Mary wasn't convinced, and neither was Anne- not in the least. Quickly, though, as Emma flounced away to read her letter, Anne whipped her hair towards Mary, her green eyes back to flashing madly.
"Now, and I will not be saying it again, you simply can't send for a doctor." she said, more angry than panicked now. "I'll be fine."
"I must," said Emma. All that she knew was that she did not want to have to go without a doctor ever again. Ever since her mother had died, she had vowed to always hire one.
Anne, however, had a very different perspective on the subject of doctors.
* Â Â Â Â Â * Â Â Â Â Â *
Anne was nine years old, playing in the streets of Galway quite happily, just months before they left for America. The street on which she lived was busy, but she and her friends were always able to notice when a carriage was coming, always able to quickly get off of the cobblestone road. That warm April morning was definitely an exception. She and the then -fourteen- year- old Mary had been crossing the street when it happened.
The carriage came speeding out of nowhere- its grey horses frothing at the mouth and galloping as though a monster was chasing them.
"Quick!" screamed Mary, pulling Anne by the arm as strongly as her thin arms could manage. Anne, however, wouldn't be moved. She was fascinated by the spinning wheels of the carriage, shining a bright brassy yellow in the sunny day. She watched them, oblivious to Mary's screaming and pulling, until the brassy wheels were too close to her green eyes.
She was run over by the rich carriage, her arm trampled by the mad horses. Mary screamed for Iain, or another older brother, but no one came. No one heard Mary's pleas for help or Anne's screams of pain as she lay in the busy street, the traffic veering around the helpless, broken girl and her sister.
Finally, after a seemingly endless few minutes, out came Liam. The girls' older brother scooped Anne, now unconscious, into his arms and ran with her out of the street, up the stairs, and into their third- floor- flat. Soon after, their mother called a doctor, and the doctor came, bringing needles, bottles, and pills of all colors, shapes, and sizes.
Over the next few days Anne was poked, prodded, and pinched everywhere possible. The doctor's cure was to give the patient alcohol to numb the pain, even for a small nine- year- old- girl. For days Anne was always in a drunken stupor as the doctor set her arm and tended to her other wounds- many, many cuts and bruises, a cracked rib- and while Anne was in that forced incoherent condition, her father was also in a drunken state- of his own choice.
* Â Â Â Â Â * Â Â Â Â Â *
"Anne. I'm calling the doctor." said Mary, in a panicked voice. She remembered their mother too. Who could have forgotten? It was branded into all their minds.
"No, you most certainly are not." The words sounded faint to Anne's ears as she spoke them. "I'm fine, really Mary, I am," she tried to continue, but her knees buckled and the world went black, the words stuck onto her tongue as she fell onto the wooden floor.
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