The Paradise Tree

by Elena Maria Vidal

  Daniel entered the room, just in time to greet the ministers, whom Mick had ushered in. Everyone stood. Brigit and the girls curtseyed prettily while the boys bowed, even Charlie, who stood on his chair to do so and almost tumbled forward except that Katy caught his arm. Daniel had on his fustian jacket and waistcoat which he had taken to wearing in honor of his cousin the Chartist Fergus O’Connor, who was currently languishing in the Tower of London, to the pride of the entire clan. His beard was white while the top of his head was turning from chestnut to grey. Because of his wayward curls it was impossible for him to look completely neat and trimmed, for even when the curls were cut short they asserted themselves by sticking out hither and thither. His blue eyes sparkled with excitement. He bowed low as he shook the Reverend’s hand. Mr. Smith was a hearty man with a mane of white hair, garbed in black, with his wide brimmed black hat in hand. His broad smile radiated anticipation. Brigit knew he was determined to convert the entire O’Connor family because bringing such a prominent Catholic family over to Methodism would be a triumph indeed. She also was aware that he loved to argue for sport, as did her husband. A thin young man with a solemn mien accompanied Mr. Smith. He was holding a large book in his hands, which Brigit thought at first was the Bible.

  Behind Daniel was Mr. John Flood, a handsome Irish gentleman with a large family, who had come to consult with Daniel about some butter and livestock which had been stolen. Gangs of thieves, who would steal entire herds of sheep, as well as tubs of butter, had lately troubled the county. They worked by night and were almost impossible to catch. Some of the animals stolen were never recovered.

  “Reverends Mr. Smith and Mr. Quince, this is Mr. Flood,” said Daniel. “He will be joining our party today as well.” Mr. Smith shook hands while Mr. Flood bowed stiffly, looking none too pleased to be sharing a meal with Protestants. “Come and sit down, gentlemen. You know everyone else.” Mr. Smith sat at Brigit’s right while Mr. Quince was placed at Daniel’s left at the far end of the table. Mr. Flood sat on the other side of Mr. Smith, and the children were in their usual places. Every older child sat near a younger child

  to help them through the meal without a mishap. Ben Slack helped Joanna into her chair and then sat down beside her.

  Daniel, bowing his head, asked the blessing in Latin. All followed suit. “Benedic, Domine, nos et haec tua dona quae de tua largitate sumus sumpturi. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.” Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ Our Lord. Amen. Only the Catholics made the sign of the Cross at the end of the prayer.

  Now, Mr. Smith,” said Daniel, slicing the mutton, “what shall we discuss today? Katy, darling, pass the colcannon, please. And our Ellen, take some bread and pass it.”

  Mr. Smith cleared his throat. “Well, Squire O’Connor, Mr. Quince has a book which will make our discourse more interesting than usual. It is called Forty Years in the Church of Rome by a Monsieur Chartreau of Quebec, who used to be a Catholic priest.”

  Brigit tried not to gasp. Daniel said, “Very good. Let’s hear some of it.” And he calmly served some colcannon to little Mary, who sat next to him. Brigit could tell that Mary was swinging her plump legs under the table.

  Mr. Quince held up his book. “With your permission, Mrs. O’Connor.” Brigit nodded. Books were usually not allowed at the table. She wondered how the young minister was going to be able to eat his dinner. In the meantime, it was time to serve the coffee. She went to the kitchen and returned with a copper coffee pot. She poured, beginning with Mr. Smith.

  “Ouch! Mary kicked me!” exclaimed Ellen. Daniel gave both girls a warning glance, restoring the peace.

  “Mr. O’Connor, sir,” continued the Mr. Quince, holding out his mug as Brigit came round, “Chapter One tells of how in the author’s childhood, Monsieur Chartreau was taught by his mother to read from the Bible. The parish priest heard of this and came to the home and demanded that they stop reading the Bible. What is more, he demanded that the Bible be burned. The father of the family showed the priest to the door.”

  “I’d have shown him to the door, too,” declared Daniel. “The priest was overstepping his bounds. And furthermore, the Bible is the Holy Word of God and to burn the Bible is a sacrilege.”

  “But Mr. O’Connor,” said Mr. Smith, between sips of apple parsnip soup, “does this anecdote not prove that the Roman Church tries to prevent its members from reading the Bible?”

  “It does not, Mr. Smith,” replied Daniel. “St. Jerome, who translated the Sacred Scriptures into the Vulgate upon which our Catholic Bible is based, said: ‘Ignorance of the Scriptures is ignorance of Christ.’ Remember that the Catholics began translating the Bible into English before the version of King James. Our Bible is on the mantelpiece in the parlor. Mrs. O’Connor learned to read from it, as did our older children, and they are free to ponder it whenever they wish.”

  As the men discussed Scripture, Brigit, who had taken her seat again, glanced sternly over at Bridget Gabrielle, who was busily pulling out Margaret’s hair bow from the latter’s blonde braid. At six Bridget Gabrielle’s hair was an unruly mop of thick chestnut brown curls. Brigit tried to keep the child’s curls out of her face with a hair ribbon but to no avail. Her cerulean blue eyes were particularly piercing, as if she could see beyond the veil. Her features were on the delicate side except for her full rosy mouth. Daniel said that Bridget Gabrielle reminded him of his mother and of Brigit herself, and yet at the same time she looked like no one he had ever seen before.

  “The two pillars of the Catholic faith are . . . why, what are they, Michael?” Daniel inquired of his eldest son. He usually tried to bring the older children into the conversation.

  “Scripture and Tradition, Pa,” replied Mick, buttering a slice of batch bread. “And it is because of Tradition that we have any Bible at all.”

  “True, lad,” nodded Daniel. “At the Council of Chalcedon in 451, the bishops of the Church gathered and decided which of the various texts would be regarded as canonical.”

  The young missionary was beginning to look baffled and a bit annoyed. Brigit asked him questions about his family to make him feel more at home. She was glad the younger children were quietly eating at last, as they had been taught. Even little Charlie was aware that disrupting their father’s dinner conversation meant a visit with Mr. Switch in the woodshed. But she was not too worried, since Mr. Smith had six children of his own.

  Suddenly eight-year-old Margaret piped up. “Can the young Mr. Rev’runt tell us another story from his big book?”

  “Hush, Margaret, that book is about naughty priests!” reprimanded Ellen with her usual gravity, made more grave by her straight skinny braids and pointed chin.

  “Good! I like to hear about naughty priests,” declared Margaret, with a toss of her fair head. Mr. Flood laughed heartily and Mr. Smith chuckled. Mick and Joanna blushed red. Ben looked at his plate, as did Mr. Quince. Daniel tried to look serious. Brigit was appalled.

  “Children are to be seen and not heard,” reminded Brigit, gently. She knew debating with the ministers in front of the children to be a bad idea. “Have some more mutton, Reverend Mr. Smith. And you, too, Reverend Mr. Quince.”

  “Remember, my darlings, it is a sad, pitiful thing for a priest to fall, and not something we should take pleasure in hearing about,” said Daniel, soberly, as he served Mary more colcannon. Mary always ate colcannon as if it were the last food on earth. “From this discussion we hope to learn what to do and what not to do. So what else do you have for us, Mr. Quince?”

  “I must confess that much that is in this book is not suitable for children to hear,” said Mr. Quince, turning scarlet. “Or ladies, for that matter. But here, in Chapter XVII, there is a discussion of the idolatry that is the Catholic priesthood, and especially the Luciferian deception that is called Trans-tran-substantiation.” His tongue stumbled over the final word.

  “Don’t choke!” said Bridget Gabrielle, anxiously, h
er spoon in mid-air. Katy coughed into her napkin to hide her laughter.

  Mr. Quince smiled and proceeded. “Monsieur Chartreau calls it a ‘most impious and idolatrous doctrine’ in which the Church of Rome has substituted a false and newly invented dogma for the words: ‘Do this in remembrance of Me’ spoken by Christ. It is similar to the idolatry of Aaron perpetrated in the wilderness, except the idolatry of Aaron lasted but one day, whereas the idolatry of Rome has lasted for over a thousand years.”

  “Squire, Mr. Quince has a point there,” said Mr. Smith, who was obviously enjoying his dinner. “Now think of this: how could Christ be multiplied in thousands and thousands of places as you Romans claim? Yes, I know He said: ‘This is my body’ but He also said: ‘I am the Vine’ and ‘I am the door.’ Does that make Him a vine or a door? How can you Papists, I mean, Catholics, claim to make Him into a piece of bread?”

  They had debated the Holy Eucharist before, and Brigit was not as shocked as she had been the first time. She began to see Daniel’s point. The children would never be able to answer challenges to their Faith unless they learned at home. And perhaps this was the best way.

  Daniel began to speak. “Your Reverences, the teaching on the Real Presence, which since the Middle Ages has been called Transubstantiation, is from antiquity, and originates with Christ Himself, as taught to the Twelve Apostles. Scripture bears witness to this in the discourse at Capernaum in John 6:26-72, as well as in Matthew 26:26, Mark 14:22, Luke 22:19 and 1 Corinthians 11:24. The teaching was also clearly recorded by the most ancient Fathers of the Church, who were the immediate successors of the Apostles. Besides the Didache, an early Christian document, the belief in the Eucharist is attested to by Ignatius in three of his letters, by Justin in his First Apology 6, by Irenæus in Against Heresies, by Tertullian in several writings and by Cyprian.”

  Charlie was beginning to bang his spoon against his plate. “More!” he called out, and catching Brigit’s eye, he added, “Please!” She gave him more mutton and he responded with a “Tank-oo, Mammy!” as she cut the meat into small places on his plate. Soon he would have to be whisked away for a nap. The debate continued.

  “There now, Squire, you may mention ancient Tradition but our faith is founded solely on the Word of God, the Bible,” responded Mr. Smith.

  “Indeed,” said Mr. Quince. “The Church of Rome has brought back the old heathenism. The priest of Rome worships a Savior called Christ. Yes, but that Christ is not the Christ of the Gospel. It is a false and newly invented Christ which the Popes have smuggled from the Pantheon of Rome.”

  At that, Mr. Flood stood up, flinging his napkin down, “I’m sorry, Squire Daniel, I can’t bear to hear more of this impiety!”

  “There now, Flood, won’t you be having some more colcannon?” asked Daniel. Mr. Flood sighed and sat back down as Daniel passed the colcannon his way.

  “Have some more mutton, too, Mr. Flood,” said Brigit.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am, it is most excellent mutton,” said Mr. Flood.

  “Most excellent, indeed,” agreed Mr. Smith. “And I beg Mr. Flood not to take any personal offense at our rather spirited arguments.”

  “No offense taken, sir,” said Mr. Flood between mouthfuls. “I know in Whom I have believed.”

  There was a knock at the door. Mick rose to answer it. He returned with the oddest personage Brigit had ever laid eyes on. He was a stocky man in a worn blue military cloak with a feathered highland bonnet upon his shock of white hair. Under the cloak could be glimpsed a rather worn suit of brownish twill. His high black boots were muddy from traveling. His face was ruddy and clean-shaven; in spite of his hair, he did not look to be much over forty. He swept off his hat, revealing a bald patch, and bowed to Brigit. She held out her hand and he kissed it. She caught a whiff of tobacco from his clothes. No hint of spirits, however.

  “Greetings, my lady,” he said in a Scots accent. His eyes were blazing blue under shaggy brows; he had handsome chiseled features. “I am Duncan Cameron Horn.” He pulled out a folded gazette from inside his cloak. “I come in response to an advertisement for a school master placed by one Daniel O’Connor, Esquire, of Long Point. Have I the honor of addressing Mrs. O’Connor?”

  Before Brigit could reply, Daniel stood up and strode forward, grasping the stranger’s hand. “This lady is indeed Mrs. O’Connor, my wife. I am Daniel O’Connor. Welcome to Long Point! You must be hungry, Mr. Horn. Sit down and join us!” A place was made for Mr. Horn between Mick and Joanna; the latter fetched him a plate, napkin and utensils. Brigit brought him a hot mug of coffee. The food was passed his way; he bowed his head and crossed himself before beginning to eat. Daniel introduced Mr. Horn to everyone, including the ministers and Mr. Flood.

  Daniel cleared his throat. “The ministers and I were just discussing the doctrine of Transubstantiation, Mr. Horn. The Reverends do not agree with me, of course.”

  “Ah,” said Mr. Horn. “Quod non capis, quod non vides, animosa firmat fides, praeter rerum ordinem. ‘Does it pass thy comprehending? Faith, the law of light transcending, leaps to things not understood.’ That’s from the Lauda Sion. It says further on: Fracto demum sacramento, ne vacilles, sed memento tantum esse sub fragmento, quantum toto tegitur. Nulla rei fit scissura: signi tantum fit fractura, qua nec status, nec statura signati minuitur. ‘Nor a single doubt retain, when they break the Host in twain, but that in each part remain what was in the whole before; for the outward sign alone may some change have undergone, while the Signified stays one, and the same forevermore.’ Thus spake Aquinas. I canna put it any better.”

  Daniel nodded, his countenance beaming. Brigit could see that the two were going to going to get along like a house on fire. He quoted in reply: “O sacrum convivium, in quo Christus sumitur: recolitur memoria passionis eius; mens impletur gratia et futurae gloriae nobis pignus datur. ‘O sacred banquet, in which Christ is received, the memory of His Passion is renewed, the mind is filled with grace, and a pledge of future glory given to us.’”

  “Yes, but there you have it, my good man,” said Mr. Smith. “The language of pagan Rome should not be used in conjunction with Christianity.”

  “Then neither should the tongue of the pagan Anglo-Saxons, Mr. Smith,” retorted Duncan Cameron Horn as he sipped his coffee. “I am partial to Scots Gaelic myself, but it is not understood the world over, as is Latin.”

  “A universal language for a universal Church” agreed Daniel.

  Mr. Horn continued. “And let me ask you, Mr. Smith and Mr. Quince, when you read the writings of Caesar and Cicero and other Latin authors in school, you studied them in Latin, not in English, did you not?”

  “Why, yes, of course,” replied Mr. Quince, and Mr. Smith nodded with his mouth full.

  “It is a language in which much can be effectively expressed, is it not?” inquired Mr. Horn.

  “Yes, yes it is,” replied Mr. Quince.

  “Then how can it be wrong to use the same language for the expression of Christian truths? The Latin language has been baptized, just as English and French and German, to be used by a Christian people, but Latin is older and more universal. It is right that it should be used in the formation of Christian doctrine and in the liturgy. In the words of Publius Syrus: Ubi concordia, ibi Victoria, that is, ‘Where there is unity, there is the victory.’ Thus the old saying is true of the Roman Catholic Church: Fluctuat nec mergitur. ‘It is tossed by the waves but it does not sink.’”

  “Where have you studied, sir?” inquired Mr. Smith.

  “At Stonyhurst College in the north of England and later at the University of St. Andrews in my native Scotland. My education was interrupted by my time in the military, but it was not time wasted, for I was sent to guard a famous political prisoner on the Isle of St. Helena, where I saw history unfold. In fact, I learned French from old Boney himself.”

  “Do you mean, Mr. Horn, that you guarded Napoleon Bonaparte?” asked Mick.

  “Aye, that I did. Because I was Catholic they h
ad me guard Boney when he went to Mass and then at breakfast afterwards. We had many interesting conversations. I was there when he died. The papal legate came to receive him back into the Church.”

  “Fascinating,” said Daniel. “I look forward to hearing more about it.”

  “Ah, but please look at my credentials and references before you commit to taking me on, Squire.” Mr. Horn reached into his cloak and took out a packet of papers bound in a red ribbon. He handed it to Daniel.

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll be looking this over after dinner,” said Daniel. His eyes met Brigit’s, and she smiled approvingly. They both knew the right teacher had been found.

  “Welcome to the county, Mr. Horn!” said Mr. Smith. “I think you are heaven-sent to Long Point!”

  “Have you a place to stay?” inquired Daniel.

  “I can sleep in the schoolhouse,” said Mr. Horn.

  “Nonsense, you will stay in our spare room upstairs,” declared Brigit. “Are your belongings outside?”

  “Yes, my lady. Outside your front door is a mule by the name of Aristotle who bears in two wicker baskets my entire library.”

  “We’ll help you establish yourself this afternoon, sir!” said Daniel, cheerfully.

  “Time for dessert!” announced Brigit, and the girls cleared the dishes away as Brigit brought out her famous frumenty pudding, made with eggs, cream, cracked wheat, maple syrup, dried currants, berries and walnuts and a healthy splash of whiskey. The meal ended with laughter and cheer.