chapter ten
HISTORY
“I was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The year was Eighteen Hundred Twenty,” James began.
“My God,” Link breathed, “that makes you a hundred years older than Charity. I never imagined.”
“Yes, it does, Link. You’re quick on the math.” James smiled. “My father was a Professor of Law at Harvard, my mother a school teacher. Education was prized above all in my household. At an early age I was taught and encouraged to read. My parents brought all varieties of books home for my young mind to absorb. A journal of medicinal practices caught my eye when I was twelve and a fascination with all things medical in nature ensued. I was determined to become a doctor.
“My father, on the contrary, was determined that I become a lawyer and trained me as such. After exiting Harvard as a lawyer I worked in my given profession for a few years but still yearned for medicine. In Eighteen Hundred Forty-Six I moved to Boston and entered the Massachusetts Medical College of Harvard University, as it was called at the time. That was the last year that the Medical College was located on Mason Street near the Boston Common,” he paused.
“I’ve been there, to the Boston Common, it’s beautiful. I went with my parents when I was eight. Harvard Medical used to be there? I never knew that,” Link commented.
“Many people don’t,” James remarked and then continued with his story. “In October, of that year, it was my good fortune to witness one of the first surgeries performed using ether as an anesthetic. Ether was administered to a man with a blood vessel tumor that was removed from his neck. I knew at that moment, watching that medical miracle performed, without a doubt in my mind, that I would be forever fulfilled in my choice to pursue medicine.
“I worked as a doctor, at Massachusetts General Hospital, for a few years after I finished my schooling. The hospitals, at the time, mainly served the poor. People who could afford their own quality healthcare received it in their homes, with house-calls made by private doctors. The hospital gave me a greater chance to improve upon and gain new skills, with a variety of ailments and injuries walking through the doors each new day.”
“You were part of the birth of modern medicine,” Link said.
“I guess I was,” James agreed. “I stayed at the hospital through Eighteen Hundred Fifty-Two, when a peculiar thing happened to me. I was walking to work one December morning when I tripped and fell into the street, a horse drawn cart was coming my way and I was unable to avoid it. The heavy cart rolled over my left leg and an audible snap of bones occurred. Other than the broken leg, I escaped with just a few cuts, scrapes, and bruises. I was taken to the hospital where my injuries were assessed and my leg was set. I felt quite fine and insisted that I be brought home to convalesce in private.
“Alone, later that same day, I examined my cuts to find them all but gone. My bruises which were only hours old were already faded from their original deep purple hue to a light yellowish tinge. The scrapes had disappeared without a trace. I wondered if I had imagined them. By nightfall that evening I attempted to put some weight on my leg to find that there was absolutely no pain. I removed the dressings and bindings to discover that indeed, I had full use of it. I hopped around the room on my injured leg, daring it to give way, fully expecting to collapse in pain at any moment. But nothing... it was as if the injury had never occurred. Had I imagined the snap of my own bones as well then?”
I looked at Link. His face was transfixed on James’s.
“Go on, tell me more,” he said.
“I walked into the hospital the next day to the shock of my colleagues. Gerald asked what magic I held to be able to walk on a broken leg so soon. William declared that his eyes must be deceiving him. Jackson stood frozen with his mouth agape.
“There was an old woman, Martha was her name, a patient at the hospital. Martha had watched, the previous day, as I was carried in. She was witness to my injured state, now healed twenty-four hours later. The old woman observed my steady walk, as I entered the hall where she lay, and called out to me.
‘You have a touch of the devil in you I fear,’ she sputtered through lungs heavy with infection.
‘Why, Martha, how could you think such a thing? It was obviously much less of an injury than we thought,’ I reassured the old woman. I couldn’t help but disagree with her assessment. I leaned away from the satanic and toward the magical.
‘My own grandmother told me stories of Salem. Her mother was there when they sentenced those witches to death. Do you remember the trials?’ she asked, her eyes grew wider as the old memories of her grandmother’s tales filled her head.
‘That was over one hundred fifty years ago, Martha. There are no witches now, or were there then.’ I patted her hand, in hopes of settling the old woman down.
‘You keep your evil away from me. I want to see the Lord when I die. The devil is in you! I won’t have you block my way to the gates of heaven,’ Martha shrieked and gave way to a fit of coughing, so violent that a tinge of red spread across her handkerchief. Moments later, all traces of life departed from her old, weakened body.” James grimaced at the memory.
“I left the hospital that week and made arrangements to practice medicine in Bridgeport, Connecticut. It was a growing city that could use my skills and I could use an escape from the worried and confused looks from my colleagues and from the patients as well.
“I became a personal doctor for many of the upper-class Bridgeport families, attending to my clients mainly in their homes. I also opened an office, and attended to those who could not afford medical care. This was a risky move on my part. The rich can see charity as both positive and negative. While one family can boast that their doctor helps unfortunate souls, another family will refuse to be seen by a man who takes care of the poor. It might tarnish their polished image. But I took the risk because I became a doctor to help all people, not just the ones with money.
“In March of Eighteen Hundred Sixty I went to City Hall to hear a speech given by Senator Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln was making his way around Connecticut giving various speeches in favor of the Republican Party. He was a staunch believer in the abolition of slavery. Being the son of a professor and a teacher from Massachusetts, slaves were not something I had first-hand experience with. I was very interested in hearing his opinions.
“Lincoln spoke in the largest room that the city had to offer and people poured into the streets when no empty seats could be found. At the conclusion of his speech, we rose swiftly to our feet and clapped with an excited frenzy. Lincoln had such a way of rousing the crowds. I understood his disdain for slavery and agreed that it must be brought to an end. When Lincoln ran for president later that year I was proud to cast my vote in favor of him. His victory was rejoiced.” James paused.
“Did you get to meet him?” Link asked.
“I was able to shake his hand, but no formal introductions were made,” he answered, and then continued again. “With the presidential victory came the Secession of the south and war was quick to follow. I felt it was my duty to offer my skills to the Army Surgeons and was immediately thrust into action as a Field Surgeon. The year was Eighteen Hundred Sixty-One, I was forty-one that year but my face did not match my age. I had barely noticed at the time, but my body had stopped aging probably ten years prior.
“Field Surgery work was not for those with a weak disposition. It takes a strong man, or a foolishly cocky one, to saw off another man’s leg. The stench of earth and blood, mixed to a paste at your feet, rises up to assault you as you stand in front of the operating table. There is one man on the table, ten more men waiting in line, and a pile of limbs already in the corner of the tent. Then you must watch and hope that the remainder of the limb does not become diseased and poison the body,” James stopped for a moment as he noticed a visible shudder run through both Link and me.
I couldn’t imagine having to saw off another person’s limb.
“It was during my first year a
s a Field Surgeon that I finally came to understand my gift. That is what I think of my immortality now. It is a gift, not a curse. I was at the Battle of Bull Run, in July of Eighteen Hundred Sixty-One. As I came to the aid of a fallen soldier, I felt something strike my upper arm. I looked around to see what had hit me and noticed a tear in my jacket. Upon removing the jacket, I noticed a bullet wound. The projectile had passed right through my flesh and a single drop of my blood dripped from my arm.
“There was no pain. My arm felt as if a harmless bee had stung it. It had immediately stopped bleeding. The solitary drop of blood, that had exited my wound, fell onto the face of the soldier I was attending to. My blood entered a small cut on the soldier’s face, and I watched in amazement as the cut closed up and healed within seconds. A thin, faint scar was all that remained. My body could heal itself and my blood could heal others.”
“So that is when you first knew,” Link said – finally getting an answer to his earlier question.
“Yes that is when I realized I could do so much more to help those boys, than I was able to before,” James answered. “I experimented on other soldiers when I was positive I was alone and the soldier was not fully aware of his surroundings. I knew there could be no witnesses to my talent.
“I would cut my wrist and let my blood fall into a soldier’s wound and it would heal as if by magic. My body will allow only a small amount of my blood to escape, because it is too quick to heal itself. That meant that I could only instantly heal the smaller wounds a soldier had. The larger ones required my medical training and a fair amount of luck.
“I lived and worked as a field surgeon for two years. The Siege of Vicksburg marked the exit of my military career,” James said as Catherine walked in the room, home from the shop.
“Sit darling, I’m just getting to the good part,” James told her, a loving smile on his face.
“So, we are giving Link a history lesson today,” she surmised.
“I healed a cut on his hand. He had questions,” James explained.
Catherine gave a knowing nod. “Well, continue with the good part,” she said, pulling a chair over to James. She always sat by his side.
“Vicksburg, Mississippi is located right on the Mississippi River. The Union wanted command of the river, as it would greatly benefit their campaign against the Confederate Army. The town of Vicksburg got caught in the middle. With the river on one side and troops embattled in the surrounding areas, the townspeople were trapped in a military battle that lasted for weeks on end.
“The Union gunboats lobbed tens of thousands of shells into the town, and the armies surrounding it had even greater concentrations of their own firepower. The town’s people were under siege just as sure as the members of the Confederate Army were. Though miraculously, only about a dozen of its citizens were killed in all that time. To keep themselves safe during the battles they dug shelters into the hillsides surrounding the town. They would bring small comforts from home to try to make their cave dwellings as comfortable as possible. Hundreds of these caves were carved into the hills.
“Prairie Dog Village, became the un-official name of the town, bestowed upon it by the Union Soldiers. It was into one of these prairie dog caves that I was smuggled, by a young woman who was deeply concerned about an injured friend’s wound. It was not healing the way it should.” James looked at Catherine, love ever-present in his gaze.
“This brave young woman,” he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, “had somehow made it through the lines, in search of an Army Surgeon’s tent. Many of the Confederate troops were becoming diseased and malnourished since the Union troops had cut off their supplies. She’d hoped a Union Surgeon might be in a better position to help her.
“It was the last week in June, a Monday. I was in my tent and it was nearing five o’clock in the morning when I was startled by a rustling outside. I opened the flap of my tent and noticed a figure crouched in the distance. I peered into the shadows and was able to discern a female silhouette. I went out to meet her without fear; somehow compelled to find out what she wanted. She stood up, without trepidation, as I neared and held out her hand in introduction.”
Catherine sat quietly, letting James tell the story of the first time that they laid eyes on each other.
“‘Hello,’ she simply said, ‘my name is Catherine. My friend is in desperate need of a doctor and I’m afraid if one doesn’t come to her soon she may succumb to her injuries. Will you be so kind as to help her?’
“My compliance to her request was out of my control. I followed her immediately, without further question, without doubt of her sincerity. She led me to the cave where she had been residing with her friend. The old woman had been cutting wood, days before it seemed from the condition of the wound, and had been startled by incoming shells. She’d sliced into her leg and the wound was now beginning to fester. Her fever was high and I could tell that disease would soon take over if the leg wasn’t removed.
‘The leg has to come off. I’m sorry,’ I said to Catherine. ‘Would she want that?’ I asked.
“Catherine whispered into the old woman’s ear, explaining the situation, soothing her. She turned to me after a few moments and said, ‘No, she wishes to end her time now. She feels she is too old to start over without the use of both legs.’
“I replied, ‘I could try something else. It may help a little but I’m not sure. Perhaps you should leave for a moment. I’m going to cut out some of the infection and see if a medicine I have will heal the wound. It won’t be a pretty sight.’ I urged her to go outside the cave and she did without further question.
“I had brought my small medicine case with me and quickly gave the old woman a dose of ether. When she was unconscious I cut a chunk of her infected flesh from the wound and then turned the knife on myself. I cut into my wrist and as the few bright red beads of my blood escaped I directed them so they would fall around the edges of the wound. But my blood stopped quickly and I knew I would have to make another cut. I held the knife to my arm again and was halted by sight of Catherine.
“She was standing in front of the cave. Her eyes held no fear, only curiosity. That, I admit, was a bit unnerving. She stepped forward and held out her hand for the knife. I placed it into her open palm, accepting defeat, expecting to soon hear the cries for help. But instead was shocked to see her cut into her own arm and replicate my movements, letting her blood trickle out and down, directing it to the edges of the old woman’s wound. Then to my utter amazement, Catherine held out her arm for my inspection, so I could observe her unmarked skin. It was then that I knew I had found another, someone who was just like me.
‘How long have you known that your blood could heal?’ I asked her.
‘That is the first time I’ve ever tried,’ she softly answered. ‘I watched you and saw your wound heal itself. My body also heals itself. But I have never tried to heal another. That is truly amazing. I can do something amazing.’ She smiled at the realization.
‘It is a gift,’ I said to you,” James turned to face Catherine, squeezing her hand.
“Finding another soul like me, that was my gift.” Catherine smiled at James.
“I grabbed you, brought you into my arms, and held onto you tightly. You returned my embrace and relief washed over us both. The comfort of knowing we were no longer alone was almost overwhelming.” James lovingly caressed Catherine’s cheek and then turned his attention back to Link and continued.
“I was overjoyed to have found this beautiful creature. She was meant for me, I was sure of it. I begged her to leave with me but she insisted that she stay, to care for her friend. I wrapped up the old woman’s leg and prayed for the best, hoping that our blood had at least fought back the infection. Catherine and I said our goodbyes and promised to meet again soon. In the early dawn I scrambled back to my tent, hating that she was not by my side. There was a new emptiness inside of me.”
“It was just as hard for me to watch you leave,” Catherine said to James
. “But I really did feel the need to stay with my friend. She had been through so much.”
“A few days later, the Union declared victory as the Confederates surrendered. I knew that I would also be surrendering as well. My need to be rejoined with Catherine was greater than anything I had previously experienced. I disappeared the day after the surrender was made formal. I fled north to Chicago, no longer on my own, my beautiful Catherine was right there by my side. What Catherine had said the night we had met, that finding each other was a gift, was the truth. And I’d have been a fool to let that gift slip through my fingers.”
“I’m always right,” Catherine teased.
“I won’t argue with that.” James smiled. “It was on our journey to Chicago that we had our first run-in with the Lord family. We traveled upriver by steamboat, on one of the Anchor Line boats. Our stop at Hickman, Kentucky proved to be quite an educational one. You see, we stayed the night at a small inn by the dock, and while eating dinner at the inn, I was alarmed by the countless number of people whispering about the Lords. I had no idea, at the time, to what they were referring, so I told Catherine to start eavesdropping until we found out.
‘Jeremiah Lord claims he finally found one,’ an old man said.
‘One what?’ his companion asked.
‘One of them witches he’s always warning about,’ he answered. ‘Said he’s got him captured, down on his property. Said he’ll make an example of him tonight. Said ‘twas God’s orders. Crazy as a bat that one,’ the old man continued.
‘Jeremiah Lord?’ his companion pondered. ‘Doesn’t he live alone with his son Ezra? Wife left him a few years back, said she couldn’t account for his rantings anymore?’
‘Yep, that’s him. I’m headed over there after you and I finish eating,’ the old man informed his companion. “I want to see what he’s up to.’
“Catherine and I decided to follow him after our meal, and we ended on at Jeremiah Lord’s property. At the time of our arrival, a small crowd was gathered around the outside of the house. We found a spot to hide, in some brush and trees, just out of sight. I looked at this man, of forty odd years, standing with one arm on his grown son’s shoulder, the other holding a large bible up above his head. He was ranting about abominations in the eyes of God. His son stood quietly beside him, nodding in agreement.
“At one point, the son quietly departed and went around to the back of the house. When Ezra Lord returned he held a rope in his hand, the other end of which was tied around the neck of a young man. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, by the looks of him. He was a small man, shorter than most. His eyes danced around the crowd with fear.
‘This creature is no man,’ Jeremiah preached. ‘It is a serpent sent straight from hell. He has conjured up all the powers of Lucifer himself, I tell you. Bear witness to the works of the Devil,’ he said in a frenzied voice, and then nodded toward his son.
“Ezra took a large hunting knife and ran its blade across the boy’s cheek. A deep cut was made and then seemed to disappear before our eyes. An audible gasp was heard throughout the crowd. Catherine and I stared at each other. Fear struck our hearts, like a bolt of lightning. This boy, who was surely like us, had been captured. It was the thing that we most dreaded.
‘More proof,’ Ezra yelled to the crowd as he ripped the boy’s shirt off and dragged the knife across his belly. The boy cried out in pain and doubled forward. A moment later Ezra straightened him up, to the shock of the crowd again. The deep wound was nowhere to be found.
“The boy cried out, ‘I am not a harm, not a threat. I’m just a traveler. Let me go in peace,’ he pleaded.
‘You shall go in peace, traveler. Your death shall bring you to the Light. God may redeem your soul, but only if you repent your evil ways and pray for forgiveness,’ Jeremiah’s voice rang out.
‘Please,’ the boy whispered.
“The blur of action that took place next is forever burned into our memories. We didn’t expect the swift condemnation of the boy, from the Lords or from the crowd. Before we took our next breath, Jeremiah pulled his sword from its sheath, and held it high in the air. The small crowd had been worked into a mighty frenzy. Jeremiah took a step back and swung the sword with all his might, aiming for the boy’s neck. A clean cut was made through the flesh. Another swing - and the head was removed from the body. A torch was thrown to the body, with wood and kindling added until a raging fire ensued. Death became a mist that hung in the air.” James paused and lowered his head.
“That night still haunts me,” Catherine murmured. “Jeremiah vowed to continue the hunt. I can still hear his voice.”
“‘I declare that it will be my mission, and my son’s, and his sons’, to find the evil in this world and annihilate it from existence,’ Jeremiah boomed as the fire consumed what was left of the body,” James told us.
“Catherine and I returned to the inn as quickly as possible, not leaving our room until the next day, but only to board the steamboat and depart from the danger. While on the boat, we listened to every conversation we could hear, trying to find out more information about the Lords. We lucked out and were able to piece together several bits of gossip from the more talkative passengers onboard.”
Catherine chimed in with the details. “We discovered that Jeremiah claimed to have accidentally shot a young man while out hunting, twenty years earlier. He cried out an apology, then trekked across a clearing to check on the man... to make sure he was not badly hurt. Apparently when he got close enough, he witnessed the man wiping blood from his arm, but no injury was apparent. Jeremiah said the young man then ran off into the forest but he was too afraid to follow,” she explained.
“Jeremiah had never let that day leave his memory, talking about it all the time, searching the forests for the young man. For twenty plus years he had searched, to the detriment of his marriage and to the detriment of his mental health. He became a crazed zealot, preaching about the evil things that live among us. He brought up his son Ezra in an environment of hate and fear. The mistake of the Immortal young man had been to cross paths with Jeremiah Lord once more,” Catherine finished.
“My mistake was that I did not speak up for the boy,” James admonished himself.
“You cannot hold yourself responsible for that,” Link insisted.
“I always picture Catherine or Charity in that young man’s place. And it is simply an unimaginable horror for me. If I had stopped Jeremiah then, that boy would still be alive. Then maybe the Lord children, and grandchildren, would never have taken up the hunt,” James replied.
“Or maybe you and Catherine would have been captured by the crowd and killed as well,” I chided. “Then where would I be? You saved me. I don’t know what I would have done after Roger’s death if I didn’t have you two. They would’ve had to lock me in an insane asylum. I would have been turned over to the Government once it was discovered that I wasn’t aging and that I could heal myself,” I declared.
“No, James. You must not fault yourself. Everything happens for a reason. Charity is right. We might have been killed too. You must not hold yourself responsible. Jeremiah Lord killed that boy and there is nothing we could have done to stop him. It happened too fast for us to intervene. I believe the reason we were witness to that gruesome scene was to become more aware. We both knew there were people who thought we were evil. But real danger had eluded us. After that night we knew exactly what would happen if we were to ever be discovered by those with malice in their hearts,” Catherine stated. “All these years, James... You’ve held onto that guilt for much too long.” She held on to his face and pushed the hair back from his downturned eyes. Catherine cupped his cheeks in her hands and leaned forward to kiss him – a sweet, tender, loving kiss.
“Thank you... for loving me,” he murmured.
“Always,” she whispered back.
Alone again later that night, halfway through an old musical (Link was being gracious), Link paused the movie, “They really love each ot
her,” he said.
“Who?” I puzzled.
“Catherine and James,” he said. “They are each the half that makes the other whole.”
“Yes, they are. They have an extensive history together,” I answered.
“We could be that,” he said, his eyes intent, intense.
“We could,” I agreed with slight hesitation.
“I need to know more about you, your history. Can I quiz you a bit?” he asked.
“Fire away,” I said, “but I get answers from you too.”
“Where were you born?”
“San Diego – You?”
“Mesa, Arizona. When we first met, you said your birthday was in February. Later when I figured out who you really were you said something about March.”
“Emily Johnston’s birthday is February tenth - arbitrary date. My birthday is March twenty-second,” I explained. “James and Catherine always celebrate both. I get two birthdays! When is yours?” I asked.
“April sixteenth, I only get one,” he quipped.
“What’s the best city that you’ve lived in, so far?” I asked him.
“Here,” he answered with simple honesty. “I met you.”
“I can’t argue with that.” I leaned forward to give him a quick kiss.
“On the ride to Montrose you said the vehicles from the Fifties were so stylish. What was your favorite?”
“I’ll say the Thunderbird, convertible. But that is the only favorite I’ll give. I have been alive for too long to have absolute favorites. I like so many different things, it is too hard to pick just one,” I answered.
“Okay, no favorites. How about siblings?” he asked.
“None, only child, like you – I’ve assumed,” I said.
“Correct. What else?” Link paused in thought.
“Nothing else,” I answered. “The past isn’t all that important right now. You know the basics - where and when I was born, my connection to your family. You know my many of my weaknesses and my strengths. You know I love you and I know you love me.”
“That I do,” he said as he wrapped his arms around me.
“We’ll make our own history,” I said as I snuggled into his embrace. “I’ll give you one more favorite,” I whispered. “Being in your arms... that is my favorite place to be.”
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