Christmas Eve 1753
Masclat, France 

The logs in the fireplace crackled, its usual soothing sound drowned out by the cacophony of an iron hammer against an anvil outside. The snowfall had arrived yet again, giving with it an appearance of ashy grey—due to his father's forge. His mother, with her soft, mellifluous voice, sang Un flambeau, Jeannette, Isabelle as his sister Antoinette rested her head atop maman's shoulder.
 
It was something that Francois had grown accustomed to through all of the years—something he knew he would miss if he decided to go to. He had received word from another doctor in the Caribbean that the invitation to come and study medicine was most welcome. After all, there was a shortage of physicians, and due to his young age— he was most impressionable and could learn a great deal about medicine from legendary men.

Francois looked at the fire, its embers dying, and new ones falling on logs, making with it something like a small village within the burning wood. His eyes glazed over with tears as he was reminded of his brother.

His death had only been in June, and the pain of his absence was too much for him still to bear. How did his mother carry on the way she did? How did she get up every morning to prepare breakfast? How did she smile at others? He could barely manage to do any of these things. And how on earth was he going to tell her about his decision to become a doctor?

It had been a complete failure when he told his blacksmith father of his plans. 

He was destined to be a blacksmith like his father and the ones before him. Francois was supposed to carry the torch, be the next in the long line. But it was not his passion. Helping others was always his passion, and to become a doctor? It was the greatest passion of his life. More than banging a hammer incessantly day in and day out. He saw the physical toll it put on his father. His back was prone to severe pain, and the cysts on his father’s elbow caused Francois so much emotional turmoil. It was no life for Francois. All he wanted was to ameliorate his father’s condition. Take him to Santo Domingo. But first, he needed to tell her. She needed to know the truth.

“Maman,” he said, swallowing hard. “I must speak with you.” 

“Yes,” she nodded, standing up. She gently moved his sister Antoinette, who had been fast asleep and tucked in her, kissing her forehead. 

“What do you need to speak with me about?” she asked, sitting down next to him. “Is it about Pierre? i miss him so.” 

“Non,” he said, shaking his head.

“It’s about my decision.” 

“Decision?” She furrowed her brow. “Tell me.” 

He gulped. “I have decided to go to Santo Domingo—the island in the Caribbean. Maman, I have no desire to become a blacksmith like pere.” 

“You,” she said, blinking fast. “Why Santo Domingo?” 

“I wish to become a doctor, maman.” 

Her eyes brimmed over with tears. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect, Francois. I had a dream last night.” She took his hand and gently kissed it. “You were a doctor in some tropical place. Helping many people. You had children all around you. Happy as I’ve ever seen you. No sad, lost eyes like you have now. Go for your dream, Francois. We love you.” 

“But pere,” he said, looking out the window, remembering his father with all of that hammering. 

“Will come around." She squeezed his hand."Go achieve your dream. You deserve to. Now call your father in. It’s Christmas Eve. I don’t want to hear the hammer anymore.” 

Authors note: Santo Domingo is the Spanish colonized name for the Dominican Republic which officially became official in 1844. Juan Pablo Duarte is the founding father of the Dominican Republic! Thank you for reading.