Prophet

by Mark J Rose

  Matt walked through Fredericksburg’s business district, passing a number of shops until he was in front of a two-story white house with a sign beside the door reading “Major Hugh Mercer, Physician.”

  A Scottish man greeted him when he walked through the door. “Welcome to me shop, lad. I’m Major Hugh Mercer.”

  Mercer was nothing like Matt had imagined. He was young, with a head of dark curly hair and a narrow face. Matt wouldn’t have described him as handsome, but he wasn’t ugly either. He had an upright stance and a firm handshake.

  “Good day,” Matt said. “I’m Matt Miller from Richmond.”

  “How can I be of service, Mr. Miller?”

  Matt inspected Mercer’s office as he answered. The room contained the requisite plethora of bottled natural medicines filling the wall shelves, along with the round glass aquarium of thick black leeches that was the centerpiece of every eighteenth-century apothecary. Matt couldn’t keep himself from wrinkling his nose as he dragged his gaze across the slimy creatures to look back into Mercer’s eyes. “I’m traveling to Philadelphia to start an apothecary business. One of the men I’m with suggested I visit you.”

  “Always glad to talk to another medical man,” Mercer replied. He stepped forward and inspected Matt’s face. “Almost healed.”

  “What?”

  “Someone punched you in the face,” Mercer said.

  Matt had thought his injury from the fight with Levi Payne was no longer visible. “That happened weeks ago.”

  “’Tis easy to see,” Mercer proclaimed.

  Matt shrugged. “I had a run-in with the town bully.”

  “Did you win?”

  “Hardly. Broke his nose, though.”

  Mercer gave him a satisfied smile. “What brings you to me shop?”

  “I’m interested in picking your brain,” Matt replied.

  Mercer considered the phrase. “You desire to ask me about my medical experience?”

  “I learned apothecary in China,” Matt lied. “I don’t know anything about doctoring in the colonies and would appreciate your advice.”

  “I heard the Orientals poke you with needles,” Mercer replied.

  “They do,” Matt said. “People say it works.”

  “You’d let them prick you?”

  “I’d try my medicines first.”

  “What ailments can you cure?”

  “Fever, headache, pox, swelling in the muscles, and morsel.”

  “Morsel?” Mercer said with interest.

  “The medicine prevents wounds from festering. You don’t have to amputate.”

  Mercer put a smile on his face. “I’d much like to hear of this medicine. Would you be available to sup at my home this night?”

  “Of course,” Matt replied. “Name the time.”

  “I should say in one hour,” Mercer answered. “My wife is away this evening.”

  “I need to let my traveling companions know I’ll be gone,” Matt said. “I’ll be back.” He shook Mercer’s hand and went to go inform Zeke of his plans.

  **********

  The sidewalks were substantially more crowded than when he’d entered Mercer’s building, so Matt found himself having to step out into the street to move around people who had gathered in front of the shops. The people were polite and would step aside and say “good day” as he passed. Matt felt some bounce in his stride, either in anticipation of his meal with Mercer or just because he was getting caught up in the festive nature of the city. He smiled at almost everyone he passed.

  The smile remained on his face until about midway through his journey back to Danner’s Inn, when two men, one very tall and the other short, stepped out of an alley as Matt passed. They matched his pace almost exactly, and he had the overwhelming feeling that they weren’t behind him by chance. His constant premonitions about events and the people he met frustrated him because they were stronger than déjà vu, but too weak to provide certainty. Did these men attract his attention because they were strange looking, or had he actually seen them before in his rapid-fire visions? Just as he had convinced himself they were following, they disappeared.

  **********

  Matt found Zeke and his men sitting inside the tavern at the inn. “Good afternoon, Mr. Miller,” Zeke said.

  “I won’t be joining you tonight,” Matt announced. “I’m having dinner with Hugh Mercer.”

  “A curious discussion, to be sure,” Zeke said, smiling. “He’s recently returned from the war.”

  “That’ll be something to ask about,” Matt replied. “I’ll be back here to sleep.”

  “Take care walking about,” Zeke cautioned. “We had travelers behind us on the road today. I’ve no reason to believe they’re connected with Jake’s indiscretion, but…” He shrugged.

  “I’ll keep my eyes open.” Matt thought again about the two men in the street, trying to remember something from his dreams. Instinct caused him to look around the tavern and scan the faces at the tables and congregated around the bar. He had the sensation that a man had been staring at him, or would in the future. Turmoil took over in his head as he tried to sort it out, and he had to force himself back to reality. “Good evening, gentlemen.” He bowed slightly and left.

  Matt walked around to the back of the inn to check on Thunder and then inspected the wagons now guarded by Zeke’s brother and another man. Everything looked in order, but Matt still had to force himself to turn and walk away. It was a bad feeling. The contents of his pack felt too important. The fear of everything disappearing paralyzed him. He looked around and got the feeling again that someone was watching. This damn money’s making me crazy!

  Matt had a small fortune in his bag, about five years’ salary for a colonial man. He’d been stunned at the price he got for the gold class ring he had carried with him from the twenty-first century. But now that he was on the road, the money made him nervous. Matt wondered if other people who had come into large amounts of money unexpectedly experienced similar feelings. He’d heard stories of lottery winners declaring that they were happier before they’d won. More than a few ended up with less money and fewer friends than when they’d started.

  Matt’s steps became lighter the farther he got from the corral and the money, and he started looking forward to asking Major Mercer about the French and Indian War. He wanted to ask about his experiences as a physician and especially treating war wounds. He expected that Mercer would have a considerable interest in penicillin, since many soldiers died of infection from initially nonfatal wounds. Preventing infection using an antibiotic like penicillin would give war injuries a chance to heal without amputation.

  The front door to Mercer’s store was locked when he arrived, so Matt walked around to the back. He could smell meat cooking as he moved through an alley between a thick white fence and Mercer’s building. He came upon a large garden in the back of the house where a grey-haired woman wearing an apron over a faded, off-white country dress trimmed in red was stirring a pot over an outside fireplace.

  The woman looked up from her pot and spoke to him through smile lines. “Good evening, handsome,” she said in a thick Scottish accent. “Might you be Mr. Miller?”

  Matt smiled. “I am. I’ve come to sup with Mr. Mercer.”

  “The other side of the house, then,” she replied, pointing. “Supper will be served shortly.”

  Matt looked over to where she had pointed but saw only where the lawn wrapped around the house. He had to walk a little further to see Mercer sitting at a wooden picnic table. He was staring off into the distance, smoking a cigar. He stood as Matt approached.

  “Mr. Miller,” Mercer said. He reached out and shook Matt’s hand.

  “I’m happy that Zeke suggested we meet.”

  “I don’t believe I know this Zeke,” Mercer replied.

  “Two brothers, Ezekiel and Robert Wilkins,” Matt explained. “They take the post up and down the coast.”

  A bell seemed to go off in Mercer’s head. “Man cam
e in here with a broken arm.” He took another puff. “Cigar?”

  “Sure,” Matt said, accepting one. “I don’t know the first thing about them, though.”

  Mercer spent the next couple of minutes explaining the finer points of cigar smoking. It struck Matt as ironic that Mercer took the same approach Matt had when teaching Jonathan and Jeb Taylor how to use a toothbrush, but the two skills were on the opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to oral hygiene. “’Tis the best leaf in Virginia,” Mercer said when Matt was finally able to light his cigar.

  Matt nodded, taking a mouthful of smoke. He’d smoked cigars on two occasions with friends in college but had never been serious about it. Too much grief went with smoking. Someone was always standing around doing an exaggerated waving motion to keep from getting cancer from secondhand smoke. One thing Matt did know for sure as a scientist was that the chronic use of tobacco was the worst thing you could do to your body.

  “This tastes good,” Matt said. Despite all its negatives, smoking had social benefits that he wanted to take advantage of this evening. Just this once, he’d live dangerously and smoke a cigar with a colonial man before dinner.

  “So you’re starting an apothecary?” Mercer said.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Why Philadelphia? You could do this anywhere.”

  “Philadelphia is my hometown and I couldn’t stay in Richmond.”

  “Some father chased you away with a musket?” Mercer said with a sly smile.

  “Why does everyone in Virginia assume the worst?”

  “Because your story is not a simple one,” Mercer declared.

  “I’ve fallen in love with a Richmond woman,” Matt explained. “I don’t have the means to support her, so I need to go away and make my fortune.”

  “There is a lady involved,” Mercer said. “Now your story becomes interesting.”

  Matt was quiet for a moment as he wondered how much he should say, and then the words came out of his mouth. “Her family found me under a bridge. I don’t remember how I got to Virginia.” He was trying to keep as close to the truth as possible.

  Mercer gave him a satisfied smile. “Tell me more about this young lady. I admit to some trouble understanding my own bride.”

  “Someone in Virginia asking my advice,” Matt said. “That would be a change.”

  Mercer gave Matt a knowing grin. “Virginians expect to lead. ’Tis at once irritating and attractive. Why else should you cross the colonies only to return?”

  “She’s a beautiful woman.”

  “From a strong and proud family?”

  “Yes,” Matt said, resigned.

  “She…they…her church, her city, and her friends. The Old Dominion runs deep.”

  “Maybe.” Matt hadn’t thought about it until now. He’d been through Virginia in his own time but had never appreciated that the state had been at the heart of both the American Revolution and the Civil War.

  “When the trouble starts, as I imagine it will,” said Mercer, “’twill be because of an insult to Virginia.”

  “What trouble?”

  “The king and his taxes,” Mercer said. “How else will he pay for his wars but with Virginian silver?” Mercer hesitated as if he was trying to read Matt’s face. “I’m no fan of the king.”

  “If I could predict,” Matt replied, grinning, “I’d say that the colonies will, someday, break free from England.”

  It was exactly the right thing to say. Any suspicion Mercer had about Matt’s unexplained appearance in Virginia melted away like the candle that lit their conversation. They talked late into the night.

  4

  Predators

  The remainder of their journey to Wilmington was uneventful. They slept twice more in camps on the trail and then at inns in Alexandria and Baltimore. Matt decided that he wholly preferred a bed to sleeping under the stars. There were bugs in both situations, but they were worse outside. By the time they reached their final destination, Zeke’s men were ready to celebrate. Their job was done and they had a two-day break before they had to shuttle mail back to Richmond.

  Zeke and his crew persuaded Matt to spend both nights “relaxing” with them in the tavern. A two-day layover in Wilmington hadn’t been in Matt’s plans, but it was a good idea. He was grateful not to spend another day in the saddle. His mild hangover notwithstanding, he left Wilmington refreshed and ready for anything Philadelphia could throw his way. He planned to extend his journey over two days so that he would arrive in Philadelphia with plenty of daylight to find food and shelter for himself and his horse.

  The road was crowded on the way out of Wilmington. There was a train of four wagons in front of him that was slowly growing larger. The people in the wagons turned to look as he moved closer. He matched their pace for a few miles, and when the road widened, he flicked Thunder with his heels and guided him around the wagon train. He exchanged waves with the drivers as he passed. The road ahead was smooth and clear, so he kicked Thunder up a notch and soon left them far behind. He slowed only to look at the occasional autumn-colored trees peering out from still-green surroundings.

  The cool breeze hitting his face as Thunder moved along the road reminded him that he was making good time. He looked up into the sky and his body surged with optimism. There was no hurdle he couldn’t overcome. He would take Philadelphia by storm. His grin was still on his face when he came out into a clearing where the Delaware River Valley opened up across the horizon and the water glistened in the morning sun. The road dropped off sharply to his right, and he was conscious of keeping the horse from wandering too close to the precipice. Thunder began to act nervous as they trotted along the narrow road.

  “Calm down, boy,” Matt said. “Not the best place to get jittery.” Matt felt some anxiety, too, realizing that he had no idea how to calm the horse other than to pass along this section of road quickly. There was an area ahead where the path moved away from the cliff into the woods. Matt patted Thunder on the neck, hoping to settle him. “Simmer down,” he said, but this only seemed to irritate the horse more. “Not much longer until we get to the trees,” Matt whispered, more for himself than the animal.

  Thunder bucked slightly, slowed, and then stopped altogether. Matt watched some rocks vibrate loose from the horse’s shuffling and tumble down over the cliff. Thunder kept wandering close to the edge, and his agitation made it feel like he could flinch enough to take them both over.

  “We’ll walk,” Matt finally said. He dismounted on the left to keep the animal between himself and the cliff so he could pull Thunder back from the edge. It wasn’t a sheer drop to the river, but falling over wouldn’t end well for a man or a horse. Matt stepped to the front and pulled Thunder forward by his bridle. Thunder jerked his head upward and nearly dislocated Matt’s wrist as he pulled the reins from his hands. “Cut it out!” Matt said, grimacing in pain.

  Matt tried to remember back when he’d ridden the James River Valley with Grace. They’d been high on the ridge overlooking the river, and Thunder hadn’t been scared of heights or of the water. Matt tugged again on Thunder’s bridle and managed to convince him to move forward. They’d gone about twenty more yards when Thunder stopped abruptly in his tracks and bucked his feet into the air.

  “It’s easier to go forward than it is to go back, dummy,” Matt said, looking behind the horse. He tugged hard again on the reins, yanking him forward. The horse reluctantly walked another ten yards. “Almost there,” Matt said, trying to reassure Thunder as he tugged downward to keep the animal’s front legs from leaving the ground.

  Matt looked over his shoulder, resolving to pull Thunder the remaining twenty-five yards. The horse bucked and Matt repeated his motion to the ground. Thunder stopped and yanked Matt backward. He bucked again, whinnied loudly, hissed, and snorted. His feet left the road as he stared over Matt’s shoulder. He whinnied again as he kicked into the air. Matt saw the reflection of movement in the horse’s eyes too late. He turned to catch a glimpse
of one man’s face as another swung a club silently into his head. Matt recognized the face from the pub in Wilmington. Matt collapsed onto the ground next to his hat and his world went black.

  He started moving through the time tunnel of his visions. Pictures surrounded him, moving faster than he had ever seen, and then abruptly, they were gone, replaced by nothing but white. Matt would remember this moment many times over the course of his life, knowing that he’d experienced death. He came very close to letting his life end as he lay there, comfortable and warm.

  “What happened?” he asked into the white light.

  His own voice answered. “Someone tried to kill you.”

  “Can I stay?”

  “You would let your life go so easily?” the light asked.

  “Life is so damn hard,” Matt answered.

  “A life worth living is always hard,” the light said.

  “Too hard,” Matt declared.

  There was hysterical laughter from the light. “You would squander it all after being given so much?”

  “Nothing was ever given,” Matt said coldly.

  “Breathe,” the light said.

  “What?”

  “Breathe, if you dare!”

  Matt felt the breath enter his body, and his inner vision was gone. It was replaced by an intense pain in his head. I knew this was a mistake.

  “You idiot,” he heard a man with a very deep voice say. “Mr. Payne said don’t kill ’im.”

  “Didn’t swing that hard,” another replied. “It’s his own fault.”

  Someone kicked Matt in the side. “Wake up!” a man said.

  Matt opened his eyes and hissed in pain.

  “Stow it,” Deep Voice said.

  Matt heard Thunder neigh loudly, then snort, and then came the sound of struggling.

  “Shut him up,” Deep Voice said toward the man holding the horse. “We’re supposed to kill the animal.” Matt heard struggling again and then blowing sounds from the horse like loud bellows.

  “Ain’t gonna kill ’im,” another said. “Prancer like this—I could get twenty pounds.”