Jamie

by I D Johnson

  “Perhaps,” Felicity nodded. “Or could it be that he was afraid of you?”

  James seemed to consider the possibility. After a moment, he said, “Do you suppose he knows what I am, that is, what I could be one day?”

  “Don’t you think he might’ve?” she asked.

  James sat up. “Mother, someday, I want to be a Guardian, like Uncle Culpepper, so that I don’t have to be afraid of Vampires any longer.”

  Felicity forced a smile, even though she felt her heart rate increase at her child’s proclamation. He was only six and knew very little about the Ternion, the complex balance between Vampires, Hunters, and Guardians. He wouldn’t be capable of Transforming for at least another eleven years, and yet the idea of her son taking on the dangerous task of ridding the world of the evil ones made her anxious. “Jamie, darling,” she began, using his nickname, “if you choose to be a Guardian when you are older, you may do so. But remember, Son, even now you’ve nothing to fear. Uncle Culpepper and his friends are working to keep us safe both day and night, remember?”

  He nodded, but his face didn’t show absolute faith in her reminder.

  “You know that Uncle Culpepper works for the Guardian Leader, remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “He is a strong and powerful Guardian, and he always protects his family. And you are his very favorite nephew of all. So, darling, there is no reason for you to fear the darkness, the alleyways, or even the Vampires themselves. You are safe, my love. I promise.”

  James nodded, but when his mother handed him the glass of milk, she saw there was still fear in his eyes. For the first time in her life, Felicity Culpepper Joplin wondered if perhaps she had made a mistake in not Transforming herself. What if she was wrong—what if her family really was at risk—and there was nothing she could do about it?

  Chapter 2

  Boston, Massachusetts, USA, 1878

  He wasn’t supposed to be eavesdropping. Proper young men didn’t do such things. And yet, as the voice of his tutor, Mr. Nicklebee, echoed down the hallway, James couldn’t help but pause his studies to see if he might overhear.

  From the sound of it, Mr. Nicklebee had arranged to meet with his father, Dr. Wallace Joplin, in advance, or else there was no way his father would be home from his office this early. It wasn’t even 3:00 in the afternoon yet. Perhaps, Mr. Nicklebee thought James needed some sort of remediation, and he wasn’t able to provide it himself. If that was the case, it had to be in Latin. Even now, with his book open before him, he was having the hardest time conjugating the verbs on the list Mr. Nicklebee had given him. He hoped his father wouldn’t be too disappointed, though, he wouldn’t blame if he were. What sort of a medical doctor didn’t know his Latin?

  The voices moved past pleasantries, and then he heard Mr. Nicklebee say, “Well, sir, let me get right to the point.” James stilled himself against the inevitable bad news. “James is excelling in every subject I present to him, far beyond any of the other dozen or so pupils I’ve ever worked with. I know that you and Mrs. Joplin have decided against sending him to boarding school for various reasons, and I must say, that was quite innovative of you, in fact. As it turns out, I feel that James would’ve been quite miserable in boarding school.”

  “How’s that now?” James heard his father’s voice, much quieter but still audible, reply. “You say you think he’s quite bright, but we were insightful not to put him in boarding school?”

  “Yes, indeed.” Mr. Nicklebee must’ve readjusted in his chair as there was a shrieking noise of wood on wood. “Dr. Joplin, I believe James would be quite frustrated should he be forced to study on the same level as his peers. As you know, I’ve extended his studies well beyond what a typical ten-year-old should be learning. Even at that, he excels, particularly in science, but truly in all subjects. We are nearly to a point where I am running out of material that can challenge him.”

  There was silence for a moment as Dr. Joplin likely mulled over that information. James knew his father well; he was a man of science if there ever was one. He would require some sort of evidence that what Mr. Nicklebee claimed was true. James knew it had to be a farce, a way for Nicklebee to get out of being his tutor any longer. He had thought they were getting along smashingly, but there must have been some sort of discontent for him to make up such outlandish claims. Certainly, James was aware that, in certain subjects, he did quite well, but not in all of them, most especially not in Latin. Even math was a challenge for him. He had no idea how to calculate square roots, and he hadn’t done well on his last calculus exam. Mr. Nicklebee must just be looking to find a new employer.

  After several moments, Dr. Joplin said, “What do you suggest we do then, sir?”

  James was shocked? Wouldn’t his father question the logic behind the tutor’s assertions? Or perhaps he thought it was best if Mr. Nicklebee went on his way.

  “Well, Doctor, if I may, I believe the best place for young James is… Harvard.”

  “Harvard?” Dr. Joplin repeated, and James felt his stomach lurch up into his throat. Had the man truly said Harvard? As in the university? Mr. Nicklebee must be completely out of his mind. He was only a boy of ten! How could he possibly go to a university? Perhaps he meant in the future….

  As if they were of the same mind, Dr. Joplin said, “Surely, you don’t mean just now. He’s only a boy.”

  “Yes, I know,” Mr. Nicklebee confirmed the obvious. “But… he can certainly handle the academic portion. It might be difficult for him, being amongst young men almost half again in age, but if he were able to live at home and attend, that might work sufficiently, don’t you think? I also believe he would do quite well as an apprentice to you in your doctor’s office, even at the hospital. He’s got quite the aptitude for science. He should make a good pair of extra hands for you.”

  The silence was drawn out once again, and James couldn’t believe his father was actually pondering the possibility of seeing about sending him to Harvard when he’d only just mastered riding a bicycle the year before. He still cried when his ugly sister Largey Margie teased him. How could he ever survive at one of the most prestigious universities in the world?

  “Well, Mr. Nicklebee, you’ve certainly given us something to think about,” Dr. Joplin said in his matter-of-fact tone. “Let me discuss the matter with his mother and think it over some. Honestly, I’m not even sure he’d be admitted to Harvard. I know a few of the board members….”

  “As do I, and the head of admissions. I’m quite certain that once young James demonstrates his knowledge and skills, they will take him. Dr. Joplin, I believe James is very much capable of finishing up medical school in the same amount of time it takes most men to finish preparatory school. He is… a genius.”

  After another pause, the irritating noise of wood on wood returned, and James envisioned his father rising from his seat behind his desk in the study next door, extending his hand to his tutor. “Thank you very much for your insight, sir,” Dr. Joplin said, right on cue.

  “Yes, of course,” replied Mr. Nicklebee. “Now, I shall just go see how those Latin verbs are coming along.”

  There was a chance Mr. Nicklebee might change his tune once he saw that James had failed to learn even one conjugate while he was away. Quickly, he returned his eyes to the book before him, praying that some of it had sunk in. He would hate to be the youngest person ever expelled from Harvard for being the biggest dunce.

  Chapter 3

  Boston, Massachusetts, USA, 1880

  Dr. Wallace Joplin was up to his elbows in entrails, and James stood at the ready, surgical utensils spread before him. As soon as his father asked for a particular tool, the younger Joplin would hand it over as quickly as possible. Under the circumstances, it could mean life or death for poor Ross Johnson, who’d been hit by a trolley on his way home from school. While James didn’t know the boy, the victim couldn’t be too much older than his twelve years, and he was praying that his father was able to patch him up quickly befo
re he lost too much blood.

  “Hand me those artery forceps, James. The smaller ones,” Dr. Joplin shouted over his shoulder. Despite the brevity of the situation, James marveled at how calm and collected his father was. He handed over the correct tool, but in the act of using it to clamp off the particular artery Dr. Joplin was aiming for, his fingers must have slipped as a bright red stream of blood came shooting forth from the patient, hitting James directly in the face. He staggered backward, wiping at his eye, but he wouldn’t let it make him miss what his father was doing.

  “Perhaps you should lean back a bit, Son,” the doctor mentioned, working the forceps into place. A nurse standing nearby grabbed a towel and began to wipe James’s face, but since he was not a baby and didn’t need to be treated like one, he took it from her and wiped it himself, not caring if he had blood in his hair.

  “There we are,” Dr. Joplin said, looking carefully at the young man’s innards. Thanks to a new method of anesthesia Dr. Joplin had pioneered, the boy was out and would be for some time. His father promised to tell him exactly what he used as soon as he graduated with his medical degree from Harvard, but that would be a few more years off.

  “All right, I’ll just patch him up now, and hopefully he will be fine.” Dr. Joplin turned to his tray of utensils, but James continued to peer into the boy’s gullet. Something didn’t quite seem right. Even though his father had sewn up the severed intestine, it still appeared as if the cavity was filling slowly with blood.

  “Father—I mean, Dr. Joplin,” James said, correcting himself. He preferred to call his father by the same title everyone else did while he was with him at the hospital or his office. “I believe we may have missed something.”

  “What’s that?” Dr. Joplin asked, rechecking his work. “I’ve gone over everything. I don’t see any more lacerations.”

  James didn’t either, and yet it still didn’t look like he thought it should, as it had on the healthy intestines he’d seen in previous patients. James was leaning over, trying to see past his father, who was also peering intently. “May I?” he asked, looking up at his senior and waiting for permission.

  Dr. Joplin said nothing but raised his eyebrows and stepped out of the way. The nurse, a nice young woman by the name of Annie, still stood at the end of the bed, and James could feel her and his father exchanging glances above his head, but at this point he didn’t care. He knew something was wrong, and he needed to see if he could fix it.

  Carefully, James picked up the bit of intestine that was in question. It had been lacerated so severely in two places that it was nearly severed. His father’s fine stitching was holding, and this didn’t appear to be where the blood was from. James set it aside and continued to make his inspection. He carefully traced the length of the boy’s exposed intestines and still saw nothing. In frustration, he stepped back a bit. It was quite clear, still, that blood was continuing to pool.

  “That excess blood could be from before,” Dr. Joplin said. “Perhaps it only looks like more now because of the way you are moving the organs.”

  “Perhaps,” James said, although he certainly didn’t think so. Carefully, he felt the rest of the young man’s abdomen. Despite the other lacerations and bruising on his skin, everything seemed normal, until he got to his upper left side. “Here!” James practically shouted. He cautiously moved the large intestine aside so that his father could better access the boy’s spleen. “His spleen is ruptured, isn’t it Father? I mean, Dr. Joplin.”

  James stepped out of the way so his father could feel what he was talking about. Only a split second later, Dr. Joplin said, “Yes, it is. Good catch, Jamie, my boy! We’ll have to take it out.”

  Beaming with pride, James backed out of the way so that his father could remove the damaged organ before poor Ross Johnson lost more blood than he could handle. He watched intently as his father used a scalpel to access the spleen and then detach it, using the forceps to keep the patient from losing more blood. Once it was out, he closed up all of the arteries and veins.

  “There now! Does everything look correct to my assistant?” Dr. Joplin was clearly proud of his son for catching a problem he hadn’t even seen himself, and James couldn’t help but be a bit overwhelmed at his father’s praise.

  After carefully looking around Mr. Johnson’s insides, James nodded. “It looks splendid to me, Dr. Joplin.”

  “Very good then. I will close.” He looked up at the clock before he extended his hand for James to slip the correct tools into is. “Son, it’s getting late. It’s nearly dinner time. You should’ve been home an hour ago. Run along home and let your mother know I’ll be there directly.”

  As much as James wanted to stay and watch his father sew the lad up, he knew his mother might be worried if neither of them came home in time. “Yes, Dr. Joplin,” James said.

  “Stop and wash up, of course. Oh, and do be careful of the trolleys.” He said the last part with much disdain. It seemed the more trolleys there were on the streets, the more people there were being injured by them, and James knew how much his father hated patching up people such as this young boy. Carriages could hurt but nothing like the larger piece of projectile metal a trolley could become if one were to accidentally step in front of it.

  James scrubbed his hands quickly and ran a wet cloth over his face, he hoped he’d removed all of the blood. He hadn’t noticed Annie following him until she said, “There’s just a smidge here. Let me get it.” She took the towel from him and wiped his forehead, and James felt his insides restrict, something he’d never experienced before. Annie was beautiful, with deep brown eyes and blonde hair, which she always wore done up on her head to keep it out of the way. She smiled at him, and he felt himself melting into a puddle there before her. “That was quite impressive back there,” she said. “Your father must be very proud of you, Jamie.”

  “Uh, huh,” he said, realizing his mouth was drooping open. He closed it.

  “Well, you better run along now, before your mother worries.”

  “Right,” he nodded. She smiled at him again, and he felt the color rising in his face. Before he could say anything embarrassing, he dodged around her and headed for the door.

  All the way to his house, he did the sums in his head. If Annie was twenty-two now, and he was twelve, that would mean, when he was forty-two, she’d be fifty-two. That should be acceptable to society, shouldn’t it?

  Getting home from the hospital required him to pass by the same alleyway he’d been afraid of for as long as he could remember. Tonight, he passed it by without even realizing it until he was on the other side, thoughts of Ross Johnson and Nurse Annie occupying his mind and keeping it off Vampires. Even though he hadn’t completely forgotten the time he’d seen the shadow in the alley, he had more important things to think on than Vampires or Vampire Hunters. It was only when Uncle Culpepper visited that he even remembered the stories his mother had told him when he was younger. It all seemed like a fantasy now, like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.

  Even before James reached the door of his home, he heard voices shouting from inside. Actually, he only heard one voice shouting—the other only seemed to be attempting to be reasonable and clearly failing.

  “You can’t keep me from it!” his older sister, Marjorie, was yelling at his mother. “When I’m seventeen, I can do as I please!”

  “And I’m telling you that is not the case.” His mother sounded weary, as if she had been having this conversation for far too long already.

  “It’s my life! It’s my body!”

  James quietly opened the door and stepped inside. They were in the parlor, just off the entryway. His mother was standing near the doorway with her arms crossed, his sister sprawled on the sofa, a pillow in her arms, her face red and tear-streaked.

  “Marjorie, please. Just because tomorrow is your birthday, that doesn’t mean you need to do this right away. Give it some time. You might decide against it.”

  “I’ve already decided!” came
the reply. “I’m going through with it. With or without your blessing!”

  James felt hands on his shoulders. Turning, he found Sadie there. “Come along, Mr. James. Ain’t nothin’ to see here.”

  His mother turned and looked at him, the expression on her face apologetic, as if she wanted to see how his day went but knew that she could not leave his sister for the moment.

  James let Sadie lead him away, into the kitchen, where she was preparing dinner. It smelled like roast, and his mouth began to water as the scent enveloped him.

  “I sure hope you’re hungry,” Sadie said as she went to the oven to check progress. “I’ve made enough to feed a small army.”

  “It smells delicious,” Jamie replied. “I think I should go upstairs and wash up. I’ve had a bit of an exciting day.”

  “By the looks of it, I’d say you have. ‘Less that’s strawberry jam trailin’ round the sides of your face.”

  Jamie thought he’d gotten all of the blood off of him before he left, but he was glad Sadie had noticed before his mother did. Even though blood never bothered James or his father at all, his mother could be a bit squeamish.

  Accessing the stairs meant walking back past the parlor. He had no idea what it was his sister was shouting about. Tomorrow was her seventeenth birthday, that much was certain. But what it was she wanted to do because of it, he couldn’t quite figure out. It wasn’t until he was climbing the stairs that his mother made a remark that registered.

  “You can’t do it without Uncle Culpepper anyway, Margie. Just let it be for now. There will be plenty of time.”

  A memory sparked, and he recalled his parents telling him long ago that Uncle Culpepper belonged to some secret society, one you couldn’t join until you were seventeen. It must be that Marjorie wanted to join up, and his parents were against it. What it was precisely, he couldn’t quite remember, but he thought if he pushed thoughts of his waiting school work and the surgery he’d helped with aside long enough, perhaps the memory would find its way back to the surface.