“It’s not the end of this, Will.”
And so for the weeks leading up to the wedding—that loathsome event—Will wandered lost in his labyrinth of dark thoughts.
* * *
When Johannah Donnelly heard of these goings-on by way of Michael, she was not displeased, though she kept the feeling for the most part to herself. She had never thought much of Maggie as a suitable woman for her eldest son and believed he was making a childish fool out of himself. The girl was weak and spoiled, and the one time Johannah offered these thoughts up to Will early in the affair—“Wouldn’t you rather someone with more substance?”—Will stormed off to the barn and the air was frosty between them for days. But Johannah knew there was no percentage in arguing with the power of love. Hadn’t she herself succumbed to its persuasions long ago? It seemed to be a common condition of youth, like the measles or chicken pox, they all had to go through. She would bite her tongue, say a little prayer and hope her eldest would soon return to his senses.
The day of Maggie Thompson’s wedding to Pat Carroll dawned a sunny spring Saturday and Will cursed the Judas sun for blessing the injustice. It was to occur at the spiritual fortress of St. Patrick’s. Despite their family’s estrangement from Father Connolly fifteen years before, his mother liked to go there to sit near the back and receive Sunday Mass. The priest would not deny her, but nor would he look her in the eye. The boys, some of them, joined her on occasion, if only for the socializing, for they still counted a good number of friends in the congregation.
The Thompsons were a popular family in the community despite the men’s lack of graces and they were good friends of the expansive Kennedy clan. Some of the Thompsons were friends of the Donnellys and some were not. The Carrolls, family of the groom, also had many social connections, though the Carroll family name had some years back been tarnished with suspicion of thievery and arson, but all in all, Will calculated the turnout would be substantial and he would need all his brothers at the church. He wanted to give Maggie one more chance.
Will led his brothers, all seven of them mounted, all in their suits and high black boots, approaching from the north end of the cemetery, walking their animals respectfully in a line between the headstones. They didn’t hurry and they didn’t speak. They arrived together near the church steps and dismounted. There were horses, wagons and carriages lined up outside, and quite a few more across the street at Keefe’s tavern. The church doors were closed. A pump organ was playing the wedding processional.
Inside the church, Father Connolly was presiding in his church finery at the altar as usual, and the congregation was on their feet. Will and his brothers removed their hats. The big church was filled for the wedding, bouquets of lilacs and wild roses lined the walls and covered the altar, and those present wore brighter clothing than they would have on a Sunday morning for Mass.
Will could just make out the bride through the heads of the people, as well as that miserable father of hers up at the altar beside the poor excuse for a groom, their backs to their guests. At the sound of the church doors closing, a few heads turned around to see the Donnellys newly arrived in full force. Everyone knew Will’s feelings for Maggie and how her family had behaved toward him. More heads turned now in open-mouthed anticipation of what he might do. Will leaned to one side, trying to catch a glimpse of Maggie’s face. Not yet noticing the Donnelly presence, the nearsighted Father Connolly commenced the ceremony in blissful ignorance.
“We are gathered together here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”
Old Thompson stepped aside and Will saw her, the radiant Maggie, looking at Pat Carroll with what Will knew was a thin, sad smile of fatal acceptance. But he was here to tell her she didn’t have to do this.
“…which is an honourable estate, instituted by God in the time of man’s innocence. Please be seated.”
When the congregation sat down, Will and his brothers were the only ones standing other than the wedding party and more people began to notice their presence. Then Maggie glanced up, turned and stared at Will in shock. She then threw back her veil and glared at him with unmitigated exasperation. The entire congregation turned then, to find the Donnelly boys were in the church. All of them. There were gasps and whispers and apparently much amusement over Will’s state of affairs.
Will was distracted for a moment by Nora Kennedy, only a few feet from him, her green eyes flashing in amusement.
“I’ll be damned. Will Donnelly, you hopeless romantic.”
Will looked at Nora for a moment, registering her enjoyment of the circumstances, but then returned to his mission to stop this farce. He marched up the aisle toward the altar, toward the bride and groom, and called out to Connolly, “I’d like to move along to the part, Father, where we can object. Because I object!”
Jean Thompson and Father Connolly spoke almost in unison: “How dare you!”
Maggie looked at him sadly. “Oh, Will…”
Will walked right up to the altar—the groom and his brother and best man, Jim Carroll, were frozen in surprise—and quickly, before anyone could prevent him, Will bent down, put an arm around Maggie’s thighs, lifted her over his shoulder and carried her back up the aisle. The groom, his brother and Maggie’s father all made an attempt to go after Will, but Tom, James and the other brothers moved in and stood in their way.
Overcoming his astonishment, Connolly once again found his voice: “Stop this! What are you doing?”
“Let’s give them a moment,” Michael Donnelly warned the groom and wedding party, as Will carried Maggie out through the heavy church doors.
This was too much for Pat Carroll. “You thieving Blackfeet!” he yelled. And he made the mistake of swinging his fist with incompetence, just missing Michael’s pretty face. Tom stepped in with a hammer punch to Carroll’s head and the fight was on, with Will’s brothers against most of the male congregation.
Tom Donnelly took hold of Pat Carroll’s bloody face and applied his thumbs to gouge out the groom’s eyes until Michael intervened.
“Tom! Don’t! Let him go!”
Father Connolly scrambled through and over people to safety behind the altar, aghast at the dozen men throwing punches in the sanctuary of his church.
“Stop this! I command you to stop!” But the men involved were past hearing. Fearful and angry mothers guided crying children to the doors, women found shelter between the pews, others joined Father Connolly behind the altar. Johnny O’Connor and his parents had crawled under a pew. His mother kept pulling Johnny down out of harm’s way as he tried to see each blow of the donnybrook.
With Maggie over his shoulder, encouraged that she wasn’t exactly struggling, Will quickly made his way down the steps and deep into the pastoral quiet of the green cemetery. Even there, the fight inside the church could be heard: grunts, yells, curses and breaking glass, and the admonishments of the women telling their men to stop. Will’s instructions to his brothers were simply to hold them off and not do permanent damage to the people or the church, as Will took Maggie as far away into the cemetery as he could in the brief time they had.
“Will. Put me down.”
They were a distance now from the church on a level table of clipped grass near several old granite headstones. He did as he was told, placing her down gently so she was sitting on the green canopy. Will sat back himself to look at her in the splendid lace gown, her blonde hair circled in tight braids beneath a small lace bonnet. A little powder and rouge on the cheeks and the full lips he had kissed so often. It was all as he had imagined, but for the fact he was not the groom.
Three men had at last hurried out from the church to save Maggie but she held up a hand as they approached.
“It’s all right,” she said, and they stopped. “I’m all right.”
The men glared at Will, but then reluctantly
retreated a few yards to give them privacy. Maggie leaned toward him and looked into his eyes with what he saw as an encouraging affection.
“Oh, Will. I told you it was over.”
“But the letter you sent. To come and take you.”
“It was an impulsive moment. I’m sorry.”
“I went to find you.”
“I know. They took me to my cousin’s farm. I tried to escape.”
“But they can’t hide you now.”
“But now, things are different.”
Will fought the desire to stroke her face or take her hand.
“There were many things you told me, Maggie. Things you wrote. You said you loved me. Or have you forgotten?”
“No. I have not forgotten, but…things are more complicated.”
“I love you. I want you to be my wife. Can anything be more simple?”
Maggie sighed and shook her head and they sat in silence for a moment. Will began to recite a verse they both knew:
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer’s ocean.
Maggie studied him sadly, but there was emotion in her eyes. Was it love? he wondered with hope rekindled. Will’s right hand was spread in the clipped grass. She placed her hand on top of it and recited a later verse.
But the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
“No!” he wanted to tell her, but he was silenced by the conviction in her eyes. He wanted so much to touch her body but did not dare. She was giving him her answer and it was not what he wanted to hear. Will pulled his hand from under hers and turned away. He ran his fingers through his long hair and bit his lip.
“Maggie. You can’t be in love with that…farmer. Marry me, Maggie.”
“No, Will. It would never work out between our families. I don’t want to live with conflict. My father would have a heart attack. My mother would disown me. I am not ready to live like that.”
“Who cares about them! We can go away somewhere. I’ve got money. Michigan or Manitoba. Then it won’t matter.”
“I can’t leave my family. Nor could you yours. It won’t work.”
The fight could be heard as it continued in the church. A chair smashed through a fine stained glass window and they both winced. Will looked at Maggie, feeling as helpless as an adolescent boy.
“I want you.”
“We don’t often get what we want, Will. That’s how it is. I’ll marry Pat Carroll and I will be…content. Can you please understand that?”
She leaned forward, put her hand on his face and kissed him on the cheek.
“I won’t change my mind now,” she continued. “We had some sweet times together. I will always remember those. We’ll always have that. You are a beautiful man, Will, but it is not meant to be. Now please let me go back to my wedding and get on with my life.”
Her hand remained on his cheek. He looked at her, his emotions raw and exposed as never before. The touch of her hand on his face was the final lifeline to what could be. She suddenly realized this and removed it, finally cutting him adrift.
Will watched Maggie go back to the church. With malignant glares at Will, the men standing by joined her. Will waited for her to turn back, just once, but she did not.
By now the crashing violence in the church had subsided and a few of his brothers were making their way out of the church. Michael was assessing the damage to his beautiful, broken nose. Pat was massaging his bloody right hand. Tom stood there with his vacant stare. Will would just be happy if Tom hadn’t killed anybody. They all looked over to him for guidance. Nothing else to be done here, he thought. With a gesture of his hand, Will directed his brothers to their horses and home.
Johannah
As they entered Fitzhenry’s Hotel, owned by the chief constable’s brother, Johannah and Jenny Donnelly could hear the slow fiddle music in the main dining room emanating from the open doors: the Thompson and Carroll wedding party. The hotel event was open and public so the Donnelly women had put on their finest dresses, bought in nearby London, and despite the rude behaviour of the males of their family earlier in the day, had decided to come to enjoy the gathering. The town was too small not to. Even after the battle in the church, Johannah knew it was important for the family to make an appearance to let everyone know the Donnellys held no grudge. The boys were parking the wagon and settling the horses. She had made sure that her boys would bring baskets with impressive gifts of food and drink, chocolates and whiskey and even wrapped gifts for the bride and groom, by way of an apology, though she would never have used that term.
After the wedding at the church, Chief Constable Fitzhenry had been called to investigate the Donnellys’ transgressions, but everyone had seen Pat Carroll throw the first punch. Johannah instructed John Donnelly to immediately pay for the damages to the sanctuary with Father Connolly. So, finally, no charges were laid. But now it was time to enjoy the party and Johannah felt no small sense of celebration. Although Will had made a fool of himself, at least he would not be marrying Maggie Thompson.
Johannah and Jenny entered the main dining room, or the “ballroom” as the management coined it, arm in arm. The tables had been set to the side or removed for dancing and socializing. It was an impressively large plastered and painted room that would comfortably hold a hundred people, with a wooden and iron candelabra hanging aglow from the ceiling and three real landscape paintings from England on the wall. There were tall windows set in thick walls that provided enough room for several guests to sit on the sills. A short, heavy-set fiddler played dreary, formal music on his instrument. He was leading a small, uninspired band in a leaden waltz. The newlyweds, Pat and Maggie, were at a table opening gifts, surrounded by well-wishers, with Maggie’s mother, Jean, beside them. A few guests were dancing. What a lacklustre little affair, Johannah thought. She enjoyed the way the members of the wedding party stared up at them with expressions of dread when her seven sons arrived just behind her. The Donnellys again, dressed in fine, fashionable suits, waistcoats and jackets, high polished boots, well-groomed with rings and pocket watches, beards combed and moustaches waxed, ready to enjoy the party, any one of them a catch for a smart Lucan girl.
Will, of course, had not wanted to come, but Johannah was determined to present a united front. It took some persuasion that honour demanded that he not hide, and Will’s curiosity eventually trumped his apprehensions and heartache and he came.
The boys placed the substantial gift baskets on the table. They greeted their friends and enemies alike in the noisy good spirit of the day. The families of both bride and groom glared silently. They might well have felt the need, but no one possessed the ability to throw the Donnellys out. The young girls watched the new arrivals from a distance with great interest. Michael, with his long dark curls and flashing eyes, headed toward a gaggle of receptive young ladies.
“Hello, Judy, Winnie, Bea, you radiant creatures! I am overwhelmed with beauty here! Who was to know…Old Fitzhenry’s has been transformed into the Garden of Eden full of Eves!”
The farmers’ daughters were delighted with his patter. Johannah watched Michael from a distance and noted the hungry, competitive young eyes of this coterie. One in particular, the pretty young Fanny Carroll, was watching Michael closely and appeared to be biding her time. Johannah sensed that the girl saw danger there to be courted.
Young Jenny Donnelly lit up in a crowd, remembering everyone’s names and joining in the gay chatter. “My daughter,” Johannah said when introducing her. It still thrilled her to say it. Jenny had proved such a blessing—the last child Jim had given her was the best. She was a beauty, a female version of the curly-haired Michael, with warm brown eyes an
d an engaging laugh, her hair piled at the back of her head, her long neck revealed. Johannah both loved her beauty and feared it for the men who would come to steal her away.
And Johannah herself? She caught her own image in the mirror behind the bar for a moment and saw again how she had aged in the years since Jim was taken. Her dark hair was streaked with grey but there still remained a hardened beauty, and she knew she had a confidence that both intimidated and attracted the men in the room. Not that even one in fifteen years had sought her favour, not when her husband was Jim Donnelly.
Johannah knew very well some of the decisions made in the course of her life were not perfect. Falling in love with Jim Donnelly was only the beginning. She had lost her husband and then lost her church. Because of the kindness of Dr. Davis, she had made the decision to do open business with the Protestants and though this had brought prosperity to the family, she was very aware it had set some of the community against them. So be it. She would not be governed in Canada by the troubles in Tipperary.
Johannah’s eyes were ever keenly on her boys and her thoughts on how proud she was of them, handsome spirited young men whom she had brought up well alone, dancing and carrying on as young men should. She hoped Jim would be pleased with them. After April 16 she would find out. That was his release date. In four weeks she would have her man back. It was all the boys talked about. Would he be happy with them all? Would he still love her? Would she still love him? But she was not ready to think about all that just yet.
One thing she was sure Jim would like was the fact that they now owned Pat Farrell’s land. They owned the full hundred acres. Young Billy Farrell had lived with them as one of the family for many years and Johannah was pleased they could offer him that. He was a good lad, kind and smart and affectionate. At the age of nineteen, he wanted to seek his fortune and leave the conflicted memories of his father’s death behind him. Though it was hard on Donnelly finances for a few years, Johannah had given Billy full market value and then some for his fifty acres. The boy had travelled west and built a lumber mill in the fledgling town of Yellowknife, married a Dene woman and started a family. He sent letters, calling the Donnellys “my family” more than once, and a photograph of himself and his wife that warmed Johannah’s heart.
Cursed! Blood of the Donnellys Page 23
