Kilpara (34 page)

Our wedding day will be forever etched in my
mind. Fortune was with us. The skies dawned blue and Mother was
strong enough to attend the service in her wheelchair. This was the
first wedding ever held at the convent and it caused a great stir.
Patients propped up in beds and chairs next to windows waited to
see the bride walk down the aisle on her father’s arm. The nuns,
novices, and nurses carried out every spare chair. Many of
Kilpara’s tenants arrived as I waited nervously next to the
preacher, my brothers at my side. Off to the right, slightly apart
from the crowd, sat Mother and Aunt Sadie, their hands constantly
in motion folding and unfolding their handkerchiefs.

Fiddle players began a haunting instrumental.
A hush fell as Morrigan arrived, her hand tucked beneath her
father’s arm. Her long ash-blond hair hung loose down her back,
covering bare shoulders. She walked slowly down the carpeted aisle,
her antique white satin gown, that I later learned had been her
mother’s, swished sensuously in front of her. She held a bouquet of
purple clematis and autumn red roses. She had learned these were
Mother’s favorites and the gesture was symbolic of the love that
had grown between them. Veiled lace covered her face and it wasn’t
until she moved next to me that I saw excited anticipation in her
eyes.

We stood before the minister and the liturgy
began. Whenever possible I touched Morrigan’s hand, and she smiled.
The service was surreal. At the point where we recited our vows, my
voice sounded strange to my ears.

“
Repeat after me,” the minister
prompted. I began saying the words that a few short months ago I
never imagined I would say to any woman. “I, Ellis O’Donovan, do
take thee, Morrigan Purcenell, to be my lawful wedded wife, to
love, honor, and cherish, to have and to hold, in sickness and in
health, till death us do part.” Dan handed me the wedding ring, and
Morrigan’s hand tingled in mine as I slipped it on her
finger.

She recited her vows in a soft, confident
voice, her eyes holding mine. “I, Morrigan Purcenell, do take thee,
Ellis O’Donovan, to love, honor, and obey, to have and to hold in
sickness and in health, till death us do part.” Dan handed her a
wedding ring and she placed it on my finger. We stood facing each
other as the minister continued to pray. He concluded with “love
each other as Christ loved the Church... What God hath joined
together, let no man pull asunder…You may kiss the
bride.”

I lifted Morrigan’s veil and kissed her softly
and sensuously, sealing my promise of commitment on her trembling
lips. Music turned triumphant, and together we practically skipped
down the makeshift aisle amid well-wishers that surrounded and
congratulated us. We were guided to tables set out on the lawn,
covered with white tablecloths and flowered centerpieces placed
under an improvised marquee. Plates of mutton and cabbage with
potatoes covered in gravy appeared before us. It smelled delicious
and I found that despite the excitement, I was famished. After
everyone had eaten, Dan stood up to make a short speech wishing
Morrigan and me good health, long life, and happiness. Guests
cheered when Eileen and Jasmine rolled a wedding-cake on a trolley
up to our table. I held Morrigan’s hand as together we sliced
through the marzipan icing and moist slab. Afterwards, tables were
cleared and musicians and alcohol took center-stage. I was sure
Gully Joyce had a hand in this.

To my surprise Purcenell remained throughout
the entire occasion, although slightly apart with a group of
Morrigan’s family and friends, among them Charles Sloane and Daphne
Thornton. I wondered if it was Morrigan’s Aunt Margaret who had
prodded Purcenell into this complacent mood. She had come to accept
my family and me without hesitation. Or, perhaps, he was being
agreeable to impress the Americans, and his friends. Beneath his
complacent exterior, he viewed our wedding with skepticism and
distrust, finding my character questionable and lacking entitlement
deserving of an aristocrat’s daughter. No doubt he would find
like-minded agreement among his friends and acquaintances. Having
an Irish emigrant son-in-law placed him in the precarious position
that his daughter could be whisked off to America if he didn’t
convey his acceptance. However, his decision to remain until the
end of the celebration increased Morrigan’s happiness. She beamed
every time she caught his eye.

As the festivity dwindled to a close, Morrigan
and I left the guests to change into our traveling clothes and
prepared to leave for the Traveller’s Inn. We stopped by Mother's
room momentarily to say goodbye.

“
It was the most beautiful wedding
I ever attended,” she said, her feeble fingers lingering on our
faces when we bent over to kiss her. “Be happy, my
children.”

Guests surrounded the carriage when we
mounted, showering us with confetti and shouting cheers for a long
life of happiness. Morrigan threw her bride’s bouquet over her
shoulder and applauded when Daphne caught it. A smug look smoldered
in Daphne’s dark eyes. As we waved goodbye, I detected Sloane
standing in the background, his face tight and pinched. Daphne
walked over to him and wrapped her arm tightly in his.

Gully Joyce whistled to himself as he drove us
to the Traveller’s Inn. The bellhops rushed out to unload our
luggage when we arrived. I was about to follow Morrigan into the
inn when Gully grabbed my arm. He nodded toward her back and
whispered solemnly, “You’re a better man than I am, Ellis
O’Donovan. I'd never let meself get caught by any woman, not even
one as tempting as your new missus.”

“
Never is a long time, Gully,” I
said. “Thanks for everything. I’m indebted to you.” I shook his
hand, and then followed Morrigan into the hotel. I turned around
once at the door and thought I detected a wistful look on Gully’s
face, just before he shook the reins and the horses moved
away.

I opened the door to our room and carried
Morrigan across the threshold. I kicked the door closed and set her
down. “Hello, Mrs. O’Donovan,” I said.

“
Hello, Mr. O’Donovan,” she
replied, lingering in my embrace, her eyes teasing mine. I began to
unfasten her dress, and she helped me out of my jacket. “Do you
have no shame, Mrs. O’Donovan,” I mocked.

“
None whatsoever,” she said,
smiling up at me.

I carried her naked to the bed and looked at
her for several moments before lying down beside her. I kissed her
gently. She was hungry with desire and her lips probed mine
longingly. I held her lower lip between mine as she playfully
chewed at me with her upper lip. I brushed my mouth against her
throat, the beat of her heart pulsing against my lips. Her hands
inched up my spine, fingers exploring my exposed flesh, spurring
lustful hunger inside me that threatened to explode like a geyser.
I kissed the tip of her chin, her breasts, tasted the sweetness of
her nipples. She moaned with pleasure. That she would surrender to
me so fearlessly made me feel powerful yet humbled knowing she
trusted me so completely. I fought for restraint against possessing
her, denying the release I ached for. Gently, I teased her body
into a frenzy and when I raised myself over her, she arched toward
me murmuring my name. She shuddered when I pushed through the thin
barrier, winced for a moment before her gaze turned again to
longing. We moved together groaning in ecstasy until our bodies
joined in a momentous thrust of passion.

Afterwards, as we lay entangled on the
sweat-soaked bed, Morrigan said, “I never knew it could be like
this.” I responded by kissing every inch of her face. Never before
had lovemaking left me feeling so complete, so tender, so in love
with a woman.

We spent the night sleeping and waking, never
moving an inch from each other’s side, satisfying our newly
discovered appetite for lovemaking. I would have been happy to stay
in that room for days discovering this new union between us; I
didn’t want to let her out of my sight for a moment. But I had a
duty to Mother, and reluctantly we left the comfort of the
Traveller’s Inn and returned to the convent the following
day.

Soon the days tumbled one into the other.
There was a sense of premonition, combined with daily rituals of
keeping Mother comfortable. She became more dependent on those
around her for almost everything. Through all this, I began to
understand her more fully. I felt what she must have gone through
as a child, and my heart went out to that impressionable orphaned
girl whose mother’s death imprisoned her emotions and left her
confused. From that anguish had grown the pride and love and
determination that Mother poured into her family and nurtured us
with every sense of her being. Losing her was going to take a
tremendous toll on us all.

She was brave as the disease continued to
ravage her body. It robbed her of dignity and strength as it became
too difficult for her to bathe, dress, and feed herself. She didn’t
conceal her dependence; she embraced it. Through it all, she begged
us not to worry, her body was suffering but her soul was at peace.
Morrigan, Aunt Sadie, and Trista took turns overseeing her comfort,
helping nurses and novices change soiled sheets and empty chamber
pots. Morrigan's devotion to Mother had grown so much that she was
daily by her side.

Toward the end of October, Aunt Sadie voiced
concern for Morrigan to me. “This is not good for the girl. She’s
too pale and she insists on spending too much time with Ann. You
should send her to Kilpara for a few days. She needs fresh air and
something else to occupy her mind.” I didn’t know it then, but Aunt
Sadie worried that Morrigan’s disregard for her own health could
leave her vulnerable to infection.

That evening we sat together in front of the
fireplace in our room and I realized Aunt Sadie was right; Morrigan
looked much too pale and she had become very thin. I broached the
subject of Kilpara.

“
You’ve been with Mother
constantly. You should pay a visit to your father and Aunt
Margaret.”

“
I would like nothing more,”
Morrigan said, pulling my arms tighter around her. “But I fear your
mother doesn’t have much time left. I don’t want to leave
her.”

I kissed her upturned face. “I’ve been selfish
to allow you to be consumed like this. I insist that you get away
for a few days.”

She smiled sadly. “If that's what you think is
best, Ellis, I’ll do it. I’ll admit I’ve missed my father and would
like to know how he is.”

I kissed her then, lust immediately consuming
me. She looked even more beautiful by the flickering firelight. I
undressed her and her soft body yielded to mine.

Morrigan left reluctantly the following
morning. We kissed several times at the carriage door before Gully
finally intruded. “Are yez going to keep that up all day? If yez
are then I may as well go home for me dinner and me
tea.”

“
Okay, okay,” I said. “But drive
carefully. You're carrying precious cargo.”

Morrigan smiled and Gully raised his eyes
heavenward. He cracked the whip and the restless horses took off
with a start. Gully waved a triumphant hand without bothering to
look backwards.

I turned to go inside and caught sight of Mark
sitting under a chestnut tree, mindlessly breaking open fallen
chestnuts.

“
Why does it have to be like this,
Wiz,” he greeted me when I walked over. “All these nuns and nurses,
including Aunt Sadie believe in God, in Heaven. Yet for all of
their faith and praying, Mother is still suffering. Where’s God’s
mercy in all this?”

“
I don’t know,” I said
glumly.

“
I can’t help feeling frustrated,”
Mark said. “I don’t believe in the nonsense that this is God’s
will. It’s a pathetic excuse for a reason.”

Just then, Dan joined us and hunkered down
beside Mark. “You can’t put blame on anyone or anything, Mark. This
is life. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.”

“
If joy equals pain, that’s one
thing,” Mark said. “We’ve already endured too much with Father and
Francis’ death—the war; hundreds of solid, courageous men wounded
and dead.” His eyes grew distant. “I waded through the bodies after
the massacre at Fredericksburg. These were men I’d fought beside,
grown fond of, good decent folk, lying there lifeless on the
ground. I watched Francis on the battlefield, triumphant one
minute, and Confederate bullets blowing holes in him the next. I
ran to him, dropped to my knees, and tried to stop the blood that
was draining life out of his body. I carried him off the
battlefield myself, crying out to God to spare him. Let him live, I
shouted, for God's sake don't let him die out here in this muck and
filth. Even before I got him to the medics, his life ebbed away. He
squeezed my hand, opened his eyes once and smiled. Then he died. I
held him, his warm body turning cold right there where he'd last
been alive. Dead. Pain is unbearable, and joy is fleeting.” Mark
crushed the chestnuts in his hand, and dropped the broken pieces on
the ground.

His words forced me to remember that day in
Baltimore when I received the telegram that Francis had died in
battle and Mark had ridden with his body back home. He had been
granted military permission to take Francis’ body home for burial.
He strapped our brother's corpse onto one of Stonebridge's own
horses and rode away from the chaos. From all accounts, he was
half-dead himself when he arrived. He was still shell-shocked and
mumbling to himself when I returned home for the funeral two days
later. His own recovery had been long and slow. I wondered now if
seeing Mother edge toward death had dredged up all the horror that
took him so long to forget.