Tim Cratchit's Christmas Carol

by Jim Piecuch

  Count Ulrich von Bergsdorf was regarded by most of his colleagues as the foremost surgeon in Europe. Tim had met him several years earlier at a medical symposium in Berlin, after hearing the count present his findings on the causes of apoplexy. Challenging the traditional view that apoplectic seizures resulted from overeating or fits of temper, von Bergsdorf had asserted that his study of victims showed a physical cause. Tim had been impressed by the Prussian’s thorough research and sound logic, and had wanted to ask him some questions afterward. Put off by the count’s brisk movements and aristocratic bearing, Tim had approached him hesitantly, only to learn that von Bergsdorf’s outward appearance masked a pleasant, friendly personality. What began as a professional discussion had developed into friendship and even occasional collaboration on articles for some medical journals, until Tim joined Dr. Eustace’s practice and no longer had time for research.

  How long has it been since I’ve written to von Bergsdorf, other than the telegram? Tim asked himself. Eighteen months, he thought, perhaps longer. Another friend forgotten in the rush of business.

  If von Bergsdorf was disappointed at Tim’s failure to continue their correspondence, the count’s letter gave no sign of it. The Prussian surgeon simply opened with a friendly greeting and moved directly into the details of Jonathan’s illness. Von Bergsdorf stated that he was currently engaged in research on such cases, and had performed several experimental surgeries. He described each patient’s condition before the operation in detail, meticulously reviewed the surgical procedures he had used in each case, and concluded every account with a report on the patient’s postoperative situation. The information fascinated Tim, and he rose to get an anatomical chart, which he studied carefully as he read the descriptions of von Bergsdorf’s operations. Sometimes Tim would nod in agreement with what he read; other times he would make notes. He reread the letter several times, rechecking the chart, writing further notes. Finally he turned to the count’s final paragraph:

  Your report on the outcome of this child’s surgery would be useful to my research, and I hope you will send it to me. We may even be able to collaborate on the publication of our results. I know that having read my reports carefully, you will be completely aware of the difficulty you face. You will also understand that in the face of these odds, there is a chance of success. Be assured that I know of only two surgeons in Europe who have the capability to perform this surgery successfully. One is myself. The other, my friend, is you.

  Tim felt buoyed by his colleague’s praise. Von Bergsdorf was an honest man, and did not engage in mere flattery. The count’s information had not been so much new as it had confirmed surmises that Tim had already made. The fact that the count had actually been proceeding along the lines that Tim had sketched out boosted his confidence—he had indeed been on the right track. Still, he felt much better knowing that von Bergsdorf had actually carried out some of the procedures and, by sharing the information, eliminated any need for Tim to resort to trial and error if he performed surgery on Jonathan.

  The count had also advised Tim that the sooner the operation was performed, the greater the chance of success. Tim decided that he would explain the details to Ginny, and, if she wanted him to do the surgery after she understood the risks, he would do it at the first opportunity.

  A knock at the office door heralded the arrival of Lizzie, bringing Tim’s piece of cake on a porcelain plate, and Bridget, who carried a pot of hot tea, a cup, and a saucer on a silver tray. Bridget read Tim’s expression.

  “Good news, Doctor?” she asked.

  “Very possibly,” he replied, not wishing to reveal too much information with garrulous Lizzie listening. “Could you please send Ginny up? I’d like to discuss it with her before I say anything more.”

  While Tim waited for Ginny, he ate the cake, which was delicious. Little wonder that Martha and her husband had done so well with their bakery.

  Ginny took Tim’s report stoically until the end, when she began to cry. After finishing his explanation of the options for Jonathan, he looked at her tear-streaked face and wondered how she would react if the operation failed.

  Regaining her composure, Ginny cleared her throat. “I understand the danger,” she said, “but I want you to do the operation. Jonathan has never really had a chance to live. I’d rather risk losing him or paralyzing him to give him that chance. Unless we try, he’s never going to have a chance, anyway.”

  “I think you’ve made the right decision,” Tim said. “I just wanted to make sure you were aware of the risks.”

  “I won’t blame you if anything goes wrong,” Ginny stated. “I’m grateful that you’re doing what you can for my Jonathan. All I ask is that you wait until a day or two after Christmas. He’s better than he has been, and you may not have noticed, but I can tell that he’s actually showing some excitement. If we wait, it will give him his first chance to enjoy Christmas, and then, if things don’t go well, at least . . .” Her words trailed off into silence, though Tim knew what she meant. If the little boy didn’t survive the operation, he would at least have had one pleasant Christmas.

  Chapter 19

  Concern over Jonathan dampened Tim’s spirits for the rest of the day, and, still tired from Friday night’s exertions, he decided to retire early. He awoke on Monday in a far better mood, for it was Christmas Eve. The impending arrival of his favorite holiday helped him to put aside his worries. He even gave Nathan Penrose a smile and a wave when, arriving at his office, he caught the clerk peeping at him through the curtains of Dr. Eustace’s office, checking to make sure Tim arrived on time.

  There were few patients to be seen, so Tim spent much of his time preparing in advance for Jonathan’s operation. Tim’s office consisted of three rooms: the waiting room, the consulting room where he examined patients, and a seldom-used surgery in the back. Tim sorted through his surgical instruments, readying those he knew he would need, and placing others that he might need where they would be close at hand.

  When six o’clock finally arrived, Tim asked Henry to take him to Mayfair, where most of the shops would be open for another hour or two. Having invited Jane to church and his family’s dinner on Christmas, Tim thought it proper to give her a Christmas present. Henry shook the reins and pointed the carriage toward the shopping district.

  As the coach crept forward through the crowded thoroughfares, Tim realized that Dr. Eustace had not given him a Christmas gift. Every year since joining Eustace’s practice, Tim had received a ledger in which to record the coming year’s accounts, along with six bottles of ink and a hundred sheets of foolscap to be used for Tim’s office correspondence. The gifts had always been delivered by Dr. Eustace in person on Christmas Eve. This year there had been no present. Tim had hoped to make amends, yet it was clear that his partner was not prepared to forgive and forget. Tim foresaw that their relationship would remain strained for months to come.

  Looking out the coach’s window, he focused his attention on a sight that always brought him pleasure: the near-frenzy of Londoners as they completed their holiday errands on Christmas Eve. The bustle of ordinary days seemed to have doubled. Business had to be concluded, shopping finished, and houses arranged for the holiday. Everyone in the great city appeared to have decided to accomplish these tasks tonight.

  Bakers, grocers, vintners, and just about every other shopkeeper remained open to accommodate the diverse crowd of businessmen, housewives, and servants who jostled their way to the counters to purchase needed items. Carts choked the streets, making urgent deliveries of fruits, vegetables, meats, toys, and clothing to the shops to keep shelves stocked. Cabs and coaches threaded their way through the clogged roadways, the drivers careful not to run down pedestrians who hurried from one shop to another without a glance to check for traffic as they crossed the street. On an ordinary day, such mayhem would have resulted in angry shouts, curses, and occasional fisticuffs, but with Christmas in the air, people
were generally in such good spirits that every accidental shove, each obstacle in the road, was greeted with laughter and wishes of “Merry Christmas.”

  Henry at last brought the carriage to a stop along an empty stretch of curb, and Tim hopped out.

  “I know what I want, Henry, so I’ll be only a few minutes,” he told the coachman.

  Tim, having given the matter plenty of thought between the time he finished with his last patient and the time he left his office, had decided to buy Jane several books. She had told him that she liked to read but never had time; perhaps, with a few books on hand, she would find some leisure in which to read them. Tim entered the bookshop and selected a half dozen leather-bound novels by Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, and other prominent authors. He paid for them and hastened back to the carriage, unaware that Jane had visited the very same bookshop a few hours earlier to buy a gift for him.

  After supper, Tim, his servants, and Ginny, Jonathan, and Lizzie gathered in the dining room for a small celebration. They nibbled on some of the pastries left over from the party, and then Tim, Henry, and William used tapers to light the candles on the Christmas tree. Once the candles were lit, Bridget turned off the gas lamps. Lizzie quivered with delight at the scene, and all of the adults also enjoyed it, if with less outward exuberance. Even Jonathan sat straighter in Ginny’s arms and pointed at the tree. “It’s so pretty,” he said.

  They sang several Christmas carols, Lizzie’s high-pitched, high-speed singing contrasting sharply with William’s baritone. She kept getting far ahead of the other singers and had to wait for them to catch up before rushing through another verse. It did not make for melodious music, but it was fun for all of them nonetheless.

  They concluded their singing with “Silent Night,” and then Tim removed the infant Jesus figure from behind the stable and placed Him in the manger. Next he took the angel and positioned her in front of the shepherds, as though she were announcing the “tidings of great joy” to them. Henry and William extinguished the candles, and they wished one another merry Christmas and good night.

  Ascending the stairs to his room, Tim felt great happiness. He was certain that it was going to be a wonderful Christmas.

  Chapter 20

  Lying in bed on Christmas morning, Tim eagerly anticipated a joyful day. He would pick up Jane, take her to church with him, return for a small Christmas luncheon at home with his servants and houseguests, then he and Jane would drop some food at his clerk’s house on the way to his mother’s home for the Cratchit family celebration.

  After a few minutes he rose and pulled back the curtains to find another harbinger of a wondrous day. Large white flakes fell softly from a steel-gray sky. Snow for Christmas.

  Tim had just finished dressing when he heard a knock at his door. Somewhat surprised that anyone else was up so early, he opened the door to find Ginny, who was in a state of nervous agitation.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you, Doctor,” she said, “but Jonathan has gotten worse. You know he never complains, but about an hour ago he started whining. I tried to settle him down, got him some milk, and it didn’t help. So I checked him, and the tumor is quite a bit bigger. I’ve been checking it several times a day, and it didn’t seem to be getting much bigger, but it is now. When I touched it, he cried. It must be hurting him badly.”

  “Let me go down and have a look,” Tim said. “It isn’t surprising that you didn’t notice it getting larger—it’s been growing slowly and it takes a while before the change becomes obvious. I did notice that it was getting bigger, but it didn’t seem to be growing fast enough to make Jonathan any worse, at least not for a while.”

  In Ginny’s room, Tim found Lizzie kneeling next to Ginny’s bed, trying to distract Jonathan from his pains by telling him a story.

  “Lizzie, could you please go and find Bridget for me? Ask her if she could prepare us an early breakfast,” Tim said.

  Lizzie hurried off, and Tim examined Jonathan. The tumor had indeed grown since the previous day, and the little boy, lying on his stomach, whimpered as Tim felt the swollen area. That was not the worst of it, however; Tim noticed that Jonathan’s breathing was shallow. The tumor was affecting the nerves leading to his diaphragm. At the rate that the tumor appeared to be growing, Jonathan might not be able to breathe in another twenty-four hours.

  “What do you think we should do, Doctor?” Ginny asked.

  “We’re going to have a quick breakfast, because we’ll need all of the strength and energy we have today,” Tim said. “Then we’ll take Jonathan to my office, where I prepared everything yesterday for his surgery. I’m going to operate on him today. I can’t put it off any longer. This sudden acceleration of growth puts his life in danger.”

  Ginny nodded, unable to speak. She had expected to have more time to prepare for the operation and its possibly dangerous consequences. Lizzie returned to say that Bridget was laying out plates of bread and cheese for them.

  While they ate, Tim explained his plans. Henry would drive them to Tim’s office, stopping first to pick up Richard Beckham, who had assisted Tim with a few other operations and whose help would probably be necessary. Next they would stop at Jane’s, to inform her that Tim would not be able to see her that day. Bridget would accompany them to wait with Ginny while Tim operated.

  “I want to come, too,” Lizzie insisted. “Ginny and Jonathan are my friends and I want to help them.”

  “All right,” Tim consented.

  “If you don’t mind, Doctor, I’d like to go along as well,” William declared. Tim had not noticed the gardener’s arrival. As he held his own plate of food, the man’s dark eyes were solemn, a stark contrast to his usually jovial nature. “I’ve grown quite attached to that little fellow, and I’d like to do whatever I can.”

  “Of course,” Tim agreed. Their meal finished, Henry and William rushed to the carriage house to harness the horses. By eight o’clock they all were riding through the streets, traffic light as people were just beginning to emerge from their homes to go to church or call on friends and family. Bridget rode atop the coach between William and Henry; Tim, Ginny, and the children rode inside.

  It took a few minutes before Richard Beckham answered Tim’s knock. The clerk was somewhat astonished to see his employer so early.

  “Good morning, Dr. Cratchit, a merry Christmas to you!” Beckham said after overcoming his surprise. “Have you brought dinner already?”

  “I’m afraid not, Richard,” Tim replied. “I don’t think we’ll have time to prepare it. I have an emergency, and I’m here to ask for your help.”

  “What is the matter?” Molly Beckham asked, entering the front room with Violet in her arms.

  “Little Jonathan Whitson’s condition has gotten worse—if the tumor isn’t removed today, he may die. I’ve decided to operate this morning,” Tim explained. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

  “It’s no problem, Doctor,” Richard Beckham said firmly. “It’s the least I can do to repay your many kindnesses.” The clerk took his coat from the closet.

  “If you have just a moment, Doctor,” Molly said, “we have a Christmas present for you.”

  Tim paused for a second, torn between politeness and his desire to begin the surgery as soon as possible. Not wanting to hurt the Beckhams’ feelings, he walked over to the table, where a box sat, wrapped in brown paper. Sliding the package toward him, he found it unexpectedly heavy. He opened it and saw the microscope.

  “Thank you both,” Tim said with sincerity. “This is a wonderful gift. But this is very expensive, and you shouldn’t have spent so much. I’d actually been planning to get one, but kept putting it off.”

  “Well, I didn’t pay for it myself—I mean, I only paid part of the cost,” Beckham admitted. “A friend of yours was at the medical supply shop, and he recognized me, even though I’d swear I’ve never seen him before. He’s the one who picked i
t out, and said that you wanted just such a microscope. He offered to share the cost, and in fact he paid most of it.”

  “Who was he?” Tim inquired, puzzled.

  “I forgot to ask him, Doctor,” Beckham said, “until we were out of the shop and I had started to walk away. When I realized it and turned around to ask him, he was already gone. He had white hair, a pointy nose. That’s about all I remember, except his eyes sparkled.”

  “Well, I’ll figure it out later,” Tim told the clerk, although he didn’t have the faintest clue to the identity of his mysterious benefactor. “Let’s be on our way,” he continued, picking up the package. “Merry Christmas, Molly, and to you, little Violet! I’ll try to have Richard home as soon as I can.”

  Henry gave a shout to the horses and the carriage rolled off, slowed somewhat by the snow-slicked cobblestones. Traffic was still light, and thinned as they approached the exclusive residential district where the Cromptons lived. The coach turned into the drive and halted in front of the door. Jane, having heard the clatter of the horses, opened the door before Tim could knock.

  “Tim!” she exclaimed. “You’re early! I’m glad I was ready.”

  “Jane, I’m very sorry,” Tim said. He saw her expression instantly transform from happiness to consternation. “Little Jonathan needs to be operated on immediately, so I won’t be able to go to church with you this morning.”

  “Oh, no! The poor little fellow!” Jane said with concern. “Can I be of help?”

  Tim pondered the question briefly. He did not think Jane could be of much assistance with the surgery, yet he valued the moral support that she could provide. “You might,” he said. “But I must warn you, surgery is not pretty. I don’t want to put you through anything that you would find unpleasant.”