“If you are the same person I spoke to before about it being acceptable to have dinner with this British man, I certainly think it’s acceptable for you to use the money for food during these terrible times. Plus—he hesitated—you must get the proper nourishment, no matter where it comes from. After all you’re eating for two people now. And if he asks you to dinner again, say ‘yes’ for under the circumstances John O’Brien would understand, I’m sure.”
She was taken aback. He knew who she was.
“Many people think men are ignorant of such things and that beautiful slight lump on your stomach shows God is giving a gift to you. And remember—all of this conversation is being spoken in the sanctity and secrecy of the confessional.”
“Oh, Father, I’m so relieved I’m not in mortal sin. I always feel so much better when I talk to you, whether it’s in or out of the confessional.”
“For your penance, say five Hail Marys.”
“Thank you so much, Father.”
She left the confessional. Father Boyle sat there quite a time thinking, remembering ... if only she knew that she was his daughter.
But that could never be.
When Father Boyle was ordained years back, he was assigned to Bard Academy near Limerick. He taught English there—Keats, Shelley, Byron, Milton, Shakespeare and many others, as well as composition. The students loved him for his kind and gentle manner, his understanding of their sins when they confessed them. It was largely due to his presence there that the school enrollment blossomed, and during his fifth year, there were eighty more students enrolled than when he began. He had also started a sports program of baseball, basketball, and soccer. He refused to begin a football team because he felt it was too violent a sport. And, contrary to what he expected, the students seemed to respect him for it.
Then, suddenly, after five wonderful years, one day Monsignor Fitzpatrick, a kindly man with a face like crinkled parchment, called him to his office. He said he was needed elsewhere, in a town that was losing parishioners and needed as he put it in the letter Monsignor showed him, “a shot in the arm.” Its enrollments in the Catholic school were down and so were the parishioners who attended Mass. The name of the town was Monaghan. Part of a priest’s obligations as he accepted membership in the priesthood was to go wherever God and his superior sent him where he could best serve Him on earth.
Father Boyle swallowed hard.
“I never expected this change in assignment in a million years. I’ve been so happy here.”
“And I must say you’ve worked wonders in the parish. But we must remember our happiness does not come first. It is what God wills for us.”
“Of course.”
“You will finish out the next two weeks that end the semester and leave a few days afterwards. I must say I will miss you personally. You have been a credit to Bard.”
“Thank you monsignor. And I must say I feel the same way.”
They shook hands and parted. Father Boyle did not sleep that night wondering what this strange place, Monaghan, must be like and the huge job ahead of him.
He did not realize that he would have an experience there that would change his life until the day he died.
As it turned out, Monaghan was a rather lovely place. It was the end of spring when he arrived and the grass was as green as emeralds, with yellow daffodils popping up here and there. He was nervous giving his first sermon and prayed to God to see him through. The congregation seemed pleased with it and he heard many congratulations after Mass when he greeted the parishioners outside, shaking hands with them. They seemed a lovely group of people and very welcoming. One woman with long, auburn hair, tied back, and a large straw hat, approached him with her son. They shook hands of greeting, but when she touched his hand a strange feeling of warmth surged through him and he sensed she felt it too.
“I’m Kathleen O’Brien and this is my son, Patrick. I must say I thought your sermon was wonderful. I liked the idea of faith, that all will work out in the end if we have faith in God. No matter what the circumstances, we have control of our world, where God lives, with his eternal reassurance giving us inner peace.” She paused, then said, “I needed to hear that. and I thank you. I’m looking forward to hearing your future sermons.”
Something within him said “danger” when she spoke, but it passed.
Yet, each time Sunday came he looked forward to seeing her. A few months later, she invited him for tea and cake. He saw that their cottage was very small and couldn’t imagine how they could get by in such small space. It was decorated with lovely lace curtains that brightened the room a great deal and a bunch of daffodils was on the table. He noticed a cot, which must be where their son slept.
Her husband stood next to her.
“Liam, I’d like you to meet Father Boyle, the new priest in our parish.”
They shook hands but he did not speak.
The conversation was basically light and airy. He talked about his last assignment and how much he had enjoyed it. He found himself staring at her more and more, her lovely auburn hair tinged with gray fell beneath her shoulders, and her green/gray eyes showed an alertness in her. She was truly listening to his every word.
“Do you think there’s a chance we can start a baseball team, father?”
“Why, that’s a splendid idea. We had one at Bard and I was the coach, for better or for worse.”
They smiled, except for Liam who hadn’t said a word the whole time but was very happy to help himself to a second piece of chocolate cake.
As the afternoon ended, he realized he had to prepare for evening Mass.
Kathleen led him to the door.
“I’m sorry about my husband, Father. He isn’t a believer, you see. He rarely comes to church.””
She took his hand in hers. He felt as though a flame was permeating his body and he sensed she felt the same way.
“I must tell you something. I thought perhaps it would wear away as the months have passed, but it’s become worse. It’s one of the most terrible of sins because you’re a priest, but I’m in love with you, she whispered. I think it was the moment I saw you. It’s awful, I know.”
“I—can’t respond to that.”
“I understand. Of course. But I had to tell you. I had to. It’s been on my mind for months.”
How he longed to tell her he felt the same way and thought he would die unless he could hold her in his arms, kiss her, love her.
Instead, he said, “Thank you so much for the tea and cake. And a lovely afternoon.”
And then he walked through the door, and was gone.
They fought their feelings for months and after Mass she left immediately to return home without speaking to him. Yet, they both knew that, as much as they tried to ignore their feelings, they would eventually have a sexual relationship. He was excited yet terrified by the thought of it for, of course, he was a virgin and knew little to nothing about how to satisfy a woman. Why, he had never even masturbated in his life, for it was a mortal sin. And here he was—a priest—in love.
Kathleen knew it was inevitable that some day they would have a sexual relationship. One day when his housekeeper was off, she went to the rectory for she knew he desired her as much as she him.
He opened the door, let her in, closed it. He immediately took her in his arms and felt a hunger for her he had never known could exist. They undressed in his room and made love. She tried to calm down his nervousness. The moment he was inside her she knew she had succeeded and they both had a glorious orgasm. They had waited so long, fighting this inevitable moment. Father Boyle seemed somewhat dazed after the act, for he never dreamed such overwhelming pleasure could exist.
They lay on the bed, spent.
Their guilt immediately set in.
“This must never happen again,” he said.
But it did for a few months.
Father Boyle went back to Bard for confession, to Monsignor Fitzpatrick. The monsignor made him vow it would never happen again, and he must never be alone with her as well. He said he would keep that promise. For his Penance, he was to say the Rosary.
Kathleen went to the priest at Mount Carmel Church, vowing to him it would not happen again. Her Penance was also to say the full Rosary. She was forgiven and was overjoyed that now she could again receive Holy Communion.
The next time they met was in the church where the nun was arranging flowers on the altar, and that was in keeping with Monsignor Fitzpatrick’s saying they must never meet alone again.
“We must end this relationship,” he began. “It is one of the greatest sins a priest can commit before God and I can’t live with the guilt from that any longer, though, God forgive me, I’ll always love you.”
She stood up from the pew.
“You’re right, of course. But God forgive me, I’ll love you until I die.”
And then she left without turning back.
A few months later, Father Boyle heard a knock at the door.
He opened it and saw Kathleen.
“A nun is arranging flowers for Mass at the church. We won’t be alone. Will you meet me there in a few minutes. I would not bother you, believe me, but this is extremely important. It won’t take long, five minutes.”
He did as she asked.
Kathleen never tired of admiring the beauty of the church. She studied the stained glass windows of Saint Boniface, Saint Jude, Saint Theresa and the Blessed Mother, two on each side of the church. The sun was peeping through the windows and their magnificent colors seeped through the church onto them as well as some of the pews. The altar was covered with a hand-crocheted linen covering and above all was the gold sculpture of the crucified Jesus looking down on the pews. To her right were the votive candles lighted by various parishioners in memory of those who had died, who were sick, or for their own desires.
Father Thomas entered the church quickly and quietly, noticing Sister Boniface placing and arranging lilies below the statue of the Virgin Mary which stood to the front right side of the church, her vestments painted the color of the blue of the sky.
He sat down quickly as though fearful to be seen.
“Thank you for coming. I must tell you some news which I’m not sure will make you happy or sad. I’m going to have your child.”
His face drained of all color.
“I’m thrilled about it. I’m three months or so along. I went to Doctor Beel yesterday. Of course, he assumes it’s Liam’s. But it can’t be. I haven’t had relations with Liam for months and months, since he went into the strange daze since the famine began. I’ve been wearing smocks like the one I have on now to hide any notice I might be pregnant but at three months not much shows. I am disgusted that I will have to have relations with him—and very soon—so that he and everyone else thinks the child is his. I hate the thought of it, but I must do it. After that I’ll not have relationships with him again. I couldn’t stand it after being with you.”
“I-I don’t know what to say.”
“Please say you’re happy about it. Please. No one will ever know except the two of us. I promise.”
He stood up.
“I need time to think about this.”
“Of course. I’ll wait a minute or two after you leave I’ll speak to Sister Boniface a few minutes.”
He kneeled at the altar from his pew.
“Goodbye, Katherine. I miss you every day.”
And then he left.
Katherine approached Sister Boniface.
“The arrangement of flowers looks lovely, Sister. You always do a wonderful job.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to know they’re appreciated.”
“I know they are. Well, I’d better be going. Perhaps I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Hopefully,” she said, her face beaming with love at the task she performed.
That night, and two or three nights afterward, she had sex with Liam. He looked completely surprised when she approached him and he could tell she was in a lovemaking mood. She went through the motions, feeling nothing, but making sounds that gave him the impression she felt enjoyment. Each time it was over, she thanked God in her heart she was successful at deceiving him and hoped He knew she did it for a just cause.
Dr. Beel delivered the baby eight months later. Fortunately, she had a tuft of auburn hair and vivid green/gray eyes, features exactly like Katherine’s.
Katherine named her Tara.
Father Boyle wondered why he was reminiscing about years and years ago and his conversation with Katherine in the church. So much had been happening in the present he needed the strength to endure. He had organized a group of Catholic priests and doctors whose courage during this horrible time of the famine was beyond praise. Unfortunately, deaths of the Catholic priests was common. At the coast where there was less population or chance to get food two out of three doctors who came to give aid died. Seven people died in Cavan, twelve in Connemara, four in Clifden and Galway. Forty eight died in Munster because of the fever.
The main epidemic in 1847 was typhus and relapsing fever. Dysentery was also occurring in Ireland during the famine, somewhat because the people were eating old cabbage leaves, raw turnips, and Indian meal, half cooked or raw. In Skull, dysentery was overwhelming. The people had severe abdominal pains and the food they passed was pure blood and mucus, the ground marked with clots of blood.
Scurvy was also present from lack of Vitamin C. It had been unknown in Ireland because of all the potatoes eaten, but when they rotted, it began. Gums became spongy, teeth fell out, joints became enlarged and caused tremendous suffering; legs turned black up to the middle of the thigh.
By the spring of 1847 starvation had so affected the people they became like walking skeletons. The bones of their frames were covered by something which was skin but looked more like parchment, hanging in folds. Eyes had sunk back into their head, their shoulder bones were so high that the neck seemed to have sunk into the chest, faces and neck looked like skulls. Seeing the children in these terrible conditions was worst of all. They looked like little old men and women of eighty years of age.
A curious phenomenon was the growth of hair on starving children’s faces. The hair on the head fell out and grew on their faces instead. Children in County Clare had hair on their heads only in patches, but over their foreheads and temples a thick sort of downy hair grew. Sometimes the hair on their faces was as long as on their heads. No one could figure this out.
The situation was going from bad to worse. A fever epidemic hit and raged through many parts of Ireland. Alarming reports came in from all parts of Ireland. The lack of hospital accommodations for these people was disastrous. The workhouses were overcrowded and the workhouse hospitals were far too small to deal with the numbers. Almost every person was dealing with some complaint, diarrhea, extreme exhaustion, or the first stages of fever. The Central Board of Health sent doctors to inspect and report on the state of the workhouses in Cork, Bantry and Lurgan. The report was horrifying. In Cork, the state of those admitted was wretched. Many were in a dying state, and death was taking place every hour. Similar situations existed in Bantry and Lurgan.
Father Boyle received a note from John McGuire and immediately brought it to Tara. He would meet her at Father Boyle’s house next Wednesday when he would be in the area. The sounds on the clock seemed eternal as she waited for the day of his arrival. Father Boyle let her in that Wednesday evening. He never ceased to look at her in amazement; she looked so much like Kathleen. When Tara saw John standing in front of her, she ran to him, clenched her arms around him, and burst into tears.
“Well, that’s a hell of a greeting,” he smiled.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“It’s just that I’m so happy to see
you. It’s been a while.”
“We’ll be attacking the “King John” in Ulster Harbor next Wednesday night and this is as close as I could get to you for now. Then we’ll ride down to the Limerick area to distribute some food.”
“I trust you two will have a lot of catching up to do so I’ll go to my room,” Father Boyle said. “Later I’ll make some tea and we have those cakes you were kind enough to bring with you for me.”
“I have a lot to talk to you about, Tara. I don’t know if you’ll like it or not.”
They sat on the sofa, holding hands.
“I’ve made a decision. In a few months or so spring will be here, and I have a good feeling about the potato crop. A lot of the older men have told me they’ve lived through famines, this being the longest they can remember, and surely, come spring, the potato crop will come back,”
“Strange you should say that because da feels the same way.”
“And if that happens, I won’t be needed anymore.” He sighed heavily. “And truth told, I’ll be so glad of it not only because the potatoes will be back but because I’m exhausted, and so are my men for that matter.”
Tara clapped her hands.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time1 You’ve saved the lives of hundreds of Irish by raiding those British ships. No one would disagree you’ve done more than your share.””
“I’ll be thirty five next Tuesday. It’s time for me to settle down, have a cottage of my own, and a plot of land to grow potatoes, vegetables, and have some animals.”
‘We’ll have some pigs and sheep and cows. And, of course, some horses,” she said, happiness gleaming in her eyes.
“You know—” he hesitated, “we never talked about it but I hope you want children.”
“Of course I do.”
This was her chance to tell him she was going to have a child but she felt the time was not right. All his thinking must be focused on obtaining food for the Irish and not worrying about her and the baby.
He sighed.
“Since we never talked about it before I wasn’t sure you’d want them.”
An Irish Girl Page 10