American Anthem

by BJ Hoff

  When he prayed for his children, he invariably found it harder to surrender Nell Grace to the good Lord’s care than he did the others. It seemed that every plea for her safekeeping was accompanied by a wrenching anxiety, almost as if he must convince even the Almighty that the girl had greater need of God’s protection than did the other, sturdier MacGovern offspring.

  He didn’t like to think what this said about his faith. Sure, Vangie would call him to task for his weak-kneed prayers. But then Vangie would not understand about doubting, especially about doubting their Lord.

  All these thoughts coursed through him as he made his way across the room to his daughter. Her shadowed eyes betrayed her own fears and the reason she had been sent, and Conn chided himself. This night it was not Nell Grace who most needed the sheltering arms of their loving God.

  Renny Magee watched MacGovern and Nell Grace leave the room. She knew at once why the girl had come for him, but forced herself to turn back to the children long enough to pull a comical face and make a hasty bow. Then she sped from the room.

  As she plowed along the dark corridor that led to the bunks, it occurred to Renny that up until recently, any task she might have done for one of the MacGoverns, even Vangie, as the missus insisted she call her, would have been done with the thought of increasing her standing with MacGovern himself.

  That was no longer the case. Now she did what was asked of her because of her feelings for them all. Unfamiliar feelings to which she could not give a name, but which seemed to be growing stronger—and more bewildering—with each day passing.

  She had never known folks like the MacGoverns. These were people who seemed to actually want to be together, as if they found each other’s company grand fun. They talked a lot and laughed a lot—and they seemed to hug a lot as well. Even when they scrapped—which the twins did with regularity—any one of them would defend the other in a heartbeat, should some rascal aboard the ship pose a threat.

  Renny had noticed that the MacGoverns—especially Vangie—also spoke of “The Lord” as naturally as if the Almighty sat with them at table. They said their prayers aloud, not seeming to mind who else might be listening. They were keen on saying things such as “blessed” and “thanks be” and “if The Lord wills.”

  Why, MacGovern and his missus—Vangie—were so free with their conversation that they sometimes even said “I love you” to each other, not just to the children! Indeed, the man couldn’t seem to walk across the room without smiling at his wife, and didn’t he call her “my beauty” and hold her hand, even give her a squeeze when he thought no one else was about?

  It seemed to Renny that the family treated her with uncommon decency, instead of haranguing her as if she were just another stray alley cat nobody wanted around. Well, except for MacGovern, of course, who still eyed her as if he half expected her to stick a shiv in his back every time she ventured within a hand’s-breadth of him.

  Now that she thought of it, though, even MacGovern tended to treat her well enough these days.

  So perhaps it wasn’t all that curious that she actually liked doing tasks for them, and found herself eager to be helping out more and more, instead of just seeing to what was expected of her.

  Renny wished she could do something now. She wished with all her heart she could manage a way to help poor James get well and at the same time banish that awful look of terror from his mother’s eyes.

  Perhaps Vangie thought no one else had seen the way she held the boy with her eyes, as if he might slip away from her at any minute. She had a way, Vangie did, of not letting the others know she was afraid.

  But Renny had seen enough fear in her time to recognize it for what it was. And Vangie was scared. Bad scared.

  And with good reason, Renny allowed. The fever had wee James in a fierce grip, all right, and she didn’t like the looks of the boy. Not at all.

  Earlier today, she had heard Vangie praying for the boy, praying as if her heart might fly to pieces if The Lord didn’t answer. So far, Renny had seen no sign of a reply.

  It struck her that perhaps The Lord needed to be reminded about James a bit more often—perhaps as much as every hour or so. But Vangie had an awful lot to do as it was.

  Renny was tempted to try her hand at the praying, but from the little she had heard, The Lord might not have any truck with a sinner like herself. Of course, she had only resorted to thievery when she was so hungry she couldn’t bear it any longer, so hungry her stomach felt like the rats had been at it. Still, would the fact that she’d been near famished be an acceptable excuse to The Lord for the pockets she picked now and then? And what about the wrappers of fish she sometimes filched when the opportunity presented itself?

  Vangie claimed God knew everything, that there was no keeping secrets from The Lord. If that was the case, no doubt He would turn a deaf ear to the words from the mouth of one such as herself.

  Worse still, what if her boldness vexed Him and He took it out on the MacGoverns, them being associated with her as they were? Sure, she wouldn’t want to do anything that might hurt James’s chances for getting well.

  No, Renny decided, she’d best not bother the Almighty with a sinful busker girl’s prayer. She’d do better to keep her silence and stick to helping out in other ways, however she could.

  She had reached the door to their quarters now, but stopped when she saw the whole family standing around James’s bunk, holding hands and praying.

  Renny Magee had been alone most of her life. She had lived on the streets of Dublin ever since she could remember. Even among the other buskers she had always been known as a loner. It had never much bothered her, being on her own. It was all she knew, after all.

  But at this moment, watching from a distance as the MacGoverns joined ranks and prayed for their own, she had never felt more alone in her life.

  23

  JUST ONE TOUCH

  Prayer is the burden of a sigh,

  The falling of a tear,

  The upward glancing of an eye

  When none but God is near.

  JAMES MONTGOMERY

  Throughout the long night, Renny did everything she could to help the MacGoverns. She changed the water beside James’s bed as needed, fetched whatever they asked, and watched over Baby Emma so that Nell Grace could relieve Vangie.

  No one, however, could coax Vangie into leaving the boy’s side for more than a few moments. It seemed to Renny that Vangie was beginning to look almost as pale and wan as poor James.

  Apparently, there was no ship’s doctor aboard. One of the sailors had given MacGovern the excuse that the physician who would normally have traveled with them had to stay behind in Liverpool, due to some sort of emergency. When MacGovern demanded that one of the crewmen try to locate a doctor among the passengers above, he was told in no uncertain terms that they could not bother the first-class passengers with “the likes of a filthy Irisher.”

  MacGovern, of course, not one to swallow this sort of abuse easily, had made a terrible scene. Only Vangie’s pleas—and the threat of lockup for the duration of the trip—had kept him from flying berserk at the man. Ever since then, he had done nothing but pace, his face set in a terrible fierce scowl.

  Renny would warrant that MacGovern was not a man used to being scotched, and he was having a hard time of it, being helpless to aid his boy. Had it not been for upsetting Vangie even more, no doubt he would have been pounding the wall—or a crewman’s head—with one of his big fists long before now.

  At the moment, he had stopped his stomping back and forth to once again join Vangie and Nell Grace, who stood heads bowed, continuing their prayers for James. Some of the other steerage passengers, those not wary of infecting themselves, had come to add their petitions to those of the family.

  Apparently, Christian folk believed that it took a great number of prayers from a large contingent of people to get anything worthwhile accomplished.

  Renny was sitting between Johnny and the makeshift cradle of rags and
straw that held Baby Emma. Both the boy and the baby were sleeping. Renny figured it must be two or three in the morning by now, if not later. Her view was blocked by the prayer circle, so she could not see James. But she knew all too well how he looked.

  Her last sight of him had sent a creeping dread over her heart, for she realized with near certainty he would be gone by first light. She had seen the mask of death on others, had seen it often enough to believe the boy was only a short distance away from breathing his last.

  Her eyes went to Vangie, and she could have wept at the raw fear and desperation ravaging the woman’s face. Vangie knew. She knew her boy was dying, knew there was nothing to be done for him now.

  There was no help to be had for James, and that was the truth. And yet she went on praying, Vangie did, as if any minute the door to heaven might open and pour out some wondrous potion on the boy that would rouse him from his fatal stupor and take the sickness away.

  Renny sat watching a few minutes more, hammered by an entire riot of emotions. Suddenly, she knew what she must do. She could not—would not—put it off any longer. Taking pains to move quietly, she stood and, after reassuring herself that Johnny and the baby were still sound asleep, tiptoed down the aisle and out the door.

  She went straight to the galley, which she knew would be deserted at this late hour. As she’d hoped, she found the place unoccupied. For a long time, Renny stood in the shadows, mustering her nerve. Finally, the blood pounding in her ears and her heart rising to her throat, she dropped down to her knees and propped her elbows on top of a small keg.

  At first, she hesitated, uncertain and even fearful of what she was about to do. Would The Lord be offended by someone like herself having the cheek to come begging? Vangie and Nell Grace were big on talking about God’s love and kindness, but so far Renny had seen little of either from Him. What if she angered Him? Would He strike back at her, punish her?

  What if she prayed and James took even worse?

  She shook off that thought after only a second or two. James couldn’t possibly take worse. Wasn’t he already dying? The worst that could happen was that The Lord might penalize her for being so bold where she had no right.

  But even if she did rile Him, she had to try. She had to, for James’s sake. And for Vangie’s.

  And so kneeling there in the shadows, on the cold, damp floor, she took a deep breath, bowed her head, and closed her eyes.

  “Please, Lord…your Honor…my name is Renny Magee. You don’t know me, any more than I know You, and I’m begging Your pardon ahead of time for bein’ so bold, but I’d like to ask You a favor. Not for myself, you understand, but for James. James MacGovern. And perhaps I ought to tell You straight off that the favor is a big one…”

  Conn stood in the dark corridor between their quarters and the galley, feeling more desperate than he had ever felt in his life.

  They’d lost the two wee babes—one before she ever so much as saw the light of day, the other while only a few days old. Even so, bad as it had been, at least they had loved them but a brief time before their passing.

  But Seamus, their wee James—eight years he had been with them now. Eight years of loving him and his brother, Johnny. Loving them and dreaming bright dreams for them and holding the highest of hopes for them.

  And now to lose one of them? Was that how it was to end?

  Dear God, it would be grief enough if he didn’t have to look at Vangie’s face and watch her heart break, piece by piece—what was left of it, that is, after leaving Aidan behind.

  Two babes taken from her. One grown son as good as dead. How could she endure the loss of another?

  He tried to pray, found that he had no words, could not summon enough strength or hope or faith to give voice to yet another supplication for his boy.

  He knew he was not trusting as he should, not “clinging,” as Vangie would say.

  Never had he known such a terrible weakness before, such a hollowness in his soul. All this night he had felt as though he were the one who was slipping away, his life draining from him, little by little, like drops from a well going dry.

  And Vangie—ah, he could no longer bear to meet her eyes. He felt the great failure of his life each time he looked at her, for he had brought her to this place and now could do nothing for her, not even comfort her.

  Their son was dying. He knew it, and so did she. And yet Vangie went on hoping, went on praying and pleading and even praising the One who in an instant could stop this madness and give them back their James, their precious boy.

  Aye, the Lord could do that.

  If only He would.

  Vangie had not as yet given up her hope. Nor would she, Conn knew, not until James had exhaled his last labored breath.

  Conn hated himself for not being able to match his wife’s faith with his own. He ought to be drawing on every shred of strength left to him, every remnant of hope and faith he could muster. Not only for his son, but for Vangie. He should be strong for the both of them.

  Instead, he was wandering about in the gloom like a man lost in a fog, aimless and without a thought of what to do. He was useless entirely.

  He lumbered toward the galley, then stopped in the doorway at the scene that met his eyes. In the shadows, relieved only by the dim light flickering from the lantern beside the door, Renny Magee was kneeling.

  It took Conn a moment to realize that the girl was praying.

  Renny Magee, praying! He wouldn’t have thought the little heathen even knew how!

  He stood, scarcely breathing, not moving as he watched and listened in numb amazement.

  “The thing is, Lord Sir, Vangie has already had to give up her one boy, the oldest—and ’twas me who gained the good from her loss, don’t You see? His staying behind in Ireland made it possible for me to come to America. And now that we’re almost there, James—well, sure, he’s dying. I can tell from the looks of him. And so Vangie will lose another son, and her not yet recovered from her first grief.

  “Do you really think that’s fair, Lord Sir? Not that Vangie blames You for any of this, mind! Nothing of the sort. Vangie would never do that, although I confess I don’t understand how she keeps from it at times. But even after all that’s happened, ’tis clear she doesn’t fault You for her sorrows.

  “She’s a good woman, Vangie is. But I expect You already know that. She’s good to everyone, even to me, and myself a total stranger to her, and her husband believing I’m nothing but a common thief.

  “It just seems to me that Vangie is entitled to something better than what she’s had so far. She’s a good mother, as You know, the kind of mother I’d have wanted for myself. She does love her children fiercely, as anyone can see, and her husband, too, although he is a hardheaded man, if ever I met one.

  “All things considered, I have to wonder if You couldn’t see fit to make James well again? I heard Vangie say to Nell Grace that all You would have to do is touch him, and the fever would leave for good. James would be well again.

  “He’s on fire, don’t you see? If it’s true that You could touch him and take the fire away, well…would that really be asking too much from you? Sure and a touch wouldn’t require all that much effort, would it? Just one touch?

  “And please, Lord Sir, I don’t mean to rush You, but I’m afraid it might be too late even for You to do anything unless You do it quick like—right away if possible.”

  There was a long silence, and Conn thought perhaps she had finished. But then she started in once more, and even though he disliked himself for eavesdropping, he could not have moved away now if someone had tried to drag him.

  “By the way, I expect it might be best if the family don’t know I’ve talked to You. They might not like it, my speaking with You about James, what with MacGovern thinking I’m a heathen. And perhaps I am, so if it’s all the same to You, could we keep this between ourselves?”

  She went on, but Conn, overcome, quietly turned and walked away. Nearly blinded from the tears th
at had welled up in his eyes, he trudged back down the dim corridor toward their quarters. As he went, he carried with him the sight of Renny Magee on her knees in the darkness, the sound of her childish but determined voice pleading on behalf of his dying son.

  Renny Magee, whom he had berated time and time again as a thief, an abandoned child of the streets. He, too, had abandoned her, had deliberately made her feel unwanted and unwelcome.

  Renny Magee, who believed he thought her a heathen and altogether worthless.

  All this time, when he should have been modeling for her the unconditional love and mercy of their Savior, he had instead shown her only reproach and condemnation.

  Self-disgust ripped through him, and he had to stop for a moment as bitter tears of shame spilled over, nearly blinding his eyes. “God forgive me,” he whispered in the darkness. “I have been the worst kind of man. A cold, unfeeling, hardheaded man. And a poor excuse for a Christian as well.”

  He shook his head at his own poverty of spirit. “I have failed that child, Lord, and that’s the truth.” He faltered, his whisper echoing along the damp, dark walls. “God forgive me, I failed young Renny Magee. But somehow I believe—Lord, I have to believe—that even though I let her down, You won’t.”

  24

  RENNY MAGEE’S WONDERFUL SECRET

  Oh could I tell, ye surely would believe it!

  Oh could I only say what I have seen!

  FREDERICK W. H. MYERS

  It was nearly four o’clock in the morning when James’s fever broke. The fire left the boy so quickly it was as if a cool, healing hand had passed over every inch of his burning body, absorbing the heat unto itself.