The Apprenticeship of Lucas Whitaker (4 page)

“There's the culprit,” he said triumphantly.

At the sight of the tooth, Daniel let out a wail and began to cry in earnest.

“It's all right, Daniel,” Lucas said, removing the straps. “It's over now. Soon you'll feel lots better, won't he, Doc?”

“It'll ache a bit tonight, lad,” Doc said. “But nothing like before. In a day or two, you'll be right as rain.”

Taking Daniel by the hand, Mrs. Oaks said, “What can we do by way of paying you, Doc?”

“I'll send Lucas over one of these days with the wagon. It could use a new wheel, if Eben has the time.”

“We'll be expecting you, then, Lucas,” said Mrs. Oaks.

“Yes, ma'am,” said Lucas.

Doc wrapped Daniel's tooth in a bit of paper and asked the boy, “You want this, lad? Some folks like to keep their parts, others don't.”

Daniel, still snuffling, pointed to Lucas.

“Ah, you want Lucas to have it.” With a flourish, Doc handed the tooth to Lucas. “Here you are, Lucas. A memento of your first tooth-pulling.” He smiled.

Not knowing what else to say, Lucas murmured, “Thanks, Daniel.”

Mrs. Oaks said, “Lucas, when you bring the wagon, why don't you stop by the house for a visit with Daniel? He seems to have taken a liking to you.”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Lucas. “I will.” He felt oddly pleased.

When he and Doc were alone once again, and Lucas was wiping the blood from the knife and pliers, he could feel Doc looking at him.

“That was a nice touch you showed with the Oaks boy,” Doc said. “I've often felt that it's not so much what we do when it comes to doctoring, as the kindness we show in doing it. I dread the times when I have to cause pain to a youngster such as Daniel. But you made it go easier for him.”

Lucas kept busy straightening up the instrument tray, but Doc's words had stirred a warm glow in that deep, cold place inside him. Feeling Doc's eyes still on him, he looked up. Curiously, Doc asked, “What magical words did you whisper to that boy?”

“Nothing much,” Lucas mumbled.

“Come on now, lad,” wheedled Doc. “I let you in on all the secrets of my trade and you won't tell me what you said to bring a smile to that boy's face? I ask you, is that fair?”

“I thought he might be afraid of being strapped down,” Lucas answered quietly. “So I told him a story. It—it's what my mama always did when I was scared.”

“Ah, good thinking,” said Doc. “And the tale?”

“It was only something I made up,” Lucas said quickly.

“I'd like to hear it,” said Doc.

Reluctantly, Lucas repeated his story. His voice trailed off at the end as he looked sideways at Doc to see how he'd react.

To Lucas's relief, Doc Beecher let out a great bellow of laughter. “Oh, that's a good one, lad. And where, may I ask, did you come up with a yarn like that?”

Encouraged by Doc's laughter, Lucas explained. “Back home, my Uncle Asa used to go to Emery Smith—he was the blacksmith—to have his teeth out. One time Asa had a toothache read bad, and he was drinking whiskey. To kill the pain, you know.”

Doc nodded.

“Well, I guess he'd drunk a whole lot,” Lucas went on. “By the time he got to Emery's place, he hardly knew where he was. Asa didn't remember it so good afterward, but I guess when he saw Emery coming at him with those pliers, he began to thrash about and he knocked Emery darn near senseless.

“Asa felt real bad about it when he sobered up. And, of course, he still had the toothache, too. But Emery wouldn't have anything to do with Asa after that. Told him he'd have to find somebody else to see to his tooth-pulling.”

Doc laughed some more and shook his head wonderingly at Lucas. “You don't say much, Lucas my boy, but when you do talk, you're worth listening to.” He added, smiling, “I'm quite pleased with our day's work and with your part in it, lad. Now, shall we go see what Mrs. Bunce has fixed for supper?”

Lucas nodded. During the excitement of the afternoon, he had forgotten his sadness and shame about Mama's death, and his confusion about Uncle Asa. He'd felt, for the first time since all the sickness began in his family, something close to happiness.

Lucas spent the following morning doing chores for Mrs. Bunce, and it wasn't until the afternoon that he was able to join Doc Beecher in his office.

“Lucas, pull that chair over here and have a look at this,” Doc said. He was seated at his desk, examining a chart. “I've been keeping this record for the past—what?—sixteen years,” he explained. “It's a record of illnesses I've been called to treat. Now, see here, the way I've arranged it according to date of occurrence. The interesting thing to me, lad, is right here. There seems to be a pattern to the—”

At the sound of a timid tapping at the door, Doc stood and admitted a girl about Lucas's age. She pushed back the hood of her heavy cloak, releasing black curls that sprang up all around her face. Her cheeks were red from the wind and cold, and her blue eyes were large and solemn.

“You're one of Lewis Stukeley's daughters, if I'm not mistaken,” said Doc Beecher. “Sarah, is it?”

“No,” said the girl breathlessly. “I'm Lydia, sir. It's Sarah I've come about. She's doing poorly, Doctor. Mama's been dosing her, but to no good effect, and we're afraid it'll be like it was with—the others.” Her voice dropped and tears filled her eyes. Quickly, she wiped them away and reached under her cloak, drawing out a cloth-wrapped bundle. “I came to see if you could help. Mama sent this. It's butter and some cheese, made up fresh this morning.”

“That was very kind of her,” said Doc Beecher, taking the package. “It was consumption, wasn't it, lass, that took the others?”

Lydia nodded.

“I thought so,” said Doc with a frown. “Now then, Lydia, you came on foot, did you?”

Lydia nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Why don't you sit by the fire and warm yourself. I'll get my things together and Lucas here can hitch up the wagon. We'll go out to your place, and I'll have a look at Sarah.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” said Lydia gratefully.

“Lucas, I know you've not done it before, but see what you can do about preparing the wagon. I imagine Jasper and Moses are so eager to get out of the barn that they'll just about harness themselves. I'll be there shortly, if you run into difficulty.”

As Doc had predicted, the horses were anxious to go. They stamped their feet, tossed their heads, and whinnied impatiently when Lucas entered the barn.

“Easy, there, Moses,” Lucas said quietly, slipping the bit into the big horse's mouth. “Yes, Jasper, you're going, too,” he assured the other prancing animal, fitting the harness over its soft brown ears.

By the time Doc Beecher appeared with his doctoring bag in his hand and Lydia by his side, Lucas had the wagon ready.

“Good, good,” said Doc approvingly as he checked the reins. He helped Lydia up onto the seat and settled in beside her to drive. Lucas stood by, hoping that Doc wanted him to go along, too.

“Climb up here next to Lydia, Lucas,” said Doc Beecher, “and the two of you see if you can arrange that blanket to keep out some of this confounded wind.”

The horses set off at a rapid clip, their hooves crunching through the snow in a noisy rhythm. Soon they left the town of Southwick behind and were riding through the countryside. From time to time the wagon passed near a house or a farm, and Doc and Lydia talked about the people they knew who lived there.

“Everett Peck's cleared some more land,” Doc observed. “Looks to be building on another room.”

“Mrs. Peck's sister and family have come to stay,” Lydia informed him. “Mrs. Peck will be having the baby soon,” she added shyly.

“That makes, what, five little ones?” asked Doc.

“No, six, sir,” answered Lydia. “Same as in our family.” She stopped, and Lucas saw that her lower lip trembled. “Well, before this winter, and all the sickness…”

Doc took one hand off the reins, clasped Lydia's mittened fingers, and murmured some word of reassurance that Lucas couldn't hear.

Later, they passed a small, crudely built cabin with a thin trickle of smoke rising from the chimney.

“I wonder if old Moll Garfield is making it through the winter all right,” Doc said, peering intently at the little house. “I should stop to pay her a call.”

“I didn't much like walking past there today,” Lydia said with a shudder. Turning to Lucas, she said, “Moll's an old granny woman. Some people go to her when they're sick, for cures and spells and herbs.” In a low voice she added, “But other folks say she's a witch.”

Doc was chuckling. “Now, Lydia,” he said, “Moll's got her own ways some folks find peculiar, but she's no witch. I come here for ingredients for some of my medicines. She knows more about plants and what to do with them than anyone I know.”

Lydia looked uncertain. “I heard she's an Indian…”

“Halfways,” said Doc. “Her mother was full-blood Pequot, but her father, Orvis Garfield, was a white man. It was Moll's mother who taught her the old Pequot ways, root healing and so on.”

Lucas asked, “Who else lives there?”

“No one,” answered Doc. “Moll's too ornery to marry, I expect.” He chuckled. “Like me.” Then, turning serious, he added, “That's one reason folks say the things they do. It unsettles them to see a woman like Moll, keeping to herself and doing as she pleases. But Moll doesn't belong in town. She never really belonged anywhere, I suppose. A lot of white folks, I'm ashamed to say, hold her Indian ancestry against her, and there's hardly another descendant of the Pequots left around these parts…or in all of Connecticut, for that matter.”

Lucas looked back over his shoulder at the little cabin, feeling curious about the woman who lived there. Lydia looked back, too, and whispered, “Perhaps Doc's right. But with all the sickness, I do fear sometimes that…my family
has
been witched.”

Lucas was about to speak of the cure the Roods had performed for their son Enoch, but he stopped himself. Perhaps Doc was waiting to talk it over with Lydia's parents. Lucas, remembering how peculiar he'd felt when Mr. Rood had told him of the remedy, was interested to see how Doc would go about explaining it to the Stukeleys.

Doc was saying, “Lucas, lad, as part of your education, I believe I'll send you over to spend a day or two with Moll, so you can see how things were done before the advent of our so-called modern medicine. How would you like that?”

With a shrug Lucas answered, “Well, sure, Doc. If you say so.”

Lydia looked at Lucas with big eyes and, making a face, shook her head. Lucas smiled at her, acting braver than he actually felt about visiting the old witch woman.

By the time the wagon reached the Stukeley farm, the wintry sky was growing dark and a few snowflakes were beginning to fall. Lucas tied up the horses, then followed Doc Beecher and Lydia inside.

In the corner, a girl lay on one of the beds, coughing. Lucas looked away. He had been eager to come along on this trip, but hadn't been prepared for the rush of memories that assailed him when he walked into the Stukeleys' home.

It was a scene very familiar to Lucas. Mr. and Mrs. Stukeley and a little boy Lucas guessed to be about three years old were gathered near the hearth. In the winter his family, too, had lived mostly in the central room, even bringing their beds in from the only other room in back. The fire had been their source of light and heat during the long, cold days and evenings.

A kettle of water sat by the table. Hanging over the side was a ladle, which everyone in the family drank from. Another heavy kettle hung over the blazing fire, and a piece of meat sputtered on a spit.

The girl was taken with another long coughing spell. The harsh sound of it, the pained way in which she clutched her chest, and the thinness of her wrist when she did so made Lucas wince. He looked at Lydia, and in her eyes he saw a reflection of the anguish he had felt during the long months of his family's sickness.

“I've tried everything I know, Doctor,” Mrs. Stukeley was saying. “I left the cow to graze in the moonlight, and made butter from the milk. I fed it to Sarah and gave her the cow's dung to smoke. She's had willow bark for the fever. But she's getting worse. It's just like—the others.” She stopped, her voice breaking.

From the bed, Sarah looked up at Doc Beecher. She whispered weakly, “Thomas…came again…Doctor…last night…”

“What's that?” asked Doc.

“Thomas…” Sarah closed her eyes and fought for breath.

Mr. Stukeley spoke, looking uncomfortably at the floor. “She's been complaining of—visitations, I guess you could say. From Thomas.”

“Thomas is—was—your eldest son?” Doc inquired uncertainly.

“That's right,” said Mr. Stukeley.

Speaking carefully, Doc asked, “He passed on when?”

“This November past.”

“Yet Sarah says that Thomas came to her…” Doc's voice trailed away.

“Comes to her, yes,” Mr. Stukeley said awkwardly. “That's what she says.”

“The others, Martha and Timothy, who died after Thomas, they said the same thing,” said Mrs. Stukeley in a low voice. “They said Thomas came…in the night…and sat with them…” She paused, then finished quietly, “And caused them pain.” She looked anxiously at Doc Beecher. “What can it mean?”

Lucas's heart began to beat fast as he listened to Mrs. Stukeley's words. He looked at Lydia, whose face wore the same worried, fearful expression as her mother's. Mr. Stukeley was looking hard at Doc Beecher, waiting for an answer. Lucas held his breath, waiting to see how Doc would respond.

Doc Beecher closed his eyes and appeared to be in pain himself. Opening his eyes, he said tiredly, “I cannot say what it means, though I've heard others speak of such things.”

“We've heard tell of it, too,” said Mrs. Stukeley cautiously.

“What I'm asking is,” said Mr. Stukeley, “could it be Thomas who's making the others sick?”

Lucas leaned forward. Would Doc tell them about the cure?

“Thomas is dead, Mr. Stukeley,” Doc said. His voice was flat, but not unkind.

“But they've seen him!” said Mrs. Stukeley.

“And if it isn't him, what is it that's taking my children, one after the other?” cried Mr. Stukeley. “Tell us, for mercy's sake! It's why you were sent for.”

Sarah's coughing was the only sound in the room, except for the echo of Mr. Stukeley's desperate cry.

Lucas waited, anxious to hear Doc's answer. The Stukeleys' story sounded very much like the one told by Mr. Rood. Thomas Stukeley, like Mercy Rood, still “lived” after death. He was coming to the others from out of the grave and making them sick. Was it possible that Doc Beecher didn't know how to stop Thomas, the way Mr. Rood had stopped Mercy?

Maybe it wasn't too late to save Sarah!

Doc Beecher sighed and shook his head. “I wish I could give you the answer to your question, Mr. Stukeley. I don't know what brings on consumption, although I have my theories.”

“Theories,” repeated Mr. Stukeley bitterly. “Will your theories keep my Sarah from harm?”

Mrs. Stukeley looked at her husband and pleaded, “Lewis, please…” Her voice trailed off.

Doc Beecher said simply, “I'll do what I can, Mr. Stukeley. Lucas, hand me my bag, will you?”

Lucas jumped and ran to get the bag, which was by the door. Lydia reached for it, too, and for a moment their hands touched. Then Lucas handed the bag to Doc Beecher, who was feeling Sarah's cheeks and listening to her breathing.

Mr. Stukeley stood back, watching. Doc Beecher asked for hot water to make a plaster for Sarah's chest. With the rest of the water, he made what he called a decoction, using one of the cloth bags of herbs Lucas had filled the day before.

“Have her drink this twice a day,” he told Mrs. Stukeley, “and use this other medicine to make a fresh plaster every morning.” He handed her the materials from his bag. “I'll leave enough for two days. I'll be back after that to see how she fares.”

“Are you not going to bleed her, nor purge her?” asked Mrs. Stukeley.

“I don't believe it's efficacious with consumption, Mrs. Stukeley. There's little to be done, I'm afraid, other than to ease her suffering with the teas and plasters.” Doc Beecher looked around the room and, with forced cheerfulness, added, “I've seen many worse cases. She may recover, Lord willing. Some patients do.” Then, almost to himself, he muttered, “There's folks who'll tell you they know the reason why. But I'm not one of them. I'm sorry.”

Lucas wanted to shout out the story of Enoch Rood's miraculous recovery, but Doc was in charge, and his quiet seriousness made Lucas reluctant to interfere. In an agony of indecision he wondered: Should he tell the Stukeleys about the cure he'd heard of from Mr. Rood, while there was still a chance to save Sarah? Doc had said he'd seen worse cases than hers, he told himself. Maybe that meant there was time. He'd have to ask Doc when they were alone.

Mr. Stukeley spoke then. “Thank you for coming, Beecher,” he said stiffly. “I believe we'll doctor Sarah ourselves from here on.”

All eyes turned to Mr. Stukeley, including Doc Beecher's. The two men looked at each other for a long moment. Then Doc bent over and closed up his bag. “As you wish,” he said with a sigh.

At the door, Doc turned to say, “I shall pray for her speedy recovery. Good night.”

As Lucas followed the doctor into the frozen night, he heard Lydia's voice questioning, “Papa?”

And Mr. Stukeley's grim reply: “I heard about a cure. And, by God, I aim to try it.”