by BJ Hoff
Her eyes opened, and for a moment she seemed confused. “Evan?” Her hand went to her throat. “Why are you—” She broke off, glancing over at the baby and Johanna. “What time is it?”
Evan withdrew his hand from hers, fished in his vest pocket, and snapped open his watch. “N-nearly six.” He bent to kiss her, and when he drew back he thought her eyes looked slightly swollen. “Nora? Are you all right?”
“Six?” Tossing the quilt off her legs, she scrambled up from the bed. Evan saw her sway on her feet and rose to steady her. “Nora! What is it? Are you ill?”
“I’m not,” she insisted, shaking her head. “I just got up too quickly, is all. I can’t think what came over me, to sleep so long, and in the middle of the day!”
“You were up with Teddy late in the n-night,” Evan reminded her. “I’m glad you m-managed a rest.” Still holding on to her arm, he continued to study her. “Are you quite certain you’re all right?”
She nodded, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “You didn’t know you married such a slugabed, I’m sure.” Starting for the crib, she paused long enough to touch Johanna’s hair. “And weren’t you good, to watch over Teddy while I slept, alannah.”
Taking up the baby, she shot Evan a look of dismay. “I haven’t even started the supper yet! Oh, Evan, I’m so sorry, and you home from working all day—”
“Nora, will you stop fussing!” Going to take the baby from her, he was struck by how exhausted she appeared, even though she had just awakened. Not for the first time, he wished they could afford some extra domestic help for her, at least until Teddy was older. She was simply not regaining her strength as she should.
“I’m sure we’ll be n-none the worse for a late meal now and then,” he said firmly, adding, “You go along and get things started. I’ll entertain Teddy.”
Still she hesitated. “He needs changing…”
“Yes, I can see that,” Evan said dryly, still smiling. “Johanna can help m-me.”
He recognized the brief look of uncertainty that passed over Nora’s features as she left the room. Johanna’s continued resistance to handling the baby was a concern and a disappointment to them both. Although the girl was as eager as ever to help Nora with anything else about the house, she stopped short at direct contact with little Teddy. She would watch over him in his crib, would stand nearby and assist with changing or dressing, but she simply refused to pick him up or handle him in any way.
It was obvious that she was determined not to form any sort of real attachment to the newest member of the household. Yet, Evan had seen the longing in her face when she thought no one was looking—an unmistakable desire to hold the baby.
He thought he understood, and it grieved him no end. Johanna was still blaming herself for Little Tom’s death. The entire family had done their utmost to convince the girl she was not at fault, that she must not hold herself responsible for what had been, in fact, a tragic accident.
But Johanna had borne the responsibility of looking after her little brother for so long that Evan suspected she would have held herself accountable, whatever the circumstances of Tom’s death had been. Months had passed, but the girl was obviously still grieving for her baby brother, still condemning herself for his death.
Her attitude toward Teddy as much as confirmed it. Evan wondered if this…this distancing of herself from the baby might not be her way, at least for now, of dealing with her feelings of loss and guilt.
It struck him that she might also be afraid to take care of Teddy. Perhaps she feared another accident, in which, at least to her way of reasoning, she would again be to blame. The girl had lost her entire family, after all. Wasn’t it understandable that she might temporarily withdraw from a close relationship with another child, perhaps as a way of protecting herself from still even loss?
Even Daniel, to whom Johanna had always been able to turn when confused or troubled, no longer seemed able to comfort her. It was as if she had closed the door on herself and refused to open it to anyone.
He was keenly aware of Johanna’s quiet presence beside him as he clumsily attempted to change the baby with his one hand. She moved to help, but carefully avoided Teddy’s wide-eyed scrutiny.
For a moment, a wave of pity for the girl almost overwhelmed Evan. She was little more than a child herself, twelve years old, living in a silent world where grief and guilt could grow unchecked. He could not imagine the crushing pain in her troubled heart, could not help but wonder how long it might be before that young heart broke beneath the enormous burden she was trying to carry alone.
Johanna tried not to look directly at Teddy as she helped Uncle Evan with the changing. Even though the baby seemed intent on staring up at her and smiling, she pretended not to notice. And when her hands ached to reach for him and bring him close against her heart, she simply clenched them that much tighter.
She didn’t understand the rush of warmth that coursed through her every time the baby waved his tiny fists in her direction, and she did her utmost to ignore it. But sometimes…like now…when he lay staring up at her in seeming fascination, the desire to pick him up was almost more than she could bear.
She knew she was disappointing Aunt Nora and Uncle Evan by refusing to hold their new baby. She had seen the looks that passed between them when they thought she didn’t notice.
It was just that they didn’t understand. How could they? They had not been there that day when Little Tom was carried from the pond, his wee body limp and lifeless. How could they possibly understand what she had felt at that moment…what she had been feeling ever since?
It had been her fault, her fault entirely. Had she not grown so impatient with him, lost track of time, forgotten him—oh, dear Jesus, forgive her—she had forgotten him, her own little brother!
Didn’t they realize why she could not care for Teddy? Didn’t they know that something awful might happen again? And just see how they loved him! They had forgiven her for Little Tom’s death—he had not been their own, after all—but, sure, they would never forgive her if anything should happen to their Teddy! Just as she could never forgive herself for not having saved Little Tom.
This, then, would be her penance for neglecting her own brother—and a means of making sure she could never hurt the new baby boy. She would not allow herself to become fond of him or attached to him, not at all.
It was a terrible fierce hurt, when she wanted so much to be his big sister. It would be a fine thing to have a little brother to play with and look after again.
Perhaps if she accepted her penance and tried her utmost to be entirely responsible from now on, the Lord Jesus would forgive her. Perhaps she would even come to forgive herself, and eventually, to trust herself with little Teddy.
Of course, by then Teddy might no longer need—or want—a big sister.
Late that evening, Sergeant Denny Price was standing at the station desk, scanning a number of police reports for the preceding week when he came across the name Dempsey, B. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t think why. He went on reading, then stopped. His eyes went back up the page to rest on the name and the statistics that followed:
Dempsey, B., longshoreman. Accidental death from head injury while loading freight.
Denny frowned over the entry, suddenly remembering the Irish girl he had come upon in the Bowery some months back, the feisty one who had been looking for her friend. Hadn’t the friend’s name been Dempsey?
Sure, that was it. Bobby Dempsey. The girl had fairly begged Denny to try to find this Dempsey fellow, to let him know where she would be staying. And he had asked after the man during the next day or two. When he learned nothing, however, it had slipped his mind shortly thereafter.
More than likely, this was the fellow. Too bad. The lass had looked as if she could use a friend.
What had she called herself? He rubbed his chin, searching his memory. O’Shea, he thought. Aye, that was it: Quinn O’Shea.
Poor lass. Whoever this Dempsey
character had been, the girl had called him her friend. Denny hoped by now Quinn O’Shea had found herself another friend, for wasn’t it hard enough as it was, being Irish and strange to America, without having to go it alone? And herself such a wee thing, at that.
Perhaps he ought to look her up, just so she’d know. But she wouldn’t likely be at the Shelter after all this time, and those places seldom kept account of anyone’s whereabouts once they’d gone. Still, next time he was in the Bowery, perhaps he would just stop by and inquire.
24
To Face the Dragon
Consumption has no pity
For blue eyes and golden hair.
RICHARD D’ALTON WILLIAMS (1822-1862)
Daniel Kavanagh swallowed hard, looking on in misery at the exchange taking place between Dr. Grafton and Elizabeth Ward, a widow and young mother who was slowly dying of consumption.
At one time, Mrs. Ward had obviously been quite beautiful, before the killing disease had so mercilessly ravaged that beauty. She had delicate, perfectly balanced features, large blue eyes, and a full cascade of dark blond hair. There was a way about the woman that spoke of a genteel, sensitive nature. But her body was now wasted, her skin dry and flushed with fever, and her refined voice often thin and strained.
Mrs. Ward no longer came to the mission clinic on a regular basis. These days her visits were sporadic. Usually she brought her baby daughter with her, but today she had left the child with a neighbor. “I have a responsibility to little Amanda that depends upon your answer to my question,” she had told Dr. Grafton. “I would not tax your kindness to the extreme, Doctor, for you have been most generous already with your concern and your time. But I simply must have an idea from you as to how long I may expect to live so that I can make arrangements for my little girl in advance of the end.”
Even Dr. Grafton, who, according to his own admission, had seen “about all there is to see of sorrow in this city of broken hearts,” was obviously shaken by the woman’s directness.
Daniel had been at the clinic the day Elizabeth Ward calmly related her background to Dr. Grafton. The daughter of a wealthy English barrister and his wife, she had left her home and family to wed an Irish stable hand employed on the estate. Her mother was deceased by then, and her father, still living, had disowned her entirely. Daniel still remembered the look in her eyes that day when she told Dr. Grafton, “I am as good as dead to my father.”
Apparently the husband had succumbed to typhus only weeks after their arrival in America, and not long after that, their child—now thirteen months old—had been born. The young widow had been forced to take in piecework at their flat, earning not nearly enough to pay the rent and buy food as well. Charity from one of the Mulberry Street missions helped them survive, but barely.
By then the young mother was consumptive and had been failing steadily ever since. To Daniel, she seemed a very brave woman who appeared to be reconciled to her coming death, although greatly concerned for her child’s future.
“Surely if you write to your father,” Dr. Grafton was saying to her now, “he will relent. From your own account, little Amanda is his only grandchild.”
Looking dangerously fragile and extremely ill, Mrs. Ward sat without moving on a straight wooden chair. “Yes,” she said, nodding sadly, “that’s true. And I have written to my father, Doctor—many times, in fact—but he has never once answered my letters. My father isn’t a heartless man, Dr. Grafton, not really. But he is a very stubborn man, and I disappointed his hopes for me.”
The thought seemed to distress her, and the doctor moved to put a gentle hand to her shoulder. “Is there any way I can help you, Mrs. Ward? Anything I can do?”
As Daniel watched, the young widow drew a deep breath, as if to calm herself. “You can tell me the truth, Doctor. Please. I must know how long.”
Dr. Grafton studied her for a moment, then nodded and straightened. “You understand, of course, that all I can do is tell you what I think. There’s no way in the world to be exact.”
By now, Daniel had come to know his employer for a tenderhearted, compassionate man, and he had no doubt that this was extremely difficult for him.
When Dr. Grafton finally spoke again, his tone was low and almost apologetic. “In my estimation…you can expect a few weeks. Perhaps as long as two months.” He paused, and Daniel sensed the conflict taking place inside the man. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ward. I truly am.”
The young widow appeared remarkably serene in the face of such an appalling pronouncement. She raised her head and even managed a faint smile. “Thank you, Doctor. I had to know. And now, I must ask you for one more kindness, in addition to those you’ve already extended to me.”
Dr. Grafton inclined his head. “You’ve only to ask, my dear.”
“As I told you, I’ve had no reply—not a single one—to my letters. I do believe, however, that if my father were to receive a message in a strange hand, with a respectable address from a professional like yourself, he might not be so quick to disregard it. I was wondering if you’d mind terribly…if you would write to him…just a brief note to explain my circumstances and tell him about Amanda. Ask him if—” She broke off, covering her face with her hands. For the first time, she seemed overwhelmed by the hopelessness of her situation.
Daniel thought she would break down entirely. But after a moment, she looked up and, with visible force of will, went on with her request. “Ask him if he would consider taking Amanda in and raising her. Not because of me, I wouldn’t expect that. He will never forgive me for the way I hurt him. But she is his only grandchild—my brother is unmarried—and I know he would grow to love Amanda in no time at all if he would only make the effort. Would you do that for me, please, Dr. Grafton?”
“Of course I will,” the doctor replied quietly. “I’ll make a note of the address before you leave and write to him this very night.”
After Mrs. Ward had gone, Daniel and Dr. Grafton stood looking at each other, neither speaking for a long time. Finally, the doctor let out a weary sigh. “She is quite a courageous young woman, isn’t she? These things defy all understanding. I must confess that a patient like Elizabeth Ward tests my faith to the extreme.”
Daniel looked at him in surprise. The physician rarely ventured comments of a personal nature.
For a while they worked in silence, collecting instruments and supplies, then packing them in the doctor’s medical case.
“It strikes me,” Dr. Grafton finally said, “that it must take a supreme act of grace on God’s part to keep a doctor from becoming either mortally cynical or altogether mad. The peculiar thing is that my faith in Infinite goodness seems to have grown in direct proportion to the tragic cases I’ve encountered over the years.”
Daniel found himself intensely interested in the doctor’s words. He struggled almost daily with anger and unanswered questions about Little Tom’s accident. For some reason, he had found this latest sorrow even more difficult to accept than the tragic deaths in his own family.
He wondered if it wasn’t partly because of Johanna. Little Tom’s death had devastated her, and she seemed as sad and as lost today as when it happened. Everything was so much harder for Johanna, living in her silent world, so out of touch with others. Her ongoing grief was a torturous thing to watch, and somehow seemed to fuel Daniel’s own frustration.
He looked up to find Dr. Grafton watching him. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, sir.”
The doctor closed his medical case, then looked up. “I suppose it has to do with the idea that a man’s faith grows only as it’s stretched. Some would say that faith untried is no faith at all.” He paused, regarding Daniel with a thoughtful look. “It’s been a while since we’ve talked about your plans for medicine, son. Are you still committed to becoming a doctor?”
Daniel frowned. “I thought I was. In truth, I never hoped to do anything else. But…I confess I’m no longer certain. I can’t make plans anyway, not for a time. Not with things
as they are at home. They need me there for now.”
Dr. Grafton nodded. “The thing is, Daniel, you really need to be thinking of going on to university soon. I’ve taught you just about everything I know.”
Daniel didn’t meet his eyes. “It will have to wait. Besides…I…I’m just not sure that I really want to spend my life dealing with tragedy.”
Again the doctor gave a nod. “Certainly I’d be the last to pretend it’s an easy life. Yet, for some of us, it’s the only life. And you know, Daniel, for all the tragedy and disappointments, it’s also a fulfilling life.” He stopped, and for a moment his thoughts seemed to drift elsewhere.
Daniel hesitated, then blurted out, “Would you do it again, sir? If you were to start all over, would you become a doctor again?”
Dr. Grafton looked at him with surprise. “Why, yes, Daniel, I would. I definitely would.” He paused, then went on. “Although there was a time, early in my practice, when I very nearly gave it all up.”
At Daniel’s look of astonishment, the doctor nodded, his expression turning pensive. “I lost half a dozen patients in the first year, three of them children under twelve, to deadly diseases and one horrifying accident. I thought I simply could not go on, pretending to be some sort of a ‘healer’ when in fact I felt more like a charlatan every day! All the schooling, all the training—what was it worth when it came right down to it? I couldn’t even save a little girl from scarlet fever—three years old, and she died of complications. I believe I would have given up had it not been for a certain young woman—about the age of Elizabeth Ward.”
Going to the window, now veiled with darkness, the doctor stood staring out as he continued his story. He spoke quietly, with a kind of fond remembrance, almost as if Daniel were no longer in the room. “Her name was Felicia. She was one of those golden young women who seem to bring light into any room they enter. She was lovely and bright and sunny-natured—a small woman, but one of monumental faith. Everyone who knew her adored her, with good reason.