American Anthem

by BJ Hoff

  Andrew saw two firemen hurriedly stretching a safety net. Another, his face blackened, came vaulting out the door, shouting, “Hurry it up with that net! Everyone’s out but the top floor, and they don’t have long! We’re losing it!”

  “I should see to those women,” Andrew said, starting off.

  But Frank caught his arm. “No, you stay here. We’ll need you for the jumpers. Dr. Cole has things in hand over there.”

  Andrew frowned. “Dr. Cole?”

  The policeman was eyeing the crowd, but turned back to Andrew. “Ah, that’s right. You haven’t met our lady doc as yet, have you?”

  “Dr. Cole is a woman?”

  “Last time I looked,” Frank said dryly. He motioned to one of his men to go around to the side of the building. “You’ll have to wait for an introduction, I’m afraid.”

  Andrew turned and saw a small, fair-haired woman intent on examining a young girl’s hands.

  “Aye, that’s herself,” Frank said. “Dr. Cole—Dr. Bethany Cole. Right bonny for a lady doc, wouldn’t you say?” Frank was watching him closely, his dark eyes glinting with a trace of amusement. “It’s said that she—”

  Abruptly, he broke off, his words swallowed up by the cries and shouts behind him as the women trapped inside the building began to jump.

  6

  MICHAEL EMMANUEL

  There was a man whom

  Sorrow named his friend…

  W. B. YEATS

  Susanna had rehearsed her first meeting with Michael Emmanuel dozens of times, but now that the moment was here she felt suddenly panicked and wanted nothing more than to flee from it.

  Paul Santi flung open the massive oak doors and stood back, waiting for her to step inside. Immediately she heard the laughter of children and what sounded like the barking of a very large dog. An instant later, an enormous wolfhound came barreling down the hallway, two shrieking little girls hot on his tail. Spying Susanna and Paul Santi, the dog came to an abrupt halt directly in front of them. The children, however, merely giggled and reversed directions, quickly disappearing down the hallway.

  The wolfhound, a light fawn-colored giant with a deep chest, sat staring at Susanna. His tail whipped about in circles, his large head cocked to one side as he took her measure.

  “Signorina, meet Gus,” said Paul Santi, laughing as he reached to rub the big hound’s ears. “He makes himself out to be the bully of Bantry Hill, but don’t let him fool you. He is nothing more than an overgrown, overindulged bambino.”

  The wolfhound shot Santi an indignant look at this uncommon lack of respect.

  Susanna was no stranger to the great hounds of Ireland. Indeed, she fancied them and was thoroughly pleased to find one on the premises. Gus was by far the largest of the breed she had ever encountered. With only the slightest hesitation, she extended her hand to the dog, allowing him to examine her scent. He wasted no time in nuzzling the palm of her hand, his tail wagging with almost comic excitement.

  Paul Santi clapped his hands together. “Ah! He likes you! He will give you no peace from now on, I fear.”

  “He’s grand,” Susanna said, smiling, grateful that, at least for the moment, the wolfhound had eased her nervousness.

  “Those children—” she said, remembering the little girls.

  “Caterina’s playmates.” Santi shrugged. “Cati will be in the music room with the others. There’s a small birthday party for her today. That’s why Michael did not come to the harbor with me.”

  “Oh, no!” Susanna brought a hand to her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot!”

  But she had. In all the confusion and flurry of the past few weeks, she had completely overlooked the fact that her niece would turn four years old today.

  “You mustn’t trouble yourself,” Paul Santi assured her. “Cati will understand, I assure you. Here, let’s have your wrap, and I’ll take you to her.”

  Susanna loosened her shawl and handed it to him, hoping he wouldn’t notice its shabby condition. She took in the lofty vestibule that rose to a skylight three stories above and a magnificent staircase, its second-floor landing emphasized by a broad, stained-glass window with jewel-colored panes.

  She was surprised at the lack of any visible ostentation. The house was cool—a welcome respite from the August heat. The walls were paneled in light mahogany, and the tall windows were draped only in sheer fabric, as if to allow as much light as possible. To the left, French doors stood open on a large drawing room, tastefully furnished. She caught a glimpse of a fireplace, framed by a wide mantel and colorful tiles.

  Lush flowers, arranged carefully in porcelain vases, splashed the vestibule with bright hues, and a lovely Oriental carpet in delicate shades adorned its center. A restrained collection of oils and fine prints enhanced the overall air of gracious, but comfortable, living.

  For a moment Susanna felt a vague sense of confusion. Deirdre had written of the house’s “gloom” and “depressing atmosphere.” But what she had seen so far shattered her preconceptions. She had been expecting the garish trappings of extreme wealth and luxury: ponderous furniture, perhaps, and tasteless accessories. Instead, her first glimpse of the house was actually inviting—and anything but dismal.

  With the wolfhound loping along in front of them, Paul Santi led her down a long hallway, off which several rooms opened. Although some were only dimly lit, none were completely dark. They passed what was obviously the library, a thoroughly masculine-looking room, high-ceilinged and spacious, with walls of shelved books and an immense, octagonal desk.

  The hallway was wide and well-lighted, and Paul Santi, lean and not much taller than Susanna, set a brisk pace for them.

  Next to the library, they passed a room which looked to be an office, with a large, cluttered desk and more bookshelves lining the walls. Adjoining it—or more accurately, an extension of it—was another small study, crowded with storage cabinets and a variety of musical instrument cases.

  It was obvious where the party was taking place. The hallway ended abruptly, converging on a large, open room from which poured a considerable commotion. Someone was playing a piano with great energy, accompanied by the uninhibited laughter of children.

  They stopped just inside the doorway, and Susanna stood staring at the unlikely scene within. Only in the vaguest sense was she aware of the distinct Florentine flavor of the spacious room: the black-and-white marble floor, a variety of sculpted busts resting on pedestals, a few well-worn damask chairs, and several pieces of colorful Italian pottery.

  Several musical instruments were scattered about the room, but her gaze quickly went to the splendid rosewood grand piano, at which a handsome, middle-aged woman was seated, pounding the keys with enthusiasm. At the end of the room, a circle of small children squealed and bobbed up and down around a dark-haired man who towered over them. Blindfolded, he was holding up a strip of paper and laughing as a little girl turned him round and round, then gave him a sound push toward the wall.

  “Careful, Papa!” the child cried, then promptly covered her mouth with both hands, consumed with laughter.

  At that instant, the wolfhound broke free and went charging into their midst, clearly intent on joining the fun.

  Susanna realized at once that the little girl was her niece, Caterina. The tall, blindfolded man had to be her brother-in-law, Michael Emmanuel.

  Yet for the very life of her, she could not comprehend why a man unable to see should be wearing a blindfold.

  Suddenly the child turned toward the doorway, her eyes locking on Susanna.

  She squealed and tugged at her father’s hand, pulling him away from the wall. “Papa! She’s here! Aunt Susanna is here!”

  Smiling—and still blindfolded—Michael Emmanuel allowed himself to be hauled along by his daughter as she and the wolfhound came leaping across the room.

  The little girl came to a breathless halt directly in front of Susanna, her dark, piquant features pinched with excitement. Finally, as if she could bear it n
o longer, she clasped her hands together in front of her face and gave a cry of pure delight. “Aunt Susanna! You did come! You are finally here!”

  She was a wisp of a child with a wild mane of jet-black curls, a sprite dressed in yellow-and-white ruffled muslin and shiny black slippers laced with ribbons. Even if this had not been her niece, Susanna would have found it impossible to resist the dancing eyes and sharply defined features. She opened her arms, and without the slightest display of shyness, the little girl swooped into her embrace.

  As she held her small niece snugly against her, Susanna was aware of Michael Emmanuel, who stood quietly waiting, the blindfold still in place.

  Caterina pulled free just enough to look up at Susanna. “I knew you’d arrive in time for my birthday party, Aunt Susanna! I told Papa you would, didn’t I, Papa? Did you know I am four years old today, Aunt Susanna?”

  Susanna tried to apologize and explain why she hadn’t brought a gift, but Caterina seemed not in the least disappointed. “You are my gift, Aunt Susanna! The best gift of all!”

  Paul Santi moved to intervene. “Here, Cati, let your Aunt Susanna catch her breath. Your papa might also like to say hello, you know.”

  He went on then to offer a quick introduction, upon which Michael Emmanuel extended both hands to Susanna as if he could see exactly where she stood. Susanna hesitated an instant, then gave him her hand, which he clasped between his much larger ones.

  “Benvenuto alla nostra sede, Susanna.” Welcome to our home.

  “Papa,” Caterina said sternly, “you said we must speak English to Aunt Susanna, remember?”

  Susanna smiled down at her niece. “It’s all right, Caterina. I understand Italian—at least a little.”

  “Ah, of course, you would, with your music,” said Michael Emmanuel. “But Caterina is right. We should speak the English most. We are Americans now.”

  He pressed Susanna’s fingers lightly before releasing her hand. “We are delighted to have you with us, Susanna. I hope you will consider this your home.”

  Caterina broke in with a giggle. “Papa, you are still wearing the blindfold!”

  He laughed and reached to remove the cloth from his eyes. Susanna was puzzled when his eyes remained closed even after he dropped the blindfold away. Puzzled, but oddly relieved.

  She tried to study him without being too obvious, then remembered that his blindness would prevent his being aware of her scrutiny. Just as Deirdre had said, he was large enough to be intimidating. Yet he was not quite as Susanna had envisioned him. His voice was unexpectedly gentle, even mild, and his smile hinted of uncertainty. In truth, his overall demeanor seemed surprisingly void of the arrogance and flourish she had expected.

  It came to her that there was also an air of something akin to sadness about the man, and again she felt an unsettling flicker of confusion.

  “This child shows her papa no mercy,” he said, ruffling his daughter’s hair with one hand and dangling the blindfold from the other. “She insists I must follow the rules of the game like everyone else, even though I hardly have need of the blindfold.” He dipped his head a little, adding, “And now, Caterina, you should go back to your guests, I think.”

  “But, Papa, I want to stay with Aunt Susanna!”

  He shook his head. “Your aunt has only just now arrived. You will have all the time you wish to spend with her later. Besides, you must be polite to your guests. Go along now.”

  He turned to Paul Santi. “Would you mind keeping an eye on them, please, Pauli? Only for another half-hour or so.”

  The younger man rolled his eyes good-naturedly and smiled at Susanna. “If I must. Come along, Cati,” he said, reaching for the girl’s hand. “Let us see if I can find this donkey in need of a tail.”

  Still, Caterina hesitated. “Papa, you won’t forget that I’m allowed to have supper with Aunt Susanna? My birthday supper.”

  Michael Emmanuel lifted his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. “How can you possibly think of supper? You and your friends have been eating all the afternoon!”

  “Papa—”

  He laughed. “Sì, of course, you will have supper with us. Go now. Your friends will be leaving soon.”

  He waited while Caterina scampered off with the wolfhound and Paul Santi firmly in tow, then turned back to Susanna. “If you are not too tired, Susanna, why don’t we find a quiet place and talk a little before you go upstairs?”

  Susanna looked at him. The last thing she wanted at the moment was a private conversation with this man, but he was already offering his arm.

  Before she could respond, however, he turned, saying, “Ah, I almost forgot. There is someone else who is eager to meet you.” He called to the woman seated at the piano. “Rosa, come meet Susanna.”

  Susanna studied the pianist as she approached, a strikingly attractive woman who appeared to be in her late forties. Her glossy dark hair was streaked with silver and brushed smoothly away from her face into a thick chignon, revealing strong features and dark, keen eyes that Susanna sensed would miss nothing. Not tall, she nevertheless conveyed a sense of utter confidence and authority.

  The moment Michael Emmanuel introduced them, Susanna recognized the woman’s name. Deirdre’s letters had mentioned Rosa Navaro, the renowned opera diva who was both a neighbor and a close friend of the family.

  “Welcome, Susanna,” she said in a low, well-modulated voice, reaching for Susanna’s hands. “How good it is that you have come. Caterina has been wild with impatience.”

  Susanna felt an instant of discomfort as she recalled that Deirdre had never trusted “the Navaro woman,” had in fact thought her “meddlesome” and “presumptuous.”

  She battled for a moment with those conflicting feelings. Deirdre had often been unmercifully ruthless in her character assessments. Rare indeed was the person who won her sister’s unqualified respect or admiration. Hadn’t Susanna herself suffered more than her share of her sister’s barbed criticisms?

  Still, it seemed disloyal, somehow, to disregard entirely Deirdre’s assessment of Rosa Navaro. And yet Susanna could not help responding to the warmth of the woman’s greeting and the faint glint of humor in her dark eyes.

  Looking into those eyes, Susanna decided that, for the moment at least, she would put her sister’s remarks out of her mind. She smiled, meeting the other woman’s welcome with a cordial greeting of her own.

  The wolfhound skidded up just then, falling in beside Michael Emmanuel, who gave a quick flick of his hand. “Everything is under control, Gus,” he said dryly. “You may stay with Caterina.”

  The dog apparently deemed Susanna a reliable companion for his master, for after only the slightest delay, he turned and trotted back to the party.

  “If Rosa doesn’t mind,” said Michael Emmanuel, “we will leave her at the mercy of the children for now. The two of you can get better acquainted this evening. I took the liberty of planning a small supper,” he explained. “Just a few friends, including Rosa.”

  Susanna had all she could do not to groan aloud. She felt almost limp with fatigue, wilted from the heat, and increasingly anxious to get away from her towering brother-in-law. She would have liked nothing better than to spend a quiet hour or so with Caterina and then retire early. Even so, she managed what she hoped was a polite, if not exactly enthusiastic, response.

  Rosa Navaro gave her a quick look of understanding. “I’m sure Susanna is exhausted from the trip, Michael. You must allow her enough time for a good rest before evening.”

  “Oh…sì. Of course! If you would rather go upstairs right away, Susanna, we can talk later.”

  Susanna was sorely tempted to accept his suggestion. But she would have to face him sooner or later. Perhaps it would be best to simply have it over with. He would undoubtedly want to question her to some extent before allowing her to supervise Caterina, and she conceded, albeit grudgingly, that he was well within his rights to do so.

  For that matter, she had her own questions to ask. So
this time when he offered his arm, she took it.

  7

  A SOUL ALONE

  So goes the lone of soul amid the world…

  DORA SHORTER SIGERSON

  The drawing room was large but inviting and seemed to lend itself more to comfort than to formality. The windows were tall and narrow, the draperies a rich, golden hue, the sturdy but finely molded tables uncluttered with ornaments. Soft-toned Persian carpets were laid here and there over gleaming floors, while tapestry and damask chairs in cream and varying shades of brown added a feeling of warmth and coziness.

  Michael Emmanuel waited until Susanna took a plump, comfortable chair in front of the fireplace before seating himself in a massive armchair opposite her. “What would you like, Susanna?” he said, ringing a small bell. “Tea or coffee? Or a cold drink, perhaps?”

  Susanna clasped her hands in her lap, trying to still their trembling. “Tea would be fine, thank you.”

  They sat in silence until a small, middle-aged woman with a piercing stare arrived to serve their beverages and a tray of pastries. Michael Emmanuel introduced the woman as Mrs. Dempsey. The wife, no doubt, of the sour-faced driver who had brought them upriver.

  The woman’s demeanor toward her employer seemed surprisingly casual, more maternal than subservient, and after she left the room, Michael Emmanuel confirmed that she was no ordinary employee. “At one time, the Dempseys were neighbors and good friends to my grandparents in Ireland. Some years ago, I brought them here to work for me. They are like family, you see.”

  At some point he had slipped on a pair of dark glasses, and Susanna wondered why. It occurred to her that the glasses made him appear even more distant, less approachable. She found it almost impossible to think of this man as related to her in even the most obscure way. He was a forbidding, foreign stranger. And from what Deirdre had told her, his marriage to her sister had been a thoroughly unhappy, if not actually an unholy, alliance.