A New York Haunting: Pt. 05

How did Ondine come to be in this class, disguised as 'Mr. Sellers'? He recalled her aunt's irritated commentary about her art lessons and instructors. Perhaps the girl regularly attended Art Students League classes. When he had first started working as a model, Anders had learned that although other classes were co-ed, the life drawing classes were segregated by sex. Due to his own uncertainty about posing before women, he had always posed for the men's class. From what he now understood, the male models in the women's class were never completely nude but retained their drawers.

Was this the explanation for her disguise? To gain admittance to the uncensored male students' drawing class? Knowing her habit of circumventing convention, he wouldn't put it past her.

From the corner of his eye, he observed with sudden interest the stroking motions of her hand as she sketched, and he wondered what her rendition of him looked like. Remembering the disturbing recent paintings in her studio, he wryly considered it might be best not to know!

As he recovered his equipoise, Anders appreciated with irony this untoward encounter might have provided him the opportunity he had been seeking. As soon as class concluded, he would try to speak to her discreetly.

At last, the moment arrived; Dr. Bridgman dismissed class, at which 'Mr. Sellers' briskly stood, donned a newsboy-type cap, and began gathering her belongings. Debating whether to simply throw on the robe and approach her, Anders noted the nearby students lingering and chatting --- he judged the circumstances too public for such a conversation. Immediately he returned to the antechamber and rushed into his clothes. When he again checked the classroom, she was no longer present.

Out into the hall and down the stairs he raced, his eyes sweeping the scattered students for the slim young 'man' --- without success. Despair mounted as he rounded the last two flights of stairs and burst through the door onto the dark sidewalk.

There she was!

"Mr. Sellers!" he called, approaching.

Ondine turned around. In the illumination from the street lamp, a blush became visible on her cheeks. "Mr. Røkke," she stated, the natural huskiness of her voice exaggerated to hide the feminine quality.

Anders halted before her, gazing down at her pretty face strangely topped by the short hair and wool cap. Not having fully thought through this conversation, he blurted, "Have you a moment to spare? There is an urgent matter I must discuss with you."

An eyebrow quirked up, then she glanced towards the curb where waited the brougham and coachman who had been outside of Dr. Schuller's mansion. "Is it something quick, Mr. Røkke? I must return home soon."

He shook his head in frustration. "Alas, the matter is not one that can be addressed quickly." A thought sprang to mind. "But I do have an unrelated question: would you be interested in drawing some anatomical diagrams for an article one of the surgeons and I are trying to publish?"

A sparkle appeared in Ondine's previously unreadable eyes. "What would it entail?"

"Four small illustrations depicting a surgical technique for reconnecting severed blood vessels. I have a specimen in the anatomy lab reserved for the purpose. If you could bring your sketchbook there, you could draw them while I perform the procedure. Of course, you would be credited for your contribution."

"How long would it take?"

"I can do the maneuver in a half hour, but I would pause at certain points so that you could draw the sequence of steps."

"The anatomy lab at the medical school building?" Ondine studied him with apparent interest. "When do you propose we meet?"

"I'm available at any time tomorrow. Otherwise, I'm at your disposal any evening this week after rounds --- say after six."

The girl's lips pursed slightly. "Tomorrow is impossible. Perhaps an evening during the week. Have you a telephone?"

Anders shook his head.

"May I send you a message when I can anticipate being at liberty?" At his nod, Ondine asked for his address. She declined his offer to write it down, instead simply repeating it aloud to herself. "I shall send you a message, Mr. Røkke."

"Thank you, erm, Mr. Sellers."

With a fleeting smile, she climbed into the waiting carriage and departed.

Chapter 21. THE AWKWARD CONVERSATION

Ondine had acquiesced to his invitation to illustrate the article!

Although it had been an impromptu proposal, Anders realized with elation it simultaneously addressed three concerns. Firstly, he would have the opportunity to inform her of the ghostly visits and together they could scheme as to the best course of action to stop them. Secondly, he would procure illustrations for the article --- the one part of the project he was struggling with. As long as Ondine drew them in the style preceding her marriage, they would no doubt be excellent. Thirdly, he could savor a stolen hour or two in her company --- a sustenance for which his entranced heart battled his circumspect mind.

A wave of excitement coursed through his body as he recalled her big hazel eyes moving from his face to his chest to his bare privates during the art class. Despite her expressionless countenance, there had been a blush on her cheeks. What had she been thinking? Had that been her first view of a man's credentials --- outside of illustrations in her brother's anatomy textbook? Had she infiltrated other life drawing classes in her guise of Mr. Sellers? He hadn't seen her there previously, but he didn't pose for every class.

Once more he had to check his wayward thoughts before his irrational hope was fortified. Honor and ethics demanded his feelings remain undisclosed, he reminded himself.

Sunday after his morning wheeling excursion, Anders went to the anatomy lab and found in the back room the wrapped, embalmed leg Dr. Mullenix had set aside for them. To minimize the imposition on Ondine's time, he did the preliminary dissection necessary to cleanly expose the femoral artery.

The remainder of the day was spent in his boardinghouse room alternating between studying coursework, reading the book about ghosts he had borrowed from the library, and pacing up and down in suspense as he awaited a message from Ondine.

No message arrived.

On Monday, his state of distraction continued as he rounded with the surgical team on the ward, observed surgeries in the operating theater, and attended a session of Operative Surgery on the Cadaver. God grant a message be delivered to Mrs. Sullivan's boardinghouse while he was at school!

But when he arrived home, no message awaited him --- neither on the table in the front hallway nor with the landlady. Agitated, Anders immediately left the house and headed east, striding across Central Park under the darkening sky. The girl had not written down his address --- had her message gone astray?

At length, he halted --- he was at the park entrance across Fifth Avenue from the Cornelissen mansion. Lights glowed in several windows, but through the drapes no activity of the occupants was visible. Had Ondine never meant to meet him at all? Perhaps her request for the address had merely been a gentle way to rebuff his unexpected proposal. He was forced to acknowledge the invitation was certainly unconventional --- doubtless, many would consider it highly improper and consider him a scoundrel for having extended it. In the circles in which the Cornelissens moved, a young unmarried man and woman being alone together in the evening unchaperoned was a veritable scandal.

Notwithstanding his amorous feelings, he had made the proposal with no nefarious intent, and given the girl's evident disregard (albeit covert) for convention, he had assumed she would not be offended by it. Perhaps he had erred.

Damn these societal rules! To simply converse with a young lady was regarded as a criminal act!

A motion across the street drew his eye. A carriage pulled up in front of the mansion and two gentlemen alighted. In consternation, Anders recognized Ondine's uncle, Mr. Cornelissen, and the psychoanalyst, Dr. Schuller, both dressed in evening suits. They disappeared into the manse. Given their attire and the hour, he could only surmise Schuller was a dinner guest. His bitter pulse accelerated. The doctor was being welcomed into the home to feast his eyes upon the fair Ondine as her guardians endeavored to engineer a match between them.

And this was why she had been unable to meet with him today?

By-and-by, Anders' rational mind recoiled from the contemptible feeling of jealousy. He forced himself to turn away from the mansion and proceed back into the park.

The next day at school, he squelched the hopeful wanderings of his mind and devoted his attention to his duties. After rounds, he returned to the boardinghouse in a state of resignation. The sound of gossiping female voices came from the kitchen.

"Sure, the newspaper said he was seen coming out of the dancer's apartment, as plain as ye like!"

"There's grounds for divorce if there ever were any."

"All his riches won't help him now --- the wife's lawyers will get her a tidy award."

"But what a scandal! To be divorced --- even if she is from a 400 family!"

Mrs. Sullivan looked up as Anders crossed the hallway.

"There ye be, Dr. Røkke!" The landlady dried her hands on her apron as she approached. "A message arrived for you." From her pocket, she extracted a small, slightly crumpled envelope.

He managed a calm, "Thank you," then hastened upstairs to his room clutching the envelope. Lighting the lamp, he eagerly examined the message. On the outside of the sealed envelope was written Mr. Røkke in a succinct hand. Inside was a folded piece of plain but fine quality paper upon which was written the following:

I shall be in the first-floor foyer of the medical school building at 7 pm on Tuesday.

It was unsigned.

Anders' gaze flew to the clock. It was 6:40. Good God! He flung off his suit jacket and his frantic fingers traveled down the buttons of his waistcoat. As much as he would have preferred to wear his better suit in her company, he did not want it soiled in the anatomy lab. He donned the secondhand suit he used for this purpose and headed out into the cool evening air. With his swift stride, he arrived at the medical school building exactly at seven.

Entering at the south side, he glanced around the solemn foyer. This was where he had followed Ondine to Dr. Prudden's office a few weeks ago. At this hour, only occasional students were about, and no sign was there of the girl. He sighed inwardly and prepared to wait.

"Mr. Røkke?"

Anders spun around. She was dressed in male garb and holding a flat leather portfolio under her arm.

"Mr. --- erm --- Sellers." He struggled to contain the excitement in his voice as he looked down at her face. She had come! Again, he noted the short dark hair under the wool cap.

"Please forgive the scant notice regarding our meeting," she said. "I only learned this afternoon my aunt was dining out and my uncle was spending the evening at his club to follow the election results."

The national election! It was election day --- the incumbent William McKinley versus William Jennings Bryant. Anders had intended to vote but had been so preoccupied he had forgotten. He shook his head. "No worries. I'm grateful for your assistance. Shall we?" He led the way into the anatomy department wing.

The unoccupied laboratory was dark. Fortunately, it was wired for electricity and when he flipped the switch, steady light illuminated the large room. There were three long rows of dissection tables, the occupants of which were shrouded in oilskin sheets. The scent of formaldehyde wafted over them.

"It's a bit ghoulish, I'm afraid," he said apologetically as they walked between the tables.

"I'm not frightened," she avowed. Indeed, as he glanced aside at her, her expression was one of lively interest, alert eyes darting about.

He retrieved the leg and his dissecting instruments from the back room and unwrapped the oilskin cloth atop an unoccupied, counter-level dissection table. Even at the sight of an amputated, partially dissected leg, Ondine did not flinch. She stepped closer, studying the specimen as she opened her portfolio. Anders found a clean cloth to spread over the end of the metal table so that she could set down her bag and pencil case.

"You said this is a technique for reconnecting blood vessels?" At his nod, she asked, "On which vessel will you be demonstrating it, the artery or the vein?"

"The artery." With the scalpel, he cleanly transected the superficial femoral artery in the thigh. "The first illustration will simply be the severed vessel, like so. I'm not certain this diagram is essential; we may eliminate it if space does not allow."

Ondine opened her sketchbook to a blank page and began drawing with the book braced against her belly. Anders found a tall stool for her, and she perched upon it with her feet on the highest rung, resting the book on her lap. He squelched an involuntary image of her pert bottom on the seat.

"I reviewed one of my brother's old surgical journals to see the style of the illustrations," she said. "I shall make rough sketches tonight, then draw the detailed images later at home, if that suits you."

"Whatever suits you, Mrs. Van der Veen. I am beholden to you." He prepared sutures, glancing at her as she silently worked. Presently he cleared his throat and ventured, "Erm --- have you cut your hair?"

A mischievous smile transformed her face. "I should like to see my aunt's reaction to that calamity." She shook her head. "It's a wig from my theatrical diversions at school. I supposed these garments were better suited than a gown to visit a cadaver lab."

"Ah, very sound reasoning. Such is the explanation for my own rather disreputable-appearing suit."

She nodded. "You didn't want to soil a pretty gown either."

His chuckle was truncated by Ondine's frank gaze traveling over him before returning to her sketchbook, stirring the memory of her lingering survey of his nakedness the other night. Swallowing, he fidgeted with the needle forceps.

A moment later she announced, "I'm ready for the next illustration."

Anders placed the three equally-spaced sutures to connect the severed ends of the vessel. "The second illustration is the same but with these three sutures. Perhaps this can include a cross-sectional view showing the equal spacing along the circumference of a circle."

She flipped the page. After a few moments of drawing, she asked in a nonchalant tone, "Your clerkship with Dr. Schuller has ended?" Her eyes remained fastened upon her work.

"Yes." He wondered if this was the moment to broach the subject of her late husband's ghostly visits.

The mention of Dr. Schuller evidently prompted a recollection in her as well, for she said, "Mr. Røkke, you alluded to an urgent matter you wished to discuss with me --- other than drawing these illustrations."

"Erm --- yes, but it's a delicate subject. Perhaps it would be better addressed when your attention is not divided." He thought for a moment. "How did you come here?"

"By hansom cab."

"Might we walk back together to your home and discuss it then?"

Ondine raised a humorous eyebrow. "Very well. I shall endeavor to endure the suspense." She waved her pencil towards the dissection. "Next illustration?"

Anders applied traction to the three sutures, tying them to the surrounding skin and muscles to maintain the tension. "The distortion from a circle to a triangle is the key point to the next diagram. Another cross-sectional view might emphasize that."

She nodded and began sketching.

He readied three more sutures. "Do you and your brother have an amiable relationship?"

She shrugged. "As much as one can expect --- he is ten years older than I am."

"What is his opinion of your ambition to be a doctor?"

After a sideways look at him, Ondine replied, "Although Bram is not opposed to the abstract idea of women doctors, he's not convinced it's appropriate for his precious sister."

"Where is he stationed?"

"Next illustration?" She turned a page in her notebook. "In the Philippines."

With a running stitch, Anders began suturing closed the gaps between the anchor stitches. "I'll close most of this before you begin drawing."

Ondine watched his hands as she waited. "What of you? Do you have brothers or sisters?"

"No, unfortunately."

"Are you married?"

No particular emphasis had there been to her question, and when he glanced at her, she was looking at the dissection. "No," he replied.

"Have you family still in Norway?"

"I had grandparents and aunts and uncles, but I haven't seen them since my father and I came to America." He set aside the needle with a partial gap remaining. "OK. Let's try it like this. This is the last diagram."

She set to drawing. "This is a most clever technique. Is it equally applicable to veins?"

Anders pondered the question. "I haven't attempted it yet. It's certainly worth testing."

"Who is your co-author on the article?"

"Dr. Sherwood Mullenix. He is a professor of surgery in the college, and he practices at Roosevelt and Bellevue hospitals."

"Dr. Mullenix... I've met him and his wife at social functions," she said. "He seems a most genial and pragmatic man. I believe his wife's family does a lot of business with the Cornelissen firm."

"Yes, he's a brilliant surgeon and I've been very fortunate in his mentorship."

Ondine closed her sketchbook and reached for the pencil case. "Done."

Within a few minutes, the leg and instruments were stowed, and they left the building, heading towards Central Park. Anders offered to carry her portfolio bag, and she accepted with a gracious thank you.

"It is I who must thank you for your invaluable assistance." He slung the strap over his shoulder. "How do you want your name to appear in the article --- O. Van der Veen or Mr. Sellers?"

She laughed. "I shall have to ponder the question."

They entered the shadowed park walking side-by-side. There were more people about than was usual at this hour on a weeknight, no doubt due to the election. A rowdy group of men jostled past them on the path, singing a disorderly chorus to the tune of When Johnny Comes Marching Home:

McKinley has each pledge fulfilled, Hurrah! Hurrah!

For a second term we have him billed, Hurrah! Hurrah!

The factory bells began to ring

And the silent spindles began to sing,

When Bill McKinley won the race in eighteen ninety-six.

When Bill McKinley won the race in eighteen ninety-six.

And Teddy Roosevelt, he's all right, Hurrah! Hurrah!

He fought the Spaniards with all his might, Hurrah! Hurrah...

The singing, cheers, and whistles faded, leaving them alone again. He felt her glance in his direction.

"What is the urgent matter you wished to discuss, Mr. Røkke?"

So happy was he simply strolling with her, Anders almost hesitated to interrupt the interlude with practical matters. But he knew he must --- it was now or never. He cleared his throat, quickly reviewing all the possible approaches he had considered. "Erm --- I'm not quite certain how to begin --- it's rather delicate and I don't wish to cause you distress."

Ondine paused on the path and looked up at him. The lamplight betrayed a mix of curiosity and apprehension in her shining eyes.

"The nights I was keeping watch in your bedchamber, I did indeed observe... something unusual," he said in a halting voice.

The glint in her eyes quickened.

Anders floundered for his next words before blurting, "Do you believe in ghosts?"

Her eyebrows lifted. "No."