Might and the Passion (eBook)

1

“I have to hurry, Uncle Isaac. Mark’s taking me with him!”

The boy cinched the saddle and quickly mounted his horse. Impatiently he shook his dark hair out of his eyes. His long arms and legs gave the youth a coltish appearance. It was early, the sun not even attempting entrance at 4 o’clock this November morning.

“Terry, wait.” Isaac Heindburg, tall and thin, looking older than his forty-two years, gently tapped the boy’s leg for attention. When Terrain turned toward him, Isaac spoke, knowing the deaf boy would see his words. “Don’t forget this,” he said, and handed up a black case.

Terrain’s dark eyes lit up. “Oh, thank you!” He had pointedly taken the leather satchel with him into the stables, then, in his excitement, forgotten it. He gratefully accepted the case, placing it in front of him on the saddle. This was his very own medical bag, given to him just days before on his fifteenth birthday. A gift from his adoptive father, Dr. Mark Mackenzie.

Over the past few years, Terrain often assisted Mark with patients in his home office or on day calls. This was the first time, however, that Mark allowed the boy to come with him during a night-time summons. Usually Terrain was left at home, under the care of Isaac and Elizabeth Heindburg, house and grounds keepers who were more like family than employees.

The Heindburgs resided in a small cottage on Mark Mackenzie’s land. One of their guests was now peeking at them through a window. Somehow Isaac always seemed to know when Mark was called away at night. He would faithfully appear in the stables, or at the kitchen door, shortly after the first lamp was lit in the main house.

“Take this, as well,” Isaac said, tossing a blanket to the boy. The blanket smelled like horses, but at least it would keep Terrain warm. The boy had raced outside with only his light jacket; he really needed his greatcoat in this November cold.

Mark was waiting on his own steed as Terrain rode to the front of their house. By the bright moonlight, the handsome doctor’s blond hair seemed to glow. Terrain could see the worried expression on Mr. Jackson’s face, the man who had summoned them. The Jackson family lived a couple miles away near the outskirts of town. Even the man’s horse seemed nervous, anxious to return home. Another of the Jackson children must be ill, Terry gathered. They had lost a son last year to cholera. Terrain curbed his jubilation and managed a somber, professional demeanor. “I’m ready, Father,” he said after a brief nod to Mr. Jackson. And the three of them rode into the darkness.

* * *

The year is 1819; the place Fredericktown, Maryland. The American Mark Wilson Mackenzie and the former Terrain Smith had been together four years now. A formal decree made them legally father and son, cementing a relationship that began in London, England, September 1815, with their shared escapade.

Immersing one’s self into American culture was a challenge for young Terrain, who traveled to this county after chancing upon Mark in London. The transition was initially resented—neither Mark nor Terrain were brought together by choice—but the boy soon thrived under Mark’s affection and tutelage. These United States of America had grown as well since the reluctant heroes first met. Three more states had joined the Union; a fourth state, Alabama, would be added before the year was out. The original thirteen colonies could now boast a total of twenty-two states, equally divided between free and enslaved. Founding Father James Monroe was the current President of these United States, ushering in the Era of Good Feelings, which unfortunately gave way to financial panic. And Fredericktown, Maryland, was now the City of Frederick.

Earlier this year, Terrain had completed his final term at the Academy of St. Francis of Assisi on Braddock Mountain. The school was just over six miles from Mark’s home. The doctor, riding alone on horseback on mostly good roads, would make the journey to the academy in under two hours; less time if he prodded his horse to a trot. When as a school-boy Terrain traveled home with Mark by carriage, the journey was longer.

Later that morning, after re-checking the youngest Jackson boy’s fever and finding the child much better, Mark and Terrain rode their horses to the academy. Although neither of them was Roman Catholic, the school always welcomed Dr. Mackenzie during these visits. Father Michael O’Brien, the youthful headmaster, was happy to have a medical doctor look in on his boys, particularly now that the school, at eighteen students, was nearly at full capacity. Mark appreciated Terrain’s growing expertise at these times, and Michael O’Brien and Brother Dominic—a mild, rotund man in his fifties who was the only other live-in adult—relished the grown-up company Mark’s visits provided.

“Look!” Terry exclaimed, showing his medical bag to his good friend, Alex. Alexander Kent, a red-haired, sixteen-year-old, stood nearly as tall as Mark Mackenzie’s six feet. Alex was a valedictorian student who finished his four years in the academy with Terrain, but remained here as an apprentice teacher while saving money for college books and expenses.

“Whoa,” Alex said appreciatively, leaning over to study the case Terrain obligingly opened. He carefully steadied his weight on his good leg, using his cane for support. “Outstanding, Terry!” he declared, turning his face toward Terrain. “Is it truly doctor’s bag?”

Terrain eagerly nodded. “True on the outside. I haven’t much in it yet. Not like Mark’s, of course.” He thought ‘Mark’ rather than saying ‘my father’ as he nearly did. He seemed to fluctuate between one title and the other. “Just some bandages, and some herbs from Aunt Elizabeth. And diluted peroxide, as well.”

Alex nodded, completely understanding the need for the antiseptic even as many people of the day might have thought the inclusion strange. “And splints,” he noticed.

Terrain grinned. Not to wish ill upon anyone, but he’d love a chance to set a broken limb or bandage a wound. He was also proud of the herbs in his collection—not the special medicinal mixtures that Mark would have, but some mint and thyme from their garden at home. Enough to remedy an upset stomach, or a cough or cold. “I was able to brew a tea to cut back a neighbor’s phlegm in the early hours today. One of the Jackson children.”

“I remember that family.” Alex had stayed at Terrain’s house on several occasions during school breaks, his own home in Georgia being too far to travel. “All boys, right? How is he doing? Was it the little one?”

“Six-year-old Jimmy,” Terry nodded. “He’ll be fine, I think. I’m to check on him again later today.” He looked very proud of the assignment.

“You still want to be a doctor, then?” Alex asked.

“Of course.” Terrain never had any doubt, not for the last three years. He loved watching Mark work. When his then-guardian first broached that Terry might help him with patients during school breaks, the boy had been thrilled. Mark was an amazing chemist and inventor, but it was his bedside manner that won him fame throughout their area. And Terrain, Mark proudly noted, seemed to hold a special gift for healing.

At the Academy of Saint Francis, many boys arriving as first-year students had not had the smallpox vaccine. Although the smallpox variolation had been around for some time now, both it and the more modern vaccine made from the cowpox virus were not as common in these United States as they were in Europe. Many people were suspicious of this defense, fearing it may cause an outbreak of smallpox. But Father O’Brien required all students in the academy to have the inoculation regardless, and requested Mark Mackenzie administer these.

Mark began inoculating the academy boys near the end of Terrain’s first year at the school. Up until that point, Terrain had resisted Mark’s attempts to vaccinate him. Who wants to be cut with a knife, only to become ill with pus-filled sores?? The fact that this procedure may spare one from death was hardly a selling point to most young boys, who thought themselves indestructible even as they all knew scarred survivors of the disease. Then Mark expressed the need for Terry’s help during the vaccinations. Thus, Terrain had agreed to be the first volunteer, and his friend, Alex, presented as second. After that, getting the rest of the students to follow that initial time was easy. No lad wished to appear a coward.

Terrain had become a great help with this procedure, mostly in calming the younger boys’ fears. Four first-year students needed this vaccination now. Mark would take two boys today, and inoculate the second pair upon recovery of the first.

“Does it hurt?” one of the twelve-year-olds asked Terrain. This was Henry Elliott, whose family was said to live in northeastern Pennsylvania. Very homesick when this school term began, Henry latched onto the sympathetic Alex, and by proximity during his visits, Terrain. Henry had extremely dark hair and eyes, matching Terrain’s coloring even to the fair skin. Rumor had it Henry’s family was mixed with Susquehannock blood. Since much of Frederick’s white population had German roots, most of the townspeople had blue, or lighter brown eyes. Terrain was not surprised when people mistook Henry and himself for brothers.

“It’s not bad, truly it isn’t,” Terry assured. “It looks a bit odd after you get it, but when the doctor scratches you, that...