Chapter 13
December 24, 1871First Presbyterian ChurchThomas
Thomas breathed in the smells of fresh-cut pine boughs as echoes of “Gloria in Excelsis Deo” filled the church. Although the practiced voices of the choir met his ears, the off-key monotone of the gentleman humming beside him made it difficult to worship.
His first Christmas away from home made him long for familiarity, which he sought in the pews of Philadelphia’s First Presbyterian Church. But it wasn’t the people, nor music, nor even the words from the book of common worship that provided solace to his soul—it was the thought of the Christ child.
“And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying…”
Thomas jolted in his seat, looking to the front where he expected to see the owner of the booming voice.
“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”
Thomas resisted the urge to follow the actions of the children who turned to see the voice coming from the nave. He willed his gaze to remain on the stained-glass windows depicting familiar stories of the Bible in an unfamiliar medium.
Everything in Philadelphia felt grander, more ornate, manmade. From the stained glass that pulled his gaze to the vaulted stone ceiling to the behemoth tubes of the pipe organ. Even taking part in the lavish pageantry of unfamiliar rituals felt overdone. Where was the crude horse’s trough filled with hay and the rag doll or cornhusk baby Jesus of Missouri Christmas?
The minister’s low voice did not match his slight frame, which was swallowed up in his clerical garb. “Would there be Christmas if Joseph had not fulfilled his purpose? Let us consider this verse from Matthew 1:20 that speaks of Joseph’s response to the angels. ‘But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the LORD appeared unto him in a dream, saying, Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost.’”
Thomas had never heard this verse used in a Christmas sermon. He steepled his fingers in anticipation of what he might learn.
“Consider what might have happened if Joseph hadn’t obeyed the angel. Although God is sovereign and would have found another way, Joseph would have missed the joy of raising Jesus. If you were Joseph, would you have obeyed without hesitation? The Bible doesn’t elaborate on Joseph’s response, but he heeded God’s call and stayed faithful to Mary.”
Thomas rubbed the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. Was he moving forward in obedience as Joseph had done?
“This Christmas, consider the story of the birth of Jesus through the eyes of Jesus’s earthly father. Stay committed to your calling despite external obstacles. Human laws cannot deter us from following divine laws. Like Joseph, commit to what God has called you to without looking back.”
Thomas knew his commitment to become a doctor was firm, but was he allowing perceived expectations of society to keep him from fully immersing himself in the profession he knew God had called him to? He needed to be faithful in all things.
He bowed his head. Forgive me, Lord. Boundaries set by men should never deter me from the path You’ve clearly set before me. Thomas felt a weight lift from his shoulders but knew there was one more step he needed to take to walk fully in obedience.
Lord, I give Gabe to You. Fully surrender. I do not understand why You did not allow his path to be the same as mine, but I trust You know best. My future is in Your hands, no matter the consequences. Gabe must find his own way.Thomas remained in an attitude of prayer, the hum of the minister’s voice in the background. He opened his eyes as sunlight streamed through the stained glass, creating a kaleidoscope of color over the wall.
The white sleeves of the minister’s robe flapped as they reached toward heaven. “Let us stand.”
Wood and bones creaked as congregants stood for the benediction.
“May you be filled with the wonder of Mary, the obedience of Joseph, the joy of the angels, the eagerness of the shepherds, the determination of the magi, and the peace of the Christ child. Almighty God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit bless you now and forever. Amen.”
The resonant “Amen” filled the room with a sense of unity Thomas did not feel. He remained in his seat, allowing the minister’s words and prayer to take hold of his heart. He was in no hurry. Jimmy was not available to walk the botanical gardens as they often did on Sundays. The rest of the boarders he normally played games with had all gone home to family for the long holiday weekend.
Everyone had a place to go but him. Douglass had insisted he join them on Christmas Day. Thomas had refused, not wanting to interrupt their family time together. They’d agreed to celebrate early over lunch yesterday.
Harriet’s gift to him of a new handkerchief and Douglass’s of new pencils had felt lavish in comparison to his crudely made mittens for Douglass. They may have been heartfelt, but his first attempt at knitting, under the tutelage of the girls at the boarding house, had left much to be desired. Harriet had crooned over her gift as if the pad of paper had had gold embossed edges.
Judge Pennypacker stood at the end of the pew. “Thomas, my boy.”
Thomas moved quickly to greet the man. “Merry Christmas, sir, ma’am.” He smiled at the equally round woman he assumed to be the judge’s wife.
“Stayed in the city for the holidays, I see. I guess it would have been too far to travel home. I apologize for not asking sooner. Do you have plans for tomorrow?”
Dr. Whitaker looked over the judge’s shoulder, his gaze first on Thomas, then on the judge’s wife. “That he does. It’s a pleasure seeing you out today, Mrs. Pennypacker.”
Dr. Whitaker’s hand felt heavy on Thomas’s shoulder.
“Thank you—” she started to reply, but Dr. Whitaker interrupted.
“My wife has instructed me to have Thomas join us tomorrow. You know I’d never want to disappoint her.”
The man’s hand remained firm, and Thomas wasn’t certain if he should say something or remain the quiet pawn in this unusual match.
The judge lifted his chin. “Well, my boy, it’s good to see you’re well taken care of. Come, my dear. William, please give our regards to your wife and lovely daughter.” He tipped his head to the man, then to Thomas.
The tension between the men decreased with each retreating step of Judge Pennypacker, but unease remained.
“Well, that’s settled,” Dr. Whitaker said. “Arrive tomorrow at two.”
Thomas strained to get words past the tension in his neck. “In the afternoon, sir?”
“We’re well past the age of Santa. These days, we wait for the ladies to grace us with their presence before enjoying the festivities. We’ll have a late meal, so dress casually and bring your appetite—nothing more.” He slapped Thomas on the back, then gripped his upper arm. “Farm work must be in your blood. I’d have expected you to go soft by now.”
Thomas was uncertain if the doctor’s words were meant as a compliment. He wasn’t a wild horse to be tamed and bridled. Was that the expectation? Was he to conform to the mold of Philadelphia society—or perhaps the persona of a medical doctor? Unease filled Thomas as he watched the back of his mentor retreat into the light streaming in from the open doors.
Christmas Day 1871
Snow and gravel crunched under Thomas’s boots as he made his way up the long drive to the Whitaker’s stately mansion. Light shone from several upstairs rooms, and a curtain moved. He followed the evergreen hedge until the mansions’ small stones turned into deep shades of gray flagstone, their haphazard pattern a jumbled mess—like his thoughts. An imposing lion’s head stared over his head, not caring who he was or why he was there.
“Lord, help me not make a complete fool of myself.” Today, it was more than saying or doing the wrong things. He was meeting the doctor’s daughter. Until now, he’d avoided social gatherings not required of students where she might be present. If Joseph could do the difficult, so could he. His heavy hand rapped on the wooden door. He couldn’t bring himself to touch the mouth of the lion knocker.
The door creaked, and a sentry figure dressed more for a formal dinner than battle took in the length of him. “Mr. Shankel?” No expression showed on the man’s face, but at Thomas’s nod, the man let him in, then took his coat. He held the scarf between his finger and thumb, as if it needed a good washing, before handing Thomas a square of cloth to wipe his boots.
The smells of roasting meat and something sweet drew Thomas’s attention down the hall toward the aromas.
“This way, please.”
Thomas followed the toy soldier and watched in amazement as the man slid a large door into the wall, revealing a library with floor-to-ceiling windows interspersed with shelves of dark wood—full of hundreds of volumes of leather- and fabric-bound books.
“Thomas. Punctual as always. I like that characteristic in a man. Sit, please. Apéritif?” Dr. Whitaker offered as he gestured toward the leather chairs near the fireplace.
“No, thank you, sir.” Thomas wasn’t certain was an apéritif was, but since the man held a decanter and glass in hand, he was thankful he’d declined. The clinking of crystal and the roar of the fire sounded like music to his ears, and he soaked in the warmth surrounding him.
“I believe the last time you were in my home you had not yet familiarized yourself with our exceptional city. How are you liking it so far?”
“What I have been able to see is remarkable. The advancement in the East is quite astounding. I saw my first penny-farthing while walking here today. Quite the Christmas gift, though I prefer my horse to riding atop a contraption on two wheels.”
Dr. Whitaker’s index finger ran across the etching of his flat-bottomed glass as he settled into a leather chair. He gestured toward the other. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Thomas’s feet were as heavy as stone. A lump formed in his throat, and he wondered if Joseph had experienced such nervousness. “You have a lovely library, sir,” Thomas managed to say, his stomach quivering. He was too nervous to sit. He steadied himself by holding onto the back of the offered seat before stepping over to the nearest bookcase. Running his hand along a shelf, he breathed in the familiar scent, trying to calm his nerves.
“I believe my daughter has read nearly every book in here, except for my medical journals and perhaps those written in Russian, Greek, or Hebrew. I believe there are one or two from Asia in there somewhere.” His hand moved in a dismissive motion.
“Father, Mother says dinner is served.”
A jewel of emerald green stood in the doorway, golden strands flowing over her creamy shoulders. He’d recognized her beauty before, but the foyer lights reflecting off her womanly features created an ethereal effect.
Thomas’s mouth went dry, and he wondered if his heart was still beating until the increased pressure in his chest confirmed its rapid pulse. Blue eyes shone from beneath her long lashes, their depth pulling him under.
“Ah, yes, Emmaline, allow me to introduce Thomas Shankel,” Dr. Whitaker said.
Her focus remained steady as she curtsied.
“Thomas, my daughter, Emmaline. You met at the Medical Student Welcome Celebration in late August, did you not?” Dr. Whitaker asked before draining the last of his drink and setting it on the side table.
“I did not have the pleasure of being formally introduced.” Thomas’s feet slogged through the tightly woven rug. His boots threatened to trip him as he moved forward. Remembering decorum, he bowed, taking the beauty in from the floor up, ending at her sly and satisfied smile. Thomas blinked twice. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Whitaker.”
“Emmaline, please. I’m sure we’re to be fast friends,” she offered.
Light from the window made the gold flecks in her eyes dance, casting a spell Thomas could not break.
Dr. Whitaker offered his arm to the beauty. “Let’s not keep your mother waiting. Shall we?”
Thomas avoided looking at the bustle in front of him and focused on the seascape hanging to his right. Evergreen boughs covered the marble top of an ornately carved wooden table on the side wall as they entered the dining area.
Candles lined the table, which would easily seat a dozen or more, but only four place settings graced one end.
Dr. Whitaker pulled out a chair for a stately woman. The deep red of her dress made the silver flecks in her otherwise golden hair shine. “Darling, this is Thomas Shankel, our top student. Thomas, my wife, Eleanor Whitaker.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am. Thank you for inviting me to your fine home.”
“You are most welcome, Thomas. May I call you Thomas?”
“It would be my honor.”
Dr. Whitaker assisted his wife, and Thomas moved quickly to do the same for Emmaline, then took his seat beside her. A gold-rimmed bowl sat atop a scalloped-edged plate. Thomas ran his finger along the blue flowers before picking up his napkin and placing it in his lap.
Extra forks, crystal, and plates swam before his eyes. Commit. Don’t let society’s rules deter you, he reminded himself.
A smartly dressed staff member kept his water glass full. Others brought creamy soup, roasted meat, herbed vegetables, light-as-air rolls that melted in his mouth, and a spicy meat-filled pastry that needed Harriet’s secret ingredient. He could not imagine eating another bite and was thankful when a different server removed his dinner plate.
“My compliments to your staff, Mrs. Whitaker, for this exceptional meal.” Thomas moved to place his napkin on the table when a server slid a slice of fruitcake in front of him.
Dr. Whitaker lifted his second glass of wine to his lips. “Did you know Europe outlawed fruitcake in the early 1700s?” He didn’t wait for Thomas to finish chewing the nut-and-candied-fruit concoction. “They made them so sweet the country deemed them ‘decadence incarnate’ and considered them morally wrong to eat.” The man’s arm flung in a grand gesture as if on stage.
“William, don’t be telling stories to this young man.” Mrs. Whitaker’s cheeks flushed slightly.
“Illegal, I tell you. But not this one. Dry as jerky. Another glass of wine to wash this down, Otis.” Dr. Whitaker held his glass aloft to the awaiting servant.
Thomas focused on the spiced cake, moving bits around his plate and spearing a soft nut.
“Father, you and Mother have interrogated Thomas all evening. I’ve not had a moment to get to know him. Would you permit us to play a game in the library while you two drink your coffee?”
Mrs. Whitaker’s expression showed gratitude. “Marvelous idea, darling. Otis, coffee, please.” She placed her hand over her husband’s when he moved to speak. The motion silenced him.
“Thomas, do you play dominoes?” Emmaline stood.
Thomas followed Emmaline’s lead and stood. “It’s one of my favorites.” He turned to Mrs. Whitaker and bowed. “Thank you again for a lovely meal.”
“Our pleasure. You children enjoy yourselves. Your father and I may join you later.”
Thomas had not been in the company of a young lady alone, especially one this beautiful. An additional worry crept through his veins until he saw one servant follow them into the library and stand near the door.
This time, Thomas took in the room’s entirety. A family portrait hung over the fireplace with a much younger Emmaline. It was a lovely room, but something seemed off. “Where do you place your Christmas tree?” he asked.
“Father doesn’t believe in celebrating Christmas.” The clink of dominoes covering the table filled the room.
Thomas wasn’t certain how to respond. “Do you not exchange gifts?”
“Father permitted the illusion of Santa Claus until I was eight, but I knew far before then that it was a made-up holiday.”
“But what of the Christ child? The celebration of His birth. Your family attended service yesterday.”
She waved her hand dismissively, like he’d seen Dr. Whitaker do many times. “It’s not like we’re heathens.”
Something in her diverted gaze told him there was more to this story.
Emmaline checked the overturned dominoes to ensure they were sufficiently mixed. “Ready? I hope you aren’t a sore loser.”
This time, her downturned eyes served their intended purpose. He wouldn’t go down without a fight, but he wasn’t against making a poor tile choice to give her the advantage.
The clicking of marble tiles on glossy wood matched that of the clock over the mantel. Thomas scrutinized and strategized, giving his brain a workout until only one tile remained in front of him and two in front of Emmaline. Unease settled in his gut. He should have let her win. At least her points would be low.
Emmaline played a double, then her last tile. “Game. I win.”
He turned his tile over. “You’re a formidable player. I challenge you to a rematch.”
“I have all night, Mr. Shankel.”
“So, we’re back to formalities now that you’ve bested me?”
“By the end of the evening, you’ll be calling me Uncle.” Emmaline turned the tiles over, and they shuffled them around. His fingers accidentally grazed hers, and she stilled. “Father says you’re in the running for intern at the rate you’re going.” She glanced toward the door. “Just don’t tell him I said so. Is that why you’re here? To earn his favor?”
She never looked up from her continued shuffling, then began choosing tiles. Thomas was too stunned to speak for a moment but regained his tongue. “I was not aware I was even in the top ten, and it certainly is not why I’m here.” He did not tell her of the awkward interaction he and her father had had yesterday.
A slow smile eased the wariness on her face. “Two out of three. Winner chooses the next game.”
Thomas won the second game. The pout on Emmaline’s lips did not match the twinkle in her eyes. She was easygoing, with a hint of youthfulness still peeking out of her grown-up exterior, which he did not miss and worked diligently to avoid. His sisters still wore high necklines, mostly to keep the sun off their skin, but Emmaline’s emerald green dress with its low, square neckline and band high above her waist made it hard to concentrate.
He recounted his tiles before setting them in order. “What other games do you have for me to choose from when I win?” Thomas didn’t look up. He pulled his lips in to keep them from betraying his cool demeanor.
“Oh, I don’t think it will be an issue.”
She won, but he didn’t care. Emmaline clapped her hands and bounced in her seat.
Thomas attempted to move the domino over his knuckles. It clattered to the tabletop. “You won fair and square. It’s been some time since I’ve had such a remarkable opponent.”
“I like that term. Perhaps we should play more often.” A slight blush covered her cheeks.
Thomas had not courted a girl, but he was not ignorant of subtle hints. Myriad thoughts flew through his mind as they stacked tiles in the metal container. Being unequally yoked with a non-believer would certainly not be God’s will. Perhaps they didn’t celebrate the holiday for other reasons. Many believed the secular side of Christmas was pagan.
What if Joseph had not said yes? Was Emmaline the missing piece of the puzzle to get him into the crowd needed to succeed? Was this God’s response to his commitment to go all the way in answering the call?
Could he reconcile the pull he felt toward Emmaline and her lifestyle with the calling and commitment to finish his medical training and return to Shumard Oak Bend? He was willing to step forward in faith and find out. Especially for Emmaline Whitaker.