American Anthem

by BJ Hoff

  “Patients,” she corrected. “You’ll find a woman and young children.”

  “The entire family needs treatment?”

  The hood had fallen away from her face, and Andrew saw that she was probably in her forties, an attractive woman in an unpretentious sort of way.

  “I…I’m not sure,” she replied. “The mother, for certain, and the youngest child. Perhaps all of them.” She lowered her eyes.

  “This situation—is it urgent?”

  She still didn’t look at him. “I believe it may be, yes. Could you possibly go today, Doctor?”

  Andrew studied her. Despite the quiet elegance of her features, she appeared drawn, as if she hadn’t slept well for some time.

  “I—yes,” he said. “I expect I can arrange to go yet this evening.”

  The tautness of her features gave way to a look of unmistakable relief. “Thank you so much.”

  “May I have the mother’s name, please?”

  She hesitated, swallowing with some difficulty. “Lambert. Mary Lambert.”

  “Is she a relative?”

  Something flickered in her eyes. “No,” she said, her tone unexpectedly sharp.

  Abruptly, she turned to go, but Andrew stopped her with another question. “And may I have your name, Mrs.—”

  “I don’t believe that’s necessary.”

  Andrew was tempted to press, but decided against it. He had a sense that her self-control was exceedingly fragile.

  “Very well, then,” he said. “I’ll look in on the family later this evening and see how I can help.”

  She only half turned, inclining her head and murmuring a word of gratitude before hurrying out the door.

  Andrew stepped outside just long enough to watch a driver clad in black carefully hand the woman into a handsome—but not ostentatious—carriage. The sting of the wind and the ice-laced snow drove him back inside before he could see which way they went.

  As he finished up his work in the dispensary, he decided to wait for Bethany’s return from the children’s home before making his call on the Lamberts. As usual, she’d insisted on walking, though he had urged her to take the buggy. Of course, it hadn’t been this cold and wet when she set out, and Bethany seldom chose to ride when she could walk. She could be stubborn at times.

  He smiled a little at the thought. After locking the medicine cabinet, he went to wash his hands. The hot pain in his swollen wrists and fingers warned him that an outing in this weather would do the arthritis no good, but there had been no mistaking the importance of his mysterious visitor’s request. Quite simply, he hadn’t the heart to refuse.

  His gaze went to the medicine cabinet, lingering there for a moment until a shudder seized him and he turned away. With an angry toss of the towel, he wheeled toward the door.

  Perhaps he should take the buggy and pick up Bethany on his way to Mulberry Street. But it was after five, and the streets would be crowded. He was almost sure to miss her in passing. Besides, he was fairly certain she’d want to make the call with him once she returned.

  He decided to wait, hoping she would turn up soon.

  Bethany was thankful with every treacherous step that she had had the foresight to wear her boots. The streets were slippery, darkness was drawing in fast, and impatient pedestrians weren’t inclined to give one another much room.

  She should have listened to Andrew. Hadn’t he warned her the weather was going to turn nasty before dark?

  She was about to turn the corner onto Mott Street when a wiry little man wearing a fisherman’s cap and a baggy overcoat jostled by her, nearly shoving her into the street. She had no more righted herself and started off again when a gaggle of shopgirls came sloshing toward her, laughing and poking at each other, seemingly oblivious to her approach. In an effort to avoid them, Bethany darted sideways into the street and only barely escaped being struck by a coal wagon. The driver cursed at her, splashing her with dirty water as he rumbled on.

  Incensed by now, she stood glaring at the back of the rickety wagon. Someone behind her gave a shout, and almost too late she turned to see one of the police department’s Black Marias hurtling toward her. She sidestepped it just in time, though she turned her ankle in the process.

  The vehicle clanged to a stop, and Bethany hobbled backward, skidding and nearly falling on a patch of ice.

  “Dr. Cole!”

  Bethany gritted her teeth as she recognized the policeman hanging onto the side of the Black Maria. She was wet and shivering, and she wanted nothing so much as to get back to the office. The last person she wanted to see right now was Sergeant Frank Donovan.

  The big policeman jumped down and raked her over with a quick scowl. “You all right?” he said, not waiting for a reply before adding, “You’re drenched.”

  “No, I’m not all right,” she snapped. “And, yes, I’m drenched.”

  He grinned at her. “Well, unless you’re out for an evening stroll, I think you’d best let me give you a ride.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the police wagon. Before Bethany could reply, he took her arm and began propelling her toward the wagon. “It might be a bit rank inside, but it’s dry for all that. And you look as if you could use some drying out.”

  She yanked her arm free. “Thank you, Sergeant, I can manage. I haven’t that much farther to go.”

  He ignored her, encircling her waist and sweeping her up to the inside of the wagon, then jumping in behind her. “Doc would have my hide if he knew I’d left you on your own in this weather. What was he thinking, anyway, sending you out in this?”

  Bethany glared at him. “Andrew—Dr. Carmichael—didn’t send me out, Sergeant. It was entirely my decision.”

  “Ah. But not a very smart one, if you don’t mind my saying so.” He gave a whistle, then shouted at the driver of the wagon.

  “You can sit on the floor if you want,” Donovan said as they hauled off down the street.

  Bethany looked around at the foul interior of the Black Maria. “I’ll stand, thank you,” she replied with forced civility.

  “As you like. So, then—what brings you out on such a wretched day?”

  Bethany had the feeling he was deliberately trying to annoy her. The last place she wanted to be was inside this disgusting wagon with Frank Donovan, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of amusing himself at her expense.

  “We have a patient at the orphanage,” she said, keeping her voice cool and steady. “The weather hadn’t turned this bad when I left the office, so I decided to walk.”

  “I see.” He regarded her with a detached, clinical expression. “Well, how do you like your work by now, Dr. Cole? Not quite what you’re used to, I expect.”

  “And just what exactly do you think I’m used to, Sergeant?”

  His dark eyes snapped with insolence. “Whatever it was, I doubt it was anything much like the Bowery.”

  “As a matter of fact, I find our practice very rewarding. We’re obviously needed here.”

  Frank Donovan rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “I’ll not argue that you’re needed. All the same, I can’t help wondering what possesses a woman like you to become a sawbones in the first place. And to set up practice in a neighborhood like this—” He broke off, shaking his head.

  “A woman like me?” Bethany countered. “And exactly what kind of woman might that be?”

  An impudent smile played at his lips beneath the dark red mustache. “Well, now, it strikes me that an attractive young woman of good family—as you obviously are—would find it more suitable being a doctor’s wife rather than being the doctor.” He paused. “You wouldn’t be one of those women’s rights females, would you? Sure, and you don’t look much like the rest of ’em.”

  Bethany held her temper only by an iron act of will. “Are you goading me on purpose, Sergeant, or are you really as boorish as you seem to want me to believe?”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “I’ve offended you. I apologize, Dr. Cole�
��that wasn’t my intention. Not at all.”

  His apology was a farce, and they both knew it.

  “You needn’t apologize, Sergeant. I didn’t make it through medical college by being thin-skinned. Unfortunately, my chosen profession has more than its share of buffoons.”

  Again he laughed, even harder this time. “I do admire your spirit, Dr. Cole. No wonder Doc is so smitten with you. I doubt he’s ever met up with your kind before.”

  “My kind?”

  “Ah, now, don’t get yourself in a twist,” he said, doffing his hat and affecting an unconvincing look of remorse. “I didn’t mean any harm. But it’s true about Doc, you know. The poor fella is as love-struck as any man I’ve ever seen.”

  Bethany groped for a last remnant of self-control. “You know, Sergeant, Andrew—Dr. Carmichael—considers you a friend. To save me, I can’t imagine why.”

  Without warning, the policeman’s mouth went hard. “Oh, I’m Doc’s friend, right enough. Don’t you be doubting it. That’s why I’m more than a little concerned about him.”

  Bethany frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He leaned against the wall of the wagon and crossed his arms over his chest. “Doc is a very trusting sort, as you may have noticed. Indeed, if there is such a thing in this infernal town, the man’s an innocent entirely.”

  In a flash of insight, Bethany realized that despite his crudeness, his rough demeanor, and his cutting cynicism, Frank Donovan was a friend to Andrew. Not only a friend, but his self-appointed protector as well.

  And just as clearly, she understood something else: Donovan was protecting Andrew from her. He considered her a threat to his friend.

  Her anger boiled to the surface, and she turned on Donovan. “Just what is it about me that you don’t approve of, Sergeant? What exactly do you think I’m going to do to Andrew? Stab him in the back with my scalpel? Run off with all the exorbitant fees we’re bringing in?”

  His mouth twisted into a humorless smile. “Now, Dr. Cole, I think you know exactly how it is with Doc where you’re concerned. The poor man is so besotted with you he can’t find his own tongue when you’re close-by. Why, he’d open a vein for you if you so much as crooked your little finger at him.”

  Bethany stared at him in astonishment. “That’s the most ridiculous—”

  “I think not,” he said, his tone sharp as he uncrossed his arms and slipped his hands into his pockets. “Mind, now, Lady Doc—I’m no fool. And neither,” he added with a calculating look, “are you.”

  Bethany had just opened her mouth to reply when a sudden, unwelcome realization siphoned the strength of her outrage.

  Donovan was right.

  The occasional moments of attraction that had passed between her and Andrew early in their relationship had deepened almost daily. At least she sensed that to be the case with Andrew.

  But what about her own feelings?

  “That’s what I thought.”

  She stiffened at the sound of Frank Donovan’s mocking voice, the look of utter contempt in his eyes.

  “You know full well you’re going to hurt him. Oh, not on purpose, perhaps. But you’ll hurt him all the same.”

  “What I know is that you’re badly out of line, Sergeant.”

  “If you have any feelings for the man—and I’m not saying you don’t—you’d be doing him a kindness by letting him know just where you stand. Somehow, you don’t quite strike me as a woman with a yen to settle down and tend to the hearth fire while Doc goes about his work of healing. You’d rather be toting your own medical bag around town alongside of him. You don’t want to be any man’s wife, do you?”

  His tone turned even more caustic as he went on. “Even if you don’t admit it, I think you know that one of these days—and maybe not too far off—Doc’s going to need a wife more than he needs a business partner. He’s going to need someone to take care of him instead of taking care of everybody else.”

  When she did not respond, his lip turned up in a sneer. “Come on, you know how it is with him! Faith, woman, you work with him every day. You’ve seen his hands, the stiffness in his legs—the way he can barely make it up a flight of stairs on a bad day! He’s getting worse all the time; even I can see it! The man is more likely than not to end up an invalid eventually. Isn’t he?”

  Stricken, Bethany could only stare at him. He’d seen more than she would have thought. And yet…it was becoming difficult not to see. Andrew was getting worse. Some days he could scarcely manage to stitch a wound.

  Bethany forced herself to stand there, trying to breathe evenly, to show no reaction. Not for the world would she give this…rube…the satisfaction of knowing he had triggered an unexpected, unsettling rush of bewilderment.

  She had her life in order. Her education was complete. Her career was underway. She had a practice, an office, and a growing list of patients. And, thanks to Andrew, she had finally obtained hospital privileges.

  Indeed, she had everything she had ever wanted, everything she had dreamed of and hoped for since she was a schoolgirl. Her life was satisfyingly full; she had no need for more. There was no room for anything more.

  But thanks to Andrew’s so-called friend, she could feel her complacency beginning to slip away. In its place rose a boiling cloud of confusion, conflicting emotions, and questions she wasn’t yet ready to answer. Not even to herself.

  Why had she ever gotten into this disgusting, squalid wagon with Frank Donovan anyway? And why couldn’t he have simply kept his unsolicited opinions to himself?

  “Here we are, then. I’ll just stop in and say hello.”

  He jumped easily from the wagon and reached to help Bethany down, flashing a smile that didn’t quite mask the flinty edge in his expression.

  As he set her to the ground, he held her a moment longer than necessary, his gaze raking her face. “I meant no offense, Dr. Cole,” he said, his tone oddly impersonal and detached. “Just looking out for a friend.”

  Bethany tugged free of him. “And is Andrew aware, Sergeant, that you’ve appointed yourself his guardian angel?”

  He burst out laughing. “I hardly think so. It’s not likely that anyone—even a saint like Doc—would ever mistake me for an angel!”

  13

  WHO SEES THE HEART

  Give me, O God, the understanding heart.

  GEORGIA HARKNESS

  Too late, Andrew recognized the searing flash of resentment that shot through him.

  Any jealousy on his part was wholly irrational. Frank had made it clear upon entering that their meeting had been merely a chance encounter, and Bethany followed up by explaining in greater detail.

  And yet the sight of them together had unsettled him. He despised himself for such an adolescent reaction, especially since it had to do with a friend. This was Frank, after all.

  Andrew had never seen any indication that Frank might harbor an attraction for Bethany. The man hardly lacked for feminine companionship—the ladies seemed to fall at his feet anytime he passed by.

  Well, a certain kind of lady, at any rate.

  Bethany’s appeal was, on the other hand, of a quieter, more subtle nature than that which Frank typically seemed to favor.

  Still, what a striking pair they made! Bethany with her fair, patrician loveliness in contrast to Frank’s dashing, flamboyant good looks.

  With relief he noted that Bethany distanced herself from Frank as soon as they entered the waiting room. He greeted both of them with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, and was just about to speak to Bethany about his mysterious visitor and her urgent request that he visit this Mary Lambert and her children. But the door opened again, this time to admit the petite blind hymn writer, Miss Fanny Crosby.

  Ordinarily, Andrew would be glad to see Miss Fanny. But he had the call pending on Mulberry Street, and he was anxious to get away. Stifling his impatience, he went to her. “Miss Fanny! What in the world are you do
ing out in this weather?”

  “Why, I’m paying you a visit, of course, Andrew.” She smiled at his fussing and brushed the light coating of snow from her shoulders. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

  She stood in the middle of the waiting room, her head slightly lifted as if she were listening to something in the distance. “Who else is here, I wonder?”

  Frank made his presence known, as did Bethany, while Andrew helped Miss Fanny remove her coat. “I’m always glad to see you,” he assured her, leading her to a chair beside the iron stove that warmed the room. “But you ought to be scolded for venturing out on such a day. Please tell me you’re not on foot!”

  “Oh, listen to you! As if I’m not used to being out in worse weather than this. But, no, I’m not walking. Or at least I didn’t walk here. Ben Drummond gave me a ride from the Women’s Mission House. I decided I could use a brief respite to warm up a bit, so I decided to stop and visit with you for a spell.”

  “Well, we’re very glad you did.” Andrew forced a smile at Bethany over the top of their visitor’s head.

  Miss Fanny gave him a motherly pat on the hand, then turned in the direction of Frank Donovan. “Sergeant, I stopped at the precinct house earlier today to check on the boys, and I heard all about patrolman McNally’s lovely bride and their wedding, bless them both.”

  “Aye,” Frank said, drawing a little closer. “Patrick went and tied the knot at last.”

  “Yes, well, I keep praying for a good Christian woman to bring you to your senses as well. A man your age needs to be thinking of settling down.”

  Frank grinned and winked at Andrew. “Now, Miss Fanny, what would you know about my age?”

  She waved a hand as if to dismiss his prattle. “I know a good deal more about you than you might expect, Frank Donovan. I know, for example, that you fancy yourself quite the rascal. But I also know that even a rascal can be saved from his own foolishness by the good Lord—and a good woman.”

  Before Frank could make a comeback, Miss Fanny turned toward Bethany. “Dr. Cole, I was at the children’s home this morning, and dear little Maylee told me about your frequent visits to her. And yours, too, Andrew. Bless you both for taking an interest in the child.”