I was dizzy, sleepy, and a little nauseous, so Anne drove. We had not eaten since yesterday morning, so we stopped at the Dobbs Ferry tavern to break our fast. Anne and the children ate well, but I could not keep my food down and rushed out to disgorge the little I had eaten by the side of the building.

Anne came out behind me, looking very concerned. She gave me a few sips of water and some bread to settle my stomach. After feeling my head, she said, “You have no fever. Could you be expecting?”

“Not unless the Holy Spirit has come upon me!” I said in a failed attempt at humor. Meanwhile, my head was aching ever more severely.

I woke in a strange bed. Peggy was nearby, sitting in a rocker, mending a dress.

“Mother, she’s awake!”

Anne and Sandy rushed in. The three of them looked exhausted, with bloodshot eyes.

“Thank God! The doctor said you might never wake.”

“Where am I?” I was still croaking.

“In my house, in White Plains. You have not stirred in three days. … Peggy run over to Dr. van Dorn, and tell him Miss Winston is awake. … Sandy, fetch her a bowl of soup.”

“Could I have some water?”

“Yes, of course.” She poured me a beaker. The water had a different taste from that in Yonkers. Still, I wanted to gulp it down. Anne made me sip it slowly.

“The doctor said he thought your brain was bleeding, and it might kill you – even days after suffering your wound. How does your head feel?”

“Still sore on the outside, but I have no headache.”

“He said that would be a good sign.”

“Then I am well. Sandy and I must flee. Staying here puts you and Peggy in danger.”

“There will be no ‘fleeing’ for at least a week. Dr. van Dorn drilled a hole in your head!”

“What!?”

“Yes, and he shaved off a good part of your hair to do it.” She handed me a mirror.

My head was bandaged, but, even so, I could see that all the hair on the back of my head was gone. I may be handsome, but I am not beautiful and my hair was my finest feature. I cried.

I was sitting in bed, eating a bowl of barley soup when there was a knock at the door and the doctor entered. He was a short, stout man of about sixty with a warm smile.

“You are eating and alert – both very good signs. … I am Dr. Hendrik van Dorn, by the way.” He sat beside me and felt my wrist, looking at his watch. “A steady pulse. You gave us quite a scare, but are on the mend, young lady.”

“Anne said you drilled a hole in my head?”

“Yes, a very small one. You would have died had I not. You had an intracranial hematoma – that is a bleeding brain. There was blood in your skull pressing on your brain. It would have crushed the life out of you, so I just drilled a little hole to let it out.”

“I never heard of such a thing.”

“Oh, surgeons have been doing it for thousands of years. Even Galen writes about the procedure. He was an ancient Roman, you know. I have personally done it several times when I was at the New York Hospital … perhaps you’ve seen it if you have been to Manhattan – it is on Broadway at Church. Anyway, I am glad to say that almost half my patients survived.”

“Over half died then?”

“Unfortunately, yes … but would all have died without the operation. That is why I was so concerned for you.

Do not mourn for them, most were miscreants of the worst kind. … Now as for you, young woman. Mrs. Cummings told me what happened … although rumor of the incident arrived before you did.”

“Do you know what happened to Captain de Peyster? Is he alive?”

“Yes, my college, Dr. Robinson, had him taken to the Orphan’s Asylum, where they are caring for him. I understand he is on the board there. He has a serious wound, but will recover unless sepsis takes him.”

“There is hope then.”

“Yes, but the outcome still hangs in the balance. … As I was saying, Mrs. Cummings told me about your plan to flee with the child,” he grimaced in a disapproving way, “but there can be no running for you for some time. Too much exertion and your brain may bleed again – and then who would take care of the child? For the present, you are safe. I have told no one you are here, and Mrs. Cummings has told people the child is a cousin come to visit.”

The days passed slowly. I could not stay abed, and so I sat with Anne as she worked at her potter’s wheel. She showed me how to “throw” a bowl and a vase, and let me help with firing and glazing. I wrote Caroline, expressing my love and sorrow that I may not see her for some time, and to Paula, telling her in detail what had happened and seeking her advice.

Both wrote back, but it seemed that Caroline's ardor was fading with my absence. Paula wrote that she would use her connections to find out what she could and help me as opportunities may occur.

About a week after I awoke, I was surprised when Constance came to Anne’s house near the crack of dawn.
“Hello, Miss. I am living with Liam now, though we are yet to be married. I saw Alexandria playing outside a few days ago, and reckoned that you must be hiding here. I would have stayed away, but last night Liam told me that a man has been asking around town for you two and thought you should know.”

“Thank you, Constance! I am so glad to see you and so sorry about your mother," I said embracing her. "Anne … Mrs. Cummings, … ah … made sure sure the man who killed her will never harm anyone again. … I have something that should be yours – a kind of dowry.” I gave her the five $20.00 banknotes that had been paid to the murders.

“I can’t take this!”

“You can and will – it is the price of your mother’s life, and is yours by right as compensation.”

We chatted a bit more, then she left. I found Anne and told her what happened.

“We must flee. The Captain devised a plan that I must follow. But I cannot go as I am. With my hair as it is, I am too memorable. You must cut it for me, so I look like a man.”

She did. That night she drove us to Dobbs Ferry, where we awaited the steamboat to Albany.

----------------------------

I see that the readership and kudos of this story are declining. I planned for it be the story of Nancy and Sandy's journeys: both geographic and psychological. It takes a lot of time to research what happened where and when. I am wondering if there is enough interest to warrant the effort.