How I wished that were the truth.
Two
I didn’t look back as I left. Moses had once been my closest friend and I had spent a lot of time sitting on a bench in the corner of his barbershop, listening to the chatter of his customers. But I no longer felt comfortable when I was with him.
Perhaps Moses spoke the truth and it was time I found friends my own age. But where? There were so few young people in Barkerville that the town did not even have a school. Not many women came to the goldfields; there were only a handful of families with babies or small children living here. The goldfields were mainly inhabited by single men, miners who hoped to strike it rich.
My father was right. Most young men of my age in Barkerville would be working. They would have no time for me.
It was warm inside Pa’s shop, the small stove burning cheerfully, the smell of wood, shellac, and glue made stronger by the heat in the room. I took off my jacket and hung it up, then pulled on a long leather apron to protect my clothes. My father heard me come in and he lifted his head from his work and looked at me.
“Did your mother not tell you that there was no need for you to come to the shop today?” he asked.
I nodded, but didn’t answer.
“Aye. I see. Well, perhaps it is best that you are here. Take off the apron, there is nothing I want you to do. But there is someone I want you to meet.”
“Who?” I asked, looking around.
“I believe your father is referring to me,” came a voice from behind me. I jumped, startled, and turned around as a tall, slender man came through the door. “You must be Theodore,” he said.
“Ted. People call me Ted.”
“I am Doctor J.B. Wilkinson,” he said, offering me his hand. “Most people call me ‘Doc,’ but to my friends I am Doctor John or John or simply J.B. You may call me whatever you wish, as long as you do not call me late for supper.”
Pa looked confused, but I smiled. “J.B.?” I asked. “A name that is only letters? I would guess that the ‘J’ stands for ‘John,’ but what is your middle name?”
“That is a secret I shall carry with me to the grave,” answered the doctor. “Only my parents know. No one in Barkerville has ever heard my middle moniker, and even if they knew what it was, no one would dare to call me by it!”
My father laughed. “I believe Ted understands those sentiments only too well, Doctor. He also has an intense dislike of his middle name. We christened him ‘Percival’ after his great-grandfather, but those who call him that, or the short form, ‘Percy,’ find out that he also inherited his great-grandfather’s temper.”
“Pa!” I said. “Please.”
“Let me assure you, Ted, that ‘Percy’ is far better than my middle name,” said Doctor Wilkinson. “But with no disrespect to your ancestor, I find that ‘Percy’ does not sit well on my lips. I promise I shall never address you that way.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. No one used my middle name, no one. Except James Barry. Even in my dreams he called me ‘Master Percy,’ the way he had when he was alive.
“Percival is a fine name, one which has been in my family for generations,” said my father. “I have never understood why the boy dislikes it so.” He took a deep breath, and turned to me. “It is good that you came to town today, Ted. It will save Doctor Wilkinson a trip to our home.”
“Why is he going to our house? Is Ma ill?”
“No, son, but perhaps you are. Go with the doctor so he can examine you. I have told him about your dreams. Now you must speak to him freely.”
“I do not need to be seen by a doctor,” I said. “ I am not sick. Pa, you know that I am healthy and strong and growing taller. You and Ma say that I seem to grow every day. How can I be ill?”
“Ted, your dreams bespeak an illness. If it is not in your body, then the sickness must be in your mind. Perhaps Doctor Wilkinson can be of some help. I want you to go with him and allow him to examine you. At your age a loss of sleep affects you only slightly. Your mother and I, however, can no longer continue suffering because of your dreams. Go with the doctor, Ted.”
It was a long speech for my Pa, who usually didn’t say much, but this time he could talk for hours and it wouldn’t change my mind.
“I am not ill,” I said again, “and I have no wish to be seen by a doctor. I will not…”
Doctor Wilkinson interrupted. “If you feel uncomfortable about coming to my surgery, Ted, perhaps you will accompany me to Wake Up Jake’s instead. I had breakfast very early this morning, and I could do with some nourishment about now.”
“But, Pa…” I said, ignoring the doctor.
“Go, son,” said my father, and he bent over his work and would not look at me. “Go,” he said again.
The doctor touched my shoulder gently. “Ted, I assure you I do not bite my patients, at least not very often. Come with me, but come as a friend rather than as a patient. Patients I have aplenty, but my friends are few. I would welcome your company. We will take an oath never to speak our middle names aloud; we will talk, we will eat and perhaps you will tell me about your nightmares.”
“A friend,” I thought. Perhaps this doctor with the middle name no one knew could be my friend. Also, I was very hungry.
Making a decision, I pulled the leather apron over my head and put my jacket on again. Turning my back on Pa, who still would not look at me, I left the carpentry shop, for the third time that morning ignoring my manners and not saying goodbye.
Doctor Wilkinson put his hand on my shoulder again as we walked. “Don’t be angry with your father, Ted. He came to see me early today. He is very concerned about you. I had gone to his shop to inform him that I was on my way to your home to visit you.”
“I’m not sick, and I don’t think my Pa had any business talking to you about me. Do I look ill?”
The doctor laughed. “No, you do not, Ted. You look as healthy as a boy your age should. Yet the health of the mind can not be determined so easily.”
“There is nothing wrong with my mind,” I said. “I can read and write as well as any man in Barkerville, better than most. My mind is sound.”
“And my stomach is empty,” said the doctor, pushing open the big double doors to Wake Up Jake’s restaurant. “So I suggest we deal first with my stomach and worry about your mind later. Let’s eat!”
Wake Up Jake’s smelled of bread baking, of meat being roasted and of freshly ground coffee. Doctor Wilkinson sat down with a contented sigh and ordered beans and extra sourdough bread without looking at a menu. He asked me what I wanted, but I didn’t know what to say. I’d never eaten a meal in a restaurant. The doctor must have sensed that I was unsure, because he smiled and said to the waiter, “Ted will have the same. He looks as hungry as I feel.”
“I am,” I said. “I’ve had no breakfast.”
“Then this can be both breakfast and your midday meal,” he said. “Eat up. Doctor’s orders.”
The meal was served with hot coffee, fresh bread, and thick preserves. The preserves weren’t as good as those Ma makes out of the wild strawberries around our place, but I was too hungry to care. I ate four slices of bread, emptied the jar of preserves and also polished off the bowl of beans.
Neither one of us said much