American Anthem

by BJ Hoff

  She caught herself resisting the urge to study him, in part because his very presence disturbed her. In addition, she feared that by observing him too closely, she might be guilty of taking advantage of his blindness.

  Instead, she let her gaze wander aimlessly around the room, curious as to whether anything of Deirdre’s influence might remain. Given her sister’s fondness for the flamboyant, however, she saw nothing in the quiet charm of her surroundings that hinted of Deirdre’s taste.

  When she finally turned her attention back to Michael Emmanuel, she was again struck by the sense of separateness that seemed to hover about him. With his dark head bent low, a stoneware mug of steaming coffee cradled in both hands, he seemed almost removed from his surroundings, as though a kind of invisible barrier set him apart.

  Susanna knew little about the man, only what Deirdre had written of him. His earlier mention of his Irish grandparents reminded her that he was indeed of mixed parentage: his mother had been Irish; his father, Italian. But in his appearance, as in his speech, the Mediterranean had clearly vanquished the Celt. There was no visible trace of the Irish in the arrogant Roman nose, the generous mouth, the darkly bearded face and dusky complexion.

  Like his accent, and despite his claim of being “American now,” the man was clearly Tuscan through and through.

  He was, as Susanna had already observed, a very large man. She had been prepared for this, of course. In the first wild throes of her infatuation, Deirdre had spared no detail when she wrote of her new swain’s “great stature,” the “magnificent sweep of his shoulders,” his “powerful and manly bearing.”

  In truth, Susanna, then still in her teens, had paid her sister’s ravings little heed. Deirdre had always tended to be somewhat wild-eyed about her romances, of which there had been many. At the time, there had seemed no reason to believe that Michael Emmanuel’s appeal would last any longer than that of his predecessors.

  But Deirdre had surprised everyone by marrying her Italian suitor, supposedly at his insistence. Watching him now, Susanna found herself vaguely puzzled that this man had managed to capture her older sister’s affection so completely, and in such a brief time.

  Her confusion had little to do with his blindness, although the Deirdre she remembered surely would have found such an affliction disturbing, to say the least. Of course, he had not been blind when they married, and to be fair, Susanna had to concede that he did possess a certain dark handsomeness. Even now, in casual attire and with a somewhat rumpled appearance, he bore a kind of unstudied elegance that, combined with the dazzle and allure celebrity had always held for Deirdre, might easily have charmed her sister, especially in the beginning.

  Still, he did not seem at all the type of man Deirdre would have ordinarily fallen for, certainly not the kind of man Susanna would have expected her to marry. Deirdre had always favored the slender, golden-haired, “aristocratic” types—the bloodless English squire sort of fellow. Indeed, most of her sister’s beaus had been predictably alike: slim, fair-haired, pretentious—and, more often than not, drearily self-important.

  Michael Emmanuel, however, was not only a startling physical contrast to the others, but had so far displayed none of the dash and debonair fussiness Deirdre had seemed to find so attractive. To the contrary, he appeared to be a solid, earthy type of man: quiet, self-contained, and without the “glitter” Susanna would have associated with a luminary of the music world.

  Of course, she had met the man less than an hour ago. Appearances could be deceiving.

  Deirdre had been deceived. And she had paid for it dearly. For no apparent reason, Susanna found herself remembering the early weeks when Michael Emmanuel had been, in Deirdre’s words, “pursuing” her. It seemed that during that same time, an aspiring concert pianist had also caught her sister’s fancy. Soon, however, all mention of the pianist was forgotten, and no other name but that of Michael Emmanuel filled Deirdre’s letters. Unexpectedly came the image of a younger, laughing Deirdre, framed between two besotted suitors as they made their way down a dusty road to a penny fair. The truth was that Deirdre—at least in her adolescent years—had always loved being the center of attention. By her own admission she had thrived on the headiness, the feeling of power, that the pursuit by more than one beau seemed to give her.

  And she had never hesitated to play one against the other as it suited her purposes.

  Once again Susanna was assaulted by a sense of disloyalty, the same sense she had felt upon meeting Rosa Navaro. She forcibly shook off the unpleasant memory of her sister’s youthful coquetry, reminding herself that she had never really known Deirdre as a mature woman, after all. Surely she would have changed a great deal since their final parting years before.

  Still, Susanna couldn’t completely dismiss the fact that Deirdre had written of her attraction to another man in the early days of her courtship with Michael Emmanuel. Perhaps, had her sister chosen differently, she might have found happiness.

  She might even still be alive.

  Michael had heard the reserve, the edge, in her voice almost from the beginning.

  The girl resented him; that much was clear. Perhaps her resentment shouldn’t baffle him. He had no way of knowing, after all, what Deirdre might have written to her younger sister over the years. Although she always insisted that she and Susanna were too far apart in age and too different in nature to be close, Michael knew many letters had been posted to Ireland throughout the months preceding Deirdre’s death.

  He drew a long breath. She was here—that was all that mattered for now. She had come, and he was convinced that Caterina would benefit greatly from the presence of a younger woman in her life, especially given the fact that Susanna was her aunt by blood.

  There was no doubting Moira Dempsey’s love for the child, but her advancing years and her household duties made it impossible for her to provide Caterina with the attention and understanding she would need in the years ahead.

  Still, Susanna was very young. More than once Michael had wondered if at twenty-three she might not be too young for what would be required of her. She was little more than a girl herself. Yet he was asking her not only to become a member of their family, but to assume a highly responsible role as Caterina’s companion and governess.

  When he had first learned of Susanna’s circumstances, it had seemed a perfect arrangement. Susanna was in need of a home, and Caterina, he believed, was in need of her aunt. He had prayed long and hard over the decision, and at the time he believed God’s direction to be clearly given. Now that his plan had actually been set in motion, however, he was faced with the enormity of his decision. He could only hope he had not made a terrible mistake.

  He took encouragement from the warmth he had heard in her tone toward Caterina—and in the firmness and steadiness he sensed, despite her youth and despite the fact that she must be overwhelmed and perhaps even a little frightened by her new circumstances. With that in mind, he determined he must be very careful in his behavior toward her. Still, there were things that needed to be discussed, matters to be explained and settled.

  Before he had a chance to say anything, however, she took him off guard with a declaration of her own.

  “I’m very anxious to hear about Deirdre,” she said in a voice that made it clear she would not be denied. “I would like you to tell me how my sister died. And why.”

  Michael drew in a long breath. He had expected this, but not so soon, and not with such directness.

  Very carefully, he set his coffee mug on the table. How much should he tell her? How much could he tell her, about the tragedy of her sister’s death—and the travesty of his marriage?

  8

  QUESTIONS

  The hope of Truth grows stronger, day by day…

  JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

  Susanna could see him struggling for words. He set his cup down on the table, raked a hand through his unruly black hair—which was glazed with quite a lot of silver, she now noticed for the first
time—and gripped his knees with both hands as he faced the cold fireplace.

  “I did write to you of the accident—”

  “You did,” Susanna interrupted. “But—”

  “The storm, the washed-out road—”

  “Yes, but I need to know more than what you told me in your letters,” she broke in again. “There must be more. You didn’t actually—explain.”

  She clenched her hands even more tightly, ignoring the cup of tea on the table beside her. “I’ve yet to understand what Deirdre was doing on the road in such a terrible storm—and in the middle of the night.”

  Other than a slight clenching of his jaw, he gave no visible sign that he’d heard her, much less any indication that he intended to elaborate further.

  “Surely you knew I would have questions,” Susanna pressed. He turned his face slightly toward her.

  “Of course,” he said quietly. “But I think this is not the time that I should answer those questions. After you are rested and have had an opportunity to become more settled with us, perhaps then, we will talk.”

  Suspicion reared in Susanna, but she managed to check the retort that sprang to her lips. Clearly, he meant to put her off if she allowed it.

  But why?

  “Mr. Emmanuel—”

  “Michael,” he said with a slight turn of his hand.

  “Michael,” Susanna said tightly. “I understand that it might be difficult for you to discuss this, but please try to imagine what it’s been like for me. I had not seen my sister for years. When she died, I was an ocean removed. There was no chance to say good-bye. I couldn’t even attend the burial.” She caught a breath, then added, “I need to know how she died, what happened.”

  His features registered no change of emotion, except for a slight tightening about his mouth. “Sì, you are right that it is difficult for me to speak of this. And I know it must have been most painful for you, as well, to lose your sister when you are so far away. As for your questions, naturally I understand your need to know, but you must see that this is not the best time for us to discuss these things. I would prefer that we wait, please.”

  He would prefer—

  Again, Susanna fought back an angry response. A confrontation was hardly the best way to begin her association with this man. Even though Deirdre had been gone for over a year now, and although he displayed no noticeable signs of grief, she had to allow for the possibility that he might still be in mourning.

  But what about her grief? Ever since she’d made her decision to come to America, only her determination to finally learn the truth about Deirdre’s death had eclipsed her eagerness to become a part of Caterina’s life.

  Now she was here. After one brief meeting with Caterina, she knew the child would easily win her heart. But it was blazingly evident that she would learn nothing more about the accident in which her sister had died until Michael Emmanuel was good and ready to tell her.

  So, then—apparently he was just what Deirdre had made him out to be, an obstinate, difficult man. Bent on having his own way. Stubborn and unyielding.

  Her earlier exhaustion suddenly renewed itself, and Susanna had to admit that even if she were so foolhardy as to instigate a skirmish with her daunting brother-in-law on her first day at Bantry Hill, she was far too depleted to carry it off. There would be time enough. He couldn’t avoid her questions forever; she wouldn’t allow it.

  Sooner or later she would compel him to tell her everything. For the moment, however, perhaps he was right. Perhaps it would be best to have that discussion after she had rested and could think more clearly.

  Besides, there was another subject waiting to be raised. “Very well,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “I can wait. For now, perhaps we should discuss my position here, exactly what will be expected of me.”

  She could actually see him relax a little as he lifted his hands from his knees and flexed his fingers, then turned toward her. “I would hope, Susanna, that you will not think of this as a position. It is as I told you: I want you to consider this your home, and be a part of our family. We want very much that you should be happy here.”

  “I appreciate that,” Susanna said. “But in our correspondence, we agreed that I would assume certain responsibilities with Caterina. Which, of course, I’m only too happy to do,” she added quickly.

  He lifted one hand in a casual gesture. Not for the first time, Susanna noticed his hands. Large as they were, there was nothing clumsy or coarse in their appearance; to the contrary, they conveyed an unexpected grace, a quality of refinement that somehow caused one to follow every gesture, every movement, no matter how slight.

  She glanced quickly away.

  “What I am hoping,” he went on, “is that you will give Cati your companionship, your affection,” he said. “You indicated that you might be willing to instruct her as well, to act as her governess if I wanted.”

  Susanna nodded, then remembered his blindness. “I should be more than willing to teach Caterina, if you like. I served as governess to the Maher children for a time, after the death of our parents—”

  “Your father died only a few weeks after your mother,” he put in. “That must have been most difficult for you.”

  Susanna’s throat tightened at the memory of her parents. “Difficult, yes, but not all that much of a shock,” she said softly. “They were very close, my parents. Once my mother was gone, my father seemed to fade almost overnight. He had been ill with his heart for a long time as it was. Without her, he simply—gave up.”

  Michael Emmanuel leaned toward her a little more. “To lose a parent is a great grief. I still remember the pain of losing my mother.”

  Susanna thought it strange that he would refer to his pain at the loss of his mother but not his wife. Still, they had been speaking of her parents, so perhaps she was making something of nothing.

  Watching him, she was caught by the contrasts in his face. He looked younger than she’d expected, and in spite of the strength and ruggedness of his features, she thought she could detect faint touches of humor about his mouth. True, the unyielding set of his jaw attested to the stubbornness she had glimpsed earlier, but at the same time, her long-held notion of him as a hard, unkind man wavered slightly under the unexpected air of courtesy and even gentleness in his demeanor.

  She was still unnerved by the dark glasses, the barrier they seemed to erect, the way they distanced him, precluding so much as a glimpse into his thoughts or emotions. It would be extremely difficult to gauge this man’s feelings, unless he chose to reveal them. Either his sightless, unopened eyes or else the dark glasses would serve as closed shutters to his soul.

  She realized with a start that he had apparently asked her a question.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed that he might have caught her studying him so intently.

  “Your music,” he repeated. “I understand you are an accomplished pianist and organist.”

  “Not all that accomplished. Competent, perhaps.” The fact was, Susanna loved both instruments with a passion, but in the face of Michael Emmanuel’s genius, she knew whatever talent she possessed would surely shrink and seem lackluster, at best.

  He smiled a little. “Well, please know that you are most welcome to use the piano in the music room. You will also find an adequate spinet in Caterina’s playroom. She is trying to learn, so perhaps you will work with her a little?”

  “Yes, I’d enjoy that.” Susanna hesitated, feeling the need to reassure him as to her capability. “Just so you’ll know, Mr.—Michael—I am a fairly experienced teacher. In both piano and organ, in addition to classroom curriculum. I would have tried to support myself with my teaching, but our community was poor, you see, and there was simply no interest or demand for an instructor. I could have gone to Dublin, of course, but when you wrote about Caterina—”

  She suddenly realized she was rambling and broke off, leaving the rest unspoken.

  “I’m sure it will be our good fortune t
hat you chose to come here, Susanna.” He paused. “You seem to have had the benefit of an excellent education. Yet Deirdre—” He stopped, as if the name of his deceased wife threatened to curb his tongue. “Deirdre admitted to little formal schooling, other than her music.”

  “That was her choice,” Susanna said. Then, anxious that she not seem to speak ill of her sister, she hurried to explain. “We had sponsors—the Mahers—who were quite wealthy Anglo-Irish. They took an interest in us because of their fondness for our parents. Without them, any formal education would have been impossible. They offered Deirdre the same opportunities as they did me, but she chose to concentrate only on her singing.”

  “But you went further.”

  “Yes. I had a desire to teach. But even so, music was always very important to me.”

  Susanna cringed. She must sound like a mawkish schoolgirl.

  But Michael Emmanuel merely smiled and gave a slight nod. “I think you will find Caterina to be very much like you in that respect.” He paused. “So, tell me, do you also share…your sister’s love of singing?”

  “I—no. Deirdre had all the vocal talent in the family.” Actually, Susanna found much joy in singing, as well as in playing the instruments. But she had always known her vocal talent to be smaller than Deirdre’s, so she confined her singing to those times when she was completely alone and would not be compared to her sister.

  In truth, it seemed that the balance scales had always tipped heavily to Deirdre’s benefit, not only in terms of musical ability, but in appearance as well. Where Deirdre had been petite but buxom, Susanna was tall and too slender by far. Her sister had possessed the dramatic, attention-getting features and engaging personality most men could not resist. As for Susanna, boys her own age had usually treated her like a chum—or, worse still, like a sister—while older, more attractive men invariably seemed to shy away from her.