CHAPTER TWENTY

Reaping Rebellion’s Results

Hands stuffed in his coat pockets, Adam trudged alone toward Dwight Street that afternoon with a sour expression.  It wasn’t fair.  All week he’d looked forward to teaching at the mission, with the attentive assistance of the lovely Elizabeth Allen, and now he’d rather be almost anywhere else.  His face was in no condition to win any fair damsel, and his body protested every aching step through the slush of melting snow.  He would have preferred to spend the afternoon luxuriously sprawled in bed, but since Jamie was too unwell to come himself, he’d begged Adam to take his place.  Lucas, of course, had excused himself on the grounds that his battered face and butchered head would frighten the youngsters, and even Marcus reneged, saying that someone should stay behind to nurse Jamie.  “I’m better at that, and you’re better at teaching,” he’d insisted when Adam had protested that he could take care of his roommate.  That the argument was well founded in fact did nothing to improve Adam’s disposition.

Still, if Miss Allen were here today, as she’d promised to be, a bad attitude was no way to win her affection, either.  When he reached the mission, Adam took a deep breath, put on a brave smile and entered.

Looking up at the sound of the creaking door, Elizabeth smiled in recognition, but then her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his face.  “Mr. Cartwright,” she greeted him—a bit stiffly, Adam thought.

“Good afternoon, Miss Allen,” he responded, and that was all the conversation that passed between them before lessons began.  Afterwards, Adam thanked her for her help and asked if he might again have the pleasure of seeing her home.

“I’m . . . not sure,” she said hesitantly.

Adam decided he might as well face the problem head on.  “Is there something that concerns you?”

“Well . . . yes,” she murmured, eyes veiled.  Then, as if she, too, had decided that directness was the only reasonable approach, she raised her head and, looking into his brooding eyes, said, “I hadn’t taken you for a brawler, Mr. Cartwright.”

Adam smiled weakly.  “I’m not . . . normally . . . and I will admit that I was involved in an altercation last night, but not without cause, I assure you.”

Lips pursed—beautifully, Adam thought—she pondered his answer.  “I suppose there are some causes worth fighting for,” she murmured, still sounding somewhat unsure.  Her countenance brightened suddenly.  “Like our brave soldiers resisting the rebellion!”

Adam shook his head.  “I won’t claim my cause to be as worthy as that.  I was merely supporting a friend.”  Which might be shading the truth a bit, he admitted to himself, but loyalty had been his main motive.

Elizabeth’s lips softened into an alluring smile.  “Perhaps you could tell me about it on the way home,” she suggested.

* * * * *

            Adam took his seat in the gallery after the choir sang its anthem on Monday morning and watched as President Woolsey gravely ascended into the pulpit.  Saturday’s fracas had not been mentioned at either of yesterday’s services, but perhaps that was because of the frequent presence of visitors on Sunday.  If anything was going to be said publicly, it would be this morning, and the way the President had read the Scripture just before the choir sang seemed significant to Adam.  He was almost certain that the President’s emphasis on the word “character” in Romans 5:4 was purposeful.  He could not have been more right.

“‘We also glory in tribulations,’” Woolsey quoted again, his eyes scanning the back pews of all three sections of the chapel, where the freshmen sat, “‘knowing that tribulation produces perseverance and perseverance, character, and character, hope.’”  When he came to the second “character,” the President shifted his solemn gaze to the first few pews on the north aisle, and from his perch in the gallery, Adam saw a number of the sophomores there flinch.

“Character,” Woolsey continued, “is expected of the men of Yale.  Character is forged by tribulation; however, it is not the province of any man to fuel those flames.  Certainly, no man of character brings tribulation into the life of another”—he looked with steadfast disapproval at the sophomores—“and no man of character responds to tribulation with vengeful retaliation”—and the freshmen were the objects of his disappointed gaze.  “As you all know, however, events of the previous week have done little to evince the type of character we hope to instill in the young men of Yale.  We will be speaking privately to a number of you and taking whatever steps we feel are required to preserve the character of this institution.  Perhaps that knowledge will be ample incentive to enhance the sincerity of your prayers this morning.”  As usual, the college officers rose in their pews and the students bowed their heads on the seats in front of them while President Woolsey offered prayers for wisdom for the students and guidance for the faculty as they dealt with the weighty matters before them.

“What did that mean?” Marcus asked urgently as the four friends met outside after chapel.

“A raking over the coals, I’d say,” Adam said wryly.

“But for whom?”  Fear that he would be among the raked was painted in broad strokes over the other boy’s face.

“They don’t have your name,” Lucas grunted.

“They have eyes,” Marcus insisted, pointing at his bruised face.

Lucas nodded.  “I don’t suppose any of us are safe . . . except St. James here.”

Jamie smiled weakly.  “Somehow, I feel equally responsible.”

“Your feelings are as flawed as our characters,” Adam snorted.

“Not at all then, you’re saying?” Jamie tossed back at him.  “There’s nothing wrong with your character!”

“We don’t have time to debate that now,” Adam pointed out.  “I assume no one here wants to earn another demerit by being late to Latin recitation?”

“Can’t afford one!” Lucas announced and took off at a trot for the Athenaeum with the others close behind.

* * * * *

            By the end of the day, the answer to Marcus’ question had become clear, and Adam’s conjecture that what the President’s words had meant was a raking over the coals seemed prophetic.  A few freshmen, Adam and Lucas among them, had been handed a folded note at the close of their final recitation of the day.  Each tearing his open as soon as he exited the building, they found themselves invited to a discussion with the faculty at a given time on Wednesday afternoon.

“Two days to stew on it,” Adam muttered.

“Probably their intent,” Jamie commiserated.

“Different times,” Lucas commented, comparing his note with Adam’s.  “That means it’s an inquisition, not a ‘discussion.’”

“Yeah,” Adam grunted in complete agreement.

Coming out of his separate class to meet them and seeing the glum faces, Marcus asked, “What’s wrong?”

Adam waved his “invitation” toward the other boy.  “You didn’t get one?” he queried after Marcus had read its contents.

“Not yet,” Marcus replied.

“Nor I,” Jamie said.

“Why would you?” Lucas grunted.  “You weren’t part of it.”

‘I was in the beginning,” Jamie insisted.

Lucas shook his head.  “Only as an innocent bystander—or, more accurately, a defender of the helpless.  They don’t expel you for that.”

Marcus looked alarmed.  “You don’t think it’ll come to that, do you?”

“Not for you,” Adam assured him quickly.  “I doubt that even I’m in danger, unless they’re going to turn out the entire membership of the lower two classes.”

“But you’re worried, aren’t you, Luke?” Jamie probed.  “Because of the demerits?”

Lucas nodded grimly.  “Put in a word for me at your class prayer meeting, okay, St. James?  I think I may need divine intervention.”

Or perhaps, Adam thought with sudden resolve, it’s practical intervention that’s called for.

* * * * *

            Adam sat cooling his heels on a hard bench in the second floor hall of North College.  Lucas, who had the appointment directly after his, sat beside him, but neither boy spoke to the other after a hushed exchange of greetings.  Each was lost in contemplation of what awaited him beyond the door of #117, the President’s office.  The faculty met there each Wednesday afternoon, but neither boy had ever been inside this dormitory, which housed only seniors; neither, thankfully, had had reason before and both frankly wished they had no reason now.  Adam, with his nearly pristine record, was fairly certain he would get off with a stern warning—at least, that’s what he kept telling himself—but demerit-laden Lucas was visibly shaking.  For him, expulsion was a very real threat.

Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs, both looked up in expectation of seeing another freshman or sophomore as reluctant as they to be here.  Instead, Robert Raines, their fellow Vulture, came by and gave them a kindly smile.  “Buck up, youngsters,” he said.  “They bark loudly, but rarely bite.”

“I think they might this time,” Lucas moaned softly.

“Be contrite,” the senior advised.  “They’re preachers, remember?  Strong advocates of repentance and forgiveness.”  With a bracing clap of the outer shoulder of each freshman, he proceeded up the stairs to his room, or so Adam assumed.  He’d never thought to ask where the other Vultures, except his own classmates, resided.  Elbows on his knees, he cupped his chin in his hands.  Be contrite?  Sound advice, time-honored advice.  Ben Cartwright, another strong advocate of repentance and forgiveness, had always responded favorably to honest contrition, but it had to be honest and therein lay the rub.  Some of the actions Adam had taken the previous week he honestly regretted; of others, he was not so sure.

The door to #117 opened and a student walked out.  Had it been one of their own class, Adam might have hoped for a quick, whispered word of what to expect, but it was one of the sophomores, who merely cut the two on the bench a quick glance, neither malevolent nor beneficent, and hurried down the stairs.

Wilder Smith, the freshmen’s Latin tutor, appeared in the doorway and said, “Mr. Cartwright, please come in.”

Swallowing the boulder-sized lump in his throat, Adam stood and followed him in.  The room was packed with faculty members, seated around a long, rectangular table.  One empty chair stood at the end nearest Adam, and when cordially requested by the President to have a seat, he sat there, folded his hands on the table in front of him and waited.

“You come to us from a great distance, Mr. Cartwright,” President Woolsey began.  “Has Yale College thus far met your expectations?”

Adam choked down his nervousness and answered with great feeling, “So much more than I can say, sir.”

The President nodded briefly.  “Your record indicates that, as well.  It is exemplary, Mr. Cartwright.”  He paused significantly.  “Or should I say ‘was’?”

“Well . . . perhaps,” Adam murmured.  He forced himself to meet the President’s steadfast gaze.  “I know my participation in Saturday night’s rush is against school policy and, therefore, is a mark against my record, but as it is my only such infraction, I hope it will be weighed against my better conduct on all other occasions.”

Professor Hadley’s eyes seemed to twinkle as he asked, “You’ve never participated in a rush before?”

Though he didn’t see how it was possible, Adam felt almost certain that Old Had already knew the answer to that question.  “Well, yes,” he admitted, flushing.  “Once before, but that was . . . different.”

“How so?” inquired William Larned, the rhetoric and English literature professor, whom Adam knew only from seeing him walk about the college yard.

“That was a frolic,” Adam explained.  “This was . . . warfare.”  A murmur of disapproval circled the table.

“We don’t want warfare among our students,” President Woolsey said gravely.

“It’s sufficiently evil that we see it between the states of our great nation,” Reverend Timothy Dwight, professor of sacred literature, observed.

“Indeed,” Woolsey reiterated, cutting short the diversion of subject.  “It’s my understanding, Mr. Cartwright, that you have personal knowledge of how the ‘warfare’ in question began.”

“Yes, sir,” Adam admitted reluctantly, wondering whether someone had told them that or if all teachers and parents came equipped with a certain degree of clairvoyance.  “It began as a rather severe incident of hazing.”

“Against Mr. Cameron?” Woolsey probed, and Adam responded in the affirmative.

“We’ve all seen the results of that,” Professor Hadley stated plainly, “but we haven’t heard a narration of what actually happened.  Can you provide that, Mr. Cartwright, as well as the names of the perpetrators?”

Adam exhaled gustily.  He didn’t think he could have brought himself to turn tattletale.  Schoolboys from time immemorial had considered that a mark of dishonor.  Fortunately, in this case ignorance provided his best defense.  “I can’t provide you their names,” he said, “because they wore black hoods, but I can tell you what was done.”  He did so as briefly as possible, making light of his own mistreatment, while vividly describing what was done to Lucas, who he figured could use all the sympathy expressive words could muster.

“Most unfortunate,” Professor Thacher put in when Adam finished, “but I cannot help wondering what Mr. Cameron did to bring this on, as we’ve heard of no such incidents in several years.”

Adam took a deep breath before saying, “With all due respect, Mr. Thacher, it isn’t the sort of thing students share with faculty.”

Thacher frowned, but it was Hadley who asked, “Are you saying that there have been other such incidents?”

Adam shrugged.  “Minor incidents, compared to this, but, yes, sir.  Nothing serious, you understand, just petty pilfering of our rooms, demands for deference to sophomore authority, that sort of thing.  To answer Mr. Thacher’s question, all Mr. Cameron did to bring on this more serious example of hazing was to repeatedly refuse to show that deference.”

“Giving honor to upperclassmen is a time-honored tradition,” Larned argued.  “Respect for one’s elders is a virtue we encourage.”

“But there is nothing virtuous about demanding it, especially through physical force,” Hadley countered, and Larned nodded his agreement.

“I understand the instigation, Mr. Cartwright,” the President said, “but nothing excuses the exercise of vengeance that took place Saturday night.”

“No, sir,” Adam responded, “and I make no excuse for my behavior during the rush.  I was angry, and I let that anger rule me, which was a mistake.  I have thought much about your remarks in chapel about character, and I regret that my character, especially in regard to self-control, did not live up to your expectations—and I might add, those with which I have been reared.”

“‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord; I will repay,’” the reverend Dwight intoned solemnly.

Adam smiled ruefully.  “Yes, sir.  I was so advised before the incident, and I wish I had listened to better purpose.”

“By Mr. Edwards?” Professor Hadley guessed.

“Yes, sir,” said Adam, surprised, as he often was, by Old Had’s instinctive insight into his students’ very thoughts.  “Please understand that he had nothing to do with this business, other than to come to Mr. Cameron’s aid during his mistreatment and to end up sharing it himself.  As a result, he was too ill to have participated in the rush, although he would not have, even had he known.  We deliberately kept it from him.”

“The anger you spoke of,” Woolsey asked, “was it in response to the endangerment of your friends’ health and wellbeing?”

Adam stared at the table for several moments and then raised his head.  “Primarily,” he said, ‘but I know that doesn’t excuse my actions, which did nothing to insure their health and wellbeing and, rather, endangered that of others.”

“You appear to have learned a lesson from this, Mr. Cartwright,” Thomas Thacher observed.

“I hope so, sir,” Adam responded simply.

“I believe the demerits you have been assessed for this affair will be sufficient penalty,” the President concluded, “and I trust that we will not again see you before us in such a matter.  You are excused, Mr. Cartwright.”

Adam felt enormous relief as he stood, but also some degree of trepidation as he asked, “May I say one more thing, sir?”

“Certainly,” Woolsey said encouragingly

“You will be visiting with Mr. Cameron next,” Adam began.  “I know that he has a regrettable tally of demerits and that he was a focus of this affair; however, I wanted to say that he is as good-hearted a man as I have met at Yale, and if you will be patient with him, I’m certain that he will exhibit the character you hope to instill in men of Yale.”

“Have you considered a career in law, Mr. Cartwright?” Henry Dutton, professor of that subject, asked, and his chuckle was echoed by a few of the other professors.

Adam was shaking too much to catch the man’s humor.  He gave a simple, “No,” in response and was relieved to escape that chamber of inquisition.  Seeing Lucas rise as he exited, Adam said, “I’ll wait here for you.”

Lucas, wide-eyed with terror and clearly unable to speak, nodded grimly and followed the professor who called his name into the President’s office.  The minutes dragged past as Adam sat on the bench, fingers interlaced and thumbs twiddling around each other in an incessant circle.  The next victim of the inquisition, a sophomore this time, arrived and after giving Adam a cursory look, began pacing the hall rather than condescend to sit next to someone of the lower class.

Lucas finally emerged and collapsed onto the bench next to Adam.  Seeing how wrung out he looked, the sophomore paled and appeared ready to bolt for the stairs.  Almost immediately, he was called into the office, however, and the two freshmen were alone.

Adam’s fingers closed tightly around Lucas’s biceps.  “What happened?  Are you dismissed?”

“No,” Lucas said, wonderment in his voice.  “They’re going to write my father, but they’d have done that anyway, just because of the demerits.  I don’t know what possessed them to let me off that lightly.”

“Perhaps a display of contrition, as Raines advised?” Adam suggested with a wry smile.

“I did that . . . and it was no act,” Lucas said earnestly.  “By the time President Woolsey finished apologizing for the very ‘un-Yalensian’ way in which I’d been treated, I was close to blubbering out that it was all my fault.”

“You didn’t,” Adam groaned.

Lucas grinned weakly.  “No, I managed to hang on to that much of my good sense.  I still can’t believe they acted so . . . so . . .”

“Human?”  Adam chuckled.

“Yeah . . . human.  Makes a fellow want to mend his ways, you know?”

Adam jabbed his friend’s ribs with his elbow.  “Well, if ever a man needed it . . .”

“Hey!”

Adam shushed him.  “Come on, let’s get out of here, and if we can find Candy Sam anywhere about, it’s my treat.”

“No, it’s mine,” Lucas insisted.  “Thacher said I should be grateful to have a friend like you, so I know you had something to do with their sudden charitableness.”  He put up a hand to silence Adam’s protest.  “Deny it all you like; I’ve taken your measure, Adam Cartwright, and I am thankful to have you as a friend.”  He pulled Adam to his feet.  “Now, no more dilly-dallying.  Let’s find Candy Sam!”

* * * * *

            Adam entered the room quietly, in case Jamie was napping, but the harsh cough that greeted him told him he shouldn’t have bothered.  Huddled in a blanket, Jamie turned in his desk chair and immediately croaked, “How did it go?”

“It went fine . . . for all concerned,” Adam assured him.

“Even Luke?”

“Even Luke.  He’ll have a letter sent home, but as he says, that would have happened anyway.”  Adam hung his outer wraps on the pegs beside the door.  “You look ghastly—and sound worse,” he said.  “Why aren’t you in bed?”

Jamie only tapped the Latin text spread open before him and, cradling his aching head, returned to his study.

“Stubborn, purely stubborn,” Adam rumbled beneath his breath.

Having heard, Jamie grunted, “Takes one to know one.”

“Oh, hush,” Adam scolded.  “Keep your mouth closed, if not your eyes.”  Snapping his fingers, he went back to his coat and dug a paper-wrapped package from the pocket.  “Almost forgot.”  He handed the package to Jamie and added with a wicked grin, “Maybe this will help you keep your mouth closed.  Present from Luke.”

The other boy’s eyes brightened, especially when he saw what was inside the small parcel.  “Divinity!”  He broke off a small piece and put it in his mouth, his eyes closing in dreamy satisfaction.

Well, that worked better than hoped for, Adam thought with an amused quirk of the corner of his lip.  “Not sure how good that is for what ails you,” he felt obliged to say.

“Miracle . . . cure,” Jamie alleged breathlessly.

“No doubt,” Adam returned wryly.

For the remainder of the afternoon, the only sound in the room was the turning of pages and Jamie’s increasingly persistent cough.  Finally, Adam closed his book and stretched his arms wide.  He took the blanket that had been wrapped around his own shoulders and laid it across Jamie’s lap.

“Thanks,” Jamie said breathlessly.

“You don’t have to whisper,” Adam chuckled.

Jamie grimaced and squeaked out his reply, “Yes, I do.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, go to bed,” Adam scolded.  “If you can’t talk, you can’t possibly recite tomorrow, so you might as well skip class.”  As he stood, he laid a hand on his friend’s shoulders and, recalling what Lucas had said earlier that afternoon, added, “The professors are human, you know; they’ll understand.”

“Maybe,” Jamie conceded.  With a sigh he closed his text.  “I suppose I might as well quit; nothing’s sinking in.”  With a shiver he pulled the blankets tighter.  Even though, at Adam’s insistence, the fire was well stoked, Jamie just couldn’t seem to shake his chill.

“How could it?” Adam asked, slipping his arms into his coat.  “Don’t bother coming to supper.  I’ll bring something back . . . soup, maybe?”  He held up a hand.  “Don’t say anything; just nod your well-advised consent.”

Jamie nodded, but then disobediently whispered, “You off to Beethoven Society?”

Before Adam could answer, a rap on the door drew his attention.  Opening it, he saw a well-dressed gentleman with a carefully groomed salt-and-pepper beard and a distinguished look.  “Yes, sir?” he inquired.

“Do I have the honor to address Mr. Edwards or Mr. Cartwright?” the stranger asked.

“I’m Mr. Cartwright,” Adam said hesitantly.  For a moment he had a wild fear that this visit was somehow related to the faculty inquisition from which he’d come earlier, but the visitor’s next words quickly dispelled that irrational concern.

“And I am Dr. Abraham Havershaw of the medical department here at Yale,” the gentleman stated.  “I’m here because I understand Mr. Edwards is in need of a physician’s attendance.  May I come in?”

Though puzzled, Adam politely stepped aside and gestured for the doctor to enter.

“Mr. Edwards?” Dr. Havershaw asked, approaching the boy still sitting at his desk, though he had turned to face the others.

Jamie suddenly doubled over in a paroxysm of coughing.

“Yes, well, I see that you are,” the doctor said with a kindly smile.  “I’ve come to help you with that nasty cough, my boy.”

Jamie shook his head, his eyes pleading with Adam to explain, as he struggled to get his cough under control.

“He’s concerned about your fee,” Adam said plainly, “but I think he’d better stop worrying about that.”  It was a debate they’d had earlier, and while Adam felt that he’d had the stronger argument, Jamie’s stubborn refusal to consider the expense had, thus far, carried the question.

“My fee is taken care of,” Dr. Havershaw assured them.  “Your benefactor prefers to remain anonymous, but if I tell you that he learned the value of a physician’s care after a boyhood accident, perhaps that will be hint enough.”

The two boys exchanged a knowing glance.  That could describe only one person they knew here in New Haven, a man whose limping gait still showed the effects of that boyhood accident.

“Dear Old Had,” Jamie croaked, finally finding his voice.

“Professor Hadley,” Adam amplified, in case the nickname was meaningless to the doctor.

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” the doctor said with a conspiratorial smile, “and you certainly didn’t hear it from me.  Now, may I examine you, young man?”

Jamie nodded; then, looking at Adam, he added, “You’ll be late to rehearsal if you don’t leave now.”

“Yes, I’m afraid I must.”  Reaching for the doorknob, Adam paused.  “If there are any instructions, Doctor, perhaps you could leave me a note?”

Opening his black bag, Dr. Havershaw looked up.  “What?  Oh, yes, certainly, if that’s needed.  Run along now, my boy.  Mr. Stoeckel does not strike me as a man to countenance tardiness.”

“No, he’s definitely not,” Adam admitted.  He was verging on late now; he’d have to run if he hoped to avoid raising Herr Stoeckel’s hackles.  With one last solicitous look at his roommate, he left, took the stairs at a run and loped toward campus.

* * * * *

            “Any instructions from the doctor?” Adam asked the moment he entered the room later that evening.

Jamie, in bed, rose on his elbows.  “None I can’t deliver myself.  He dropped off a prescription at the apothecary’s, and they sent it around about forty-five minutes ago.”  He gestured toward the amber bottle on his desk.  “Every four hours, unless I’m asleep.  I took the first dose, and it does seem to be quieting this infernal cough.  Other than that, rest—no classes for the rest of the week—and plenty of fluids.”

“Good,” Adam said, taking the nearest chair and drawing it up to the bed.  “The professors will understand,” he insisted, “and I’ll bring you all your assignments.  You won’t fall behind.”

“Thanks,” Jamie said, though he still sounded morose.  “Did you forget my soup?” he asked as Adam sat down.

“No, Mrs. Wiggins is reheating it,” Adam explained, “but I would consider giving you dessert first.”  He reached into his coat pocket and, drawing out an envelope, waved it under his friend’s nose.”

“Mail,” Jamie croaked, his eyes lighting.  “From Father?”

Holding it out of reach, Adam laughed.  “Yes . . . if you mean mine.”

Jamie settled back on the pillow.  “Oh . . . well, that’s almost as good.  What’s the news at the Ponderosa?”

“Probably snow,” Adam snickered as he broke the seal.  “I just hope this letter is a little more interesting than the last one, which was nothing but a weather report!”

“Oh, it was a little more than that,” Jamie chided.  “Don’t make me ask again; I’m supposed to rest my poor, aching throat.”

“Do that, then, instead of challenging my descriptions,” Adam scolded.  He held the letter between his fingers.  “Umm, nice and thick . . . probably juicy.  I’d hate to deprive you of it because you couldn’t overcome your temptation to abuse your poor, aching throat.”

Jamie moaned softly and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

“I’ll take that as a promise to behave yourself,” Adam said with a mischievous grin.  “Therefore, I shall reward you posthaste . . . before you can break it.”

Jamie groaned and croaked, “Read . . . now.”

Adam clucked his tongue.  “I see I wasn’t fast enough.  Well, fortunately for you, I’m feeling generous.”  He raised his hands, palms out, in defense against the glare with which his roommate favored him.  “All right, all right . . . I’m reading.”  He unfolded the letter and read, “Dear Adam, The weather here has been as dismal as you might expect for this time of year.”  He paused and smirked at his friend.  “What did I tell you?  A weather report!”

Jamie said nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes.  Adam quickly dropped his gaze to the letter and again began to read:

The conditions haven’t been fit out for man or beast . . . but you’ll notice I said nothing about little boys . . . a very little boy, in fact, who somehow thought that he could make it all the way to New Haven, regardless of the weather.

“What!”  Jamie bolted upright.

“Be still,” Adam demanded, rapidly scanning the next few lines with a wildly beating heart.  “It’s all right,” he finally gasped with relief, “but if Pa’s hair isn’t snow white by the time I return home, it won’t be for lack of worrying over that boy!”

There was a rap at the door, and Mrs. Wiggins bustled in with a steaming bowl of soup.  “You poor dear,” she cooed at Jamie as she handed the tray to Adam.  “Now, eat up every drop and be sure to take that medicine the doctor sent over.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jamie promised meekly.

“Thank you, Mrs. Wiggins,” Adam said.  “You’re very kind to heat this for him.”

“The least I can do,” Mrs. Wiggins said.  “Now, I know just the sort of fare an invalid needs, so if you’ve no objection, I’ll see to the boy’s meals until he’s up and about, just for the cost of supplies.”

“That’s very thoughtful,” Adam said and thanked her again.  After a few more solicitous admonitions, she left.  Adam helped Jamie sit up and set the tray over his legs

“Read,” the patient ordered urgently.

“Eat,” his nurse demanded, “and I will.”  As Jamie spooned in his soup, Adam read his father’s account of how Little Joe had so scrambled the meaning of the Sunday sermon that he’d decided Adam, Jamie and Santa Claus were the three wise men from the east and that they’d somehow gotten lost on their way to the Ponderosa for Christmas.

“So he was coming here to fetch us?” Jamie asked.  “Mercy, what an imagination that child has!”

“Incredible,” Adam muttered.  “I can’t believe my being home for Christmas could mean so much to him.”

“You’re his big brother, Adam,” Jamie said.  “Of course, he misses you.”

“But to undertake such a ridiculous expedition,” Adam said with a shake of his head.  “Well, he is only four.  I suppose he doesn’t know enough geography to realize how impossible it was.”

Jamie handed his tray back to Adam.  “And if you don’t crack open Pütz and Arnold, you won’t know enough, either.”

Adam groaned.  “I don’t know if bad jokes are a sign that you’re better or worse!”

Avoiding that question, Jamie slid down onto his pillow and pulled the covers up to his nose.

~ ~ ~ ~ Notes ~ ~ ~ ~

The faculty met every Wednesday afternoon in #117 of North College, but rarely was any student summoned for a disciplinary hearing.  As long as a student attended scheduled exercises and maintained a certain average in class, it was assumed that his private behavior was satisfactory and no inquiries were made.  A public disturbance, such as a brawl between classes, would have risen to the level that demanded disciplinary attention.

With the exception of Dr. Abraham Havershaw, the faculty members mentioned in this chapter actually taught during Adam’s tenure at Yale.  He also appears in the author’s book, Centennial: Journey of Discovery.

Little Joe’s attempt to bring Adam and the other “wise men” home for Christmas is related in “Follow the Star,” an excerpt from Heritage of Honor, Book Five—A Dream Divided.