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

Chapter 18

January, 1872University of Pennsylvania School of MedicineThomas

“You aren’t upset?” Thomas searched Jimmy’s eyes for any hint of disappointment or jealousy but found none.

“Upset?”

The librarian cleared her throat and raised a finger to her lips. The two leaned closer.

Jimmy continued in hushed tones. “Why would I be upset? You’ve proven yourself to be the man for the job and have broken convention. Few around here ever accomplish that. I don’t know what you did to secure a unanimous vote for the internship, but it worked.”

“I’m just as baffled.” Thomas went from worrying about his friendship with Jimmy because of securing the internship to feeling uncertain about what he had just agreed to do. Thomas didn’t want to think about it. Like a riddle begging to be solved, the vote nagged at him. It felt as though he were attempting to unravel the enigma of x without all the necessary variables.

The familiar coin moved over Jimmy’s fingers as they rested on the library’s worn wooden tabletop. “I have one question, though.”

Thomas looked from the coin to the open books on the library table, then focused on his friend. “Anything.”

“Addison is spreading a rumor. It’s probably nothing, but, well . . .”

“Just say it, Jimmy. I rarely believe anything that comes out of that man’s mouth.”

“Emmaline. He says you got into Dr. Whitaker’s graces through his daughter.”

Truth hurt, but twisted truth hurt worse. Thomas rubbed his temples. Words would not form.

The coin moved faster. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I just thought you might want to know.”

“There is a shred of truth in his lie.”

The coin hit the table, then clanged on the marble floor and rolled out of sight. The librarian held up two fingers. Three strikes, and they would be asked to leave.

Thomas put his hand around his lips to contain his whisper. “The truth is that Emmaline approached me. No, that sounds too forward. Emmaline let me know, in a roundabout way, that she’d set her hat on me. The odd thing is that I never expected Dr. Whitaker to see me as worthy of his daughter’s hand.”

Jimmy pulled out another coin. “So, you are courting her?”

The emphasis on are made Thomas’s stomach sink. “Not exactly. Maybe. I don’t know.” Thomas’s nervous laugh drew unpleasant looks from the students at the nearby table.

The librarian approached them, her gaze stern, possibly from the tightness of her bun. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid your time here is up for today.”

Thomas was thankful for the break in the conversation. “Of course, ma’am. Sorry for the disturbance. We’ll gather our things.”

The librarian’s expression didn’t soften. “And please remember, gentlemen, this is a place of study, not idle chatter.”

Thomas nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for allowing their conversation to stray when they needed to be studying. “Yes, ma’am.”

Once they’d packed up and were outside the library, Jimmy turned to Thomas. “So, about Emmaline . . .”

Thomas fidgeted with the strap on his bag. “Let’s talk about it as we walk. I could use some fresh air.”

Jimmy didn’t last two steps before returning to his earlier question. “How can you not know if you’re courting her or not? I’m no expert on the entire relationship thing, but don’t you kind of need an agreement or something?”

“That’s just it. The agreement is between me and Dr. Whitaker. Not me and his daughter. I can’t read her. We enjoy our time together, but . . .”

“No sparks?”

“Oh, there are sparks.” Thomas felt heat rise in his cheeks. “I know I should be flattered, but it all feels so contrived.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm? Am I missing something? Help me out here. It feels like I’m being bought like a head of cattle.”

The coin stilled, and Jimmy held it up. “What is the value of this coin?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Play along.” Jimmy turned the coin over.

“Okay. I suppose it depends on the context. In terms of currency, it has a face value of one cent. If we’re being subjective, it could symbolize thriftiness, as in Benjamin Franklin’s ‘a penny saved is a penny earned.’ If someone special gave it to you, it could have sentimental value. What are you getting at?”

“What about purchasing power? The penny has little value and is considered the lowest denomination of currency.”

“I still don’t understand.” Thomas’s frustration made his jaw tense.

“You are the coin. Comparing a coin’s value to a person’s self-worth is like comparing a drop of water to the ocean. This coin represents just a small part of one’s wealth, external achievements, and possessions. Those aren’t nearly as important as a person’s inner qualities, experiences, and God-given abilities.”

Thomas felt the words looking for a place to find a home in his mind.

Jimmy gingerly placed the coin in Thomas’s hand, his voice soft and hesitant. “Don’t doubt yourself too much. The internship—it’s only one part of a bigger plan, you know? God’s plan.”

Thomas blinked and stopped walking, surprised at Jimmy’s words. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you mention God.”

The tips of Jimmy’s ears turned pink. “I’m not great at giving advice, especially about Emmaline, but I don’t want to see you mess this up. You deserve that internship. Don’t let anyone take that from you. If I listened to all your talk about God, and I don’t often, I believe you once said, ‘God is not the author of confusion but of peace.’”

“Peace. That’s something I haven’t felt recently.”

But he knew where to find it.

My dearest Thomas,

Congratulations on being chosen for the internship. Medical Ambassador. What a distinguished title. It comes as no surprise that you’ve achieved this success. Your accomplishments bring us great joy and speak volumes about your character and work ethic.

Each of your sisters has included notes, so I’ll let them tell you of their news. Clint says the cattle have fared well over this harsh winter thus far, but we are weeks away from warm weather. I look forward to seeing God’s handiwork in the coming of spring. It feels like it will never come, yet I know God designed the seasons, and it will eventually arrive.

I’m stalling. Sharing negative news is never pleasant, but we eagerly seek your prayers. Gabe is worse in body and soul. Please do not let his poor choices affect your perseverance and determination to follow the path God has put you on. Gabe will return to his faith, but for now, I fear he is lost.

He received a warning at work for fighting. Robin says the foreman showed tremendous grace by only giving him a warning. Even so, he lost three days’ pay and spent the weekend in a cell. Henry says the boy was like a rabid animal in his cell. I’m sorry. I should not have written those words, but now they are out, and I pray they help you know best how to pray for your friend.

We miss you but know your first year is nearly complete, bringing us closer to seeing you again. It saddened us to know you will not come home for summer break, but we understand the need to fulfill your new duties. Many men need work after the war, and your father is determined to ensure no man goes hungry. We will hire out what needs to be done on the farm.

Thank you for telling us about your friends. Jimmy seems like a kind soul, and your boarding housemates appear to be keeping a smile on your face. Please tell Harriet I tried the vinegar in the pie crust. I know she said just a splash, but my splash must have been bigger than hers. It ended up being a chicken pot pie without the pie. Thank the Lord Clint is easy to please.

Speaking of cooking, I need to get the beans on.

I love you, son.

Mama

February 1872

Bitter winter wind whipped through the Pennypackers’ open barn doors. Thomas stood knee-deep in straw, his breath forming frosty clouds in the chilled air. With gloved hands, he vigorously mucked out the stalls, the muscles in his arms tensing with each pitchfork thrust.

The sharp tang of manure hung heavy in the air, mingling with the crisp scent of hay and the musty odor of damp straw. Despite the biting cold, sweat trickled down his brow, mixing with the stench as he worked.

Wheelbarrow loaded, he pushed the refuse into the pre-dawn light. The sound of his boots crunching on the frozen ground echoed against the expanse of the barn. He dropped the load and headed back in to continue his work.

The rhythmic scrape of the pitchfork against the stall floor mirrored his clenched jaw, each movement a reflection of the frustration simmering within him. Overhead, the rafters groaned and creaked under the burden of accumulated snow, a burden akin to the heaviness he felt in his weary body.

He’d not been able to sleep from worrying about Gabe and not knowing how to help his friend—or if he even should. Through the haze of his frustration, Thomas’s vision blurred. He blinked away the moisture.

The sight of steaming piles of manure and the dark, empty stalls awaiting cleaning kept him going. His breath hitched with each exhale, his chest tightening with pent-up emotion.

Despite the numbing cold and the physical strain of his labor, Thomas found solace in the repetitive motions of his work. With each load of muck he removed from the stalls, he expelled a bit of the frustration that had been building inside him. And as he worked, the weight on his shoulders seemed to lessen, if only for a moment, in the quiet solitude of the winter barn.

“Since when did you start working here again—and so early in the morning?”

Thomas jumped, dropping the pitchfork with a loud clang. “Douglass, you scared the daylights out of me.” Thomas leaned against the stall wall, catching his breath.

“Guess that’s where it all went. Not a stitch of daylight out there.” The man raised an eyebrow, his words light but his expression stoic. “It’s always nice to have an extra hand helping out, but care to explain?”

Thomas picked up his tool and placed it against the wall. “I couldn’t sleep and needed to burn off steam. I didn’t know where else to go to do that but here. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Want to talk about it?” Douglass got right to the point.

More than anything, but if he hadn’t talked to God about it on the long walk here or while he worked, he shouldn’t burden his friend.

“At least have a cup of coffee and sit a spell.”

Thomas obeyed, removing his gloves. Redness marred his skin. He was getting soft—and not just in body.

Thomas let out a weary sigh, grateful for Douglass’s company despite his reluctance to burden his friend with his troubles. He leaned against the stall.

“Thanks, Douglass. I could use a break,” Thomas admitted, rubbing his tired eyes.

Douglass poured two cups of steaming coffee from a battered thermos, the rich aroma mingling with the now-clean barn. Douglass handed it to Thomas, the heat seeping through the thick ceramic mug and into Thomas’s chilled fingers.

“Here you go, son. Drink up,” Douglass said, his voice gentle yet firm.

Thomas took a sip, the bitter brew offering a small comfort against the bitterness of his thoughts. “Thanks,” he murmured, glancing up at Douglass.

Douglass settled on a nearby crate, his gaze steady as he regarded Thomas. “So, what’s been weighing on your mind, son?”

Thomas hesitated, and the words caught in his throat. How could he explain the tangled mess of emotions swirling inside him? His voice came out low and hesitant.

“It’s Gabe,” he confessed, the name heavy on his tongue. “I’m torn between wanting to run home and help him and mad because I’ve always been the one to get him out of scrapes. I want him to grow up.” Thomas spat the words, then lowered his head. “The thing is, he’s sick, and I’m in no position to help him.”

Douglass listened quietly, his expression sympathetic as Thomas spoke. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, Thomas,” Douglass said softly, his voice tinged with empathy, “but you can’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone. Sometimes, we have to accept that we can’t fix everything.”

Thomas swallowed hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. “I know,“ he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it‘s hard not to rescue him and fix things, especially when he’s my best friend.”

Douglass placed a comforting hand on Thomas’s shoulder, the warmth of his touch a silent reassurance. “You’re doing the best you can by getting your medical degree. If Gabe’s problem is physical, you’re of no help to him yet. If it’s spiritual, well, that’s not up to you anyway.”

Thomas nodded, his gaze fixed on the ground as he grappled with the weight of Gabe’s illness and poor choices, and his own sense of helplessness. But with Douglass’s steady presence and the reminder that God was the only one who could provide the ultimate healing, Thomas felt a glimmer of hope flicker to life in the darkness. And for now, that was enough.