A Sisterly Chat

Helen and Maggie went into the drawing room, finding the comfortable settee they favored. 

“My goodness, Maggie,” Helen said. “I understand better now why you didn’t say more about Dr. O’Brien in your letter. It would be hard to find the right words to describe him. He’s magnificent.” 

“He is, isn’t he.” Maggie allowed herself a satisfied smile. 

“It is incredible that you met him simply because Clara became ill,” Helen marveled. “Was it love at first sight? He’s so striking to look at, and that accent.” 

“Definitely not love at first sight,” Maggie laughed. “I think the best way to describe it is the way Clara might. Maggie was in full Maggie Sinclair form. And Patrick was very Patrick about it.” 

“Oh, so you vexed each other,” Helen said with delight. 

“Quite so, as Patrick would say,” Maggie chuckled. “To be fair, I started it. I started telling him what I had read about treating pneumonia. In Harper’s Weekly. In my defense, though it is not a good one, I didn’t know I was sitting across the room from a man who graduated from Edinburgh, studied lung disease in Paris, and went back to Edinburgh to write a doctoral thesis on it. And has been published in The Lancet on it.” 

“My goodness,” Helen said. “So you and Dr. O’Brien did not immediately suit?” 

“We certainly didn’t,” Maggie laughed again. “He could have been much worse about it than he was, though I figured out quickly he was both amused and annoyed. But then, when I finally realized how well-qualified he was, and asked him where he’d trained, he told me he’d apprenticed with Dr. Sawbones T. Quackenberry over yonder.” 

Helen burst out laughing. “Oh, Maggie, I can imagine how vexed you were. But that is honestly very funny.” 

“Patrick is actually extremely funny,” Maggie said. “His commentary on any number of subjects is very witty.” 

“So he shares your wicked sense of humor,” Helen giggled. 

“I’m afraid so,” Maggie said.

“I do hope you understand that half of Philadelphia society is currently trying to recover from the fact that you abandoned Charles Adams for a brilliant Irish doctor who happens to be the son of a baronet.

People expected you to marry Charles and settle comfortably into Philadelphia society. Instead you vanished to Colorado Territory and returned with a witty Irish physician who looks as though he stepped out of a novel, and plan to go back there with him. No one knows what to do with that.”

“Oh, I’m sure they are wondering,” Maggie said. “What they will never understand is that it is not just that another man turned my head. It was first of all that I never wanted to marry Charles.” 

“Well, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised, Maggie. You never seemed very happy with Charles. You do seem happy with Dr. O’Brien.” 

“I am truly happy,” Maggie said. “I’ve found not only love, but purpose, and a chance to do what I have always wanted to do.”

“You are radiant, my dear. You and Dr. O’Brien seem to share an understanding that leaves the rest of us trying to catch up.” 

“We do. He’s perfect for me, Helen,” Maggie said, feeling the need to tell someone this. “In every way. Patrick understands me in a way very few people ever have.” 

“I can see that. You needed someone as intelligent as he is. To keep up with that mind of yours. And I imagine you’re perfect for him, too. I expect not many women could understand him the way you do.” 

“There’s something to that.” Maggie said. “Patrick is actually bored when people aren’t really conversing, just agreeing with him. And young ladies who just fluttered their eyelashes at him and told him how brilliant he was were wasting their time. He requires engagement of the mind. If I started agreeing with everything he says for no reason, he’d be disappointed.” 

“It sounds like you’re perfect for him too,” Helen said. “He had never been married before, correct?” 

“That’s right,” Maggie said. “He was engaged to be married his last year of university. But she died of pneumonia the winter of the year they were supposed to marry.” 

“My goodness, how awful,” Helen replied. 

“It’s why he went to Paris to study lung disease. Then back to Edinburgh to write his Doctor of Medicine thesis on it.” 

“Fascinating,” Helen said. “And what brought him to America?” 

“Patrick would have been expected to open an expensive practice, probably in Dublin, where people have heard of the O’Briens of Ballymore, Cork County. He didn’t want to spend his days treating rich people with commonplace complaints just because they could pay high prices. He heard about a demand for British and European trained doctors in eastern hospitals in America. He accepted a position in Boston at Massachusetts General. He was there for two years.” 

“He didn’t like Boston?” 

“It wasn’t so much that. He saw every kind of case, which he liked, and he took some patients who couldn’t pay in poor neighborhoods. But the hospital kept bringing him all the wealthy patients with lung problems. He saw where that was heading. People who needed his help more were waiting behind those with deeper pockets.” 

“I see,” Helen said, admiration in her voice. “So is that when he went to Colorado Territory?” 

“He went home to Ireland for a visit first. Then when he came back, he turned down an attending physician offer from the hospital and headed out to Denver. He had several doctors interested in him joining their practice. Then a letter came from Buckhorn Gap saying they’d been without a physician for months and people were sick and dying. He went to help. He thought he’d stay a few weeks or a month, get them sorted. He never left. He loved the challenge of it. Something different every day. And working all the time.” 

“He clearly loves his work,” Helen said. She raised a gently inquiring eyebrow. “Sometimes men like that don’t want to give any of it up.” 

“He was like that for a while.” Maggie paused. “He didn’t have to think about anything else.” 

“Such as marriage,” Helen said. “Until he met you.” 

“That seems to be what happened,” Maggie said. “But when it did, it happened completely. He hired another doctor to split the work. So we’d have time to spend together. And he says he’s glad he did.” 

“Oh, Maggie, that’s wonderful,” Helen said. “And you simply must let me see that ring.” 

Maggie extended her hand. Helen gasped. “It is beautiful, Maggie. This looks like a family heirloom.” 

“It is,” she replied. “It was his maternal grandmother’s, and it’s possible it was in the Fitzgerald family even before her. He says his mother will know, and we can ask her when we get there.” 

“Do you know what his mother’s family was like? This stone isn’t huge, but it looks like this ring cost a fortune. It’s undoubtedly valuable.” 

“I do know,” Maggie said. “Patrick doesn’t like making a fuss about it, as he would say. But his mother was the daughter of an earl. Her father was Patrick Butler, Earl of Ardmore, and her mother was one of the Protestant Fitzgeralds.” 

“My goodness, Maggie,” Helen gasped. “You have a ring on your hand that belonged to a countess.” 

“To Patrick, she was just Granny,” Maggie said, smiling. “That’s all he’ll really say about it, as he finds all of that irrelevant here in America.” 

“Still, it’s fascinating. Do you think he’ll tell us a bit more about it? Perhaps later in the week?” 

“You can try,” Maggie said, chuckling. “You may or may not get very satisfactory answers.” 

“So you got to know him as you helped do the drawings for his research? Your father said he was researching the medicinal qualities of plants in the area.” 

“Yes. Patrick has great respect for what the Indians in the area know. He says they were there first, their people have been there for centuries, and they have learned the land and its secrets. Including certain plants that are good for medicine. There are some that are known to many doctors, such as willow bark for pain and fever. But there are others that are not, and he was asked by the healer of the tribe to preserve the knowledge.” 

“How remarkable,” Helen said. “It sounds like he is an academic as well as a physician. Your father mentioned that he’s been widely published in medical journals.” 

“Yes, he has,” Maggie said. “Patrick is a scholar by nature. But he loves the practical application of medicine the most. And it may sound like I would naturally think so, as his wife, but he truly cares for people. Each patient is equally important to him.” 

“That’s wonderful,” Helen replied, smiling. 

“He says that with me helping, the research project on the medicinal plants could become a book.” 

“Maggie! How exciting,” Helen exclaimed. 

"Oh, I don't imagine it will sell like Little Women," Maggie said with a laugh. "The audience for a book on medicinal plants is somewhat narrower. But physicians and other academics may find it useful, and Patrick thinks there is enough material to justify a proper volume." 

“Just splendid,” Helen beamed. She smiled at Maggie. “So, are you and the doctor hoping for children?” 

“We are,” Maggie said. “We planned plenty of space for them in designing the house.” Maggie smiled at the thought. “I think Patrick would be an excellent father. He seems to understand children. He takes their concerns very seriously.” 

“Your father said Dr. O’Brien was most insistent on a room for your writing in your house, that it should have the best view and the best light.” 

“He was,” Maggie said. “You can see why I love him so.” 

“Spoken like a true newlywed,” Helen giggled. “Does he really not mind you continuing your own writing?” 

“He doesn’t mind at all. Patrick finds arbitrary rules nearly intolerable, whether they are in medicine or for ladies. To his mind, if I am clever with a pen, to put it as he does, there is no reason I should not write what I please.” 

Helen chuckled. “No arbitrary rules. No wonder you two get on so well.” She smiled at Maggie. “So, he’s taking you to Ireland. Do you think you’ll like it?” 

“I can’t wait to see it,” Maggie said. 

“You aren’t nervous about having a mother-in-law who is addressed as Lady O’Brien?” 

“Patrick says I needn’t be. He says she and I will get on well.” Maggie smiled at Helen. “Though between you and me, I am just a little nervous about meeting his entire family at Ballymore House. And being the only American in Cork County.” 

“Well, if Bucephalus is an example, there are undoubtedly some delightful stories you’ll hear,” Helen said. 

“Oh, yes,” Maggie agreed. “If anyone is a little nervous, it is Patrick, given that his sister Georgie will be there, and that her husband will eventually join her during our visit. He’s a British Army captain posted in India. He and Patrick were at Harrow together. And Patrick was especially close to Georgie. He’s already warned me that half of everything she says about him will be an exaggeration and I am not to blindly believe her. Apparently between Georgie and Eddie, there are definitely stories to be told. And I shall be listening eagerly.”

“Really,” Helen said, smiling. “You must be sure to write us with especially funny ones.” 

“Patrick has already shown me the look his father used to give him. When presented with events like Bucephalus.” Maggie gave Helen a delighted grin. “It goes like this.” She pressed her thumb and her index finger of her right hand to the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes, and said Patrick in a tone of voice that mixed utter exasperation with a plea for divine help.

Helen laughed. “Oh, Maggie. I can’t wait to hear all about it.” She paused. Do you know what I think?" she asked.

"That is always dangerous."

"I think you were doomed from the moment he made you laugh."

Maggie considered this. "No."

"No?"

"I was doomed from the moment I realized he was laughing too."