Chapter 65
Boston, Massachusetts, USA, 1885
James came home from a lengthy shift at the hospital where he’d attached three nearly-severed fingers to the same thankful woodchopper, removed an appendix, and treated several children for distemper, exhausted and ready to drop into his bed without bothering to change his clothing, let alone eat dinner. However, the aroma of something savory coming from the kitchen hit him right in the gullet as he closed the front door behind him, and his fatigue was temporary lifted.
“Oh, good, James, you’re home,” his mother said as crossed from the parlor into the entryway. “Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.”
“All right,” he nodded. “I suppose I should go upstairs and wash up.”
Walking past the parlor, he saw his father sitting in his favorite rocking chair, reading the newspaper and smoking a pipe. His father no longer worked the longer shifts James had picked up at the hospital, and most days the elder Dr. Joplin preferred to work out of his own office, seeing less emergency cases and more mild ailments.
“How was your day, Son?” Wallace shouted, closing the paper momentarily.
“Tiring,” James admitted.
“How’s Mrs. Crass?”
Mrs. Crass was the wife of one of his father’s friends, an older woman who had contracted a serious case of pneumonia. She’d come in last week, and James had been treating her. “So far, about the same,” he admitted. It was difficult when patients didn’t improve, or even worse, passed away. In the two years since he’d been working at Massachusetts General, he’d had it happen more times than he could now remember, but that didn’t make it any easier.
“That’s a shame,” his father said, nodding sadly before returning to his paper. Even though he was certainly sympathetic for his friend, there was no doubt the countless deaths over the course of Dr. Joplin’s career had also left him a bit immune to the despair the passing of life would have on someone less seasoned.
James agreed and then continued on his way up the stairs to wash up and change his clothing. His mother always worried he’d come to the table with some sort of bodily fluid on himself, though it had not happened yet.
Once he was cleaned up, he headed down to the dining room. Sadie smiled at him as he entered the room. “You’re just in time, Doc.” She’d taken to calling him that right after he’d officially graduated from Harvard, and each time she said it, she laughed. James knew it was because she was proud of him, not in a way meant to be disparaging, but he didn’t really like the nickname.
Nevertheless, he smiled at her and had a seat just as she served up a nice chicken breast with mashed potatoes and corn. The rolls smelled delicious, and James was happy he’d had the common sense not to go to bed before dinner.
The family began to eat their meal, but from the very beginning, James could tell there was something wrong with his sister. Margie sat across from him, like she did nearly every night, but tonight, her face looked solemn, and she stabbed at her food like she was attempting to impale it.
“Marjorie,” their father finally said, his voice quiet but his tone stern, “that’s quite enough.”
Margie looked at her father for a moment and then dropped her fork with a loud clatter. “May I be excused.”
“No, you may not,” their mother said, her voice sharper than her husband’s had been. James imagined Margie had likely already gone several rounds with their mother during the day when both men were at work. It was unfortunate that it was often left to her to try to correct Margie’s obstinate behavior.
In response, Margie let out a loud growl and pounded her hand on the table.
“Marjorie Elizabeth!” their father shouted. “Stop that this instant!”
James set his fork aside, unsure exactly what was happening. He’d seen his sister throw tantrums before, but nothing like this, particularly with their father at home. Coming from a twenty-one-year-old young woman, this sort of behavior was shocking to say the least.
“I will not!” she screamed. “It isn’t fair! I refuse to continue to be a part of this family if you will not allow me the autonomy to make my own decisions! I am an adult!”
“As long as you live here, you will obey our rules!” Their mother said it with such force, it was clear to James she must’ve said the same phrase at least a dozen times that day.
“I don’t want to live here anymore!” Margie retorted. “I’ve told you a thousand times! Let me go! Let me contact Uncle Culpepper, and let me go!”
“What is this about?” Wallace asked, looking from his daughter’s reddening face to the flushed face of his wife across the table from him.
Felicity wiped loose hairs back from her forehead. “Tomorrow is her birthday,” she reminded her husband.
It took Wallace a moment to understand what that had to do with anything, and it took James even longer. It wasn’t until after his father slowly began to nod his head and Margie pounded both fists on the table one more time that he remembered; Uncle Culpepper said that they would no longer be able to Transform into Guardians once they turned twenty-two, and that had been Margie’s solitary wish for the better part of six years or so.
James still didn’t believe in any of that supernatural hooey. He’d seen the insides of enough bodies to know that all of them were the same. There were no vampires, no super-humans who could kill them. Uncle Culpepper was in need of some good therapy; perhaps a long stay in a convalescence home would do him some good. But, clearly, Margie was very hung up on the fact that she had not been able to go through with this farce, and James couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. It could be Margie was suffering from a bit of hysteria herself. Maybe he should check with some of his colleagues to see if there were any treatment options available for someone so young.
