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his book and be in and out without much scrutiny.
    Once inside the baggage and dormitory building behind the main station, I excused myself to the front of the queue. Transfers of luggage moved at a consistent pace and the reception area was busy but not chaotic. I looked for a baggage clerk who seemed young and new at his job. I spotted a lad not much older than sixteen—as near as I could tell—and handed him Andrew Gwynn’s claim ticket.
    “We’ve a patient in the hospital who needs something from inside his trunk,” I said. “It’s important.”
    The young man looked unsure; he’d no doubt been told that luggage came into the room and luggage went out of it. I wasn’t a porter checking luggage and I wasn’t an immigrant retrieving it.
    I straightened my nurse’s cap to draw attention to my uniform. “It’s important,” I said again.
    “I’m not sure that—”
    I cut him off. “Mr. Gwynn, the gentleman I am speaking of, arrived just this morning. He’d come for this himself but he’s in isolation at present. Shouldn’t be hard to find. He just arrived. I have the keys.”
    The other clerks were busy and I could tell the young man feared interrupting them to ask what to do for me. I played on that fear, I confess.
    “Do you or do you not know how to do your job, young man?”
    His eyes widened and I could see I had won. “Right away, miss.”
    He disappeared among the long rows of trunks and boxes and cases. I watched from several yards away as he checked the card I had given him against two pieces of luggage at his feet. He was clearly trying to decide which of the Gwynns’ trunks was the one I needed. Lily’s, no doubt, was also in the group of detained luggage from the
Seville
.
    “Just bring them both,” I called out to him.
    He looked up at me, bewildered, and I smiled. “Bring them both. You are busy here. I will find what Mr. Gwynn needs.”
    The lad nodded and placed the two trunks, one much smaller than the other, on a dolly and pushed them toward me. A new delivery of luggage was now headed into the room and the boy was called over to assist.
    “Thank you. I will leave these right here when I am done and you can put them back in a moment. I can see you are needed.” I held out my hand for the claim ticket.
    “Yes, miss.” The boy dislodged the two trunks, returned the ticket to me, and dashed off with the dolly. I quickly knelt beside the smaller of the trunks, figuring that it was Andrew’s. I tried the first key but it would not turn the lock. The second key slid in and the lock fell open. I raised the lid, eager to retrieve the pattern book and be away, but the moment the lid was lifted I saw it was Lily’s luggage I had opened. Inside was a jumble of women’s clothing, gloves, a felt jewelry box, a yellow hat, and a pair of honey-brown shoes. For a moment I just sat and stared at the spectrum of color that was Lily’s life. Such a small trunk. So few things. And it was almost as if she had packed in a hurry. I realized at this same moment that I had no business looking in Lily Gwynn’s trunk. I was about to snap the lid shut when I saw a slim book with papers sticking out of it resting just under a pair of gloves. I pulled at it and saw that it was a book of poetry by John Keats, and appeared to be well loved. Its spine was loose and the cover worn.
    This woman had no doubt cherished the little book.
    I pulled it completely out from under the gloves, set it on my lap, and snapped the trunk lid shut. Andrew might be spending a long two to three weeks or more battling the same terrible disease that had killed his new wife. He might like to have her book of poems at his bedside. I knew I would want it if I were him. I would take it to him. I would even read to him from it if he wanted me to.
    I turned to the other trunk and opened it. The book of patterns was just as Andrew had said it would be, wrapped in a short length of canvas. The book was heavy and cumbersome and I set