by Cat Connor
I nodded. “May I take Gideon out?”
He smiled.
“Yes, you may.” Da took my hands in his. “Are you having a lovely day?”
“Oh, Da! I feel like a loose wheel, no one wants my help and the day is dragging.”
He kissed my forehead and held me for a moment. He chuckled. “Gideon will be glad of the ride. Go with my blessing.” Da held me at arm’s length. “Keep away from trouble,” he warned.
“Yes, Da.” I kissed his cheek, gathered my skirts and ran down the stairs and out through the front entrance.
I found the stable boy and asked him to saddle Gideon. He didn’t argue. I sighed. Last week I lazily asked him to saddle my horse and was told to do it myself. Today it seemed was my day. I headed Gideon toward the driveway. We adopted a sedate walk, both knowing that would end once out of sight of the house.
I urged him into a gallop.
Gideon was a willing participant.
I wondered if he knew my mind. Could a horse see what people did not?
I retraced the steps I took two days before with my sisters and upon our return with William, heading to the old abbey, not daring to let myself think of my reasons.
The crumbling outer walls of the ruined structure came into view.
I wished on everything I held dear to see William again. I slowed Gideon to a canter. We skirted the buildings, taking a wide berth, all the while checking for signs of occupation. The walnut trees behind the abbey held frightening fresh memories. I pushed fear aside. Gideon could outpace the horses the soldiers rode. I cantered him closer to the trees. On the ground, I saw the remnants of my crushed willow basket and a torn strip of red fabric. Reminders of the ambush, reminders of the gallant rescue, reminders of why I’d come back. I turned away from the trees. I could see nothing that posed a danger.
I looped Gideon’s reins around a broken rock and began exploring the old buildings.
I picked my way over rubble and in and out of crumbling rooms, trying to imagine what they once were.
I wondered why William went there. Eventually I found myself in a large room in the center of the ruins. It was mostly undamaged.
Four large square stone pillars rose from the corners of the room and helped support the still functioning ceiling.
High staggered gaps in the stonewalls and equally lofty windows let in plenty of light despite it being in the center of the ruins.
Sunrays played across the floor illuminating brush strokes, someone had swept a large area. There were footprints in the remaining dust, footprints that over lapped and changed direction so many times they resembled a dance.
Someone used the room for a purpose. Turning in the middle of the room, I noticed a makeshift altar at one end.
Previously snuffed candles stood in holders. Left over broken wooden pews were stacked against a wall, smashed and crumbled rock, and mortar piled beside them. I was standing in the Abbey chapel. More than that, I felt William’s presence. This was his retreat. I felt like an intruder. I stood alone, feeling unwelcome and committing mortal sin after mortal sin within the confines of my thoughts. I considered my surroundings. A place of reflection and peace.
Upon inspection, at least one old pew was usable. I dragged it a little way from the rest of the pile. It was heavier than it looked. I shook it. It felt firm so I sat. To stop my hands from fidgeting I clasped them tightly in my lap. Silence washed over me and for the first time since early morning, I found a small measure of calmness.
I prayed. It seemed appropriate. A chapel in an abbey and a prayer for strength. Thoughts edged into my peace, everyone ended in William. I closed my eyes. In the chapel my mind filled with the unattainable and guilt swamped me.
I whispered, “Lord, why did you put him in my path?”
No answer came.
I felt tears force through my lashes. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter.
A tear slid down my face.
A jumble of thoughts fell all at once the most prominent became the evening’s festivities and the dreaded suitors.
I didn’t know who was on the guest list, and couldn’t think of anyone of interest. Every eligible bachelor I’d met left me feeling worthless and cold inside.
They talked of nothing but themselves and seemed more concerned about attending the right parties than those around them. They were boring, selfish, self-important, and not men at all. Then there was, William, none of those things and everything I needed.
Tears became harder to suppress.
My voice shook as I questioned God, “How can this be wrong? What kind of God are you, who plays such games?”
Half expecting a lightning bolt I looked up at the ceiling, “Punish me if you will. You can do nothing worse than you have already done.” I waited but nothing came. Silence wrapped its tendrils around the chapel. I no longer heard the birds outside or Gideon snorting and pawing the ground. In the quiet of my mind I recognized the source of my torment, tears flowed freely, “If love be a mortal sin, then salvation will never be mine.”
I sank into my thoughts, alone, as I needed to be.
My birthday was upon me, yet my thoughts were not of celebration but of torment.
It had been two days since William and his gallantry rescued my sisters and me from the clutches of the English soldiers.
And I have thought of nothing but him. Our walk home ... his concern, laughter, eyes, the lilt in his voice. My flesh still burns where he touched my arm.
The effortless way he carried Ana home, despite his injuries and bruises.
His smile lit a fire in his eyes and in turn lit a fire in my heart.
Fitting that he should light such a fire, for all salvation is lost to me
.My secret is my pain. For to love a priest will see me burn in hell for eternity.
I cannot act upon my feelings. I cannot entertain another. For my heart, I freely give to William. It shall remain his for all time yet he cannot know my love.
He is a man who chose the priesthood. It is not for me, a girl, to interfere with God's plan. His life holds more purpose than my own.
I resigned myself to never feeling his arms or to know his love.
I have no explanation for my parents ... they being good and kind parents, have done all that's right and proper to instill in me a good education, and morals. They are expecting, and rightly, that I choose a suitor from all that are to attend my birthday.
“I cannot.” My words echoed with alarming clarity. “I cannot.”
My heart is taken, for all that, my love is unrequited, it is taken.
Gideon snorted and shook me from my inner reflection.
I thought I heard another noise, footsteps. I glanced around the room. There were two doorways. The footsteps came from my right.
Quietly I hurried out the door to my left, choosing my footing and my path carefully I made my way around the building to Gideon.
I could see no other horses.
Whoever was there came on foot, or hid their horse. Gideon pawed the ground, impatient as always. I pulled the reins free of the rock. Hoping I wasn’t watched I collected my skirts, mounted, and let him set the pace home.
Heavy velvet burgundy drapes moved slightly in the warm breeze that wafted in through the open doors.
I could smell the flowers in the vases as it mixed with the beeswax used to polish the sideboards.
I took a deep breath. I would remember everything about this birthday. Every scent, every sound, every taste, every touch, would burn itself into my memory as a reminder of my sins and my inability to atone. My head swam with notions of confession. To whom would I confess? Monsignor Murphy? Father William? One would be dangerous, the other foolish.
“Meaghan?”
I turned to find Da behind me. His smile wide and eyes sparkling. He paused and asked, “Is everything well with you?”
I wondered how many of my thoughts were betrayed by my face. “Yes, Da.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, he becam
e contemplative, “There’s something Meaghan, I know it.”
I smiled with as much joy as I could muster, “Nothing important.”
He linked his arm with mine and walked me toward the stairs, “you should rest before the evening festivity.” He stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned me to face him, “Is there anything I should be aware of?”
I shook my head and tried to maintain a cheerful lilt in my voice, “Everything is well with me, Da.”
“Could you still be shaken from the ordeal with the soldiers?”
Oh, how close Da came to the truth, while furnishing me with a plausible excuse for my lack of enthusiasm. I didn’t trust myself to speak, for fear I would blurt out William’s name. I nodded.
“Understandable.” He said, kissing my forehead. “Go on and rest, Mamai will be up later to help you dress for tonight.”
I nodded and again and hurried up the stairs. It was with great relief that I closed my chamber door. Shutting out all intrusions and giving myself a moment’s peace. The new green gown lay on my bed. I picked it up, held it against me, and twirled around the room. The silk swished and crinkled. In that instant I became transported to a magical place, a place of candle light and music. I danced in William’s arms. His eyes locked on mine. I stopped dead, the vision faded away leaving a burning question, “Do priests dance?”
Meaghan’s birthday celebration.
“Our guests are arriving,” Caoimhe announced a she peered through the window of my bedchamber. She stood to the right of the frame, holding the lace curtains open with one hand as she peeked through the gap at the approaching visitors.
“Come away from there!” I said, sternly. “Well-bred young ladies should not be seen peering from windows.” My surprise and annoyance at her behavior was evident in my tone, as her facial expression attested upon hearing it. She skulked away from her vantage point, favoring me with an uncharacteristically surly glare. This wasn’t at all like Caoimhe. I expected such behavior from the younger girls, but not from her. Her bearing and manner were always so proper. For a moment, I allowed myself to wonder what had brought about such an abrupt and unpleasant change in her demeanor, but only for a moment. My own preparations for the evening's affair aside, I had two younger sisters to oversee.
Ana and Ciara sat by the fire, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. For all that they wouldn’t be joining us tonight, but rather would be sent to bed, they were every bit as excited as they would have been had they been allowed to attend.
Maddie had already seen to their supper and sternly, but almost certainly in vain, warned them to remain abed. There was little doubt in my mind that one of both of them would creep to the top of the staircase in order to have a peek at the festivities.
With a sense of mixed amusement and horror, I envisioned Ana leaning too far forward from her hidden observation post, and tumbling down the staircase, only to come to rest in an undignified heap (in her nightdress, no less!) in the midst of the celebrants.
“Sure and you heard what Maddie told you,” I said, “Now off to bed, the both of you.” Ana stuck out her tongue and grimaced at me.
“It’s a clean house we keep, Ana. You'll not be catching any flies tonight,” I said, with as much quiet and gently mocking hauteur as I could muster. “You might try on the morrow, in the stables, by the mill pond, or perhaps even in the garden. The other toads would be glad for the company, to be sure.”
“I’m no toad!” she squalled in indignation.
“And you’re no fishwife either. Lower your voice, and off to bed. The guests are arriving.”
“Please, Meaghan,” Ciara entreated, “Must we go abed without even so much as greeting the company?”
It occurred to me that her request wasn't terribly unreasonable. Reluctant though I might have been to defy both Mamai and Maddie, the simple fact was that the both of them were growing into women now (Ciara, perhaps more so than Ana, but the both of them nonetheless) and would need to learn the social graces, the proper way of conducting themselves in company sooner or later. I sat upon the edge of the bed, and patted the spot beside me with my hand.
“Come to me a moment, mo mhuirnin,” I said.
“You, as well,” I said to Ana, patting the featherbed with my other hand.
When I’d called Ciara to me, I’d marked a flicker of jealousy in her eyes.
Even if she seldom conducted herself as well as Ciara, I saw neither sense nor profit in making a pet of one and a pariah of the other. The prodigal sister? I thought, laughing inwardly.
Oh, but William -- “William” is it? Isn’t it “Father William”? “Father”? Sure and he's young enough to be my brother. Or my lover-- would appreciate the reference, now wouldn't he? I spooled in this thread of thought -- a mere thread in a tapestry of as-yet-uncommitted sin. Saints preserve me! -- Just as Ana and Ciara seated themselves to either side of me.
I put an arm about each and pulled them to me. Gently, I kissed Ana upon the forehead. I took to my feet, turned to face them. Lowering myself upon the balls of my feet -- Oh, but Mamai would frown upon that! -- I took one of each of their hands into my own. “Lend an ear to me, the both of you”, I said, with as much sternness as affection. “Mamai, Maddie and Da have made it clear that you'll not be attending the dinner, But I see not a whit of harm in the both of you standing atop the staircase and greeting the company and then politely bidding them good night before you retire.”
“Might we?” they half-gasped in unison.
“Indeed you may,” I said, “But you'll have your hair combed, you'll wear your house shoes, you'll stand straight, but lower your heads ever so slightly, like this” -- I demonstrated --“and keep your hands folded before you, like so. You'll conduct yourselves as ladies. No tomfoolery and no girlish shenanigans. Do you understand me?”
They nodded as one, the stunned lassitude of the motion itself contrasting sharply with the grateful wonder in their wide-open eyes.
Releasing my grasp upon their hands, I placed one upon each of their heads and gently stroked their hair, as I looked into each pair of eyes by turns; Ana's the pale green of the flower justly known as “the Bells of Ireland”, Ciara's the startlingly pale blue of a summer sky.
“This much I'll allow you,” I said, “but I'll brook no foolishness. None whatsoever, mind you. Mark my words and mark them well, the both of you. I've given you my leave, and you must give me your word. You'll bear yourselves as true ladies; as the daughters of a man who'd be a lord, were ours a just world; as heralds of our family's honor.” Another round of slow, stunned, silent nodding ensued.
“I'll hold you to your word, you know,” I said, as I arose. “Sure and you'll have the devil to pay to Maddie, Mamai and myself if you break your promises.”
“Sure and we'll be true, Meaghan!” said Ana. “Devil take us and we ...” I placed a finger across her lips.
“Being true entails keeping a civil tongue in your head, and not bursting forth after the manner of a drunken tinker,” I told her.
She blushed, giggled and lowered her head, turning it slightly aside. I leaned in and kissed her reddening cheek.
“You'll be my very pride and joy, I'm sure,” I said to her, pulling her to her feet and drawing her tightly into my arms.
“That I shall and that I will!” she assured me, her eyes lanterns of joy.
I placed a hand upon each of her shoulders and held her at arm's length, far and away enough to look her over, but never letting go of her.
I’m sure a wistful smile raised and played at the corners of my mouth as I did so, even as the breeze raises and plays at clean white curtains on an autumn evening. Oh, but how she’d grown! Where was the little girl to whom I’d sung songs of love, hope and sorrow; to whom I'd told tales of fierce Cuchulainn and faithful Emer, of bold Finn MacCumhail, and his steadfast Fianna, of Padraig, who once rid Eire of serpents, even as we ourselves so keenly hoped to do?
No matter. Enough of heroes and of serpents. My sister stood
before me, all sauciness gone from her, grateful reverence glowing in her wide, blinking eyes.
I asked, “So where’s that tongue now, little toad?”
“In me head, being kept civil,” she said with a grin, love and mischief flashing across her face.
“Mind that you keep it that way,” I replied, drawing her to me and kissing the top of her head.
“Oh!” Ciara exclaimed. “But Maddie and Mamai ...”
“Leave that to me,” I said, “Hold fast to our bargain, and let the rest be upon my head.”
I pulled her to her feet and took her into my arms. She lay her head upon my shoulder. How tall she’d grown. And returned my embrace.
“Are you to be married off tonight, Meaghan?” she asked, in a tone of plaintive, childlike simplicity.
I asked myself the same question, but in a rather a different context. Was I to be married off this evening? Had I married myself off, and to a man whose faith, duties and obligations precluded marrying me? Once again, the thread of thoughts fairly demanded spooling in. The warm flow of Ciara's tears upon my neck required no less.
“Tell me you’ll not,” she said, softly. “Tell me we’ll never be parted, Meaghan.”
She attempted to draw away from me, some spot on the floor having apparently earned her complete attention. I placed a hand beneath her chin and raised her head, looking directly into her eyes.
“I give you my word,” I said, meaning it as I’d never meant anything before. “I am an Irishwoman true, and won’t be married off to anyone. May God and all his saints have mercy upon the man who tries to give or take me against my own will. And we will never be parted, Ciara.” I smoothed her unruly waves of red-gold hair and looked directly into her blue eyes even as I spoke. “And when I do take me a husband, and children are born, it’s their auntie who will be beside me all the while. I expect no less from you.”
She smiled through her tears.
“Sure and I should be an auntie then, shouldn’t I?” she asked, an expression of wonder driving the pain from her pretty face.
