Of Flesh and Blood (62 page)

William rose to his feet. “Madame Chairperson, may I speak to this groundless allegation?” he asked in an even voice.

Lorna turned to Eileen. “If I’ve read our bylaws correctly, the floor is not open for discussion during a presentation.”

Eileen shot her a look of distaste before turning more sympathetically to William. “Dr. McGrath, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until after this presentation when we will most
certainly
open the floor for discussion.”

Lorna pulled out more pages from her file and passed them along to the board members. “Unfortunately, Tyler is not the only member of his family embroiled in a potentially disastrous controversy. So is his wife, Dr. Jill Laidlaw.”

Tyler rose quickly to his feet. “Leave her out of this!” he spat.

“I wish I could, Dr. McGrath,” Lorna said with feigned sympathy. “But the incident involving Dr. Laidlaw has the potential to have a massive impact on the Alfredson. The board has a right to know.”

William tugged at his son’s sleeve. Tyler glared at Lorna for a long moment and then lowered himself back into his chair.

“You might have heard that Dr. Laidlaw is performing important research using
stem cells
.” Lorna stressed the term provocatively. She pointed to the pages she had just handed out. “Unfortunately for her—for all of us, really—this story broke on a major academic blog this morning. Apparently,
Dr. Laidlaw has been forced to withdraw her grant application as a result of data
irregularities
.” She shook her head. “Having worked in academics my whole life, I know how serious research fraud can be. When this allegation comes to the attention of the media . . .” She sighed helplessly. “I’m afraid it will be a real blow to the Alfredson, not to mention a huge embarrassment to our family name.”

As Lorna scanned the table, she recognized the rapt attention in the faces staring back. “But I’m a historian and I’ve come to discuss the past, not the present,” she said. “These current-day controversies and crises are reflective of more than a hundred years of strained relationships between the McGraths and the Alfredsons.”

She pointed to William again, who eyed her stonily. “I’ve heard Dr. McGrath and others today allude to the noble beginnings of the Alfredson. Two men—a titan of industry and a medical visionary—working together to realize a lofty dream. It certainly makes for a fairy-tale beginning. But that is all it is, I’m afraid. A fairy tale.”

A few seats down, Lorna noticed Dot smiling widely. The old woman even flashed her the thumbs-up sign.

“The truth is that Marshall Alfredson and Evan McGrath
despised
one another,” Lorna went on. “In the end, they were largely responsible for one another’s demise. And the Alfredson itself was never anything more than a ‘devil’s compromise,’ as Marshall himself once referred to it.”

A few mutters and catcalls broke out spontaneously around the table.

In no particular hurry, Lorna allowed the unrest to simmer before she finally continued. “Marshall Alfredson had no interest in philanthropy in general, least of all for a hospital sixty miles from his home run by a doctor he detested. However, his hand was forced when the married Dr. Evan McGrath seduced and
impregnated
his impressionable young daughter, Olivia.”

Another noisy wave of protest and surprise burst from the table.

“When Marshall finally learned of the scandal, he almost beat the doctor to death with a fire log. Marshall vowed to kill Evan if he ever went near his daughter again.” She shook her head sadly. “It didn’t end there, though. No, no, no . . . Olivia was totally smitten by her older lover. So much so that she blackmailed her father.” She stopped to utter a small laugh. “And can you guess what her demand was?”

“The Alfredson!” someone called out, as if on cue.

“Exactly. Olivia agreed to marry another man, Arthur Grovenor, and pretend her love child was Arthur’s if, and
only
if, Marshall built the hospital for Evan McGrath.” Lorna sighed. “So you see, the Alfredson was not exactly a hospital born from the altruistic dream of two great men.” She tut-tutted. “In fact, after Olivia’s fool of a stand-in husband killed them both in the boating accident, the blame and hatred between Evan and Marshall only intensified. For twenty bitter years, they locked horns over every issue facing the clinic. And then, in October 1918, while the Spanish flu was rampaging through the Alfredson, the two men had their final altercation over an illicit, potentially incestuous romance developing between Marshall’s adopted son and Evan’s daughter. Two half siblings!” Lorna paused a moment. “The old man tried to fire Evan and rid the Alfredson of the McGraths forever. Evan resisted. A fight broke out. And Marshall suffered a massive stroke that would imprison him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.”

Lorna took another quick visual survey of the attendees. Aside from the grinning Dot, most looked troubled. Some shook their heads, while others whispered urgently among themselves. Lorna fought back a smile.

“I keep asking myself: Why should our family cling to the ownership of this institution?” she asked of no one in particular. “It’s a center plagued by crises and scandals, almost all of which are tied to the McGraths but have little to do with our family. And in terms of its ‘noble’ history, the Alfred-son was in fact born out of deceit, treachery, and a shameful compromise.” She paused, as though deeply disappointed. “Is that
really
a legacy worth keeping at any cost?”

Without another word, Lorna strode back to her chair.

Several voices erupted at once and soon turned into a cacophony. It took Eileen a minute or two of shouting, “Order! Order!” before the room finally quieted. The chairperson viewed Lorna with a look of unmitigated disgust as she announced, “I think
that
presentation will require a great deal of discussion. However, we need to keep the process orderly . . .”

Already seated, Lorna reveled in the turmoil surrounding her. She did not even notice that Dot had risen from her chair until her great-aunt was standing beside Eileen at the front of the room. “I would like to offer my perspective,” Dot said.

“You are not on the agenda, and the bylaws . . .,” Eileen stammered, but
then seemed to reconsider. “All right, fine . . . please.” She stood out of the way for Dot.

The table came up to Dot’s mid-abdomen but even without the aid of a microphone her voice was clear and strong. “I am neither a doctor nor a lawyer. Hell, I’m not even a historian.” Dot grinned happily. “But darlings, I am the oldest person here and the last surviving member of my generation. The simple truth is that I
am
history.”

The murmurs quieted as Dot continued. “I still live in the house my grandfather—well, to be technically accurate, great-grandfather—built. Marshall died when I was nine years old, but I remember the old bastard well. Oh, he was
something
, our patriarch.” Dot held a friendly hand out toward Lorna. “I actually had the pleasure of hosting our last and
highly
entertaining speaker in my home recently. We spent days together discussing this same fascinating history. And I have to tell you
everything
my great-niece told you just now is
absolutely
true.”

Lorna relaxed in her seat, pleasantly astounded by her great-aunt’s endorsement.

“If you view it the way she just laid it out for us, you would have to agree that the Alfredson did have an awfully shameful beginning.” Dot paused and raised a bony finger. “Of course, you could look at it another way, too . . .”

Lorna sat up straighter.
What the hell is the old bag up to?

“You could also see the Alfredson as the embodiment of a great love between Olivia Alfredson and Evan McGrath. One born from the ultimate sacrifice.” She exhaled noisily. “What Dr. Simpson neglected to mention was that the two lovers met when Evan saved Olivia’s life with a daring, last-ditch appendectomy. They never intended to fall in love, but they did—and not only with each other but with the concept of the Alfredson, even before there was such a place.” She shook her head. “You have to understand that medical care at the end of the nineteenth century, particularly in hospitals, could be a sketchy proposition, to say the least. Evan experienced the worst of it firsthand with his ailing, crippled wife, Virginia. But he had the passion to imagine an innovative, better, and more humane way to deliver care to those in greatest need.” She stopped and then added wistfully, “Essentially, Olivia and Evan forfeited their love—in fact, they both later laid down their lives—to see that vision realized.”

Lorna glanced around nervously, recognizing the attentiveness in the faces.
That meddling old bitch!

“My great-niece omitted one other small detail,” Dot continued. “It concerned Marshall’s son, Junior Alfredson, from whom you board members are
all
descended. You see, even though Marshall adopted Junior, the boy was in fact born his grandson. Junior was the illegitimate child of Olivia and Evan.” She held out her weathered palms. “Which means, of course, that every single one of you at this table is not only an Alfredson, but you are
all
McGraths by blood as well! And your heritage is woven into the fabric of the Alfredson through
both
founding families.”

The revelation palpably stirred the room again.

Dot squinted and pointed to the far end of the room where the three McGraths sat. “Of course, the converse isn’t true. Evan McGrath’s legitimate children were not descendants of Marshall.” She paused and chuckled. “It’s too bad, really. We could use the votes.”

A sprinkling of laughter broke the room’s rapt mood, but only momentarily. Lorna shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She desperately wanted to stop Dot but was helpless to intervene.

Dot dropped her hands to her sides. “In the end, does it matter today whether the Alfredson was conceived out of the devil’s compromise or some grand romantic vision? Should we not judge the hospital on its hundred-plus-year record?” She shrugged. “I say we should. And I think, as Dr. McGrath ably pointed out earlier, the record is a good one. In fact, it is better than good. It is world renowned. A haven of hope for patients who would otherwise have none. And notwithstanding a few forgettable controversies . . .” Dot brushed off the current-day scandals Lorna had highlighted. “The Alfredson has done the name of our family exceedingly proud over the years.”

Dot looked around the table. “If we are truly honest with ourselves, we would have to admit that we Alfredsons are a mediocre bunch, on the whole. This hospital is the
one
great thing we have done and continue to do. I personally think it would be an
unforgivable
shame to screw that up now.” Dot laughed again to herself. “The Alfredsons have always had the capacity for pigheadedness and pettiness. We inherit that from Marshall, I’m afraid. However, I have never known our family to be especially deceitful. That is where my great-niece takes more after her father’s side, I think.”

All eyes turned to Lorna and she felt herself reddening with embarrassment.
You devious old hag!
she wanted to scream.

Dot stared directly at her. “Darling, while you were busy picking my brain, I was doing a little investigating of my own. Well, not so much me, per se, but I retained the services of my own Wellsby-like private investigator. Frankly, your excessive interest in the family history piqued my curiosity.”

Dot broke off her eye contact and addressed the rest of the table. “As it turns out, our esteemed family historian has been writing a book about us. My investigator even learned that she has her own literary agent and is
shopping
the idea among New York publishers. She has a fabulous title, too.” She stopped to laugh. “
The Rise and Fall of the Alfredson—A Hundred Years of Life, Death, Survival, and Greed
. Marvelous, darling! A vast improvement on Gerald Fenton Naylor’s tepid title, and no doubt a far more gripping read, to boot.” She feigned a dainty handclap. “Apparently, my great-niece plans to lay out on paper the darker underbelly of the Alfredson while airing all of our family’s dirty laundry for the world to see.”

You can’t, you tiny monster! I’ve worked too hard for this!
Lorna wanted to strangle the old woman. She wanted to melt into the floor. But she was too shocked to say or do anything.

“Of course, darling, with a title like yours, you do need the
right
ending for your story.” Dot frowned. “One always has to be a tad suspicious of conflict of interest, though. If our family were to sell the Alfredson and embroil ourselves in a messy, well-publicized courtroom battle over its legality . . .” For the first time, Dot’s voice assumed an accusatory edge. “Now
that
would be the ideal ending for a writer. The
perfect
launch pad for your new book to guarantee all the publicity in the world.” She shook a finger at Lorna. “Is that not why you are so eager for us to sell the Alfredson, darling?”

Face heated with rage and embarrassment, Lorna glanced around the room. Some family members scowled while others looked away, too uncomfortable to meet her eyes. One group on the far side of the table, all of whom had publicly advocated for the sale of the Alfredson, ignored her entirely as they chatted urgently among themselves.

Eileen Hutchins opened the floor to discussion, but Lorna was too dismayed to concentrate on the speakers who followed. William McGrath stood first and calmly refuted her allegations about the Stafford malpractice
case. A number of people rose after William to denounce Lorna, but she did not respond to her accusers, or even make eye contact with them.

That old witch has ruined everything
.

After five or six speakers, one of her cousins stood up and coolly pointed out that Lorna’s motives, regardless of their underhandedness, were irrelevant to the motion. Three others followed, arguing the same theme—the sale of the Alfredson was a business decision and should be viewed only as such.

Despite the mortification, Lorna felt a glimmer of hope that her cause was not yet lost.