But now there were only three weeks left, and Samuel was no closer to a solution than when he had started.
Late one night Terenia came to see Samuel at the stable. She put her arms around him and said, “Let’s run away, Samuel.”
He had never loved her so much as he loved her at that moment. She was willing to disgrace herself, give up her mother and father, the wonderful life she lived, for him.
He held her close and said, “We can’t. Wherever we went, I’d still be a peddler.”
“I don’t mind.”
Samuel thought of her beautiful home with the spacious rooms and the servants, and he thought of the tiny squalid room he shared with his father and his aunt, and he said, “I would mind, Terenia.”
And she turned and left.
The following morning Samuel met Isaac, a former schoolmate, walking down the street, leading a horse. It had one eye, suffered from acute colic, was spavined and deaf.
“Morning, Samuel.”
“Morning, Isaac. I don’t know where you’re going with that poor horse, but you’d better hurry. It doesn’t look like it’s going to last much longer.”
“It doesn’t have to. I’m taking Lottie to a glue factory.”
Samuel eyed the animal with a sudden, quickened interest. “I shouldn’t think they’d give you much for her.”
“I know. I just want a couple of florins to buy a cart.”
Samuel’s heart began to pump faster. “I think I can save you a trip. I’ll trade you my cart for your horse.”
It took less than five minutes to conclude the bargain.
Now all Samuel had to do was build another cart and explain to his father how he had lost the old one, and how he had come into possession of a horse that was on its last legs.
Samuel led Lottie to the barn where he had kept Ferd. On closer examination the horse was an even more discouraging sight. Samuel patted the animal and said, “Don’t worry, Lottie, you’re going to make medical history.”
A few minutes later Samuel was at work on a new serum.
Because of the crowded and unsanitary conditions of the ghetto, epidemics were frequent. The latest plague was a fever that produced a choking cough, swollen glands and a painful death. The doctors did not know what caused it, or how to treat it. Isaac’s father came down with the disease. When Samuel heard the news, he hurried over to see Isaac.
“The doctor has been here,” the weeping boy told Samuel. “He said there’s nothing to be done.”
From upstairs they could hear the terrible sounds of a wracking cough that seemed to go on forever.
“I want you to do something for me,” Samuel said. “Get me a handkerchief of your father’s.”
Isaac stared at him. “What?”
“One that he’s used. And be careful how you handle it. It will be full of germs.”
An hour later Samuel was back at the stable, carefully scraping the contents of the handerchief into a dish filled with broth.
He worked all that night and all the next day and the following day, injecting small doses of the substance into the patient Lottie, then larger doses, fighting against time, trying to save the life of Isaac’s father.
Trying to save his own life.
In later years Samuel was never sure whether God was looking out for him or for the old horse, but Lottie survived the gradually increased doses, and Samuel had his first batch of antitoxin. His next task was to persuade Isaac’s father to let him use it on him.
As it turned out, it needed no persuasion. When Samuel reached Isaac’s house, it was filled with relatives, mourning the dying man upstairs.
“He only has a little time left,” Isaac told Samuel.
“Can I see him?”
The two boys went upstairs. Isaac’s father was in bed, his face flushed with fever. Each racking cough sent his wasted frame into spasm that left him weaker. It was obvious that he was dying.
Samuel took a deep breath and said, “I want to talk to you and your mother.”
Neither of them had any confidence in the little glass vial that Samuel had brought, but the alternative was death. They took a chance simply because there was nothing to lose.