Читать книгу The Doctor's Apprentice - Ann Walsh - Страница 8

I didn’t look back as I left. Moses had once been my closest friend and I had spent a lot of time sitting on a bench in the corner of his barbershop, listening to the chatter of his customers. But I no longer felt comfortable when I was with him.

Perhaps Moses spoke the truth and it was time I found friends my own age. But where? There were so few young people in Barkerville that the town did not even have a school. Not many women came to the goldfields; there were only a handful of families with babies or small children living here. The goldfields were mainly inhabited by single men, miners who hoped to strike it rich.

My father was right. Most young men of my age in Barkerville would be working. They would have no time for me.

It was warm inside Pa’s shop, the small stove burning cheerfully, the smell of wood, shellac, and glue made stronger by the heat in the room. I took off my jacket and hung it up, then pulled on a long leather apron to protect my clothes. My father heard me come in and he lifted his head from his work and looked at me.

“Did your mother not tell you that there was no need for you to come to the shop today?” he asked.

I nodded, but didn’t answer.

“Aye. I see. Well, perhaps it is best that you are here. Take off the apron, there is nothing I want you to do. But there is someone I want you to meet.”

“Who?” I asked, looking around.

“I believe your father is referring to me,” came a voice from behind me. I jumped, startled, and turned around as a tall, slender man came through the door. “You must be Theodore,” he said.

“Ted. People call me Ted.”

“I am Doctor J.B. Wilkinson,” he said, offering me his hand. “Most people call me ‘Doc,’ but to my friends I am Doctor John or John or simply J.B. You may call me whatever you wish, as long as you do not call me late for supper.”

Pa looked confused, but I smiled. “J.B.?” I asked. “A name that is only letters? I would guess that the ‘J’ stands for ‘John,’ but what is your middle name?”

“That is a secret I shall carry with me to the grave,” answered the doctor. “Only my parents know. No one in Barkerville has ever heard my middle moniker, and even if they knew what it was, no one would dare to call me by it!”

My father laughed. “I believe Ted understands those sentiments only too well, Doctor. He also has an intense dislike of his middle name. We christened him ‘Percival’ after his great-grandfather, but those who call him that, or the short form, ‘Percy,’ find out that he also inherited his great-grandfather’s temper.”

“Pa!” I said. “Please.”

“Let me assure you, Ted, that ‘Percy’ is far better than my middle name,” said Doctor Wilkinson. “But with no disrespect to your ancestor, I find that ‘Percy’ does not sit well on my lips. I promise I shall never address you that way.”

“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. No one used my middle name, no one. Except James Barry. Even in my dreams he called me ‘Master Percy,’ the way he had when he was alive.

“Percival is a fine name, one which has been in my family for generations,” said my father. “I have never understood why the boy dislikes it so.” He took a deep breath, and turned to me. “It is good that you came to town today, Ted. It will save Doctor Wilkinson a trip to our home.”

“Why is he going to our house? Is Ma ill?”

“No, son, but perhaps you are. Go with the doctor so he can examine you. I have told him about your dreams. Now you must speak to him freely.”

“I do not need to be seen by a doctor,” I said. “ I am not sick. Pa, you know that I am healthy and strong and growing taller. You and Ma say that I seem to grow every day. How can I be ill?”

“Ted, your dreams bespeak an illness. If it is not in your body, then the sickness must be in your mind. Perhaps Doctor Wilkinson can be of some help. I want you to go with him and allow him to examine you. At your age a loss of sleep affects you only slightly. Your mother and I, however, can no longer continue suffering because of your dreams. Go with the doctor, Ted.”

It was a long speech for my Pa, who usually didn’t say much, but this time he could talk for hours and it wouldn’t change my mind.

“I am not ill,” I said again, “and I have no wish to be seen by a doctor. I will not…”

Doctor Wilkinson interrupted. “If you feel uncomfortable about coming to my surgery, Ted, perhaps you will accompany me to Wake Up Jake’s instead. I had breakfast very early this morning, and I could do with some nourishment about now.”

“But, Pa…” I said, ignoring the doctor.

“Go, son,” said my father, and he bent over his work and would not look at me. “Go,” he said again.

The doctor touched my shoulder gently. “Ted, I assure you I do not bite my patients, at least not very often. Come with me, but come as a friend rather than as a patient. Patients I have aplenty, but my friends are few. I would welcome your company. We will take an oath never to speak our middle names aloud; we will talk, we will eat and perhaps you will tell me about your nightmares.”

“A friend,” I thought. Perhaps this doctor with the middle name no one knew could be my friend. Also, I was very hungry.

Making a decision, I pulled the leather apron over my head and put my jacket on again. Turning my back on Pa, who still would not look at me, I left the carpentry shop, for the third time that morning ignoring my manners and not saying goodbye.

Doctor Wilkinson put his hand on my shoulder again as we walked. “Don’t be angry with your father, Ted. He came to see me early today. He is very concerned about you. I had gone to his shop to inform him that I was on my way to your home to visit you.”

“I’m not sick, and I don’t think my Pa had any business talking to you about me. Do I look ill?”

The doctor laughed. “No, you do not, Ted. You look as healthy as a boy your age should. Yet the health of the mind can not be determined so easily.”

“There is nothing wrong with my mind,” I said. “I can read and write as well as any man in Barkerville, better than most. My mind is sound.”

“And my stomach is empty,” said the doctor, pushing open the big double doors to Wake Up Jake’s restaurant. “So I suggest we deal first with my stomach and worry about your mind later. Let’s eat!”

Wake Up Jake’s smelled of bread baking, of meat being roasted and of freshly ground coffee. Doctor Wilkinson sat down with a contented sigh and ordered beans and extra sourdough bread without looking at a menu. He asked me what I wanted, but I didn’t know what to say. I’d never eaten a meal in a restaurant. The doctor must have sensed that I was unsure, because he smiled and said to the waiter, “Ted will have the same. He looks as hungry as I feel.”

“I am,” I said. “I’ve had no breakfast.”

“Then this can be both breakfast and your midday meal,” he said. “Eat up. Doctor’s orders.”

The meal was served with hot coffee, fresh bread, and thick preserves. The preserves weren’t as good as those Ma makes out of the wild strawberries around our place, but I was too hungry to care. I ate four slices of bread, emptied the jar of preserves and also polished off the bowl of beans.

Neither one of us said much while we ate, but when we finished, Doctor Wilkinson leaned back in his chair and looked at me. “Well?” he asked.

I pretended I didn’t know what he meant. “Yes, thank you, sir. I enjoyed the meal, very much.”

He grinned at me. “Please do not call me ‘sir.’ I much prefer to be addressed as ‘J.B.’ Try it.”

I didn’t answer him for a while. I was not at all sure that I wished to call this tall doctor by the same initials as James Barry’s.

“I will try.” I said at last. “I will try, J.B.”

“That was not so difficult, was it?”

“No. But I once knew someone else with those initials, and I…”

“Ah. The infamous James Barry. Yes, I remember.”

“You know what happened?”

“I do, but let me refresh my memory. As I recall, you and Moses recognized an unusually shaped gold nugget stickpin. You suspected that the nugget had been stolen, because it was being worn by Mr. Barry, although Moses knew that it belonged to another man, Charles Blessing. How am I doing?”

“Your facts are correct,” I said. “So far.”

“When Mr. Blessing was discovered with a bullet hole in his skull, Mr. Barry departed the goldfields in great haste, leaving you hog-tied in a deserted cabin so you couldn’t warn the constables of his departure.”

I nodded. “Yes, that is what happened.”

Doctor Wilkinson looked hard at me before he continued. “A nasty experience for anyone,” he said. “You were also the person who identified Mr. Barry at the Alexandra Bridge. You were responsible for his arrest—I remember that well.”

I nodded again.

“Now,” continued the doctor, “James Barry was tried, sentenced, and hanged. He’s dead, been dead since August and it is now late in the month of April. Yet when I mention his name, your face pales and your eyes grow fearful. It is not too hard for me to venture a diagnosis. You dream of James Barry, do you not?”

“I should be going now,” I said, and stood up.

“Ted, sit down. Look at me. It is no crime to have nightmares, no failing to be afraid or to have those fears present themselves as dreams. But when you do not speak of your terrors, not even to your parents, then you give those fears great power over you. You were a young boy when you faced Mr. Barry. It is understandable that he would terrify you.”

“He does not terrify me,” I said.

“Is that the truth, Ted?”

“Yes. No.”

“Well? Which is it? Yes or no?”

I took a deep breath and the words seemed to tumble out of me. “In the daylight, I don’t think about him, at least I try not to. But when it is dark… the dreams won’t end. Night after night I close my eyes and know that it will be the same, that he will be there, waiting to settle his score with me. Sometimes I scream in the nightmare, sometimes I cry. I tremble and sweat with fear and then I can not sleep easily for the rest of the night. I can not end the dreams no matter how I try. They will not stop!”

“They will stop,” said the doctor. “I promise you. We will talk more about them, and drag them out of the dark of your sleep and into the bright sunlight so that they will wither and blow away in the wind and never trouble you again.”

“Will they? How can you be so sure? How can you promise me that?”

“Because I am a doctor, Ted! We men of medicine know these things.” He leaned back in his chair and hooked his thumbs through the suspenders he wore over his rough woollen shirt. The chair slipped and he teetered for a moment before regaining his balance and his dignity. His heavy work boots thumped on the floor as the chair righted itself and J.B. returned to a secure sitting position.

“You don’t look much like a doctor,” I said, trying not to smile. “You don’t seem old enough, and you dress more like a miner than a professional man.”

“Ah, you have stumbled onto my secret.” He cautiously leaned back in his chair once more, and tucked his thumbs through his suspenders again. “Truth is, I came to Barkerville to be a miner, giving up my years of medical training to follow the lure of gold. But I never did find the Mother Lode, not even a sizable nugget or enough gold dust to flour a bread pan. I did find, though, that Williams Creek, while well supplied with miners and those who would be miners, and those who had been miners, was poorly supplied with doctors. So I sold my claim and returned to my profession.”

“But not to your professional wardrobe,” I said.

“No, I find these clothes comfortable. They suit me, to indulge in a slight pun. I have no wish to wear the more formal attire of my colleagues.”

He stood up, reaching across the table to shake my hand. “We have made a good start, Ted, even though you proved very clever at changing the subject. However I must return to my surgery. I have patients who will, no doubt, be restless at my absence. We will talk again, we will talk a great deal. I, at any rate, will talk a great deal for I always do, and you will, perhaps, find it easier to speak to me now that you have made my acquaintance. But for tonight I will prescribe for you some medication which will assure you a dreamless sleep. Come with me and I will get it before I deal with my patient patients.”

“Perhaps they are impatient patients by now,” I said.

He laughed. “I like your wit, Ted. Now, to my dispensary where I shall dispense something to dispel your fears, dispose of your dreams and end your distress.”

What Doctor Wilkinson gave me was a small green bottle, tightly corked. I held it in my hand as I walked home, once in a while lifting it up to the sunlight filtering through the trees on either side of the road. The liquid inside glistened when the light struck it, and the bottle glowed like a jewel.

This road between Barkerville and Richfield was so familiar to me that I knew every wagon rut and every tree along the way. Here was the snag which fell last winter, blocking the road for a day. Here was the curve where the stage overturned during one rainy spring, and here, just ahead, was the tree where, half-hidden in the branches, James Barry had called out to me and I had first heard his laughter. No matter how many times I walked this road, I could never pass that tree without feeling my heart beginning to race.

But today was different. I deliberately slowed my steps as I drew nearer to the place, not speeding up to pass it quickly, the way I usually did. I had been afraid of him, of James Barry, from the moment I first saw him on this road. I had been frightened of him even before I learned, months later, that I had good reason to be afraid. But no more, no more.

I raised the small green bottle in my hand, held it above my head the way a soldier going into war would flourish his sword.

“Never again,” I shouted. “You are banished from my life and from my dreams, Mr. Barry. Can you hear me, Mr. James Barry? You will never frighten me again. Never!”