Читать книгу The Doctor's Apprentice - Ann Walsh - Страница 9

My mother was leaving our house when I arrived home. She was wearing her bonnet and shawl, and she carried a basket, the one she takes to town when she shops.

“Where were you, Ted?” she asked. “You left without my knowledge, and when I needed more wood for the cook stove I had to fetch it myself as you were nowhere to be found.”

“I’m sorry, Ma. I went to the shop.”

“Your father sent you home again, I see. Which is just as well as I need the wood box filled. Since you will not be working with your father for the next while, I am counting on having a good supply of firewood split and stacked.”

“Yes, Ma.”

“You look more like yourself, Ted. Your trip to town has refreshed you. Perhaps it will do the same for me.”

“Shall I come with you to carry your purchases?”

“No, I can manage. Just tend to our wood supply. It still is cold at night, and we are running low.” As she moved past me she noticed the green bottle in my hand. “What have you there?” she asked.

“Medication,” I said. “Pa asked Doctor Wilkinson to see me, and he prescribed something to help me sleep tonight.”

“Let me see,” she said, taking the bottle from my hand and uncorking it. She sniffed the contents. “Laudanum,” she said. “I know the odour well. My mother used this whenever she had one of her bad spells, and she claimed it gave her much relief. But I have never known it to be prescribed for someone your age.”

“J.B. said it would help,” I said defensively. “He promised.”

“Who is this ‘J.B.’ and what does he know about laudanum?”

“Doctor Wilkinson,” I said. “He asked me to call him J.B. We are friends.”

My mother smiled. “I am glad of that, Ted. Although Doctor Wilkinson is a busy man, I am sure he will make time for you if he already thinks of you as his friend.”

“He does,” I said, as I watched Ma disappear down the road, retracing the route I had just taken. I began to whistle as I set off in search of the axe, almost looking forward to my afternoon’s work.

When my mother returned, Pa was with her and carried her basket. I was surprised to see them both, but then realized that it was late and my father’s workday had ended. I put down the axe, deciding that I, too, had done enough. I had worked all afternoon, and the stack of freshly split firewood had grown to a substantial size. With the April sun warm on my back, I had not realized how quickly time was passing.

It had been good to be outside, working in the fresh air. Here in the goldfields the winter comes early and stays late, and although spring was a month away, the afternoon’s heat promised warmer times soon to come. But tonight the temperature would drop well below freezing, so I would fetch Ma an extra bucket of water in case there was a skim of ice on the creek in the morning.

We ate our evening meal amid laughter. I told my parents about J.B. “Dispense, dispel, dispose, and another word beginning with ‘dis.’ He crammed all those words into one sentence!”

“He’s a clever man,” said my father. “Although I confess that sometimes both his wit and his behaviour are difficult for me to understand.”

Ma was silent for a moment, then she spoke as if she were answering a question my father had not asked. “Doctor Wilkinson’s troubles are over, Ian. I feel sure of that.”

“What troubles?”

My parents exchanged glances, looking at each other over my head as if I weren’t even in the room. Neither one of them answered me.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Things which are past,” said my father, after a long silence. “Difficult times which are best forgotten.”

“What difficult times?”

My mother smiled at me. “My curious son,” she said.

“You have always sought to discover what others wished to keep secret. I am glad you enjoyed Doctor Wilkinson’s company. He is a good man.”

“Like me, he dislikes his middle name,” I said. “He wouldn’t say what it is, although it begins with the letter ‘B.’ Do you know it?”

Pa laughed. “I do not know the doctor’s middle name. Besides, it is none of your business, Ted. But I do know that if you could fetch your fiddle and play us a tune, it would help my dinner settle.”

My fingers surprised me with their speed and skill and I played for an hour, wondering why lately I had found it such a burden to practise. I would show Mr. Malanion that I was not ready to abandon my music lessons, and I would go to the carpentry shop and show my Pa that my work was not useless.

When I at last put my fiddle away, Pa had already retired for the night. Ma stoked the fire, setting the kettle near the back and turning down the damper in the stovepipe.

“Good night, Ma. I know we shall all sleep well.”

“Good night, son,” she said, and handed me the small green bottle J.B. had given me. “There is no dosage written for this. Did the doctor tell you how much you should take?”

“He said to use it just before I went to bed. He said it would help stop the dreams.”

“But how much are you to take?”

I thought hard. This morning seemed such a long time ago, and I had trouble remembering exactly what J.B. had said. “Two. Two spoonfuls. Yes, I am sure it was two.”

My mother sighed. “Tablespoons or teaspoons, Ted?”

“Is there a difference? Does it matter?”

“A tablespoon is much bigger.”

“Tablespoons? Yes, I’m sure that’s what he said. Take two tablespoons on retiring.”

Ma passed me a spoon and a cup of water. “That’s more than my mother’s dose,” she said, “but perhaps this is a less potent mixture. Here, have some water. The taste may not be to your liking.”

It wasn’t, but I gulped down the medicine anyway, then hastily swallowed the water. Ma gave me a hug and left the room. I picked up the small lantern to take to my bedroom, but at the door of the kitchen I stopped.

Two spoonfuls? Or was it three? Three? Yes, now I was sure that I remembered correctly. I was supposed to take three spoonfuls of the medicine, not two.

I uncorked the bottle once more, and decided not to bother with a spoon. One gulp, that should be about equal to a spoonful, I thought. I took a large swallow and began to recork the bottle. Only a small amount of liquid remained and I looked at it, wondering. What exactly had J.B. said? Wasn’t it “for tonight I shall give you something for a dreamless sleep”? Did that mean I was to take the whole bottle of medicine tonight? Well, it was a small bottle and there was very little left in it.

“For tonight,” the doctor had said. Never mind about teaspoons and tablespoons and how many. J.B. had meant that I was to use it all in one night. I was sure of that now.

I tilted the bottle to my lips, drained it, picked up the lantern, and went to bed.

The light through my curtains was grey when I awoke and my mother and father were beside my bed. So was Doctor Wilkinson.

“You were right, J.B.,” I said, my voice dry and brittle. I swallowed hard, wondering why my mouth was so parched, and spoke again. But my voice was weak, hardly loud enough to reach past my own ears.

“You were right,” I said again, louder this time.

“I didn’t dream.” “Don’t try to talk,” said the doctor. “Here, drink this. Small sips, now. And again.” He held a glass of water to my lips and I drank slowly.

“Thank you,” I said, and lay back down. “I am still tired and my head hurts. I think I shall sleep some more.”

J.B. shook his head. “You shall do no such thing, young man. Since you’ve finally opened your eyes, we shall force you to stay awake long enough for me to examine you.”

“Not now,” I said. “In a while. I’m tired.”

“Ted?” My mother was holding my hand so tightly it hurt. “Ted, speak to me.”

“Not just yet, Ma,” I said. “Let me sleep some more, then I will speak to you. Not now.” My eyes closed again.

“None of that, Ted. Up, lad, get up. Mrs. MacIntosh, fetch him a large mug of strong coffee while his father and I get him to his feet. He must start moving to make the drug dissipate, help it clear from his body.”

I heard my mother leave the room, then Pa and J.B. each took one of my arms and half pulled me out of bed. “Stand up, Ted,” said the doctor. “Make your body move. Come now. Walk.”

“I can’t,” I said, surprised. “The floor will not stay still.”

“It is the effects of the laudanum,” said the doctor. “The sensation will wear off shortly. Take a step. Good. Now another one.”

“I can not,” I said again. “Hold me, Pa. The floor moves under my feet. I’m falling.”

“I have you son. You’ll not fall.”

The two of them made me walk around and around my bedroom until Ma came back with a steaming mug of hot coffee.

“Now we are going to sit you on your bed,” said the doctor. “You may sit, but you may not lie down. Sip the coffee slowly, but drink it all. Then we shall walk some more.”

“I don’t want to walk,” I said. “I don’t want to drink coffee. I’m tired. Why are you making me get up? Look out the window. See, the light is grey, the sun hasn’t risen yet. It’s too early. Go away and let me sleep.”

My father laughed. “Morning was many hours ago, son. The grey light you see is the light of dusk, not dawn. You have slept the day away.”

I gulped, swallowing a mouthful of coffee. “It isn’t morning?” I asked, and finally began to wonder what everyone was doing in my bedroom, waking me up and making me walk around and drink coffee.

“No, Ted. Morning is long passed.”

I thought for a moment. “I guess it was teaspoons. Not tablespoons.”

“Most definitely not,” said J.B. “ I was neglectful in not writing out the exact dosage. That vial contained three night’s supply, but you downed it all at once. I can only say that I am glad you have returned to the land of the living, my friend. You were lucky.”

My head began to hurt again, the blood pounding in my temples, the pain as sharp as if someone were hitting me on the head with an iron kettle.

“I took it all,” I said and, in spite of their efforts to make me stay upright, I lay back on the bed. “I guess that was too much.”

“Aye, son,” said my father. “A wee tad too much.”

Then I think I slept some more.

When I awoke again, it was morning. Real morning this time, with the sunlight pouring through my window. I swung my feet slowly out of bed and cautiously stood up. The floor behaved itself and didn’t sway and buckle like the last time I tried standing. But my legs were weak and my knees felt as if they were made of rubber. I sat back down on the bed, took a deep breath, and tried again.

This time I made it to the bedroom door and, taking another deep breath, ventured into the hallway. A few more faltering steps got me as far as the kitchen, where my mother saw me and came to take my arm.