Bonds of Earth (28 page)

“Pot and kettle, Michael my lad,” John said softly. “Pot and kettle.”

“
T
HANK
you for seeing me on short notice, Michael,” Doctor Parrish said, taking the hand that Michael extended and shaking it firmly.

“No thanks necessary,” Michael told him. The warm spring day was perfect for a walk through Central Park, and privately he was glad Parrish had suggested they meet here. It seemed far too long since he’d simply taken some sun and fresh air.

“Nevertheless, I know you’ve been busy with your residency. How much longer do you have, by the way?”

“The day after tomorrow will be my last day.”

“And graduation?”

Michael snorted. “If I manage to avoid punching any of the new interns in the face—not a sure thing, I might add—I should be graduating next week.”

“Splendid, that’s splendid,” Parrish said, practically rubbing his hands together in glee. “And so I take it you’ve received no offers of employment yet?”

Michael glanced at Parrish out of the corner of his eye as they walked. He should have sent out letters of introduction to the local hospitals by now, but the paper and envelopes remained in his tiny desk at home, untouched. “No, not yet.”

Parrish’s eyes twinkled. “Well, then, I have a position you may be interested in. I’m hoping you’ll be more than interested, actually, as it’s been designed with you in mind.”

Michael stared at him, thunderstruck. “I’m sorry?”

“Do you remember the idea I mentioned to you—oh, it must be four years ago now—about an idea I had for a veterans’ center downtown? It would focus on physical rehabilitation of the wounded, of course, but would offer other services for all veterans, from literacy training to recreation?”

“Yes, I remember. You described it as a cross between a YMCA and a settlement house.”

Parrish laughed. “Well, the idea has evolved considerably since then. Of course, the Veterans’ Bureau has its hospitals and occupational therapy, but it offers nothing like what I’m envisioning, nor anything that serves veterans living in lower Manhattan.”

Michael’s jaw twitched, though he was aware he needn’t bother to hide his reaction. Parrish knew there was no love lost between him and the notoriously corrupt organization. “From what I’ve heard, they’re not in the habit of welcoming immigrants or colored men,” he observed, “and downtown that’s about all you’ll find.”

“All the more reason to do this thing,” Parrish said solemnly. “We both agree that every man who served his country deserves our help. Luckily, the Bureau has finally decided to see it our way in this case. I’ve been in talks with General Hines, the new director they brought in after the scandal, and he’s done a great deal to reform and expand the organization. Last week we signed the final paperwork, and we’ll be starting the renovations to the building we’ve chosen by the end of the month.”

Michael stopped in his tracks and stared at his old mentor. “You could charm the devil out of his hole.”

Parrish laughed merrily and clapped him on the shoulder, and they resumed their walk. “Thank you, my boy. Of course, there are some things I’ll not be advertising to the Bureau. I’ve already hired a young colored doctor, a very promising graduate of Howard University, and we have your old friend Elizabeth on board as administrator. I need people I can trust in key positions, people who are not bound to old, outmoded traditions and prejudices.”

Michael blinked. “I only saw her yesterday. She didn’t breathe a word of this to me.”

“I asked her to let me have the pleasure of telling you. It nearly killed her to keep mum.”

“I’m sure,” Michael drawled. “And so you’d like me to help with the physical therapy?”

“That, and much more. Michael, within a couple of years, I’m hoping to retire—” Michael snorted, and Parrish amended, “—well, all right, perhaps slow down is a better term—and I’ll want someone to carry on the good work we’ve begun. I can think of no better man to do that than you.”

Michael reeled in shock. “I can think of a dozen. I’m hardly a green kid, but neither am I anywhere near the most experienced.”

“You experienced more in four years of war than most doctors do in four decades of practice,” Parrish returned. “But more importantly, you are one of those rare physicians who listens to his heart as much as his head. Your first loyalty is not to science or self-aggrandizement, but to the best interests of the men, and that must be the guiding principle of this place if we are to be going on with it.”

Michael ducked his head, feeling an unexpected wave of pride wash over him at Parrish’s praise. “Your guiding principles sound positively Bolshevik, if you ask me. Not that I mind, but I thought you were securing yourself a place in heaven. Are you certain God would approve of your colored and Irish doctors and your women wearing the trousers?”

Parrish grinned. “I’ve always privately suspected that Jesus is in favor of revolutionaries, seeing as how he was a bit of one himself. Does this mean you’re saying yes? I must warn you, the pay will be nowhere near what you’ll deserve.”

Michael opened his mouth but was suddenly assaulted by a wave of what felt disturbingly like panic, and no sound emerged from his throat. What the hell was the matter with him? This was an ideal position, one tailor-made to his skills and abilities. Furthermore, he would be doing important work under a man he loved and respected. Why, then, did the thought of taking this position fill him with unreasoning dread?

“I—do you mind if I take a day or two to think about it?” Michael asked. “It’s only that—I wasn’t expecting anything like this, and these last weeks of residency have been so hectic—” He clamped his mouth shut around the babbling, sure Parrish would think him mad if he went on any longer.

For a moment, a flicker of what looked like disappointment appeared on Parrish’s face before the usual serenity descended again. Michael’s gut churned at the knowledge he was causing Parrish more worry in what had to be an extremely stressful time. “Of course, my boy. Take all the time you need.”

“You don’t need to be so softhearted,” Michael muttered. “I know how important this is. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

Parrish’s too-knowing gaze searched his face, and it was all Michael could do to keep from squirming under the scrutiny. “I can’t help being softhearted toward you, son,” Parrish said, reaching up to give Michael a fatherly pat on the arm, “because you’re hard enough on yourself for both of us.”

“M
R
. M
C
C
READY
, may I see you for a moment, please?”

Michael stopped in his tracks, knowing full well he couldn’t hope to escape old Mulcahy when she used that tone of voice. Plastering on his most blandly innocent expression, he turned and faced her as she regarded him impassively from the door of her office.

Damn. His last shift of residency and he was about to be kicked out on his arse. Shame, that.

“Yes, Mother Superior?” Michael said, attempting a small yet hopefully professional smile.

Unfortunately, this only made her frown. “Come in, please,” she invited brusquely, spinning on her heel and retreating inside. Michael took a moment to be impressed once more by her ability to glide as though she were perched on casters; most nuns could only yearn for that level of proficiency, if nuns could yearn for anything.

As soon as Michael had shut the door behind him, she came directly to the point. “I notice that Mister Stewart’s work habits and attitude have improved remarkably over the last week. I heard a rumor that you might have had something to do with that.”

Michael clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m flattered to think I could have that kind of influence over the next generation of young doctors.”

“Hmph,” Mulcahy said. “Your facetious streak is one of your least becoming traits, Mr. McCready.”

Michael’s mouth twitched. “My apologies.”

The Mother Superior waved a hand at him. “Yes, well, while I would hazard a guess your action did not arise from the purest of motives, the outcome of it was beneficial, so we’ll leave it at that. He reported to me about the Andretti girl earlier and was sure to give you the lion’s share of the credit for her recovery.”

Michael shook his head. “I prescribed the initial treatment, but he worked diligently on her case after that. He’s the one who deserves your praise.”

Mulcahy’s eyebrows rose slightly. It was the closest thing to outright surprise he had ever seen cross her features. “This mutual admiration is touching, but I will praise who I please, thank you.”

“Yes, Mother Superior,” Michael said primly.

The Mother Superior looked at him keenly for another moment, then sighed heavily and sat in her chair. Gesturing to him to take a seat, she said, “What are your plans after graduation?”

Michael opened his mouth, then closed it again. He still hadn’t called Parrish to give his answer, and the guilt arising from it gnawed at him. “I don’t know yet,” he answered honestly.

“I thought as much,” said the Mother Superior. Michael looked at her, surprise no doubt evident on his face, and she huffed, “Give me some credit for perception. It’s clear you’ve been troubled these last few months. Oh, your work hasn’t suffered; far from it. If anything, you’ve been even more driven and dedicated. But a doctor who has nothing more than his work will eventually stumble and falter.”

Michael shifted in his chair. “Thank you for the advice,” he said coolly.

Mulcahy continued undaunted. “I realize you’re not a practicing Catholic. I’ve never asked you why; quite frankly, it’s none of my affair. However, should you feel I may be able to help you in some way, I want you to know that my door will always be open.” She raised a hand. “Please understand that I have no motive other than to keep you in medicine, Mr. McCready. This world needs doctors who strive for excellence as much as it needs men of faith, though if you claim outside these walls that I said so I will of course deny it.”

Michael stared at her, nonplussed by her uncharacteristic display of kindness toward him. The Mother Superior was a humane and giving woman to her patients, but to the interns and residents she was an unrelentingly strict and exacting taskmistress. While he had always respected her—for she was also fair, level-headed, and a brilliant nurse—he found that this was the first time he could truly say he liked her.

“Thank you, Mother Superior,” he said, rising to his feet. “I may take you up on that one day.”

She stood with him, a touch of something approaching regret in her eyes, as though she knew it to be a lie. “May God be with you, Michael,” she said, making the sign of the cross, and it was so heartfelt that Michael could only nod and murmur his thanks.

M
ICHAEL
came home from his shift at St. Vincent’s to find John gone and a note lying on the table by the door.
Left to run errands and then to my appointment; if you get back in time, I hope to see you there.
The time and the address—a few subway stops away in the West Fifties—were printed at the bottom. Michael checked his watch and saw that he would indeed have time to make this appointment. He supposed he could lie, tell John he’d arrived home too late, but it felt like a coward’s choice.

Not that you’ve been behaving at all like a coward lately,
a small, annoying voice reminded him, one that Michael swiftly stomped on as he picked up the envelope he found underneath the note. Turning it over, he was startled to realize it was from his eldest brother. Colm McCready was over fifteen years Michael’s senior, and they had had little contact since the death of their mother. However, at forty years of age, Colm had finally married, and his new bride, a widow with three children, had more of a sense of family than all the McCreadys put together. Whether Colm’s desire to restore the lines of communication was genuine or motivated by his wife’s influence was immaterial to Michael; for his part, he was cordial in response to Colm’s overtures, but no more. Now, however, the renewed connection had served him well, because he had written to his brother last month in the desperate hope that Colm might be able to locate Margaret where Michael had failed.

Ripping open the envelope and tearing the corner of the letter inside in his haste, he unfolded it and began to read.

It was good to receive your letter last week, and to hear you are nearly ready to graduate from medical school. I never expected that any of us would amount to so much as you have. It is to your credit, and I am proud of you.

You asked about Margaret. I can tell you that she and the children are well. Six months ago she found out that Paul had been killed in an accident at the foundry and she had been left a small settlement from the union’s widows and orphans fund. At that time Catherine and I convinced her to come to Boston, and she is living with us now. She is going to a business school and when she graduates I will get her a job at the dockyard office.

I do not know why you are not as close as you once were; I have not asked and she has not told me. I will tell her you were asking after her and it will be her choice to contact you or not. We have never been the best of families but I am trying to make it up now and be a better brother to both of you. If I am forced to choose, I will have to choose her since you are making your own way in the world. Try not to worry; she is in good hands.

Go with God—

Colm

Michael crumpled the letter in his fist after he finished it, the words echoing in his head as the rage built in him. The next thing he knew, he had picked up the table and flung it across the room, where it smashed against the wall and broke apart. After consigning him and Margaret to the hell of Paddy’s tender care so that he could continue whoring his way across the South Seas, after all these years of neglect while she rotted in the Bowery, that Colm had the gall to play the responsible brother made him furious. At the same time, though, Michael acknowledged that the lion’s share of his anger was reserved for Margaret, who had so little regard for him that she had subjected him to half a year’s worth of grinding worry for nothing. She knew he had remained aware of her whereabouts, for she had been receiving the money he’d sent when he could. How could she simply pack up and leave without letting him know she was safe?