As the days shortened and grew chill, they sat by the fire in the Trainor cabin, the men talking and whittling while the women sewed. After tea, they would sing and make music, banging spoons against the pots and kettles and Brigit danced with her brother John. In those moments, Daniel could not take his eyes off her burnished curls and slender agile form, thinking himself truly blessed among men. He had put off introducing her to Owen; the latter had too much of a way with women, and Daniel did not want to lose his bride to his brother. Furthermore, he was concerned about Owen’s fondness for strong drink. Although it did not get in the way of his work, he often went to bed drunk. Nevertheless, Owen won many friends in Kitley and was often asked to stand as godfather to new babies. The stone cottage was completed, covered with a generous coat of roughcast like a proper Irish abode. Last summer, when Peter had visited the land, he had been satisfied. “Here your descendants shall dwell, Daniel, for generations, and mine as well. ‘Tis your own Garden of Eden, a fresh start in an untouched land, far from the evils of the outside world. But beware the serpent, lest he destroy your happiness.”
On the day of his wedding, the dawn gleamed rose-gold upon the snow. John O’Brien appeared still deep in meditation. A steadfast friend, he had modestly given Daniel advice on how to be a good husband, Daniel’s knowledge of women being confined to medical books. “Temper ardor with gentleness. But don’t be worrying. You shall get it right eventually.”
It was a freezing ride, but Daniel barely felt the cold. Owen was chanting a phrase in sing-song, “Dan the man is off to be married,” over and over again. When the sun rose, it was with Epiphany splendor. John stirred, and breathed in the morning. “The Lord is God and He has shone upon us,” he quoted from the Psalter. They came at last to Bellamy Pond and the cabin, which served as a makeshift chapel. The sound of crying infants signaled that the baptisms were already in progress. Couples to be married were arriving with their families; however, the Trainors were nowhere to be seen.
“You don’t suppose wee Brigit is jilting you, Dan?” asked Owen, teasingly. Daniel was too nervous and scared to reply. He dared not glance around, certain that all there were grinning at his discomfiture. Children were scampering about throwing snowballs; those too young to receive communion were eating heartily of stew that simmered in pots over fires along with kettles of tea. The adults were warming themselves while waiting for confession and Mass. Some of the couples to be married had exchanged private vows at home, which was permitted due to the scarcity of priests; at least one of the brides was obviously with child and one had a babe in arms. As for Daniel, he wanted everything done properly, with a virgin bride awaiting him on his wedding night.
And, lo, suddenly there she was! The Trainors were on foot, having apparently walked all the way into the village. A fiddler pranced ahead of the small procession, playing “Haste to the Wedding.” Brigit clung to her father’s arm, while Peter held himself tall with a bearskin cap pressed down almost to his bushy eyebrows. John and James walking immediately behind were equally solemn. Widow Hacket, who was to stand up for Brigit, and sundry other friends and relations, accompanied them as well.
Daniel was paralyzed at the sight of her. Amid the roughness and desolation of the winter wilderness to see such grace and loveliness in one person was spellbinding. Her cheeks were flushed from the frosty morning, causing her blue-green eyes to sparkle with jewel-like splendor. Her fair hair hung in ringlets beneath a gray poke bonnet, covered by a filmy white veil and encircled with a wreath of holly. She was swathed in a heavy grey-green Irish shawl, her hands snuggly warm in a small squirrel muff that Daniel had given her. Her dress of deep blue wool swept the snow and was wet around the hem. Owen’s eyes widened as he saw Brigit and he bowed; she crimsoned in response, lowering her eyes.
Peter took Brigit’s hand and placed it in Daniel’s. They approached the makeshift chapel. Among the witnesses were the widow Mary Donavin and her young children. Mary’s husband, Patrick Donavin, had been killed while felling a tree the past year. Daniel was hoping that Owen would court the buxom widow, for then he would acquire a farm and family without much effort on his part, but James Trainor seemed to have beaten him to it. Mary was among the women and girls who clustered around Brigit, admiring her dress, muff, bonnet and veil (the latter items borrowed from a cousin.) The baptisms having finished, they lined up for confession. Father McDonnell was sitting inside on a milking stool, and each penitent knelt at his side and whispered their sins in his ear. By the time confessions ended, the crowd outside had grown boisterous, singing wedding songs and dancing in the snow.
Father McDonnell appeared at the door of the cabin. “Pipe down! Everyone, now!” A hush descended upon the crowd. “Anyone else to be shriven? No? Then I shall start the marriage service.” Brides, grooms and witnesses crowded inside the cabin and stood before the makeshift altar. Everyone else watched from outside the door. The service began. The couples knelt and faced Father McDonnell. Daniel resolutely turned his eyes from Brigit and forced himself to look straight ahead. He nudged Owen, who seemed to be having difficulty removing his gaze from her, too.
The brides and grooms stood together and were covered with a black veil. Daniel’s world darkened; he felt his own breath against his face. He heard the muffled cry of an infant, which meant somebody had placed the babe under the veil to be certain it was legitimized. He turned his head ever so slightly; he could see Brigit’s smooth cheek and exquisite profile, as her eyes caught the tiny points of light shining through the veil. It was then that the brides and grooms exchanged their sacred vows.
The priest blessed the rings with holy water and gave them to the grooms. Daniel repeated with the other men a pledge to their brides: “With this ring I thee wed; this gold and silver I thee give; with my body I thee worship; and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”
Daniel placed the ring upon the thumb of Brigit’s left hand, saying,” In the name of the Father . . .” then on the second finger, “and of the Son . . .” and to the third finger with the words “and of the Holy Ghost.” With his “Amen” he left the ring upon her fourth finger, where it would remain until death. More prayers were chanted as the black veil was lifted, and then the Mass commenced. Daniel blinked in the radiance of the candles on the altar.
They all received Holy Communion and the marriages were blessed. “Deus Abraham, Deus Isaac, et Deus Jacob sit vobiscum . . . .”
May the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob be with you: and Himself fulfill his blessing on you: that you may see your children’s children even to the third and fourth generation; and thereafter possess life everlasting, by the aid of Our Lord Jesus Christ.…
The folk outside knelt also at the blessing, the men having doffed their hats. A few moments of silence ensued, until someone began to sing, as the newly married couples filed out of the cabin.
Here they stand, hand in hand
They’ve exchanged wedding bands
Today is the day of their dreams and their plans
And all who love them just wanted to say
May God bless this couple who are wedded today!
Daniel tossed pennies to the children. Flasks of whiskey appeared and the toasts began.
In good times and bad times
In sickness and health
May they know that riches
Are not needed for wealth!
“I shall be the first to kiss the bride!” said Owen, as he scooped Brigit up by her waist, twirling her around before landing a hearty kiss on her mouth. Daniel bristled, but relaxed as everyone laughed, recalling that it was custom that a man should kiss the bride first, for if a woman did so it could bring bad luck.
May they find peace of mind
To all who are kind
May the rough times ahead
Become triumphs in time!
“I’ll be sleeping in the barn tonight!” Owen proclaimed to another chorus of laughter.
Father McDonnell appea
red in the doorway. “There now. Save the drinking and the joking for your homes. ‘Tis holy ground here.”
The women nodded and Widow Hacket called out, “Come break your fast with us, Father!” Others proffered similar invitations.
“I will try to stop in and have a toast with all of ye,” said Father. “Off with ye, now, to your homes! And go easy on the drink, lads!”
Daniel and Brigit’s wedding breakfast was held at the Trainor farm, where plenty of oat cakes, boxty, sowens, stew and stout were to be had, along with the wedding cake, thick with dried fruits and nuts and reeking with the whisky in which it had been soaking for months. Widow Donavin and her children came along to help with the cooking and enjoy the festivities. She had brought a flummery pudding from her own secret family recipe. The tiny cabin was overflowing. The bride and groom sat together on a small bench to conserve the limited seating; Daniel had never before been so close to her. His heart sang and he could not have been happier if he had been banqueting in the tapestried halls of his royal ancestors.
Some O’Connor cousins arrived from Stone Mills, bringing a fiddle and honey mead. Daniel noticed a handsome red-haired fellow glowering in the corner, and wondered who it was. Mugs and cups were raised to the bride and the groom, emptied and replenished. Father McDonnell entered just as Peter Trainor was about to make a toast.
“Welcome, Father!” called James Trainor.
“God bless this house! Go on, man!” replied Father, with a nod towards Peter. “I didn’t intend to interrupt the proceedings!”
“And now I should like to drink to me own dear departed wife, Katie McGinnis Trainor,” said Peter with tears in his eyes. “Happy she would be to see this day, and smiling down from Heaven she is upon our lovely Brigit!”
“Here! Here!” everyone exclaimed. The children had mostly wandered outside and were chasing each other in the snow. Father McDonnell was given a seat next to Peter, whom he patted on the back while the latter gave vent to his emotion, blowing his nose into a large red handkerchief. Widow Hacket brought them each a pint of beer.
“Damnation!” hissed Peter in such a loud whisper that Brigit jumped. Daniel leaned over to see what the problem might be. “‘Tis the O’Kelly, there in the corner! What is he doing here? I did not invite the likes of him!”
“Let all be welcome to the wedding feast, sir,” said Daniel, trying to calm his father-in-law. He realized Peter was speaking of the sullen fellow with the red hair, no doubt the same Mike who had wanted to marry Brigit. Mike must have noticed Peter’s agitation for he rose from his seat and staggered towards the table. He was obviously intoxicated. Silence fell upon the room.
Mike halted in front of Daniel and Brigit. He set his mug down with such a clatter that the contents splashed upon the table. “I wants to toast the bride, the fairest lass in Upper Canada!” he sputtered. “But first I wants a kiss from her.”
Daniel put his arm protectively around Brigit’s waist. He held out his other hand to O’Kelly. “I am Daniel O’Connor. Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. Won’t you have some stew?”
“Stew be damned!” O’Kelly leaned forward and put both hands on Brigit’s shoulders. Daniel was on his feet. With one arm he pushed O’Kelly away from Brigit. He hopped onto his stool and then with two bounds was across the table. Leaping to the floor, he grabbed O’Kelly by his collar.
“Sorry you must be going, Mr. O’Kelly” said Daniel. “The door is there.” James and John each took one of Mike’s arms and walked him through the door and to his horse. Everyone began to talk again.
“Time for a bit of dance!” called Owen. “Strike up a jig for me, lads!” The fiddlers obliged and Owen launched into an energetic dance, his slender legs blending effortlessly with the singing fiddles. He grinned from ear to ear at Daniel and Brigit, his black curls catching the firelight; his muscular limbs moving in rhythm despite all the drink.
“And how is your rheumatism, Mistress Hacket?” asked Father McDonnell.
“’Tis fair, Father, ‘tis fair,” replied the unusually cheerful widow. “I’d be a sight better off if I had word from me boy in Australia. I have half a mind to get arrested meself just to be deported there.”
“Nay, don’t you be doing that, Kitty,” said Peter.
“I will write to my confrere in Sidney again, and ask him for news of your son,” said the priest. “Be of good heart.”
“Bless you, Father,” sighed the old woman.
Owen’s dance became more energetic. Brigit stared wide-eyed, her mouth slightly agape, mesmerized.
“Come, let’s all get into it!” exclaimed John O’Brien, as he and the Trainer brothers joined Owen. They all jigged while everyone else clapped and banged wooden spoons on tin pans and iron pots in time to the music. Brigit blinked, as though released from a spell, and took a bite of the wedding cake.
“I remember me own wedding,” sighed Widow Hacket. “The constable came and arrested Uncle Sean.”
“Aye, I remember,” reminisced Peter. “I was there. We were all jigging just like this when they came for him.”
Owen reached for Brigit’s hand, guided her around the table and they began to dance. They made a graceful pair.
“Did they hang the poor fellow?” asked Mary Donavin. She had not spoken much as was becoming to a young widow.
“Aye, and from the tallest tree in the county.’Twas a right morbid sight.”
Mrs. Donavin burst into tears, remembering the sight of her husband crushed beneath the fallen tree.
“There, there, me dear,” crooned Widow Hacket into her ear while embracing her. James Trainor stopped dancing and moved cautiously over to the grieving woman. The other dancers slowed. Brigit returned to Daniel’s side.
“Well, I must be off,” declared Owen, “to warm the house for the bride and groom. But first, one more song for the new Mrs. O’Connor.” His clear tenor intoned the first verse of the old love song, Roisin Dubh, “Little Black Rose.”
You have driven me mad, fickle girl
May it do you no good!
My soul is in thrall, not just yesterday nor today.
You have left me weary and weak in body and mind.
O deceive not the one who loves you, my Roisin Dubh!
James joined in, taking a step closer to the Widow Donavin.
I would walk in the dew beside you, or the bitter desert
In hopes I might have your affection, or part of your love.
Fragrant small branch, you have given your word that you love me,
The choicest flower of Munster, my Roisin Dubh.
Owen leaned forward and grasped Brigit’s hand over the table, kissing it as he ended the song. He bowed to the company as they applauded.
“There now, Owen! That was a very fine rendition! You need to be getting a wife of your own soon!” said Peter, wiping away his tears.
“Aye, Mr. Trainor! But perhaps I already have one hidden away somewhere!” he winked at Brigit, whose blush served to heighten the sparkling of her eyes. Then Owen departed. An uneasy shadow passed across Daniel’s heart, as he put his arm protectively around her waist again. He stood to make the end of the wedding toast and his bride also rose, clasping his hand.
He raised his cup of mead, saying: “Friends and relations, of whom we are both fond, thank you all very much for coming to our wedding. We shall never forget your kindnesses to us this day. May God bless you all in your hour of need!”
“Here! Here!” everyone replied.
It was time for them to make ready to depart. Brigit, swathed once more in her heavy shawl, brought forth a large bundle wrapped in an old quilt. The rest of her trousseau had been sent ahead in a trunk. Her father hugged her and Widow Hacket handed her a broom, salt and holy water, all of which Daniel loaded upon his horse. Widow Donavin tearfully gave them a basket of oat cakes so that the bride would not have to labor overmuch to get the tea. All the women and girls embraced Brigit as if they were never to see her again. James and John, stoi
cally refusing to cry, lifted their sister upon her mount. Father McDonnell gave them a final blessing before they rode away as John O’Brien shouted out a final toast.
“May the sons of your sons fill your home with laughter! And may you see your children’s children prosper on the land where you have toiled!”
Daniel followed the Irish custom of returning to his house by a circuitous route, to avoid any pranksters who might lie in wait for the bride and groom. He especially feared running into a drunken and angry Mick O’Kelly, but O’Kelly was nowhere to be seen. The sun was low in the sky but still shining brightly through the trees, creating long blue shadows on the snow. Daniel talked about his plans for the farm in the springtime, but Brigit spoke hardly at all during the hour’s ride to Long Point. When at last they arrived at the roughcast cottage, the smoke of a roaring fire greeted them from the chimney.
“We must keep the fire burning on the hearth for three straight days,” said Brigit, breaking her silence, “for then we shall become truly one with our home and one with the land.”
Daniel helped her dismount and gave her the broom, salt and flagon of holy water. He picked her up in his arms and carried her across the threshold, according to tradition. There was a roaring fire and a kettle of water boiling away, but Owen was nowhere to be seen. Daniel unloaded the rest of her belongings.
“Now, I had best tend to the horses,” he said.
“I’ll be getting the tea,” she replied. She began to move about with a calm deliberateness, like a queen taking possession of her domain. Awe and reverence for her and for the mystery of her being swept over him, and he hastened out to the barn.
CHAPTER 5
Child of Grace
December, 1831
The Paradise Tree Page 8
