Read Online The Apprenticeship of Lucas Whitaker by Cynthia DeFelice - Free Book Online Page A

in Mr. Stukeley’s hand, he was certain that he knew what they planned to do. “Would you like a hand, then, with the digging?” he said. The words were out of his mouth before he knew he meant to speak them.
    Mrs. Stukeley drew in a sharp breath.
    â€œIt’s no business of yours—” Mr. Stukeley began.
    But Lucas interrupted him. “Where I came from, north of here, there’s a man named Oliver Rood. His son Enoch was dying of consumption. Mr. Rood figured Enoch’s sister Mercy was the one making Enoch sick. Mercy died first, you see, same as your Thomas. Mr. Rood said Mercy came back to—to ‘make mischief,’ he called it.”
    The Stukeleys were watching him closely, their faces guarded. He remembered how Mr. Rood had come to him in friendship, offering to help cure his mother. He was too late to save Mama, he thought fiercely, but at least he could be of use to the Stukeleys. It seemed, suddenly, terribly important that they allow him to help.
    He plunged on. “Mr. Rood told me he unearthed Mercy’s grave and put her to rest.”
    Lucas looked into Mr. Stukeley’s eyes. “I don’t know how he did it, exactly. But, after that, Enoch got well.”
    Mrs. Stukeley spoke carefully. “We heard something about that.”
    â€œDo you know what to do—afterward?” asked Lucas.
    â€œAye,” said Mr. Stukeley. He seemed to make up his mind about something. “Lydia, run and get the other shovel for Lucas.”
    Lydia, Samuel, and Mrs. Stukeley stood by silently as Lucas and Mr. Stukeley together dug slowly into the earth. There was a thin layer of snow, and the ground was frozen down several inches, but the digging became much easier after that. At last, Lucas’s shovel hit the wood of the coffin lid. Gently, they scooped the remaining dirt away.
    Mr. Stukeley took a deep breath and lifted the lid. Inside lay the body, wrapped in a sheet of plain muslin fastened down the front with pins. Tenderly, Mr. Stukeley unpinned the cloth and opened it.
    â€œThomas!” cried Lydia. Her hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes looked enormous.
    Mrs. Stukeley’s head was bowed again in prayer, her lips moving silently. Little Samuel clutched her hand and buried his face in her skirt.
    â€œHe could almost be sleeping,” Mr. Stukeley said wonderingly. “But see how his fingernails have grown…He does live!”
    Lucas, too, stared at the body, transfixed. The boy looked to be the same age as Lucas. The flesh of his face was full, though bluish in color, and his eyes were fixed and open. Lucas had never seen Thomas Stukeley in life, but the young man in the coffin did look oddly vital. Lucas’s mouth felt dry, and he could hear the blood pounding in his ears.
    â€œHe does live,” murmured Mr. Stukeley. “He does live.” He looked up at his wife and, for a long moment, their eyes remained locked. Mr. Stukeley looked away. “You know what I have to do, Anna,” he said, almost in a whisper. “Take Samuel and Lydia—”
    â€œYes,” said Mrs. Stukeley. She leaned down, picked up Samuel, and held him in one arm. With the other hand, she grasped Lydia by the wrist and began to walk down the hillside to the house.
    Mr. Stukeley murmured another prayer, his voice so low that Lucas heard only the words, “God help me.” Then he took a small knife from his pocket and, ever so gently, cut into Thomas’s chest. Lucas’s hand flew to his own breast as he watched.
    â€œThey said to find the heart,” Mr. Stukeley said, in a voice so low he might have been talking to himself. “They said it would be here. Yes, that must be it…” Mr. Stukeley examined Thomas’s heart. “Living blood,” he said softly, “just as we were told.”
    Very carefully, he removed the heart, wrapped it in his handkerchief, and set it carefully on the snow-covered ground. Then he