Blacklist

(Novel length: 66,000+ words)

Karla Joan Thomas gives us this her third novel. Once again the theme changes radically . . .

Here is an extract:

Chapter 1

Verity was late getting lunch on the table, but she knew that Andrew would be late coming to lunch. She had been called into his surgery twice already that morning, once to take a patient’s blood pressure, and once to help set a broken arm on a six year old boy. The anxious mother did her best to reassure her child while Andrew and Verity worked together, already a well-ordered team, to make the treatment as painless and quick as possible.

When he had finished, Andrew smiled at the boy. “Well, my man, you did very well indeed. I’ve seen boys twice your age cry like babies when they had a bone set.”

The child, who had been doing his juvenile best to be brave, sniffled and cradled his plastered arm. “It didn’t hurt so much,” he lied.

“Of course not,” Verity agreed. “Would you like a piece of taffy to make it feel better?” She gave him the candy from a jar she kept filled for Andrew’s smaller patients. He popped it into his mouth and managed a grin. Deftly she lifted him off the examination table and set him on his feet without jarring the arm.

“You’re very good with children, Mrs. Banks,” the mother observed. “When do you and the doctor plan to start a family?”

“Soon, I hope. We’re doing our best right now, but I guess these things aren’t made to order.”

The woman nodded. “It can take time. How long have you been married?”

“Six months. I expect it won’t be long now.”

Andrew handed the mother a packet of pills. “If the arm starts hurting him too badly, give him one of these every four hours. The instructions are on the wrapper. Bring him back in three weeks, and I’ll have a look at it to see how it’s healing.” He shook his finger at the boy. “As for you, young man, stay out of trees for a little while. I don’t want to have to do the other arm.”

The pair left, and Verity turned to her husband. “Will you be long before lunch? I need to know how much water to add to the soup.”

“Better make it a lot. The last time I looked I had four more people waiting.” He kissed her lightly and headed for the door to the waiting room.

It was one o’clock before he had a chance to escape to his midday meal. Verity had a bowl of pea soup and a thick egg salad sandwich on the table when he got to the kitchen. She sat across from him and watched him eat. She fed him as well as she could, yet he never seemed to gain any weight. Between the long hours in his surgery and the emergency calls at all hours of the day and night, he burned calories at a tremendous rate. If he had been any taller he might have resembled a scarecrow, but at medium height his thinness was attractive without being extreme. It did not manifest in his face, where his slightly prominent cheekbones were balanced by a straight, almost stubborn, jaw and an aristocratic nose. She noted absently as she watched him that his brown hair wanted trimming again.

He looked up and caught her smiling at him. His dark eyes sparkled at her. She loved his eyes. There was something odd about the shape of them that gave him an exotic look, though he had been born in a village only ten miles from her own. She hoped that any child she bore him would inherit those eyes.

Andrew studied her fondly. At twenty-two she was a trifle old to be a newlywed bride, but she was very pretty, with her heart-shaped face, dark hair with just a touch of red in it, and hazel eyes that seemed to vary in color with her mood. More importantly, she had about her an air of calm efficiency that indicated she would not easily lapse into hysteria. This, he felt, was an important quality in a doctor’s wife.

He sipped his coffee. “One of my patients told me this morning that Doctor LaSalle is definitely retiring. He’s put his house up for sale and is moving to the country.”

“Do you think you’ll get any of his patients?”

“The poorer ones, I suppose. The rich ones will go to Carmichael. Still, it should put me in a position where I can finally hire a regular nurse. That’ll be necessary when you get pregnant.”

She ignored the surge of disappointment that rose inside her. She had enjoyed working as Andrew’s nurse. “Raising a child is a full-time job, my father says. That’s why he specialized in building furniture, not houses. It was something he could do at home.”

Andrew laughed. “I should warn you, my mother will insist on coming to stay with us for at least the last couple of months before the baby is born.”

“I don’t mind. I like your mother. I barely remember my own, you know, and I expect that’s the sort of time a woman wants someone experienced around her.” She got up and cut him a piece of the cake she had baked that morning between interruptions. “My father will want to be here, too, to see his granddaughter born.”

“And my parents will be hoping for a grandson. What are we going to do?”

“I guess we’d better plan for twins.” She set the cake in front of him and impulsively hugged him. There were times when it still felt unreal, being in her own kitchen with her husband.

He understood, for he felt the same. He said nothing, however, and when she was once more seated across from him he changed the subject. “I need you to do something for me this afternoon.”

“What is it?”

“Run over to the Ministry of Health and fill out a request for more penicillin.”

Verity grimaced. It was without a doubt her least favorite task. “Are we really that low? I know you gave Joseph an awful lot, but it seems like we just got a shipment.”

“I’ve needed a lot this season. And I didn’t give Joseph nearly as much as I should have.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I’m sorry, beloved. I know how much you hate it. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

She shrugged. “I know. But it would only take you half an hour. With me it’ll be most of the afternoon.”

“I haven’t got half an hour to spare. The rest of the afternoon is booked solid.” He poured himself a second cup of coffee and added a generous dollop of milk. “How did you account for Joseph’s prescription in the books?”

“I added a bit here and there to all the other penicillin prescriptions. I’m a little worried about it. I don’t know proper dosages. I might have given someone too much.”

“I’ll have a look tonight. There’s no way the inspector will get here before tomorrow.” He drained his cup and got to his feet. “Back to work. Thank you for the lunch, beloved.” He kissed her once and then again and went back to his surgery.

Verity cleared away the dishes. She put the chicken she had been planning to roast for supper back into the icebox. When the kitchen was clean she put on her coat and left the house.

She and Andrew lived on the edge of the town in a newly developed section that lay outside the protective wall built during the Anarchy. The neighborhood was still sparsely populated, with great spaces between the houses. Their own house stood alone on a low hill, easy to spot and yet comfortably isolated. When she had first come here as a bride, she had been glad that they would not be living inside the ever more crowded town, though she like to walk there, especially through the sections dating back hundreds of years before the Wars.

The path from her house led to the road that took her inside the walls, through the rear archway that was almost never guarded, since it no longer marked the end of town. In the other direction the road passed the local guardhouse, so travelers seldom used it. The town lay within the upper loop of an S-curve in the river. As she hurried toward the archway, Verity saw to her left a little used trail leading to the river. She ignored it as she always did. Across the river, in the lower loop of the curve, lay the trash dump and the forlorn dwellings of the Blacklisted. Respectable citizens did not go there.

The Ministry of Health was in the town hall, a very old stone building on the other side of town, near the main archway that led to the highway. The building faced a small open area called the Square, though it was triangular in shape. A uniformed man holding a gun stood at the door. His bored face frowned at her as she started up the steps, and his rifle blocked her way.

“Papers!” he snapped. She handed him the packet, and he studied them and her with casual insolence. At last he handed them back to her and let her pass.

She climbed three flights to the office of the Ministry of Health. Inside, a single clerk glanced up as she entered and returned immediately to his work. She advanced toward him and stood respectfully in front of his desk. He paid no more attention to her, and she remained motionless, waiting, as the clock on the wall ticked away the minutes.

After nearly half an hour had passed he set aside the document he had been studying and looked up at her. “What is your business here?”

“I’ve come on behalf of my husband, Dr. Andrew Banks, to request a supply of penicillin.”

The clerk studied her arrogantly. “Let me see your papers.”

She already had them in her hand. He read her identification paper carefully, inspecting the official seal. He compared her appearance to the description printed on the sheet. When he was convinced she was who she claimed to be, he turned to her copy of her marriage license, which gave her the right to represent her husband in minor matters. At last he pushed the pile of papers back to her and opened a desk drawer. He pulled out a requisition form and tossed it across the desk. “Fill this out over there. No erasures accepted.”

She was familiar with the form, but she took her time filling it out. She would only antagonize the clerk by finishing too quickly. After fifteen minutes she returned to the desk and waited for him to acknowledge her.

She listened to the ticking of the clock and tried not to think of all the things she could be doing at home. Her feet began to hurt from standing, but she did not dare shift position to relieve them. If the man saw that he had made her uncomfortable, he might be inspired to further indignities. Eventually he would have to turn his attention back to her. She might be only a woman, but her husband was a doctor, a man of some standing in the community, and a higher authority within the Ministry of Health than this lowly file clerk. If her husband had not been the youngest doctor in town, she would not have been ignored this long.

She thought that surely an hour had gone by while she stood, but she would not turn to look at the clock, for that would indicate impatience. Finally he frowned up at her again and reached out for the form she held. She handed it to him, and he scrutinized it for errors. There were none. He grunted in what might have been dissatisfaction and said, “The inspector will come to your husband’s office tomorrow. Have everything ready for him.”

She thanked him quietly and hurried out. Several men scowled at her as she went down the stairs. As she left the building, the guard stopped her and demanded to see her papers again.

She looked into Andrew’s surgery when she reached home to let him know she had returned. He was with a patient, but he smiled sympathetically at her, knowing well what she had been through.

For supper she threw together a casserole of odds and ends she found in the icebox. She thought it makeshift, but as always Andrew had no complaints. He had told her that during his apprenticeship the food had been generally bad, and he appreciated her cooking skills. Afterwards he relaxed in the living room with a book while she washed the dishes.

Eventually she joined him. As usual he was studying a medical text. It was only a year since he had earned his license, and though he had been apprenticed at fifteen to a very competent doctor who had taught him well, he still felt there was much he needed to learn. She found his modesty touching, for she knew it was genuine.

She put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. He looked up. “What is it, beloved?”

“You said you’d have a look at the books tonight to make sure I didn’t over prescribe.” She handed him the two volumes of handwritten accounts that she held.

He opened the account books and paged through them slowly, reading her neat script, giving each number careful consideration. She sat next to him on the sofa, watching with interest. Eventually he closed the books and set them aside. “It looks all right. They might think I’m a little too cautious sometimes, but I don’t think any of the numbers look suspicious.”

She smiled and put her arms around him. “That’s good. I think I’m really getting to know this business. Pretty soon I’ll be able to hand out medicines without even asking you.”

“Planning to take over my practice, are you?” He laughed and kissed her. “Your father warned me you had a mind of your own.” 

She was beginning to think it would be a very pleasant evening when the bell outside the surgery door rang. Andrew kissed her one last time and got up, straightening his clothes. She cursed under her breath as he disappeared into the surgery. She had known when she married him that his work would take much of his time, but it was uncanny the way a medical crisis always seemed to occur whenever they were about to make love. It did not surprise her that she had so far failed to conceive.

He returned shortly. “Mrs. Vennor’s gone into labor. Could you get my bag?”

Wondering why women only seemed to give birth at night, Verity ran upstairs to the bedroom. Andrew’s bag, the traditional black bag of the doctor, was kept in their bedroom closet, within immediate reach for midnight emergencies. It was always ready, filled with medications, bandages, all the necessary equipment, and even a set of surgical tools. She grabbed it by the handle and hurried downstairs again to give it to Andrew, who was buttoning his coat.

“I may be a while,” he told her. “Don’t wait up.” He brushed her lips with his and hurried out of the house.

It was very late when he returned. She heard him come into the bedroom, though he was trying to be quiet. He slipped into bed, and she nestled up against him. “Boy or girl?” she murmured.

“A girl,” he whispered back. “Everything went well.” He drew her close, and they fell asleep together.

The agent from the Ministry of Health arrived the next morning at about ten o’clock. They showed him into Andrew’s private office and handed over the account books. He spent more than two hours poring over the columns, tracing every milligram of penicillin. Verity had finished cooking lunch by the time he was satisfied. She invited him to stay, but he declined politely.

“Your new supply of penicillin should be delivered within a week,” he told Andrew. 

Andrew showed him out, while Verity tried to conceal the wave of relief that overcame her.

Two nights later they were awakened by someone at the back door. Andrew had rigged two bells in their bedroom, one for the kitchen door and one for the surgery, so that anyone coming for him would always be heard. They hurried downstairs to the kitchen. Andrew opened the door just enough to let in a shabby, grey-haired woman. They knew her well. She and her husband lived in a shack near the river.

“Minna!” Verity drew her into the room as Andrew shut the door and lit a lamp. “What’s the matter? Is it Bert?”

“No, no, Bert’s all right. He’s at home with Joseph’s youngster. She came to our house tonight saying her dad’s disappeared.”

Andrew and Verity traded glances. “Emily didn’t know what happened to him?” Andrew asked.

Minna shrugged. “She was out. She does some cleaning in town, you know. Joseph was in bed when she left, following your orders, Doctor. When she got home he was gone.”

“Maybe he got restless and went for a walk,” Verity suggested.

“The place was ransacked.” Minna hesitated, catching Andrew’s eye. “His medicine was gone. Bert thought someone should warn you, Doctor.”

Something clenched inside Verity’s chest. She let out a rapid gasp of air. Andrew put an arm around her. “Don’t worry, beloved. There was nothing on it to identify me.”

She managed a smile for him. “Thank you for telling us,” she said to Minna. “At least we’ll be prepared, whatever happens.”

“If there’s anything Bert and I can do—”

“That’s quite all right,” Andrew said. “We’ll be fine.” He put out the lamp and opened the door. “You’d better get home. Bert will be worrying.”

Minna sighed and hurried out. Whatever sort of woman she may once have been, she had become a realist. Gratitude for the doctor’s past kindness had sent her to him, but she knew that his house was no longer safe. She had disappeared into the darkness before he could shut the door.

Andrew shivered from the cold wind that blew into the kitchen. Verity pushed him into a chair and began to heat water for tea. She tried to find words to say to him, but her anxiety interfered. He watched her as she measured out the tea leaves, but he was not really seeing her. When she set his cup before him, he shook his head as if calling himself back from a long distance.

“Poor Joseph,” he said as they faced one another across the table. “What will Emily do if he’s not released?”

Verity touched his hand gently. “Andrew, what are we going to do?”

“I told you not to worry, love. They can’t trace the medicine to us, and Joseph would never betray us.”

There was a streak of innocence in the man that Verity found endearing. “No, of course not. But the fact that he had penicillin in his possession, just when you needed to requisition more—well, it doesn’t look good.”

He shrugged. “I’m not the only doctor in town. They have no proof.” He met her gaze steadily. There was an intensity in his eyes that she had never seen before. “We knew we were taking a risk. Are we supposed to be sorry we did what we did, just because there’s danger? The danger has always been there. If we let fear stop us from doing what we know is right, then our lives are pointless.”

His hand under hers was trembling. She went to his side and put her arms around him. “I know, darling. I know. Of course we won’t stop. I’m proud of what we’ve done, no matter what comes of it. I’m proud of you.” She had always known him to be a good man, and when she discovered he was ministering to the Blacklisted, she had joined him wholeheartedly. But she found herself wishing he had a little more practical sense mixed with his goodness. She realized that any plans for their protection would have to come from her.

He pulled her into his lap and kissed her. “It’s late. We should go back to bed. We both need our sleep.”

She was putting the teacups in the sink when there came a pounding at the front door. Andrew jumped up and pulled Verity close. She clung to him, and for a moment neither of them moved. The pounding continued, rattling the heavy door in its frame. Over the noise a rough voice called out, “In the name of General Delagarde, open up!”

Chapter 2

The pounding persisted until Verity feared the door would break. “You’d better answer,” she whispered.

Andrew stumbled to the living room and slowly turned the lock. The door flew open, and a crowd of men in military uniforms swarmed inside. They carried electric torches, swinging the beams back and forth and finally bringing them to shine on Andrew and Verity.

The leader wore the insignia of a captain. “Light the lamps!” he barked. Andrew obeyed. When the room was illuminated, the soldiers switched off their torches. They gathered around the young couple, pushing closer until Verity was pressed against Andrew. He held her protectively, though his slender body could afford little defense.

“Let me see your papers!” the captain snapped. Both automatically reached for their bathrobe pockets and found nothing. He scowled and pointed at Verity. “You. Get them!”

Two of the soldiers surrounding them separated just enough for her to squeeze through. Andrew tried to follow, but one of the men shoved him back, and the circle closed once more. 

Verity ran upstairs to the bedroom. The two packets of papers were lying side by side on the dresser top. She grabbed both bundles and rushed back downstairs. The captain took them and pushed her toward the soldiers, who allowed her to rejoin her husband.

The captain began to study the documents with care: identification papers, marriage license, verification of residence, birth certificates, medical license, travel permits, and certifications of good citizenship. When he had finished, he placed the heap of paper on the mantel. “Sit down,” he ordered. They were crowded toward the sofa. “Search the house!” he commanded his men.

Instantly the circle broke up. The soldiers swept through the house, banging doors and tipping furniture. Verity waited to hear shattering glass and other evidences of damage, but there was very little. For whatever reason, the men were using unusual restraint.

The captain chose the most comfortable chair in the room and pulled it toward the fireplace, arranging it so that the back was to the hearth. When he sat down, facing the couple on the sofa, the lamps on the mantel shone behind him and put his face in shadow. The effect was ominous.

After perhaps fifteen minutes, the soldiers reassembled. “All clear, sir,” one man reported.

The officer gestured, and his men lined up along the walls, silently watching. The captain leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “Doctor Andrew Banks, step forward.”

Andrew hesitated. A soldier reached out and pulled him to his feet. He stumbled toward the officer, regained his footing, and stood erect. “Andrew Banks, you stand accused of giving aid and comfort to those persons blacklisted by the government and of supplying them with medicines illegally obtained through falsification of records. Fraud committed against any branch of the government is fraud committed against General Delagarde himself. There can be no excuses, no justification!”

Verity drew in a ragged breath. Helping the Blacklisted was not the issue. No one cared if you did so, provided you were discreet. The medicines were the real concern. It would not do to let people think they could fool the government. Any attempt must be publicly slapped down. Because of this it was unlikely that they would disappear without a word, as so many had before. She found little comfort in the thought.

Andrew was not given the chance to enter a plea. The captain was judge and jury, and the verdict had already been reached. “We have ample evidence that you supplied one Joseph Bardolo, blacklisted for petty treason, with penicillin, a drug controlled and distributed by the government. Your books have been examined. Dosages in excess of what was prescribed have been recorded for legitimate patients, to account for the drugs you stole. Do you keep these books yourself?”

“No,” Verity put in before Andrew could answer. “I do it.”

“Verity, be quiet!” Andrew snapped. “Don’t listen to her, sir.”

“Stop it, Andrew. It’s pointless. They already know. They must be able to tell it’s not your handwriting.”

“Mrs. Banks, stand forward!” She went to Andrew’s side. The captain studied her, his eyes running over her. She pulled her robe closer around her. “You admit to being your husband’s accomplice.”

“I admit to keeping his books, and to acting as his nurse.” She wondered if they would be allowed a prison cell together.

“Then you share his guilt!” The officer got to his feet. “Andrew and Verity Banks, you have been found guilty of defrauding the government of valuable medicines, and of using the stolen goods in a treasonable manner.” He paused, and they waited for him to continue. He would order his men to carry them off to the prison next. Verity knew without doubt that she would be separated from her husband, and that he would not long survive his captivity. The captain went on, “For this crime, your names have been entered on the Blacklist for this township. You have thirty minutes to gather whatever possessions you wish to take with you and leave this house!”

For a moment neither of them moved. All Verity could think was that it was not to be the worst after all. They still had their lives, and they would still be together. Then she looked at Andrew and thought, he’ll never make it.

“I suggest you start now,” the captain said in an icy voice.

Andrew started for the door to his surgery. One of the soldiers caught his arm and dragged him back. He struggled to shake off the man. Behind him the officer said, “Not so fast. You won’t be taking anything from in there.”

Andrew spun around, stricken. “But . . .”

“You have 29 minutes,” the captain interrupted.

Verity took her husband’s hand and pulled him out of the living room. He went with her, unresisting. She opened a closet and found a blanket. “Take this. Use it to carry everything. You do the kitchen; I’ll go upstairs. Get as much food as you can, things that won’t spoil quickly. Whatever you do, bring the flour and sugar canisters. And the silver.” She gave him a push in the right direction. “Go!”

He obeyed. She ran upstairs to the bedroom. It cost her a minute to light the lamp, but it would have been more time-consuming to stumble around in the dark. As soon as she could see, she pulled the quilt from the bed and spread it on the floor. On top of it she began to pile the warmest clothes she could find and the sturdiest, most practical shoes. She did not forget her jewelry box or Andrew’s watch, an heirloom from his grandfather.

When she opened the closet, the first thing she saw was Andrew’s bag. Verity felt quite sure that if the officer downstairs knew it was here, he would confiscate it. She threw a glance at the doorway. No one had followed her. Quickly she wrapped the bag in a heavy sweater and rolled the bulky bundle in a sheet from the bed. She added it to her pile of possessions on the quilt.

She dressed rapidly. Andrew was still in his pajamas and robe, but that could not be helped. Time was running out. She emptied a pillowcase and ran down the hall to the bathroom. She used the pillowcase as a bag to hold soap, hairbrushes, and Andrew’s shaving gear. She moved on to the study and rummaged through the closet in which she stored miscellaneous supplies. She found several packs of candles and boxes of matches, clean towels, and her well-stocked sewing kit. She hurried back to the bedroom and added the pillowcase to her pile of belongings, caught up the corners of the quilt, and tied the bundle securely with her bathrobe belt. With five minutes to spare, she hauled it downstairs and met Andrew dragging a similar bundle from the kitchen.

She handed him a pair of boots she had kept aside. “Put these on.” He obeyed wordlessly. “Did you remember the flour and sugar?” she asked.

“Yes, and the silver.” He stood looking at her as if he had lost all initiative.

She raced to the hall closet and got their coats. They had both just managed to don the garments—Andrew put his on over his robe—when the captain barked, “Time’s up! Outside!”

Andrew and Verity pulled their bundles out the front door. The soldiers herded them some distance from the house. The rest of the neighborhood was dark. There was no evidence that the unusual activity in the Banks home had been noticed by anyone. Possibly some of the neighbors were hidden behind window curtains, peeking out, but none were near enough to be seen.

Several of the soldiers and the captain himself remained inside the building. At the bottom of the hill, the young couple was forced to stop and wait. They huddled together in the chill wind, staring at what had been their first home. Andrew’s eyes were fixed on the eastern wing, which held his surgery. Verity could feel him shaking with more than cold.

As they watched, the windows grew bright with a flickering light. The captain led his remaining men out, and they all looked on as the flames took hold. The captain’s voice rang out across the silent neighborhood. “Let it be known that Andrew and Verity Banks have been found guilty of defrauding the government of valuable property and of giving unlawful aid to convicted traitors! For this crime they shall be blacklisted! They are stripped of their identities and cast out from lawful society! Their names shall be inscribed on the roll of dishonor for this township, and they shall end their days within its boundaries, treated as the delinquents they have proven themselves to be! Let them be shunned by all good citizens and left to live out their lives under the mark of shame that comes from rejecting the good leadership of General Delagarde! Let the remains of this place of wrongdoing stand to remind all good citizens of their loyal duty to the General! Let this be a lesson to all would-be thieves and traitors that the General shows no mercy to those who betray him!” He finished speaking the standard formula, not caring if anyone heard it, and smiled as he admired his handiwork.

It had been very professionally done. Verity had no doubt that by morning there would be little left of her home. A gust of wind blew smoke toward her, and she coughed, but it was not smoke that brought tears to her eyes.

Andrew let out a strangled moan. Something exploded in the surgery, and the flames climbed higher there. He could not tear his eyes away. Verity hid her face in his coat, and instinctively he held her tight, but still his gaze was fixed on what had always been the most important part of his life.

When the roof of the surgery collapsed, Andrew almost fell with it. Verity felt him sag and knew that from now on their very lives would depend on her.