Kilpara (32 page)

“
It’s your mother,” she said, when
I got to the door. “Come quickly.”

I followed Trista to Mother’s room,
instinctively putting on the antiseptic apron that Aunt Sadie
insisted we wear during those moments when she worried most about
infection. Mother lay in Aunt Sadie’s arms, coughing up blood and
struggling for breath, seemingly confused about where she was or
who was around her.

I took Aunt Sadie’s place and held her. “Easy,
Mother,” I said, “We’re all here. We’ll help you.” The coughing and
rasping and spitting up continued in spurts throughout the night.
Aunt Sadie’s concerned face told me that she feared the worst. But
as daylight crept through the window, and the weary faces around
the bed looked worn and bleary-eyed, Mother’s breathing began to
ease and her struggle to inhale air became easier; there was no
more spitting up blood. At last Aunt Sadie declared the episode
over. She assigned two of her most experienced nurses to keep vigil
at Mother’s bedside and stumbled back to the convent to rest. I
insisted on staying and pushed two chairs together. The last thing
I remembered was the ticking of the clock and gentle hands laying
something warm over me.

It was early afternoon when I awoke. Mother’s
breathing was rough but even. She was still sleeping. The
housekeeper arranged a warm bath for me and food was brought to my
room. That evening, Aunt Sadie warned me to expect more episodes
like the one we’d just witnessed. Tears filled her eyes. She said
in all her years of being a nun she had never asked God for
anything for herself—until now. She prayed for more time with her
only sister, whom she didn't want to let go just yet.

Mother surprised us all by making a good
recovery, though with diminished strength. Two weeks later as we
sat together quietly, she said, “You’ve become fond of
Morrigan.”

Her words came out sounding like a statement
rather than a question.

“
I think I’m in love with her,” I
said.

Mother fell silent for a moment. “She’s a girl
who’s very close to her roots. She’ll never leave Ireland, you
know.”

“
I know.”

“
Can you be happy here?”

“
I think so.”

“
This is an agricultural country
and you never liked farming. It takes a lot to maintain an estate
like Kilpara.”

“
There’s Galway with connections to
Dublin and London. I can begin an agency there and hope there's a
need for financier services.”

“
People are poor here, although
there are the landed gentry. Still, it’s not Baltimore.”

“
I've taken that into
consideration.”

“
Love may not be enough to sustain
you, Ellis. You’re bound to miss the excitement of city life sooner
or later.”

“
She’s become my reason for
living.”

Mother seemed satisfied with this and smiled a
sad smile. “I never dreamed this would happen. If you’re so sure of
your feelings for Morrigan, then perhaps you shouldn’t wait too
long before proposing marriage.” Taking her diamond ring from her
marriage finger she took my hand and laid it on my palm. “This was
handed down through the O’Donovans. It belongs to the mistress of
Kilpara. I don't have much time left, I’d like to see my youngest
son settled before—before—”

“
Don’t, Mother. Please.”

She folded my hand shut. “We’ll never be
parted, you and I, not truly.”

I rode over to Kilpara the next day to call
upon Morrigan. I found her in the garden sitting before a canvas,
paintbrush in hand. She smiled up at me when I dismounted and stood
before her. Taking the paintbrush from her hand and setting it
aside I said, “I have a question I must ask.” I looked into her
eyes and went down on one knee. “Morrigan Purcenell, I can’t
imagine my life without you. Please say you’ll be at my side
throughout the rest of our lives. I love you. Will you marry
me?”

Morrigan’s eyes danced with
excitement.

“
Well...?” I urged.

“
Yes, Ellis O’Donovan. I’d be proud
to be your wife.” She dropped down beside me and threw her arms
around my neck. There, on our knees, I solemnly placed Mother’s
diamond ring on her finger.

“
Shall we find Father?” she asked
happily. “To explain why you didn't seek his permission
first.”

We found Purcenell in the library deeply
engrossed in correspondence. He looked up at our flushed
faces.

“
What is it now, O’Donovan?” he
growled.

I moved to stand before him. “I would like to
ask your permission to marry Morrigan,” I said, coming straight to
the point. “As soon as possible.”

“
You what—?” Purcenell sputtered,
slamming down his pen and standing up with such force that his
chair tumbled backward. A prominent vein in his forehead pulsed and
I wondered if he might try to strike me. Instead he shook his
finger at me and looked directly at Morrigan.

“
You can’t be considering marrying
this fellow?” he spat, sounding distressed. “He’s an O’Donovan and
hardly trustworthy. First, he comes here and tries to steal our
home away from us, then he demands that his parents be buried at
Kilpara after which he imposes himself and his mother upon our
household. And now, he’s asking permission to marry you. What next?
He’s a scoundrel, a clever manipulator. If you weren’t here, I’d
order him away, so I would. Much as I hate to say it, you’d be
better off marrying Charlie Sloane.”

Morrigan moved closer to her father. “I know
this is difficult for you to understand, Father. But I do trust
Ellis and I know he’ll treat me well. He’ll be a good
husband.”

“
He hasn’t done anything to prove
that his motives or his character are honorable. From my
perspective, he’s a villain who has no scruples other than some
ill-conceived notion of revenge. Given time, he’ll reveal himself
to you. For the love of God, child, take a good look at him and see
him for what he is. If you’re smart, you’ll turn away from him this
minute. Where’s the rush anyway?” He let the silence grow. “This
fellow will stop at nothing to get Kilpara back. He’s using his
mother’s condition to take advantage of your good
nature.”

Morrigan said nothing. Her father’s rant had
made its mark. I had to speak up or risk losing her. “I would be
skeptical, too, in your position, sir,” I said, startling
Purcenell. “You must admit my mother is very ill. You saw her
condition for yourself. I’ve told her about my feelings for
Morrigan, and it’s her wish to see us married while she can still
attend the ceremony. Time is of the essence. I promise you, sir,
I’m devoted to Morrigan. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to
make her happy.”

Purcenell scowled. “So you want to marry my
daughter to please your mother? Is that it?”

“
No, sir, I love Morrigan. My
mother’s condition, if anything, has made me see how precious life
is, and how much I want Morrigan to be my wife.”

“
Fiddlesticks.” Purcenell looked at
his daughter. “Morrigan?”

I held my breath.

“
I love him, Father.” Morrigan
looked at me, and we held each other’s gaze.

“
Humph.” Purcenell cleared his
throat and we both turned. “And where do you plan to live? I’ll not
allow my only daughter to go gallivanting off to
America.”

“
With your permission, sir, we'd
like to make Kilpara our home.”

Blood rushed to Purcenell’s face, turning it
purple. He pounded his fist on the desk “I knew it, you scheming
rat. It’s Kilpara you want, not my daughter. You’ll ask her to
marry you to get your hands on the estate. I want you to leave.
Now!”

Morrigan walked around the desk and looked
into his face with pleading eyes. “Father, please try to be
reasonable. Ellis doesn’t have to marry me to own Kilpara. He can
hold you to the bargain you made. He asked me to go to America with
him. But I rejected the idea because I want to stay here at
Kilpara. If you refuse to give us your blessing, then I will go to
America. Please say you approve.”

Purcenell was silent. Morrigan didn’t move. He
gave a long sigh of resignation then looked at me and said, “This
is blackmail, O’Donovan.” He turned to Morrigan. “You’re my only
daughter. I’m against you marrying this—this—fellow, but I couldn’t
bear it if you ran off to America in the middle of the night with
him. So if there’s no changing your mind, other than my forbidding
you to marry him, then I won't withhold my blessing. But don’t say
I didn’t warn you.”

Morrigan beamed at her father.

“
As to the question of this early
marriage,” Purcennel continued, showing signs of a man who has been
dealt the worst possible blow, “I object, but if you’ve already
agreed, the engagement will be announced and you can marry in
September, here in the church at Kilpara. Soon as the banns are
read.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “Your mother used to love
that little church. She meditated there every day.”

Morrigan threw her arms around her father’s
neck hugging him. “Thank you, Father.” Her gesture brought a sad
smile to his face.

When Morrigan and I left the library and went
outside, I swung her around. I didn’t care who was watching as we
kissed, sealing our promise to each other.

Our engagement was announced in the Galway
Gazette, which sparked rumors and whispers throughout the
countryside. Purcenell began making preparations to move into the
east wing, so that when the time came, the main wing would be ready
for Morrigan and me. Co-habiting with the older man was going to be
difficult. In time, I hoped we could learn to tolerate each other.
But that was the least of my concerns.

Soon after our engagement, we were sitting on
the convent grounds sharing a picnic lunch when Morrigan brought
another announcement to my attention. It was on one of those warm
days that were growing rare. We had brought Mother outside to lie
on a chaise lounge.

Morrigan was reading aloud from the newspaper.
She paused suddenly and pointed to an article that headlined Sir
Charles Sloane of Larcourt, Lough Corrib, Galway to Marry Lady
Daphne Thornton of Devonshire, England. It went on to say, 'Sir
Charles Sloane of Larcourt and Lady Daphne Thornton of Devonshire,
England, have announced their engagement recently. The nuptials
will be held 16 April, 1867, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church,
Devonshire, England. A wedding reception will follow at Glenside
Manor, the bride's home. Congratulations may be sent to Lady Daphne
Thornton at Devonshire, England, or to Sir Charles Sloane,
Larcourt, Lough Corrib, County Galway.’

The news came as a surprise. Inwardly, I
wondered how the dark Daphne had manipulated Sloane into proposing.
He had reacted strongly to Morrigan's refusal to his marriage
proposal and to the news that she had agreed to marry me. Upset and
angry, he came to the convent one night, drunk out of his mind and
yelling my name. I came outside to find him staggering around. He
uttered some unintelligible words, and then attempted to swing at
me. He missed. I grabbed him from behind and strong-armed him into
the kitchen. There I found some left-over coffee which I insisted
he drink. He immediately pushed it away, slopping it over the
table. Then he broke down crying, saying that he loved Morrigan and
had done so for a long time. If I were a decent fellow I'd go back
to America so that she'd agree to marry him. I felt sympathy for
the man but tried not to let it show. It took several attempts to
convince him it was Morrigan's choice whom she married. He stumbled
away from the convent and back to his carriage shouting obscenities
as he went. Fortunately, the nuns were attending evening prayer
service and were spared his garbled rants. I guessed he had turned
to Daphne in this tormented state who had taken advantage of his
vulnerability and snared him into marrying her.

Later that night, after I escorted Morrigan
back to Kilpara, I faced the task of writing to Astelle. I had been
putting it off, and as I gathered my thoughts I realized how unfair
I had been. I contemplated my fate as I wrote:

My Dearest Astelle,

When we said goodbye in Baltimore, I never
thought that I would leave behind my life there permanently. I came
to this island so far from home, expecting only to deposit Mother
on its doorstep and hurry away from its shores. Instead, this very
voyage to Ireland has sealed my fate in a way I never
expected.

It pains me to tell you I have become
enchanted with Morrigan Purcenell, an Anglo-Irish girl that has
captured my heart. My feelings for her are such that I feel
compelled to marry her. I hope you will forgive me for not
returning to you, for breaking a promise I had intended to keep. I
beg your understanding and forgiveness, although I don’t deserve
such consideration. Please know it is my deepest wish that you,
too, will someday find deserving happiness.

Yours,

Ellis

After that, I wrote a letter to Emmons
resigning my post. I implored him to understand my reasons to stay
in Ireland and not return to Baltimore. I went on to thank him for
the years of training and mentoring I received at his firm. Then,
remembering his plans for Clara and me, I wrote to her wishing her
well and offered my sincere hopes that she would someday find
someone to love her as deeply as I loved Morrigan. I addressed all
three letters and, in doing so, closed the door on my
past.