Sons of Fortune Read online

  Martha Gates was the next to arrive, and Ruth repeated everything that she’d picked up. She confirmed that Fletcher had three broken ribs, a broken ankle and a ruptured spleen, but it was the loss of blood that was causing the professionals to be anxious.

  “But surely a hospital as large as St. Patrick’s has a big enough blood bank to cope with that sort of problem?”

  “Yes would be the usual answer,” replied Ruth, “but Fletcher is AB negative, the rarest of all the blood groups, and although we’ve always maintained a small reserve stock, when that school bus careered off Route 95 in New London last month and the driver and his son turned out to be AB negative, Fletcher was the first to insist that the entire batch should be shipped out to the New London hospital immediately, and we just haven’t had enough time to replace it.”

  An arc lamp was switched on and lit up the hospital entrance. “The vultures have arrived,” said Ruth, looking out of the window. She turned and faced her daughter-in-law. “Annie, I think you should talk to them, it just might be our only chance of locating a blood donor in time.”

  When she rose on Sunday morning, Su Ling decided not to wake Nat until the last possible moment; after all, she had no idea what time it was when he’d crept into bed.

  She sat in the kitchen, made herself some fresh coffee, and began to scan the morning papers. Fletcher’s speech seemed to have been well received by the citizens of Madison, and the latest opinion poll showed the gap between them had narrowed by another point, bringing Nat’s lead down to three percent.

  Su Ling sipped her coffee and pushed the paper to one side. She always switched on the television just before the hour to catch the weather forecast. The first person to appear on the screen even before the sound came on was Annie Davenport. Why was she standing outside St. Patrick’s, Su Ling wondered? Was Fletcher announcing some new health care initiative? Sixty seconds later she knew exactly why. She dashed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to wake Nat and tell him the news. A remarkable coincidence. Or was it? As a scientist, Su Ling gave scant credence to coincidence. But she had no time to consider that now.

  A sleepy Nat listened as his wife repeated what Annie Davenport had just said. Suddenly he was wide awake, leaped out of bed quickly and threw on yesterday’s clothes, not bothering to shave or shower. Once dressed, he ran downstairs, pulling on his shoes only when he was in the car. Su Ling was already behind the wheel with the engine running. She took off the moment Nat slammed the car door.

  The radio was still tuned into the 24-hour news station, and Nat listened to the latest bulletin while trying to tie up his laces. The on-the-spot reporter couldn’t have been more explicit: Senator Davenport was on a ventilator, and if someone didn’t donate four pints of AB negative blood within hours, the hospital feared for his survival.

  It took Su Ling twelve minutes to reach St. Patrick’s by simply ignoring the speed limit—not that there was a lot of traffic on the road at that time on a Sunday morning. Nat ran into the hospital while Su Ling went in search of a parking space.

  Nat spotted Annie at the end of the corridor and immediately called out her name. She turned and looked startled when she saw him charging toward her. Why was he running? was her first reaction.

  “I came just as soon as I heard,” shouted Nat, still on the move, but all three women just continued to stare at him, like rabbits caught in a headlight. “I’m the same blood group as Fletcher,” Nat blurted out as he came to a halt by Annie’s side.

  “You’re AB negative?” said Annie in disbelief.

  “Sure am,” said Nat.

  “Thank God,” said Martha. Ruth quickly disappeared into the intensive care unit, and returned a moment later with Ben Renwick by her side.

  “Mr. Cartwright,” he said thrusting out his hand, “My name is Dr. Renwick, and I’m…”

  “The hospital’s senior consultant, yes, I know you by reputation,” said Nat, shaking his hand.

  The surgeon gave a slight bow. “We have a technician ready to take your blood…”

  “Then let’s get on with it,” said Nat, pulling off his jacket.

  “To begin with we’ll need to run some tests and check if your blood is an exact match, and then screen it for HIV and hepatitis B.”

  “Not a problem,” said Nat.

  “But I’m afraid, Mr. Cartwright, I’ll also need at least three pints of your blood if Senator Davenport is to have any chance of survival, and that will require several indemnity forms signed in the presence of a lawyer.”

  “Why a lawyer?” asked Nat.

  “Because there’s an outside chance you might suffer severe side effects, and in any case, you’ll end up feeling pretty weak yourself, and it may prove necessary to keep you in the hospital for several days just to administer extra fluids.”

  “Are there no extremes that Fletcher will not go to to keep me off the campaign trail?”

  All three women smiled for the first time that day as Renwick quickly led Nat off to his office. Nat turned around to speak to Annie, to find her being comforted by Su Ling.

  “Now I have another problem to consider,” admitted Renwick as he took a seat behind his desk and began sorting through some forms.

  “I’ll sign anything,” repeated Nat.

  “You can’t sign the form I have in mind,” said the consultant.

  “Why not?” asked Nat.

  “Because it’s an absentee ballot, and I’m no longer certain which one of you to vote for.”

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  “Losing three pints of blood doesn’t seem to have slowed down Mr. Cartwright,” said the duty nurse as she placed his latest chart in front of Dr. Renwick.

  “Maybe not,” said Renwick, flicking through the pages, “but it sure made one hell of a difference to Senator Davenport. It saved his life.”

  “True,” said the nurse, “but I’ve warned the senator that despite the election, he’ll have to stay put for at least another two weeks.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that,” said Renwick, “I anticipate that Fletcher will have discharged himself by the end of the week.”

  “You could be right,” said the nurse with a sigh, “but what can I do to prevent it?”

  “Nothing,” said Renwick, turning over the file on his desk so that she couldn’t read the names Nathaniel and Peter Cartwright printed in the top-right corner. “But I do need you to make an appointment for me to see both men as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, doctor,” replied the nurse, making a note on her clipboard before leaving the room.

  Once the door was closed, Ben Renwick turned the file back over and read through its contents once again. He’d thought about little else for the past three days.

  When he left later that evening, he locked the file away in his private safe. After all, a few more days wouldn’t make a great deal of difference, after all what he needed to discuss with the two men had remained a secret for the past forty-three years.

  Nat was discharged from St. Patrick’s on Thursday evening, and no one on the hospital staff imagined for a moment that Fletcher would still be around by the weekend, despite his mother trying to convince him that he should take it easy. He reminded her there were now only two weeks to go before election day.

  During the longest week in his life, Ben Renwick continued to wrestle with his conscience, just as Dr. Greenwood must have done forty-three years before him, but Renwick had come to a different conclusion; he felt he’d been left with no choice but to tell both men the truth.

  The two combatants agreed to meet at six A.M. on Tuesday morning in Dr. Renwick’s office. It was the only time before election day that both candidates had a clear hour in their agendas.

  Nat was the first to arrive, as he had hoped to be in Waterbury for a nine o’clock meeting, and perhaps even squeeze in a visit to a couple of commuter stations on the way.

  Fletcher hobbled into Dr. Renwick’s office at five fifty-eight, annoyed that Nat had made it before him.

  “