Once Upon a Misty Bluegrass Hill

by Rebecca Bernadette Mance

  "She was mean and horrible and I hated her…is that why you broke up?"

  They turned into the long driveway and drove between the oak trees that lined the now-paved driveway to Patrick's house. "I think that was part of it, but mostly she and I just didn't suit. She didn't like barbeque, hated the horses and …well there were other reasons we don't need to discuss until another time."

  "Believe me, nobody could understand better than I can!"

  They pulled into Patrick's garage. "You go on inside and get a cuppa' from Mata….and grab my robe and take your bath wherever you want…either in my whirlpool bath or at your house and I'll just run back and pick up some of your things from your house in town if you give me the key."

  Jolene jumped out of the truck and dug in her purse for her house key and tossed it to him. "I do feel really dirty, but how will you know what to bring?"

  "The pups will help me."

  Jolene looked into the backseat at smiling Oliver and Finnegan. "You are traitors…glad to see Patrick and forgetting me completely now."

  Patrick laughed. "Yer cannot scold them too much now because they saved you."

  Jolene petted their heads that now stuck out the window as if they knew they were the main topic of conversation. "All right Patrick."

  "I am going to send Jose to help you move tomorrow because you are coming back home." His eyes glowed into hers. "The blackberries are over-ripe, the girls are crying for yer and I've a mind to take you to Ireland in September."

  Jolene laughed with all the joy that soaked her heart. "The birds have likely gotten all the blackberries."

  "If there are no blackberries I am itching for some barbeque."

  "Are we really going to Ireland?"

  "I want you to see the seat of the Earl of Meath and meet my parents."

  "Did Leona like Ireland?"

  "I never took Leona to Ireland."

  Chapter 24

  The Appalachian granny magic tradition was passed on from parents to their children for many generations. These traditions were generally not taught outside of the family. Because of the rural and secluded nature of the Appalachian community, the old customs, practices and wisdom were not lost, forgotten, or modernized as were the old world traditions that came over and were practiced in the more urban areas of the budding United States. The ancient Irish or Scottish songs, rhymes, dances, recipes, crafts, and ‘The Craft,’ have often been preserved more accurately in Appalachia than even in Ireland or Scotland.

  Many of these old Scot/Irish traditions, as well as the Tsalagi traditions, both magical and not magical, were carried on in Appalachia into the modern day. Some songs, spells, and such have been passed down for many years that way, sometimes only by rote have lost their original meanings but still contain the magic.

  They had flown into Dublin and were met by the family driver named Baxter. He loaded them into the car with welcoming smiles and small talk and soon they were on a narrow road that led to an area that Patrick called Wicklow. The hour long trip south was filled with the beautiful green countryside. Sheep were often laying on the narrow roads and Baxter had to stop to get them to move or go off the road to skirt them.

  "We are here." Patrick leapt from the back of the Jaguar and stood looking at the giant white palace with spires and tall windows. Jolene's legs turned to cooked spaghetti.

  She stared at the house trying to take in how this could be someone's family home, let alone Patrick's. "It is the biggest house I have ever seen that I know someone who lives there! How big is your family?"

  Patrick chuckled and reached out to help her from the car just as Baxter came around smiling and presenting the scene with a white gloved hand. "I present to you Killruddery House miss." Then he turned his smile to Patrick. "It is good to have you home again sir."

  Patrick sighed. "I have missed this place too. How is mother and father? I mean, really how are they Bax?"

  Baxter took off his hat to flatten out his course graying brown hair. "They are the same as always….your mother with her charities and endless projects and you da with his investments." He shook his head. "But you know they are lonely with the girls and your brother gone off even though they do get frequent visits from all of them."

  Patrick shook his head with his own regrets. "I am going to try and get back more often and persuade them to come see me in Kentucky now that they have everybody out of the house."

  Baxter smiled. "I think that is just the thing for them. Maybe I'll just come along to do the driving."

  Patrick laughed and slapped Baxter on his back. "I think that is a fine idea."

  Baxter pulled out their bags and another man who has been standing in the doorway walked on swift legs with a stiff back to retrieve their bags. "Mighty good to see you sir."

  "Hello Mr. Wiggs, this is Jolene."

  "Mighty good to meet you Miss. We've been waiting a long time for Master Patrick to bring home a woman for us to meet."

  Patrick cleared his throat. "Now Wiggs…there is no need…."

  "Patrick….sweetheart!" A tall slender woman in a red pantsuit appeared at the door.

  Patrick skipped the steps up and hugged her warmly. "Mother…I've missed you."

  Jolene slowly followed Patrick up the steps taking in Juliana McCabe's snow white hair and striking features.

  Juliana turned eyes the exact color of Patrick's to Jolene. "Now this must be Jolene. We have heard so much about you over the years Jolene. I feel that I already know you."

  Jolene smiled into Juliana's radiant face. It was hard not to immediately like her, because she projected so much warmth and so much love for Patrick. Jolene suddenly had the image of her own mother, always welcoming people who brought horses to their house. Her mother loved all people and Jolene immediately knew that Patrick's mother would love all people who came to her house, despite that it was so grand. "Patrick has also told me so much about you and his family…and Ireland actually. I knew he was an Earl and everything and I knew something of this from my romantic novels…but I had no idea…"

  Juliana held out her hand and took Jolene's into hers. "Then come inside please. I do so want to know you better."

  "Your house is so grand," Jolene said softly as they moved through the doorway. It was impossible to take in the grandeur of the mansion all at once. Endless marble floors to continue through endless rooms that were warmed by striking carpets scattered with an expert eye. Elegant decorative furnishing and accent pieces appointed this Elizabethan-Revival mansion with elegance and warmth. The entryway boasted colossal paintings and an enormous staircase curling out with a red carpet to invite the occupants to come above stairs.

  Jolene could have stood in the foyer and stared all day.

  "And who is this lovely lady?" A large booming voice echoed down the hallway of the "sitting room".

  "Charles, come and meet Patrick's friend Jolene."

  A man who was built uncannily like Patrick but had brown eyes and red-brown hair sprinkled liberally with grey walked into the room. "Well then, a pretty girl you have brought home all the way from America."

  Jolene blushed and took his extended hand. He pulled her into a great bear hug.

  A memory of her father doing just that flitted through her head.

  "Don't maul her da."

  Charles laughed loud. "Get over here and accept a hug from your old da."

  Patrick embraced his father as fiercely as his father embraced him and soon it appeared to be a wrestling match.

  "Now stop that both of you…next you'll be rolling on the floor knocking over things."

  Charles slapped Patrick hard on the back. "Come on, now that Wiggs has taken your bags we can get you something to eat and take Miss Jolene around to see the house. I've a mind to tell her all about Killruddery and especially the gardens."

  Charles threw his arm around his son and led them all to a dining room already set with red china that bore the Meath coat of arms and heavy silver.

  Juliana walk
ed next to Jolene who was nearly overwhelmed by everything as she walked the long halls to the dining room. "This house was built in 1651 and has been the family seat of the Earls of Meath ever since."

  Patrick helped her with her seat, which was an intricately carved high back chair. "The gardens are one of the important features of the house…you will love them Jolene…they were laid out in the 1680s by Bonet…he was a man who was a gardener at Versailles."

  Jolene leaned forward but remembered just in time not to put her elbows on the table. "You mean in Kentucky?"

  Patrick laughed and took his own seat next to her just seconds before two young women in uniforms came out with dishes to place on the table. "No, not that Versailles….but at least you learned how to pronounce it correctly…" Patrick turned to his parents. "They have a Versailles in Kentucky but you would not recognize the word on the lips of the locals."

  Jolene immediately felt defensive…as she did with such things. To look back at herself and others she knew at home was embarrassing now but it was not her or their fault they were not worldly. They had a worldliness that was different than other people. It was about a will of iron and a work ethic that was as old as the coal mines and beyond. "Patrick, they don't know French so they just pronounce it in English."

  Patrick turned to her, his eyes sincere. "I know Jolene, I was not being critical."

  His parents exchanged glances.

  Juliana smiled at Jolene. "Tell us about Paris and your life there."

  Jolene searched for things to say that would be small talk. The notion of talking about Aunt Paula's house, or her mother's garden simply seemed inappropriate at this moment. How to explain to this regal lady about cars standing on blocks? Or one of Aunt Paula's parties?

  Even her father and mother's farm seemed insignificant in the halls of such a palace with people who looked so …polished…so different than anyone she knew except Patrick and Natasha's or Helen's family. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about those two Long Ponds outside. Are there fish in there? Do you ever fish in there?"

  Chapter 25

  Though life in Ireland was cruel and , emigrating to America was also very difficult. To some Irish it was referred to as the American Wake because some knew they would never see Ireland again. Those who pursued this new life in America did so only because they knew their future in Ireland would only be more poverty, disease, and oppression. America became their dream and their escape. They left Ireland in droves on ships that were so crowded, with conditions so terrible, that they were referred to as Coffin Ships.

  These immigrants that came to America learned that life in America was going to be a fight for survival even as the boat was docking. Hundreds of runners swarmed aboard the ship grabbing immigrants and their bags in an attempt to force them to their favorite tenement house while extracting an outrageous fee for their services. With no means of escape, these immigrants settled in the port of arrival. Almshouses were filled with these Irish immigrants. They begged on every street. One immigrant wrote home at the height of the potato famine exodus, "My master is a great tyrant, he treats me as badly as if I was a common Irishman." The writer further added, "Our position in America is one of shame and poverty." No group was considered lower than an Irishman in America during the 1850s.

  Free land did not tempt them. They rejected the land for the land had rejected them; yet even so they always spoke reverently of the old Ireland. All major cities had their "Irish Town" or "Shanty Town" where the Irish clung to each other. They were not wanted in America. Ads for employment often were followed by "NO IRISH NEED APPLY." They were forced to live in cellars and shanties because of poverty but also because they were considered bad for the neighborhood. These living conditions bred illness and early death. It was estimated that 80% of all infants born to Irish immigrants in New York City died. Their brogue and dress invited ridicule; their poverty and illiteracy drew scorn.

  “The Irish fill our prisons, our poor houses...Scratch a convict or a pauper, and the chances are that you tickle the skin of an Irish Catholic. Putting them on a boat and sending them home would end crime in this country." The Chicago Post.

  The Irish response was that they united and took offense. Insult or intimidation was often met with violence. Their strength was solidarity. They helped each other survive. They prayed and drank together. It was their faith and dogged determination to become Americans caused a newspaper to write, "The Irish have become more Americanized than the Americans."

  The Church played an integral part in their lives. It was a militant Church. It was a Church who fought not only for their souls but also for their human rights. After the religious riots in Philadelphia where many Catholic churches were burned, the mayor of New York asked Archbishop Hughes, "Do you fear that some of your churches will be burned."

  "No sir, but I am afraid some of yours will be. We can protect our own."

  "She is a very sweet young lady Patrick, to be sure. I admire her for coming such a long way in life. She is a very good friend and hopefully will always be a very good friend. But her background makes her quite….quite….well…let us just say she will never pass for royalty, not even American royalty no matter how much polish you add. Someone will look into her background and it will show up in the papers." Juliana McCabe's eyes were filled with concern. "Someday her background will come to haunt you both I am sure. It will be just as hard for her to suffer the humiliation as it will be for you."

  Patrick ran his hand through his dark hair. "She doesn't need to be royalty or wealthy mother and I decided long ago I didn't need a wife of any breeding, let alone royalty."

  Jolene crept closer to the open door. She had unpacked in her lovely bedroom and was on her way back down to meet Patrick for a small tour of the house.

  Jolene felt a lump rise from her chest to her throat. Patrick was defending her to his family. Why it mattered about her background just because she knew Patrick, was beyond her understanding. However, she didn't want to be a burden to Patrick. She most certainly didn't want him to feel shame.

  She boldly stepped into the room through the cracked doorway. "I am American royalty."

  Patrick and his mother Juliana turned startled and embarrassed faces to her. Patrick stepped forward. "I am sorry Jolene, we didn't mean for yer to overhear."

  "Then you should not leave the door open."

  Patrick smiled. "This is true but be that as it may....we are both sorry for being so rude, I should remember that it doesn't take you very long to change your clothing."

  "You know I heard what you said." Jolene looked at him, her heart filling with her words. Her voice was small and cracked at first but gained strength with each word. "You are wrong about me. I am American royalty. Jolene punctuated her words by pointing to her chest. "My daddy was like a knight in shining armor."

  Patrick stepped closer holding out his hand to her. "Jolene, there is no need to qualify our rude words."

  "My father served in Vietnam. His father served before him in World War II. They are like medieval knights, fighting for good and right. They were American knights…and I am the Daughter of the Revolution on my mamma's side.

  So you see, I am American royalty." Jolene shook her head and opened her hands. "Why my granddaddy on my mother's side went to the darkest corners of caves in West Virginia to get out the coal…that is what made America so great to start with, the coal and the oil, all those kinds of things and the people who worked hard to build and run America." Jolene fell into the words and they tumbled from her lips with the surety of forever. She looked from Patrick to his mother and back again.

  Her heart was bursting with the revelation. "My mother's father was a coal miner. And much further back, his great granddaddy was a Revolutionary war soldier. My daddy's dad served in World War II. My father served in Vietnam to stop the spread of communism and his daddy stopped the march across Europe." Jolene's heart was burning. "So that makes me American royalty. It's a different kind of royalty…you have
to do things that are really hard to be that kind of royalty."

  Patrick stared at her, his eyes purple and shining. "Well then, I could not have said it better myself."

  His mother lowered her head slightly and then went to pick up a tissue from a pretty porcelain box holder and dabbed her eyes. "So there you are then. How am I going to argue with that? My own family picked potatoes that fed the starving long before I was here."

  Jolene smiled large. "When you think of it, royalty has to start someplace doesn't it?"

  Patrick laughed and shook his head. "Indeed Jolene, royalty has to start someplace."

  Jolene tilted her head. "And after all my daddy always did call me a princess."

  Chapter 26

  The Irish arrived at a time of need for labor in America. The country was growing and it needed men to do the heavy work of building bridges, canals, and railroads. The work was hard and dangerous. A common expression heard among the railroad workers was "an Irishman was buried under every tie." Desperation drove them to these jobs.

  The Irish women worked too. They became chamber maids, cooks, and the caretakers of children. Early Americans disdained this type of work, fit only for servants, the common sentiment was, "Let Negroes be servants, and if not Negroes, let Irishmen fill their place..."

  When asked why all the women servants in his hotel were Irish, a prominent hotel keeper replied, "The thing is very simple: the Irish girls are industrious, willing, cheerful, and honest--they work hard, and they are very strictly moral. I should say that is quite reason enough."

  The Irish were singular among immigrants in that while they fiercely loved America, they never gave up their allegiance to Ireland. Thinking that they could trade Canadian land for Ireland’s freedom, twice they tried to invade Canada.

  In New York City, during the Civil War, they rioted against the draft lottery after the first drawing showed most of the names were Irish. After three days of the city being terrorized by Irish mobs an appeal for peace by Archbishop Hughes ended the violence. In Pennsylvania they formed a secret organization called the Molly Maguires to fight mine owners who brutalized the miners and their families. They ambushed mine bosses, beat, and even killed them in their homes. The Irish used violent methods to fight suffocating oppression.