Chapter 2
August, 1871Boarding HouseThomas
“Oomph.” Thomas grasped the woman plastered against his chest. His arms steadied her. His hands remained on the puffy sleeves about her shoulders a moment longer than necessary before placing a proper distance between them. “My apologies. Are you all right, miss?”
A pair of dark eyes stared up at him, then blinked. The woman increased the distance between them and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, her shaking hand mimicking the fluttering in his stomach.
His finger and thumb rubbed at the coarse hair just beginning to show on his face. The scent of lavender reached his nostrils, and he rubbed his fingers together as he lowered his hand, remembering the soft feel of the sleeve’s fabric.
She offered a slight smile. “Quite.”
“Quite?” Thomas had no idea to what she was referring.
“You asked if I was all right. I apologize for not paying attention to where I was going.” Her doe eyes dropped, and she tucked the same lock of chestnut hair once more behind her ear.
“Looks like you know exactly where you are going, just in a hurry to get there.” Thomas ran a finger under his collar and cleared his throat. “It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention as I entered. Honestly, I’m not exactly certain if I’m even at the right place.”
Dark, sunken circles under the woman’s eyes had Thomas pushing away the urge to diagnose.
“Who is it you’re looking for?” The woman’s gaze flicked to the wall beside her.
Thomas patted his breast pocket, then stuck his hands in each side pocket before pulling out a piece of paper. It was upside down, and he couldn’t read his handwriting. The woman followed his every move, making heat fill his cheeks. “The matron of the house?”
The tick of a clock filled the silence as she stood before him like a statue. She blinked and brushed at the white apron over her plain dress. Her mouth worked as if forming words, which finally came forth.
“Mrs. Jones. Yes, right.” She angled her head, but her eyes stayed on his. “Mrs. Jones, you have a visitor.” The slight lift of her lips made his respond in turn. “I beg your pardon, I’m late for work, but she’ll be right with you. Good day, and I pray you find whatever you’re looking for.”
Thomas stepped aside to allow her through the front door. His fingers rubbed together as if he still felt her firm arms under her sleeves. This was a young woman used to hard work. Thomas swallowed the lump in his throat as the door shut behind her.
He took in his surroundings. It was a far cry from his rural home in Shumard Oak Bend, Missouri. A wide staircase, which the woman must have come down as he’d entered, was flanked on either side by two rooms.
Nothing but the scent of fresh bread and something meaty felt familiar about this place, yet Thomas felt comfortable. He ran his fingers over the smooth wood of the piece of furniture before him. Familiar or not, Thomas needed to acclimate to this new world before classes started in a few days.
A large mirror graced the foyer’s wall, and he took in his appearance, running a hand through too-long hair. He pushed his jaw out and blew up at the ever-wayward strand of hair threatening to cover one of his eyes. Two and a half weeks of train soot covered his traveling suit, and he brushed at the front of his jacket, upsetting a knickknack on the foyer table. He steadied the piece and took two steps back.
Well-loved books showed from behind an ornate glass-paned cabinet. He squinted to see the titles behind the wavy glass and sent up a silent prayer that there would be a room available here. It was the last place on Fourth Street and Judge Pennypacker’s list of potential boarding houses with excellent reputations. His benefactor had suggested Thomas stay within walking distance of the university and the hospital.
Thomas straightened as an older woman entered. Her aged fingers slid over her graying bun. With squared shoulders and a lifted chin, she carried herself with an air of authority.
She wiped her hands on an intricately embroidered apron tied loosely at her thin waist. What other man would notice such things? If his mother hadn’t made him sit and learn the fine art of sewing under Delphina’s tutelage, he might not have been so good at stitching up man and beast. Thomas did his best to make the laughter wanting to escape look like a pleasant greeting.
“Might I help you?” Her terse tone held suspicion.
“I hope so. I’m Thomas Shankel. Judge Horace Pennypacker, my benefactor, recommended this establishment. I’ll be attending medical school and need room and board.”
The woman’s posture relaxed, as did her taut features. She smoothed her apron and put on a cordial smile.
“Well, with a reference such as that, I own this fine boarding house. You can call me Mrs. Jones.”
Relief settled over Thomas as he shook the woman’s offered hand. If there were an immediate opening, he could get his belongings and the judge’s man, Douglass, could go home. Only God knew how much it was costing Thomas to have the man at his beck and call all morning.
Mrs. Jones entwined her fingers and placed them over her stomach as if getting ready to quote the Sunday oration. “We have one room for two dollars and forty-five cents a week. Rent is due upfront and is not refundable if I am forced to terminate our agreement for unsavory behavior.” Her earlier smile gone, Mrs. Jones removed her spectacles and held Thomas’s gaze.
Thomas pulled air into his nose at an even pace and relaxed his facial muscles. He’d need part-time work or something to earn extra money during breaks to help cover the cost. Perhaps purchasing only one new suit for important functions rather than two would stretch his funds. Whatever it took to become a doctor, he’d do it.
Mrs. Jones replaced her glasses, but her eyebrows remained raised in anticipation of his response.
“Yes, ma’am. I agree to your terms.”
She peered over the rims. “I do not abide by drinking, carousing, or having visitors in your room, and I strictly adhere to the Sabbath.”
Thomas wondered if the congregants of the large stone churches he’d passed would be the same as the fellowship of believers who met back home in the clapboard structure that also housed the school. Brick and stone seeped warmth from a body. Would it do the same for a soul?
“You’ll receive two meals a day. Breakfast is on the sideboard between six and seven in the morning. We do not serve lunch. I serve the evening meal promptly at five-thirty in the dining room.”
Thomas followed her gesture toward the ten chairs surrounding the cloth-lined table. He felt a pang of homesickness but pushed it away, replacing it with the excitement of this new adventure.
“With you being a medical student at the university and a friend of Judge Pennypacker, I’m sure we can work something out to keep your meals warm if you don’t get in until after dark.”
His earlier enthusiasm turned to dread, and the eggs and biscuit from breakfast roiled in his gut. What was he getting himself into? He could have studied back home under Robin instead of coming halfway across the country. As a medicine woman, she knew as much as he ever hoped to learn at medical school.
But God had called him. That reminder and his purpose to serve others calmed his nerves once more. He focused his attention back on Mrs. Jones.
“If you’ll follow me, Mr. Shankel, I’ll show you to the available room. I cleaned it this morning.”
Thomas obeyed, following the click of Mrs. Jones’s footsteps as she crossed the gleaming floors covered by well-worn rugs that were nothing like the rag rugs at home. No matter how tidy, dust motes floated in the light, streaming in from the parlor windows just off the foyer.
Fresh lemon oil greeted him as he ascended the stairwell behind his potential new landlady. The hall was dim, with only a shaft of light coming from the round window at the end, positioned over two hand-painted signs indicating the lavatory and bathing rooms. Two doors on his left matched one on his right. The door at the end of the hall held a small vine wreath with a pink bow tied to the bottom edge—a woman’s touch.
Mrs. Jones cleared her throat, pulling his attention from the feminine decoration. “I rent all my rooms to men, except for that one.” Her gaze was stern.
Had she known his mind had immediately drifted to the doe eyes of the woman he’d met earlier? Perhaps the woman lived in that room but surely not alone. He knew the East was more progressive, but Mrs. Jones did not seem like someone who would allow a single lady in a boardinghouse full of men. Could the female boarder be married?
His fingers tingled as he rubbed his chest, and he felt something akin to butterflies take up residence. Staying out of her way was a good idea. He could not afford the diversion of a woman. No matter how beautiful.
“You’ll mind our rules, and we won’t have any issues like the man I gave leave to yesterday.” She peered at him over her glasses.
Thomas gave a single nod. She seemed to accept this as his consent of her rules.
“This west-facing room is vacant.” A keyring jingled, and the sound of Mrs. Jones opening a door pulled his attention to the room directly across from the door with the wreath.
“You are responsible for cleaning your room, but I’ll wash your furnished sheets and towels every two weeks. You can do your personal laundry on the opposite week, but you’ll need to sign up for a time slot.”
He’d done his fair share of household chores, thanks to his mother and Delphina. There was no such thing as women’s work on the ranch. He hated laundry day more than any other, but he could hold his own. Would he have time with his school schedule?
“No smoking in the room. We have a lavatory and a bathing room to the left outside your door. Learn the habits of those here to determine when you might use the facilities. My patrons have been with me for several years and have their routines.” Her clipped words bounced off the stark room’s walls.
Mrs. Jones continued speaking, but Thomas focused on the single window. Although clean on the inside, streaks of soot covered the outside. His chest constricted as his gaze focused on a wall of brick from the home on the other side. No sunlight made its way through the panes. Cold enveloped him even in the suffocating heat of the room, and he longed for a breath of fresh mountain air.
He took a step back toward the hallway and worked to swallow the bile rising in his throat. He loosened his top button and drew in a slow breath. The scent of lemon refreshed his resolve, as did the memory of his parents reminding him to keep his focus on the Lord and the gift given him. He worked to straighten his spine. He could do this.
“I’ll take it,” he blurted.
“Very good, Mr. Shankel. That will be two dollars and ten cents for the remainder of this week.” Her hand splayed open, revealing a simple gold band on her left ring finger.
Thomas felt for his wallet and produced the required funds. “I’ll have my things brought up straight away.”
Mrs. Jones took the coins and placed a key in his hand. He stood in his new home, missing Missouri’s view and fresh air more than ever. Several hooks lined the walls opposite a bed larger than his back home. On the side wall, a sizable rectangular mirror hung over a well-loved dresser, its paint marred and missing like a beloved toy. It was more suitable for a woman’s finery, but he was thankful for it.
He wondered if the winters here could be any colder than Missouri. He’d only seen a fireplace in the parlor but hoped the room directly below also had one and would warm his room.
Thomas stood before the mirror and gazed into the disfigured form before him. Two panes of glass had been wedged together to make the oversized mirror. It was an honest reflection of how he felt—disjointed, with half of his heart in one place and the other standing here.
A small desk and chair sat under the window. He’d need oil to fill the lamp. A deep sigh escaped. “Lord, make my funds be as loaves and fishes.”
For the next two years, he’d have to rely on the Lord to meet all his needs. God had proved Himself true in the past. He’d do it again. Light feet carried him outside, where Douglass patiently waited. “It looks like I’ve found lodging. Would you mind helping me carry my things?”
Douglass stepped from the conveyance. “Of course, sir.”
The men each handled one end of two rectangular crates, one on top of the other. Thomas repeated his steps from earlier, taking care not to mar the floral wallpaper in the hall.
“We should have made two trips.” Thomas strained as he shifted to lower the crates without dropping them. The sound of wood on wood echoed in the room.
“I’ll get your other two bags and something to open those crates, Mr. Thomas.”
At least they’d progressed to using first names after spending an entire morning together. Thomas hung his suit jacket on one peg, then reached inside for his wallet. He needed to settle up with Douglass when the man returned.
“Here you are, sir.” Douglass placed the bags on the floor.
“What do I owe you for your kindness today?”
“No charge, sir. I work for the judge. He pays me a fair wage.”
Thomas wondered if that wage was the same as the one the skeleton of a waitress from breakfast received. Two coins clinked, and he offered them and a handshake to Douglass. Confusion clouded the man’s dark eyes.
“Douglass, I’m not familiar with customs of the East yet, but I know a good man when I see him. No matter your position, it would be my honor to call you a friend.” Thomas moved his hand closer.
Douglass dipped his head slightly and shook the offered hand but refused the money. “I’m honored. You keep that. You’re going to need a new suit of clothes.” The man flashed a large white smile, slowly lifting his gaze to meet Thomas’s.
“I’m hoping this suit will work for school if I can beat it hard enough to remove all the soot. I’m afraid I’ll have to forgo a second to get whatever is in style for social events and services. According to the sign I saw in the window of a tailor we passed, prices are a bit higher in the East than I’d expected.” Thomas knew his current suit was out of style, but it was clean and fit well. It was the better of the two he owned.
“You’re gentry now, Mr. Shankel.”
“Thomas, please. My station hasn’t changed.”
“You step through those university doors toting the judge’s name, and you’ll see what I mean. Now, you’ll be needing one suit for parties, another for church, and one for school. Judge Pennypacker uses Wanamaker’s on Market Street, but I know someone who can make you what you need that’s just as good for less than what it costs the judge.”
His schoolteacher had suggested Thomas wait to purchase attire until after he’d arrived. Acquiring what he needed for a lower price sounded like a gift from above.
“Thank you. I’ll take you up on the offer. I have a few days before classes begin. Perhaps I can meet your tailor tomorrow? Where will I find him?”
“It’s a woman. My wife. She’s busy during the day, but if you have time this evening, I can pick you up at seven.” Douglass fidgeted, but his gaze remained firm.
“Perfect. I’ll watch for you. Thank you, Douglass.”
“Let me get those crates open.” The man wedged a bar under the lid. The sound of nails creaking filled the room as they left their hold in wood. “You need anything else, Mr. Thomas?”
Old habits must be hard to break. At least the man wasn’t calling him Master Thomas like the slaves on the plantation had called him when he was a boy.
“If I do, I’ll let you know this evening. I can unpack on my own.”
He bid his first friend in Philadelphia good day, then reached into the open crate and pulled out the wrapped drawing of the friend he’d left behind. The pencil strokes by his little sister’s hand lay behind clear glass. He searched the barren wall and found what he was looking for. A single nail stuck out from the seam of peeling wallpaper.
Serafina had captured his and Gabe’s roughhousing as if the two were still in motion. Gabe’s brawny arm encircled Thomas’s neck. The smiles on their faces would have lit the room back then. Thomas ran his hand over his face, feeling the tense muscles under his palm.
Life wasn’t fair. He was following their dream while Gabe was attending classes at The Missouri School of Mines and Metallurgy in Rolla, Missouri.
“Lord, why is there so much injustice?”
The ache of home had him searching for writing supplies. The chair squeaked as he sat. He’d send a letter to let his family know he’d safely arrived and provide his new address. And he’d enclose a note of encouragement for Gabe.