Surrender the Wind (10 page)

John glanced at Catherine, and she shrank into the pillows. “I have a good idea where Dinkle got his impression.”

“Although come to think of it—” Father Callahan hobbled closer, pointing his cane fashioned from a corkscrew willow. “—Dinkle certainly looked like he was dropped on his head.” And then, half in a language John could not understand, but assumed to be Gaelic, the priest bellowed. “Knowing very well you have no cousins to speak of got me to wondering who the devil Dinkle was sputtering about, so I decided to pay you a little visit before Dinkle had the whole town in an uproar!” His glare blistered Catherine.

Catherine put her hand up again, “But uncle—”

Father Callahan banged his cane down on the floor with a thunderclap, like Moses parting the sea. No way was Father Callahan going to allow his niece to get in one word.

“Well, I’ll be telling you here and now, I will never condone such sinful mischief, and this behavior will have to be rectified immediately.” He looked at John with well-intended meaning.

Catherine exploded from the bed. “What do you mean
rectified
?”

“Marriage, of course, and the sooner the better.”

“Marriage! You can’t possibly—”

“Be silent, Catherine.” Father Callahan roared and she fell silent.

John took careful note of her immediate silence. He could learn from Father Callahan.

The priest scrutinized him like an insect dissected beneath a magnifying glass. “And who do I have the misfortune to be soon related to?”

John figured most men would shrink from Father Callahan’s gray-eyed scrutiny, but he gathered nothing but respect. He liked Father Callahan. After all, Father Callahan, or Uncle Charlie as Catherine called him, had handed John his
castle in the sky
. He almost smiled. Instead he moved from the bed and offered his hand. “I’m General John Daniel Rourke, Army of Northern Virginia,” he drawled and there was no mistaking his southern accent or Father Callahan’s sudden gaping mouth.

“And how? Of course, there were several reports in the papers claiming you were captured and held in a New England prisoner of war camp. It was a regular infantryman they had in their possession. Perhaps—” He knitted his thick, white brows together trying to figure it all out. “I’ve seen lithographs of you…how does a Confederate General…and a little far off the mark I’d say…come into the company of my niece?” He glared at Catherine. “Oh, never mind,” Father Callahan said, stamping his cane for emphasis. “When my niece is involved, nothing surprises me.”

John heard Catherine clear her throat in an effort to remain calm. “Uncle Charlie, I don’t like the look on your face. You are thinking a bit too much. You don’t have to marry us. We have done nothing untoward.” She waited for John to support her.

Leaning casually against the wall with his arms folded in front of him, John said, “For all intents and purposes, Father Callahan, your niece has been compromised. I take full responsibility.”

“You what.” She exploded and then looked at Father Callahan. “I am not going to do what you’re thinking, Uncle Charlie. I absolutely refuse—”

Her uncle was in no mood to argue and spewed his wrath of God on her. “And to think, if your mother was alive today, what do you believe she’d be saying about her daughter carrying on so?”

“Oh no, you don’t. You’ll not be putting a guilt trip on me. I’ve done nothing—”

John stepped forward, abruptly grabbing her by the elbow and firmly escorting her into the parlor. “We’re ready when you are Father Callahan.” He addressed him with benevolent politeness. John dodged a well-aimed kick and, remembering the dainty kick she had given him the night before, skewered her with a warning.

“Certainly not. I wouldn’t marry you if my life depended on it.”

John pinched her elbow.
‘Your life will depend on it.’

“I see,” said Father Callahan, lifting an insolent brow. “Catherine, you have obvious affection for General Rourke, whether you admit it or not, and finding you in bed together is proof enough for me. You’ve turned up your nose at too many swains vying for your hand and are well past the marrying age. I’ve made my decision. I owe this much to my sister.”

Her uncle pulled his Holy Book from his cassock. “A few side questions before we begin. “You are Catholic and Irish?” Father Callahan muttered more to himself, pleased that those requirements were fulfilled. “You are from the Rourke family…that is to say,” he emphasized strongly, “the
Rourke
family of Virginia?” It was a statement more than a question.

“The same,” John concurred, seeing the old priest was wilier than he thought.

“And by the saints what a general—much to the bane of the North. There will be many a rolled eye in New York over this union,” Father Callahan said with glee beneath his breath, then straightened, apparently remembering his audience. “I will marry the North with the South, a hopeful attempt to bridge reconciliation…a peace…to make a turbulent world turned upside down by war a dwelling place in the hearts of a man and a woman.”

“My niece will be well cared for?” Father Callahan gauged him. Even though the words were not spoken, it was understood between the two men. It wasn’t monetary what Father Callahan was seeking. He was looking for a long and caring relationship.

“You have my word,” John promised.

“You’ll have many children in the eyes of the church?”

“Numerous,” John admitted, straight-faced, glancing sideways at Catherine, noting an angry blush steel across her face.

“And peace?” Father Callahan queried.

From the present look on her face, John concluded, peace was like throwing rocks at a hornet’s nest. Didn’t his parents have a stormy beginning and a tender, peaceful conclusion? “There will be peace…eventually.”

Under her glower, Father Callahan muttered into his open book. “Looks to me like you’ll have to cap an active volcano in order to get that peace, but hope is a powerful thing.”

“Wait! The Banns!” She bounced on her toes, the happy thought of having three extra weeks to declare the banns. “They haven’t been announced.”

Brilliant.
John had forgotten about the age-old Catholic tradition of waiting a month to allow opposing inquiries to take place before the marriage ceremony. It was her last angle.

Father Callahan had enough. “Under the circumstances, I give special dispensation and waive the banns. Now we will begin.” And under the deadening heat of his roar, Catherine withered and leaned against John for protection. And this, he reflected, from a woman who said she would not marry him if her life depended on it.

“Dearly beloved we are gathered here today in matters of Holy Matrimony…”

“You mean to tell me you are going through with this farce?” Catherine said.

Father Callahan glared at his niece, her hair wild and disheveled and her demeanor fighting mad. Then he looked to John and said wryly, “You have my condolences, General Rourke. You do not know the hours, days, and years, I have spent praying for her eternal soul. My knees are downright bruised from the ordeal.”

John chuckled.

“You’ll have your hands full.” Father Callahan reminded him.

“It will be my cross to bear.” John bowed his head, penitent while holding his irate bride-to-be in place before she bolted.

“I don’t believe my ears. I am in the midst of getting married, and you’re joking?”

Father Callahan zoomed ahead. “Do you John Daniel Rourke take Catherine as your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

Catherine sensed John was extremely serious about the vow he was about to speak, despite his merry tone moments before. She sobered. The look of resolute and unwavering determination manifested on his face assured a rare kind of promise, coupled with an indomitable will to succeed.

John straightened and with intense and complete profoundness said, “I do.”

Turning to Catherine, Father Callahan repeated the same litany. “Do you Catherine Callahan Fitzgerald…”

“Fitzgerald?” John’s eyebrow furrowed at the addition of her surname.

She winced and her uncle raced on with the vows.

“…take John Daniel Rourke to be your husband. To promise to be true to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love, honor and…” Father Callahan paused, “obey,” he emphasized, “until death do you part?”

She had read somewhere of the last walk which condemned prisoners are supposed to walk, as they march from their cells to the place of execution. Doom filled the very core of her being.
No. No. No.

“I’ve just returned from New York City. I am puzzled by your brother’s disappearance…I’m thinking of your safety.”

Francis Mallory.
Her uncle pierced her with the looming threat. Of course, he would hold that over her head. He felt she would be safe married to the general. Yes…and she should have thought of that, also, to not be forced into an arranged marriage by Mallory. It wasn’t like she disliked John. Didn’t she like his kisses and the way he held her in his arms?

There was a long pause in silence until John infuriated, pinched her arm.

“I do,” she squeaked.

“Done. By the angels in heaven, my sister is smiling down on me now.” Father Callahan slapped his book closed, paused to shake hands and congratulate them both. “I have some business to do, so I’ll be leaving now, and let you two youngsters get acquainted.”

Catherine colored from the innuendo. But it was the rapid departure of her uncle that caused panic to erupt. “You can’t leave.”

“But I must. I have a christening to perform. Lovely family.” He looked to John. “The O’Shaunesseys, God Bless them—their eighteenth child.”

“Their eighteenth child,” she shrieked. “The father should be taken out and shot.”

“A man after my own heart.” John laughed.

Catherine shot daggers at him.

She followed her uncle out of the house and onto the porch. He gave her a fatherly kiss good-bye. “Trust in God. He has a special plan for you.” To John, he held out his hand and said, “As a man of God, I have a clear idea of all manner of mankind—welcome to the family.”

Catherine watched her uncle disappear down the road. Melancholy filled her soul. He was getting older. “He’s all I have left now.” She whispered more to herself than to John.

“You have a husband now.” He stood behind her, his shadow engulfing hers.

“You don’t have to stay married to me,” she said, stunned by what had occurred. Stooping, she picked up her spectacles from where they had fallen the night before and placed them on her nose. We could seek higher authority on an annulment in this situation.”

“Situation?” A vein pulsed in his neck.

“I did not ask for you to be thrown at my doorstep. To think my reward for sparing your life will be married to a rebel General. The irony of it, I’m only beginning to understand. I’d be more fortunate possessing the waxed wings of Icarus and flying into the sun.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “This rebel is now your husband…one you will honor. And obey. Unless a favored Yankee bullet finds my heart, we will be wed until death do us part. But until fortune smiles adversely upon me, you are, by all rights, my wife. Your compliance, your duties, your submission will be in accordance with this role.”

“Honor? You don’t even know what the word means. “Obey? I’ll never acquiesce to that term. Should I genuflect as you pass, General? Do I kneel on rice and pay homage?”

He folded his arms in front of him. “As Mrs. John Daniel Rourke, you will honor the name in the strictest sense. Do I make myself clear?”

“Your hubris, General Rourke—” she took an abrupt step toward him “…will be your downfall, for you underestimate me. You may ponder your successes with your Southern uprising, but with me it will be a very different matter. I will, as my solemn oath, violate every rule you put before me, resist every command, and create disorder in every decision. I am one Yankee you will regret challenging. I will rebel, subvert, and create chaos and bedlam until you are deranged. You could have all the armies of the world, except I will turn your miserable life upside-down. Do I make myself clear?” She jumped when he reached out and removed her spectacles and peered through them.

“Glass. Plain glass. You don’t need these at all. What are you afraid of? And suppose you tell me how you neglected to mention the name Fitzgerald?” He turned on his heel and moved to the end of the porch.

She dragged her palms over her skirts. To come up with a suitable answer? To inform him he married the heir to Fitzgerald Rifle Works? How did she explain the glasses were a disguise to hide from Mallory?

“Since I live alone, I feel more comfortable…” Perspiration trickled down her back. Her gown grew scratchy as if it were wool chafing her skin instead of soft cotton. She hated lying as much as she hated the war. Her illogical heart crossed swords with her logical brain.
Stay the course,
her brain warned. “Where are you going?”

John whipped her spectacles first low then high, flinging them with the graceful arc of a discus thrower. “I’m throwing rocks at a hornet’s nest.” Her glasses vanished into the infinite rising boughs of oak, caught somewhere in its iron chord branches just this side of the sky.

“Why in the world did you do that? You spawn of Satan. You stinking pile of codpieces.” On and on she went, raining down every major curse that came into her mind. Gone was the well-bred, proper young lady and in her place was a snappish, coarsely spoken version of a butcher’s wife.

She was mad as a cut badger. She was lovely. His mind raced with the folly of their dilemma. There were many points of contention. They didn’t know each other at all. Compared to the disaster of his first marriage and with other women of the South, she was an innocent and a rare jewel. They were oceans apart in political viewpoints. They had a war between them, and they were somehow going to have to solidify that division. They had nothing in common. She had a way, which exasperatingly enough, could rile his normally cool state of mind and snap his temper like kindling on fire. Yet, he needed a woman who could challenge him.