiced medicine at the Milledgeville asylum but had come there from an institution in Connecticut that closed under charges of misappropriation of public monies. I was among those suspected at the time and, although completely innocent, I saw there’d be no convincing the local citizens. They were out to hang someone. and it may as well have been me as the next man. So, I escaped on a night stage and eventually found myself a position deep in the bowels of the Milledgeville asylum where I was free to work with patients again. Free, that is, until Nicholas Carlson dug into my past and threatened to reveal my identity unless I accompanied him to Nevada City and participated in his grand ruse.”

“Where did Carlson get all the money it took to get the place built?” asked Lorenzo.

“Slave trading, mostly,” said the doctor. “Near as I can tell, it’s been his family’s line of work since colonial days. But I think he must have finally seen the writing on the wall. Slavery in the south is doomed to failure. It’s just a matter of time. So he wisely decided to move on to something else. As a prominent citizen in the region, he’d been a large contributor to the Milledgeville facility all along and had learned many details about its operation through his financial involvement and the presence of his brother there. So when he came out west, he used what he knew about asylums to start cashing in at the expense of the mentally unstable rather than the population of Africa. Then, of course, there are his gold claims, which will make him another nice fortune to keep him wealthy even if this current venture falls apart some day.”

“Why have you decided to tell me all this now?” Lorenzo asked. “The risk to your life in doing so must be considerable.”

“I’m tired,” said the doctor with a sigh. “It’s as simple as that. I'm frustrated and ... somewhat ashamed, I suppose, as well. You see, I have the necessary skills to help many of the people in this place but I haven’t been allowed to do so. For a short time I was even foolish enough to think I might actually be given one day the tools to do research and possibly cure some of the patients here. It didn’t take long, however, for me to realize that I was being given just enough leeway to fill my role, only enough freedom to keep my patients physically healthy and from killing each other. Now, I’ve at last concluded that if I can't do the work I was trained to do, I would rather have my past exposed and suffer the consequences. That’s why I took the chance that my hunch was right – that, whoever you really were, you were here on behalf of one of my patients and that together we might work to see that justice is done.”

“I’m an attorney,” Lorenzo said, “a would-be one at any rate. Judging by my inability to sway an audience of one doctor, I’m beginning to wonder how long I’d last in a courtroom.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Zeissler said, “because I’m the only who has suspected a thing so far. In fact, shortly after your visit, Carlson came to the asylum and asked me who you were. I repeated what you’d told me and verified the existence of the Territorial Commission on Lunacy – even though I knew perfectly well there was no such body. Then I suggested we cooperate with you. Accepting my word on the matter, he in turn asked that I attend to your every need and that we keep you quite happy as long as you choose to stay in Nevada City. So for now, your cover seems to be intact.”

“That’s reassuring to hear,” said Lorenzo, “because my friends and I are growing tired of waiting and we need to undertake some plan of action.”

“Your friends?” asked the doctor.

“Goodness,” Lorenzo said, “I’d almost forgotten they were still out there. Will, Lewis, please come inside!”

By this time, one of my legs had gone to sleep, and Lewis didn't appear to be faring much better as he squeezed back through the window. I saw him wince a bit as he tried to straighten up. Once we’d both climbed in and worked out some of our kinks, we shook hands with the doctor.

Lorenzo then launched into a recap of our exploits along the trail. When he got to the part about Becky being handed over by the Apaches to Skeeter Daniels, the doctor seemed moved almost to tears.

“It all makes so much sense now,” he said. “Her apparent repression of that which is so unpleasant, her confusion regarding the complete facts – all this is completely explainable now. So is her aversion to the guards at the asylum, who probably remind her of being guarded by this Daniels fellow. It all makes perfect sense now.”

“We had hoped,” Lewis said, “that Becky herself, through something she said to you, might lead us to Skeeter Daniels.”

“You see, Doc, if we can haul him back to town,” Lorenzo said, “and get him to confess right there in front of Hadley or the governing board of the institution, it just might secure her release.”

The doctor thought for a moment, scratching his chin as he considered Lorenzo’s words.

“It’s possible,” he said after a few moments. “It could be that Carlson would allow her release if he thought it would end any other investigations into his operation there. But it’s a questionable plan at best and it would seem highly prudent that we develop an alternative course of action in case you never find this man at all.”

“What we were hoping most,” I said, “is that we could talk about what Becky told you – you know, about wading a river and fighting off the bugs.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help you,” Zeissler said, “but I can’t honestly see how anything she’s muttered in her sleep could provide you with any clues. All she continues to say is that she’s wading across a rushing stream of some kind and is constantly being bothered by insects. That doesn’t help us narrow down a specific location to search for this Daniels fellow.”

“Still,” Lewis said, “it might help if we could examine what she said more closely. For example, were those her exact words? What you just told us, I mean?"

“Well, no, I suppose not,” Zeissler said. “I mean, I might have been paraphrasing some, I suppose.”

“Do you think you can remember the precise words?” asked Sawyer.

The doctor paused, scratching away again at his bearded chin.

“Well, yes, perhaps I could,” he said. “After all, she’s used the same string of words on dozens of occasions ... Let’s see. The words she says most often are ‘river, rushing river’ ... No, wait – roaring is the word she uses, a ‘roaring river.’ Then she says something like, ‘wade there ... dark, too dark.’ ”

“Do you suppose they were traveling by night?” Lewis asked.

“It makes sense if he’s running from a posse,” I said.

“It’s also possible that Daniels kept her blindfolded throughout the ordeal,” Lorenzo suggested. “But, go on doctor, what else did she tell you?”

“Well, after the comment about wading the river, and how dark it was, she said something like ‘mosquitoes bothering me.’ At that point she always seems to get frantic, and says, ‘No, no, leave me alone.’ Then she bats her arms around, as if fighting off the mosquitoes, or ‘skeeters’ as she calls them."

“What?” I said, standing up. “You mean she used the word ‘Skeeter’?”

The doctor looked confused for a fraction of a moment, then a light seemed to come on and his eyes opened wide in understanding.

"Of course!" he said. “How stupid of me! She's been saying this fellow’s name all along, hasn’t she? I ... I just assumed it was mere American vernacular...”

“Doctor,” Lorenzo said, “the young lady is from Boston. She’s quite refined and certainly wouldn't use the word ‘skeeter’ to mean mosquito.”

“No, no, of course not,” Zeissler said. “Of course not. But, you see, this afternoon – in this very room, is the first time I’ve ever heard anything about this Daniels person. It’s also the first time I’ve known anything about the young lady’s experiences. But now it all makes sense ... in her dreams, she’s being bothered by Skeeter Daniels, not by insects.”

“It also seems pretty clear she’s describing the place where she and Daniels stayed before he brought her to the asylum,” Lorenzo said.

“With any luck,” Lewis added, “we’ll find him back there again, laying low until the posse gives up looking for him.”

I’d been playing with some of Becky’s other words in my mind and I said, “Do you think when she uses the word ‘wade,’ she’s talking about Henry Wade, not about wading a river?”

Even Lewis stood up at that one.

“You might have something there, Will,” he said. “Maybe Henry was involved. After all, you saw him that day with those horses, and he could have been the one who told Daniels where to find Judge Baldwin in the first place.”

“But what about this roaring river?” Lewis asked Zeissler. “That’s the word she used, right, doctor?”

Zeissler nodded.

“Could there be a river in these parts that bears that name?” Lewis asked.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Lorenzo said, "there is a Roaring River – somewhere south of here, I believe – near Vallecito.”

“Then I think we’ve pieced the puzzle together,” Lewis said. “After Daniels took Becky from the Apaches, he hauled her off to some hidden place along the Roaring River, helped by Wade for at least part of the time. Where Wade’s wife and children were all this time I can’t begin to imagine. In any case, Daniels may have blindfolded Becky, or they may have traveled at night – that’s still open to question. Then, they must have kept her somewhere under lock and key when he went on his horse stealing raids. But finally, after robbing the bank at Sonora, the heat from the posse must have gotten too much. It’s likely that Skeeter returned to Oakdale by some lightly traveled trails, stocked up with supplies, then headed north to Nevada City where he dumped Becky. He probably figured he could move along a lot quicker if he wasn’t dragging her along. Finally, after leaving her in the asylum, he headed down to his hiding place near Vallecito again. At least, I hope that’s where he went. And unless he’s been rousted from that spot by the posse from Sonora, he’s likely still hiding there now.”

“The storekeep in Oakdale says he bought out half the store, remember?” I told Lewis. “So I’ll bet Skeeter was planning on hiding out for quite a while.”

“I think we finally found us a job to do, Will,” Lewis said. “It won’t be easy, but we’ve got a desperado named Skeeter Daniels to find, somewhere down along the Roaring River.”

“We’ll find the devil, too,” I said. “We won't come back until we do!”

“And while the two of you are doing that,” Lorenzo said, “I’ll keep in contact with the good doctor here, so we can monitor the status of Becky’s improvement. At the same time, I’ll continue to badger them down at the post office for correspondence from the judiciary I’ve written to. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for your friend John, as well.”

One by one we took the doctor’s outstretched hand and shook it. I could see that his eyes were moist with tears.

“I want to thank you all for putting some meaning back in my life,” he said. “You’ve given me a great deal to work with,” he added. “Now that I’ve learned more about the ordeals leading up to Rebecca Baldwin's commitment, I can start addressing the painful memories this poor girl is suppressing. If I can get her to tell me the complete episode while she’s fully awake, rather than the sketchy vignettes she’s been relating in her sleep, I think I’ll be well on my way to bringing her back.”

Then, he added, “Of course, when she does recover, you should be aware that the reality of confinement in an institution may prove every bit as upsetting to her as it will be to remember and accept what happened to her while in the hands of Skeeter Daniels. This is going to be quite a challenge, but one which I welcome. It may, in fact, be the first real medical challenge I’ve faced in the last two years. And that thought makes life worth living again.”

Come on John! Give us Chapter 46.
I saw Chapter 45 posted up at the top, as I was reading earlier chapters, but now it says you posted it Dec. 8. ??? How will I find Chapter 46? A great story - wish I could read it in its entirety.

Hello Janet and welcome to the blog. Chapter 45 was posted December 8 and Chapter 46 will be posted December 15 - which is tomorrow!

There are a half dozen or so chapters remaining, so I hope you'll all get in on the finale to this novel and leave some comments here during the few remaining months to go!