Elixir (3 page)

“I'm just here with my mother.… She's working.” “Is your mother a professor?” he asked.

I shook my head. “She's … she's the cleaning woman.” I'd never said that to anybody before. I felt uneasy.

“Ah, then I was wrong. I have seen your mother at work.
She
is the hardest-working person at the university. You are only in second place. And just what is it you're studying that you find so fascinating?”

“Spelling dictation,” I said.

“You find spelling fascinating?” He sounded almost shocked.

“I hate spelling!” I exclaimed, and he burst into laughter.

“So do I. I detest spelling. Do you know what the very worst thing about spelling is?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Spelling bees.”

“I hate those too!”

“If I close my eyes it feels like I'm right there, standing in my grade-school class in Alliston, waiting for my turn, palms sweating, stomach churning, knowing that even if I know the word, I'll still spell it wrong,” he said.

“That's exactly what happens,” I agreed, stunned at his description. I'd never heard anybody describe it so perfectly!

“And the teacher always gives the easy words, the ones you know how to spell, to—”

“To somebody else,” I said, cutting him off.

“Yes, that's just how it went!” he said and then began to laugh. “Here, let me look at that list of yours.” He picked up my spelling book and started to study it. “There are some very difficult words here …
very
difficult. A few that I still might have trouble with. How many of them have you memorized?”

“Most of them.”

He gave me a questioning look.

“Some of them.”

“Here's one that I used to have difficulty with—
achievement
.” He looked at me and got a very serious expression on his face. “Students, the next word in our spelling bee is
achievement
. Please spell
achievement
.”

“Me?” I asked.

“Yes, it is your turn, young woman.”

I didn't want to do this.

“Please proceed.”

I didn't feel I had any choice. He looked so grave and stern, staring at me through his glasses. “A … c … h … e …”

“Sorry, that is not correct,” he said very formally, and I felt my heart fall. “But,” he said, “I'll tell you how you can spell it correctly from now on.”

“You can?”

“It's simple, once you know the trick. Do you want to know the trick?”

I nodded my head. “Please.”

“All you have to do is remember a little rhyme—i before e except after c.”

“I before e …”

“Except after c,” he repeated. “Now try spelling achievement again.”

I took a deep breath. “A … c … h …
i
… e … v … e … m … e … n … t.”

“Correct!” he yelled, and I felt like jumping up from my seat. “Just remember the rhyme and you'll never have trouble with words like that.”

“Thank you so much.”

“That will make it a little bit easier, although try to remember that spelling words correctly isn't as important as the manner in which you put those words together.”

I didn't understand what he meant, and I think my expression must have shown it.

“I know many wonderful spellers who aren't very good thinkers,” he explained. “It's better to think well
than to spell well. I used to struggle so much over my spelling, and my mother didn't understand. She used to tell me that if I didn't spend so much time sketching and drawing, I'd have more time to learn my spelling words, but I knew that even if I worked twenty-four hours a day—”

“It still wouldn't make a difference,” I said, completing his sentence once again.

“You are obviously a very smart young girl,” he said. He smiled and I smiled back. “And quite frankly, in the long run the love of art has been more valuable to me than the ability to spell.”

“Do you still draw?” I asked. I loved doodling little pictures on the margins of my workbooks.

“I paint,” he said. “Oils. I'd love nothing better than to be out in the country painting today, instead of toiling in this steamy city. But, alas, that's not to be. I have to do my work, and apparently you have to do yours.”

“My mother said if I want to become a doctor, I have to be good at spelling,” I said.

“You want to be a doctor?”

“I guess … maybe.” To be honest I'd never given it much thought. “I might be a doctor or a nurse.”

“Both excellent professions. You are offered the opportunity to help your fellow man … and woman. And, while I certainly don't mean to contradict your mother, I know of at least one person who managed to become a doctor despite his limitations in spelling.”

“You do?” I asked.

He nodded. “Me.”

“You're a doctor?”

“A surgeon … but it was poor manners for me not to formally introduce myself.” He held out his hand. “I am Dr. Banting … Fred Banting.”

I took his hand. “I am pleased to meet you, sir. My name is Ruth Williams.”

“It is an honour to meet you, Miss Williams,” he said as he bowed. “It is excellent that your mother wishes you to pursue a career. Many women assume their daughters will simply marry and have no need for an education.”

“My mother doesn't think that.”

There was the sound of somebody clearing her throat. I looked up. My mother was standing there, a scowl on her face. I knew she wouldn't be happy about me talking to a stranger.

“And you must be Mrs. Williams,” Dr. Banting said. He stepped forward and offered his hand, which she took. “I am Dr. Frederick Banting, and your daughter and I were just discussing her spelling. She is a very hard-working young woman. You must be very proud of her fine work ethic.”

“Yes … yes, I am,” my mother sputtered, caught slightly off guard.

“Nothing worthwhile can ever be accomplished without understanding the value of work. Wouldn't you agree?”

“Most certainly, Dr. Banting.”

“And I must apologize if I disrupted your daughter's efforts to become a more proficient speller. I understand she might consider joining me in the medical profession one day.”

“It is important to set goals,” my mother said. “Setting a goal is halfway to meeting it.”

“When did you know you wanted to be a doctor?” I asked.

“I knew from the time I was about your age. I witnessed an accident and was so impressed with the doctor who tended to the injured man that I knew I wished to pursue a career in the healing arts.”

“And Dr. Banting told me that he can't spell very well either!” I blurted out.

He looked taken aback—maybe I shouldn't have said that. But then he smiled.

“Your daughter is correct—spelling was always my great tormentor. But with great effort I have slain that beast, and I'm sure your daughter will work equally hard. Now I should return to my work. It was a pleasure to meet you both.” He bowed slightly from the waist and then turned to walk away, but stopped after a few feet and turned back around. “My assistant and I always take tea at two o'clock. Nothing fancy, obviously, a spot of tea and a biscuit or two, but you're both most welcome to join us at that time if you wish. Good day,” he said, and he turned and started away again.

“That was a kind offer,” my mother said to me.

“Can we go for tea?”

“Perhaps. It depends on how much progress we've made in our goals when tea time arrives.”

I knew what that meant. “I'll stick with my spelling.”

“And I'll get back to my work,” my mother said. She padded down the hall and I focused on my word list again.

“Ruth!” Mr. Mercer hissed, and I looked up. He gestured for me to come over. I put down the book and eagerly went to his desk—I knew what he was going to ask and offer.

“Do you think you could watch the desk for a minute?”

I nodded.

He got up from his chair and limped around the desk. He was old and lame and walking was a real struggle for him. “I'll be back in a minute … have to go to the … to the … you know.”

Of course I knew. He had to go to the washroom.

“Ruth … be sure to help yourself to a humbug or two,” he said, pointing to a little bag of candies sitting on his desk.

“Thank you,” I said.

“No, thank
you
. It's been a lot easier the past week with you being here to help out an old man. How long you gonna be coming here for?”

“My mother says she doesn't know. She says I'm too young to leave alone all day now that school is out, but
it's hard to find somebody to care for me.” Part of me wanted to stay home by myself—after all I
was
twelve. The other part didn't want to be there all alone—after all I was
only
twelve.

“You tell her that as far as I'm concerned, you can spend your whole summer here!”

“I guess we'll see.”

Mr. Mercer shuffled off down the hall. He moved so slowly, with such effort. I wondered if he was in pain.

I circled around the desk and sat down in his seat. It was still warm. I reached a hand into the bag of candies and took out two humbugs. I popped one into my mouth. It tasted sweet and buttery. I took the second one and carefully put it into my pocket. I'd save it for later, or maybe offer it to my mother.

CHAPTER THREE

“
DO YOU WANT ME
to go and get fresh water for your bucket?” I asked my mother.

“First things first. Tell me how to spell
believe
.” My mother stopped mopping the floor and looked at me. All through her cleaning she'd been quizzing me on my spelling words. She'd memorized the whole list so she knew the words by heart.

“Believe,” I said slowly, taking my time, thinking through the word. “B … e … l … e … No it's not e. There's another letter first … i … e … v … e … believe.”

“Excellent. I'm very impressed with your progress today.”

I felt myself blush.

“I think you deserve a break. It's almost two o'clock. Would you like to go up and see Dr. Banting and have tea?”

“Will you come too?” I asked.

“I'm afraid I haven't made the same progress you've made. I still have the whole main floor to do, and if I want to be finished in time for us to be home for supper, I'll have to keep working.”

“But you've been working hard all morning. You deserve to take a break,” I argued.

“Work before rest.”

“Then I should keep working too.”

“You've done your work memorizing your spelling list. This is
my
work. Go, have tea and a biscuit. You can come back after and help if you like.”

“I don't know.…”

“There's nothing to know. The sooner you leave the sooner you'll be back. Get on with you.”

I hesitated.

“Now, before I decide
you
should be the one scrubbing the washroom floors.”

I didn't need that threat a second time. “I'll be back soon.”

I dashed over to the stairwell. We were on the second floor. My mother always started with the third floor, the top floor, hoping to get it done before the day reached its greatest heat. She was now almost finished the second floor. By the time I returned she'd be working on the main level.

As I climbed the stairwell I could hear the dogs barking. I opened the door and felt a surge of heat. It
was amazing how much hotter it was just one floor up. And just as powerful as the heat was the smell. I knew my mother had just cleaned the floor, but it still smelled bad. The stench came from behind the same door as the barking, a room at the end of the hall. I held my breath as I passed by. I turned the corner and the next door along was open. Standing at the threshold, I peeked in. Dr. Banting sat on a stool, wearing a dingy beige lab coat, the arms cut off, working on some papers strewn on the desk in front of him. He was so intently focused on his work that he didn't even see me. Maybe I would just leave and not disturb him.

“Can I help you?”

I looked over. A man was looking at me. He was younger than Dr. Banting, with light-coloured hair and a pleasant expression on his face. He looked like a nice and gentle man, and he had a wonderful smile.

“Ah, good to see you, Miss Williams,” Dr. Banting said as he stood up to greet me. “Have you come to join us for tea?”

“If I may,” I said.

“I was just about to put the kettle on,” the other man said.

“This is my research partner.” Dr. Banting gestured to the man. “Ruth Williams, I'd like you to meet Charles Best.”

“Pleased to meet you, Dr. Best,” I said and curtsied.

“Actually it's Mr. Best. I'm not a doctor, I'm just a research assistant.”

“A research
partner,
” Dr. Banting insisted.

“I'm a graduate student who's been assigned to help Dr. Banting with his research project.” He did look a lot younger than Dr. Banting. Younger and more gentle looking. Not that Dr. Banting wasn't friendly, but there was something about him that I knew meant business— he was probably the sort of person you didn't want to get mad at you.

“You're being too modest, Charles. The initial idea for this research was mine, but anything valuable achieved in this laboratory will be as a result of our work as a team.” Dr. Banting looked back at me. “So, will your mother be joining us for tea?”

I shook my head. “She still has too much work to do.”

“Pity, but I admire her work habits. The building has certainly been in a better state since she took on the responsibility,” Dr. Banting observed.

“Most certainly,” Mr. Best agreed. “Now if somebody could just keep the kennel area as clean as the rest of the building …”