The Apprenticeship of Lucas Whitaker (9 page)

When Lucas stepped into the kitchen, Doc was sitting at the table sipping tea. He offered Lucas some soup, and Lucas sat down to join him.

“Where's Mrs. Bunce?” asked Lucas, thinking that if she was going to question him about the curing, he'd just as soon get it over with.

But Doc answered, “Her rheumatism was acting up. She took to her bed early.”

Relieved, Lucas sipped his soup, grateful for its warmth. He waited for Doc to ask about the ceremony, but Doc said nothing about it. Instead, he asked, “Do you remember when we spoke about Moll Garfield, lad?”

Lucas was surprised. “The witch?” he asked. “I mean, the granny woman?”

“Yes,” said Doc.

“Sure,” said Lucas.

“Well, there's something I'd like you to do for me,” Doc went on. “You know I send to Philadelphia for most of my medicines, but a good many of them I make up from herbs and plants I get from Moll. I'd like you to go there to replenish my supplies of certain items. That will be one reason for your visit.”

“What's the other reason?” Lucas asked.

“Well, you see, I've intended to pay her a call to see how she's fared over this long, blasted cold spell, but, what with one thing and another, I haven't gotten to it. So I want you to go and make sure she's all right. And that's the tricky part, lad. She can't know that's what you're doing.”

Lucas raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Moll's a proud old girl,” explained Doc. “Keeps herself to herself and has never needed or asked for help from anyone. She still chops and hauls all her own firewood, hunts or grows all her food, not to mention gathering and digging her plants and roots. I'm sure she's made it through the winter better than most. But I'll feel more peaceful in my mind knowing for sure.”

“What will I say to her?” asked Lucas cautiously.

“I'll give you a list of supplies that I need. Tell her you're my apprentice. Tell her I want you to learn some of the old Pequot healing secrets,” he added with a twinkle in his eye. “And, meanwhile, keep a sharp eye out.”

“For what?”

“Anything that needs doing. If the roof was leaking—”

“I could fix it, I guess,” said Lucas.

“That's the idea. If she'll let you.” Doc laughed. “And if she hasn't already done it herself.”

Lucas frowned. “But how long do you want me to stay?”

“That depends,” Doc said cheerfully. “As long as you need to.”

“What about my chores?” Lucas asked. “What about helping you and Mrs. Bunce?”

“We'll just have to manage without you for a time, lad,” said Doc. “Don't you worry about us.”

Lucas sat quietly for a moment. All the exhilaration he'd felt earlier was gone. “Is it because I went to the curing today?” he asked. “Is that why you're sending me away?”

“What?” exclaimed Doc. “I gave you permission to go to the town square, lad. No one is punishing you for it.”

Lucas remained still, staring down at his empty cup.

“Lucas, look at me,” said Doc. “I'm not sending you away. Not the way you're meaning it. I'm asking a favor. A favor to me and a stubborn old woman.”

Lucas didn't answer, and Doc gazed searchingly at him. Then he smiled, as if he'd thought of something. “There's no harm in Moll, Lucas, if that's what you're thinking.”

Lucas looked up into Doc's clear blue eyes.

“All right,” Doc said ruefully. “I can see there's no hiding the truth from you. There's more to it than I've been telling you. You see, lad, the fact is, I'm thinking you need a little time away from here, away from all your chores and responsibilities.

“You buried your mother and came here…And I can tell you truly that I'm glad for the day when you appeared at my door.” He smiled. “But it strikes me you haven't had much time to catch your breath.

“So go to Moll, lad. I believe you'll find her to be easy company. I need the supplies, and I'm also thinking you two can do each other some good. Whenever you're ready, come on back. Mrs. Bunce and I aren't going anywhere.”

Later, in bed, Lucas thought about visiting Moll Garfield. If Doc wanted him to go, of course he'd go. Doc said there was no harm in the woman, and Lucas supposed he believed it. He even smiled a bit in the darkness, thinking about what Lydia Stukeley would say if she knew he was going to stay in the little cabin with the “witch woman.”

After working all morning under the scowling supervision of Mrs. Bunce, Lucas felt almost relieved to be walking out of town on his own. Near dusk, he found himself in the clearing outside Moll Garfield's house. The yellow glow of candlelight shone from the window of her cabin, and Lucas could smell the smoke from the fire. He was lingering at the edge of the woods, unsure of what to do next, when the cabin door slowly opened.

Moll Garfield stood in the doorway, staring in Lucas's direction. His approach had been silent and he had not yet left the cover of the trees, but the woman seemed to know he was there. Although her figure was lit from behind, leaving her face in shadow, Lucas felt her eyes holding his in a steady gaze.

He jumped, startled, as the sudden tremulous hooting of an owl broke the silence:
Hoo, hoo-hoo, hoo, hoo.
Its large, dark shape floated across the clearing.

“Come in, child,” said Moll. Her voice sounded hoarse and rusty, like the creaking of an old gate in the wind.

Slowly, Lucas walked forward. As he followed Moll into the little house, he sniffed deeply of the pleasant, powerful smell that greeted his nostrils. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the roof beams and on the walls, along with bundles of the roots and stalks and bulbs of many different plants. Their exotic odors mingled with the familiar aromas of food cooking, wood burning, and beeswax dripping from the single candle that lit the room.

The candle flame flickered and a log sputtered in the fire, drawing Lucas's attention back to the woman, who was now sitting before the hearth. Her straight black hair was streaked with gray and hung down her back in a long braid.

“Sit,” she said simply.

When Lucas hesitated, she motioned for him to take a place by the fire. He sat on the rough plank floor, his back to the hearth, and looked up into the face of Moll Garfield.

Deep wrinkles lined her dark brown skin. Her nose jutted forward, strong and distinct, between high sharp cheekbones. Holding a clay pipe clamped between her teeth, she squinted at him through the smoke that rose lazily from the bowl. She didn't say anything. It seemed to him that she was learning things about him by looking, instead of by asking questions, the way most people did.

The long silence made Lucas uneasy. He thought he should say something. “I'm Lucas Whitaker,” he offered. “Doc Beecher sent me. I'm his apprentice, you see, and he needs—” Lucas fumbled in the pocket of his coat for the list of supplies Doc wanted.

Moll shook her head. “There's time for that later,” she said. Gently, she reached out and laid both hands on Lucas's cheeks. Her fingers were dry and cool. She moved them slowly over his face, feeling his forehead, eyebrows, lips, ears, chin, and finally, very slowly, her palms traced the shape of his head. At last, she appeared satisfied.

She took the pipe from her mouth and spoke in her rusty voice. “You are young, but you have seen much trouble.”

Lucas felt a lump rise in his throat. Moll rose from her chair and took the kettle of hot water from the fire. Lucas watched as she measured out portions of several different herbs and made tea. She returned to her chair with a steaming cup, which she handed to Lucas. “Here,” she said. “Drink this.”

Lucas sniffed the heady, pungent smell of the tea, then tried a cautious sip. It was rich and sweet and soothing. He drank again. Moll sat quietly in her chair, watching the fire. She seemed to accept Lucas's presence without question, and he felt himself begin to relax. The combined warmth from the tea and the fire crept through his body and into his bones, and his eyes began to close.

Dimly, he became aware of Moll moving quietly about the room. The cup was taken from his hand, blankets were placed gently over him, and the candle was extinguished. Darkness came, and sleep.

When daylight touched his eyelids, he awoke. He was lying still, looking around the cabin and trying to remember where he was and how he'd come to be there, when Moll Garfield walked through the door. She filled a pot with water, carried it over to where Lucas lay by the hearth, and began poking the ashes to life.

Turning to Lucas, she smiled, her face creasing into deeper wrinkles. “Sleep well, did you?” she asked.

Lucas yawned and stretched. It was the deepest, most peaceful sleep he'd had in a long time. Since before Mama died, he realized. “Yes, ma'am,” he answered.

Moll glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. “Moll will do, thank you kindly,” she said. She fed some small sticks to the embers and blew on them to coax a flame to life. Lucas studied her as she added larger sticks and, finally, three logs to the fire. Her features revealed her Pequot ancestry, but he couldn't say that he saw anything witchlike about her.

As to her health and how she'd fared over the winter, Lucas thought, Doc could set his mind at ease. Moll looked strong and sprightly as she moved about the room, preparing food for their breakfast. She turned to Lucas, nodding with satisfaction, and said, “Camomile, motherwort, skullcap, and lady's slipper.”

Lucas was confused. “Beg your pardon?”

“The tea,” Moll answered. “It helped you to sleep.”

Lucas remembered the sweet, strong taste of the drink Moll had given him. He looked around at all the herbs and plants, and wondered at their uses. At the same time he kept an eye out, as Doc had told him to do, for anything amiss, but the little cabin appeared snug and sound.

“Would you show me how to make it?” Lucas asked shyly. “Doc said to ask if you'd teach me things.”

Moll took a taste from the pot she was stirring. “First,” she said, “you must eat.”

At the mention of food, Lucas's stomach rumbled loudly. Moll laughed, a startling sound like the cawing of a crow. She filled two dishes, handed one to Lucas, and began eating, smacking her lips with satisfaction.

When they finished, Moll took him deep into the woods, where she showed him where to look for the mosses, barks, and tender sprouts that could be gathered in early spring. As they walked along, she pointed out places where, later in the season, leaves and flowers and berries of healing plants would appear in abundance.

Lucas loved hearing their names: cocklebur, sticklewort, coltsfoot, knitbone, blowball, feverfew, bearberry, toadflax, heart's ease. He repeated them to himself, trying to remember which ones Moll used for cough, or fever, which for toothache, or burns, or wounds.

Later, while Moll prepared the evening meal, Lucas looked around. There was a large, neatly stacked supply of firewood, and a patch of new shingles on the roof. Moll did, indeed, appear to be doing just fine by herself.

As they sat by the hearth eating, Lucas said, “Moll?” At first he had felt odd calling her by the familiar name, but he'd soon become used to it. “What do you know about—consumption?”

Moll grunted and spat into the fire. Looking at Lucas from under her hooded eyelids, she said, “I know that after the white man's ships came, many, many of my mother's people died from it. From red spot. And from other diseases.” Her voice grew bitter. “My mother knew the remedies for illness. She learned them from her mother and she taught them to me. But there was no remedy for the white man's sicknesses.”

“Your mother's people,” repeated Lucas. “The Pequots.”

Moll looked surprised. “Yes,” she said. Her eyes looked somewhere far away, somewhere Lucas couldn't see.

Finally, he said, “Moll, there is a cure for consumption.”

Moll's face lost its look of sad remembrance and she gave a snort of laughter. “What has that old gray fox Beecher been telling you, child?”

“Doc didn't tell me,” said Lucas.

Moll lifted her eyebrows. Again he had the feeling she was seeing past his face and into the hidden places inside. That made it easy to tell her about the deaths of his family, about digging up Thomas Stukeley's grave and putting him to rest so that Sarah would live, and about the curing ceremony he had attended at the town square.

While he talked, Moll filled her pipe with tobacco and lit it. When Lucas finished, she peered at him through the smoke. “Ah, but how does this story end?” she asked.

What did Moll mean, Lucas wondered. What he'd been telling her wasn't a story. It was true. And he had told her everything. It ended in Southwick, with the ceremony at the town square. It ended with Enoch Rood and Sarah Stukeley and Lavinia Sheldon, and all the others, cured. It ended with the end of consumption!

“Sometimes,” Moll said, glancing slyly at Lucas, “you must go back to the beginning of the story to find out how it ends.”

Lucas didn't know how to respond. Maybe Moll wasn't a witch, but she certainly had some strange ways about her, he thought.