Coming Home for Christmas Read Free Page B

people’s troubles. That was another lesson he seemed to have learned in medical school.

Chapter Three
    L ess than a week later, three incidents happened in cruel succession: the Almost Splendid —as the crew had christened her—sailed with the tide for Fort Astoria in Oregon country; Davey Ewing died, nearly at the moment the Almost Splendid disappeared over the horizon; Laura Ortiz was turned out of her house, a victim of her father’s circumstances. Thomas was hard put to think which incident bothered him more, particularly since he was deep in a pool of self-pity that rendered him less than useful.
    Against his inclination, he had gone to the harbor for the ship’s embarkation. It was a typically misty morning in San Diego, with fog here and there, but destined to burn off by four bells or so in the forenoon watch. He had two express purposes in attending the coasting vessel’s send-off. The first was to give his pharmacist’s mate all the useful advice he could think of. True to his nature, the mate paid attention for a few minutes, then his focus began to wander. God protect the men of the Almost Splendid, for I know I cannot once they sail, Thomas thought.
    The second matter of business involved getting Lieutenant Ludlow, captain of the vessel now, to put his signature to a document attesting to Surgeon Thomas E. Wilkie’s reasons for remaining in San Diego—to tend to crew members too sick to embark on the Almost Splendid and as a bargaining chip in return for the Spaniards’ help in outfitting the vessel.
    Father Hilario had suggested such a document over supper the night before, after the soup and before the fish and tortillas. “Tomás, suppose an English vessel should appear in our harbor, and wonder why you are here, instead of aboard a ship? Could this get you into trouble?”
    â€œAy de mi,” Thomas had said, startled at the possible implications and startled that he had thought automatically in Spanish. “I could end up swinging from a yard-arm, if a British captain thinks I held back because I was a cowardly malingerer.”
    Thomas had drawn up a document to cover himself, in the event an English ship actually did arrive. Father Hilario had taken it to the presidio ’s captain, who added his additional reasons. The capitan’s secretary was far more skilled than the overworked purser on the Almost Splendid. With baroque swirls and furbelows, he had written in Spanish that Tomás Wilkie, surgeon, Royal Navy, had been expressly required to remain behind to provide medical care to England’s illustrious allies, the Spanish, who were without a physician of their own. The captain’s seal was far more impressive than Lieutenant Ludlow’s mere signature.
    Lieutenant Ludlow and his now-former surgeonhad shaken hands on that matter as the crew unfurled the sails. “The Americans at Fort Astoria will help us. Between the two of us nations, we’ll get you home, Thomas,” Ludlow had said, with one eye on the sails. “And now, I have work to do.”
    â€œThat’s all I ask, sir,” Thomas said to the captain’s back. With a sigh, and one last look around, Thomas left the small lugger. He stood on the dock, hands in his pockets, head down, as the ship tacked out of the harbor.
    Now he felt well and truly alone, discounting his helpless patients in the presidio ’s hospital. As he climbed back to San Diego, he turned a few times to look down at the harbor again. “I am so far from home, Father,” he murmured. “I do not know if I will ever see another Christmas with you and Mum.”
    He swallowed a few times, declared himself too old to cry, but let the tears fall anyway.
    Â 
    The second incident happened immediately upon his return to the presidio. At some point between Thomas’s morning ward-walk and his entry through the presidio ’s always-open gates, the foretopman had died.
    Well,