Healing of the Heart: A Shumard Oak Bend Novel (Discerning God’s Best Book 4)

Chapter 12

November 1871University of Pennsylvania Medical SchoolThomas

“Who recognizes this?” Professor Holder pointed with his metal stick to the round, raised lesions on the child’s lifeless body.

Unlike some of his classmates who looked green, working with cadavers was only difficult for him when the specimen was a child. Thomas raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Shankel?”

“Ringworm, sir.”

“And you know this—how, Mr. Shankel? You’ve studied the latest findings of William Tilbury Fox?”

“No, sir. I had it as a child.” Thomas flinched but schooled his features as his classmates snickered.

“And how did you contract this disease?” The metal rod now tapped against the man’s palm like a schoolteacher’s ruler.

Thomas used his diaphragm to breathe deeply and exhaled his answer. “Direct contact with an infected man or beast, sir.”

“And you know this for a fact. You could prove this theory with scientific evidence?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a challenge. Thomas could hardly say Singing Bird had shown him the circles on a deer he was skinning and explained how the fungus grew and survived in dirt, debris, and contaminated animal bedding. It was why they had hung the deer in the tree to gut and drain rather than in the barn. They didn’t want to contaminate the chickens or horses with the ringworm fungi.

But how did he explain this scientifically? He must have waited too long to answer, for Professor Holder slapped his palm with the stick, bringing Thomas back to the conversation.

“I don’t care if you think you know an answer. It matters not if you’ve had a personal experience, even if they incorporate an itch that must be scratched. I only care about facts. In this class, you will provide scientific proof for your hypothesis.”

Thomas tuned out the professor and the whispered comments sent his direction. Like a child being scolded for speaking out of turn, Thomas swallowed the hurt at being put in his place. He respected his elders, especially a man as bright as Professor Holder, but the man had given his classmates more reason to see Thomas as less than them.

He felt a tug at his sleeve and looked over to see Jimmy point with his eyes. The class was leaving the exhibition area and heading outside.

Addison Blakeney stood preening on the lawn, his entourage looking at him. He spoke loud enough for all to hear. “Hey.” Addison locked eyes with Thomas, index finger extended, aiming directly at him. With a deliberate motion, he lifted his finger to his temple, tapping it lightly before twirling it in a fluid, circular motion. “Way to go, plebeian. I think the ringworm settled in your brain.”

Thomas bit back a response that would not please the Lord and smiled as he walked closer. “You may want to wash your hands since you touched the girl’s toe.”

Tendons stuck out from Addison’s neck, and he blinked wide eyes that turned steely. “Listen, voodoo or medicine man or whatever it is you think you are. Even if you survive the program, no one will hire you. Not with your backwards breeding. Maybe you should stick with stitching up animals.”

Two boys, one flanking each side, laughed at Addison’s joke. Thomas didn’t crack a smile. He knew how to deal with bullies. He’d stuck up for Gabe for all his growing-up years. It just felt different when directed to him.

“Enjoy your afternoon, gentlemen. And don’t forget—” Thomas motioned as if washing his hands before sauntering down the university sidewalk as if their jabs had not affected him. Only, they had. He wasn’t cut out for high society. Addison spoke more truth than lie. Thomas knew having the best grades wouldn’t be enough, especially if he kept acting the fool in front of the professors.

“Thomas. Wait up.” Jimmy rushed to catch up. “Don’t pay any attention to those guys. They’re jealous of your high marks on our last exam. What do you have planned for the weekend? I thought maybe we could study on Saturday.”

Thomas hesitated, then continued walking. He hadn’t told his friend about his job. But what was friendship if you didn’t share important details? “I have to work on Saturday morning, but I’m free in the afternoon. Would you like to meet at the library?”

“I should probably show up to volunteer on Saturday morning as well. I give tours at the botanical garden. We’ve been so busy with schoolwork and all . . . but if you can be number one in the class and do it, I can, too.”

“Number one?” Gravel crunched under his foot as he stopped.

“Yeah, didn’t you hear a thing Professor Holden said? They posted grades in the hall. I shouldn’t know, but I have a thing for numbers, and I saw yours once, soIknow you are right above me. Addison and his cronies didn’t need to look. I’m sure they were at the bottom.”

Thomas worked hard, but so had all the students, especially Jimmy. He didn’t seem the least bit upset about being second.

Jimmy took a step. “So, what volunteer work were you able to secure?”

Thomas didn’t want to lie. He had volunteered to take Josiah’s place until he healed. He just happened to be getting paid to do so. “Horses. I’m working with horses.”

“Better you than me. I don’t even enjoy riding. Those beasts know I’m afraid and take advantage of the situation.”

Thomas snickered. “They’re smart animals. Tell you what. How about we meet around one on Saturday? I’ll need to change and wash up before we study, or you won’t be able to stand me.”

“You’re at Mrs. Jones’s boarding house, right? I’ll have my driver pick you up, and we’ll study at my house. Unlike at the university’s library, we’ll be able to talk in my home library. And you’ll stay for the evening meal. Mother and Father are in Europe, so it’s just me. I hate eating alone.”

Jimmy waved at someone in the distance. “Will you excuse me? That’s my driver. Insolent soul, but he’s been with our family since my father was a boy, and he likes to keep a schedule. See you Saturday,” he called back as he hurried to catch his ride.

Thomas’s steps felt lighter as he walked home since he knew he had something fun planned for the weekend. Not that his job wasn’t fun, but the conversations he had with the other hands were about as lively as with the animals. The hands didn’t seem to trust him and kept their distance. If Douglass was around, they spoke freely with him, but Saturdays were full of outings for both the judge and his wife, which kept Douglass busy.

On the farm in Missouri, everyone pitched in. Clint and Moses worked right along with the hired farm hands. When they took cattle to market, Charlie and Lizzy worked as hard as the cowhands and Mexican vaqueros they hired. Thomas and Gabe stayed behind when the rest went on the cattle drives to oversee their respective farms.

Thomas had been left in charge of the homestead since he was barely of age. Not that he was more capable, but each did their part. No one person was more important than the other. Each used their talents and experience to get the job done in the most efficient way.

Not in Philadelphia. Or at least, not in this neighborhood. Thomas hadn’t experienced the difference in class nor the amount of pampering the elite required until now. They’d never survive in rural Missouri. He took the steps to the boarding house two at a time, his satchel slapping against his side.

The woodsmoke from the parlor fire wasn’t enough to overshadow whatever smelled rich and spicy, like dishes the Mexican workers at home prepared for them on cattle drives. He immediately looked at the hall clock to see he was almost late for dinner. He heard sounds coming from the parlor.

Racing up the stairs like a child, he unlocked and opened his door. Not bothering to shut it, he flung his satchel on the bed, then tossed the hat and felt a twinge of accomplishment when it twirled on the top of the coat tree before settling. He wasn’t as successful with his coat and picked it up and hung the neck on the peg sticking out.

“Hands,” He said flatly to no one but himself as he surveyed his palms with a smirk and thought of Addison’s reaction to his comment. He used the facilities and stepped into the hall just as the clock chimed. The men were still standing, allowing the ladies to sit first when he arrived. He squeezed in, making pleasantries with his new friends.

“Let us pray.” Mrs. Jones folded her hands. “Bless this food, Father, and help us each to be thankful for Your bounteous goodness and favor. Amen.”

Chatter and the clinking of dishes made Thomas’s heart feel at peace. Rarely did he get a word in at home, especially on a school day when his sisters recounted their day in painstaking detail. Dinner with friends felt good. Safe. Familiar.

“Mr. Shankel. You received mail today. I left it on the hall table,” Mrs. Jones said as she passed the bowl of sweet potatoes.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Thomas chewed and swallowed but could not have stated what he’d eaten. He was eager to hear from home. He exchanged pleasantries with those nearest him but could not get the letter out of his mind. Finally, dinner, dessert, and the never-ending story Crocket told came to a close.

“Thank you for a fine meal, Mrs. Jones. If you’ll excuse me, I have a tremendous amount of studying to complete.” Thomas pushed his chair back and stood, nodding to those surrounding the table.

The envelope was thick, as if it contained more than one page. Thomas hurried to his room, pushed the satchel out of the way, and plopped onto his bed. His shoes landed on the floor with a thud, and he curled his feet up under him as he and Gabe had done many times as boys.

His finger slid under the flap and carefully pulled the envelope open. He unfolded the papers, and a small piece slid out. A perfect representation of a downy woodpecker filled the sheet. Serafina had used charcoal to fill in a black tail, then drawn an outline of the bird’s white outer tail feathers and classic black spots in perfect rows. If he let go, the tiny bird might flit away.

Rachel’s familiar handwriting filled the page. My dearest son, she began. She’d been the woman who’d raised him from the age of five. But neither she nor Clint, the man he called his father, were his parents.

His head connected with the wooden headboard. Oh, how he missed home. They may not be blood, but they were family. Normal, hardworking people who loved God and country. People he looked up to and wanted to make proud. Thomas lifted the pages and continued reading.

My dearest son,

We pray you are well, enjoying your studies, and learning much. Robin asks daily if you’ve learned anything new and is convinced the university is filling your mind with all sorts of nonsense. Today she marched in with a basket of what looked like only weeds and announced that God had made everything we need to heal our bodies. What more is there? I can’t argue with that, but thankfully I had just received your letter and told her how you are learning of ways to cure things that medicinal plants alone cannot.

I had to hand her the paper to read about the cleft palette surgery you witnessed. Your drawing was quite remarkable, and my heart ached for the child. Reading your descriptions once was enough for me. I’m not saying don’t share what you are learning. Please continue sending such marvelous stories of advances in medicine. I just may have Clint read the letters first and tell me which parts to skip next time. What am I saying? I can hardly wait to read your letters. I burned supper the other night as I sat not two feet away at the table and devoured every word you’d written.

Thomas laughed out loud, knowing it would take much less than a letter from him to cause dinner to burn.

Your sisters are well. Each has enclosed a brief letter, so I won’t spoil the stories they have to share. We hired a new hand. He’s from Kentucky and moved his family west after the war. He’s been a help to Moses. I’m not sure how old Moses is, but he is showing signs of living a life of hard labor. Since Preacher Hans is taking care of most of the ironwork in town, Moses is managing the field hands, so your father can focus more on the cattle business. Robin has done all she can for the man but cannot relieve the natural pain of aging.

If Moses was suffering now, how would he be in two more years? Thomas knew Robin would dig deep into her Arapaho knowledge to provide relief to their friend, but Thomas wanted to do more. The doubts that had plagued him earlier in the day about whether he would make it through his schooling evaporated with his newfound determination not only to maintain his position as the top student but also to secure the coveted internship position with Dr. Whitaker. He would learn more at the man’s side than he ever could in a textbook.

When he set up office in Shumard Oak Bend, he’d care for all the ills of those he loved. Thomas lifted the paper with renewed fervor.

Gabe is not well.

Thomas froze momentarily, then pulled the paper to his face, as if seeing the words closer would help him read the meaning behind them.

He is melancholy without you. Pete and Robin say he will not return to his schooling. He didn’t give a reason, but he now works double shifts mining lead in Rolla. He says they pay a decent wage and provide room and board. We prayed with the Mannings, not knowing what more to do. We ask that you pray for him as well.

I don’t want to discourage you, so no more negative talk. We are proud of you and are so pleased to hear you have found a church home and godly friends.

We love you, sweet Thomas.

Rachel signed Mama with a large M while Clint signed his full name as if he were still signing a legal document as a US Marshal.

Thomas read the letter again before picking up Cecelia’s letter and doing his best to decipher his sister’s words. She had the worst penmanship but could best him with both gun and bow.

Oh, how he missed his sisters. He wouldn’t even mind an evening around the fire listening to them chatter on and on about things that didn’t matter, like the latest fashions and putting their hair up rather than leaving it in braids.

Were his sisters really that much different from the young women he’d seen at Dr. Whitaker’s? Just because the Philadelphia dresses would never do for one of Shumard Oak Bend’s Fourth of July celebrations, did their finery make them superior—or simply unique?

Thomas leaned his head back against the headboard, the spice on the meat at supper not settling well. He’d soon have more information to potentially answer that question. Dr. Whitaker’s New Year’s celebration was all the talk on campus. It seemed everyone wanted an invitation.

Everyone but him.