'Til Morning Light

by Ann Moore

  “All the days beyond,” Mary Kate echoed, looking from her mother’s face to Morgan’s, then to her brother’s. “C’mon, Jack.” She grabbed his hand. “I’ll race you to the door.”

  Epilogue—1862

  The day of the wedding dawned warm and clear, the air fragrant with the scent of blossoms carried on a sea breeze; it was as beautiful as any day Grace could ever remember, and she reached for the hand of the man beside her, who put his arm around her instead and pulled her close as he always did.

  “Aren’t they grand?” Morgan whispered to his wife from where they sat on a shady bench in the churchyard garden.

  Grace looked into his deep blue eyes, surprised as always by the intensity of her love for him, surprised as always that he was truly the man by her side, even though he’d never left it in the ten years they’d been together. Morgan returned her gaze, reading her mind as always, then pressed his lips gently to hers, caressing her cheek with his hand.

  “Ah, go on,” Sean chided them good-naturedly. “You’d think it was your wedding day instead of Mary Kate’s and Liam’s.”

  “Every wedding’s good reason to kiss your bride, you daft eejit.” Morgan grinned. “And where’s Mei Ling and the boys? She’s the only reason we invited you, don’t you know.”

  “Nursing the baby.” Sean ignored the slight good-naturedly. “But most likely she’ll be back any minute, carrying the wee thing on a golden pillow, warning everyone to be quiet if she’s sleeping.”

  “You’re not fooling us, Sean O’Malley.” Grace laughed. “We all know ’tis you can barely set that girl down for two minutes together.”

  “She is the most beautiful baby God ever made, isn’t she?” Sean said proudly, then glanced over his shoulder and saw Mei Ling coming around the corner, the baby in her arms. “Be right back. Set up the throne, will you?”

  Morgan and Grace laughed again as they watched him rush to the side of his wife, pull back the baby’s blanket, and coo into the little face. Mei Ling smiled contentedly; the two little boys had come one after the other, but then nothing for years, and Mei Ling had put aside her wish for a daughter, only to be surprised with the gift of this one six months ago.

  “Mei Ling says he brings the baby down to the newspaper all the time, and that it’s a good thing he’s editor with his own private office so no one can hear the silly noises he makes.” Grace shook her head. “He was always soft for the babies.”

  “Daughters are grand. Look at your one over there. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  “Oh, aye. But she’s our daughter.”

  “Oh, I know. I know she is,” Morgan agreed. “We love each other madly, ’tis true, but you were mam and da both to her all those years, and ’tis you she loves the most.”

  “Not anymore.” Grace’s eyes filled with tears as she looked upon her amazing child. “But that’s as it should be now.”

  Mary Kate stood beside her husband, graciously greeting her many admiring guests. She was the loveliest of brides, Grace thought proudly, dressed as she was in cream linen and the Irish lace Barbara and Abban had sent in a wedding package. Her shining auburn hair lay softly curled atop her head, interwoven with a strand of tiny pearls that had come as a gift from Captain Reinders. Around her neck, she wore a locket from Doctor Wakefield, who considered her his protegee and who had written the letters that got her accepted to college in the East. Mary Kate stood taller than her mother and was more sober in her countenance, but her eyes burned intelligently and her smile radiated a quiet confidence. With money she’d received from the sale of Donnelly House in Ireland, she’d started a school for girls here in the city, and this she ran with a firm, attentive hand. Well educated herself and knowing that her love of learning would be lifelong, she had decided upon this course for her future, stating to all who would listen that the man who wanted her for a wife would have to be different from most other men; he would have to be patient and understanding, exceptional in his compassion, or she would simply never marry him.

  Mary Kate had grown into a young woman of uncommon substance and singular determination, and Liam would never have dreamed of asking her to be a traditional wife—he’d always known she would want more and he had always been enthusiastic about her life, even when she went away to college; he made the pursuit of her goals his own challenge, and strove to be her partner in every way possible.

  Look at them now, these two young people who met on a famine ship from Ireland sixteen years ago—the girl had always understood the heart of the boy and loved him purely; the boy had never even considered anyone besides the girl, so much did he admire her, though neither had admitted their true feelings to the other until they’d both grown up and understood what their love for each other really meant.

  The future was bright for them, this first generation of Irish survivors raised in America. The future was theirs; they owned it in a way their parents could not, having passed childhoods in other lands. San Francisco was their home and would continue to be so, with Mary Kate overseeing the day-to-day operations of her popular school while Liam sailed the Pacific Rim on the Siobahn. They will be very happy together, these two, and whenever opportunity allows, Mary Kate will travel with her exuberant husband—it will be a trip to the stunningly lush Hawaiian Islands in several years’ time that brings her home again with a child on the way, their first, a little boy whom they will call Peter, much to the delight of all those who will consider themselves grandparents to the child.

  Although this child was years from being born, his spirit was present on this happy day, and Grace could see a hint of him in the glow of light that pulsed between Mary Kate and Liam. She leaned past Morgan and looked around the garden for Peter, who had come down from New Whatcom in order to be here. He stood by the drinks table, talking to Dugan, his hand on the shoulder of his wife, who sat in a chair beside him, sipping her cold cider. Astrid’s first husband had died over ten years ago and, after a proper period of mourning, Peter had asked her to marry him. Grace had been delighted; Astrid was a kind, strong woman who gave Peter the happiness he so deserved. They’d built a fine house up there, on a bluff overlooking the bay, and Astrid sailed with Peter everywhere he went. Though they had no children, Liam was every inch their son and honored them as his parents, just as he honored Grace. She had seen less and less of Peter over the years, though they kept up with each other through Liam; he looked well today, she thought, his hair was silver now, which was handsome atop the tan, weathered face. He looked over at her, smiled, and gave her a quick wink.

  “I saw that,” Morgan said out of the corner of his mouth. “Always knew you were keeping him on the side. Too good-looking, that one.”

  Grace elbowed him in the ribs.

  “And here comes your other admirer. ’Tis the tallishness attracts you—is that it?” Morgan sat up a little straighter, pulled back his shoulders.

  Doctor Wakefield made a beeline for the bride and groom, Doctor Fairfax close behind. The two men had remained devoted friends over the years, their bond strengthened by a mutual commitment to the advancement of medicine and the compassionate treatment of any man, woman, or child needing care, particularly in the emigrant communities. They both adored Mary Kathleen and had followed her scholastic achievements with unbridled glee. At least once a month, they took her to dinner, often in the company of Doctor Wakefield’s niece, another delightful young woman whose education they intended to sponsor.

  Eden Wakefield and Abigail Hewitt had played a beautiful piano duet for the wedding and now sat at one of the linen-draped tables with Senora Calderon, whom Eden called “Mamacita” and still saw regularly. There would always be those who would snub the Wakefield-Hewitt family, none of whom cared a whit for the type of people who remained mired in the past. As far as this family was concerned, the future was a bright and shining star, and her name was Eden Wakefield; they would not tolerate anyone’s attempts to make less of this young woman simply because of her color, and they had become active in
bringing abolitionist educators to town, in establishing financial support for escaped slaves, and in donating goods and land to former slaves who arrived with nothing. Rowen and Abigail had cut their ties with their family in the East and lived on Doctor Wakefield’s income from the hospitals and from investments in land, as well as Hewitt’s modest income as headmaster of a boy’s school. None of this would ever make up for the grave mistakes of Abigail’s or Rowen’s pasts, nor did they ever make excuses; rather, they accepted humbly any forgiveness offered them, especially from the Negro community, and were grateful for the blessing of the girl they all thought of as their daughter.

  “Mam! Da!” Jack hurried over with Caolon Ogue in tow. “Can we go down to the square later, on our own, like?”

  “No,” Morgan said firmly, then eased his tone. “’Tis your sister’s wedding day, Jack! Tomorrow,” he promised, unable to disappoint the boy. “I’ll take you round the sights myself; then you two can go off while Dugan and I have a cold one with Sean and Quinn.”

  “Fine by me.” Caolon shrugged his big shoulders, looking just like his father. “Me da won’t like me going off without him anyway.”

  “We want to hear the debates, is all,” Jack tried once more.

  “Sorry, son. We’re not turning our minds to war on such a happy day as this. Go on, now. There must be ten girls standing in the corner of the yard over there, just dying to make the acquaintance of handsome Irishmen such as yourselves.”

  The two boys hung back, eyeing the girls with wary interest, until Morgan gave them a good shove in that direction.

  “Dugan says they heard President Lincoln speak about freeing the slaves and holding the country together, and ’tis all he can do to keep Caolon from joining now the fight’s heating up,” Grace confided. “Tara hopes it’ll all be over soon.”

  “Won’t, though.” Morgan’s tone was grim. “And ’tis as much about land and money as freedom—but ’tis freedom pulls the young men in.”

  “Our Jack wants to fight, you know,” Grace remarked quietly. “For his country, he says.”

  Morgan looked at his son and remembered another young man with the same kind of stubborn determination; he wondered for a moment, as he often did, whether Nacoute still lived, whether his mother and sister were still with their people, or whether they’d been wiped out, as was happening to so many tribes.

  “I told him no. This family stays together. We’ve paid for our freedom, and I’ll not send him off to be cannon fodder.”

  “He wants to be a hero like his da.”

  “I’m no hero, Grace, only a man did the best he could in terrible times.” Morgan looked to where his son was standing. “When Jack’s a man, he can decide for himself with a man’s wisdom and I’ll stand behind him. I told him that. But he’s still a lad, and lad’s are too easily swayed by the call to war. Fighting’s in their blood, but they’ve no idea how easily that blood is spilled. ’Tis men who start wars, and should be men as does the fighting. Not boys.”

  Grace picked up his hand and held it. “Will he go, anyway, do you think?”

  “I made him promise before God, and he did. Reluctantly, and with great noise, of course, but he did. No gloom today, now.” Morgan squeezed her hand, then let go and got to his feet. “I’ll go tell Ogue what’s brewing, bring you back a glass of punch.”

  “Tell him thanks from me,” Grace requested. “Good of him to help George serve up the drinks.”

  “Well, you know, he says he can’t hardly talk unless he’s working a bar.” Morgan grinned, then left her to join Dugan and George Litton, who were filling glasses and greeted him with great shouts.

  Grace’s eyes shifted to a smaller table that held the wedding cake she’d made; from behind this table, Enid Litton grinned and waggled her fingers at Grace, her two smallest children tumbling at her feet. George and Enid raised prize chickens on their farm, and Grace and Morgan rode out often to visit with them. Enid’s brother had died shortly after her marriage to George, but Mister Hopkins lived with them and helped with his grandchildren; Enid reported the odd letter from her mother but did not fear a visit as Missus Hopkins was quite content to run a small boardinghouse in Cornwall with her sister.

  “There you are!” Aislinn plunked herself down on the bench beside Grace. “Hide me,” she begged. “The children are seeking and I’m out of places.”

  Grace laughed. “Your children? Or all the children together?”

  “Seems like hordes,” Aislinn gasped. “I’m sure mine are in there somewhere. I’ll have to send Gavin to ferret them out.”

  “He looked worse for wear,” Grace sympathized. “Quinn says they fought the hotel fire ’til dawn. Good of them to come anyway, after a night like that.”

  “They wouldn’t’ve missed it for the world,” Aislinn replied. “You know Quinn can’t go a day without seeing Morgan, and now my Gavin’s as bad, the three of them always palling around at one place or the other.” She glanced around, then leaned in close and whispered, “Quinn’s Margaret is having a baby!”

  Grace shoved her off. “Go on!” She grinned. “Well, what do you know about that? Here he’s raised those five Mulhoneys, and now’s he set to have one of his own. I think it’s grand.”

  “So does he!” Aislinn laughed. “The man’s gone soft over it. Can’t do enough for Margaret, as if he didn’t always treat her like a queen.”

  “And wasn’t Rose a beautiful maid of honor?” Grace sighed. “And Davey always so handsome, showing people to their seats? ’Tis a fine family Quinn and Margaret have, and I’m happy for them seeing another baby into the world.”

  “You and Gavin,” Aislinn scoffed lightly. “Sunshine and laughter, bread and wine, birdsong and roses … makes a body ill sometimes.”

  “Ah, you know you’re as soft as the rest of us.” Grace gave her a quick hug. “Better run,” she warned her. “Here come the children.”

  Aislinn, always the gayest person at a party, made a great show of dashing off while the gaggle of children shrieked and chased after her.

  Grace sat for a moment, enjoying herself while around her the air filled with the laughter and provincial talk that Aislinn pretended was so annoying, though Grace knew she was happier than she’d ever been in her life. The men had gathered in a knot over by the drinks, the young married couples by Liam and Mary Kate, teenaged boys including Jack and Caolon mixed with the pretty misses, while older women like herself presided over the state of things from chairs and benches set in the shade of canopy trees. Mary Kate caught her mother’s eye, and Grace watched as her daughter crossed the yard, skirts held up daintily by gloved fingertips.

  “What a day!” Mary Kate sat down in a great swoop of linen, much the same way her auntie Aislinn had just done.

  “Mind that skirt. You’ll …” Grace stopped herself; Mary Kate was no longer her child, but a married woman. “You look so beautiful, Mary Kathleen. You’ve become such a fine young lady. And now a wife.”

  Mary Kate got out her handkerchief and blotted her mother’s tears. “You’ve been crying all day, Mam,” she scolded gently. “I hardly know if I’m wed or dead!”

  Grace laughed and caught her daughter’s hand to her lips, closed her eyes, and kissed the fingers that had once been so small.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Mam,” Mary Kate promised. “You know I’d never leave you.”

  “You’re my own dear girl. I don’t know why I’m all over myself like this.”

  Mary Kate kissed her mother’s cheek and leaned back beside her, Grace’s hand in her own. “It’s because we’re here,” she announced readily. “In this place. Together. I was reading through my journals last night, reading about our lives, about all the things you told me and all the things I remembered myself—and you know, Mam, it’s a miracle that we’re all gathered here together today.”

  Grace nodded, the truth of those words flooding her eyes with fresh emotion.

  “I don’t know if I could do what you did,” Mary Kate
continued. “Bury husbands and babies, come alone with a small child to a strange country, cross that country in a wagon with two little children, one of them Jack.” She laughed but then became earnest again. “I remember all that, you know, but I don’t ever remember being afraid. Because I was with you. I thought that’s just what women did—they take care of things, of people—but now that I’m a woman, I realize it was what you did. And, Mam—I’d like to know your secret.”

  Grace considered the request. “’Tis no secret. Only faith. In God and in the love you have for your children. You can move mountains for your children.” And then she began to weep in earnest, and reached out blindly for Mary Kate’s handkerchief again, disgusted with herself.

  “Oh, Mam.” Mary Kate put her arms around her mother. “It’s all right. It’s all right now. We’re all here. That’s what I mean by a miracle. Just look”—her arm swept out in front of her—“Jack and Da, and Uncle Sean, and Quinn. There’s Auntie Aislinn and Uncle Gavin. My Liam. All of us. All of us here. And all of the children!” she added in amazement. “Just look at all the children we’ve brought into the world!”

  Grace nodded against her daughter’s solid shoulder, soothed by the hand on her back, the scent of the girl she’d loved forever. “I know,” she whispered. “I’m done with tears for today.” She made a show of pretending to wring out the handkerchief before returning it.

  Mary Kate laughed and tenderly pushed a strand of her mother’s hair back into place. “And, Mam, I want you to know that Jack’s not going anywhere. I know he’s full of war talk, but he’d never leave you and Da. Ever. He told me that himself. He wants to go, but he says he loves the two of you too much to ever risk breaking your hearts.”

  “Better give that back.” Grace reached for the sodden cloth in her daughter’s hand and Mary Kate kissed her again.

  “What’s all this, then?” Morgan stood above them, holding two glasses of punch. “Tears of joy, or Jack?”

  “Only a mother’s foolishness on her daughter’s wedding day.” Grace smiled affectionately at Mary Kate.