by Ann Walsh
“Not everyone,” said J.B. as I stepped into the parlour. “Just me. When I told Ted to stay home and rest today, I had forgotten that his mother was counting on him being at work so that she could finish preparations for this celebration. I fear she was somewhat annoyed with me.” The doctor looked tired, but he smiled and spoke cheerfully. I hoped he had not had nightmares last night after all.
J.B. was sitting on the sofa, Moses beside him. Mr. Malanion stood behind them holding his violin and my father sat in the wing back chair, smiling.
“Aye,” said Pa. “You were not in Jeannie’s good graces this morning, Doctor, but we managed to get Theodore out of the way without your help. By the expression on his face, we have succeeded in surprising him.”
“You have,” I said. “I was looking for you, J.B., and for Moses and Pa. It is no wonder I could not find you. And Mr. Malanion, it is good to see you again. I have not had much time for music lessons lately.”
“It was planned that you not find us,” said Moses. “We gathered at your father’s shop, and the moment you passed on your way into Barkerville, we set out. We have been waiting for you to return.”
“Which you finally have so now we can eat!” said J.B.
“Your good mother insisted that we wait for you before she would serve the meal, so we have been anxiously, ardently, and avidly awaiting your arrival. Excuse me, Ted. I meant to say that I am very pleased to see you for I am excessively hungry.”
The table had been laid with the lace tablecloth that had belonged to my grandmother, and Ma had set out the best dishes. “Take your places, gentlemen,” she said. “I have everything ready, in spite of my son’s presence all morning.”
Pa had opened a bottle of the chokecherry cordial Ma makes each summer, and he poured a glass for everyone, even me. My mother brought the serving platters and put them on the table, then she also sat down.
“To Theodore,” said Moses, raising his glass. “He was my friend when he was a child and remains a friend as he moves into adulthood. To Ted.”
Everyone lifted their glasses and said, “Ted,” except for Ma, whose voice quavered as she added, “Happy birthday, son. You have grown up so fast, so fast.”
“Thank you,” I said. I no longer felt the least bit disgruntled; I felt exactly the opposite. Gruntled? “Thank you, everyone. Ma, can we eat? I’m starving.”
J.B. agreed with me, loudly, and soon Pa had carved the meat and passed the plates to Ma who filled them with roast potatoes and fresh greens. She had made gravy, too, and biscuits, and opened a jar of her special rhubarb, onion and raisin relish.
“To Ted,” said Mr. Malanion, raising his glass to me again. My father noticed that it was empty, and uncorked another bottle. Once the glasses had been refilled, Mr. Malanion went on. “I suspect that you will soon have a new customer at your barbershop, Mr. Moses. Are those not the beginnings of whiskers sprouting on Ted’s chin?”
“Aye,” said my father. “I believe you are right, Mr. Malanion. I have noticed the same thing myself.”
“Pa!” I said.
“That will be a good thing, will it not Doctor?” asked Ma. “Now that Theodore is almost a man of medicine, it seems fitting that he look more mature. A beard will add dignity and make him appear older than his years.”
“Ma! Please!”
“I agree,” said J.B. “Patients prefer proclaiming their pains to an older man. Beards breed confidence.”
“J.B.!”
Doctor Wilkinson pretended he did not hear me and squinted across the table to inspect my chin. “Now that Ted is a godfather, it seems appropriate that he appear more dignified. Yes, I think you should let your whisker—excuse me, whiskers—continue to grow, Ted.”
“I do not have whiskers,” I said, too loudly, “and it is no one’s concern if I do.” I reached across the table for the bottle of cordial, but Ma was faster than I, and whisked it out of my grasp.
“You may be fourteen, young man, but one small glass to celebrate your birthday is all you may have. No more cordial for you.”
My father surprised everyone, especially me, by taking the bottle from Ma. “He is nearly a grown man, Jeannie. A small second glass will not hurt him.”
“Indeed it will not,” said J.B. “Mrs. MacIntosh’s chokecherry cordial is well known for its curative properties. It stimulates the mind and cleanses the blood. I believe that I, too, would indulge in another glass, with your permission, Mrs. MacIntosh. I spent a restless—no, actually a sleepless—night and am in need of a small stimulant.”
“You do look tired, Doctor, and you may certainly have another glass, if you will explain what you meant about Ted being a godfather.”
“Ah,” said J.B., pouring himself a substantial portion of cordial, “your son has neglected to tell you about his new role in life, has he? Ted, you have been remiss. Shall I explain?”
He did explain about Mrs. Fraser and the twins, and managed to make it sound quite logical that the babies be named Robert and Andrew instead of being named for their godfathers. I was glad to let him do the talking, and Ma was more than happy that there would be infants in her life once again. She began making plans to visit the new parents, discussing what I should buy as a gift for my godchild.
After the meal, Mr. Malanion and I played our violins while Pa whirled my mother around the room in a short but vigorous dance. I watched, surprised. I had no idea that my father knew how to handle himself on a dance floor. Ma was panting slightly and fanning herself when the music ended.
J.B. danced with Ma, too, and then she took the violin from my hand and pulled me to the centre of the floor. I had never danced before, and I felt uncomfortable. But when Mr. Malanion ended the piece and I bowed to my mother and escorted her back to her seat there was much applause and laughter. I think I did rather well.
J.B., however, did not join in the laughter. He looked paler than he had earlier, and now deep lines creased his face.
“My thanks for the meal, Mrs. MacIntosh, but I regret that I must leave,” he said abruptly. “Be at the surgery early in the morning, Ted. We have much to do.” Then he was gone, the front door shutting firmly behind him.
My parents looked at each other. “Should we go with him?” asked my mother. “Do you think…?”
“I do not know, Jeannie,” my father answered, but it was Moses who rose to his feet.
“I, too, shall take my leave,” he said. “Perhaps I can catch up to the doctor before he reaches town. I saw the pain in his face as he watched the dancing. He was remembering happier times.”
“If you think it necessary, Mr. Moses,” said my mother, escorting Moses to the door. “But I can not believe that Doctor Wilkinson’s problem has returned. He gave me his word that it would not.”
Moses spoke to her softly, but I heard him anyway. “Such trouble as the good doctor has known can not always be ended by words,” he said before he hurried out.
Mr. Malanion played a few more tunes, but the brightness had gone from the party. Then he, too, bid us farewell and left.
The cheerful evening had ended much differently than it had begun. I was disgruntled again, and puzzled. Why had J.B. left so suddenly? I helped Ma with the washing up, but neither of us spoke much and the kitchen was nearly silent as we worked.
When the last glass was dry and all the good dishes carefully stored in the sideboard, Pa called me and I went into the front room.
“Here,” he said, taking a small velvet bag from his pocket and handing it to me. “It was your great-grandfather’s. He would wish you to have it, since you are his namesake.”
Inside the bag was the gold pocket watch which my father wore only on Sundays. I held it in my hand for a moment, feeling the smoothness of it, then lifted it to my ear. Pa smiled at me.
“You used to do that in church when you were small,” he said. “Many a time the ticking of that watch soothed your restlessness or stilled your cries. I thought that you would have more use of it than I; a doct
or’s assistant has need of a reliable timepiece.”
“Thank you, Pa,” I said, and turned the watch over to look at what was engraved on the back. P. MacIntosh. ‘P’ for Percival.
“Wear it in good health, son,” said my father. “May it number many happy years for you.”
“Many, many happy years,” said my mother. “Happy birthday, Ted.” I kissed her good night, but before I could escape to my room she stopped me.
“Ted, I think that you should stay home tomorrow,” she said. “Doctor Wilkinson did not look well tonight. He most likely will rest and will not need your help.”
“But J.B. told me to be early,” I said. “If he is ill there will be even more for me to do. I may have to tend to some of the patients myself.”
My voice got louder as I went on speaking. “I do not understand, Ma. J.B. told me to stay home today but you insisted I go. Now he tells me to come to work tomorrow, yet you tell me I should stay home. Will someone please explain what is happening?”
“Ian?” said my mother, not answering me but turning to my father.
My father did not answer me, either. “I have faith in Doctor Wilkinson, Jeannie,” he said to my mother. “Let Ted go to work as usual. I think all will be well.”
“I hope you are right, Ian,” said my mother. “With all of my heart, I hope that you are right.”
Eight
In spite of J.B.’s warning, I did not arrive for work early. Ma had neglected to tell either me or J.B. that she had arranged to have my photograph taken that morning. She had insisted I wear my good suit and had shown me how to attach my new watch to the watch chain, then tuck it into the small vest pocket.
The photographer had taken a long time arranging my pose. Finally he had sighed, “You have outgrown that suit, Ted. The sleeves are far too short. Put one arm behind you. Perhaps it won’t be so obvious.”
When I finally got to J.B.’s surgery, he said, “I told you to be prompt this morning. It is now much past the time I expected you.”
“I’m sorry, J.B.”
“Perhaps then you will honour me with your presence longer than usual tonight. There is a shipment of pharmaceuticals at Barnard’s Express which has arrived and needs to be fetched, colic medicine to be mixed for the twins who have spent an uncomfortable night and turpentine salve to be prepared, among other chores. I have left you a list of what you are to do today. See to it that everything is finished before you leave.”
He sat down at his desk and pulled open a book, paying no more attention to me. I went into the dispensary, blinking in surprise when I saw the room. The bed was unmade, the blankets badly twisted and tangled together. J.B.’s clothes were heaped on the floor, almost as if they had fallen from their hooks at once or as if someone had thrown them down. Several cups lay in puddles of stale coffee on the table, a plate had dried food crusted on it, and there was a broken bowl on the floor. J.B. was not a neat person, but today the dispensary was unusually dishevelled. I didn’t think I had seen it in this disreputable a condition since my first day as his apprentice.
There was nothing to do but to begin cleaning up, for I could not attend to any of the medical chores with the dispensary in this state. I lit a fire and went for water. While it heated so I could clean the dishes, I would make the bed and tend to his clothes.
I wanted to show J.B. my new watch. We should have a laugh over the initial of my middle name engraved on it, I thought. However, it did not seem like the best time to approach him, not in his present mood. I pulled the watch out to look at it, then put it away again. If I listened hard, I could hear it ticking, even tucked away in my pocket. I took it out, then put it away, then took it out again. There was a comfort in the solid feel of the watch and I liked the way the rich gold of its case caught the light. Whenever I turned it over and saw the engraving, I smiled to myself. This watch had always kept perfect time, but just to make sure I would step into the surgery and compare it with the clock J.B. kept on his desk.
He looked up as I came into the room and frowned at me. “Is that, by any chance, a new watch you have?”
“It was my great-grandfather’s,” I said, eager to show it to him. “Then it was my grandfather’s, then my father had it, and now he has given it to me. Here, look at the name on the back.”
“I do not care what may be engraved on it. I only care that the work I assigned you be completed. However, since you neglected to close the dispensary door behind you, I have been able to see that you check the passage of time regularly. Perhaps returning your new timepiece to your pocket and leaving it there for, oh, maybe ten minutes at once, would free your hands to continue your chores.”
He turned his back on me and returned to his reading. I swallowed hard, slipped the watch back into my pocket and hoped that J.B.’s ill temper would soon pass. I could not remember him ever being so sharp tongued.
After I finished tidying and cleaning the dispensary, I checked the list to see what I should tackle next. There was laudanum to be prepared, licorice root to be ground and mixed into a tonic, and several other mixtures to be made ready with their dosage instructions written out. I would leave the preparation of the salve until last because the fumes from the turpentine sometimes made me feel ill. I went to the chest which held the medicinal ingredients to fetch the opium I needed for the laudanum. Drops of liquid opium had to be counted very carefully according to the doctor’s instructions. The drops were added to a sweet tasting liquid to try to cover the bitter taste, although patients who took laudanum regularly claimed that they no longer noticed the bitterness.
The lid to the chest stood open, so I did not have to ask J.B. for the key. That relieved me. The fewer things I had to ask him today, the fewer times I should be subjected to his surly mood. However, when I picked up the bottle of opium, I saw that it was nearly empty. I thought that there had been more, but perhaps J.B. had dispensed some without my knowledge. There was another bottle in the order J.B. had said had arrived, but I would have to go to the express office and fetch the supplies before I could begin this task. It seemed that every order J.B. placed lately contained liquid opium, I thought. We were using a lot of it these days.
The chest which held the medical supplies had drawers in the sides of it, but when you opened the lid you saw the entire space at the top of the trunk was filled with a wooden shelf containing small partitions. The bottles and jars of ingredients fit snugly into these wooden compartments, each one labelled and in its own space. This trunk had belonged to a ship’s medical officer, J.B. had explained, which was why everything was so securely held in place. That was necessary so that when the ship sailed through rough weather, the bottles and jars did not roll about and smash into each other.
As I let the lid of the chest drop closed something shattered, and when I looked I saw that a bottle had broken. It had contained flowers of sulphur, a bright yellow powder. That container must have been incorrectly placed in its compartment so that it stood too high. I looked, dismayed, at the fine powder which now was scattered over the entire contents of the chest.
“Too much merriment last night,” said J.B. He was standing in the doorway between his surgery and the back room, and he glared at me. “If my assistant is to be so clumsy after every celebration, I shall soon be deeply in debt replacing what he breaks and destroys.”
“I’m sorry, J.B., but the bottle was not properly replaced. It was not my fault—”
“Oh, it is my fault, then? I am the one who was careless with my medicines, am I? How dare you say that to me!”
I looked at him, startled. His eyes were red and his hands shook slightly as he leaned against the door frame, glaring at me. His skin had an unhealthy look to it; it was sallow and gleamed with sweat.
“Are you unwell, J.B.? Can I be of assistance?”
“I am not unwell and it is no concern of yours. You have much to do today. Do it. I am leaving.” He picked up his black doctor’s bag, jammed a hat on his head and left, slamming the door
behind him.
“J.B.?” I started to go after him, but then changed my mind. His foul temper this morning surely had nothing to do with me. Perhaps he had been with patients most of the night and needed sleep and that was why he was so irritable and ill looking. He had been tired at my birthday party, but now he looked far worse than he had then.
Shrugging my shoulders, trying to shake off J.B.’s hurtful words, I checked the list of his instructions once more and set to work.
I didn’t see him again that day. Patients arrived during scheduled surgery hours, and I had to send them away. I dispensed the medicines J.B. had asked me to prepare, but I could do nothing for most of those who wished to see the doctor.
“He is attending someone else,” I said, not knowing if I spoke the truth. “Come back later.”
A few of his patients returned, but J.B. did not. Where was he? It was unusual for him not to tell me where he was going. He never left me alone in the surgery without giving me instructions about what to do for any patients he expected.
I spent some time trying to clean up the yellow sulphur powder which lay over everything in the medicine chest, but soon gave up. The fine powder had drifted everywhere, coating the contents of the chest and settling into every corner and crevice. I removed bottles and wiped them, but as soon as I replaced them in their compartments, they acquired another film of yellow dust, stirred up by my movements.
I did what I could. In the late afternoon, when J.B. still had not returned, I picked up the order from Barnard’s Express, then took the colic medicine to Mrs. Fraser. I spent a long time with her and the twins, trying to help her as she gave them the mixture. That chore turned out to be more difficult than I would have thought. The babies were small, but they squirmed and wriggled and it was almost impossible to get the mixture into them. We finally succeeded, but I thought that I would add more sugar when I mixed their colic medicine again. Perhaps they did not care for the taste.
