American Anthem

by BJ Hoff

“You’ve said that before, and it’s not so.” His tone was unnaturally sharp. “I’m not a ‘good man,’ Bethany. Not at all. Not like you think.”

  Bethany smiled to herself but kept silent. She had no intention of involving herself in a debate with Andrew about his character. For one thing, he was far too modest to admit to the admirable traits she saw in him. And for another, she wasn’t ready to risk letting him see the strength of her feelings for him.

  Although she wasn’t at all sure how much longer she could manage to conceal those feelings.

  7

  AFTERNOON ENCOUNTER

  A copper-skinned six-footer,

  Hewn out of the rock.

  JOSEPH CAMPBELL

  They were nearing the docks on the way to the ferry when they encountered Sergeant Frank Donovan. He was standing near the entrance to the harbor, stabbing the air with an index finger as he harangued a group of young boys.

  Andrew drew the buggy to a stop and called out to him. The sergeant turned, his disagreeable expression clearing after a second or two. He made a gesture that they should wait, then turned and dispatched the youths huddled nearby with a chop of his hand.

  “And it’s a cell for the lot of you if I catch you bedevilin’ old man Potkin again!” he shouted after them.

  He approached the buggy, rapping his night stick against the palm of one hand. “And what would two of our city’s most eminent physicians be doing in this part of town?” He doffed his hat to Bethany with a smile that made his dark eyes dance. “On a mission of mercy, are we?”

  “Actually, we’re on the way to the ferry, you rascal,” said Andrew. “Dr. Cole and I are going upriver on a call.”

  The police sergeant fastened his full attention on Bethany, and she forced a smile in return. Donovan was tall, like Andrew. A big strapping Irishman, he gave off such an air of hardness and strength that he might have been hewn from a slab of granite.

  And something about his eyes led Bethany to believe that he could be just as cold.

  Andrew’s friendship with this man puzzled her. She couldn’t imagine how he and Frank Donovan could have possibly been more different. Andrew’s strength and quiet masculinity seemed to derive from a deep inner peace—a stillness within himself—while the Irish police sergeant struck her as a man burning with energy. Whether it was a fiery nature or raw power that fueled the flames, she couldn’t have said. She knew only that Frank Donovan unsettled her.

  He had a way of looking at her that bordered on impertinence but stopped just short of being downright offensive. On the other hand, his behavior toward Andrew appeared to be prompted by a genuine fondness, even though most of the time he tempered his respect with a biting edge of cynicism.

  “Upriver, eh? Hobnobbing with the gentry, are we?”

  The policeman was watching her, and Bethany felt her face flame at the realization that he’d caught her staring. She forced herself to meet his gaze straight on, and he lifted a dark eyebrow in an expression of wry amusement—as if he were completely aware of her discomfiture and enjoying it immensely.

  “Not everyone up the river is gentry, Frank,” Andrew was saying. “Actually, we’re calling at the Emmanuel estate, up near West Point.”

  “Emmanuel? The blind man?”

  For just an instant, Bethany detected a glint of irritation in Andrew’s eyes. “Michael Emmanuel, yes,” he said. “The musician.”

  “How did you get mixed up with him?”

  Andrew knitted his brows together in a dark frown. “His daughter is my patient, Frank. I’m not ‘mixed up’ with him.”

  Frank Donovan crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his hat farther back on his head. His gaze traveled to Bethany, then back to Andrew. “No need to get tetchy, Doc. You do seem to get yourself hooked up with some strange company at times, is all.”

  “I suppose I do, but you can be sure there’s nothing in the least strange about Michael Emmanuel. He’s an interesting man, and his daughter is quite a delightful child.”

  The policeman regarded him with a thoughtful look. “That may be, Doc, but there was a bit of talk at the time of the wife’s accident, you might recall.”

  “There’s always talk, Frank. And seldom much truth behind it.”

  Donovan shrugged. Turning to Bethany, he again lifted his hat to her. “Well, then, I won’t be keeping you from your patients. You two have a care now.”

  Without another word, he turned and walked away.

  Andrew shook his head, smiling a little.

  “Have you been friends long?” Bethany said after a long silence.

  “A few years now.” Andrew paused. “I know Frank can be aggravating at times. But he’s a good man, really. A fine policeman, an honest one. And he has more courage than ten men—perhaps too much for his own good.”

  When Bethany made no reply, he added, “He doesn’t mean any harm. It’s just his way.”

  She shot him a dubious look.

  “Really,” he insisted. “Once you get to know him, you’ll see what I mean. Frank just takes some getting used to.”

  Bethany had no intention of getting used to Frank Donovan. There was a hardness about the man that never failed to put her off. He always seemed to be darkly amused by his surroundings, but Bethany didn’t for a minute believe he was as shallow as he pretended to be. To the contrary, she suspected that the Irish police sergeant possessed an intellect every bit as formidable as the courage Andrew had referred to—and a temper that could turn downright nasty if provoked.

  And there was something else, something she couldn’t quite define. The few times she had been around Frank Donovan, there had been a moment—albeit fleeting—when his behavior toward her seemed to reflect, not so much contempt or dislike, but suspicion. As if he didn’t quite trust her.

  Andrew, of course, hadn’t noticed. Andrew seldom saw anything but the good in others. In fact, for a man of his intelligence and experience, he often seemed surprisingly unworldly, perhaps even a little naive.

  An inexplicable trait, but one she found endearing. And also, at times, exasperating.

  Andrew watched Bethany closely, secretly glad that she didn’t seem to take to Frank Donovan. Perhaps he should have made more of an effort to point out his friend’s good points.

  But in truth, he was relieved. Frank, after all, did have a way with women. Andrew didn’t really begrudge him the ease with which he attracted the ladies, although he had occasionally wondered what it would be like to have a dash of Frank’s appeal.

  Most of the time, however, Andrew actually found Frank’s “Irish charm” rather amusing; he even enjoyed teasing him about it every now and then. But this was one time he was glad that Frank’s charm hadn’t worked its magic.

  Andrew held no false illusions about himself. He knew he was a rather plain, decidedly awkward man. Awkward physically and, at least around women, awkward socially as well.

  He hadn’t minded all that much. Not until he’d met Bethany. Even then, he had been almost glad when she brought up the subject of his arthritis. After all, if she attributed his ungainliness to the disease, she might not realize that even if he didn’t have an ache or a pain about him, he’d probably still be a bit of a dolt. At least around her.

  He glanced at her again. She was studying the ships in the harbor, and he took advantage of the moment to indulge in an unhurried view of her profile—which to his way of thinking was nothing short of a work of art.

  When she turned and favored him with an unexpectedly bright smile, he whipped his head around so hard he felt his neck crack.

  Oh, he was in a fine fix, all right. A fine fix, indeed. He only hoped Frank didn’t catch on to the state he was in.

  Andrew counted him as his closest friend, but the thought of Frank’s merciless teasing made him shudder. The man could be downright relentless when he caught hold of something that amused him. And the idea of Andrew being smitten with a woman like Bethany Cole would almost certainly strike Frank as a huge joke.<
br />
  And rightly so, he thought grimly.

  Michael Emmanuel had insisted they stay for dinner, so it was nearly nine when they boarded the ferry. The mist-laced wind off the river made the night seem even colder. Bethany secured her scarf more snugly about her neck as they settled themselves for the ride.

  “Well,” she said, as much to herself as to Andrew, “so much for preconceptions.”

  Andrew tugged at the collar of his coat. “Preconceptions?”

  Bethany nodded. “Michael Emmanuel. And Susanna. I had them pictured altogether different from the way they are.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  Bethany furrowed her brow. What had she expected? Certainly not the unaffected ease with which the blind musician had hosted their evening. Nor the surprising quietness and gentleness of the voice that had once thrilled thousands. As for Susanna, Bethany had taken immediately to the young woman’s warm demeanor and her quick, friendly smile.

  “I would never have guessed Michael Emmanuel would be so…comfortable. So easy to be with. He seems so unaffected, so unimpressed with himself. And I really liked Susanna. She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

  Before Andrew could reply, Bethany added, “She’s much younger than I thought she’d be, but she has a steadiness about her that makes her seem older, somehow. And I sensed that she might like to be friends.”

  “No doubt it gets rather lonely for her up here, isolated as they are. Especially since she’s relatively new to the area. To the country.”

  “It’s like something from a novel.”

  “What’s like something from a novel?”

  “Their story.” She turned to look at him. “Really, Andrew—think about it. The sister of a man’s deceased wife travels across the ocean to care for a child she’s never seen and ends up falling in love with her famous brother-in-law.”

  Andrew snapped his head around to stare at her. “Why on earth would you think Susanna’s in love with Michael?”

  Bethany rolled her eyes. Men. You had to hit them over the head with a board sometimes. “Surely you’ve seen the way she looks at him?”

  His eyes grew wider still. “No, I can’t say that I have.” He paused. “How does she look at him?”

  Bethany sighed. She didn’t consider herself a romantic, not in the least, but there was something about Michael and Susanna that had captured her interest—and her imagination.

  “Just take my word for it, Andrew. Susanna Fallon is in love with her brother-in-law. And Michael is in love with her. It’s just that neither of them knows it yet.”

  He laughed. “You seem awfully sure of yourself. Is this some sort of womanly intuition, or are you really as positive as you sound?”

  “Both. You’ll see.”

  “I think you might be dangerous,” he said, shaking his head. “A physician who also reads minds.”

  “It has nothing to do with reading minds. It’s simply a matter of being aware of those around you. The way they look at each other. Or don’t look at each other. The way they touch. Or don’t touch. A change in the tone of voice.”

  She went on, intrigued by her own discovery. “I wonder if Michael knows he tends to flush a little every time Susanna opens her mouth. If the man could see, he’d never take his eyes off her. Yes, he’s definitely smitten.”

  The faint amusement that had brimmed in Andrew’s eyes only an instant before now gave way to a look that could only be described as startled. Whatever accounted for the change, he seemed to recover quickly.

  “Dangerous,” he repeated with a nod. “Definitely dangerous.” He nodded firmly, then added, “You did like them, though?”

  “Oh, goodness, yes! They’re absolutely delightful! I can understand how you and Michael might become fast friends. You think a great deal alike.”

  Indeed, it struck Bethany that Andrew’s friendship with Michael Emmanuel made much more sense than the high regard in which he seemed to hold that awful Frank Donovan.

  The thought of the annoying Irish policeman brought a question to mind. “Andrew, what did Frank Donovan mean today, about there being ‘talk’ when Michael’s wife died?”

  Andrew didn’t answer right away. “It was all gossip, really. You know how people like to speculate on the misfortunes of the famous. Michael’s wife was killed in a carriage accident not far from their home. Because of the lateness of the hour and the fact that she was alone, there were some rather wild rumors going round. There was a terrible thunderstorm that night, and no one could quite figure why a woman would have been out alone in such weather.” He stopped. “Some of the rumors hinted that there was trouble between her and Michael, that in fact she was having an affair at the time.”

  Bethany shuddered. “How awful. As if he hasn’t had enough tragedy.”

  “Yes, well, as I said, there was a great deal of gossip, but I have no idea if there was any truth in it.”

  He seemed eager to change the subject. “I believe Susanna was greatly impressed with you,” he said. “Did you notice how many questions she asked about our work—about your work?”

  Bethany rolled her eyes. “In truth, I don’t want Susanna to be impressed with me. I’d like it better if we could just be friends.” She paused. “Actually, I hope we can be friends with both Susanna and Michael. And that little Caterina—what a charmer she is! They’re a delightful family.”

  “But they’re not a family,” Andrew reminded her quietly. “Not really.”

  “True,” she said. “But that could change.”

  8

  A DREAM AND A PRAYER

  I prayed for good fortune…

  God gave me dreams.

  I dreamed of high places…

  God gave me wings.

  NELL GRACE MACGOVERN

  By the looks of him, a body might have thought that the man had either gone daft entirely or else was deep in his cups.

  Since Conn MacGovern had never been a man for the drink, Vangie could only conclude that some sort of derangement had suddenly descended upon her husband.

  He swept through the door like a mad Viking, an idiotic grin plastered from ear to ear, his face as red as if he had eaten live coals for supper. Now that Vangie knew he was not lying dead in a ditch, the dread that had been building inside her all evening gave way to anger.

  “Where have you been, man? I’ve been out of my mind with worry!”

  For a moment he looked puzzled. “I sent a boy—”

  “A boy who said you would be away a few hours! In case you haven’t noticed, it’s suppertime! And a late suppertime at that!”

  To her amazement, he laughed. A deep, full-throated, booming laugh of a kind Vangie had not heard from him in an age. And then he came charging toward her, lifting her from her feet and swinging her around until the room swam in front her.

  “Conn! Stop it now! Stop it, you great amadan! What’s come over you?”

  The twins were seated round the table, with Baby Emma in her chair between them. Renny Magee was putting wood on the stove, while Nell Grace ladled soup into the younger ones’ bowls. All as one, they stopped to gape, first at their father, then at Vangie. Wee Emma clapped her hands and shrieked, as if she thought the antics of her parents were grand fun.

  No more had the words left her mouth than it occurred to Vangie that only one thing could be responsible for the high spirits of her husband.

  “Conn?”

  “A job, love! I have me a job!”

  Vangie gave a small cry. “You don’t!”

  “Ah, but I do! And not just any job, my beauty! Oh, no, not at all. A grand job it is, and with a fine place for us to live as well!”

  Vangie held her breath, afraid to believe.

  He sobered a bit then. “ ’Tis the truth, love. I’d not joke about something as big as this.”

  Vangie knew then that it was so. She knew it from the beam of confidence she had not seen in his eyes for much too long a time, knew it from the scarcely remembered lift of his shoulder
s, the strong thrust of his chin, and the way he was looking at her as if he had at last brought her a basket of joy instead of yet another bucket of despair.

  “Oh, glory be to God,” she choked out, barely able to stand without buckling.

  “Well, tell us, man! Tell us everything!”

  And so tell them he did, and took great delight in the telling. Conn perched himself by the fire and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He deliberately drew out his tale, gaining great satisfaction as he watched the astonished faces of his wife and children, who were circled about him as if he held court. He stopped to answer their eager questions, sparing no detail, for hadn’t it been a long time indeed since he’d had anything worthwhile to relate to them, much less an account that would bring such excitement to their eyes?

  “An estate, do you say?” This from Vangie.

  “Oh, love—wait until you see it! You can’t imagine! Why, it’s even grander than the Lighton Mansion back home!”

  “It isn’t!”

  “I give you my word, the place is a palace!”

  “And you are quite sure that we are to come, too, Da?” Nell Grace asked, her eyes enormous and shining. “There’s truly room for us all?”

  “ ’Tis just as I told you. You don’t think I’d be going without you, now do you?” Conn reached a hand to his daughter’s hair.

  “It seems that years ago the estate belonged to a wealthy old man,” he went on to explain. “In addition to the big house, there’s another lodging on the property, where the caretaker and his wife used to live. It’s empty now. The present manager and his wife—the Dempseys, who came across from Ireland just as we did—live in the big house. The caretaker’s place is where we will be living. ’Tis a fine, sturdy house, it is, well-built and clean. And doesn’t it even have a few pieces of furniture for our use?”

  “It’s too much to take in, Conn! Can this truly be happening to us?”

  “Ah, there’s more, love,” he assured her. “But first let me tell you about my new employer, Mr. Emmanuel—they call him the Maestro, him being a great musician, you see. He’s an Italian man, did I say that? And in spite of his obviously being very well-to-do, he doesn’t seem a bit puffed up about himself, not at all. In fact, I’d say he’s a real gentleman, exceedingly well-educated and fine-spoken.” He stopped. “Poor fellow, though. According to Dempsey, the Maestro lost his wife only last year in a carriage accident.”