The Scarlet Ribbon

by Derry O'Dowd

  He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, making sure to give some cover to the boy and horse, and set off on the last of the journey to home.

  And no sooner had he negotiated the wet, eel-slippery cobbles and turned the corner to the street where his parents’ home stood, when a blur of chocolate brown stalled him and the horse.

  Daniel looked down and a pair of black eyes looked back at him, a stubby tail wagging in rapturous welcome.

  ‘Finn! Daddy!’ he said, craning round to look at his father. ‘Finn is here to see us!’

  ‘Daniel! He knew you were coming, he has been waiting for you all this time,’ panted his aunt Kate, looking most unladylike with her green embroidered skirts and sepia petticoats all rucked up with the effort of chasing the dog.

  ‘My Auntie Kate!’ screeched Daniel delightedly, and she held up her arms to him and helped him out of the saddle, leading him by the hand into the dry warmth of the Quinn house. ‘Tea and cake?’ James heard Daniel ask hopefully, and his aunt’s laughing reply as she swung the boy around and hugged him until he begged to be let down.

  James dismounted the horse in one fluid movement, and seeing his mother approach went to her and pulled her to him in a hug.

  ‘James,’ she looked up at him, pushing the wet strands of hair that had escaped from under his hat out of his eyes.

  ‘Hello, Mother,’ James smiled and hugged her. And he felt comforted.

  ‘Hello son,’ she smiled back, and taking his face between her hands kissed him. ‘Now away with you and freshen up. Your father is out seeing to a patient but we will eat soon.’

  James’s mother and father glanced at him and then at each other, as he continued his impassioned speech, while Daniel played with Kate upstairs. It all came tumbling out, his friendship with Catherine that seemed to be blossoming into love until her abrupt departure, his feelings for Carissa that grew stronger and seemed to take on a life of their own. He was tired, confused; he spent all of his time thinking, and it had got him nowhere. It was time for action, time to find Carissa and tell her how he felt about her, and he didn’t care if people thought he could have made a better match.

  Mother Quinn covered her son’s hand with her own. She was secretly delighted, as she had grown very close to the girl and knew how good she was with her grandson. Her strength after her father died and her mother went to pieces won Mother Quinn’s lifelong respect.

  ‘Leave Daniel here with us, James,’ she said. ‘He must be so tired from your journey.’

  ‘We had to come on such a journey, Mother, I must know,’ he had stood up in his obvious haste to be off and she took pity on him. ‘Besides, Daniel misses her too, and we had a grand adventure, the two of us, on our way here.’

  ‘Son,’ began Doctor Dara, but his wife hushed him, as their son looked out of the window, emotions playing over his face.

  James’s mind was on Carissa as he rode out through the city’s fortifications, past the quays and genteel living, over the bridge and on to the rows of poor thatched cottages and unkempt streets that made up the Claddagh fishing village.

  Untended boats floated idly at anchor in the cove and white swans floated gracefully on the grey water as he knocked at the door of the rough cottage that was once home to Carissa’s mother.

  There was no reply, and trying the handle, he found that the door was open. He stepped inside and his heart sank as he looked around and saw that it was deserted. It had not been lived in for some time, as dust motes danced in the light and spiders made their homes in the dark corners.

  James walked to the Spanish Arch and stood facing the Claddagh with his back against the stone wall. He turned and looked at it.

  He found the loose stone easily enough, and he freed it from its place. Marguerite and James’s wall, their stone, their hiding place for love notes through the years.

  He placed the stone on the ground and reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the fabric that lay within, the scarlet ribbon. James took it out of his pocket and kissed it sweetly, reverently. He put the scarlet ribbon in a linen pouch and placed it in the recess in the wall before pushing the stone back, making sure that it was secure.

  He turned to face Claddagh again, and as the sun sank, setting the water on fire, he whispered goodbye to Marguerite, his heart.

  ‘I think Daniel and I will return to Dublin tomorrow,’ James said to his mother and father over breakfast the following morning. He was bleary eyed and impatient and his head thumped, as he had tossed and turned the night away.

  ‘I am sorry you did not find Carissa, James,’ replied Doctor Dara. ‘Since you are here today, perhaps you would do me a small favour? Thank you.

  ‘I need you to visit my herbal woman, Mairin, in Barna, for fresh stocks for my medications cabinet. Perhaps you could take Daniel; the sea air will do him good. Here, I will make you a list of what I need.’

  Once James and Daniel had left, Doctor Dara and Mother Quinn sat together, holding hands.

  ‘Do you not think we should have told him?’ she asked.

  ‘My darling wife, I love every inch of you. But sometimes, your own darling boy has to make decisions for himself.’

  She sighed deeply.

  ‘We have done all we can now, my love, and then we will be here for him, always.’

  She smiled at her husband. ‘And hopefully, it will all come good.’

  ‘Come here, woman,’ he grabbed her and held her close to him, thanking the day that she was sent into his life. They sat among their thoughts, content in their embrace.

  The horse knew his way well and needed no urging to follow the seashore and out into the tiny fishing village. James turned the horse’s head and then they were on the well-worn track to Mairin’s house. She waved to them as she saw them approach, hand on her lower back as she had been tending to her plants.

  ‘It is good to see you again, James. And this must be Daniel. Your grandfather has told me much of you, so I am delighted to meet you.’

  James eased himself off the horse and lifted Daniel down.

  ‘Run along to my cottage, young man, there are some sweet things on the table, you may have one,’ and she smiled at his retreating back and words of thanks thrown over his shoulder.

  ‘Ah James, let me give you a present of some lily of the valley water, as, by the look of you, I fear your heart is in need of nourishment. Yes indeed,’ she peered at his face intently. ‘Now I should go and find your boy and make sure my cakes aren’t all eaten!’

  James turned to admire the garden and heard Daniel shouting.

  He looked around, and there was Carissa, arms outstretched to catch the running child, gathering him tight to her when he reached her.

  James walked to her, like a man in a dream, and she stood looking up at him, Daniel’s hand in hers.

  ‘Hello,’ he said and cursed himself for his tongue being tied so, when all he wanted to do was profess his love for her. He tried again. ‘What are you doing here?’ No better, his brain admonished him.

  ‘Mairin has agreed to let me be apprentice to her. I have always wanted to learn about plants and flowers and herbs that can heal and help – ever since my own poor mother never regained a smile on her face or a twinkle in her eye after the death of my father. And when Daniel was so ill, I swore that if he recovered I would never again be so helpless,’ she replied, hurting, hating him yet desperate for him to take her into his arms.

  ‘Carissa,’ he began, startled that she had grown so much and that he had seemingly turned back into the awkward adolescent boy that he once was. Galway suited her far more than the fancy dresses and manners of Dublin. She was beautiful, and the words dried in his mouth.

  ‘James, I cannot,’ she replied and turned to go inside, still holding Daniel’s hand, his sweet little face bright with the anticipation of the nearby confections.

  ‘Wait!’ he shouted, his voice booming in the tranquil garden.

  She turned to look at him and he knew that he
could not falter now.

  ‘Carissa. Carissa, I would lay down my life for you.’

  Her eyes filled with tears and she let go of the child’s hand. Daniel ran into the kitchen, humming happily, thoughts of the sweets that waited there filling his mind.

  James took a small step towards her. He took the hand that Daniel had so recently dropped. It was warm and small in his own.

  ‘I would lay down my life for you,’ he repeated, looking into her eyes.

  She sighed.

  ‘Carissa, let me read you something that I wrote for you. I started it, but was never really able to find the words to finish it and give it to you, so it has lingered on the desk in my study ever since.’

  He took the piece of paper out of his pocket with his free hand and he read: ‘My love. When I close my eyes I see your sweet face, and long for your gentle touch.’

  Carissa’s eyes filled with tears. She remembered leaving the letter in James’s study that day and peeking at the sheet of paper on his desk. She assumed the note was meant for Catherine and she could feel her heart breaking through her chest, there and then, before she fled. Now that she knew it had been meant for her all along she felt sadness for the time wasted and also a deep, abiding peace and happiness.

  She smiled up at him through the veil of her tears and he took her in his arms and held her close.

  23

  A meal for an infant

  Cut a manchet of yeast bread of the highest quality into rounds. Dip these rounds into a mix of rich cream, six beaten eggs, nutmeg and sugar, and once they are wet through, fry them in sweet butter but keep them soft. Serve them up with sugar and butter, and cut small so the child may not choke.

  Quinn Household Recipes and Remedies Book

  * * *

  DUBLIN, 1742

  James Quinn walked the quiet Sunday noon streets of Dublin. He had been called out to a birth the previous night and he had just left a beaming father, delighted mother, and healthy baby girl. It had been a hard birth and a difficult time for everyone involved, so he was especially pleased for the new family. He smiled as he remembered, and pulled his coat a little tighter around him as the late-September air had a definite hint of a cold winter to come about it, but cold or no, this was coming up on his favourite time of the year.

  The leaves were turning and the sky was bright blue. His dark hair gleamed as the sun caught it, and the faded warmth of the fiery orb caressed his back like a lover’s embrace as he turned a corner to walk up by St Audoen’s church. He would rub the lucky stone, he decided, in the hope that things would keep going his way - he had not felt so good in a long time.

  He put down his pannier of instruments and stared up to the sky, which looked as if it had been painted in broad brush strokes by a master artist, so perfect it appeared.

  Carissa stood at the front door of James Quinn’s home and hugged her sister Aileen.

  ‘Thank you again, Aileen, this is working out well I think.’

  Aileen looked at her, happy and beaming with the way things were in her life since that day in Barna, the story of which she told over and over again. Carissa was learning the craft of herbalism from a woman here in Dublin, recommended by Mairin.

  Since her relationship with James Quinn was moving on to a deeper level, it was no longer seemly for Carissa to spend nights in his home. So Aileen walked every evening from Sarah and Bernard Lynch’s house, where she was still employed, to swap places with her sister. She returned every morning and Carissa once again took over the care of Daniel during the daytime.

  ‘I will see you later,’ Aileen bade her sister goodbye and pulled her coat tighter around her to keep out the chill in the air.

  Carissa closed the door and went back inside to play with Daniel.

  A few moments later, Peg looked in on the two of them, smiling as she saw them enjoying each other’s company. She was glad that Carissa could find time to read up on herbs in the evenings and keep her days free for James’s young son.

  When his neck began to complain at being held at such an awkward angle for so long, James Quinn lowered his eyes from the sky and rolled his head to ease the tension.

  He picked up his pannier and walked along the path to the church. The heavy, studded door was still open after earlier services, and the smell of incense and extinguished candles peppered the air.

  He stopped and breathed in the warm scents and stillness before walking up the aisle, past the alabaster statues standing sentinel. He sat on a richly waxed pew, medical bag at his feet, and closed his eyes, allowing his mind to wander freely.

  It tripped over the memories, never lingering too long on anything hurtful that he would previously have worried over until the pain was too much to bear, but unlike a rotten molar could never be ripped from him in a last agonising wrench thereafter freeing him from the persistent, hateful throb.

  He breathed out. His life was so much better now, and though he would never forget Marguerite, he felt more at peace, as he hoped she was. He smiled.

  Andre Moreau held his wife’s hand as the carriage trundled its way along Dublin’s cobbles towards James Quinn’s home for the lunch that had been planned for them. Their daughter Lisette sat in his lap, and he kissed her cheek while sweeping her curls off her forehead with his other hand.

  ‘We will be there soon, my love, I am so excited to see James once again!’ Andre was full of delight and as excited as a child at the thought of seeing his friend.

  Avril smiled at him; his happiness was infectious, and it was a relief, in truth, to be starting a new life with him and Lisette away from the gossips of Paris. She had not told Andre, but people avoided her in the street and hissed cruel things to her back as she passed. They were never brave enough to say anything to her face. She stared out the window at the passing scenery, interested to visit a new city, full of plans for settling into their new life in New Orleans.

  Andre hummed under his breath and dandled his little girl. He hugged her to him, and she squawked a little indignantly as his embrace was too tight. He laughed out loud with love for the child.

  ‘See, Lisette, there is a horse!’ he said to the infant, making a whinnying sound, and she looked up at him with her eyes round as saucers and did her best to copy the noise he had just made.

  ‘Avril, did you hear that? We have a genius on our hands!’

  His happiness was her happiness, and Avril reached over and kissed the man who had made her so very content, had rescued her from an imperfect life and made a gift of the vision and soon-to-be reality of a new one.

  ‘I love you, Avril,’ he said, thinking he had never seen her look so beautiful.

  They kissed again, and the little girl, cross to not be at the centre of their universe for even just one moment, whimpered her displeasure. Andre laughed and moved her so that she sat between them, and the three shared an embrace.

  James Quinn opened his eyes, feeling deeply relaxed and at ease. He sat a while longer and then picked up his bag and walked to the lucky stone that his father had rubbed so long ago. His footfalls echoed around the church as he made his way to the charm. The slab’s granite surface was rubbed so smooth that it nearly shone, after so many believers had touched it with their fingers over the years. James ran his hand over the cold, hard surface and then let his finger trace the Celtic whorls carved into the stone.

  He remembered the day that he had been here with his father, and how he had tried to reach him with his words and then his embraces, the look on his face, pleading and sad and earnest. The horrible moment the choir had started to sing the song from his own, sweet, tender marriage to the love of his life, Marguerite.

  Catherine Cavendish fretted and played with the fringe on her shawl, letting the silky tassels run through her fingers.

  ‘Oh Father, don’t you think we should have said that we were coming? Isn’t it rude to turn up unannounced like this?’

  ‘Nonsense, my dear!’ replied Sir Alan. ‘Besides, it would have been rude
not to come for a quick visit, seeing as it is on our way to Drumaline.’ He sniffed, ‘although, for the life of me, I don’t see why your husband is not with us, given your condition.’

  Catherine looked down at her growing belly. She cupped it tenderly and felt the baby move within. She was six months pregnant now and glad the sickness that had plagued her in the early days had disappeared. She sighed and looked out of the window at the Dublin streets on the way to James Quinn’s home. She had not travelled this way for some time, or been back to the house since the performance of Messiah. Her cousin Edward had rescued her that evening. A tight smile played with her lips, trying to tug the corners of her mouth up but failing.

  ‘I don’t see why he had to go on yet another hunt today, that’s all,’ continued her father, somewhat huffily.

  ‘Father! Honestly,’ cried Catherine, ‘what Edward does is not under my control, just as what you do is not under my control.’ She looked at him crossly, features softening as she saw his love for her there.

  ‘I know, my dear, forgive me. I just want the best for you. And besides, I am getting very eager to meet my first grandchild! I doubt your sister Alice and that new man of hers ever plan to present me with one, you know.’

  ‘Father!’ Catherine replied. ‘What a scandalous thing to say,’ though she smiled to herself; she couldn’t see her sister with a baby to take care of as she needed to be petted and cosseted constantly herself.

  James Quinn stood quietly.

  ‘James,’ his name was whispered so softly that he wasn’t sure that he had actually heard it. ‘James,’ it came again, indistinct, and he felt a love so pure and shining that it warmed him from the inside out. He stood for a moment longer to embrace the joy deep within himself. He smiled and rubbed the stone, wishing good things for himself, his family, his friends and his patients, before making his way back to the open door of the church. He stood for a moment and gazed out at the glorious day.