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hospital,” I said.
    She nodded knowingly. By then there were thousands of us wandering the city.
    â€œIs there an apothecary nearby?” I whispered to her.
    â€œYes, but I doubt it would be open at this hour. What do you need? Perhaps, I can lend you something,” she said. “Is it for pain?”
    Even as I nodded, I regretted it. If everyone in the house already knew she was in love with another boarder, how could she be counted on to keep my secret? Farther down the table, I heard raised voices. Her husband was now in a heated discussion with Captain Spellman.
    â€œI believe in the cause of freedom for the colored as much as the next man,” said Mr. Massey, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Nevertheless, the Greeks cherished slavery. In fact, Plato and Aristotle believed it was vital to an ordered society.”
    â€œBut we have made two thousand years of human progress since then,” asserted Captain Spellman.
    â€œPerhaps,” responded Mr. Massey, “but in their infinite wisdom, our own Founding Fathers decided to guarantee slavery in the Constitution. I refer you to Article one, sections two and nine. The Southern states are only demanding their rights under the Constitution.”
    I felt my nerves beginning to give way, and it was all I could do not to bolt from the table. Mrs. Warden was eyeing me closely from the kitchen door.
    â€œI don’t think an issue like slavery can ever be compromised when one side views the Negro as a human being and the other sees him as a good head of livestock,” said Captain Spellman, his cheeks turning red with anger.
    â€œYou see the colored man as a human being, then,” Mr. Massey replied.
    My head felt as if it was going to explode, and I knew that if I didn’t leave the table at that moment, I would break down in front of everyone.
    â€œPlease excuse me,” I mumbled, almost reeling as I headed for the back staircase. I barely made it to the door of my room, fumbling for the key and then staggering inside. Something behind me momentarily blocked out the lamplight from the hall, and then I heard her lilting voice behind me. She must have come up the front staircase right after I left the dining room.
    â€œIt will be all right, Lieutenant,” said Mrs. Massey. “Lie down now. I will bring you something for the pain.”
    As soon as I was on the bed, my body began to shudder, just as it had during those first long nights in the hospital. The tremors started in my hands, rapidly moving up my arms to the rest of my body, coming in short, staccato bursts until I thought I would split apart.
    The door to the hallway opened, and she was back again.
    â€œHere,” she said, raising my head and putting a spoon to my lips. “This will help you.”
    I didn’t need her to tell me what it was. I recognized the earthy fragrance of the opium and felt the raw authority of the alcohol as it coursed down my throat. But of what value was a spoonful, my demented brain cried out. She was holding the bottle in her other hand. I seized it from her grasp and tilted it to my mouth, gulping the mixture down as greedily as a man dying of thirst. There was less than a pint left in the bottle, and it was gone in a few seconds.
    â€œOh, you poor soul, you poor soul,” she murmured, stroking my forehead.
    The shuddering finally subsided, and I was still again.
    â€œI must go,” she said gently.
    â€œYou have saved me, Mrs. Massey,” I said. “I am in your debt.”
    â€œMy name is Adele,” she said, softly closing the door behind her.
    I lay awake all that night facing the enormity of what I had become. As the gray dawn crept slowly into my room, I silently swore that I would never again be without the one thing I needed to survive, which was a steady source of laudanum.
    My first foray into the netherworld of an addict produced a satisfactory result. One didn’t have to be an