The Apprenticeship of Lucas Whitaker by Cynthia DeFelice

deserted town square, he found a spot out of the wind and waited. The day, which had started out bright and clear, turned dark and dreary by early afternoon, when the first townsfolk appeared at the square. The snow and ice had melted, and the road was muddy and filled with deep ruts. A cold drizzle began to fall, making the footing even more perilous. Lucas stood with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, watching.
    William Sheldon was one of the first to arrive. Behind him in the wagon, bundled against the damp chill under layers of quilts, lay a woman Lucas guessed was his wife, Lavinia. William turned to her and spoke, and Lucas heard her cough weakly in response.
    More people came, struggling through the mud and rain, some on foot, some on horseback, others, as sick as Lavinia Sheldon, lying in the backs of wagons. Most were strangers to Lucas, but he saw a few people he knew. Eben Oaks, James Freeman, and several other men were carrying wood and stacking it in a pyramid-shaped pile in the center of the square. Daniel and Mrs. Oaks stood huddled by the door of the blacksmith shop, trying to keep warm. The Stukeley family pulled up in their wagon and Lucas went to greet them.
    As he made his way through the thickening crowd, he overheard bits of conversation and snatches of hushed voices.
    â€œâ€”hasn’t been a case of consumption in Vermont since they—”
    â€œâ€”see Sarah Stukeley?”
    â€œâ€”the very picture of health.”
    Lucas smiled, looking over toward Sarah. Though still pale and thin, she was smiling brightly and talking to the well-wishers who gathered around the wagon. Continuing to push past groups of townspeople to get to the Stukeleys, Lucas couldn’t help but hear more of the talk. He felt his neck flush when someone whispered, “There’s Doc Beecher’s apprentice. He’s the one who saved the Stukeley girl.”
    â€œThey say he’s cured lots of others…”
    â€œI heard that when they opened Thomas Stukeley’s coffin, Thomas sat right up and opened his eyes!”
    â€œYes, and his heart was filled with fresh blood.”
    â€œIt poured right out of his mouth—”
    â€œHe screamed when they cut into him—”
    â€œâ€”like to make your hair curl—”
    Lucas listened uneasily, his smile turning to a frown. He wanted to stop and say, “That’s not the way it happened,” but he felt shy about talking to people he didn’t know, who, after all, hadn’t been talking to him. He walked on, shaking his head, wondering where people had heard such things. It reminded him of something Doc had said.
    At that moment, Lydia looked up and saw him, and he forgot everything else. “Lucas!” she called happily. “Look! Here’s Sarah.”
    Lucas said hello to Sarah, Lydia, and Samuel. Then, turning back to Sarah, he added, “You’re looking fit as a fiddle.” It was an expression he’d heard Doc use. Sarah beamed.
    â€œBut you, Lucas,” said Lydia, “look frozen stiff. Get up here in the wagon under the blankets. We’ve brought hot cider and some biscuits, too. Would you like some?”
    Gratefully, Lucas sipped the cider and munched on a biscuit, snuggling under the warm wool coverlet with Lydia, Sarah, and young Samuel Stukeley. The sky grew darker, and a chilly wind blew from the northwest. Parson Reynolds arrived and stood by while the final sticks of wood were placed on the pile.
    Lucas, his hunger satisfied for the moment, looked about him. Usually when so many people gathered together there was a mood of merriment. But the atmosphere on the square was not like that at a husking bee, or a wedding, or a dance. People’s faces were grave, their voices hushed. Occasionally, the sound of agonized coughing carried on the wind. It was like being in church, Lucas thought.
    And, indeed, at that moment, Parson Reynolds began to speak. “We