The Apprenticeship of Lucas Whitaker (3 page)

Lucas moved through the early-morning hours of his new life as if in a dream. Without thought or question, he obeyed Mrs. Bunce's orders to fetch water, chop and carry firewood, empty the chamber pots, and feed the chickens and horses.

A distant part of his mind noticed things about Doc Beecher's house that once would have interested him: thick carpets that covered the floors, stuffed furniture that was soft to sit on, mirrors and paintings on the walls, glass windows in a few of the many rooms, and a tall, wooden clock that startled him from time to time with its chiming. But he paid scant attention to any of it.

Once, he stopped short on catching sight of himself in the parlor mirror. They hadn't had a looking glass at home, and it was a moment before he recognized that the grim face looking back at him, with its dark brooding eyes, narrow mouth, and skin stretched tight over sharp, high cheekbones, was his own.

After a meager meal of bread and jam, he was sent to the front room, where Uriah Beecher sat reading by the window.

“'Morning, lad,” said the doctor, looking up from his book. “Have a good feed, did you?”

Lucas shrugged.

“Mrs. Bunce has a peculiar tendency to hoard the household supplies,” Doc Beecher said with a little smile. “I expect she got that way from living with Horace Bunce, her late departed husband. He was the most miserly skinflint I've ever—But never mind that. However, I do have to watch that sister of mine, or she'd have me on bread and water. Which from the looks of her is all she ever eats.”

When Lucas didn't respond, Doc Beecher looked at him over the tops of his thin gold-rimmed glasses. “Hmmm,” said Doc. “Not much of a one for conversation, are you? Well, I suppose it's no wonder, all things considered. People talk when they're ready, I've found. All right, then. Let me put you to work.”

Doc Beecher stood up. “You'll find out soon enough what it's like around here. One day nothing much happens, and the next all tarnation breaks loose.

“So I've learned to take advantage of the quiet times. That's when I write in my journals, and work on my experiments and hypotheses. It's when you can make yourself useful sharpening my instruments, making up medicines, and generally helping me to be prepared for the next bout of human misfortune we'll need to deal with.”

Lucas looked around the room. There was a long table covered with a sheet. Next to it were trays full of the doctor's medical instruments. Some Lucas recognized, such as a saw and several sizes and styles of knives, pliers, drills, and shears. Others were peculiar-looking, their uses unknown to him.

A pitcher and washbasin sat on a table near a large chair with leather straps attached to it. He'd never seen a chair like it and wondered what the straps were for.

All along the walls were shelves lined with a remarkable assortment of books, pamphlets, bottles with powders and liquids of different colors, and jars full of squirming leeches. There was a large drawing of a person without any skin on, so Lucas could see the bones and other inside parts, and on one of the shelves there was what appeared to be a human skull, with the teeth sticking right out of the jawbones.

Doc Beecher's desk held stacks of papers, a pen and inkstand, and what Lucas knew was an oil lamp, although at home they'd had only candles to light the darkness. There were two regular chairs, a fireplace, and the wood box Lucas had filled earlier that morning. Next to the door were saddlebags and a large black traveling bag.

“Today I'd like you to mix together equal parts of each of these ingredients,” Doc Beecher said as he took several jars from the shelf, “and put the mixture in these little cloth pouches. Clear enough?”

“How much from each jar, sir?” Lucas asked.

“Call me Doc. As I said, everyone else does.”

“How much of each…Doc?”

Doc Beecher handed Lucas a spoon. “Two spoonsful.”

Lucas began measuring and mixing. Doc Beecher went back to his papers. They were silent, which was fine with Lucas. He found the repetitious work oddly soothing. It demanded just enough of his attention that he didn't have to think about anything else, and the dried plants, whatever they were, smelled pleasant.

The morning passed quietly. Mrs. Bunce brought the midday meal: thick slices of warm bread, cheese, and wedges of pie. Lucas figured out quickly enough that Mrs. Bunce would feed him better when Doc was around to keep an eye on what she was serving, and he vowed to try to eat as many meals as he could in Doc's company.

After they ate, Doc Beecher gave Lucas some instruments and told him to put an edge on them. Lucas was just beginning to get a feel for honing the blades with the sharpening stone when there was a rapping at the door.

Doc stood and admitted a grinning young man who announced jubilantly, “I've come for barbering, Doc, the most important shave and haircut of my life. My whole future, you might say, rests in your skill at razoring.”

“My, my,” said Doc. “This sounds serious. Let me guess…Is someone going courting, perchance?”

A flush of pleasure colored the man's face. “Right you are, Doc.”

“And, I wonder, would the lady in question be none other than Martha Pitcher?”

“Right again,” said the beaming young man. “I've been calling on her all this winter long. Tonight, we're taking a sleigh ride and—”

“And you'll be asking her to marry you, out under the stars and the big white moon, is that it?” said Doc with a smile. “I hadn't marked you for quite such a romantic, lad. Well, well. That's fine.”

Then, shaking his head, Doc pretended to be very serious. “I've got a formidable job ahead of me, though, if I'm to make the likes of you presentable. Moonlight or no moonlight, it's a good bit of help you're needing.”

“Just get on with it, Doc,” said the young man, laughing. “But I warn you, don't get carried away with the scissors.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down and whispered, “Martha has expressed a certain fondness for the way the hair curls round my ears.”

Lucas continued working throughout this exchange, but he could feel his lips twitching into a smile. The young man's high spirits were hard to resist.

“May I present Lucas Whitaker, my new apprentice,” said Doc. “Lucas, this young firebrand is James Freeman. Not much longer to be a free man. Or so he hopes,” he added, then roared with laughter, greatly pleased with his joke.

James Freeman settled himself in the large chair with the leather straps, which, Lucas noticed, hung unused. Doc explained to Lucas how to place a steaming-hot cloth on the face to soften the whiskers, and how to mix up a lather for shaving. Then, while James sat with the hot cloth covering the lower half of his face, Doc began the haircut, still teaching his technique to Lucas as he worked.

“The most important thing is to cover up the victim's mouth as soon as possible,” he said with a wink at Lucas. “That way, he can't talk back, you see.”

Muffled protests came from under the cloth, and again Doc laughed heartily.

Lucas felt shy about joining in the good-natured banter, but it was fun to listen and to laugh. He hadn't heard much talk about happy things such as courting and marrying for a long time.

Even Mrs. Bunce's scowling face, appearing at the door to “find out what all the ruckus was about,” did nothing to dampen the lighthearted mood in the room.

James told them his plans. He hoped to be married in April, so he and Martha could set up housekeeping and be ready for the spring planting season.

When James Freeman left, his pink cheeks smooth and his hair glistening, Doc turned to Lucas and said approvingly, “That was a fine, sharp edge you had on the razor, lad.”

Lucas, who was wiping the razor clean, ducked his head, pleased by Doc Beecher's praise.

Mrs. Bunce returned at that moment to ask, “Did you charge Mr. Freeman a fair wage for that shave and haircut, Uriah?”

Doc Beecher looked uncomfortable. “The man's mind was on wooing, not wages,” he said.

“That's no excuse,” Mrs. Bunce replied. “Do you want everyone in town marching in here for their shaves and haircuts, free of charge?”

“That's hardly likely,” Doc Beecher murmured.

“Uriah,” she said, a warning tone in her voice, “we can't expect to keep this household going on the earnings from my spinning. My fingers are nearly worn out. I've told you—”

“You have indeed, Cora,” Doc said with a sigh. “I'll take care of it.” To Lucas he said, “Lad, come here and I'll show you a little about the business end of our work.”

Mrs. Bunce retreated as Doc Beecher took a large ledger book from the shelf and opened it.

“Have you a head for figures, Lucas?” he asked.

“I don't guess so,” Lucas answered. “We mostly bartered with folks.”

“That's generally the way it works here, too,” said Doc. “Here are my accounts, such as they are. Now, take our young visitor, James, for example. Let me see…”

Doc ran his finger down several pages until he came to the entry for the Freeman family. “Here it is.”

Lucas looked where Doc was pointing. From the series of notations, he was able to see that over the past few years, in return for such services as setting a broken finger, sewing up a leg wound, providing tonics for relief of ague and catarrh and plasters for bee stings, measles, and snake bite, Doc had received a variety of products from the Freeman farm, including eggs, milk, pork, and potatoes.

“After her husband died, Mrs. Bunce came here to Southwick from the city of Philadelphia. She's always urging me to be more businesslike, to set fees to be paid in cash and so on, the way they did in the city. But you know, lad, there's scarce little money to be found in a farming community such as this.”

In Lucas's mind arose a memory of the small cloth bag his mother had kept under the straw mattress of her bed. Inside were four gold coins that Lucas had understood were to be spent only in the direst need. He'd left them behind, too, in his hurry to escape.

“You mark my words,” Doc continued. “As soon as he can, young James will be back with fair payment for our work today. Along with some tidings of a wedding, I'll wager.”

“Yes, Doc,” Lucas agreed.

“All in all, I find this system quite satisfactory. Now, you see here—”

Doc was about to point out a further aspect of his bookkeeping system when they were interrupted by another knock.

This time it was a woman, holding the hand of a boy several years younger than Lucas. The boy had a cloth wrapped round his chin and tied at the top of his head. Tears slid down his cheeks.

Lucas's Uncle Asa had had constant toothaches, and Lucas was pretty sure he recognized the look of misery on the young boy's face.

“Greetings, Dr. Beecher,” said the woman. “Daniel here's got a tooth needs pullin', if you got the time.”

“Good day to you, Mrs. Oaks,” answered Doc. To Daniel he said, “Young man, what seems to be the trouble?”

The boy looked silently up at Doc, his eyes large and frightened-looking.

“I guess I can see for myself, can't I?” said Doc. “That face of yours looks swollen. Hurts bad, does it, lad?”

Daniel nodded and a little sob escaped his throat.

“All right, now. Daniel, this is my apprentice, Lucas. He'll help you into that chair.”

Lucas took the boy's hand and led him over to the big chair where James had had his haircut.

“Can you climb up there yourself?” Lucas asked.

Daniel hoisted himself onto the high seat and looked fearfully at Lucas. Lucas looked to Doc, waiting to find out what he was to do next.

“Now, Daniel,” Doc was saying as he assembled the instruments he would need, “Lucas is going to take those straps there and harness you up. It won't be for long. But I'm not going to lie to you, lad. This isn't going to be pleasant. I need you to be brave, and to stay as still as you can.”

Daniel was looking at Lucas, terrified, while Lucas fastened the leather straps over his chest. Lucas tried to think of something, anything, to make the boy less afraid.

“You know why Doc Beecher uses these straps, Daniel?”

Daniel shook his head, his eyes growing even wider.

Lucas leaned down and began to whisper in the boy's ear. “Well, one day there was a man sitting there in that very chair. He had a bad tooth, see, same as you, and Doc was pulling it out. It hurt some, and the man got real mad at Doc and punched him right in the nose!

“I reckon Doc's afraid you'll do the same thing, so he's got to strap you down for his own protection, you being such a big, strong boy and him being so old and all.”

Lucas stopped whispering when he saw that Doc stood ready to begin. Daniel glanced sideways at Doc Beecher, a flicker of a grin crossing his face.

“All set now, are we?” asked Doc.

Lucas looked into Daniel's eyes and lifted his eyebrows in a question. The boy nodded.

Doc untied the cloth from around the boy's head and said in a soothing voice, “Open wide. That's good. Now even wider. That's it, lad.” With a small knife, he began to cut the pink skin around the inflamed tooth. Lucas felt Daniel's hand fumbling for his. Daniel's small fingers gripped Lucas's fiercely, and tears streamed down his pale freckled cheeks. Lucas's heart wrenched with pity.

Doc nodded his approval as Lucas, without being told, held the cloth where it would catch the flow of blood. With fascination, Lucas realized that the tooth was longer than it looked. Part of it was buried in the flesh, the way the roots of a plant were buried in the ground.

Once the length of tooth was exposed, Doc handed Lucas the knife and reached for a pair of pliers. The pliers looked fearsome. Daniel's eyes were squeezed tight.

Good, thought Lucas. It was better if he didn't see what was coming.

Doc grasped Daniel's tooth with the pliers and wiggled it back and forth with a steady pull. Daniel's body grew rigid and his fingers squeezed Lucas's so tight that Lucas was afraid they might break. Slowly, the tooth emerged. Doc pressed a small piece of cloth into the hole in Daniel's gum, and held the tooth up for Daniel to see.