Someone was approaching him through the haze. It was female in form, with long, loose hair and robes billowing. Then he heard a wail, unearthly and disembodied, but so piercing that he was forced to cover his ears. “God help me, ‘tis the banshee!” he gasped. Tradition held that the banshee was a spirit, which heralded the deaths of members of old families like the O’Connors with a wailing shriek. His Granny had referred to it as the “washer-woman,” and had spoken of it as often as she did of other Gaelic legends, about which she had been an undisputed authority. Daniel made the Sign of the Cross, convinced his time had come. His head whirled, and he slipped into oblivion.
He awoke to the gentle tone of a woman's voice. “Daniel! Daniel O'Connor!” He opened his eyes to the visage of Helena Cox, leaning over him.
“Perhaps I have died, and am in Heaven,” he whispered, gazing into her sweet, pitying eyes. Her hood was cast back; no longer a girl, her hair was piled up on the top of her head, with short side curls, and had deepened into a darker shade of honey.
“No,” she said, softly. “You are on earth, and you are very ill.” She called to someone. “Brandy! Bring him some brandy!” She poured a few drops into his mouth. “Thank God we came upon you. My servants and I were headed to Togher with provisions. We were taking a short cut, and saw you lying here. Come!” she said to her manservant and groom. “Come lift him into the wagon! We must get him to his home.” Daniel felt himself being lifted up, and laid upon some sacks of grain in the wagon. He closed his eyes again, and fell into a dreamlike state.
When consciousness returned, there was an arm lifting his head, and someone ladling hot broth into him. It was his mother. Her face was tear-stained and contorted with grief. He had never known her to wear such an expression. Intense dread overwhelmed him.
“Pa has gone.” He made it a statement rather than a question, for the answer was evident from her eyes. She nodded, and buried her face in his shoulder, as she shuddered with silent sobs.
Daniel was too weak to attend the obsequies for his father. Thanks to the generosity of Miss Helena Cox, there was enough food for him to slowly regain his strength. He tried to keep himself occupied, and gradually was able to help his brother Michael with the work of the farm. He always fought to keep at bay the weight of sorrow that sought to overwhelm him whenever he saw Granny's vacant chair, or his father's silent fiddle, or Roisin staring blankly at the empty cradle.
Forces other than death had altered the household. Daniel’s sister Margaret had married one of the Caseys, and although she was a frequent visitor, she now had a home of her own to keep her busy. Patrick and John lived in Dunmanway, and had returned only for the funeral, although they would be back to help with the harvest. Tim labored on the land and Norah in the cottage.
As for Owen, his mother wept as much over him as over their father's passing. According to Joanna, Owen was employed by a young married woman whose husband was a soldier and not at home. He spent a great deal of time at the woman’s house, stirring up a ripple of gossip in the county. “He's giving scandal, he is, but he won't come home, or listen to reason. Oh, it breaks me heart!” she wept to Daniel.
Joanna also told him of troubles in town. A fire had been set one night at the linen factory in Dunmanway. No one had been injured, but a great deal of damage had been done. Rumor had it that one of the secret societies of young Irishmen, whose sole purpose was to find ways to rebel against England, was responsible. And it was said Owen O’Connor was the principle troublemaker. Daniel had attended many political meetings in Cork with Dr. Collins, in which liberation for Irish Catholics was discussed with hope, but he was wary of the oaths and violence of the secret societies. To please their mother, Michael and Daniel both promised to talk to Owen the next time the latter manifested himself at Togher.
One morning in mid-May, as the men were preparing to head out to the fields, the door opened and Owen came in. He was bedraggled and weary-looking, as if he had been up all night. Roisin's pale sad face brightened at the sight of him, and she hurried into the barn. He greeted them with a crooked smile, and sat down to eat some oat cakes.
“Owen, your brothers and I need to have a word with you,” said Joanna.
“Aye, Mammy,” he sighed, his mouth full of oatcake.
“Mind your manners, or I'll be taking a stick to your backside!” she exclaimed. “You've been running about with one of those secret societies! You know what Father Doheny says of them. ‘Tis wrong to take secret oaths, ‘tis. May God help us and save us!”
“Oh, but Mammy, ‘tis just as wrong for able-bodied men to sit idly by while our people are crushed and starved,” Owen replied, after swallowing the morsel of oat cake.
“And where were you last night, Owen? What were you about?” asked Michael.
“I can't say,” said Owen, smugly pouring himself a mug of beer.
“Owen.” Daniel spoke as calmly as he could, feeling his temper beginning to flare. “Owen, there are other ways to work for justice for our people, ways better than setting fires and throwing stones. There’s that Daniel O’Connell fellow, for instance. I heard him speak in the city, at a political meeting. He believes there are peaceful means of winning our freedom, through brains not brawn."
“We O’Connors have never run from a fight,” added Michael. “You know that, Owen. In the history of our country, whenever there was a war, we were always in the thick of it. But these secret societies, that do things by night, on the sly . . . that was never our way. Let’s meet them in open battle, and if that’s not possible, we’ll work to change the laws, as we have in the past.”
“Open battle! Bleeding Bonaparte!” Owen slammed his mug down on the table.
“Watch your tongue, lad!” warned his mother.
Owen fumed on. “And how many of us would be massacred by the end of it? I tell you, we'll change the laws by driving the English landlords from our shores, by means fair or foul! If eejits like you, Michael O’Connor, don't stand in the way, that is!”
Daniel struggled to keep from knocking Owen out of his chair. “Well then, Owen, I hope you'll be happy when they come to burn the house down over Mam's head!” He clenched his fists and said a prayer. He himself had often wanted to burn something down, especially since the potato crop had failed again. The thought of going off to Canada steadied him.
His mother burst into tears. “There you all go, quarrelling with each other! And your poor Pa hardly cold!” Michael put his arms around their mother to comfort her as she wept.
“I'll be heading out to the fields,” announced Daniel. “Tim! Where's Tim!” And he left the cottage, shouting for Tim. Tim appeared from inside the barn, carrying a couple of hoes.
“Roisin's crying again,” he said to Daniel.
“Mammy will tend to her, as soon as she stops crying herself. Come, we're late!”
They walked far afield, until the cottage was almost lost to sight, and the castle dominated the vista. It was an overcast day, with a misty drizzle in the air, and Daniel tried to overcome his rage by pondering the Last Judgment. Thinking of how someday all earthly sorrows would come to an end, and that the world itself would be no more, but there would be a new heaven and a new earth, gave him a sense of transcendent peace. They had only been toiling for a quarter of an hour or so, when the sound of a cantering horse caused them to pause.
“‘Tis Miss Helena,” said Tim, amazed.
She reined in her horse at the edge of the field, waving frantically. Daniel threw down his hoe and went running over to her. Tim followed.
“Quick! They are coming!” she exclaimed. She was out of breath and in a state of disarray, as if her clothing had been put on hastily. Blonde tendrils escaped from the snood beneath her high hat.
“Who is coming, Miss?” asked Daniel. He thought she was lovelier than ever, especially with her cheeks flushed and eyes desperate.
“The constable, with soldiers, is coming to arrest your brother Owen! Someone set fire to the garrison last night! The constable cam
e to our house early this morning, and I overheard him discussing it with my father. They think Owen and his comrades are behind it! Several men from town have already been arrested, and imprisoned in Bandon Castle. I came to warn you as soon as I was able to get away! Hurry, please!”
Daniel turned to Tim. “Run to the cottage, and find Owen, if he’s still there! Tell him to head for the Mass-rock at Kinrath, and hide there until we send for him. Tell Norah and Roisin to hide, too. Run!” Tim sped across the sod like a deer. He was the fastest runner in the county, and had two years ago won a great deal of money in a bet by outrunning the landlord’s hunter.
“I'll be thanking you, Miss, but I must be off,” said Daniel, touching the brim of his hat.
“A moment, if you please, Daniel O’Connor,” said Helena, solemnly. “I want to bid you farewell. I am to be married the day after tomorrow, and will be departing shortly thereafter for India. I do not know if I will ever return to Ireland, so . . . farewell. God be with you.” She held out her gloved hand to him as she had done when they first met. He clasped it with both his hands and kissed it tenderly.
“I wish you every joy, Miss,” he said when he found words. “You are a very great lady, and will be so wherever you walk. May God and His saints bless you always.”
“And you, Daniel, are a prince among men. I . . . I knew when I first saw you. There is greatness in your soul . . . and courage, unflinching courage. You have a dauntless and noble heart and thus you shall remain, in any time and any place. I shall never forget you. Farewell! Farewell!” She urged her horse forward and galloped into the east without looking back.
Daniel’s heart was full yet breaking. He watched until she disappeared, then he ran towards the cottage, hoping that Owen had gotten away. But he saw Owen running in the direction of Kinrath. Owen turned back and motioned for Daniel to him to follow. In a few minutes, Daniel had caught up with him.
“Come, Dan,” panted Owen. “I’ll explain later.” They jogged to the woods and then two miles into the hills. They found the hidden, circuitous trail that wound around boulders and through caverns to the hidden vale of Carraig an Aifrinn where in penal times the Holy Mass had secretly been offered. It was venerated as hallowed ground, sanctified by the sacred mysteries and by the worship of many believers who had preceded them into eternity, such as their father and grandparents. Trees grew high around the glade, creating the aspect of a lost cathedral. The moss-covered stone altar was still in place, and they both blessed themselves when passing it. Then they sat on one of the many boulders and rested, while Owen told Daniel what had happened.
“Tim burst in just as Mick and I were about to come to blows,” explained Owen. “There was not a moment to spare. I ran out the door; the soldiers were coming around the bend as I left the wheat field. Then I heard someone behind me. ‘Twas Roisin. She and Norah were hiding in the rafters of the barn and they overheard the constable say that they wanted to question you, too!”
“Me!” exclaimed Daniel.
“Aye. Roisin climbed out the barn window and slipped away after me. She told me to tell you to hide.”
“What would they want with me?”
“I don’t know. Something about you going to political meetings in the city.”
“That is madness!” cried Daniel. “I have done nothing!”
“In this country one can be imprisoned and sent to a penal colony in Australia for nothing,” replied Owen.
“Then so be it. They can send me where they will! I won’t be skulking here!”
“Oh, Dan, rest a while. Here, I have a bit of oatcake in me pocket. Have some, why not.”
Daniel ate the cake, and they both drank from the leather water bottle that Daniel still had with him from working in the fields. In those few minutes he made up his mind once and for all.
“I’ve got to be getting back to the cottage, and make certain everything is right with Mam and Charley and the lasses. You stay. I’ll be sending Tim to you with some more food.” He gave him the water pouch. Then Daniel clasped Owen’s hand and smiled. “Well, you do keep the English on their toes now, don’t you?”
Owen grinned. “Aye, that I do. ‘Tis the point of it all.”
Daniel hastened down the trail, through the woods, and across the fields. Things seemed darker now than they had been before. There was nothing left for him in Ireland. If he chose to stay, he would be imprisoned in addition to being hungry and unemployed. In Canada, men were needed to work the many jobs that were rumored to be there. Land was cheap and plentiful. The thought of owning his own land and farm intoxicated him, while the pain of never walking again on his ancestral ground almost caused him to stop breathing. The hour of decision, however, was behind him; henceforth, he must walk resolutely into the future.
The cottage seemed quiet from the outside without the usual sounds of chatter, laughter, music. He was almost afraid of what he would find when he opened the door. Inside, his mother was sitting in Granny’s chair, her arm around Charley’s waist, with Norah’s head upon her lap. Michael comforted Roisin, while Tim soothingly patted their mother’s shoulders.
“What happened?” Daniel asked.
“Nothing,” replied Joanna. “We all of us are just a trifle shaken. They did a lot of yelling, but no one was hurt; they did not even ransack the house. Is Owen safe?”
“Aye.”
“Then why are you here, Daniel O’Connor? Did you not hear that they plan to arrest you as well? You should be hiding!”
Daniel drew a deep breath. “I am going to Canada, Mammy.”
Joanna bolted up, her arms still around the two youngest children, and remained speechless for an endless minute. Then she found words. “What! What are you saying? Oh, mo mhiurin, I always feared it would come to this! Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” She choked, and turned away. “But where is this Canada place? Is it near America?”
“Canada is in North America, Mammy. I am going to have a farm of me own, and a huge tract of land. I will send for you when I build a cottage. I’ll send for all of you.” He glanced around the home where he had been born. Every stone and cobweb and piece of thatch was engrained in the depths of his being, almost as much as the faces of his family.
“Never you mind about us,” replied his mother, rallying her practical self. “Maybe we’ll come, and maybe we won’t. You had best be packing, before the constable returns. Bring your muffler, and all the stockings you can find. Take Michael’s . . . I’ll make more for him. They say it is fearsome cold in America. Go on, then, off to Bantry. Lads, help your brother to pack. Roisin and Norah, get some food wrapped up for him.”
It did not take Daniel long to gather his possessions together into a bundle, and he certainly did not need his brothers to help him, for they only got in his way, and they kept tripping over each other, while mumbling pleasantries they did not mean. The pouch of coins he had saved for his passage, hidden in the rafters, he tied to a cord around his neck. His most difficult task was deciding which of his few books to bring, and which to leave behind. It was out of the question to part with his Kempis and his catechism, so he left the others for his siblings. When they came downstairs, their mother was nowhere to be seen. A minute or so later, she appeared with a small Jacobite rose bush in her soil covered hands, its roots wrapped in part of an old sack. She placed it carefully inside the top of his bundle.
Daniel protested. “But, Mam, I’ll be taking a ship . . . the rose plant may not survive.”
“Then you had best put forth a wee extra effort to care for it,” she replied. “Wherever it blooms, a bit of Ireland will be there and . . . perhaps, a bit of me self, too. And then you’ll remember to pray for your mother’s soul.”
He threw his arms around her and held her so tightly he lifted her off of the ground. As he set her down she pressed a small wooden crucifix into his hand. It was of Celtic design, with a very short crossbar. “And take this, too,” she said. “In my family we called it the ‘Paradise Tree.’ It was made in pen
al times, for it could be held in the palm for devotion without being seen. Every cross, every hidden sorrow in your life is a ladder to climb to paradise.” She took a deep breath to steady herself; nevertheless, she trembled as she spoke. “I need not be reminding you, Daniel, that whatever the nature of the place in which you find yourself, and whatever the folk there may be doing, you must always conduct yourself as a Christian gentleman.” She put her arms around his neck and held him close, then turned away, her face buried in her apron.
He quickly embraced his brothers and sisters; one by one, they broke into sobs. “Bid farewell for me to Patrick, John, Owen, and Margaret,” he said to Michael. “And to all of our kin. If we don’t meet again on earth then by God’s mercy, we will meet in Heaven.” Daniel realized that if he prolonged the leave-taking for another instant, he would never have the strength to depart. He picked up his bundle and almost charged through the door.
Little Charley stood in the doorway, calling after him. “I’ll be following you, Dan! I’ll be coming to Canada, too! I’m coming, too, I am! I am!”
Daniel strode briskly across the fields towards the west, avoiding the road, at least until he was far from Togher. Tears fell one by one as Charley’s voice faded behind him. He did not glance back at the cottage or the castle, but as he stepped off of the land that his family had tilled for centuries, he heard his father’s voice upon the moist wind. “Remember, Daniel, that in Ireland your people once were kings.”
CHAPTER 3
The Wooing
August, 1830
My young love said to me, ‘My mother won’t mind,
And my father won’t slight you for your lack of kine.’
And then she stepped away from me, and this she did say:
‘It will not be long, love, ‘til our wedding day,’
– Old Irish song, “Thro’ the fair”
The moment had finally come. At last, Daniel was to meet the girl who, God willing, would someday be his bride. As he rode his newly acquired horse beside Father McDonnell towards Kitley Township through the glory of a sunny August afternoon, the trials of his first nine years in Canada melted away like the morning mists on one of the many lakes in Leeds County, Ontario.
The Paradise Tree_A Novel Page 5
