by Charles Todd
He shot me a glance that I couldn’t read, and then he said, “You have heard what my cousin’s wishes are.”
“There’s no groom,” someone from the pub said.
“We have every hope that he will be here by noon,” I said. Glancing at my little watch, pinned to my dress now, not my apron, I saw that it was already nearly ten. There wasn’t much time left . . .
“You heard the lady,” Terrence said. “What my cousin wants, she shall have.”
And he turned away, as if finished.
The ladies from the church moved off, whispering among themselves, and the people from the pub began to pull covered dishes from the cart they’d brought with them.
I started for the door, following Terrence.
And glanced up to see Granny at her window.
If looks could kill, I’d have been struck dead on the spot.
Chapter Nine
It was a close-run thing.
By the time I had hurried down to the church to approve the arrangements there, and rushed back to look again at the festive tables on the back lawn, it was nearly eleven-thirty.
I ran up the steps, bathed as quickly as I could, and began to dress. Eileen had told me long ago what it was she wanted me to wear, and my mother, bless her, had had it made up for me. It was rather pretty, with lace at the throat and wrists, and inset in a square at the bosom, with tiny sprigs of white flowers tied in white ribbons embroidered all over the skirt. The pale green of their leaves offered the only color, except for a matching pale green ribbon around the hem. My hair was piled on top of my head, with white and green ribbons entwined in it.
I nearly failed to pin it up properly!
Eileen had already gone down, wanting to see the tables herself. They had white linen tablecloths, with bunches of silk flowers looped together with green ribbons and white china with pale green napkins.
She was calling to me as I put finishing touches to my rebellious hair, and I hurried down to meet her.
She was lovely, her hair beautifully put up and covered by a long white veil, her gown of French silk with Belgian lace. I had never seen her so elegant.
We smiled at each other, and then Terrence came out of the front room, followed by the Major. Both wore dress clothes, and while the Major carried off his as a man accustomed to evening clothes, Terrence looked absolutely rakish, more like someone about to run off with the bride than to give her away.
He saw my expression, and scowled at me.
Behind him, the Major quickly suppressed a smile.
Mrs. Flynn came down the stairs just then, dressed in stylish black silk and lace, still in mourning.
Granny was nowhere in sight.
Terrence stepped forward, said something to Eileen that made her smile—it was a watery one, but a smile nonetheless—then took her arm and led her out the door.
I was surprised to find an ancient carriage, polished within an inch of its life and pulled by matched black horses, waiting for the ladies. I learned later that they had been borrowed from the undertaker in the next town, since the family’s were bay and brown. I recognized the carriage from the barn, polished handsomely and decorated with flowers.
The three of us were handed in, while Terrence and the Major followed behind us on foot.
It must have been quite a handsome procession toward the church.
All that was missing was the groom.
When we reached the church, I could see people waiting. Many of them were villagers, come to watch, while others were friends and neighbors who were invited. There were more than I’d expected—some twenty or thirty of them—and all dressed for the occasion.
The guests filed into the church, and I could hear the organ playing from where we sat. Father O’Halloran was waiting by the church door, speaking to the guests as they passed him, then he turned toward us.
I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t seen Niall—
The coachman spoke to the horses, and they brought the carriage closer to the church door. Terrence was there to give the bride a hand down, while the Major came forward to assist first Mrs. Flynn and then me.
I could hear the murmurs and comments as the onlookers saw our dresses, and then we were stepping into the cool, dim interior of the church. Candles gleamed from tall stands and greenery mixed with white lace and ribbons decorated the ends of pews where the guests had been seated.
The organ was playing music that Eileen and Michael must have chosen, and then Eileen moved a little on Terrence’s arm. As she did, I could see the front of the church, where Major Dawson now stood alone, except for the priest. I realized he must have left us and gone around to the outer aisles to find his place. He had on his parade face, completely blank of expression.
Eileen stood there, waiting for the music to change, and the guests had all turned our way.
She was already holding a pretty bouquet, and now someone handed one to Mrs. Flynn, and to me. I realized that Niall was there to walk Eileen’s mother down the aisle to her seat. Her face white and set, she took his arm and they proceeded to the front of the church, where she took her place.
Niall said something to her and then walked over to stand beside the Major.
The organist kept playing the chosen selections, but he hadn’t begun the music for me to walk ahead of Eileen down the aisle. Indeed, she stood there, just behind me, and I couldn’t see her expression.
Terrence’s arm tightened, bringing her arm closer to his side, and he spoke to her, but I couldn’t hear. Her chin went up.
And then the organ music changed, as if someone had given the signal, and Terrence said softly, “Go on.”
I moved ahead of Eileen and began my slow walk down the aisle. The smile on my face felt pasted there, but I kept my eyes on the Major, never looking to one side or the other.
I could sense that Eileen was now coming down behind me, because I saw the priest’s eyes shift toward something behind me.
I reached the three men standing there, and stepped to one side, as I was supposed to do. When I could look back, I saw that Eileen’s veil had been pulled down over her face, as was proper, but it also made it impossible for anyone to read her expression.
She reached the priest, just as I had done, and stopped. I could see how white her fingers were, clenched on Terrence’s arm. He looked like a man facing the hangman.
He glanced up, his gaze moving toward me, and I could read the anger that was boiling up in him.
The organ finally fell silent.
We stood there like figures in a tableau, not moving, and the church was silent too.
How long that continued, I didn’t know. And then I heard the ripple of sound spreading through the gathered guests.
It was a gasp, and I looked quickly toward Terrence, thinking that they must surely have begun to understand that no matter how much Eileen had wanted Michael to be there for his wedding, he wasn’t coming.
I felt such a wave of sympathy for her, for the courage that had brought her this far, and I wanted to shout at someone, tell whoever it was who held Michael Sullivan what I thought of them.
And then the nature of the gasps reached me. People were looking toward the pulpit, an ornate affair just behind the Major and Niall.
I quickly glanced that way, thinking that Granny had decided to come after all, and make a scene. It would be just like her!
But out of the shadows of the pulpit came a shambling figure, his clothes torn, bloody, his face a mask of dried blood and perspiration.
I knew at once that this must be Michael.
He was moving like someone in a daze.
The Major had seen my reaction, and he wheeled to look behind him. Taking in the situation with a swiftness that came of long experience in dangerous situations, he rushed forward and took Michael’s outstretched hand.
Eileen had seen him now too, and with a cry she started forward, but Terrence kept his grip on her arm, stopping her.
“Let me go,” she cried, s
truggling against his hold. Niall had stepped out of the way as Ellis Dawson gently led the bloody scarecrow that was Michael Sullivan toward the priest, almost holding him up on his feet, his arm supporting the injured man, heedless of his clothes.
Eileen stopped struggling, turning toward Father O’Halloran. “Marry us,” she whispered fiercely, her voice almost a hiss.
“The Mass—” he began, but she repeated her demand, louder now.
Terrence moved slightly, then was still.
The Major had brought Michael forward, and he looked worse in the light filtering through the church windows. I could see that a good deal of the blood was fresh as well as dried, and his eyes were glazed, as if he had forced himself this far by will alone.
The Major was supporting him as Michael looked up at the priest. Something in the man’s face reached the priest, for after a momentary hesitation, he began the service of marriage.
I heard him ask who giveth this woman, and Terrence answered, but didn’t step back to sit down, as was usual. Instead he was holding on to Eileen, who had reached out to take Michael’s bloody hand, making him wince from her touch.
She looked on the point of collapse herself.
The ceremony continued, with more haste than solemnity.
The church was hushed when Father O’Halloran asked if there was any impediment to this marriage. I could almost hear my own heart thudding in the stillness.
What would happen if the elder Mrs. Flynn spoke now?
But there was only silence. I hadn’t realized until then how I was holding my breath.
Major Dawson fumbled in his pocket and brought out the ring for Eileen’s finger.
Close as I was, I could barely hear Michael’s responses, but I did hear the Major’s as he whispered to the broken man beside him.
And then it was over. They were pronounced husband and wife.
Eileen’s veil still covered her face. She reached out with one hand and began to lift it.
And Michael Sullivan quietly sank to his knees and then fell forward in spite of the Major’s grip, until he was sprawled untidily at Father O’Halloran’s feet.
With a cry of despair, Eileen broke free from Terrence’s hold and threw herself across the body of the man lying so still I was sure he was dead.
Chapter Ten
Half the church was on its feet, everyone talking at once.
I was already on my knees, trying to reach around Eileen to find a pulse, as Michael didn’t move. I couldn’t even be certain he was breathing.
Beside me, Terrence and the Major were also kneeling, trying to persuade Eileen to let me examine Michael.
Precious minutes passed as she refused to let him go, weeping as if her heart would break.
At the edge of my vision, Mrs. Flynn, her face white as the white ribbons on the pew beside her, was weeping.
I looked around, found Niall, and said sharply, “Comfort your aunt.”
He seemed as stunned as anyone else, but after a second or two he seemed to hear me, and nodded.
By that time Terrence had pulled Eileen aside, holding her in his arms and telling her over and over again that she must let me tend to Michael.
The Major, his expression grim, was trying to turn him over.
Reaching out, I managed to find his wrist. His pulse was slow and erratic.
“We must get him to the house, where he can be looked after,” I said quietly. “Otherwise I can’t be sure he’ll make it.”
The Major struggled to gather Michael in his arms and lift him. Terrence saw what he was about, and came quickly to help.
Mrs. Flynn reached out to Eileen and gathered her into her arms, just as Terrence had done.
There was no sign of the priest, and half the guests had already left the church, while the rest were collected just beyond Mrs. Flynn, staring at the wedding party.
No one else came forward to help, but I rose and began to make a path through the onlookers as the Major and Terrence carried the inert body of Eileen’s husband up the aisle and out the door to the waiting carriage.
Eileen broke away from her mother, and followed them. I left Niall to collect Mrs. Flynn and kept going, summoning the carriage to come closer, for it had moved away, expecting the Mass to go on for some time.
The two men got Michael into the carriage, and then turned to let Eileen and then me step in beside him.
Terrence leaped to the empty place behind the coachman, and whatever he’d said to the man, the horses were turned and then urged into as swift a pace as possible given the state of the lane.
And then we were in front of the house, and Terrence was leaping down to help us.
There was blood all over Eileen’s white gown, and I realized I too was covered in it.
There was no hope of getting Michael up the stairs to Eileen’s room. The Major had arrived on the run, and between them the two men got Michael into the house and through the door into the front room, lowering him to the carpet. The two women who had come to help serve the wedding breakfast stood in the kitchen doorway, their expressions shocked. I looked up at them.
“Bedding. Towels. Hot water. Hurry!”
Terrence had already gone up for Eileen’s kit, while she sank to the floor beside Michael and held his hand between both of hers. She wasn’t crying now, but I was afraid she might faint from the shock and stress.
Major Dawson came back with a basin of water and some cloths from the kitchen, and I began to clean Michael’s face. It was so bruised and battered that I could hardly tell what he actually looked like. His eyes were puffy, nearly shut, his lip was split and swollen, there were cuts across his nose and cheeks, and one ear was bleeding.
I couldn’t remember seeing anyone beaten this savagely since I’d left my training in the London hospital. He very likely had a concussion.
I began to feel his limbs, and while they were bruised and cut, I didn’t think they were broken. But it was impossible to judge internal injuries.
He had been unconscious since we’d got him into the carriage, but as I began to feel his chest, he groaned in pain.
Not a good sign, and his breathing was ragged.
I turned to the Major as the two women brought bedding down and began to make up a pallet on the floor. “See if you can put the kettle on. I’d like strong, sweet tea in something other than a cup—a bottle? And if there is a hot water bottle, fill that too.”
Eileen, her own training finally coming to the fore, was reaching for a blanket and a pillow, cushioning Michael’s head and covering him against shock.
The Major did as he was asked, and I was very grateful for his support. Terrence was looking for bandages and ointments, and then Mrs. Flynn was there, an apron over her dress, cutting away what was left of Michael’s shirt.
Terrence said quietly in my ear, “Will he live?”
“I don’t know. But we must keep him quiet. Can you lift him to that pallet?”
Terrence and the Major managed it quite efficiently, and the injured man was quickly made as warm and comfortable as possible.
I managed with Eileen’s help and a spoon to get some of the tea between his lips, and he swallowed reflexively. That done, I began to deal with the worst of his cuts, and Eileen worked beside me.
Busy with what needed to be done, I hadn’t heard the elder Mrs. Flynn come down the stairs and enter the front room.
When she spoke, I realized that she was standing over us as we worked, Eileen and I. “He looks to be at death’s door. It’s for the best, of course. Not much of a wedding night.”
I felt Eileen stiffen beside me. “Get out. He’s my husband now, and you’ll keep a guard on your tongue.”
The tone of her voice matched her grandmother’s perfectly, the same contempt, the same cold, harsh, callousness. But under it was a seething anger.
Shocked, Mrs. Flynn took a step backward. I don’t know that anyone had ever spoken to her like that. And then she turned and went out of the room. In the silence
, we could hear Michael’s rough breathing and Granny’s footsteps on the stairs.
It was indeed a long night. We kept Michael warm, saw to it that he drank as much tea or water as he could, then added warm milk to that just before dawn.
I’d taken a few minutes to go up and change, insisting that Eileen come with me. She refused at first, short with me for even suggesting it. But then she rose and followed me. We were both better off with practical clothing, since we intended to sit up with the patient. What’s more, Terrence stayed with us until around midnight, and then he left, his face grim. Major Dawson changed as well, then sat with us, ready to run any errand we might need.
Someone—I thought it was Niall—brought us sandwiches several times, with wine from the untouched wedding feast. I remembered eating but couldn’t have said what it was I’d swallowed.
Eileen’s mother had gone up around nine in the evening, clearly exhausted. I took one of the extra blankets and sat in one of the chairs, finally drifting into a light sleep around ten o’clock, but still attuned to my patient.
Michael had not spoken, although I thought he drifted in and out of consciousness as he lay there on the made-up bed. At one point, Eileen lay down beside him, speaking to him in whispers, and I think he knew somehow that she was there because he seemed quieter with her by his side.
I heard the Captain’s aircraft fly over just after midnight, and came awake with a start when I realized I hadn’t put out my handkerchief a second night in a row.
But there was nothing I could do about that now.
By morning Michael was no better, but no worse.
Where he’d been—who had beaten him so severely—and how he’d got back to the church were questions on everyone’s minds. But there was no possibility of questioning him. For one thing he simply stared at us when we spoke, as if he heard us but didn’t quite understand what we were asking him. For another, Eileen had become a fierce guard, warning us not to tire him or press him too hard.