Of Flesh and Blood (42 page)

“Moses became McGrath’s lifelong friend.” Dot nodded. “He ended up as the Alfredson’s first building engineer.”

Now that she had uncovered Dot’s source, Lorna was eager to get back to the boating accident. “So Olivia’s death left both Marshall and Evan heartbroken . . .”

“Life went on as it tends to do.” Dot cracked her knuckles. “My grandfather dedicated his time and energy to his new son. Before Junior could even walk, Marshall began to groom him for his
ascendancy
to the Alfredson throne. Meanwhile, Evan was extremely busy with his young family and his other baby, the Alfredson. After George was born, Grace and Evan had two more children in quick succession. Olivia in 1898 and then Nicholas in 1900.”

“
Olivia?
” Lorna grunted. “I still cannot believe Evan named his daughter after Marshall’s.”

“Why not? I doubt Grace knew any better. And how could Marshall stop them?” Dot shook her head. “Besides, no one ever called her Olivia. She was always simply Liv. And she was the absolute apple of her father’s eye.”

“And what about Junior? Did Evan ever discover that he might have actually been Junior’s real father?”

“That was one secret Theodora kept even from Moses.” Dot touched her
temple conspiratorially. “But Grandfather knew, of course. And it was to become quite an issue for the old man.”

With a world at war and outdated colonial attitudes falling by the wayside, Marshall and Evan championed the idea of integration and racial harmony at the Alfredson, long before the concept would be embraced by most other hospitals in America.

—
The Alfredson: The First Hundred Years by Gerald Fenton Naylor

Evan sat at his desk staring out his second-floor window. He loved looking down on the rolling lawn and the colorfully landscaped gardens. They were never more beautiful than in the early spring months when the cherry blossoms seemed to flower overnight. He enjoyed the view even more now that two more brick buildings—the second one almost completed—had sprung up on either side of the original clinic. He loved to watch the automobiles and trucks rolling in and out of the paved driveway leading up to the main entrance. The loud chugging motors and the smell of the burning petroleum filled him with a sense of vitality, progress, and even hope.

Evan still remembered, as though it were yesterday, standing with Moses at the mouth of the muddy pit and watching Marshall’s men excavate the site. He could not believe the Alfredson had already marked its twentieth anniversary or that he had turned fifty the previous winter. Though Evan had put on a few pounds around the waist and suffered from intermittent bouts of sciatica, which he tamed with aspirin, he felt otherwise as spry and energetic as he had at thirty. Time had numbed the sense of loss that had plagued him through the clinic’s early years. He thought of Olivia, and Virginia, as often as ever, but the memories were easier now, retaining their joy without the piercing loneliness they had once conjured.

Evan and Grace’s marriage had evolved into a comfortable businesslike relationship that suited them both, though at times they had little to say to each other. Evan took more and more satisfaction in watching his three children, each so different from the other, bloom into such decent adults. He had high hopes that George or Nicholas would someday step into his medical leadership role at the Alfredson.

If Liv does not beat them to it!
He laughed to himself.

His daughter had no interest in following her mother into teaching school. The eighteen-year-old had made it clear since she was ten that she intended to become a doctor like her father. There was already precedent for it, too. Evan had only recently accepted the application of a female physician who specialized in pediatric care.

With a deep sense of contentment, Evan watched the bricklayers put the finishing touches to the roofline of the new building. He was incredibly proud of what had been accomplished at the clinic. It boasted sixty-seven physicians, many of them internationally renowned, who worked in over twenty different specialties. The radiology and laboratory departments were among the best in the country. And access to the Alfredson had been steadily improved as its name grew in stature. Instead of the original meandering five-hour train ride, people could now drive by automobile from Seattle to Oakdale on the new road in less than two hours.

Every day new patients poured in from all across Washington and well beyond, seeking the exemplary and humane care on which the Alfredson had built its reputation. And not only people of means. Despite ongoing battles with Marshall and even some of his own medical staff, Evan had tenaciously stuck to the clinic’s founding principle that no patient in need, regardless of financial or social standing, would be turned away.

A rap on the door drew Evan’s attention, and he reluctantly turned from the window. “Come in,” he called, expecting his secretary, Mrs. Corley, to arrive for dictations.

Instead, his eldest son, George, strode in. A month away from his twentieth birthday, the boy was already taller than Evan. George shared his father’s dark handsome features, but he had yet to shed his teenaged scrawniness. Still, George had always carried himself with a somber deportment far beyond his years. Now, as a third-year medical student at the University of Washington, he was serious to the point of grave. Evan sometimes jokingly referred to him as “my old son.”

As George approached the desk with a newspaper tucked under his arm, his expression was particularly grim. “What is it, Son?” Evan asked.

“Have you not heard, Father?” George pulled the newspaper from under his arm and laid out the front page on the desk facing Evan.

Evan glanced down at the page, dated April 3, 1917. The headline’s three letters consumed most of the page. “
WAR!
” it screamed.

“President Wilson has asked Congress to declare war on Germany,” George said in a voice resonating with patriotism.

Evan sighed heavily. He had heard the saber-rattling for months, but he had hoped that America would stay out of the conflict that had been ravaging Europe for almost three years. “This is not good, George. Not good at all.”

“What do you mean, Father?” George asked with surprised indignation. “The Germans are sinking all ships in European waters, regardless of the flags they fly or the innocent lives lost. German spies even tried to convince our Mexican neighbors to attack us.” He pointed to the paper. “This is exactly what those Huns deserve.”

Evan shook his head sadly. “Have you not heard how the fields of France are littered with the graves of young soldiers? Too many to count, I hear.”

George brought a hand to his chest. “There are things worth dying for, Father.”

“I agree, George.” An ominous gloom descended on Evan as he recognized the fervor in his son’s eyes. “However, I do not believe a few square miles of farmland in France qualifies as such.”

“Germany and Austria-Hungary represent the forces of tyranny and oppression.” George pounded his fist into his open palm. “The French and the British are fighting for democracy. This is a war about justice and freedom of people everywhere. It’s a noble cause. President Wilson said as much in his speech.”

“What did old Woody say?” asked a female voice.

Evan looked over to see his eighteen-year-old daughter bounding into the room. Liv wore a blue dress and stockings, and her auburn hair was tied back in pigtails. She was as vivacious as George was solemn. And she had an irrepressible brazen streak that was always leading her into trouble. But ever since she was a baby, her huge smile could always melt Evan’s heart. Now was no exception, as Liv flashed a broad grin to her father and her older brother. “Hello, George, old boy,” she said in a mock English accent as she rushed past him. She reached Evan and kissed him on the cheek. “Hi, Papa.”

The sweet scent of soap and talcum powder drifted to him as her soft cheek brushed his. “Hello, Liv,” he said.

Liv returned to a spot beside her brother. “What’s new, soon-to-be-Dr. McGrath?” she asked playfully.

“We’re going to war, Liv!” George said.

Liv frowned. “Why, for goodness’ sake?”

“For the sake of democracy. It’s the Great War, Liv!” George looked from his sister to his father with disappointment. “Have you not been following the newspaper accounts?”

Liv rested a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “A little, George. I have heard old Woodrow’s attempts to justify dragging us into this mess.”

“
Drag
us?” George shook off his sister’s hand. “I believe we are duty-bound to participate.” He turned to Evan questioningly. “Father?”

Evan folded his arms across his chest. “At its core, this war is about historical European grievances. Little more.” He shook his head. “I have read ghastly reports. Both sides using poisonous gas, enormous mortar cannons, and other unthinkable weapons. So many maimed and dead. As a doctor, I simply cannot in good conscience support such slaughter.”

“Father’s right, George,” Liv said gently. “This is not our war.”

“It is now!” George snapped. “And I intend to enlist and fight for my country.”

Since the moment his son marched into his office, Evan had suspected the declaration was coming, but the words still pierced like a lance. He sprang out of his chair. “You will do no such thing, George!”

George dropped his gaze to the floor but his expression remained resolute. “Father, I have to do this,” he said steadily. “For my country and for myself.”

“No, Son.” Evan struggled to control his tone. “What you have to do is stay here and complete the final year of your medical education.”

“I will, Father. When I return.”

“If you return,” Evan said quietly.

“George, you really do not have to go,” Liv said in a faltering voice.

He looked over to her with a self-conscious smile. “Liv, I do. It’s my duty.”

“And what of your duty to your family?” Evan demanded. “And to your patients? Or to the Alfredson?”

George nodded solemnly. “I will come back and fulfill those, too, Father. I promise.”

A sense of foreboding welled inside Evan. He racked his brain for something to dissuade George’s patriotic impulses, but nothing came to mind.
Besides, Evan knew his son well enough to know that George would enlist, no matter what he said.

George cleared his throat. “Father, I have to go back to report my intentions to the dean of medicine.”

Evan nodded. “You’ll come back, before . . .”

George nodded. “Of course.”

Liv also seemed to recognize the finality of her brother’s decision. “You’re terribly brave, George. I am so proud of you. Promise you will be careful. All right?”

He showed her another bashful smile and then hurried out of the room. As soon as he was gone, a glum silence fell between Evan and his daughter.

“George has many talents, Papa, but he is no soldier,” Liv finally said.

Evan nodded.

“What will become of him?”

Before Evan could answer, there was another loud knock at the door.
Who now?
“Yes,” he snapped without even glancing over to the door.

Marshall Alfredson stood in the doorway. “Dr. McGrath, may we have a moment of your time?” he asked in a cool expectant tone.

“Of course,” Evan said, rising from his seat.

Leaning heavily on his cane, Marshall limped into the room. He had lost little of his imposing stature over the past twenty years but, at seventy-two, his back was slightly stooped and the gout had reduced his gait to a slow hobble. His reddish hair and sideburns had grayed and his face had developed the wrinkles and blotches of his age. But his glare was as commanding as ever. “Good day, Miss McGrath,” he said frostily to Liv.

Dressed in a natty gray three-piece suit with a high collar and blue tie, Junior Alfredson strode in behind his father, careful not to overtake the old man. Junior oozed confidence that Evan thought more fitting for someone twice his age. At twenty, he was good-looking with a Romanesque nose, dimples, and curly dark brown hair. He bore little resemblance to his mother, except around the eyes. Junior had Olivia’s green irises and the same shape of brow. Consequently, Evan found it impossible not to like Junior despite how they disagreed on nearly every issue facing the Alfredson.

“Good day, Liv,” Junior said with a slightly theatrical bow.

“Hello, Junior,” Liv said curtly, but with a trace of unmistakable playfulness.

Marshall’s lip curled into a brief sneer as he watched the exchange between Liv and his son. The old man rested his hands on the carved handle of his cane. “Dr. McGrath, we have some pressing business to discuss.” He harrumphed.

Evan turned to his daughter. “Liv, could you please give us—”

“Do you mean the war, Mr. Alfredson?” Liv indicated the newspaper still spread over Evan’s desk.

“No, I do not, Miss McGrath,” Marshall said pointedly.

“George intends to enlist,” Liv informed the other two.

Marshall nodded approvingly. “We will need plenty of good men fighting for us over there.”

“We don’t need to be over there at all!” Evan snapped.

Marshall tut-tutted his disapproval.