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Somewhere out West, perhaps Colorado or Texas.

Atlanta is no place for a man with consumption. Maybe longer if you relocate to a drier climate. How long do I have?Ī year, Eckhart told him. Yet now his look was closed and inaccessible. He was tall, with ash-blond hair and a brushy mustache, and penetrating gray-blue eyes. Your lungs are in an advanced stage of deterioration. Even now, eleven years following the end of the war, tuberculosis was still rampant throughout the South.

Younger men, their condition weakened by general hardship and the shortage of proper foods, were particularly susceptible. I’ve seen too much of it in the last few years.Ī generation of Southerners had contracted the disease during the Civil War. The correct term is ‘pulmonary tuberculosis.’ You have what’s commonly called consumption. God, I wish it were someone besides me! Why didn’t you go to another doctor?Įckhart dropped his stethoscope on the desk. Dental college should have taught you the difference. You should have known better, Eckhart grumbled. These things sometimes linger on after a hard winter. He swabbed phlegm from his mouth with a handkerchief. Holliday was wracked by a sudden, harsh cough. Perhaps a little more.Ĭonsiderably more, I’d judge. Tom Eckhart was a friend as well as a physician. His trousers were too large, and when he tucked the shirttail into his waistband, he had to buckle the belt to the last notch. He slipped into his shirt, which hung loosely on his thin frame.