by BJ Hoff
That was the point at which many doctors ended their education. Instead, he’d gone on to medical college and then trained in the wards at Bellevue, where he had encountered just about every kind of imaginable illness—mental as well as physical. For several months he’d also done a concentrated apprenticeship in surgery with the brilliant Dr. Jakob Gunther. Later, he had applied a great deal of what he’d learned with Gunther in the field hospitals of the war.
Medicine was what he had wanted for as long as he could remember, though he recognized that his passion for it was a kind of contradiction. Why he would allow himself to become consumed by a life that reeked of such ugliness, such hideous pain and suffering to the human soul as well as to the body, would, he suspected, forever be a mystery even to him.
More than once, his mother had shaken her head in puzzlement at the idea of his becoming a physician. “You have a poet’s spirit, Daniel,” she would say. “You’ve always loved beauty and music and gentleness. What would make you want to work with such brutal and ugly things? How will you survive the pain? I’m so afraid you’ll end up with your own spirit wounded or even broken.”
And sometimes, during the really bad times, he wasn’t so sure but what she hadn’t been right.
As a boy in Ireland, he had watched his father die. And then his sister. And his older brother. He had survived the sight of neighbors and friends being evicted from their homes in the dead of winter and then dying of exposure and starvation along the side of the road. He’d survived the unspeakable horrors of an ocean voyage in the bowels of a ship not fit for animals, much less human beings. In New York, he had encountered suffering and deprivation on a scale beyond imagining in the slums of the Five Points and the alleys of the Bowery.
Why indeed had he opted for a career that would only surround him with more of the same? Had he somehow known that dealing with patients’ pain would help him bury his own pain?
What had saved him from that broken spirit his mother had feared? In some inexplicable way, medicine had actually seemed to strengthen his spirit. Every murmur of pain he could silence, every broken limb he could make right again, every dread disease he could hold at bay, and every death he could prevent, or at least stave off, seemed to set off a kind of singing inside him, a quiet anthem of praise for what had been accomplished. No matter how small the victory.
He had discovered that in medicine, for every loss there was a gain, for every failure there was an eventual success. And somehow it was enough. Enough to keep him from losing heart. No matter how weary he became, and in spite of the discouragement and frustration and even the anger that sometimes accompanied his profession, there resided in the deepest part of him a faith that it was all worthwhile, a conviction that God was in charge after all and there was an order to life—and to death—and that he was merely an instrument used to help maintain that order.
Over the years he had also found a haven, an escape, when the failures mounted and the successes seemed to come few and far between, if at all. Music had become his retreat, the place where he could go and find his own healing, where he could be cleansed and calmed and renewed when the work, and the world, became too much to bear.
He glanced over at the Kavanagh harp propped against the bookcase, the fiddle next to it, the tin whistle on the shelf.
Not tonight. He was too tired. The only retreat he needed tonight was sleep. He should stir himself and make for the bedroom, but the fire was so warm, the sofa so comfortable.
He released a long breath, and Sarge raised his great head just long enough to cast an indignant look in his direction.
“Oh, sorry,” Daniel said, his voice thick. “Did I wake you, you big slug?”
The big Newfoundland gave a long-suffering sigh, and then he lowered his head and returned to his snoozing, leaving Daniel soon to follow.
THIRTEEN
THE PROBLEM OF SERENA
She smiled and that transfigured me
And left me but a lout.
W.B. YEATS
In the city, Daniel hadn’t kept hours on Saturday, other than to make calls at the hospital. But it hadn’t taken him long to discover that the residents of Mount Laurel and Owenduffy didn’t acknowledge Saturday as being different from any other workday. The good people of both towns and the surrounding areas kept their doctor just as busy on a Saturday morning as on a weekday.
Today was no exception. In fact, he’d been even busier than usual. By the time he unhitched the buggy and unlocked the office door, at least half a dozen patients had been standing outside, waiting to see him. After letting them in, Daniel did his best to see them as promptly as possible, calling one at a time into the examining room.
It turned out to be a long morning. Little Billy Kehoe showed up with a bad case of poison oak. Cecilia Potter arrived with a black eye, signaling that her husband, Leonard, had been drunk again the night before. Of course Cecilia wouldn’t admit to the abuse that seemed to be escalating, even though Daniel asked her a number of pointed questions. This time she blamed her injury on a fall. Over the past few months she’d “bumped into a piece of furniture” as well as tripping over “a loose board on the porch.”
Later in the morning he’d seen Eliza Duncan, an elderly widow with an almost debilitating case of rheumatism, and Pete Boyner from the livery, who was in misery with a high temperature due to a particularly vile ear infection. His patient at the moment was little Peggy Pardue, who had broken her finger by slamming the back door on it in pursuit of her puppy.
Peggy was a golden child who had managed to charm Daniel from the first time she’d appeared in his office with a case of tonsillitis. Six years old, she was usually a whirling cloud of blond curls, deep dimples, and boundless energy. At the moment, however, she was a quivering bundle of not-quite-suppressed tears while her mother stood by, holding her good hand. Daniel tipped her chin up and smiled into her eyes. “That finger isn’t going to hurt for very long. I promise,” he told her. “It will feel much better by tomorrow.”
Another sniffle. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” Daniel said, his tone solemn. “Today, however, it might be best if you play quietly with your dolls.”
“Can I go to Sunday school tomorrow?”
“Oh, I should think so.” Daniel glanced at Susan Pardue. “Your mother will have the final say on that, though, in the morning. All right?”
Peggy nodded, as she held up her hand and investigated the splint on her finger. “I have to go to school Monday too. I’m in first grade, you know.”
“I do know. And I’m quite sure you’ll be able to go to school on Monday.”
“Miss Serena will be especting me.”
“And I see no need to disappoint her.”
The mention of Serena’s name pricked his conscience. He simply had to find time—make time—to see her. They hadn’t been separated for this long for months. Probably not since summer a year ago when she’d gone with her parents on vacation to the Adirondacks.
Seeing Peggy and her mother out, he noted with relief that the waiting room had finally emptied. But just as he started back to his office, the bell over the door clanged. He turned to see a highly unexpected visitor enter the waiting room.
“Serena!”
From the corner of the room where he’d been napping, Sarge hauled himself to his feet and trotted over to reach her before Daniel could. It was no secret that Serena was one of the big Newfie’s favorite people.
Serena stopped just over the threshold, arched one delicate eyebrow, and gave Sarge a head rub while favoring Daniel with a mere hint of a smile. “So you are still in town.”
Daniel stopped short. “What? Oh…yes! In fact, I was planning to come by your house today and…well, I’m really glad you’re here.” He started to cross the room but then stopped again. “You’re not ill?”
She waved off the question. “You know I’m never ill. No, I was concerned about you.”
Daniel gave an awkward shrug, trying
not to feel pleased by her words. “I’m really sorry,” he said, meaning it. “I’ve just been swamped, what with the scarlet fever and all—”
She dismissed his stammering with a flick of her wrist and came the rest of the way into the room. “I know. It’s all anyone can talk about. We’ve had so many absences at school—but of course, you’d know all about that. Anyway, I assumed you hadn’t had any free time, or else I would have heard from you. Still, I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten all about me.”
It wasn’t like Serena to be coy, but the petulant look and the tone of her voice could hardly be described as anything else.
Daniel closed the distance between them. She was wearing a perky bonnet that made her eyes look as blue as the larkspur that grew wild on the hills behind his house. A ruffle of blond curls peeked out around the foolish little hat, and she looked so adorable he had all he could do not to crush her to him.
Instead, he settled for taking her hands in his. “You know very well I could never forget about you.”
She actually lifted her cheek for a kiss.
Maybe I should absent myself more often…
It took only a moment to dismiss that thought as he touched his lips to the cool satin of her cheek.
“I hope you’ve come to have lunch with me.”
“Actually, I came to invite you to dinner. Mother said to tell you she’s making one of your favorites: her peach preserves cake.”
He nearly groaned in anticipation. “Nothing could keep me away.” The only thing that could eclipse the thought of Louisa Norman’s peach preserves cake was this unexpected and personally delivered invitation from Serena.
“We could still have lunch,” he said.
“I suppose you skipped breakfast.”
He had to think. “Guilty.”
She frowned.
Daniel had never known another woman who could look so pretty when she frowned—or when she smiled. Of course, it would be physically impossible for Serena not to look pretty.
“I can’t, Daniel. Papa’s out of town until later, and I promised Mother I’d do some marketing and other errands for her. Besides, we’ll have the evening together.”
“Promise?”
“You’re the one who hasn’t had time for me,” she pointed out. “But before I go, I want to know if you’re really all right. I heard that you wrecked your buggy. Were you hurt at all?”
“How did you hear about that? And, no, I wasn’t hurt. The only thing hurt was the axle on the buggy, and Ira’s working on that today.”
She studied him. “Why are you doing this, Daniel?”
“Why am I doing what?” he asked, puzzled.
“Going back and forth to Owenduffy.” She said the town’s name as though it scalded her tongue. “Especially as busy as you are with your practice here.”
“They’re without a doctor over there, Serena. And the scarlet fever has hit them even harder than Mount Laurel. I wouldn’t feel right not doing what I can. I don’t plan to keep it up forever.”
“You shouldn’t be doing it at all. You’re running yourself ragged. You look awful.”
“Well, you surely don’t,” he said, trying for lightness. “You’re absolutely sparkling.”
He tugged at her hands to pull her a little closer.
“Daniel—a patient might come in.”
“And see his doctor holding hands with the prettiest girl in town. Now there’s a scandal.”
“Daniel.” She continued to regard him with a disapproving look. “Those people in Owenduffy need to have their own doctor.”
The way she said “those people” bothered him some, but in the next instant she was all dimples and smiles, so perhaps he’d imagined the distaste in her tone.
“Now you’re impatient with me,” she said with a pout.
“No, I—”
“Yes, you are. I can tell. All right, I won’t nag. At least not until later. Why don’t you close up now and go home to get some rest while you can?”
“I just may do that. What time should I come this evening?”
“Mother said about six. She asked if you’d bring your minstrel’s harp too. She loves it when you play.”
“I’ll bring it, but I suspect your mother is the only one in the family who really enjoys listening to me play.”
“That’s not so.”
He grinned at her. “Last time I played, your mother listened and you and your dad dozed.”
“I did not!”
“You did. But that’s all right. I want your mother to like me.”
“She does like you. A lot.” Again now she lifted her face to his, standing on tiptoe to reach him. “I really do need to go.”
What was going on here? One kiss on the cheek was usually all she allowed, and then he most often had to maneuver a bit before it was granted.
He decided to act quickly before she changed her mind. This time he lingered a little longer than usual. When she didn’t pull away, he put his arm around her waist to pull her even closer.
But she slid smoothly out of his reach. “Don’t be late for dinner.”
“If I camp out on your front porch the rest of the day, will you take pity and let me in early?”
She laughed at his foolishness. “Just come hungry,” she said, giving the Newfie another pat on the head. “You can bring Sarge, but he’ll have to stay outside. You know how Mother is about animals in the house.”
“One whiff of that peach cake, and he might ram the front door. I think I’d best leave him at home.”
The big Newfoundland raised his head, his interest obviously piqued by the sound of his name.
After Serena left, Daniel went to wash up. When he came back to the waiting room, Sarge was again snoring. “It’s just you and me for lunch, fur-bucket. Rouse yourself.”
At first the Newfie stirred only a little, but the promise of food never failed to get his attention. With an oversized yawn, he got to his feet and went to wait at the door.
Later that afternoon Daniel lay sprawled on the couch, intent on taking Serena’s suggestion to get some rest. To his increasing frustration, however, he remained wide-awake.
In truth, sleep hadn’t come easily to him for years. He’d grown so accustomed to little rest during his time at medical college and throughout the war that he seemed to have set up a kind of pattern. Being called out at all hours of the night also didn’t help. Uninterrupted hours for sleeping were always rare in a doctor’s life, especially for a doctor serving two different communities.
He had finally resigned himself to staying awake and was about to get up when someone pounded on his front door. The pounding continued as he pushed himself up from the sofa and lumbered to the door without his shoes. “Coming!”
He opened the door on Dominic Murphy. The miner was in his work clothes, his hands and face streaked black with coal dust. “I figured you hadn’t had time to get your axle fixed,” Murphy said without preamble, “so I came for you with the wagon. ’Tis our neighbor’s youngest in need of you. She’s but a wee thing and in a bad way with a fit of some sort. No one knows what to do for her. Will you come?”
There was no time for hesitation in the case of a convulsion. Daniel motioned Murphy inside. “I’ll have to get my case.” He glanced down. “And my shoes.”
The miner stepped inside but didn’t follow him to the other room, instead waiting just inside the door.
Daniel dreaded convulsions almost as much as a ruptured appendix, especially in babies and toddlers. Unpredictable and terrible to witness, they usually frightened the entire family, not only the child. Truth be told, they often gave him a scare too.
“How long since the child was taken ill?” he asked Murphy as they climbed onto the wagon bench a few minutes later.
“I’m not sure. I was no more in the door after work than Moira—that’s the child’s mother—came running to see if I’d fetch you. She’s in a state. Her man is dead, so there’s just herself and the wee o
ne.”
Not until they had pulled away from the house did Daniel remember about Serena and his dinner date. With a silent groan, he squeezed his eyes shut for a second and pulled a deep breath. Talk about miserable timing.
“Mr. Murphy—”
“Didn’t I tell you there’s no need to ‘Mister’ me? Just Murphy will do. Or Dominic.” After a brief pause, he added, “Mostly I’m called Murphy.”
“All right, Murphy. I need to make a quick stop on the way. Do you mind?”
The other glanced at him. “Seems a poor time to be stopping.”
“I have to. I had another appointment—an important one. I can’t just not show up.”
Murphy let out what seemed an exaggerated long breath, but nodded. “Show me where, then.”
Daniel felt as if he might be ill himself. Here Serena had finally showed some interest in being with him, and he was about to stand her up.
As it happened, Serena’s mother showed more understanding of his plight than her daughter did.
When Serena opened the door and saw him standing there, she blinked in surprise, then gave him a stern frown. “Daniel! It’s scarcely five! What are you doing here so early?”
“Serena—” He clenched the nape of his neck with one hand, knowing even as he groped for the right words that she was going to be unhappy with him. To say the least.
“The thing is—” He stopped and then started over. “I’m afraid I can’t stay.”
“But what are you doing? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“It’s…a patient. A baby. A toddler, actually. In convulsions.” He was stumbling all over himself, but he couldn’t seem to make a great deal of sense. “I’m on my way there now, and no doubt I’ll be late getting back, so I wanted to tell you now, before it gets any later—”
“But surely it won’t take all that long. Whose child is it?”
“Well…the family is in Owenduffy, so no doubt I’ll be awhile.”
