Chapter 16
New Year’s Eve 1871Whitaker HomeThomas
Thomas noted the lack of conveyances outside the Whitaker home. “Thank you, sir,” he said to the driver as the man opened the door to the enclosed carriage. “Did I misunderstand the invitation? I thought this was . . .” He checked his pocket for the invitation with growing uncertainty.
“Cancelled due to inclement weather, sir.”
Thomas stared at the man, who refused to make eye contact, then redirected his gaze to the now-open front door.
“Good evening, sir.” The familiar toy soldier butler ushered Thomas into the home, taking his outerwear.
The coldness from the stone under Thomas’s feet crept up his body. He’d expected hordes of people, but the empty foyer felt as cold as his limbs. Silence squeezed in on him. He tucked the wrapped package under his arm and awaited instructions. Footsteps overhead pulled his attention to the staircase. Emmaline’s full golden skirts flowed down the steps like a shimmering waterfall in her descent.
Her ungloved hand hovered over the dark wood. Light from the chandelier reflected off her buffed nails. Confidence flowed from her posture, making Thomas question his sanity in accepting the invitation. “Good evening, Miss Whitaker.” His stiff words mimicked the butler’s.
“Thomas, I thought we were past such formalities. Emmaline, please.” She offered her hand.
He had no right to take it, no claim, no matter the thrill he felt at her touch. Her beauty and charm played tug-of-war with his resolve. He offered his arm. Her warmth emanated through his wool suit coat—or was that his own body heat reaching for connection with her fingertips?
“Father and Mother are indisposed. Care to lose another game of dominoes?” She leaned into him.
He took a step to provide distance and broke his resolve not to allow her gaze to pull him further under her spell. Her wink nearly made him stumble over the smooth marble tile. “It’s your birthday. I suppose I should give you a chance to redeem yourself.”
Her giggle was airy, like the ashes of the crackling fire warming the library.
Thomas moved them toward the leather chairs instead of the game table. “I’m sorry you had to cancel your party.”
One creamy shoulder lifted her golden locks. “Mother nearly had the vapors when Father canceled. I’m glad you accepted my invitation.”
Her invitation? “Let’s sit for a moment.” He needed to slow his beating heart.
A servant rounded the corner and stood sentry just inside the library doors.
“First, your present.” Thomas assisted her into the leather chair that nearly swallowed her slight frame.
“Oh, I adore presents. How very thoughtful.” Emmaline clasped her hands together before opening them to receive the offering.
Thomas leaned back into the opposite seat, crossing his legs, and watched her. Gone was the proper young woman. In her place was a sparkling-eyed girl. Emmaline tore at the butcher block paper, and Thomas held back his mirth at the scene.
“Oh!” She turned the book over and back, running her fingertips across the edges.
Opening the front cover, she traced the words he’d written. He pulled in his toes, feeling the tension move up his calves. His stomach lurched, and he rubbed his finger and thumb over his clean-shaven jaw, pulling on his chin. He repeated the motion, then stilled when she lifted her shimmering eyes.
Emmaline placed her palm over his written words. “I adore George MacDonald’s writing. Did you know he published this in installments in Good Words for the Young? I’ve read them all and had heard he’d published the serialized works as a book.”
Thomas clasped his hands to keep from fidgeting. She mesmerized him with her loveliness and how she morphed from seductress to child to friend in mere breaths. Breaths that would not come out of his constricted throat. He stared at Emmaline’s fingers, still tracing his chicken scratch as if reading braille.
“Thank you, Thomas. I appreciate the happy birthday sentiments. It’s a very thoughtful gift.”
“What gift?” Dr. Whitaker strode their way.
Thomas jumped to his feet. “Good evening, sir.”
“Thomas, are you spoiling my daughter already?” Dr. Whitaker raised his eyebrows at Thomas, then turned and kissed his daughter on the top of her head, where soft yellow curls flowed down her back and over her shoulders.
She lifted the book in both hands. “At the Back of the North Wind, Father. The book I’d hoped to get for Christmas.” She glared at the man as if the oversight was his fault.
Dr. Whitaker’s boisterous laugh and hearty pat on Thomas’s shoulder gave Thomas a moment to pull in a deep breath without anyone noticing.
“Fine choice, son. A man who knows the way to a woman’s heart will reap all kinds of rewards.” The hand tightened, then released.
Thomas blanched, working to swallow the dryness in his mouth. Something felt off. He looked to Emmaline for clues. Her chin dipped, and a single dimple formed with her coquettish smile. The clinking of glasses pulled his gaze across the room.
Dr. Whitaker lifted a highball glass and decanter. “Care for a drink?”
“No, thank you, sir,” Thomas forced out. His stomach twisted, and his ears clogged. Emmaline’s words sounded far away, and Thomas worked to grasp their meaning.
“Are you the boy?”
“The boy?” he squeaked.
Her giggle sounded like bubbles coming up from the deep.
“Diamond. The sweet little boy in the story who makes joy everywhere he goes.”
Even though Thomas had read the story several times, he rifled through the recesses of his mind for an answer.
Dr. Whitaker lifted a glass to his lips. “Sounds like a children’s story.”
Emmaline turned in her chair. “Diamond fights despair and gloom and brings peace to his family. It’s an adventure, father.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Thomas watched the exchange.
Emmaline closed the book and brought it to her chest. “One night, when Diamond is trying to sleep, the wind constantly comes through a hole in the wall and keeps him awake. He repeatedly plugs the hole but realizes he’s keeping the North Wind from seeing through her window.”
“Window? What is this woman doing in his bedroom?” Dr. Whitaker’s tone held seriousness, but his eyes gave away his teasing.
“Father. Really. Diamond befriends North Wind, and she lets him fly with her, taking him on wondrous adventures.”
“Like I said, children’s book. Besides, Thomas here wouldn’t dare entertain thoughts of another woman.”
Thomas squeezed the back of his chair, the unease from earlier getting stronger. “Classic literature, sir. It holds many spiritual truths.”
Dr. Whitaker downed the remainder of his drink, his expression and his tone going flat. “Your mother said dinner will be ready in ten minutes. I’ll leave you two to your fantasies.”
Thomas reclaimed his seat when the man left. “I see more sides of your father here than at school.”
Emmaline placed the book in her lap and ran her fingers over the embossed wording. “He’s more North Wind than Diamond. Sometimes gentle, other times harsh, but don’t let him bother you.”
Thomas thought of North Wind’s words, “Sometimes they call me Bad Fortune, sometimes Evil Chance, sometimes Ruin,” and wondered when fantasy and reality might collide. Emmaline’s lyrical voice pulled him from his pondering.
“Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
Thomas leaned back, giving Emmaline his full attention. “You’re most welcome. You read the weekly installments?”
“Oh, yes. What a treat it will be to read them in book format. What spiritual truths do you find in this story?” Emmaline remained at the edge of her seat, her perfect posture leaning in as if she were genuinely interested.
“Simply stated, suffering is a part of life that God uses.”
“I hadn’t considered that, but I see your point. Like when Diamond journeys to the back of the North Wind. Everything’s perfect, but when he returns, he finds hardship. Yet, his unwavering joy and desire to help others shine brightly.”
Thomas soaked in Emmaline’s words. He had not seen this deeper side of her personality, which was more like Teddy’s.
Emmaline ran her long fingers over the embossed writing on the cover. “I have to be honest and say I read it for pleasure—a story to be enjoyed. I didn’t really think about the underlying meaning. What other spiritual truths did you uncover?”
Thomas liked this side of Emmaline over the pretentious, privileged daughter he’d noted when with her friends. “Death. It would take all night to cover that subject, but it seems we only have mere moments before the meal.”
Emmaline pulled the book back to her chest. “George MacDonald is one of my favorites, but he can be quite wordy. If we’re to discuss death, I prefer Emily Dickinson. She has a marvelous way of capturing the feelings but in far fewer words. ‘That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.’” Emmaline’s sigh mimicked that of a gentle wind.
The servant cleared his throat. “Dinner is served.”
Thomas stood, offering Emmaline his arm. “May I?” he asked.
She placed the gift in the chair on top of the torn wrapping. “After dinner, I’ll be much too full to discuss such boring and profound subjects as death, but I’m confident in my ability to emerge victorious in a game of dominoes.”
Thomas chuckled, a glimmer of playful challenge in his voice. “Ah, no talk of death, only defeat. I believe we shall put your confidence to the test.”
Emmaline placed her last tile. “I win.”
Thomas leaned back and patted his overly full midsection. “Well played. It looks like I’ve underestimated you once again. That amazing meal must have slowed my brain.” He’d watched her every move all evening. No one had mentioned missing guests or ruined plans because of the weather.
Emmaline turned her tiles facedown. “You give a worthwhile challenge. As for dinner, I asked for all my favorites since it is my special day.”
Thomas put his thumb and finger on his chin. “My favorite was the dessert. I’m guessing it was almond cake?”
“You are correct. Venture a guess at the filling?”
“No seeds. The tangy flavor has me confused, but I’ll guess raspberry.”
“Close. Cranberry. Icing?”
“Lemon buttercream.”
“Impressive.” Emmaline cocked her head.
Thomas leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “My hidden talents are many.”
Emmaline’s eyes sparkled with intrigue and a hint of danger. She leaned forward, her playful demeanor evident. “Sounds like a challenge I’m more than willing to accept.” Emmaline trailed her fingers across the table, stopping just shy of Thomas’s fingertips. “Care to play a different game?” Her voice dropped to a deeper tone.
Thomas quickly retracted his hand and ran it through his hair, raking his fingernails into his scalp while working to slow his racing heart. “As tempting as that sounds, I believe I’ll stick to safer ground for now. My ego can only lose so many times in one evening.”
Emmaline’s lips curved into a teasing pout. “But it’s my birthday.”
He felt a prick in his spirit, and alarm bells sounded all manner of warning in his mind. His chair nearly toppled as he stood. “Emmaline. Miss Whitaker.” His eyes darted around the room and landed on a piece of wrapping paper on the floor. “Presents. For your birthday. What did you receive?”
Emmaline sighed and shrugged nonchalantly. “Father isn’t big on presents. He says he spoils me every day of the year, so he doesn’t do much on birthdays and holidays. But this year, he got me exactly what I asked for.” Her voice drew him in even as her hands smoothed her dress as she stood.
Thomas felt lost at sea, and Emmaline was a siren. Help me, Lord. If he thought he didn’t understand the rules of high society, he was even more lost in understanding the underlying meanings of this woman’s words.
“Who won?” Dr. Whitaker, his wife on his arm, entered.
Relief washed over Thomas, only to see a playful exchange between the father and his daughter.
“I did, Father. To the victor belongs the spoils.” Emmaline snaked her hand into the crook of Thomas’s bent arm.
“Then you got your birthday wish.” Dr. Whitaker winked at Thomas, then bent and kissed his daughter’s cheek.
Frustration coursed through Thomas’s veins. It was as if he were playing a game but didn’t know the rules. Had he missed something? He put his free hand in his pocket and found the coin. He understood Jimmy’s need for it now more than ever.
“Your mother has agreed to grace us with her music. Let’s retire to the parlor.” Dr. Whitaker gestured to the open door.
Thomas felt Emmaline’s light tug and complied. He feared he might step on her skirt and sidestepped to give their girth more room.
“Practicing your dance moves so soon?” Emmaline whispered.
“Dance?”
“I’m hoping it’s one of your hidden talents.”
Dancing. His jacket felt overly warm. They passed a grandfather clock as it chimed the hour. Nine. Mrs. Jones locked the boarding house doors at ten. Where had the time gone? He was at the mercy of his hosts, and even though he had a key, he needed to get back.
The room they entered was bright, with ornate gold fixtures gracing the walls and covered in a large floral pattern of various shades of pink and green. The largest piano Thomas had ever seen sat open before floor-to-ceiling draperies of deep rose. Wind whistled through the covered windows, making the fabric look as if it were breathing—or the North Wind was moving about.
The piano bench creaked under Mrs. Whitaker’s lithe frame. Emmaline’s beauty and poise obviously came from this woman. Her fingers ran over the upper keys, making a tinkling sound.
“Mother, play something lively,” Emmaline said.
Dr. Whitaker raised a glass. “The tango is all the rage.”
Thomas blanched. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer, sir.”
“Then perhaps ‘Hasteto the Wedding’ might be a better choice.”
Emmaline giggled. “Father, there aren’t enough of us for that dance.”
“It only takes two, darling.” The man downed his drink, setting the crystal with a bang on the tabletop nearby. “Come, let’s give the boy a lesson in dancing. He seems a tad wet behind the ears.”
Mrs. Whitaker’s fingers deftly crossed the keys as the father twirled his daughter about the room. Thomas took two steps back, listening to Emmaline’s childish laughter as they passed. Dr. Whitaker ceased moving, and Emmaline twirled and paraded around him as if trying to capture his attention.
“Ready to take my place?” the doctor asked.
Emmaline never missed a beat. She sashayed and began what looked like an animal mating dance, her arms akimbo as she moved forward, back, then around Thomas. She took his hand in hers and moved his other to her waist, then began leading them around the room. Her hair swayed as they twirled.
Thomas recognized the movements of what they called a polka back home and quickly took over, causing Emmaline’s smile to broaden. Her eyes stayed on him, allowing him complete control.
The music stopped, and he bowed to his partner. His heart beat wildly—and not only from exertion.
Dr. Whitaker clapped. “You make a marvelous couple.”
Mrs. Whitaker moved to her daughter’s side. “Emmaline, dearest. You’ve taken on a sheen. Let’s leave these men to their discussions while we powder our noses.”
Thomas felt the day of reckoning had come. He had a sneaking suspicion of what was going on, but he’d do just about anything for clarity.
“Drink?”
Except that. “Water or tea would be lovely. Thank you.”
Dr. Whitaker lifted a finger, and a servant left the room. “Sit.” He patted the cushioned seat beside him.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, sir. I’ll need to head back to the boarding house soon. Strict rules and all.” Thomas did his best to make his words light.
“Then I’ll get right to the point. Do you want the internship position?”
“Of course. I mean, yes, sir. Very much so.”
“I’ve been watching you. You have what it takes to become one of Philadelphia’s finest surgeons. The new aim of medical education is to produce problem solvers and critical thinkers who know how to figure out and evaluate information for themselves. You already possess these characteristics. Add to that your work ethic, academic success, and desire to succeed, and you could go far. The only issue is a bit more convoluted.” The doctor tapped his finger on his lips as if in deep thought.
“Thank you, sir. I always strive to do my best with the Lord’s help.” Thomas focused on the positive.
The man’s demeanor changed to something dark.
“Medicine is a science, Thomas. We do not mix the supernatural with the scientific.”
Thomas would not put his belief in Jesus Christ in the realm of the supernatural as if it were some mystical pagan religion but kept his mouth clamped.
“No, Thomas, the issue is much more complex. There are standards, societal expectations, to achieving the elevated position you seek.”
Thomas felt his world crumbling. It was as Jimmy had said. If he couldn’t break into Philadelphia’s elite, he would never be afforded the opportunities he desired.
“But I believe I have a solution of sorts.” Dr. Whitaker stood and poured himself another drink.
Thomas wiped his sweating palms on his trousers. “I’m listening.” The servant handed him a drink, and he downed the cool, clear liquid before Dr. Whitaker turned around. He returned the glass, afraid he would drop it in his nervousness.
Dr. Whitaker’s deliberate and controlled movements set the mood as he settled back into the chair. “It appears my daughter has taken a fancy to you. Of course, I did my homework well before the school approved your application. Although your family has an unusual breeding, your family is of proper standing.”
Thomas’s ears began ringing, and he ground his molars back and forth over each other. Thoughts of arranged marriages and dowries flitted through his mind. This man was not suggesting . . .
“Should you consider an alliance of sorts, we could make arrangements and adaptations.” Dr. Whitaker ran his finger around the top of the glass before taking a drink.
Alliance? Arrangements? Adaptations? Was this a business proposition, and if so, were they equal partners, or was he a pawn?
The clock struck nine thirty.
“I’ll give you some time to think it over, but I expect an answer when you return to school on Tuesday. If you’re not interested, I’m sure Addison Blakeney would jump at the chance.”
Surely the man would not give that pompous socialite the internship simply because of his bloodline and connections.
“Do you understand what I’m offering, Thomas?”
“I believe so, sir.” He wasn’t certain at all, but he wasn’t about to ask for clarity since the servant was holding out Thomas’s jacket to him. Thomas stood like a puppet and allowed the man to assist him in putting it on.
“I’ll give the ladies your regards. Good night, son.”
The man’s final word hung in the air. Thomas’s methodical movements carried him into the bitter wind and the stuffy confines of the carriage. The weight of the evening pressed in on him like the four walls of the moving conveyance.
“Father, what am I to do?” Thomas heard no reply and felt no peace. He raked his fingers through his damp hair, pulling on the ends until his scalp ached. “Think, Thomas.”
The proposition of an alliance could mean many things. Business, courtship, marriage? They all seemed absurd. He desired to acquire the internship position on merit alone. Jimmy’s words rang through his mind. Ability alone would not suffice.
“He doesn’t even like me.” Hair fell over Thomas’s eye as he leaned his forearms on his knees. “Why would he want me as family?” A dip in the road jostled Thomas, and he grabbed the velvet cushioned seat. Perhaps this was only a business proposition. Playing the part of Emmaline’s beau might provide Thomas with access to the social circles he needed to succeed and allow Dr. Whitaker the freedom to offer him the position.
But could he do it? Could he be a part of Emmaline’s world and play the role of her suitor? Was she in on this plan? It raised the question as to whether the agreement was founded on attraction and the potential for a happy marriage or simply a strategic move on Dr. Whitaker’s part. Thomas wasn’t even certain how he felt about Emmaline other than the way she made his heart race.
He let his head rest against the back wall and looked at the dark ceiling. Had Emmaline meant he was the gift she’d wished for?
What was Dr. Whitaker to gain from this? And what was Thomas to lose?