She wrestled visibly with the Latin, furrowing her brow and catching her lower lip between her teeth. Finally she shook her head. “Something about creating Heaven…”
“‘If I had not already created Heaven, I would create it for you alone.’ Teresa insisted Christ meant that for all of mankind…but He said it to her.”
She held his eyes for one long moment in the firelight, before her brother entered the room.
Chapter 22
When I returned to Charleston from Hayti, the dogs that were set to guard against negroes began to bark at me, though previously they had allowed me to pass.
— Bishop John England, 1834 letter
As Christmas approached, Joseph imagined the Conleys trying to celebrate in their shabby little room, separated forever from their parents, siblings, nieces, nephews, and homeland. How he wished he could invite the brother and sister to spend the holiday with his family. But Joseph could not justify such an offer, especially since he himself no longer resided with his parents.
Hélène saved him. During her visits with the Sisters of Mercy, she discovered where the Conleys lived. Since her home was much closer to the cathedral than their lodging, Hélène offered them a place to rest between the vigil Mass Christmas Eve and the three Masses on Christmas Day: Joseph’s old chamber, with a trundle-bed for Mr. Conley. Joseph was relieved and delighted to know the brother and sister experienced those hours of comfort and happiness.
The Conleys were two among many. Why their fate should matter so much to him, Joseph did not understand. Brother and sister were devout and warm-hearted, but most of their countrymen were the same.
They were a schoolmaster’s children; they were bright; they were readers. Poor as they were, they cared about the world beyond their own quotidian concerns. Perhaps this was what elevated them above the rest of the immigrants in Charleston. And simply because you could not help everyone, it did not mean you should help no one.
Before, between, and after his duties at the cathedral, Joseph joined his family and the Conleys to play parlor games, dine, and exchange French and Irish carols. Young David heard Miss Conley sing for the first time, and he looked almost as mesmerized as Joseph. Mr. Conley had a fine voice as well, although Joseph thought Hélène’s praise of it rather effusive.
Miss Conley proved herself one of the few people who could keep little Sophie entertained. She is going to be a wonderful mother, Joseph thought. But what kind of life could she give her children? What bleak future awaited them—awaited her? Surely Miss Conley would marry another Irish immigrant, and they would always be poor.
It was useless to dream about another life in which he was white, in which he was some respected botanist, in which he could rescue her.
Shortly before they parted, while Joseph’s mother taught Miss Conley a new stitch, the young Irishman explained why his parents’ precious, only daughter had joined him in exile. Joseph was learning that these sorts of confidences were the privilege and burden of his Priesthood.
“Our brother Daniel works as a gardener at our landlord’s manor,” Mr. Conley told Joseph in a low voice. “Even as a child, Tessa shared Daniel’s way with plants, so sometimes she would assist him. It was a chance for Tessa to be around beautiful things, flowers we could not afford to grow ourselves. Our landlord wasn’t even there to admire his gardens most of the year—he spent months on end in England. Neither he nor his agent cared if Daniel had an assistant; they didn’t pay her.
“But one day our landlord…noticed Tessa. Daniel did not need to forbid her to visit him after that; she understood what the old man’s leer meant, and she was terrified. When Tessa did not return to the manor, our landlord sought her out. We tried to keep her hidden from him, but he would demand to see her.
“Our landlord would make foul jokes, like: If we ever came up short on rent, he would gladly accept Tessa as payment. My sister would stand there trembling, and he’d be molesting her with his eyes and his suggestions, dragging the tip of his riding crop down her body. My father, my five brothers, and myself—we were utterly powerless against one old lecher. If he raised our rent, if he evicted us, we had no recourse, Father—nowhere to go.”
Joseph nearly snapped the handle from his teacup. Many times, he’d heard Irish tenants compared to slaves. Before now, he’d not understood how close the parallel was.
“Even Daniel couldn’t secure work elsewhere without a reference. At the manor, he’d heard terrible stories—that our landlord had forced himself on maids. And of course those women were powerless to prosecute him. What if the old man took the next step? What if he ordered Tessa to the manor? If she refused, how would he retaliate?” Mr. Conley stared down into his brandy. “Worst of all, Father, we feared she might accept.”
“Pardon?” Joseph was sure he’d misunderstood.
“We feared Tessa might sacrifice herself for the rest of us. The only way we could save her was to help her escape. Every Conley—and many of our friends—saved for months to pay for our passage.”
“Did your landlord retaliate, when he learned you and your sister had fled?”
“We knew he might,” Mr. Conley acknowledged. Then, he chuckled. “But apparently the old man was so angry, he died of an apoplexy. Divine justice at last.”
“You could return to Ireland,” Joseph observed.
“I suppose Tessa could,” Mr. Conley mused. “I prefer America. Here, even a poor man without a college education can become a lawyer. Here, I can speak my mind without fear. Until Ireland is free of landlords like that—until she is free of their sons and their grandsons—I cannot remain silent.”
Miss Conley could hardly travel such a distance alone. Besides, how would she pay for another passage across the Atlantic? Once again, she was trapped.
This knowledge of Miss Conley’s sufferings accomplished in Joseph what the admonitions of his confessor had not. It shamed him into celibacy at last. He imagined Miss Conley’s terror at that old lecher’s approach, and admitted that his own attraction to her was every bit as vile. Joseph was not of her race; he was not even of her species—he was a Priest now, not a man. Miss Conley must understand that he cared for her; he’d hardly concealed it. But she could not suspect there was anything carnal in his affection, or she would not have been so receptive.
Miss Conley remained unsuccessful in finding a position as a governess. Charleston’s parents wanted teachers with a formal education and letters of recommendation. But Miss Conley’s lack of credentials did not prevent her catechism students from adoring her.
The catechetical school shared the seminary’s building, so Joseph was able to see her more often than glimpses during Mass. When the weather was fair, Miss Conley brought her sewing to the garden. Sometimes as she worked, she would hum. Even this was exquisite, but if Joseph was very lucky, she would sing quietly to herself. He would listen as he tended the plants. He could read the prayers in his breviary only after she departed.
As spring approached and the Biblical garden began to show signs of life, other parishioners visited more and more. There were only three benches, so Joseph learned to leave his tools on Miss Conley’s favorite one till she appeared.
One morning when the garden was nearly empty, Joseph brought over his class of students from the minor seminary to explain about pomegranates being the forbidden fruit. The boys spotted Miss Conley sitting alone on her bench.
One of them pointed. “It’s Eve!”
“No it isn’t,” another boy argued. “Were you even listening to Father Lazare? Eve was naked!”
Which set off an outbreak of sniggers that infected even Miss Conley and Joseph, before he composed himself and scolded his students.
A month-long illness had prevented Bishop England from embarking on the second Haitian mission. Instead, he sent his coadjutor, Bishop Clancy, who made little progress on the island. That spring of 1836, Bishop England would return to Haiti himself.
The second week of Lent, Joseph was hardly through
his parents’ gate when his mother accosted him. ‘Joseph! You must make your father see sense!’
Joseph glanced to his father on the piazza. ‘About what?’
‘When Bishop England returns to Haiti, your father says he’s going with him!’
Joseph’s father stepped forward and drew her attention. ‘I am seeing sense, Anne. Dr. England needs me. I speak French as well as Creole. And if he falls ill again’—Joseph’s father grinned—‘don’t you want him to be in good hands?’
‘What if you fall ill? What if you die of fever thousands of miles from—’
‘Nothing is going to happen to me, Anne.’
‘You cannot promise that! How can you do this to me? I’m already losing Cathy and our grandchildren in a month!’
‘They’re not dying, Anne—they’re moving to Missouri.’
‘Halfway across the continent, surrounded by Indians! And now you want to go sailing off to a godforsaken island full of murderers!’ She turned away and covered her face with her hand for a moment. Tears filled her eyes, but she managed a few more signs. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, René.’ She rushed to their Mary Garden and knelt to beg the Virgin’s intercession.
Joseph and his father followed but kept their distance. Joseph felt a surge of hope: his mother seemed genuinely grieved at the thought of losing his father. Surely this proved the man had stopped tormenting her. Joseph still didn’t understand him. He asked in a low voice, as if his mother could hear: “How can you wish to visit a place where—where your father was beheaded?”
“He probably deserved it. And my going to Haiti has nothing to do with him. I am going to visit my mother.”
Joseph frowned. “You…know where she’s buried?”
“She isn’t buried anywhere. She’s still alive.”
Joseph gaped at him.
His father glanced over the gardenia bushes to ensure that his wife was still at her prayers. “After we met Ninon on Sullivan’s Island and she told me the truth about my mother, I started wondering: If she didn’t die when I was born, what if she wasn’t dead at all? What if she didn’t want to give me up? You know what my grandmother Marguerite was like.” He sat on the bench nearby, and Joseph joined him reluctantly. “So I met with Ninon again. She told me everything she could remember about the plantation where I was born. I wrote it all down, and added a few details I learned from other Saint-Domingue émigrés. Two years ago, before Dr. England left on his first mission to Haiti, I asked him to take my information to President Boyer, to see if enquiries could be made. You know how easily Dr. England wins people over, so Boyer agreed to help. Having a dictator on your side has its advantages. Last year, when Dr. Clancy returned from Haiti, he brought word that my mother had finally been found, very much alive.”
So Bishop Clancy knew they were colored, too? Perhaps the letter had been sealed. But no good could come of this.
Joseph looked over to see his mother rising from her prayers. She threw Joseph a hopeful glance and returned to the house.
His father murmured in her wake: “I don’t think you can understand, Joseph. You’ve had a mother all your life. This is my only chance to meet mine.”
Joseph knew that state law would not permit her to visit South Carolina instead.
“You could come to Haiti with me, son.”
“I’m a Priest now.”
“You know very well that Dr. England could use a second pair of consecrated hands there even more than here.”
“I have classes to teach at the seminary. Besides, Mama would never let us both go.”
His father sighed. “Would you write your grandmother a letter, then?”
“Can she read?”
“I’ll read it to her.”
“What would I say?”
“Anything. Tell her about yourself. She’ll be as proud as I am.”
“I doubt she’s even Catholic.”
“Anyone would be proud of you, Joseph.”
“Because I’m the first colored Priest in America?”
His father stood and scowled down at him. “Because you’re a wise and compassionate young man. Most of the time.”
A fortnight after Joseph’s father sailed for Haiti with Bishop England, Cathy, Perry, David, and Sophie left for Missouri. To distract their mother from her grief, Joseph and Hélène coaxed her into visiting the orphanage run by the Sisters of Mercy. Many children had lost their hearing to fevers. Joseph and Hélène taught them simple signs, but few people had the patience to converse with the children, let alone teach them to read.
Soon, Joseph’s mother and grandmother were visiting the orphans together. They’d always made little gifts for the children. Now they presented these in person. The Sisters of Mercy reported that what the orphans cherished most were their laps and their arms.
His mother and grandmother must have been visiting the orphanage on the day Joseph stopped at his parents’ house to retrieve a book. Even Henry and May were out, because no one greeted him. Everything was quiet till Joseph entered the hall and heard the murmurs in the parlor. He recognized Hélène’s voice, and the other sounded like…
Then Joseph saw them: his little sister and Mr. Conley seated together on the sofa, bare hands clasped, knees practically touching, a flush of pleasure suffusing her cheeks as he whispered something that sounded like poetry.
When she realized they were not alone, Hélène sprang up instantly in front of her lover, as if to shield him from Joseph’s wrath. “This isn’t what it looks like! You needn’t challenge Liam to a duel!”
Who’d ever heard of a Priest fighting a duel?
To his credit, Mr. Conley was also blushing, and trying vainly to move in front of Hélène. She wouldn’t let him, and neither needed protecting; Joseph was frozen in place on the threshold.
“Well, it is what it looks like, but nothing happened!” Hélène continued at the speed of a locomotive. “And nothing happened at Christmas, either! I promised Papa I wouldn’t follow in Cathy’s footsteps! Papa already knows about Liam and me—and he gave us his blessing!” She dropped her eyes to the rug and pouted. “Except he’s making us wait…”
“…until I have established myself as a lawyer,” Mr. Conley completed. “Until I can support your sister properly. Not in the manner she’s accustomed to, and not in the manner she deserves—I’ll never be wealthy—but…”
“Liam will make a name for himself; I know he will,” Hélène gushed. “He’s going to represent people like Mama, and immigrants and colored people!”
In other words, few of his clients would be able to pay him.
His sister darted forward to squeeze Joseph’s hands. “I told Liam the real reason Papa is visiting Haiti.”
“Hélène!”
“Your family’s secret is safe with me, Father.”
“Have you been reading the laws of your new state, Mr. Conley? Do you realize what will happen to us if the wrong people find out?”
The Irishman averted his eyes. “Your father could never return to South Carolina. Neither could you or Ellie, if you attended a Church council in Baltimore or she wanted to visit Cathy. If you remained in Charleston, you’d be forced to find white guardians, obey a curfew, and pay a capitation tax. You’d be barred from restaurants and theatres and constantly reminded of your ‘inferior position.’”
And their treatment in the Northern states wouldn’t be much better.
Mr. Conley met Joseph’s gaze with defiance. “But such injustice will not change unless we fight it, Father.”
“You’ll be risking exposure by fighting.”
“I’m not afraid,” Hélène declared.
Mr. Conley smiled at her. “Your sister is afraid of nothing. She has a heart the size of a cathedral. After all, she loves me. For the rest of my life, I shall strive to be worthy of her.”
“Will you give us your blessing, Joseph? Will you say our wedding Mass? Even if it doesn’t happen till”—Hélène bit her lip and threw a mournfu
l glance at her suitor—“ten years from now, when Liam can support me?”
Joseph sighed. “Mama and Grandmama won’t approve of this match, El.” No doubt they were hoping Hélène would marry a Middleton or a Pinckney.
“That’s why we haven’t told them yet.” Her brow furrowed. “Do you approve, Joseph?”
“Of course. I’m happy for you.” First he offered Liam his hand as a brother. The Irishman gripped it with obvious relief. Then Joseph blessed their betrothal as a Priest.
Technically, Hélène and Liam were condemning their children to two decades of indentured servitude and themselves to seven years. Because of Cathy and Perry, Joseph had looked it up when he returned to Charleston: whether there was a law against amalgamation in South Carolina. There wasn’t, only a colonial statute calling intimate relations between whites and blacks “unnatural and inordinate copulation” and making the perpetrators and children of such offenses into virtual slaves.
But Joseph thought Miss Conley close to perfection. He could hardly object to her brother marrying his sister. This union would make Miss Conley a permanent part of Joseph’s life. He would have a legitimate reason to worry about her and enjoy her company, because they would be family. In the eyes of the Church and the law, Joseph and Miss Conley would become brother and sister. Intimate yet entirely safe.
In June, Joseph’s father and Bishop England returned from Haiti, sunburned but otherwise intact. Now there were two colored Priests in the Americas: during the mission, His Lordship had ordained a Mr. Paddington, who had been born in Haiti and educated in Ireland and Rome.
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