American Anthem

by BJ Hoff

  He paused as the dark, world-weary gaze seemed to take his measure. “I promise you this, Amerigo,” he said, his voice lower still. “You give me no grief, and you will get none from me. You will find that I am a fair man.” He paused. “We will hope the same can be said of your new owner.”

  As they left the docks, Conn’s mind played the Irishman’s words over again. “There might be a job for you if you’re interested…” He tried not to get his hopes too high, but how could he not hope? After all this time—all the disappointments and discouragement, the roads that seemed to lead to nowhere, the bitter taste of failure on his tongue from morning till night—what else did he have but hope?

  Was it possible that this big, mean-looking beast might actually turn out to be more blessing than curse?

  It was all he could do not to laugh aloud at such an unlikely idea.

  Especially when he saw the hot-tempered pooka glaring at him as if he’d like nothing better than to dismantle Conn’s head from his shoulders.

  6

  MEETING MAYLEE

  Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours

  For one lone soul, another lonely soul—

  Each chasing each through all the weary hours,

  And meeting strangely at one sudden goal…

  EDWIN ARNOLD

  After they closed the office for the afternoon, Dr. Bethany Cole and Dr. Andrew Carmichael settled themselves in the buggy, pulled their lap robes snugly around them, and set off for Mulberry Street.

  The raw wind held a threat of sleet or snow, but Bethany had finally managed to convince Andrew that she didn’t mind the cold. In fact, she actually enjoyed it—up to a point. What she really liked was the opportunity to study the busy city streets. New York was like an ongoing stage play, featuring new dramas with new actors and different scenes around every corner. Her fascination with the city never ceased.

  At the moment she was following with great interest the progress of a pig and an extremely large black-and-tan dog as they made their way down Elizabeth Street. At first glance, she’d thought the pair seemed unlikely friends, but on closer inspection she saw that one was actually trying to muscle the other out of the street. When they reached the corner, the pig staked out a heap of garbage for his own, attacking it with zeal. When the dog pushed in as if to share a meal, Bethany assumed the pig, smaller by half, would simply leave the spoils and move on. Instead, the fierce little creature turned on the dog with such aggression that the startled hound took off as if he’d been attacked by a wild boar.

  Bethany laughed, and Andrew, who had also been following the implausible scene, joined her. Once they were past, Bethany turned to him. “You said you’d tell me about the patients we’re calling on this afternoon.”

  He nodded. “Have you heard of Michael Emmanuel?”

  “The musician? Of course. He’s a patient?”

  “No, his little girl. She had a bad case of croup some time back. Had it twice, in fact—both very nasty bouts. She seems to be doing nicely now, but I stop in on occasion, just to check on her.”

  “But you actually know Michael Emmanuel? We’re going to his home?”

  Andrew shot her an amused look, and Bethany realized she must have sounded like an awe-struck schoolgirl. “Sorry. I suppose I’m something of a fan. I attended his opening concert this season. I also heard him sing once, in Philadelphia, before his accident. He was incredible! What a terrible thing to happen to him, losing his sight.”

  Andrew nodded. “I never had the opportunity to hear him sing, but I seldom miss one of the orchestra’s concerts, if I can help it. Well—you’ll meet him this afternoon, and I think you’ll like him very much. He’s quite a remarkable man. They live upriver, so we’ll make that our final call of the day.”

  “I must say, I’m impressed, Andrew. I had no idea when I came to work with you that I’d be meeting celebrities.”

  “Much as I covet your admiration,” he said dryly, “I expect Michael Emmanuel is the only celebrity you’ll be meeting through your association with me. As you’ve undoubtedly noticed by now, my patient list inclines toward a more modest social class. And in that regard, I should fill you in on our first call.”

  He reined in, allowing an omnibus to pass ahead of them. “Let’s just say that while Caterina Emmanuel will no doubt steal your heart, I’m afraid our next patient will more than likely break your heart.”

  The orphanage was a bleak, three-story building on Mulberry Street with half a dozen sagging steps leading up to the front door. The windows were small and narrow, the roof in need of repair. Beneath a dull afternoon sky and devoid of any hint of color or greenery, the place reminded Bethany of every sorry-looking, grim institution she had ever encountered.

  Inside, the long, uncarpeted hallways were cold and dim and quiet—too quiet for a place where children lived. The bare walls were relieved only by peeling paint and an occasional gouge in the plaster, and the few windows were narrow and uncurtained. But although the air was stale, it was noticeably free of the unpleasant mix of odors often associated with similar establishments.

  “I suppose it could be more depressing, though it would take some doing,” she said in a near-whisper. Something about the Cora Wylie Children’s Home discouraged a normal tone of voice.

  “I know.” Andrew’s voice was hushed as well. “But it’s not really as bad as it looks. The place needs renovating, of course, but that takes money, and there’s never enough for the essentials, much less a healthy infusion of light and color. Still, there’s an excellent staff here: qualified and compassionate. I can assure you, that’s not always the case among the metropolitan children’s homes.”

  They passed three little girls who were being shepherded down the hall by an older companion. They all smiled at Andrew, and the older girl made a reply to his greeting. For Bethany, they had only curious looks.

  At the end of the corridor, Andrew took her arm and guided her to the hallway on the left. “This way. Maylee is in a room to herself.”

  This was a shorter corridor, and as they approached the room at the very end on the right, Andrew pressed Bethany’s arm to slow their progress.

  “Just a reminder that Maylee is extremely bright and perceptive,” he said. “She’s not hard of hearing or slow-witted or any of the things people sometimes assume when they meet her for the first time.”

  With a quick glance in Bethany’s direction, Andrew rapped lightly on the door, identifying himself but not waiting for a response before pushing the door open onto a small, neat room. Its corners were shadowed in the weak gray light seeping through a solitary window, but the bedding and curtains splashed color enough to dispel the gloom.

  “Dr. Carmichael!”

  “Well, Maylee, how are we today?”

  Andrew motioned Bethany closer, and she went to stand beside him. “This is Dr. Cole, Maylee,” he said, reaching to take the child’s hand. “I told you about her last time I was here. Dr. Cole will be working with me from now on.”

  “Hello, Maylee. I’m very pleased to meet you.” Bethany smiled and held the child’s gaze. At this moment, she was thankful Andrew had taken the time to prepare her for this first meeting.

  Maylee sat in the middle of a small iron bed, surrounded by pillows and a stack of books. She was even smaller than Bethany had expected—tiny and delicate, almost doll-like. Her face was thin and wrinkled, with small, sharp features and almost no eyebrows or lashes. Only a few wisps of snowy white hair dusted her scalp. Her elbows and knees appeared painfully swollen, and her hands exhibited the “liver spots” associated with the elderly.

  She appeared to be an extremely small, wizened old lady.

  She was eleven years old.

  Bethany’s heart wrenched in pity. She had never seen a disease like this before.

  “You did it again, Dr. Carmichael!” Maylee exclaimed. “You asked me how we are doing today. Why do doctors and nurses always say ‘we’? There’s only one of me, after all.�
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  Without waiting for a reply, Maylee turned her attention to Bethany. “Hello, Dr. Cole. How do you like working with Dr. Carmichael? Is he very difficult?”

  The girl’s voice was thin and high-pitched, but Bethany found herself immediately captivated by her smile and the distinct glint of humor dancing in her eyes. She reminded Bethany of a bright little bird, alert and eager.

  “Well, I would say that Dr. Carmichael is actually quite easy to get along with,” she replied. “Most of the time.”

  “And is he a good doctor?”

  “Oh, he’s an excellent doctor, I assure you,” Bethany said with a straight face. “But hasn’t he already told you that?”

  Maylee threw her hands up and giggled. “Yes! Often!”

  “That’s just about enough from you two,” said Andrew. He feigned an indignant look. “I would hope for a little more respect from my own associate and my favorite patient. Now then, Maylee—let’s just have a look at you and listen to your heart, shall we?”

  “See? You did it again! We can’t both have a look at me and listen to my heart, now can we?”

  Andrew summoned a stern expression as he removed the stethoscope from his medical case. “I was speaking of Dr. Cole and myself. Do you know what ‘precocious’ means, young lady?”

  “Maturing early? Advanced for my age?” Maylee burst out laughing.

  Bethany marveled that this child could find humor in her condition. That she could actually laugh at herself, given what she must endure, was nothing short of astonishing.

  Apparently there was no research—at least none that Andrew had been able to come up with—dealing with a disorder such as Maylee’s. He was at a complete loss as to any form of treatment. Two other physicians who had consulted on her condition leaned toward the influence of external agents, but Andrew strongly believed Maylee’s disease to be the result of some sort of genetic mutation.

  Bethany had seen the helplessness in his eyes when he told her about Maylee. Now, after meeting the child for herself, she understood his frustration. As physicians, there should be something they could do, some sort of treatment that would at least improve the quality of her life—a life that was certain to be woefully brief.

  The painful reality was that the girl was aging at an incredible pace, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. Given her present rate of decline, Andrew projected that Maylee could not possibly live more than another year, if that.

  At Andrew’s suggestion, and with Maylee’s consent, Bethany listened to the girl’s heart and checked her pulse. The readings reflected the vitals of an elderly woman rather than those of an eleven-year-old child.

  Andrew resumed his examination, this time concentrating on the girl’s swollen and obviously tender joints. Maylee warmed to him—indeed, seemed to blossom under his attention. And Bethany remembered something else Andrew had told her about the unfortunate child: although she lived in an institution among dozens of other children, for all intents and purposes she lived alone.

  It wasn’t so much that the other children shunned her. To the contrary, Maylee was accepted and well-liked by the others. But given her physical limitations, especially the increasing stiffness of her joints and the fatigue that resulted from the slightest exertion, the girl found it all but impossible to participate in the normal activities of childhood.

  She continued to study her lessons and played quietly by herself in her room. Sometimes, when she was strong enough, she would entertain one or two of the younger children by reading to them or telling them stories. What seemed to bring the girl more comfort and enjoyment than anything else were her books. Books, Andrew had told Bethany, were Maylee’s best friends.

  But how wretchedly unfair that books should be the child’s only friends.

  Later, after leaving the orphanage and starting for the ferry, Andrew seemed unusually pensive. Bethany was struggling with her own emotions, and neither spoke for several minutes.

  The visit with Maylee had left her filled with a chafing pain that was anything but “professional.” In fact, she couldn’t remember that she had ever felt such a mixture of anguish—and anger—about a patient.

  “Are you all right?” Andrew asked quietly.

  Bethany cleared her throat. “It’s so unfair! Isn’t there anything we can do?”

  He gave a long sigh. “Believe me, Bethany, I share your frustration. This is one of those times when I feel more like a failure than a physician.”

  Bethany looked at his swollen hands grasping the reins and saw that they were trembling.

  “I’ve read every text, written to everyone I can think of, including some friends in Europe—anyone who might know something I don’t. But not a one of them has ever seen a case like Maylee’s. It’s as if she’s the only child ever to be afflicted in such a manner. The only thing I’ve found that helps at all, so far as the swelling and the discomfort, is what I take myself. Salicylic acid. That at least seems to give her some temporary relief.”

  Bethany’s gaze traveled from his hands to his lean profile. His expression was uncommonly strained. “Do you ever get angry, Andrew?”

  He nodded, not looking at her. “More often than you might think.”

  “But who do you get angry with?”

  “With myself, I suppose. For not knowing enough, not being able to do enough. Or sometimes I suppose I simply get angry with life in general. For being so unfair.”

  “But not with God.”

  “God didn’t do this to Maylee, Bethany.”

  “Then who did?” Outrage welled up in her and overflowed. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t attended critically ill or dying children before today. Even in the short time she’d been practicing medicine, she had encountered far too many cases that kept her awake nights.

  But the disorder that would eventually claim Maylee’s life seemed especially cruel. A little girl shouldn’t have to go through such an ordeal. She shouldn’t have to watch herself turn into an old woman before she reached puberty. She shouldn’t have to hear the doctor she obviously admired and trusted admit that he could do nothing—absolutely nothing—to help her.

  A child should not have to die before she’d had a chance to live.

  “Don’t you ever question God, Andrew? Don’t you ever wonder how to reconcile what we’re taught about God’s goodness, His compassion, when you see some of the terrible, ugly—heartless—things that happen to people? To innocent children?”

  He turned to look at her. “Do I ever question why God allows these things? Yes, of course I do. How could any physician not question? But do I believe God is some sort of a vindictive spirit wielding His power on a whim—blessing some and cursing others? No. I don’t for a minute believe He inflicted Maylee with this condition. He loves her more than that.”

  “He may not have caused it, but he could prevent it! If God loves her so much, then why doesn’t He simply take it from her? Or at least provide a means of mitigating the symptoms and easing her misery?”

  Andrew’s reply was slow in coming. “He could have prevented the Cross, too,” he said quietly, “but He didn’t. I suppose if we could explain that, we could explain just about anything.”

  He turned to her again, his expression still solemn, but gentle. “I don’t have an answer for you, Bethany. I can’t even answer many of my own questions. The only thing I know for certain is that God’s love is beyond our comprehension. In fact, it seems to me that His love is as much a mystery as His will. As to why He does what He does or doesn’t do what we think He should do—well, I suppose that’s where faith comes in. Sometimes there’s simply nothing else to do but trust Him.”

  Bethany stared at him. One of the fundamental differences between Andrew’s faith and her own was that his seemed to be inextricably woven into everything he did. He stepped boldly into the arena of life, went head to head with its injustices and evils, its challenges and struggles, securely armed with his faith. If he succeeded at what he attempted, then God w
as good and to be thanked. If he failed, well, God was still good and to be thanked. Simply because he was God.

  Bethany, on the other hand, was more likely to leave her faith behind the lines for fear it wouldn’t withstand the blows of battle. Her resolve, her own strength of will, and her stubborn refusal to concede defeat kept her going. Or so she had once believed.

  Now she wasn’t so sure. “I’m not like you, Andrew,” she said hesitantly. “My faith is no match for yours. I have so many questions—”

  He regarded her with a tilt of his head and a curious look. “Do you really think I don’t? And how do we go about measuring faith, Bethany? That seems to me a futile effort altogether. We can’t know very much about our faith at all until we find ourselves in a situation that tests it. Then, I expect we’re often surprised by what we discover. About our faith—and ourselves.”

  His next words seemed carefully considered. “You asked me a moment ago if I ever question God. I think what I question is life, not God. It seems to me that life itself prompts continual questions. But the more I question, the more I find myself believing that the answer to all my questions is God. In fact, it seems to me that He’s the only answer that can be trusted.”

  He shrugged and gave a self-conscious smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on.”

  Bethany made no reply. Although she was reluctant to admit that she didn’t quite understand what he was getting at, he had certainly given her something to think about. At the moment, however, the only thing that seemed to be registering was the realization that she no longer felt like shaking her fist at heaven and shouting Why?

  Andrew reached to take her hand. “If it’s any consolation, Bethany, I do understand. I’m not exactly a stranger to doubt or frustration.”

  “Andrew—you couldn’t possibly understand how I feel. You’re simply too good a man.”

  A look of dismay darted across his features.