American Anthem

by BJ Hoff

  Because of the snow, Michael had arranged in advance for rooms at a nearby hotel; they would be staying in the city the rest of the night. This thwarted any chance for a conversation with him, but Susanna thought it might be just as well. She didn’t think she could possibly muster the energy for a coherent exchange with anyone tonight, especially Michael.

  Yet she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving things so…bruised and strained. So in the lobby of the hotel, she drew him aside with the intention of thanking him once more for the party and, of course, for the gift.

  She struggled for the right words, but they came out awkward and disjointed. “Michael…I don’t know how to thank you. For tonight. I’ve never…nobody has ever done anything like this for me. And the music box…I’ll cherish it. Always. Truly, I will. It means—it’s very special.”

  “That’s why I wanted you to have it, Susanna,” he said quietly. “Because you, too, are very…special.”

  Without giving her time to reply, he brought her hand to his lips, then released her. “Buona notte, Susanna. I hope you rest well. Would you take me to Paul now, please?”

  It was impossible to gauge Michael’s emotions when his feelings were shuttered as they were now. Susanna did hear the note of weariness in his voice when he said good night, however, and sensed that he, also, was ready to end the evening.

  Later, after Caterina and Rosa had retired, Susanna walked into the sitting room of their suite and stood at the window, looking out. The snow, still falling, muffled the usual night sounds, wrapping everything in an otherworldly stillness, the kind of quiet that seems to slow the passing of hours and calm even the most restless of hearts.

  But Susanna’s heart would not be quieted tonight. Only an hour ago, she had been craving solitude. Now that she had it, a sense of abandonment and isolation crept over her. She stood at the window, weighing every word that had passed between her and Michael earlier in the evening.

  Why, she wondered, had she been so quick to judge Michael’s motives, so resistant to his encouragement? What was the source of her self-doubts, her sense of inadequacy? She treasured the gift of music more than almost anything else in life. But until now, she had never allowed herself to confront her fear of failure for what it really was.

  Earlier, Caterina’s childish but incisive words had ambushed her, opening up something in Susanna that, at the time, she had known she must examine more closely when she could. Those words came back to her now, unsettling her just as much as they had before:

  “…but aren’t you brave, Aunt Susanna? You said that being brave doesn’t mean we’re not afraid. It means doing what we’re supposed to do even if we are afraid.”

  As she allowed her thoughts to slip back across the years, Susanna knew it would be all too easy to blame Deirdre for the fear and insecurities that had plagued her for as long as she could remember. Her sister had never let her forget that she was the artiste, Susanna the plebeian. Contemptuous of Susanna’s timidity, Deirdre had dubbed her “Mouse” and disparaged her every attempt at accomplishment.

  Susanna had tried to rationalize Deirdre’s behavior as typical of the older sibling lording it over the younger. But she knew better. Even as a child, Deirdre had been spiteful toward Susanna, as if any recognition of her sister diminished her own share of the limelight.

  And yet despite her vindictiveness, Deirdre was not to blame for Susanna’s weaknesses. In truth, Susanna knew that what she had become was what she had made of herself.

  In admitting her fear of failure, recognizing her own inadequacies, she had contented herself with the shadows, avoiding even the slightest pursuit of prominence or status. She had made excuses to avoid taking a risk. The place she had claimed for herself, the place where she was most comfortable, was in the background.

  She had long thought of it as humility. Now she saw it was false humility.

  For years she had convinced herself that the “Christian way” was to avoid any form of self-aggrandizement, when in fact she had simply been avoiding any possibility of failure. Rather than pursuing and developing the gifts God had bestowed upon her, like the unfaithful steward she had buried them. She had been not only ungrateful, but unfaithful.

  And yet how did one distinguish genuine humility—a virtue God not only approved but even commanded—from a desire to be “safe,” a deliberate attempt to stay backstage out of fear of failure?

  Susanna already knew the answer. What she had claimed as humility was utter selfishness. Self-deception on a grand scale. Even when she knew herself capable, she refused to try, refused to risk. She hadn’t been exhibiting Christian virtue at all. She had merely wrapped herself in a cocoon, protected herself from the possible humiliation of not being perfect.

  All her life, from girlhood to womanhood, she had chosen safety over adventure, security over opportunity, contentment over change. Deirdre might have fed her self-doubts, might have even chipped away at her confidence, but Susanna knew that she, and she alone, was ultimately responsible for this stifling of the spirit. She had placed restraints upon herself. She had let herself become the “Mouse” her sister despised.

  And in one blistering moment of insight, she realized that she was also the only one who could free herself from that confinement.

  But even if she wanted that freedom, was she willing to pay the price for it? Could she pay it? It would mean changing the way she saw herself, what she believed about herself. It might even mean changing her life.

  “No, Caterina—” she whispered the answer to her niece’s question—“I’m not brave. I don’t even know if I want to be brave. Or if I can.”

  21

  A RIDE IN THE PARK

  What if the dream came true?

  PADRAIC PEARSE

  Frank Donovan holstered his gun, donned his coat and hat, and took the steps two at a time as he left his second-floor rooms.

  He still had to pick up his mount at the stables and see to Tommy Brennaman. He had plenty of time, but he planned to have himself a bite of supper before going on duty.

  No doubt Brennaman would show up late as usual. If the rookie patrolman were not such a good hand with the horses, Frank would have done his best to get him booted off the force long before now. He always had an excuse, did Tommy, and a lame one at that.

  Well, Frank intended to tell him the way of things tonight once and for all. There were other men who could handle a horse. He’d had just about enough of Brennaman’s slouching.

  It was still snowing, coming down even heavier now, and snow made the job just that much harder. The only good thing about it was that it covered up some of the garbage heaped in the streets and made the pigs run slower than usual.

  In all likelihood the park would be busy. Everyone and his brother would be out on an evening like this, to test the skating or have themselves a sleigh ride. For himself, he wouldn’t like to be on the ice just yet, in case it wasn’t quite safe. But that wouldn’t stop a host of eejits from giving it a try.

  His mood blackened still more as he tramped across the street at the Orphan Asylum. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have volunteered for park duty, especially on a night such as this—it was well off his beat. But most of the precincts were short on men due to a particularly beastly wave of grippe, and since he had nothing better to do, Frank had opted to take an extra shift or two.

  After all, there was something to be said for trotting a fine horse around the park in the snow while watching a gaggle of pretty young girls on their skates. One never knew when he might be called upon to rescue some lovely young thing from a fall on the ice or a runaway sleigh.

  There was nothing like a hero to a lassie in distress. Even an Irishman would do.

  If she were desperate enough, that is.

  Andrew had hinted that he might have a surprise for her after the party. When they pulled up to the park and got out of the buggy, the first thing Bethany saw was a sleek, dark green sleigh, the body trimmed with red and gold stripes. Two midnight bl
ack horses, their harness bells jingling in the light wind, stood pawing at the snow.

  Bethany whipped around and found Andrew smiling at her. “Oh! Andrew! This is the surprise?”

  “You’re pleased?”

  “Pleased? This is incredible.” The snow crunched under her feet as she went over to the sleigh and peeked inside for a closer look at the figured carpet, the crimson velvet seats and braided trim. She ran her hand over one of the ornamental plumes and then turned back to him. “How did you ever think of such a thing?”

  He shrugged. “I just thought you might enjoy it.”

  “But where did you get it?”

  “I rented it. It’s ours for the rest of the evening.”

  Bethany looked back to the sleigh, then lifted her face to catch the snowflakes drifting down. She caught Andrew’s arm. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

  Laughing, he helped her into the sleigh and settled her snugly under an enormous bearskin blanket before going around to the other side. Bethany had never been in the park before tonight, had only passed by it on occasion. To her delight, she found it was lovely: elegantly landscaped and well-maintained, its hills and meadows blanketed in white, and trees that looked to be sprinkled with diamonds of ice.

  She was surprised to see crowds almost everywhere they passed. “I had no idea so many people would be out on a night like this.”

  “Winter is one of the favorite times for park goers,” he said. “The big thing in the winter is ice skating on the lakes and ponds—and sleigh riding, of course. Central Park has become one of the city’s most popular recreational spots.”

  Sleighs were everywhere, filling the night with the sound of harness and bells and laughter. Men tipped their hats and women smiled and nodded as they passed by each other on the track. Dozens of people thronged one of the lakes, skating in singles or couples or entire family groups.

  “Do you skate, Andrew?”

  He smiled a little as if reminiscing, but shook his head. “Not for years. There was a pond near my home, in Scotland. When I was a boy, my sister and I used to skate there. I doubt I’d be able to stay on my feet now, after so long a time.”

  “You have a sister? You’ve never said.”

  His expression sobered. “Jean was several years older than I. She married after I left home, but died in childbirth not long after I came across.”

  “I’m sorry.” Bethany studied his profile. “It occurs to me that you really haven’t told me very much about your childhood or your family, even though I’ve told you all about mine.”

  “There’s not that much to tell. I grew up in Glasgow, as you know, had a perfectly ordinary childhood. My father still lives there. He’s a clergyman. My mother passed on when I was still a boy. Jean took over and ran the household after that. And mothered me.”

  Still watching him, Bethany felt a twinge of sympathy. She knew what it was like to grow up as the only child among adults. While it had certain benefits, it could also be lonely.

  As if he’d read her thoughts, he said, “How was it for you, Bethany, growing up without brothers or sisters?”

  “I didn’t mind. Not usually. Oh, there were times when I would have liked a brother or sister, but for the most part I was content.” She ducked her head sheepishly. “It’s not all bad, really—being the center of everyone’s attention.”

  Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Somehow you don’t strike me as the kind who enjoys attention all that much.”

  He paused for a moment, and his next remark caught Bethany off guard. “I’ve heard that one who grows up as an only child often wants a large family after marriage.”

  “Is that a question?”

  “Well…no, not necessarily,” he replied, not looking at her.

  An unpleasant thought filtered through Bethany’s mind: the memory of Frank Donovan’s accusations about the unlikeliness of her domestic—and maternal—aspirations. “I suppose I haven’t thought much about the future. I always seem to be so focused on the present.”

  He nodded. “I think perhaps you and I are a lot alike in that respect. There’s always so much to do—”

  “And never enough time in which to do it,” she finished. “Unless you have the energy and the initiative of Miss Fanny Crosby, who I find to be absolutely amazing! Honestly, Andrew, however does she manage to do everything she does?”

  “She is a wonder.”

  “Of course, she has no family depending on her,” Bethany mused. “That would allow her more time for her work.” She reached to tuck a strand of hair back under her hat. “I understand she and her husband tend to go their separate ways.”

  “Where their work is concerned, that’s true. But they’re devoted to each other.”

  “Her husband is blind, too, isn’t he?”

  “He is. In fact, I believe they met when they were both at the Institute for the Blind. Mr. Van Alstyne teaches, but not at the Institute. He’s a music teacher and a church organist as well. A very gifted man, so I’ve heard.”

  “Van Alstyne? But I thought Miss Fanny’s name was Crosby?”

  “That’s her maiden name. I believe they agreed that she would continue using it. Perhaps because of her music—that’s how everyone knows her.”

  She shook her head. “Well, I’m absolutely in awe of both of them. Accomplishing so much, in spite of the fact that they can’t see.”

  “It seems to me you needn’t take a backseat to anyone when it comes to accomplishment. I’d say you’ve managed rather well yourself.”

  Bethany waved off the compliment. “Some days I feel as though I’m not accomplishing anything,” she said with a sigh. “Especially when it comes to the patients I can’t help.”

  “You’re thinking of Maylee.”

  “Yes, I hate not being able to do anything for her, Andrew! She’s such a wonderful child. She’s smart, she’s curious about everything, and she has the sweetest spirit. And yet just look at what she’s forced to endure—and who knows what still lies ahead for her!”

  “But you have helped her, Bethany. More than you realize. She absolutely delights in your visits, you know. She tells me all about them every time I stop by. You’ve given her something she’s never had before.”

  Bethany frowned at him.

  “Don’t you see? You’ve become her friend. I think any little girl could count herself blessed to have someone like you in her life. I’m not so sure but what you haven’t become a kind of mother figure to her as well.”

  “Goodness, I hope not! I don’t consider myself a model for motherhood, not by any stretch of the imagination!”

  “You’re always so hard on yourself, Bethany. I happen to think you’d make a wonderful mother!”

  Clearly, he’d spoken on impulse. He went crimson the moment the words left his lips.

  “Well…be that as it may,” said Bethany, feeling awkward, “I have no particular ambitions in that direction.”

  Andrew suddenly seemed intent on the horses pulling the sleigh. “Never?”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘never.’ I haven’t actually thought that far ahead. What about you, Andrew?”

  “Me?”

  “You’d obviously be a good family man. Why haven’t you ever married?”

  He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. “I don’t necessarily prefer things this way,” he said evenly. “But with the practice…and my health…”

  Their eyes met, and Bethany recalled Frank Donovan’s words about Andrew’s condition, how it would eventually grow worse. And in that wistful, uncertain gaze she saw that Andrew also feared that, in time, he might become a burden.

  She wanted to say something to reassure him, encourage him. But she knew too much about the possible progression of his disease to try to put a good face on it.

  Thankfully, his unfailing sense of humor came to the rescue. “Besides,” he said, a ghost of a smile touching his lips, “why would any woman willingly marry a doctor?”

  “Why would any man marry a doctor
, for that matter?” she tossed back recklessly.

  “Perhaps doctors should only marry doctors?” he said, not quite meeting her gaze.

  He let the question hang. Bethany decided not to touch it.

  Frank Donovan saw them from the hillside. Doc and Lady Doc, as he’d come to think of them.

  Still mounted, he saw them drive by in their fancy sleigh as they came round the near side of the lake. Doc had himself a fine-looking hat on, and Dr. Cole was decked out like one of the swell-looking matrons from the carriage trade.

  Except that Dr. Bethany Cole looked nothing at all like a matron.

  He cracked a grim smile. Maybe he would ride down and catch up with them, say hello.

  But then he remembered that things weren’t quite as they had been between him and Doc. And Dr. Cole, of course, froze up at the very sight of him.

  So he stayed where he was, watching, as their sleigh began to slow down, not far from one of the snow-covered arbors near the lake.

  Neither of them spoke for two or three minutes more. Finally, Andrew cleared his throat. “About Maylee—I have something to tell you.”

  Bethany sat up straighter, immediately interested. “You’ve learned something new about her condition?”

  He shook his head. “I only wish that were the case. But I think this will please you, all the same. Do you remember the night we were at Bantry Hill, the night we told Michael and Susanna about Maylee?”

  “Of course. I remember how sympathetic they were.”

  “Yes, well, last week Michael asked me to take him to visit her.”

  “What a nice gesture. But then, Michael is a very kind man.”

  “As it happens, it was more than a gesture. Michael has suggested that Maylee come and live at Bantry Hill.”

  “Andrew! He can’t be serious?”

  “Oh, he’s very serious. Michael isn’t a man to make idle propositions. He was quite taken with Maylee—you should have seen how well they hit it off right from the start. When he pulled me aside at the party tonight, he said he’d spent considerable time in prayer and discussed it with Susanna. They haven’t told Caterina yet, but Michael is sure she’ll be delighted.”