Chapter 8
August, 1871Dr. Whitaker’s homeThomas
“Quite the spread, wouldn’t you say, Thomas, my boy?” Judge Pennypacker’s drink threatened to leave the confines of the fine crystal as his finger trailed down the food-laden table. His other hand rubbed his extended belly.
“Quite.” Thomas had only nibbled at his sparsely filled plate. Why would someone put cucumber and soft cheese on such a tiny piece of bread? And no one needed to tell him the fish eggs in that bowl were called caviar. He’d gutted enough fish in his life to know that portion went to the hogs.
“The olives are my favorite. Dr. Whitaker has them imported from South America or some such place. Fascinating—the variety.” He popped a light brown orb into his mouth, worked it around, then spat the seed into his hand. “Just look at that.” Flesh still clung to the seed now pressed between the man’s thumb and finger.
A small green olive rolled across Thomas’s plate. “Unique.” He caught it with his thumb, and it squished under his touch. His already-nervous stomach quivered, and he grasped the plate even harder, feeling the pit beneath his thumb. He itched to rub his free hand on the back of his neck or step outside into the last hours of daylight to enjoy the breeze.
The judge’s face softened. “Don’t borrow trouble, my boy. Each day has enough of its own.”
Thomas shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m not like them.”
“They are a might different, but they put on their pants one leg at a time, just like the rest of us. I didn’t grow up here either. Did you know that?”
Thomas turned to face the man, giving him his full attention.
“Virginia is my home. When you meet the love of your life, you’ll go to the ends of the earth to be with her. It’s my Clarissa who has the Philadelphia heritage. Mind you, I come from good stock, but like you, I knew more of horseflesh than gooseflesh, if you get my meaning.”
Thomas felt his shoulders begin to relax.
“You’ll learn to speak the unspoken language soon enough. You focus on those grades, and prove yourself. It worked for me. Well, marrying up helped a good bit, too. You’re as smart as the next boy. What counts is in here, not on here.” The judge moved his finger from his temple down his bulky frame.
Not a single patron of this party looked like him. The poised and elegant women wore smiles that never faded. The men carried themselves with confidence and familiarity. Thomas felt out-of-place amid the silk dress coats, top hats, and gold pocket watches hanging from elaborate chains.
The judge leaned in close to Thomas’s ear. “Let’s talk of brighter things. The food is good, but have you seen the dessert?”
Thomas flinched when the man pointed in the opposite direction of the dessert table. A bevy of young ladies, dressed in flowing gowns, flitted fans in front of their downcast eyes as if desiring to attract attention but not wanting to see the result.
The olive he’d let go of slid off the plate when the judge nudged his arm. A small, dark-skinned man whisked in from nowhere and picked it up from the elaborate rug, then melted back into the woodwork before Thomas could give his thanks.
The judge leaned in. “Most eligible ladies in Philly. Each comes from a prominent family. You’d do well to snag the eye of any one of them.”
Only one pair of eyes looked his direction. Her gown was more refined than the others, the blue fabric mimicking the movement of water, and suitable for dignified women much older than the girl appeared. It bordered on the edge of showing womanly curves yet remained modest. Multiple shades of blue layered into its graceful drapery while showing off her slim waist.
The dress was not like the practical, ankle-length dresses his sisters wore for working, but rather, a more graceful length that just cleared the floor and left a sensible amount of fabric trailing behind her. Even though her ensemble was tasteful and lady-like, the girl had an air of danger about her. She did not portray the coquettish behavior of the other girls hiding behind their fans but stared blatantly at him.
His Adam’s apple constricted his airway. He jutted his chin forward, running his finger around the inside of his collar and loosening the white knot deftly tied by Mr. Ferret. At least his tie was right. He rubbed his damp palms with his handkerchief and returned his focus to his companion.
“Nice suit, by the way. Excellent quality. More suited for Sunday service, but well made. I believe a narrowed waist such as that might be a fashionable look on me. Did you go to Wanamaker’s?” Pennypacker used his plate to point to the frock coat Thomas wore.
Thomas didn’t know how to respond or if the man was in earnest and was thankful when Dr. Whitaker interrupted and offered his hand.
“A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Shankel. It’s an honor to have you in the program. I hope you are adjusting to the civilities of this fine city?”
Thomas didn’t like the insinuation in the man’s words but forced a smile. He shifted the plate to his other side and shook the hand of the man who would be directing his steps for the next two years. “Philadelphia lives up to its name. I truly have experienced the brotherly love it claims,” Thomas offered.
The man held his gaze and his hand a moment longer, then tipped his head as if receiving his comment as acceptable.
Judge Pennypacker lifted an empty plate. “Dr. Whitaker, what a fine party. The food is excellent, your home is lovely as always, and your gardens are exquisite. I only wish my wife could have accompanied me this evening. My compliments to your wife and staff.”
“Thank you, sir,” Dr. Whitaker replied, not inquiring as to the reason Mrs. Pennypacker had not attended. “It’s an honor to have you again in our humble home.”
Humble? Thomas gazed up the winding staircase that was wider than the original structure of his home back in Shumard Oak Bend—and more elaborate. Its deep mahogany wood banister circled to the second floor, where earlier he’d seen more food and smartly dressed men lingering in another large ballroom.
“Have you been upstairs yet, Mr. Shankel?” Dr. Whitaker’s gaze followed Thomas’s up the stairs as the sounds of stringed instruments playing “Beautiful Dreamer” flowed down.
“Oh, yes, sir. Thomas, please, sir.” The nerves in Thomas’s stomach reached his mouth.
Dr. Whitaker’s expression did not change. “I heard you stitched up your boarding house cook’s hand the other day.”
Thomas furrowed his brow, then remembered. “Oh, no, sir. It wasn’t me. I checked in on her at Mrs. Jones’s request, but there was nothing else for me to do. Miss Morse, another boarder, is a nurse. She was the first available and handled the emergency quite well, I’m told.”
Something odd flashed across the man’s face when Thomas mentioned the nurse. A bead of sweat ran from his side temple into his collar, but he didn’t move to wipe it away.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be the first available next time. You said in your application you learned your stitching skills from your aunt, was it?”
“Yes, sir. Judge Pennypacker’s niece.” The other man’s extended belly protruded even more with pride at having been mentioned. “Aunt Martha considered sewing skills useful to me as well as my sisters. I didn’t enjoy it as a child, but it came in handy on the farm. I’ve stitched my fair share of man and beast.”
“You consider yourself the local doctor of sorts?”
Something in the man’s tone made Thomas pause. He felt he was being tested, and the answer he provided would set the stage for the next two years.
Pride is a sin.
“No, sir. The unlucky individuals I helped had little choice. I believe my prayers did more good than my meager ministrations.”
“Well, we all know prayer has its place.” Dr. Whitaker placed his empty glass on a server’s tray and took another. “See you bright and early, Thomas. Mrs. Levesque, what a pleasure to see you this evening.” The man changed his attention and conversation, dismissing the two, and walked away.
Thomas wondered if he’d passed the unwritten examination.
“I’m headed to the desserts—the edible ones.” Pennypacker laughed and wiggled his ring finger. “Care to join me?”
Thomas followed the man but had no desire to eat. He wanted to get out of the line of sight of the lady who had yet to divert her gaze. She was lovely, with loosely woven braids of golden hair wrapped around the contours of her head. Unlike the older women present, she did not wear a hat, further showing her creamy complexion. Women of the West who spent time outside working alongside their family in the fields or in their gardens had darkened and freckled skin; this young woman didn’t look like she’d know the proper end of a spade unless it was on a playing card. Thomas felt the first smile of the night cross his lips, and he diverted his gaze from the women.
A group of what he guessed to be fellow students came down the staircase. Low whispers and quick glances toward the young ladies made the fans matching their gowns move faster. He’d need to meet his colleagues at some point but couldn’t muster the energy tonight. He needed to be in the classroom where he’d be on equal ground. In this setting, he was at a direct disadvantage.
A mousy fellow brought up the rear, like a runt of the litter trying to keep up with his pack. The man’s discomfort shone on his clean-shaven face and averted gaze. Thomas’s heart went out to him.
“Judge Pennypacker, would you excuse me? I should meet up with my classmates.”
“Of course, my boy.” The man’s words were hard to decipher through his full mouth of pastry.
Thomas placed his partially eaten plate of food on the tray of a passing servant, doing his best to make eye contact with the man. Hired help in the East certainly was not the same as in Missouri, at least not in this household.
Making his way to the crowd of young people, Thomas caught the eye of the student he hoped to meet. The man’s gaze darted left and right from widened eyes, and the student fidgeted with something in his hand.
Thomas slowed his step as if approaching a scared animal and moved to the man’s side. He’d need to bend over to speak if he didn’t want to be overheard. The student was several inches shorter than his almost six feet, and Thomas could see pink skin through his thinning hair. Thomas lowered his voice and his head.
“I’m Thomas Shankel. Are you a new student at the university?”
Thomas thought he heard an audible gulp. The man stood like a statue—not even his thin hair moved in the breeze from the onslaught of ladies’ fans.
“James. Jimmy. Jimmy Reeves.” The name came out like a squeak.
“Nice to meet you, Jimmy. It’s warm in here and difficult to hear over all the noise and music. Would you care to view the gardens with me? I’ve yet to have an opportunity.” An awkward silence filled the space between them. Thomas peered out of the corner of his eye to see a barely perceptible nod, then followed Jimmy’s quick steps through the crowd to the doors leading out to the veranda.
Jimmy continued across the wooden porch and down the steps. His shorter legs moved at a pace that increased Thomas’s heart rate. He’d been passive on the train, but not knowing what he would talk about once they stopped was more the cause of his sweating palms than lack of regular exercise.
Jimmy finally slowed and gave a quick glance back toward the house once he’d reached the manicured edge of a fragrant shrub at the edge of a row of trees. Shade covered the area and offered relief from the warmth of the evening.
Thomas quietly followed Jimmy along the edge of the small thicket until it opened into a large grassy area with stone benches.
“Summersweet Clethra,” Jimmy said. “In Latin, Clethra alnifolia. It’s also called sweet pepperbush. Do you know plants, Mr. Shankel?”
Thomas took a deep breath, inhaling the spicy scent of the white flower. “Thomas, please. I’m not familiar with this plant but know a good many in Missouri.”
“I believe Dr. Whitaker plans his party every year around the flowering of this species. It only blooms for four weeks of the summer between July and August. We’ve caught the tail end of it.”
Thomas must have looked as confused as he felt. Jimmy showed the first hint of a smile.
“Yes, I am a new student in the medical program at the university, but I’ve lived here all my life.” Jimmy pointed to the other side of an enormous sculpture of a rider in hunting gear atop a magnificent horse. “Over that hill is my home. Our families have been friends for generations.”
Jimmy’s fingers on his right hand caught Thomas’s attention. A coin passed between each tip, then returned. The motion fascinated Thomas, and he pulled a coin from his own pocket.
“How do you do that? Will you teach me?”
Pink tinged Jimmy’s cheeks and spread quickly to his neck and ears, but Thomas didn’t back down.
“It’s a bad habit.” Jimmy put the hand with the coin in his pants pocket.
“It’s fascinating. Please. I could use a diversion.” Thomas looked toward the house, then at Jimmy.
An exhale from Jimmy that mimicked moments of frustration from Thomas’s mother almost made him laugh.
“There’s a bench over there. Let’s sit, and I’ll show you. If you’re sure.” Now it was Jimmy’s turn to look back at the house. “You need to be relaxed to do it correctly.”
The cool stone felt good, as did sitting. His shoes were comfortable, but Thomas had been standing for hours. He focused on Jimmy’s fingers, then the coin that looked as if it bent over the man’s slim knuckles as it moved from left to right, then disappeared, only to start over again.
“First thing is to relax your hand.” Jimmy’s voice was quiet, and Thomas leaned in to hear over the sound of the fountain and birds flitting in and out of the overhanging red maple trees.
Thomas placed his coin on his middle finger and balanced it between his knuckles. “Like this?”
Jimmy smiled for the first time, causing dimples to further accentuate his baby face. “That’s a good start. Push your thumb against your index finger, and it will be easier to get the coin started. Now, pinch the coin between the ring finger and the pinkie.” The coin moved fluidly over, then under Jimmy’s hand before returning to the starting position.
“Anticipate the motion of the coin. Let it slide through your fingers and catch it under your palm with your thumb. Then slide the coin back up to the side of your index finger, and do it again.”
Jimmy pointed to Thomas’s next finger getting ready to touch the coin. “Here, try this larger piece. It’s easier to learn with. Good. Good. Keep your palm parallel to the ground. Only use your fingers.”
Thomas focused intently on the piece, following Jimmy’s directions and feeling empowered to conquer this new skill by Jimmy’s encouragement.
“I did it,” Thomas trapped the coin in his aching fingers. “Where did you learn to do that?”
Jimmy’s now-bright eyes and broad smile waned. “Nervous energy, I guess.”
“What type of tree is that?” Thomas pointed to a yellow-leafed tree, hoping to once again see a spark in his new friend’s eyes.
Jimmy popped up from the bench. “Oh, come see. It’s a ginkgo biloba. The only species of the genus. Truly a one-of-a-kind tree.” Thomas hurried to catch up.
“Its common name is maidenhair tree because of the unique shape and color of the leaf in the fall. They originated in China, but my great-great uncle, John Bartrum, planted the first one on his farm here in Philadelphia in the late 1700s. Ginkgoes drop their leaves all at once, rather than gradually.”
Jimmy’s animated tone did not match his gentle touch. His fingers slid over the silky green leaf with the tenderness Thomas had often shown a newborn chick. Thomas turned when he realized Jimmy was no longer speaking.
“Sorry. I’m boring you. We should head back to the house.”
“No. I was thinking about how I feel about new life on the farm. Where did you learn so much about trees?” Thomas inquired.
Jimmy studied him for a moment as if making a decision. “Trees, flowers, weeds, all plant-life. I wanted to be a botanist, but my parents had other ideas. So, here I am.” The coin resurfaced.
“You’d like my friend Gabe and his mother, Robin. They taught me about the healing plants, but I know little about common flora.” Thomas wished Gabe could be here now, learning alongside him.
“Is this Robin a nurse?” Jimmy stopped his slowed steps to the house and turned to Thomas.
“Medicine woman. Her Arapaho name is Singing Bird. She’s the closest thing to a physician we’ve had in our town for many years. When I graduate, I plan to return and open a much-needed practice in my hometown of Shumard Oak Bend.”
Jimmy’s eyes took on a dreamy look. “I’d like to travel west. I’ve seen drawings of the great sequoia and redwoods, but it’s the cacti I’d like to see. How anything can grow in the desert and produce a bloom, I can’t fathom.”
“I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with cacti and it’s no fun pulling out the spines.”
“Glochidium.”
“Excuse me?” Thomas squinted his eyes as if it would help him decipher what was being said.
“The hair-like spines. Typically barbed. Cactus glochids easily detach from the plant when touched and lodge in the skin, causing irritation upon contact.”
The muscles in Thomas’s cheeks lifted. “Jimmy, I think we’re going to be good friends and, I hope, study companions. You retain information like few others.”
Jimmy returned the smile. “I’d like that. Only, I’m not sure being smart is all I’ll need to graduate.” His steps slowed as Jimmy led the way up the path to the veranda.
“I’ve seen the skill in your fingers. You shouldn’t have trouble there.” Thomas mimicked the quick motion of a coin in Jimmy’s hand.
“That’s not it either. It’s the problem of fitting in. I’ve gone to school with a good number of these fellas all my life, and I’m not like them. In family heritage I am, but . . .” Jimmy’s words trailed off.
The sinking feeling of earlier hit Thomas’s stomach hard enough that his hand flew to his belt buckle. If it took more than smarts to be the top of his class, and if this Philadelphia socialite didn’t fit in, how did he think he ever would?