Wild Irish Rose

by Jeanie P Johnson

  I rush back upstairs and push through the door of Jason’s room. He seems to be sleeping and I collapse on the bed beside him, laying my head next to his. “Please don’t let Jason die,” I hear myself murmuring in a sort of prayer.

  I feel a hand reach up and touch my face. “And leave his beautiful wife a widow for the second time?” his whisper touches my ear. “Never.” Then his hand slides from my face and I take in my breath in fear, until I see that he is breathing slowly, and I let my head rest again.

  I wake up to Jason groaning. He is tossing his head back and forth, calling for water, and I jump up and go pour him water from the picture on the nightstand. I hold the cup to his lips and he calms, as he drinks it. “Rose, my Rose,” he whispers. “Don’t leave me, Rose.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” I assure him. “Go to sleep and rest. I will be right here.”

  “Lay back beside me,” he begs, and I climb back up on the bed and lay down by him. As soon as I do, he grabs my hand and holds onto it, like he is afraid I am going to leave him, the moment I can make an escape. But soon, his grip on my hand loosens, and he starts to breath heavily as though it hurts to breath. I lay and listen to him dragging air into his lungs and then pushing it out again. The rhythm of it sooths me though, because I know as long as I can hear him breathing, I will know he is alive.

  As I lay beside him, I realize he had almost given his life for the cause. Maybe more of Jamie is in him than the Jason I know, I think, and I snuggle closer to him, listening to him breath. I am suddenly exhausted. It occurs to me that the Fenian movement is over. There is no more uprising to support. Life is going to go back to the way it was before the Fenians decided to take over Dublin. The thought of it makes my life feel suddenly empty.

  I realize I can never forgive Jason for what he did to me, using me as both Jason and Jamie. Confusing me and making me believe that I loved Jamie, and then Jamie pushing me back to Jason, so he would be assured that when the movement was over, I would remain his wife, because I am the woman he claims to have loved since he helped me plant potatoes. I still do not know if he sent Ferrell out on purpose to deliver the papers, in order to secure his chances of having me eventually, or if he had been sincere in helping advance the cause?

  He was working with the English. Was that to discover what the Fenians were up against, or was it to assure that the Fenians never accomplished anything? It could have been easy for him to drop a hint in order to have Ferrell apprehended. T hen the girl he helped plant potatoes would be free to marry again.

  The policeman had said that someone in Liverpool gave away the Fenian’s plans. Had Jason done that when we were in England, I wonder? There were too many questions to be answered, and I doubt that Jason would ever tell me the real truth. He was so determined to keep me out of it all together, not only as my husband, Jason, but also as my lover, Jamie. And yet he went with the group and risked his life to do it. I am totally puzzled.

  I look at Jason’s face through my half closed eyes, as I lay beside him watching him breath. I can tell he is in pain, and while my heart goes out to him, my mistrust of him will not let me give in to the natural need to be there for my husband. I think about the child I am carrying, which Jason knows nothing about. All that time married to Ferrell and no children to show for it, and here within a few months I am carrying Jason’s child. I vow to keep my secret for as long as I can, until I can decide what to do.

  I decide to wait until Jason recovers before I will settle on anything, I tell myself. There is no place to go anyway, and for now, Jason needs me. Finally my exhaustion takes over me and I close my eyes completely and try to escape into the world of dreams. Dreams seem so real while you dream them, and yet when you wake you discover they are only an illusion. My life is an Illusion, I am thinking. I don’t know what is real and what is not real. I don’t know if I should love Jason or hate him.

  My eyes flash open, and I see Jason laying beside me, staring at me. He seems a little stronger, and I stir, but he reaches out his hand and stops me. “Don’t move,” he whispers. “There is a certain look to your face I don’t want you to change.”

  “We have been laying here all day,” I murmur. “How are you feeling?”

  “Stiff,” he grimaces. He reaches up and touches his shoulder where I have wrapped it.

  “Are you hungry? I should get you some broth or something,” I insist, lifting up on my elbow.

  “Why did you come?” he says quietly. “I told you…”

  “For the same reason you went,” I answer. “No one could have stopped you, regardless of the reason you went.”

  “I went to further the cause. I am Irish, after all, even though you like to think otherwise. If I don’t talk with an Irish accent like Jamie, you have no faith in me,” he accuses.

  “You are part English. As much English as Irish,” I return.

  “Which I felt could help me to have a better grasp of what the English would do to try and stop us. We didn’t want a war. We just wanted our land back,” he stresses.

  “But you are one of the dreaded land owners,” I remind him.

  “Under the rule of the English. Even so, I was willing to help one of my farmers plant potatoes,” he smiles. “Do not think me so dreaded, just because I own the land,” he adds.

  “Why did you send Ferrell and my Da out with the papers?” I ask suddenly.

  “I swear, I did not know he was your husband. He and your friend Randy volunteered to take the papers at one of the meetings. We don’t turn down volunteers. It wasn’t until he went to trial, and I saw you there, that I knew. I felt responsible for what happened to your husband and father. That is why I took you to the manor. It was my fault you were left destitute. I wanted to help you pull yourself up from that lowly position of a farmer’s wife. At first I thought I wanted to help you get married to someone of worth. But I realized, I was only fooling myself. I wanted you. I had always wanted you. I thought maybe in time…but if you knew I was the one who sent Ferrell out, you would have nothing to do with me. I couldn’t tell you my part in the uprising.

  “I was trying to protect you from yourself, Rose. If I couldn’t stop you as your guardian, I would have to try and stop you as Jamie, someone you apparently admired, for all the reasons you could not admire me.”

  “You used me,” I say quietly. “You used me both as my guardian, my lover, and then my husband. I don’t know who you are, Jason. I don’t think I ever will.”

  “I am your husband, Rose. That is who I am. I love you. I have always loved you. Don’t shun me, not after everything we have been through.”

  “That is just it, Jason. Everything I have been through, is the very reason I do shun you. I can’t trust you. You are two different men to me. The one I thought I loved, died in the uprising, and the other forced me to marry him.” I get up from the bed. “I’m going down to get you something to eat,” I tell him. “The police were here, and they will be expecting you to come in for a report of the uprising soon. You don’t want to be under the weather too long, or they will suspect something.”

  “You saved me twice,” he whispers. “Once from being captured by the police, and then protecting me from the authorities’ suspicion.”

  “Only because I am your wife, and it is my duty to stand beside my husband. Once you have recovered…” I pause. “Well, we will discuss the matter then.” I turn and go out of the room. I can barely stand to watch the pain in Jason’s eyes.

  The next morning, the butler brings me the paper, and I follow the maid, who is taking Jason his breakfast, up to his room. I watch as she sets the tray in his lap and Jason looks over her shoulder at me, giving me a weak smile, which I do not return. When the maid leaves, I sit down and open the paper and begin to read.

  ‘A teacup rebellion’

  “The Irish Times gloats, ‘who have inflicted the greatest amount of trouble on the government, loyal people and filled with alarm the isolated houses of the gentry…have shown themselve
s excellent at everything except actual rebellion’

  “Although I did my duty, I will regret to my last day that the life of one of my countrymen should have been sacrificed.”: Irish Constabulary Sub Inspector Burke, March 8, 1867

  “One was killed outright. Another was Stephen O’Donoghue, the centre, who was ‘groaning and asking for water’. The police took him to the barracks at Tallaght, where he died. O’Donoghue, who was described as, ‘a very poor man’, had been married with four children.

  “William Handcock, who lived nearby recalled, ‘We heard the firing that night, but did not know the cause. Next morning most wonderful stories came in. Numbers of the Fenians had passed through the village outside our wall, and tried to induce the villagers to join them, but with little success.’

  “This was the ‘Battle of Tallaght’. It was in fact, a mere brush between the police and the Fenians trying to get to Tallaght Hill.

  “The real failure of the Rising was that, with 4 to 7,000 men assembled on the Hill, above Jobstown, the Fenian leadership could think of little for them to do. The mobilization there was supposed to have been a diversion from the real rebellion in Dublin city. But the city, heavily garrisoned, did not stir.

  “After a night of enduring heavy snow and sleet in the Dublin mountains, the Fenians, dispersed. Some 200 were arrested at Tallaght Hill, where the Fenians were headed.

  “Elsewhere in the country, when it became clear that the plan had not come off, most of the Fenians simply went home and hid their weapons. The Rising, which had never properly started, was over.

  “A total of 12 people were killed on March 5, of whom eight were Fenians.

  “The British commander Lord Strathrairn, who, before suppressing sedition in Ireland, ‘had ridden down the mutinous Sepoys in India’, for his ‘rapidity of actions and decision’ is praised.

  “We scoff at the rebel’s claim to be acting in the name of the ‘Minister for war of the Irish Republic’, ‘this craze is dangerous to society, it is the bounden duty of government to deal with it severely.’

  “William Handcock found in the plantations near his house in Tallaght, ‘nearly a cart-load of rifles and ammunition … Next day we got a fine pike-head and a neat little dagger, as souvenirs of the latest, and, as I hope, the last rebellion in Ireland’.

  “The more nationalist-minded Freeman’s Journal had little sympathy for the attempted insurrection but noted the urgent need for reform of the state and church and of the tenant system. ‘The Fenians, with their teacup insurrections are not likely to remedy the state of things, but the British government which allows grievances to fester for centuries, can expect little sympathy from abroad or peace and contentment at home.’

  “One Fenian recalls, ‘Out there in yon hills, I’ve drilled with the boys in me time, fine boys they were, God Bless them. But the Fenians did not do much. Why didn’t they fight? They were ready and willing and always waiting for the word to rise. It just never came.’”

  When I finish reading, Jason gives me a long look. “I suppose future rebellions are out of the question. There must be other ways to move the English into helping the Irish cause. Perhaps in the future, we will be able to come to some agreement.”

  “Yes,” I murmur. “I suppose we are to go on with life as usual until then.”

  “Perhaps we should go to England for awhile until all of this settles down,” Jason suggests, looking at me hopefully.

  “I don’t think I will be going anywhere with you Jason, but you can go to England if you wish,” I whisper.

  “I shall never release you from our marriage,” he informs me.

  “When you know I could never love you?” I ask.

  “You loved Jamie once, Rose. You begged him to take you with him.”

  “That was before I discovered I was being deceived. I loved an ideal. It wasn’t Jamie I loved, but merely what I thought he stood for. I don’t know what you stand for, Jason. You are too divided. You don’t know where your loyalties should lie.”

  “I know they lie with you, Rose. They will always lie with you.”

  “Then they are misplaced,” I murmur, and leave the room.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “You are my wife. I am responsible for your welfare,” Jason says darkly at me. “If you choose to leave me, that is one thing, but I will not allow you to go off wondering on your own. I am sending Randy with you. There is a cottage a few days ride from here, which I own, where you can stay. If you don’t want me coming to see you, I won’t, but I want to know you are safe. That is all Rose. Don’t defy me in this.”

  He knows I have no real choice. I have to do as he says, but at least he is letting me leave, even if he won’t give me a divorce. He still does not know about the baby. I wonder what he will do if he ever learns of it? I wonder if he thinks I will take Randy on as my lover, once I leave him?

  Randy is sitting in the carriage, and Jason opens the door and helps me up. I won’t look at him. I cannot remain with a man I don’t even know, who deceived me and confused me, and I don’t even know if I can trust. But in spite of that, he still has power over me. It will just be from a distance, now.

  The door closes, and the driver whips up the horses, and I don’t look out the window. I merely look down at my hands, folded over my lap. The wedding ring on my finger feels heavy.

  “Why are you doing this?” Randy asks. “You know he loves you.”

  “He deceived me in the worse way,” I whisper. “He made me out to be a fool, loving the very man I professed to hate. He was Jamie, Randy. He was my lover, while posing to be my husband that I despised. He encouraged me to take a lover, because he was the one I would be making love to, since I would never make love to him as my husband. Jamie never removed his mask, so I didn’t know he was Jason. It was not only demeaning, but an insult to my integrity. I begged Jamie to take me with him, not knowing that I was already with him as his wife.”

  Randy stares at me, and then shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Rose,” is all he can think of to say. “I will take care of you, though, and make sure nothing happens to you.”

  “I’m going to have his baby,” I whisper, and then I can’t hold the tears back any longer, and Randy puts his arm around me and pulls me to him.

  “No, Rose. Does he know?”

  I shake my head. “And don’t you ever tell him,” I warn.

  “Rose, sweet Rose,” Randy murmurs, as he begins to stroke my hair.

  Randy and I don’t talk much. We stop at an Inn twice on the way, and then the carriage pulls up in front of a quaint looking cottage, and Randy is helping the driver take the luggage off of the carriage. Jason told me the cottage belonged to his grandmother, on his father’s side. It had been left empty for many years.

  We stand on the front porch, watching the carriage drive away, and then Randy is opening the door to the cottage. “I’m going to go check out the stables,” Randy tells me. “Jason said he sent your horse ahead, and there would be a buggy here for us to use.”

  Randy can tell I want to be alone for a bit, and I walk around the house aimlessly looking around, not really taking anything in. It is quaint, and clean, and has what ever we need. There are two bedrooms. One for me and the other for Randy. I look out the back window and see a small vegetable garden in the back yard. There will be plenty of things to keep us occupied, I suppose, like having our own little farm to work. A nice place to raise a child, I think. I just hope Randy does not get bored having to watch after me.

  Randy comes back into the house and starts to build a fire in the hearth. It is early evening, and the weather is still chilly yet.

  “You need to tell him,” Randy murmurs, as he looks into the fire he just built. “Your child will be the heir. It is only right he knows.”

  I glare at Randy. “He will make me come back, or make me send the child to him. A husband owns his wife and children. I will have no say.”

  “Go back to him then,” Randy insists. “Why are you bein
g so stubborn?”

  “You are not a woman. You wouldn’t understand,” I say quietly.

  “Women’s pride? Is that it?” he asks.

  “It is more than that. He forced me to marry him, while he was acting as my lover. He knew I had come back from England, and put me in that farmhouse himself, in the guise of Jamie. He came and made love to me every night, knowing how much I despised him as Jason. Then he shows up as Jason, and drags me away because now he knows I had gotten over Ferrell, since I was making love to him as Jamie. He felt justified in making me marry him, while telling me in the same breath I could keep my lover if I chose to. He acted as though he didn’t care about me as his wife, since he already had me as his lover.

  “And I was no better than he was. I acted as a prude with my husband and a wanton with my lover. Both of who were one and the same. He must have been laughing behind my back the whole time.”

  “Then what do you want Rose? Just what is it you want?” Randy asks, as he captures my eyes with his.

  And I realize I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I just want to get away from the hurt I feel inside, and if I am around Jason, I will never get over it. That I do know. I come over to where Randy is sitting in a chair in front of the fire, and crawl up into his lap and put my arms around his neck. “Just hold me, Randy” I whimper, and his arms come around me.

  I don’t know how long we sit with Randy holding me in his lap, but I realize somewhere along the way, I fall asleep, and I can feel him lifting me, and then laying me on a bed. He pulls the covers up around me, and then I can hear him close the door.

  As each day passes, I start to fall into a routine. I get up and fix breakfast and Randy and I eat. Then I go and work in the flower garden, while Randy works in the vegetable garden. We keep ourselves occupied each day and sometimes we drive into the small village to buy supplies. In the evening we sit around and talk, mostly of our past with Ferrell, but never about our presents. We don’t mention Jason, or Jamie, or the movement. I teach Randy how to play chess, when I find a chess game in one of the cupboards, and we pass the time playing chess together, but there always seems to be an unspoken strain between us, and I know that Randy is lonely.