Sons of an Ancient Glory (34 page)

Daniel didn't meet his eyes. “It will have to wait. Besides…I…I'm just not sure that I really want to spend my life dealing with tragedy.”

Again the doctor gave a nod. “Certainly I'd be the last to pretend it's an easy life. Yet, for some of us, it's the
only
life. And you know, Daniel, for all the tragedy and disappointments, it's also a fulfilling life.” He stopped, and for a moment his thoughts seemed to drift elsewhere.

Daniel hesitated, then blurted out, “Would you do it again, sir? If you were to start all over, would you become a doctor again?”

Dr. Grafton looked at him with surprise. “Why, yes, Daniel, I would. I definitely would.” He paused, then went on. “Although there was a time, early in my practice, when I very nearly gave it all up.”

At Daniel's look of astonishment, the doctor nodded, his expression turning pensive. “I lost half a dozen patients in the first year, three of them children under twelve, to deadly diseases and one horrifying accident. I thought I simply could not go on, pretending to be some sort of a ‘healer' when in fact I felt more like a charlatan every day! All the schooling, all the training—what was it worth when it came right down to it? I couldn't even save a little girl from scarlet fever—three years old, and she died of complications. I believe I
would
have given up had it not been for a certain young woman—about the age of Elizabeth Ward.”

Going to the window, now veiled with darkness, the doctor stood staring out as he continued his story. He spoke quietly, with a kind of fond remembrance, almost as if Daniel were no longer in the room. “Her name was Felicia. She was one of those golden young women who seem to bring light into any room they enter. She was lovely and bright and sunny-natured—a small woman, but one of monumental faith. Everyone who knew her adored her, with good reason.

“She had just given birth to her second little girl when we discovered the cancer.”

Daniel's throat tightened. He already knew he didn't want to hear the rest of Dr. Grafton's story, yet he could not help but listen.

“It took her nearly a year to die, and it was one of the most agonizing, heartrending deaths I have ever witnessed. Everyone grieved. Even the most resolute Christian believers suddenly found themselves questioning a God who could allow a woman like Felicia to suffer such agony. Just to be in the room with her toward the end was enough to devastate the strongest man. There were times when I actually felt myself caught up and trapped inside her pain—it was that vicious. It was unbearable…simply unbearable”

He stopped, and Daniel saw the doctor's shoulders lift as he drew in a long, steadying breath. “Yet I never, in all that time, heard her utter an angry or accusing word against her God.”

He turned around, and he suddenly looked much older. A veil of sorrow seemed to have slipped over his features. “I'm afraid I can't say as much for myself. I raged at God—I believe I may have even threatened Him a time or two. I expect I'm living proof of His mercy, for He could just as easily have struck me dead for my blasphemy. Perhaps He took pity on me, for I believe by then I might have been a little mad.”

For a moment the doctor said nothing more, but simply stood, his hands clasped behind him, looking across the room at the chair Elizabeth Ward had recently vacated.

Slowly, then, he lifted his eyes back to Daniel. “Felicia was my wife,” he said quietly.

At Daniel's sharp intake of breath, the doctor raised a hand to indicate he had not finished his story. “A few weeks after she died, I found her diary, which she had kept up until the time she was no longer able to write. It was a revelation. For all her suffering, her agony, she had written beautiful things. Her words were almost like songs of exultation. I found page after page of surprises, amazing insights and feelings that had come from her heart…her soul…things that changed forever my ideas about pain—and where
God
is in the midst of pain.

“She wrote about the Lord holding her hand, about how He carried her over the mountains and above the valleys of pain and showed her wondrous things—promised glories. There was this incomprehensible…
joy
in everything she wrote. Even when she wrote directly of the pain, she seemed to be rejoicing somewhere deep inside her, closed to the rest of us.

“One entry was written directly to me…” He faltered, wiped a hand over his eyes, then went on. “She told me how God had come to her in what she called her ‘valley of pain,' how He had come close, closer than He had ever been before and lifted her up into His arms. She said He had carried her through it all, had held her so close…so very close…that she almost thought she could hear His very heartbeat.”

Shaken, Daniel clung to his every word. His mother had spoken of an experience something very like what the doctor was relating after she gave birth to Teddy. She, too, had talked of the Lord “carrying” her through her pain.

Dr. Grafton looked weary and gray, but his eyes were filled with a faint glimmer of wonder as he went on. “Felicia apparently found a kind of…
glory…
in her suffering. To this day, I can't begin to comprehend what she must have experienced. But her words gave me a hope that I believe has made me a better doctor than I might have been otherwise.”

He looked at Daniel. “It's my observation that you will make a fine, fine doctor, son, and I truly hope you'll pursue your dream. If I may, though, let me give you this caution, in hopes it might ease your way a bit. This is the best time—now, while you're young and life hasn't worn you down—to face the reality of pain and suffering. As a doctor, you're going to encounter horrible things, wretched, heartbreaking things. This is the time to confront that reality, not when you're caught up in the middle of an emotional storm. Face the dragon now and decide just how you intend to deal with it. It is for you to choose whether you're going to blame God for the ugliness life is sure to bring—or whether you're going to trust Him with it all and keep on going.

“For I tell you, Daniel, I am convinced that what you believe, really believe, about the Great Physician and His workings in our poor human lives will make a very real difference in the kind of physician—and the kind of man—you ultimately become.”

Daniel stood staring at this man he had come to admire and trust, in whose footsteps he hoped to follow. He couldn't speak. His feelings were too overpowering, his thoughts racing in too many directions.

But he was moved almost to tears with gratitude. For somehow he knew that today, thanks to Nicholas Grafton's willingness to bare his heart, he had already faced the dragon and made his choice.

The certainty that I shall see that lady
Leaning or standing or walking
In the first loveliness of womanhood,
And with the fervour of my youthful eyes,
Has set me muttering like a fool.

W.B. Y
EATS
(1865-1939)

Dublin

Late October

T
his child spends far more time in his mother's bedroom than in his nursery,” Lucy observed good-naturedly as she watched Finola cuddle baby Gabriel on her lap. “He will not recognize one from the other, I'm thinking.”

In the rocking chair by the window, Finola ruffled the golden head snuggled next to her heart, smiling down at her son. “He is far too small for that big drafty room, I think. Although it
is
quite grand, as nurseries go,” she added. “Besides, he will be hungry soon, so I shall keep him here for now.”

Lucy watched them for another moment. “Then I will take the diapers downstairs to the laundry. Do you want anything from the kitchen when I come back?”

Finola shook her head. “I am growing far too round as it is.”

“Would you
listen
to the girl!” Lucy burst out, propping her hands on her hips. “For the first time in memory, she has a bit of meat on her bones, and doesn't she fret?”

Finola laughed at her. “All the same, I will have nothing from the kitchen.”

After Lucy left the room, Finola nursed baby Gabriel contentedly. She treasured these times of quiet closeness with her son. And how she did adore him!

Her golden child had charmed the entire household. Except for Artegal, that is. The sour-tempered footman obviously found even a sweet baby boy only a bother.

But everyone else did dote on the new heir of Nelson Hall. His big sister, Aine, could not pass him by without a squeeze and a kiss. She picked him up so often that Lucy had taken to scolding: “The babe hasn't a chance! He will be spoiled entirely!”

Sister Louisa, however, declared that there was little likelihood of spoiling such a sweet-tempered child. “He will know himself to be cherished, so where's the harm? Just see how well he takes it all in his stride. The child is an angel.”

“You see, my precious? You have captured an entire treasure of hearts for your very own!” Finola continued to affirm her son with soft reminders of how important he was to her and his family at Nelson Hall. She often carried on long conversations with the babe when they were together. She would speak to him of the day's events, discuss decisions that needed to be made, and he would rub his tiny hand along the column of her throat as if to reply.

But at times like these, it seemed that words were not enough! Her heart threatened to burst with the joy of being a mother—
Gabriel's
mother. Without warning, a song welled up inside her, a frivolous, but delightful, little children's air.

These days, she frequently found herself singing, although silently. In her heart she sang lullabies for Gabriel, joyful hymns to her merciful Lord, and even timid, secret songs of affection for Morgan.

Only now did she realize that she was singing the happy little children's song
aloud
! Surprised at herself, she went on singing, elated at how easy it seemed.

The words seemed to fairly dance over her tongue! Irish words, bright and carefree. They came easily, spilling out like sparkling clear water from a fountain. How perfectly they seemed to fit her emotions this night.

Obviously, baby Gabriel appreciated her song. He nursed eagerly, his tiny hand locking hold of her thumb as she went on singing.

Morgan stopped the wheelchair outside Finola's partially opened door, caught off guard by the sound of singing. He recognized the lighthearted children's song, and after a moment realized with amazement that
Finola
was singing it!

What kind of voice was this from one so young, so timid and fragile?

He had always admired her speaking voice, for it was crystalline and gently rhythmic, like a pure, sweet waterfall. But this…this was a voice that could scale the Mountains of Mayo, a voice that could put wings to the heart and sweep it over the sun! This was a voice one would never forget.

It was also a highly
trained
voice, Morgan suddenly realized. Aside from the glorious quality and tone, there was an obvious discipline and control, as well as a technical perfection that even a simple children's song could not obscure. This was no young girl's fancy of a voice, but a well-polished instrument, fine and rich and wondrous.

Understanding came rushing in on him like the tide. Of course! Why had he not realized it before now? Her love of music, the way her throat had seemed to caress the words of a song in those days before she regained her voice, and, later, after she had at last begun to speak, the smooth, flowing rhythm of her words—he should have seen long before now!