North River Read Online Free PDF Page B

dead. Nine years old. The only boy among three sisters. The Cottrells chose to blame Delaney and never spoke to him again.
    As the gate of the Cottrells’ house clanged shut, he could feel the boy’s warmth, and his vulnerability on this street in the perilous city. Don’t worry, boy, he thought. I’ll make everything work. Or die trying.
    Later, by the light of candles, he sat in his big chair with a notebook in his lap. Through the open oak doors that separated the bedroom from the rear, he could hear the shallow breathing of the sleeping Carlito. He began to write down the things he would need. Maybe fit out one of the maids’ rooms upstairs. A good bed. Clothes, guards for the stairs. Food. Including spaghetti.
Monique will help, after she returns tomorrow.
Money too. Money most of all. Not easy, at two dollars for a consultation, three for a house call.
    This goddamned Depression. When will it ever end? He couldn’t charge a patient who had sixty cents to last a week. He couldn’t turn away anybody because of money, or the lack of it. He couldn’t ever charge a veteran. Not ever. In the week before Christmas, he had earned forty-two goddamned dollars. And he paid Monique twenty.
    He thought about applying for a loan. From St. Vincent’s. Or some bank. Maybe one of the vested old Tammany pols knew a banker. That judge, whatever the hell his name was. But in all the years since his father had died, Delaney had asked them for nothing. Ah, Big Jim, would I even ask
you?
If you were here, would you come to my rescue? Could I even ask? He dozed, and saw himself filling in a form under the lipless stare of a bank manager.
Name
James Finbar Delaney.
Address
95 Horatio Street, New York, N.Y.
Age
47. Almost 48.
Date of birth
June 24, 1886. I was two during the Blizzard of ’88.
Place of birth
New York, N.Y.
Names of parents
James Aloysius Delaney and wife Bridget George (both deceased)
Their country of origin
Ireland
Did they love each other?
Of course.
Did they love you?
With everything they had in them. In their own separate ways.
Other siblings
None alive. Two died when very young.
Marital status
Married, with an explanation
Name of spouse
Molly O’Brien (Delaney)
Her place of birth
Co. Antrim, Northern Ireland
Citizenship
American (naturalized: 1912)
How did you meet?
On a dock over at the North River. She was ill. I’m a doctor.
Issue
Daughter Grace, born July 1, 1914
Your education
Sacred Heart grammar school (graduated 1899)
Xavier HS (graduated 1903)
City College of N.Y. (graduated 1907)
New York Medical School (graduated 1909)
Internship, Bellevue Hospital, N.Y., 1909–1911
Johns Hopkins, 1911–1913
Postgraduate studies in surgery, Vienna, 1913–1914
Military service
United States Army (AEF medical corps), 1917–1919
Employer’s name
Self-employed
Annual income
$1900–$2200 p.a. (avg.)
That’s all?
It used to be more. Until 1929 . . .
    Delaney could feel the banker’s chilly rejection. He listened for the boy, who was breathing in a steady way.
    Any persistent ailments? 
Heartbreak.
    He lifted the candle and his daughter’s letter. Time to go upstairs. To Molly’s floor. The shrine of the past, soon to be filled with the future.
    Delaney opened the small rooms first, two of them, with single windows facing the backyard. The rooms of the Irish maids, who served a haughty family long ago. The shades were drawn. In the light of the candle, he saw an old-fashioned lamp on a small table beside a bed. He lifted it and felt the weight of oil, turned up the wick, placed the candle against the wick. Orange light filled the room, along with the burnt, sour odor of stale oil. Thank you, Lord, for small miracles
.
He blew out the candle. There were paintings by Grace on the walls of each room, done while she was a teenaged girl at the Art Students League. A gypsy. A man with a turban. An old woman. The brushstrokes were bold. God, she was so confident then.
    There was a bed for Grace in one of the low-ceilinged