Choices of the Heart, page 8
“You don’t understand,” he muttered, applying himself more readily to his efforts.
“What don’t I understand?”
“Dr. Montgomery has a practice in Chicago. His infirmary is impressive and the envy of every doctor we know. He treats important people and is doing important work. We used to talk about where we saw ourselves going as doctors, what we meant to do with our lives. He’s doing it, and I’m… here.”
“When he comes to Hope Springs, you want him to see that you’re a success and doing important work?”
“Exactly.”
“And if you had one room in your infirmary that wasn’t furnished, he wouldn’t see that?”
“He’s a good person,” Burke said, “but he’s accustomed to a finer way of life.”
“He’s arrogant?” Sophie asked.
“No. He’s not.” Burke kept at his work, turned a bit away from her. “But I worry a little that he wouldn’t see the people here in a generous light. If his first impressions can be positive, he’d be more likely to approve.”
“Oh, I see,” she said. “The problem isn’t that he’s an elitist, it’s that you are.”
That stopped him in the middle of moving an armful of straw. He met her eye with a look of utter confusion.
“You’re perfectly fine being part of this community, taking care of them, feeling a part of them until someone more impressive sees you. The very thought of that has you reassessing them. You’ve evaluated them in light of your friend’s success and have deemed them an embarrassment.”
“That’s not it at all,” he insisted.
“Then why are you avoiding them in order to do work meant to impress him?”
“Having this done will help them.”
“Feeling like their doctor’s ashamed of them won’t help at all.”
He stood, almost like a man at a mark. “I’m not ashamed of them,” he said, his voice quiet and his tone a little uncertain.
“Then why do you care what this visiting doctor thinks?”
“I don’t want to be a failure,” he said. “Everyone at that medical school was convinced I would be. I didn’t have the education they did. I didn’t have their backgrounds or a family who cared what happened to me. I didn’t even have a real name. The years I was there were spent listening to people predicting that I would fail. I don’t want them to be right.”
“Do you feel like a failure?” she asked.
“More often than I care to admit.”
She released her hold on the fabric of the bed tick and moved closer to him. “In the eyes of this town, Burke, do you think you are a failure?”
He shrugged and didn’t say anything.
“Have you listened when they talk about you? They are overwhelmed with gratitude for you and the work you do and the lives you save. To them, you are so far from a failure that they would probably be shocked to hear you say that. They may not be ‘important’ like the people in Chicago, but you are important to them. And until you decide that success can look different from what you imagined in Chicago, no amount of furnishings are ever going to be enough.”
“Sophie!” Eliza’s voice echoed from the back of the inn. They both turned and looked that way. “Lydia’s hoping you’ll come dance with her.”
“Tell her I’m coming.” Sophie looked back to Burke. “You are working so hard to impress someone you haven’t seen in years and, in doing so, are neglecting the people who make this a home for you. That is a rare thing, Burke Jones. Don’t throw it away.”
“…you are avoiding them in order to do work meant to impress him…”
“…feeling like their doctor’s ashamed of them won’t help at all…”
“…until you decide that success can look different from what you imagined in Chicago, no amount of furnishings are ever going to be enough…”
Sophie’s words didn’t merely stay with Burke over the following days, they pierced him.
Burke didn’t want to believe he was ashamed of the good people of the Hope Springs valley. He admired them in so many ways. He was grateful to them for giving him this practice when he had lost all hope of building one.
When Ryan Callaghan, a member of the extended O’Connor family, had come across Burke, he had been working as a clerk in a mercantile, having come west on the promise of a job that had not materialized. Burke had all but abandoned the career he had worked so hard to prepare for. Without references, without knowing for certain he was good at what he did, Burke was given a chance. And though it had been rough going the first little while, he had found a home here.
Why, then, was he doing just as Sophie had insisted and working so hard to make this place seem like what Alexander would expect it to be? Why was he trying so hard to change things, to hide the struggle he’d had?
His assessment of himself fluctuated widely as he pondered those questions. Sometimes he was convinced that he was, in fact, embarrassed of the place where he worked. Sometimes he felt, with sadness, he was every bit as arrogant as she had claimed he was. But most of the time, he couldn’t escape the hard truth that he, who had overcome every obstacle, who had fought for every opportunity he had, was terrified. And he had been terrified his whole life.
He remembered all too well the predictions of his failures, the insistence even while he was still at the orphanage that a child with nothing to recommend him wasn’t going to amount to anything. Those long-ago words of cruelty dogged his heels because, deep down inside, he feared they might still prove true.
He didn’t see Sophie for days. She looked in at the inn regularly, but he kept to his side of the wall during those visits. He had people in town and out at the ranches he needed to look in on. He had some people stop by the infirmary in need of his help. And he kept working on the projects needed to put the place to rights. The distraction wasn’t quite enough. His mind was still heavy with her words.
The evening of the next céilí arrived. Burke spent a full hour debating with himself about attending. He was overwhelmed with questions, lost in his own confused thoughts. He was embarrassed, ashamed. He had, though he’d tried to convince himself otherwise, been neglectful of the good people of Hope Springs in his pursuit of the appearance of perfection. He worried so much about what Alexander would think that he hadn’t stopped to realize how the people of Hope Springs would feel if they knew. They deserved better than that.
Not attending the céilí, though, wasn’t likely to go unnoticed. The townspeople would wonder why he wasn’t there. How could he explain himself? If he told them he was in the midst of a crisis of identity, he risked undermining their confidence in him. Neither was he willing to lie.
So he pulled himself together and made his way to the O’Connor farm for the weekly gathering.
The doubts that grew as he approached dissipated when he arrived. He’d been overwhelmed by the enormity of these gatherings when he’d first come to Hope Springs. He’d lived for years in Chicago, which was louder and noisier and busier than this valley ever would be. And he’d grown up in an orphanage, which was more chaotic than anyplace he was likely to ever live again. Looking back, he suspected his worry had stemmed more from the feelings of joy and connection and family that the town had exuded. That wasn’t something he was familiar with.
He was welcomed warmly as he arrived that night. The town was genuinely glad to see him. He had come a long way in three years. This town and its inhabitants had become more than just neighbors to him. They’d become close friends.
His steps took him to where Patrick stood, holding his daughter. “Good to have you here tonight, Burke. We’ve not seen much of you these last days.”
“Good to be here, especially since I hear Eliza brought mince pies. I couldn’t have asked for better neighbors than you.”
Patrick grinned. “On account of the pies or because we’re such grand people?”
With a look of overdone seriousness, Burke said, “The pies.”
Patrick laughed. Little Lydia joined in. This family really were the very best of neighbors. Burke was fortunate to have them.
Patrick spotted Eliza. “Lydia, mo stóirín, will you stay with the doctor while I dance with your ma?”
Lydia nodded and made the transfer without objection. That alone was a heartwarming reminder of all that had changed. When he’d first met the little girl, she’d been painfully unsure of him. He’d made enough progress that he had every faith she would feel confident coming to him with illnesses and injuries in the years to come. He’d made that progress with all the children in the area. Their parents, too.
He sat with the little girl on one of the chairs surrounding the dancing area. He suspected she would enjoy watching her parents as they danced. The seat he chose was directly beside the elder Mrs. Archer.
“Do you mean to dance tonight?” he asked her.
“I’ve only just caught my breath from last week,” she said with good humor. “The style of dancing here is not quite what I’m accustomed to. There’s nothing wrong with it, mind. I simply haven’t the vigor that the people of Hope Springs have.”
“They are lively, aren't they?”
“They?” she asked, looking at him. “Do you not consider yourself one of them?”
The observation caught him off guard. He always did refer to the people of this valley as “they” and not “we.” Did he still think of himself as an outsider?
“It seems my question has upset you,” Mrs. Archer said. “I hadn’t meant it in any hurtful way.”
Burke shook his head. “It’s not anything you said. I’ve been pondering a lot of things lately.”
“Thinking too much is a good way to get yourself in trouble.” Again, Mrs. Archer smiled lightly. He suspected that, if not for her almost aristocratic upbringing, she would have been quite funny. The people of fine society tended to aim for subdued more than entertaining.
His eyes wandered to where Sophie stood amongst a group of local women, smiling and laughing. She didn’t quite fit that high-society mold. She wasn’t loud or obnoxious, but she certainly was not withdrawn.
“Miss Kingston’s very lively.”
“Here,” Mrs. Archer added.
“What do you mean by that?”
“In Baltimore, she’s quiet and extremely proper,” Mrs. Archer said.
“I can’t even imagine that,” Burke said.
“She wasn’t always like that. During her first few years of accompanying her parents and sister to various soirées and socials and balls, she had more of the exuberance you’ve seen here. But such a thing is too often frowned on in those circles. She learned very quickly to hide that bit of herself. After her family moved to Boston, she came to live with me. I thought she might return to her former enthusiastic self, but she hasn’t. I understand why. One can only endure so much rejection before one’s goal becomes to avoid it at nearly all costs.”
And with that, Mrs. Archer added another thing to Burke’s list of truths to ponder.
Too many rejections changed a person. It made one want desperately to avoid more. Perhaps that was part of what he was struggling with. He’d been rejected by nearly everyone he’d ever known. Though he knew, logically, that there were many reasons why he might have been left at the orphanage with no hint as to his identity, there was part of him that felt that as a rejection. Not knowing the why had proven a struggle over the years. Perhaps if the rest of his life had included more encouragement and solid foundations instead of further humiliations, he might have managed to come to terms with that. Instead, it haunted him.
He and Mrs. Archer settled into a long silence as the dancing continued. He didn’t know what she was pondering, but his mind refused to leave the topic that had occupied it since Tuesday night. What was he running from? What was he afraid of? What would it take for him to feel like he was enough?
Never in all his life had he met someone who had tossed him as easily and quickly into the depths of self-reflection as Sophie Kingston had in one single conversation.
There was something remarkable about her; the puzzle every bit as enormous as the one she insisted he presented.
Patrick came by and claimed his daughter after the song ended. By then, Burke had come to a decision. A new song was beginning, and Sophie didn’t have a partner. He rose from his seat, excused himself to Mrs. Archer, and crossed to where she stood.
Heavens, he was nervous. She might reject him, and he would deserve it. He hadn’t exactly been friendly and welcoming the last little while. But he hoped she would give him a chance.
“Will you dance with me?” It wasn’t a very elegant invitation.
“Do you really wish to?” She looked surprised, even a little confused, but she didn’t look displeased. He chose to see that as a good sign.
“I do.”
She nodded. Her gaze on him narrowed as they walked down toward the dancing. “I wasn’t certain if you would even come tonight. I know you have a great deal you’re working on before your friend visits.”
“I also know I’ve been a bit neglectful of the town,” he said. “And I’m determined to work on that.”
“Truly?”
He nodded. “There needs to be a balance. I’m determined to find it.”
“That seems a good first step.”
“At the moment”—he smiled, a little embarrassed— “I’m focusing on the steps of the dance. No point embarrassing myself further.”
“Further?”
He held his hands out, this being a dance that began that way. “Embarrassment is not an unfamiliar thing.”
She laughed. “That, Dr. Jones, is something we have in common.”
Maura Callaghan, one of the O’Connors’ daughters-in-law, was the reason Burke had originally been brought to Hope Springs. She had lived for many years in New York and had contracted a lung disease working in a factory there. It was her husband, Ryan, who had found Burke in the mercantile near the train depot and convinced him to come and treat her. She was doing far better than she had been when he first arrived. He made a point of checking on her regularly, making certain there wasn’t anything more she needed. Factory-damaged lungs couldn’t be healed, but they could be helped.
He’d just finished looking in on her and was making his way back up the road when he came across Sophie. When making his rounds in the town he usually brought his buggy. But that day he’d wanted to enjoy nature and had left it at the inn.
He greeted her, and she smiled. He found that encouraging.
“Are you on your way back to the Archers’?” he asked.
“I am.”
“Would you mind terribly if I walked alongside you?”
Her smile grew. It was a fine thing that, though she had been a bit put out with him a week earlier, she seemed to have not held it against him.
“The weather is very fine today,” she said. “Though it is windy.”
He nodded. “It’s always windy in Hope Springs.”
“I’m told it’s quite cold in the winter.”
“It is. But, having lived in Chicago, I’m not unfamiliar with cold.”
“Baltimore can be frigid as well. There are times when ice falls instead of snow.”
“I suppose, in matters of weather at least, Hope Springs is not terribly different from the big cities we come from.”
“Did you like living in Chicago?” she asked.
It was not a question he had to ponder. “I liked a lot of things about Chicago.”
“What were the things you liked most?”
“I liked that I met so many different people with different backgrounds. I learned a lot from them. I liked all the buildings, watching how the city changed and grew. I didn’t get to attend often, but I thoroughly enjoyed going to the theater and listening to orchestras. And while I do enjoy the comfort of wearing simple clothes, there was something nice about dressing to the nines now and then.”
Sophie nodded in a way that indicated not merely understanding but complete agreement. “Baltimore boasts those same things, and I love them. And while the balls and soirees I have attended there were tamer than the céilís here, I did enjoy them.”
“There are a lot of things I miss about Chicago, and most of those things couldn’t be found here, no matter how much the town grows or how much time passes.”
She turned a searching gaze on him. “Could it be that part of the reason you sometimes feel like your life here is lacking is because of the things you miss about Chicago? Going to the theater, listening to orchestras, being surrounded by interesting buildings?”
He hadn’t really thought about that. “I suppose it could be. But, even with all that, the thing that brought me the most satisfaction was the work I did as a doctor, helping people and saving lives. The rest was secondary to that. And I help and save people here.”
“Then, you have what makes you happiest, just not what adds to that happiness.”
“What is it that makes you happiest, Sophie?” he asked.
“Being with happy people and trying new things. And I’m never happier than when I can hear music and when I can laugh.”
“Why is it you deny yourself those things when you’re in Baltimore?”
That added surprise and confusion to her expression.
“Mrs. Archer told me a little bit about your life in Baltimore,” he confessed. “Why is it you’re so different there than you are here?”
“Being myself caused a lot of difficulties. I tried to be more authentic, I truly did. But in the end, it was far easier and far more comfortable to conform when around other people.”
“And has that worked?”
She nodded. “Things are a lot better.”
“Better for whom?”
Sophie always seemed to have ready answers, but she didn’t to that question. She walked beside him, silent, her brow pulled in deep thought. Burke didn’t press the matter. He knew perfectly well the mental jumble caused by having one’s assumptions called into question. He was still experiencing that himself.
