by Janet Dean
Since Frank joined the practice, Luke had backed away from her and the boys. Sometimes he even appeared to encourage her budding friendship with Frank, though upon occasion she caught Luke glowering at Sloan like an angry bull.
She liked Frank. Liked how he dove feet first into the practice, into the town. He didn’t have a reticent bone in his body. Unlike Luke, he was an open book with no missing chapters. She’d known Frank less than a week, but she knew the names of his friends and family. Where he’d grown up and gone to church. He was a hard worker, eager to please, and the patients had warmed to him quickly.
Now that Frank shouldered his share of the load, Luke had no reason to remain. They had no future. Not that she’d thought otherwise, yet deep down she realized a smidgen of hope had lived, was now dead.
Well, she had more important things to focus on—like what she carried in her handbag. Her pulse tripped in her chest. This letter would reveal if her dreams would be realized or dashed. She closed the door to her room and then dropped onto the bed and eased the packet out of her purse. The unnatural silence of the house did nothing to quiet her pounding heart. With trembling hands, she slid a fingernail under the flap, then hesitated, afraid of its contents.
Breathing a prayer for strength to live with the decision, whatever it was, she unfolded the paper, scanning the page, unable to absorb the exact words, searching for what she had to know.
Congratulations…. Pleased to inform you that you have been accepted…. Classes begin January fourth, 1899.
Tears flooded her eyes, and praises to God bubbled from her lips.
She’d been accepted. She’d been accepted. She’d been accepted.
Oh, Daddy, I’ll make you proud of me. I’ll make you so proud.
And her mother too, if from Heaven, Susannah Lawrence knew of her daughter’s accomplishment.
Not everyone would react well to the news, but she wouldn’t let Luke Jacobs dampen her joy. How could she value the opinion of a man who wanted a say in her life but had no intention of sharing it?
Leaving every one of the unfinished tasks behind, Mary rushed from the house. Something she wouldn’t ordinarily do, but today she couldn’t wait a minute longer to talk to her father. As she cut through the string of yards separating their houses, the crisp, sunny day never appeared brighter, more dazzling.
She found him at the kitchen table eating a sandwich before the start of afternoon office hours. The counters were piled high with unwashed dishes, but Mary didn’t care. “Daddy, I have some wonderful news.”
Henry Lawrence turned to her, already smiling at her excited tone. “What?”
“Central College of Physicians and Surgeons has accepted me. I’ll start classes in January.”
Her father’s expression turned puzzled. “Medical school?” Then as her words sank in, a wide smile took over his face, lit up his eyes. “Oh, that’s wonderful, kitten! If anyone should be a doctor, it’s you.”
His words soothed any qualms she held. Years before, Sam had scoffed at the idea. She suspected he’d felt threatened by her plan, like she’d leave him once she had M.D. after her name.
But her father—his approval bubbled up within her until she felt she could burst with joy. “Once I’m a doctor, I can take over the practice and keep your legacy alive in this town.”
He chuckled. “Knowing you, I’m sure you have a plan.”
“I do.” She grinned back at him. “Michael and Philip don’t need me as much as when they were small, and Carrie Foley will still look after Ben. I can take the train to the city and be back each evening in time to fix supper.” The words rattled out of her like a freight train picking up speed. “With the inheritance from Sam’s father and my savings, I have money for tuition.”
“My daughter the doctor.” Her father beamed. “It’s got a nice ring to it. I’ll help any way I can.” He rose and hugged her. “How did you manage to keep this a secret until now?”
“I filled out the application using Dr. Roberts’s recommendation.”
Henry’s jaw dropped. “That old codger kept it from me.”
“He knew I wanted to surprise you.” She grimaced. “To be honest, if I’d told you and didn’t get accepted, I couldn’t bear the idea of disappointing you.”
“You could never disappoint me. Besides, any medical school that didn’t accept you would be foolish. God gave you a talent for medicine.” His gaze softened, and he raised a palm to her cheek. “I’ll miss you around here, but you must seize this opportunity.”
“I’ll miss the practice too, Daddy, but once I graduate, I’ll be right back here.”
“Where you belong. Why, you practically grew up in this office. You’ve heard my concerns for the seriously ill, joined hands with your mother and me as we prayed for the sick and dying, and in the last several years you’ve assisted in the office. I wouldn’t be surprised if you taught the teaching staff a thing or two.” Grinning, he slipped an arm around her. “Let’s celebrate with dessert at the café.”
“What about your patients?”
“No one is scheduled this afternoon. Luke will be back from lunch soon. If someone comes in, he and Frank can easily handle it.”
Together they left her father’s quarters and ambled into the waiting room where Frank leaned over her desk, checking the appointment book. He looked up and smiled. “You two look mighty cheerful.”
“Mary’s been accepted into medical school. The same school you graduated from.”
“Imagine! Two doctors in the family.” Frank rounded the desk, enfolding her in his arms. “Congratulations, Mary.”
Frank’s embrace didn’t elicit one spark, one flutter. “Thank you,” Mary said, as the outer door opened.
Luke entered. His lips thinned. “Am I interrupting something?”
Meeting that stony, reproving gaze, Mary jerked away guiltily then scowled. Luke had no right to behave as if she’d done something wrong.
She wouldn’t tell him about her acceptance into medical school. She looked at Frank, hoping he’d get the message. “Not a thing. Daddy and I just need a break.”
Frank gave an imperceptible nod, his lips curling with pleasure at sharing a confidence.
Exactly as Mary hoped, so why did his smugness rub against her peace? Perhaps because Luke looked dejected, like a lost little boy. She hurried for her coat.
“Can you two manage without us this afternoon?” her father asked.
A question formed in Luke’s eyes as his gaze roamed their faces. “Sure.”
“Take your time.” Frank slapped Luke on the back. “We can handle whatever arises, right, Doctor?”
Luke’s features hardened into granite, but he nodded, his gaze sweeping over Mary. “Have fun.”
Outside her father turned to her. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell Luke your news.”
“He’ll disapprove.”
“Why?”
Unwilling to talk about Luke’s assertion that her sons would suffer if she pursued medicine, she shrugged. “Let’s not talk about Luke.”
Her father appeared to want to ask more but then gave her a smile. In the crisp fall air, they strolled toward the café, shuffling through the leaves, sharing the peace and quiet of the beautiful fall day.
“I remember when you were about five,” her father said, “I found you with my stethoscope hooked in your ears, listening to your dolly’s chest.”
Mary smiled.
“You said the doll had pleurisy. Guess you overheard that diagnosis at the supper table. But I knew you wanted to be a doctor when you tried to inoculate our cat.” He laughed. “Remember?”
“Oh, yes. It’s a wonder you didn’t regret taking me in.”
“Never.” Her father squeezed her hand. “You gave your mother and me everything. Everything we ever dreamed of.”
In her father’s shining eyes, filled with pride and love, she saw the reflection of God’s love for her. For all His children. No matter their failings. The exact same way
she felt about her sons. Her life was part of God’s plan. She smiled, barely able to contain her joy at the sudden certainty she’d never again feel like discarded trash.
They entered the restaurant, all but empty now that the rush of diners had passed. At the table near the window, Henry took her hands. “Darling daughter, you’re a very capable woman and will make a valuable contribution as a doctor. You already possess qualities that can’t be learned from a textbook.” He touched her cheek. “I’m very proud of you.”
“Oh, Daddy, thank you.”
“Your mother would be popping buttons.”
Elation surged through Mary, making her feel almost buoyant. “Do you really think so?”
“I know so. A few weeks before she died, your mom told me that no matter what happened with Sam, she knew you’d be all right because, and I’m quoting her, ‘Our girl is heaven-sent. The Good Lord will see her through.’”
And He had. God had walked with her through her mother’s death, through the difficult years with Sam and his passing. And He would help her now.
Fannie Whitehall, her curly auburn hair tucked into a scarf, arrived with menus. “You two playing hooky?”
“Indeed we are. We’re celebrating.” Henry nodded toward Mary. “Mary’s been accepted into medical school. She’s going to follow in her old man’s footsteps.”
“Congratulations!” Fannie sighed. “Wish I had something to celebrate…like James’s proposal.”
Her father chuckled. “Give it time. You and James are still wet behind the ears.”
They ordered coffee and cherry cobbler with ice cream. Fannie left to fetch it. From the crestfallen look on her face, her father hadn’t said what Fannie wanted to hear.
Mary leaned toward her father. “What if I don’t make it? Luke said the work is grueling.”
“I don’t doubt for a minute that you’ll graduate. Once you decide to do something, you’re unstoppable.”
Her father announced her news to everyone who entered. The congratulations and encouragement Mary received filled her heart to overflowing. Odd her father hadn’t told Luke. Maybe he sensed her reluctance. Not that Luke’s opinion mattered.
The afternoon flew by as they savored the pie and the camaraderie of having time together, just the two of them, with no patients or children requiring their attention.
“I’ve never tasted anything more delicious,” Mary said, finishing off her slice. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh, my. Michael and Philip will be home soon.”
“Best get a move on.” Her father opened his wallet. “Since you’re running late, I’ll pick up Ben at the Foleys’. I could use the exercise.”
Outside the café, Mary and her father parted. She’d gotten as far as the kitchen and laid her handbag on the table when the door opened and banged close. Her sons plodded into the room, heads drooping, mouths turned down, looking like they’d lost their best friend.
“Hi,” Philip said.
Mary caught a glimpse of Michael’s face. She gasped at the cut above her son’s left eye, fast turning purple underneath, and the red bruise on his cheek. “What happened?”
His gaze shifted away. “I’m okay. I tripped playing Red Rover.”
“Come over to the sink.” Mary soaped a dishcloth and gently cleaned then rinsed the cut. On her tiptoes, she retrieved the iodine she kept on the top shelf of the cabinet, then dabbed it on Michael’s injury. He sucked in his breath but didn’t whimper.
Philip tugged at her skirt. “He didn’t cry, Mom.”
“You saw what happened?”
Philip shook his head. “Michael told me he didn’t cry. I would’ve.”
“It’s okay to cry,” Mary said, studying her older son.
Michael’s eyes flooded. “Men don’t cry.”
“You’re a boy, not a man.” Recalling holding her weeping husband in her arms the night he told her about his childhood of abuse, Mary’s throat tightened. “And men do cry.”
Something about Michael’s injuries didn’t add up to a simple fall in the school yard.
“Grandpa should be bringing Ben home soon. Philip, why don’t you go outside to play? Wear a coat. The temperature is dropping.”
Glad for the opportunity to talk to Michael alone, Mary waited until the door closed, and then put an arm around her son’s shoulders. “I’m surprised your teacher didn’t clean this.”
“I guess she didn’t notice.”
“Didn’t notice?” Mary returned the iodine to its place then knelt in front of her son, taking his hands in hers. “Something tells me this cut didn’t come from a fall. Maybe didn’t even occur at school.” She peered into his green eyes, so like her own. “What really happened?”
A sob tore from his throat. “I got into a fight.”
The news thudded to Mary’s stomach. “With who?”
“Jimmy Augsburger.”
“Jimmy’s one of your best friends.”
Michael’s eyes sparked. “Not anymore.”
“What did you fight about?”
Pulling his hands away, Michael focused on a spot on the floor. “Nothing.”
“You’re telling me you and your best friend got into a fight for no reason. That doesn’t make sense.”
He shrugged.
“I want an answer.”
“He made me mad.”
“You started the fight?”
Nodding, his gaze once again sought the floorboards. What was he hiding?
“Oh, Michael, you’re not a fighter. Tell me what made you angry enough to pick a fight with your best friend.”
“I can’t.”
“Well, you’d better, young man, because if you don’t, you’ll be spending the rest of the day in your room.”
“That’s fair.” Her firstborn shuffled away, his slender shoulders drooping as if he carried the weight of their entire family on his back.
Michael always argued about punishments, and now he took this one without a quarrel? Something was terribly wrong. Should she talk to Mrs. Augsburger? Would she be so angry with Michael that a discussion might escalate the trouble between their sons?
Mary found fighting repulsive. Perhaps she made too much of this. Michael wasn’t violent, not even rough-and-tumble like Philip, who loved to run and romp like an overgrown puppy. Her older, studious son enjoyed reading, playing checkers, and fishing. Quiet pastimes.
Why would he attack his best friend?
Oh, if only Sam were here. Her shoulders sagged. If he were, Sam would either be working at the factory or drunk. No help at all.
God, give me wisdom. Help me know what to do.
Luke’s words ricocheted through her mind: Michael is trying to be the man of the house, too big a job for a ten-year-old boy. Did this fight have something to do with protecting his family? Had Jimmy said something to wound Michael, something about his family, compelling him to uphold their reputation? Or his father’s good name? Her stomach clenched.
Sam died when Michael was eight. She’d taken every precaution to ensure the boys saw their father sober. Not all that hard to do. By the time Sam came home from the saloon, his sons had been asleep for hours. Amazingly, most mornings Sam dressed and headed to work with no sign of a hangover.
She’d hidden Sam’s drinking, making excuses for his absences from the boys’ activities at school or church. Except for her parents, no one caught on—or so she believed.
The door opened, and Ben and Philip raced in ahead of her father. “Philip said Michael was in a fight,” Henry said.
“Yes, he’s in his room. I tried talking to him. He’s not telling me everything.”
“Why don’t I take the boys to the café for a snack and drop them back here afterward?”
“Oh, Daddy, that would be a big help.”
Mary gave Ben and Philip a kiss, then stood in the doorway, watching them turn the corner and head uptown. The sun lowered in the west, matching the sinking in her heart. Whatever had happened this afternoon, she co
uldn’t ignore the situation.
Please, God, give me the words so I can help Michael handle whatever transpired between him and Jimmy.
She rapped on the boys’ bedroom door and then opened it. Michael lay curled on the bed with his back to her. She sat on the edge of the mattress and ran her fingers through his thick, wavy hair, but her son didn’t acknowledge her presence.
“I’m sorry, Michael. I shouldn’t have sent you to your room. I know you’d never pick a fight unless you felt you had a very good reason.”
Her son didn’t move a muscle, didn’t indicate he’d heard her. The scent of the outdoors clung to his rumpled clothes. The rigid set of his shoulders kept her from pulling him to her, encircling him in the comfort of her arms.
“We need to talk. Please, sit up and look at me.”
Michael hesitated but did as she’d asked, sitting cross-legged on the bed. The bruises on his face tore at her. She had to get to the bottom of this, but the look on his face told her Michael wouldn’t confide in her.
“I think you’re protecting me from something.” She glimpsed the tiniest crack of affirmation in her son’s stony face. “We’re a family, Michael. Families discuss their problems.”
Her throat closed at her self-deceit. As the years passed, she and Sam stopped talking about his drinking, about the distance it put between them, as if they feared where that conversation might lead…to the dissolution of the sham of their marriage.
Michael looked away. “You can’t do anything.”
Years ago, on the school playground, kids had dubbed her “Mary, the basket baby,” teasing her for being a throwaway child. She hadn’t told her parents. Not because they couldn’t have done anything but because they would’ve tried, and somehow she’d reasoned in the way of a child they’d have made the situation worse.
“Perhaps not, but I’ll feel better once I understand why you’d pick a fight. That worries me.”
“I had a reason, Mom, a good reason.” He folded his arms across his belly.