Sons of an Ancient Glory (47 page)

I stood beside the couch in tears
Where pale and calm she slept,
And though I've gazed on death for years,
I blush not that I wept.

R
ICHARD
D'
ALTON
W
ILLIAMS
(1822-1862)

T
o Nicholas Grafton's great relief, Pastor Jess Dalton was waiting for him outside the tenement where Elizabeth Ward lived.

As the two men shook hands, Nicholas newly considered what it was about the big, curly-headed pastor that gave others such a sense of calm. Being in Dalton's presence was like taking a deep, cool drink of serenity. The man seemed to exude a steady kind of strength and warmth, a magnetism that attracted individuals from all walks of life, in particular those who hurt. The lonely, the troubled, and the suffering were drawn to Jess Dalton like starving children in search of a banquet.

Nicholas had come to count on this big, gentle bear of a man in times of crisis, and had never been disappointed. Dalton had left one of the most prosperous, influential pulpits in the city to take on a ministry among the destitute and outcasts of society. There were those among the pastor's former parishioners who were quick to label him a “lunatic abolitionist,” a “madman.” Others scorned his actions, sneering that with the fortune he had inherited from his father and the income he earned from his writing, he could afford to “indulge his pet causes.”

Nicholas knew that none of the gossip was in the least justified. Jess Dalton might indeed be what some would term “a fool for God,” but he was no madman. As to an inheritance, that might be the case, but certainly the pastor's unpretentious lifestyle gave no credence to great wealth. He
had
authored a number of books protesting slavery and oppression, which, at least among the more temperate abolitionists, were extremely popular. Still, from the little Nicholas knew of the publishing world, it was unlikely that Jess Dalton was getting rich off his books.

After resigning his Fifth Avenue pulpit, Dalton had moved his wife and son to a modest brownstone on West Thirty-fourth Street. The seemingly tireless pastor could be found almost anywhere in the city: ministering to the poor, afflicted residents of the “freak shows” in the Bowery, preaching the gospel to the downtrodden immigrants in Five Points, or presiding over a burial service in Shantytown. To those who had long assumed themselves to be forgotten or despised by God, Jess Dalton was hope incarnate.

Nicholas prayed that, tonight, the big pastor could impart at least a ray of that hope to Elizabeth Ward.

“Since I've never met your patient,” the pastor said, following Nicholas through the door, “I thought I'd best wait for you.”

Nicholas nodded. “I've told you about Mrs. Ward, haven't I? About her illness, her little girl, the estrangement from her family?”

The pastor's kind blue eyes turned sad. “Yes, I remember. And your note said you believe this to be the end?”

Again Nicholas gave a nod. “One of the neighbors sent for me,” he said, pausing at the landing before starting down the steps to the basement apartment. “I appreciate your coming, Jess. This is a difficult one.”

“It never gets any easier, does it, Nicholas?” The pastor put a hand to his shoulder.

“No,” Nicholas said, shaking his head. “And I don't expect it ever will.”

Inside the small, dingy apartment, which in reality was nothing more than two cramped rooms—a kitchen of sorts and a bedroom—things were pretty much as Nicholas had expected. A neighbor had taken the baby, while another woman—an Italian matron named Mrs. Silone—sat by the patient's bed.

At the sight of the doctor and the pastor, Mrs. Silone rose and, giving a resigned shake of her head as she passed between them, left the apartment.

Elizabeth Ward, awake, attempted a smile as the two men approached the bed.

The young woman's darkly shadowed eyes seemed to brighten for an instant as Nicholas introduced Jess Dalton. “It's…good of you to come, Pastor.” Her voice was so weak she could scarcely be heard. “I'm afraid…I haven't been able to attend services for a long time,” she said, moistening her fever-cracked lips.

Unexpectedly, her eyes widened, and she lifted a frail hand to Nicholas. “Doctor…has there been…any word?”

His throat tightening, Nicholas took her hand. “Not yet, I'm afraid.” At her stricken look, he quickly added, “Why don't I write again? Perhaps my first letter didn't reach your father.”

Closing her eyes, she said simply, “There's no more time.”

A wave of anguish washed over Nicholas, and for a moment he couldn't answer.

Elizabeth Ward drew a deep, ragged breath, which triggered a fit of coughing. Quickly, Nicholas moved to slip a hand behind the pillows to hold her steady. He was almost surprised at the blood that came. The poor girl was so emaciated and pale she appeared bloodless. But when the spasm ended, the small white rag in her hand that served as a handkerchief was stained with crimson, as was the bodice of her white nightgown.

Gently releasing her, Nicholas smoothed the thinning hair away from her face.
Dear girl, I would give up my entire practice if I could somehow make this night easier for you.…

Her eyes closed, Elizabeth Ward murmured a word.
“Amanda.”

“Amanda is just fine,” Nicholas assured her, again taking her hand. “Mrs. Modine is looking after her.”

Her eyes opened and she looked at Nicholas. “But she can't
stay
there, Doctor! The Modines have four children of their own. They can't possibly—” Her voice broke and she gasped, fighting for breath. “Please…I want to see her…I want to see my baby.…”

Nicholas quickly checked her pulse, which was perilously weak. Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, he turned to Jess. “If you'll stay, I'll go across the hall and get the baby.”

Little Amanda Ward, fifteen months old and the image of her mother, was a friendly, happy little girl. She was all blue eyes and dimples and bouncing blond curls.

Even now, in spite of his heavy heart, Nicholas found himself responding with a smile to the child in his arms.

He stopped just inside the bedroom door, waiting. Jess Dalton stood beside the bed, head bowed, holding both of Elizabeth Ward's hands in his as he prayed. Nicholas watched for a moment, then closed his eyes and said a prayer of his own, both for the dying mother and for her child, the baby girl in his arms.

Finally, the pastor straightened, standing aside for Nicholas to bring the baby to her mother. Elizabeth Ward no longer had the strength to open her arms to her little girl, so Nicholas gently laid Amanda against her shoulder.

For a long time, the frail young woman lay gazing at her child, while the baby contentedly studied her mother's face. But when another spasm of coughing seized her, Nicholas quickly lifted Amanda away, handing her to Jess Dalton.

Supporting Elizabeth Ward against his shoulder, he waited until the seizure passed, then eased her gently back against the pillows.

“I have a new bottle of cough syrup for you in my case,” he said, straightening. “Let me get it.”

But giving a weak shake of her head, she told him, “No. No…it's all right. It doesn't really…help any longer.”

She was watching Jess Dalton with Amanda. “Do you have children, Pastor?”

He smiled at her. “A son,” he replied. “Casey-Fitz is almost eleven.”

Elizabeth Ward managed a weak smile through cracked lips. “Casey-Fitz. You're Irish, Pastor?”

“My wife is—and I suppose you might say I am, as well, since my roots were planted in Irish soil a few generations ago.”

“I…would have liked a son,” she murmured vaguely. “A brother…for Amanda.”

Her features suddenly went taut. Squeezing her eyes shut, she moaned and clutched her chest, struggling to breathe. The death rattles in her throat came more insistently now.

Again Nicholas raised her head from the pillows. Fighting for breath, she stared up at Jess Dalton and her child. “Please…” she choked out. “You promised…you won't let her go to an orphanage.…”

Without warning, she gave a harsh, labored breath, then Nicholas felt her sag in his arms.

It had been a long time since Nicholas had wept over a patient. But as he held Elizabeth Ward's fragile, lifeless body in his arms, he could not stop the tears from spilling over.

Dear God, it should be the girl's father weeping over her, not a doctor she's known for only a few months! What kind of man lets his only daughter die alone, a continent away, in the arms of a stranger? What kind of man?

He glanced up to see Jess Dalton—his eyes also misted—gazing down at the baby girl in his arms.

“If only she could have had the peace of knowing her child would be taken care of,” Nicholas said, his voice heavy. Carefully, he released Elizabeth Ward's body, wiping away the blood from the corner of her mouth, then closing her eyes. “If only she could have had that much hope before she died.”

“Perhaps she did,” Jess Dalton said quietly.

Nicholas looked at him. The big pastor's eyes were still fixed on the child, who was studying him with grave intensity.

“I promised her I would take the child home,” he explained. “I gave her my word that my wife and I would take care of Amanda.”

Hiking the little girl higher against his massive chest, the pastor added, “At least until we can find a permanent home for her.”

Nicholas nodded, vastly relieved—but not really surprised—to learn that Elizabeth Ward had been given, after all, a faint glimmer of hope before she died.

Nearly two hours later, Jess Dalton fumbled for his house key with his free hand, while balancing little Amanda and the basket that held her clothing on his other arm.

Before he could let himself in, the door flew open to reveal a slightly wild-eyed Kerry. Her red hair blazed like a cloud of fire about her face. She was in her dressing gown.

“Jess! Oh—thanks
be
! I've been so worried! You said you wouldn't be long! Where have—oh—”

She gaped as he stepped inside with the baby.

“Whatever—”

The child stirred against his shoulder, and Jess reached to free her face from the blanket. Two enormous blue eyes peered out at him, then at Kerry, who stood, a hand at her throat, her stunned gaze going from the baby to Jess.

“Jess?”

Knowing her well enough to predict her next move, he waited, smiling.

“Why…why, whatever do we have here?” Even as she asked, she was opening her arms to take the child. “Oh…isn't she lovely!”

Releasing the baby to his wife, Jess shrugged out of his greatcoat and tossed it over the coat-tree. “Kerry, meet Amanda.”

He had already lost her. Kerry was tugging at the strings of the baby's bonnet, clucking her tongue as the blond curls fell free. “Oh! Such hair! Would you look at it? Angel hair, that's what it is! Oh,
aren't
you the darling girl, though!”

Jess watched as the baby returned Kerry's smile and put up one chubby hand to touch her face. “Amanda has lost her mother,” he said softly. “She's in need of a place to stay just now. I thought perhaps we could take care of her…just for a while.”