Journeyman

by Mark J Rose

  “Come on,” David called. “You can puff like dandy Frenchmen another time.” Matt climbed aboard the hay wagon along with David.

  “Would you mind driving to the north hayfield?” Matt asked.

  “We have all that hay,” David replied.

  “It’s only about halfway. There’s a place along the road where a medicinal plant is growing.”

  “Tomorrow would be better when it’s raining. You’ll have all day to cut plants.”

  “A plant is growing along that road that may cure Joshua,” Matt said.

  “Don’t fill that girl’s head with false hope,” David warned. “I’ve never seen skin corruption this severe. I pray it doesn’t spread before my brother puts him down.”

  “I have seen the same disease on a man and it was cured by this plant,” Matt said.

  Matt was lying. He hadn’t seen goldthread cure anything, but he had read a research report about its antifungal properties. He remembered it because it looked like the honeysuckle flowers he and his friends used to pick in abandoned lots to suck on their stems. They probably tasted every white flower in the neighborhood trying to feed their honeysuckle addiction. When he saw goldthread in that report, it immediately registered, and it had flashed into his mind again when he saw it on the way back from the hayfield.

  “Grace doesn’t have to know,” Matt said. “Give me a chance to try.”

  “The road is up on the left,” David said, resigned. “Truth be told, none of us will be able to bear that girl if she loses that horse.”

  They drove for longer than Matt expected and the terrain looked very different heading in the opposite direction, so for a moment he worried that they might not find the plants, but they soon were traveling through a sea of white flowers. Matt pointed them out and David stopped the wagon. “Go quickly,” David said.

  Matt hopped out and grabbed one of the smaller scythes and pulled a burlap sack from underneath some tools. He walked over into the flowers, which were mixed with a plush carpet of green moss. The flowers resembled those he remembered from the report, but he had expected to see the thin gold stems that contained the medicine. There was nothing gold about this plant. He brushed around in the plants, but didn’t see what he wanted. This isn’t it! He kicked at the plants in disgust with the toe of his boot, pulling a few of the plants out of the ground. To his surprise, a bright golden yellow root popped from the ground. The roots are gold!

  Matt set the scythe down, got on his knees, and began pulling plants from the ground. When his sack was full, he stood, trotted over to the wagon, and tossed everything into the back. “I got what I wanted,” he said as he hopped into the seat next to David.

  As they rode, Matt tried to formulate a plan. He’d need a way to grind up the goldthread root into an oil or cream and extract the active ingredients. There would have to be enough to spread over the horse’s back for the next few weeks. David stopped the wagon in front of the horse barn and Matt jumped off. He grabbed the burlap sack from the back of the wagon, put it over his back and started toward the barn. “Make sure you get a meal in,” David called after him. “They arrive with the hay soon and you still need to restack those back bales.”

  Matt found an upper shelf in the barn and stuffed the sack securely onto the ledge. Most of the horses poked their heads out of their stalls, looking curiously at him, except for Joshua, who was conspicuously missing. Matt walked quickly down to his stall, scared of what he might discover, and was relieved when he saw Grace standing next to the horse holding a bloody towel.

  “There’s naught I can do,” she said quietly. “His hair falls out in patches.”

  “When’s the last time he was in the sun?” Matt asked.

  “Not since his infection got worse,” she replied. “Father asked that he be kept from the other horses. He spends most of his time under the shade trees anyway.”

  “He needs to be outside in the sun,” Matt said. Every scientist from his own time knew that exposure to UV light would kill bacteria and fungi. Matt motioned to Grace to follow. “It’ll help to heal this,” he said. “Come on.”

  “Where would you have me go?” she asked, puzzled.

  “I need your help,” he replied, “to build a small corral out in the sun.” Shrugging, she stepped through the open door of the stall and closed it behind her as she followed him into the large corral. She watched him for a while in silence as he disassembled fence sections and set wood on the ground to mark the perimeter of a smaller corral about three times the size of Joshua’s indoor stall. They worked together to join the fencing.

  The corral was mostly finished before Matt noticed how physically close he was to Grace. Despite her proximity, he was able to maintain his focus until the very last fence rail. They both had to hold the back end of the rail outside the completed circle to push it into the space that remained. It got wedged between two uprights and they had to yank it backwards. She fell into him when she lost her grip and he caught her in one arm while still holding the fence rail with the other. She glanced over her shoulder while in his arm, held his gaze for a moment, righted herself, and grabbed the rail again. This time they were able to push it into place.

  “I’d put a blanket on Joshua so he doesn’t touch anything on the way out,” Matt said. “Let’s bring him into the sunlight.” Matt waited for her to lead Joshua from the barn into the corral. With the blanket covering his back, you would not have known anything was wrong with the horse. He bucked slightly, though, as it was removed and tore at the scabs. Once free, the horse pranced around the corral, glad to end his quarantine.

  “The sun should help,” Matt said. “I’ll mix medicine when I’m done stacking hay. Don’t use any more of that cream you have and don’t get him wet. I want him as dry as possible.”

  16

  Horse Sense

  Matt could only think about curing the horse as he stacked hay. He hoped the goldthread could be applied before the sun went down, but he needed to extract the antifungal chemicals from the roots and find something like petroleum jelly to make a suitable ointment.

  By the time dinner came, Matt had his plan, so when the last hay bale was in place, he rushed to the common for his meal. He filled his plate, grabbed a fork, and carried his food to the farmhouse and into the kitchen. Grace was there with her mother at a kettle over the fireplace. Flames were burning in the hearth and licking at the cast iron pot. The women looked like witches working on a potion, and this made him smile.

  “Grace,” he called out.

  She had a large spoon in her hand and looked comical standing there in her apron. His smile widened. She wasn’t expecting a visitor, especially a smiling one.

  “Mr. Miller,” she said, “I’m busy.”

  “Can we talk for a moment? It’s about Joshua.”

  Mary spoke as she looked back and forth between them. “I can do this myself, dear. Go speak with Mr. Miller about your horse.”

  Grace set her spoon down and walked outside with him. “What now?”

  “I want some things to make the medicine for Joshua’s back.”

  “What things?”

  “What kind of oil do you have on the farm?”

  “Sometimes there’s olive oil we buy in Richmond, but it has not been available,” Grace explained. “It’s costly, so if we did have any, Mother wouldn’t let you take it.”

  “How about cooking oil?” he asked. “Corn oil?”

  “Oil from corn?” she said, puzzled. “What kind of corn has oil in it?” She went silent, waiting for his answer. She looked beautiful.

  Beauty! “What about women’s beauty cream?”

  “Beauty cream?”

  “You know, cosmetics.”

  “We don’t have any beauty cream, or cosmet…or whatever you called it,” she said.

  Matt could see the impatience growing on her face. “Do you use anything for dry hands?”

  “There’s sheep butter in the barn,” she said. “We use that in the winter
.”

  “Sheep butter?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I don’t favor the smell.”

  “From sheep’s milk?”

  Grace laughed heartily. Matt looked at her, bewildered. “You are a city boy,” she said.

  “You said sheep butter,” he replied indignantly.

  “They press it from the wool.”

  “Can you show me this sheep butter?”

  “Let me tell Mother.” She pulled off her apron and hung it on a peg beside the door, and went back into the hearth room. She was gone for a moment, then walked past him in full stride, motioning for him to follow. “Did the stacking go well?” she said when he finally caught up to her.

  “We filled it,” Matt answered. “The rest will have to go into the hay barn.”

  “Stack it tight,” she said, “or you and Scout will want for other lodgings.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Matt said. “Me and the dog have become friends over the last couple of days.”

  “Sometimes I wonder about that animal,” she replied, laughing. “He’ll befriend any passing stranger.”

  “Not just anyone,” Matt replied, willing to meet the jest. “We’ve worked out a deal.”

  “What’s the deal?”

  “I make sure we have room to sleep and he lets me pet him without tearing my hand off.”

  “I have bandages in the house when you need them,” she replied.

  Once they entered the barn, Grace took him to a crudely fashioned tin container that was about the size of a gallon milk jug. She worked the lid off with her fingers and then stepped back. The container was about half full of milky, amber-colored grease with an animal odor, that wasn’t as bad as she had described. Matt smashed some between his fingers.

  “This is exactly like hand cream,” he said.

  “I told you we apply it to our hands in the winter.”

  “You did…” He trailed off. He was thinking aloud. “Can I have this?”

  “For what?”

  “I have a medicinal plant to grind with this. We’ll apply it to the horse’s back to cure him.”

  “Why can’t you say you’re making an ointment?”

  Matt reached up and grabbed the bag of goldthread he had collected earlier in the day and pulled out a few of the plants to show her.

  “You better get these ground before the medicine goes bad,” she said.

  “You may be right,” Matt said, looking down at the wilted leaves. “I’ll need a knife, a bowl, and something to grind in. Maybe a heavy spoon for grinding that fits the bowl.” It’s not likely they’ll have a mortar and pestle lying around a horse farm!

  Mary was still stirring her cauldron when they returned to the kitchen. Grace searched through a number of cabinets as Matt watched and then set a knife, a wooden spoon, and a metal bowl on the table.

  “I’ll get started right away,” Matt said. He grabbed the stuff and was ready to walk out the door.

  “Wait,” she said. “I’m coming with you.” She looked at the items in his hands and said, “There’s something else.”

  Matt was impatient. “What’s that?” He had already started working out his plan and was only half paying attention. She could add little more than delay.

  “A mortar and pestle,” she said. He stared at her in disbelief and set the things in his arms down on the table as she went to a cabinet, pulled out a large mortar and pestle, and placed them in front of him.

  It felt like Christmas Day. “You brilliant woman!” Matt exclaimed. He reached out and hugged her. He had his arms around her when it occurred to him that a hug might not be an appropriate thing for a man to do to an unmarried woman in front of her mother in 1762. When he let her go, Grace stood there, arms at her side with her signature smirk on her face. She glanced over at her mother.

  Matt looked first at Mary and then back to Grace to explain himself. “I thought that there was no possible way that there would be a mortar and pestle on the farm,” he said. He knew he was lying to both them and himself. The opportunity had presented itself for him to wrap his arms around this beautiful creature and he had taken it.

  Mary let it pass. “God will provide, Mr. Miller,” she said simply.

  Matt scooped up all the supplies in his arms. “I have to get to work.”

  “We have to get to work,” Grace corrected.

  17

  Improprieties

  There was plenty of light streaming through the windows; Matt and Grace would be able to work there for at least two hours before it got too dark. Matt took the bag holding the goldthread and emptied it onto the bench, grabbed a handful and lined up the plants so the roots were together, then used a knife. “Cuts easily,” he said. “We want the gold roots. It doesn’t matter if you get a few leaves in there.” He pushed the knife over to her on the workbench, grabbed the cut roots and stepped to the mortar and pestle. He put the roots into the bowl and began to grind.

  “Good day!” said Jeb as he walked into the barn followed by Jonathan. “We came to help.”

  I don’t have time for these jokers.“There’s not much to do,” Matt said. “It’s only getting these plants cut and mixed with the sheep butter. It’s a two-man”—he looked at Grace—“err, two-person job. It’d be a great time to get chores done instead of hanging out here.”

  “What does hanging out mean?” Jonathan asked.

  “Waiting around without doing any work,” Matt said.

  “We could do something,” Jeb said.

  “There’s nothing right now,” Matt replied. “I’d get your chores done.”

  “We aren’t allowed to leave,” Jonathan confessed.

  “Jonathan!” Jeb exclaimed.

  “Why aren’t you allowed to leave?” Matt asked.

  “Mother said we must stay to prevent improp, um…improp…prieties.”

  “Improprieties?” Matt asked. “Uncle David knows we’re treating the horse.”

  “It’s the improp…prieties with our sister,” Jonathan corrected.

  Grace stopped cutting the goldthread and announced clearly to everyone, “There’s no chance of improprieties. Mr. Miller isn’t one of my suitors, and he’s certainly not a man that I’d ever consider marrying.” It was as calm and lucid as anything he had heard her say since they had first met.

  “And your sister isn’t a woman I’d ever consider marrying either,” Matt replied.

  “Mother said you would say that,” Jeb replied. “We’re still not allowed to go.”

  “Fine,” Matt said. He handed the mortar to Jeb. “Start grinding.” Matt stepped to where Grace was cutting. She looked up at him with her smirk, having enjoyed her declaration. He grabbed the cut stems, took them to Jeb, and dropped them in the bowl for grinding. “You want to smash the stems up completely.”

  “What can I do?” Jonathan asked.

  “What I was doing,” Matt said. “When Jeb is ready, bring over more cut roots for grinding.”

  Matt had delegated the whole task, so there was nothing left for him to do but supervise. It took about thirty minutes to grind the plants with everyone working together. Jeb had been transferring the ground-up roots and sheep butter into a separate bowl, which was now filled with a thick yellow paste.

  “We’re finished,” Matt said. “Let’s get Joshua.”

  They walked out to Joshua’s corral, where the horse was trying to eat plants that had grown just out of reach around the fence. “It would be nice to have a sheet to cover his back once we put the ointment on,” Matt said. “Something old, but clean.”

  “Mother has torn linens we can use,” Grace said. “I’ll be back.” She walked to the farmhouse, leaving Matt alone with the boys. The whole impropriety discussion was still weighing heavy on his mind.

  “Who does your family want Grace to marry?” he asked.

  “Father likes Robert Marsh,” Jeb said. “He comes from a wealthy family. They have a tobacco business with plenty of slaves.”

  “What does
Grace think?” Matt asked.

  “She doesn’t think he’s very handsome,” Jeb said.

  “She said he’s funny-looking,” Jonathan offered.

  “Women,” Matt said coldly, shaking his head.

  “He does look like a gopher at times,” said Jeb. “He’s a very nice man, though, and always brings candy when he comes to call on Grace.” Jeb continued without any prompting. “Mother likes Daniel Sutherland, but Father thinks he doesn’t work hard enough.”

  “Father likes men who come from good families and work hard,” Jonathan said.

  “Probably like most fathers,” Matt replied.

  “Do you come from a good family?” Jonathan asked Matt.

  “My parents are divorced, and they aren’t wealthy,” Matt replied. “Probably no.”

  “What does divorced mean?” Jonathan asked.

  “It means that a mother and father aren’t married anymore,” Matt replied.

  “Your mother and father aren’t married?” asked Jonathan. The boy looked like he had seen a ghost.

  “I guess you don’t have much divorce down here,” Matt said.

  “I don’t know anyone whose parents aren’t married,” Jeb said. “Some have a mother or father who has died, and they often want help from the church.”

  “If your parents are divorced, do they still live in the same house?” Jonathan asked.

  “One parent moves away,” Matt said.

  “Who cooks dinner?” asked Jonathan.

  “Usually the parent that remains,” Matt explained. “Or they buy food and bring it home.”

  “At least there’s something for the children to eat,” Jeb said. “If you like the parent who moves away, can you live with them?”

  “Some do,” Matt said.

  “I’d not move out of our home,” Jonathan said. “I’d miss everyone.”

  “Children usually spend time with each parent,” Matt explained. “They go to one home, then the other.”

  “I’d live with Mother,” Jonathan said. “Father is too strict.”