The Scarlet Ribbon

by Derry O'Dowd

  Untended boats floated idly at anchor in the cove and swans kept guard like white angels on the grey water while the fishermen paid their last respects to Liam O’Flaherty.

  James made his way to the O’Flaherty cottage and knocked at the rough wooden planks that made up the front half-door, bleached to a powdery white colour by the wind and rain that came often and suddenly in the area, its knots looking like sullen, unblinking eyes. The door was badly warped; it squeaked noisily and had to be opened forcibly.

  The face of a pretty young girl on the cusp of her teenage years, with curling auburn hair and blue eyes looked out. He pulled her name out of his memory.

  ‘Carissa?’ James asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘I am so sorry about your father,’ he continued and then, seeing her blank stare, realised that she spoke little English and reverted to her native Irish tongue.

  She did not smile or answer but stood aside to let him pass.

  Inside the cottage, Liam’s body was laid out on a scarred wooden table.

  A handmade woven cross of straw lay on his chest and candles flickered smokily at his head and feet, filling the tiny space with the smell of fat and blocking out the light that filtered in through the mean window.

  James hated these occasions, as they brought to mind the frighteningly quick illness and death of his tiny sister, born too early.

  He stood by the body, remembering, sending a prayer to the heavens for his friend, and only then looked around the room. Carissa stood, head bowed, her younger sister Aileen by her side.

  ‘Where is your mother?’ he asked. He was startled by the knock at the door in the too-silent room, and as Carissa went to answer it, Aileen took him by the hand and drew the flimsy curtain back from the alcove by the ash-grimed open fireplace to show her mother lying there, not moving, gaze fixed on the rough beamed ceiling. He heard Carissa welcome in more mourners, and closed the curtain again as he sat on the shelf with Liam’s widow.

  She turned her head and looked at him, helpless, grief weighing her down, with eyes brimming and too bright with unshed tears. He helped her to sit up and held her close, whispering endearments all the time in an attempt to stem her sorrow. He rocked her gently, and some time later heard the mourners leave, muttering their sadness.

  Their quiet was disturbed when Carissa pulled the curtain back. James left the widow to her private agonies and stepped into the room once more.

  His heart went out to the girl. The fire had burned down, but he could see that she had tidied up as best she could for her father’s wake.

  ‘Carissa? Where are the little ones?’ he asked, talking of her four younger siblings that ranged in age from toddler upwards.

  ‘They are with the neighbour, for my mother needed some rest and Aileen and I thought it best that they would not be underfoot as so many people have come to see father. They do not understand, but know enough to be heartbroken.’ She turned her head so he would not see the tears that were her constant companion. ‘We will get them home later.’ She angrily brushed her tears aside and sniffed, rubbing her nose on her sleeve.

  ‘Your mother will be fine, Carissa. And the little ones are lucky to have a big sister such as yourself. I will get my own mother to come and see you from time to time. She is a good friend to me; if you let her, I am sure in time she will be one to you.’

  He took his leave and held his hand up in farewell to the two young girls framed in the rotting doorway, one dark head, the other light.

  The night of his wedding, James Quinn beamed to himself as he took in his new wife’s slumbering form.

  ‘Oh wake up, my love, my lover wake up,’ James whispered softly into Marguerite’s ear, ‘oh wake up, my love, my lover wake up.’

  ‘James, are we late? What’s happening?’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ he smiled and kissed her warm, sleep-tousled hair. ‘That was the happiest day of my life. What a day, and now my wife, where were we?’

  She smiled coyly and her lip trembled just a little as she was suddenly shy of her new husband. She chided herself and twirled a strand of her hair around her finger – wasn’t this the man she had known since childhood, they had played together, she knew each plane of his handsome face like she knew her own.

  ‘I’m sorry I slept, James. I was so tired after it all.’

  He smiled at her and helped her from the bed where she had lain down to refresh herself but instead had fallen into sleep. ‘I loved every moment of the day,’ he said with a smile in his voice, ‘and what a future we have in store, Mrs Quinn. Now come to the candle so I can see you more clearly.’

  He took her gently by the hand and continued talking to ease the nervousness he felt coming from her. He knelt before her and undid the ribbons on her boots and eased them off her feet. He lifted her foot, turned it, and kissed the sole gently.

  ‘There were so many people to see me off. They gave me flowers and wished us well.’ He let her foot be, stood and appraised her bodice, eyes crinkled and brow furrowed in concentration as he noted the pins, ribbons, hooks and eyes that he needed to undo to get closer to her.

  ‘As we waited in St Nicholas’ church for you, my mother took my hand and squeezed it tightly.’ He pulled the ribbon, undid the pins and hooks - smiling at the memory of his mother’s welling eyes - and laid them on the table by the bed.

  ‘When the choir started singing,’ he hummed ‘Welcome, Welcome Glorious Morn’ under his breath as he helped her walk out of her skirt, ‘I saw you come up the aisle with your gown shining in the sun that filtered through the stained-glass windows, colouring your every step with all the shades of the rainbow, and I felt sure my heart would stop.’

  He gently tugged down her petticoat and she stepped out of it.

  ‘Then you were mine to the strains of “If Music be the Food of Love” and I was never prouder or happier.’

  He eased her out of the embrace and paused as he helped her out of her hoop and she pushed it free with one foot.

  He undid the ribbons on her stays and paused as he knelt once more before her. He traced his hand up her leg and took off her garter, and then the other one. ‘Your father was funny; it was obvious he had been enjoying his own wares before he gave his speech – but then what is being a wine trader if you can’t enjoy your own stock?’

  He looked at her again. Her stomach skipped and she drew in a sharp breath as she saw his eyes darken as he knelt down. He smiled widely, and as his dimples showed he gently rolled down her silk stockings.

  ‘My father was so proud he just had to sing. Then he told me he could never have wished for another daughter as good, kind and beautiful as you. They all love you, Marguerite.’ He got up and she stood before him in her chemise in the candlelight.

  James Quinn faced her, blood pumping, heart soaring. He put his hand on her waist and drew her nearer, whispering her name.

  With trembling hand he pulled gently on the scarlet ribbon that held the neckline of her chemise and as it came loose, so too did the last whisper of sheer linen that covered her creamy skin. She stepped out of the garment, no longer shy, as the love of him took her by surprise and gave her strength.

  ‘And now we are here, and you are mine, and I love you,’ he whispered, and turning his head he blew out the candle.

  Catching sight of her naked shoulders, he put the ribbon in her hand, murmured into her hair that he would treasure her forever and lowered his lips to hers.

  3

  To ensure an easy childbirth

  Drink this up to six weeks before the child is due, morning and evening, about half a pint each time but no more. Boil a pretty amount of raisins and figs in a good amount of fresh water; liquorice and aniseeds should be added. Take from the heat when the mixture bubbles, strain it off and drink the amount recommended once it is cooled.

  Quinn Household Recipes and Remedies Book

  * * *

  Dublin, 11 April 1738

  Dear Father and Mother,

&nb
sp; In response to your last letter, yes, Marguerite is well, and we are both delighted at the thought of being parents this summer. I have not only married a woman who is kind and clever and beautiful, but one that I love deeply, so I am a very happy man. And soon to be a father! Thank you again for the recipes, Mother. Marguerite is already buying in raisins to take as part of the remedy you have recommended.

  All goes well here. I am busy with my work and Laurence Stone continues to teach me the way of helping in childbirth. I have asked for the assistance at Marguerite’s birth from Midwife Hayes. I am sure I mentioned her to you already, and Marguerite’s mother will come too.

  Marguerite’s aunt and uncle Sarah and Bernard Lynch have been most kind, and we are living in a fine home they have rented to us at a very good rate.

  Perhaps I will buy the house from them once my own practice is established, but for the time being their help is much appreciated as I attempt to make a name for myself in Dublin.

  We went to the Lynch house on Coote Lane, just by Trinity College, last Sunday for tea and to be introduced to some prominent members of Dublin’s citizenry, and the talk of course fell to Marguerite’s condition and the upcoming birth. The one name mentioned I never expected to hear on recommendation was that of Physician Ryan, but then he moves in such elevated company that I suppose I should not be so surprised! I have not come across him again as yet, and hope it stays that way for quite some time. I have taken your advice, Father, and am keeping a clear mind with regard to my medical future, but for now am enjoying my surgery and attendance at occasional midwifery cases.

  And saying so, I am due at Stone’s home shortly, so with your forgiveness I will sign off here and remain, as always, your loving son,

  James.

  Dublin, 20 June 1738

  My own dear Mama,

  I hope this little letter finds you well. Please be sure to give my fondest love to Papa and everyone else as I may well forget to say it again at the end of my ramblings! This pregnancy has made me forgetful.

  And large! Mama, you wouldn’t believe how large I am getting, I wonder if I can get bigger still in the short time that is left before the arrival of my baby.

  I shall refer to him or her from now on as ‘darling’, as my poor hand is tired already, even though I have only written a few short lines to you. My whole self is constantly a bit tired as I am not sleeping very well; darling keeps me awake with his or her tumbling at night when I am so eager to close my eyes and drift off into sleep.

  As to names, James decided on Daniel for a boy, as strong as the Daniel in the Bible stories. While I chose Jasmine, as sweet and beautiful as the flower, should we have a girl – how frivolous of me, Mama, but that is how I feel, frivolous and happy when I am not crying at the slightest little thing.

  I saw a mama bird with her little baby from the window earlier this morning and found it so beautiful that the tears sprang unbidden to my eyes. I can feel them dampening at the thought again so will not linger.

  I find it hard to breathe, Mama. I sometimes think that darling needs more breath from me but perhaps that is my fanciful imaginings – of which I have many at the moment!

  Heartfelt thanks for sending Peg here to me. It is like a little bit of home when I see her dark head and ready smile, and she is a marvel at running the household, especially as I am so indisposed at the moment. We didn’t want to hire staff that were unknown to us, given my condition. I do not mean to call Peg a member of staff, for she was ever like a second mother to me.

  Mama, my pretty shoes and boots no longer fit as my poor feet appear to be pregnant too! I am wearing Chinese slippers as I write – indeed they are my new favourite footwear.

  This letter will be carried by Uncle Bernard’s store manager – it will be with you within the week – and he has agreed to bring us back the Spanish trim for our carriage. Not that I am going out! I fear for my baby’s safety, riding a horse or being jolted over Dublin’s cobbles in our carriage. And the Dublin ladies would be sure to hold their noses in the air if I passed; the girl from the country who knows so little of their manners and customs. I miss Galway and the smiles of the people that I know and am comfortable with!

  But I will not grumble, Mama, for I do not want to make darling sad – I am sure he or she can feel if I am sad and then I am sadder and can’t help but cry all over again.

  I am eagerly awaiting your arrival, Mama; James is often away and I am a little lonely. Do come as soon as you can – I couldn’t bear for you not to be here for the arrival of my darling. I know that Papa and Doctor Dara and James’s mama will be coming too, but it is your presence that I most desire.

  Please write back as soon as possible to let me know when you will come – I am enclosing our new address as Aunt and Uncle Lynch have been constant in their kindness and insisted on renting one of their larger houses to us.

  I can see St Patrick’s Cathedral from where I sit and am sure that the angels are protecting me and my dear heart, and that comforts me greatly. Please thank Papa for arranging such a small rent with Uncle Bernard.

  My dear Mama, another request, please. I will need a girl to help me with darling – do you know of anyone that would come here? Could you arrange it for me? I would dearly love a Galway girl, kind and giving of herself to myself and baby and who will not grumble when I may take her to task, although I am hoping I will not have to do that. A girl who is used to children – more used than me! But not so much that my darling would fall in love with her and not his or her mama, who will be a constant through life.

  Much as I am tired now, I cannot wait to hold my own baby and kiss his or her little head and look into his or her little eyes and profess my love, for I love my darling and I very much look forward to all the playing and cuddling and loving that we shall share.

  I also enclose a pretty bolt of silk for you, Mama. It is apparently all the rage at the Season in London and will bring out the flecks in your eyes.

  I hope, Mama, that the birth goes well – Aunt Sarah swears it will, thanks to our family’s great success with birthing babies and my child-bearing hips – as I want to give my own darling heart brothers and sisters so that they can all play together, and I will not love one above the other but will share my love evenly so they each know I am theirs forever.

  And now, my dear Mama, I am going to lie down, as James is ordering me to rest at least a couple of times every day.

  I miss you, Mama. Hurry to my side to be with me when darling comes. I won’t be selfish and hold him or her all to myself – well maybe I will a little, but I want you to have a share in my glorious baby too. My heart is stolen already and I have not yet met the dear heart who has robbed it.

  I love you Mama, and will see you soon, until then I am your own dear daughter,

  Marguerite.

  The servant who arrived at the door was sweating and agitated. Peg showed him in and called for James.

  ‘Well, man, out with it. What’s the matter?’ enquired James.

  ‘There has been a terrible accident at the docks. You must come. The pulleys gave way and spilled a large load onto all that were standing below. They need you at the Infirmary now if you are to save any lives, that’s what they told me. There is a lot of blood, and bones are on show.’ The servant turned pale as milk as he relayed his breathless, grisly message, tripping over the words in his anxiety to get them out.

  ‘You go on back,’ replied James, ‘and I will be there as quickly as I can.’

  As the servant ran, James hurried up to Marguerite’s bedchamber.

  He entered the room and saw his wife lying amongst the pillows, pale. She felt that today was the day that their baby would arrive, so her mother had called for Midwife Hayes and her colleague Midwife Doyle.

  Marguerite’s face was puffy and swollen; indeed, her mother thought she had been crying copiously at the slightest thing that tugged at her heartstrings now that her time was so near. She was very restless, with an aching head and sick stom
ach.

  Her mother had called for Physician Ryan three days earlier, as he had come so highly recommended from her sister-in-law. He had diagnosed an imbalance in her humours and advised bloodletting.

  That first day, James had held her hand and watched as Ryan used the shining lancet to cut a vein in Marguerite’s pale arm and her ruby blood had filled a pewter bowl until she fainted. He still did not like the man, and the physician’s manner was cool towards James, but anything that would help his Marguerite would be done.

  On her recovery the following day, she was purged with a foul-tasting medicine, her face puckered like a child’s as she took it. After the violent, wet bowel movements had passed she felt improved, though her head still troubled her and her body felt swollen all over.

  As James told her what had happened at the docks, she said, ‘You go, my love. I am fine here with Peg and Mama, and the midwives shall be here soon. And before you know it we shall have our dear heart in our arms at last.’

  ‘James, we will call for you as soon as anything happens, please go and see to those poor men and worry not,’ Mama Lynch echoed her daughter, eyes smiling at him from under her dark tresses. ‘We are all ready for the arrival of your son or daughter, everything is in hand. We will call for you if we need to.’

  James smiled at her, picking up on her excitement. ‘Marguerite, I love you, and I will see you soon with our dear heart. I love you more than my words can say, my darling.’ Marguerite smiled up at him and his words. Then he kissed her lightly, left the room and ran to find the waiting carriage.

  James arrived at the Charitable Infirmary very quickly, for though today was a special Feast Day of the Virgin Mary, the parades had not yet started and the bridge from the south side of the city to the north was still clear, so his coach had no trouble.