by Derry O'Dowd
James looked at Carissa. He had seen her last at her father’s funeral – poor Liam O’Flaherty. He saw how time had changed her from the sad, heartbroken youngster to the attractive woman that sat before him now. Carissa was talking to Daniel, handing him a cup of milk and wiping off the creamy moustache that it left on his lip tenderly with her thumb. James smiled as Carissa pushed some dark, unruly curls behind her ear.
‘Good morning,’ he said from the door, and three faces met his. Carissa kept hold of Daniel’s hand in her slight one, her pretty face smiling. Peg rose from the table.
‘Why James, come and join us, there is fresh tea. And here is your boy waiting patiently to see you.’
Seated at the table, the small boy looked up at the tall man, with his happy face and twinkling eyes. And he was shy suddenly and didn’t know this man who was his daddy. He clambered onto Carissa’s lap and put his head on her shoulder, looking up at his daddy, thumb firmly in his mouth.
The man who was his daddy sat down beside them and started to talk to Carissa, saying hello, and how are you.
‘And now,’ James said, turning to him, ‘Daniel, I am so glad to see you, I have missed you very much and am very happy to be home,’ he smiled. ‘Will you come for a cuddle, for I have long waited to feel my arms around you.’ And he held his arms out to him.
The little boy’s face crumpled, his eyes filled with tears, his lip trembled. There was complete silence. And then Daniel cried from deep within, howling, the tears falling from his brown eyes.
Peg and James sat frozen, dismayed, as Carissa gathered the child more tightly into her arms, cooing to him and telling him that here was his daddy home and that they would be good friends and that everything would be just fine.
‘Daniel, what is wrong my little love?’ asked Peg when the storm of weeping subsided. Daniel looked at James and back to Peg from the safety of Carissa’s embrace. James stood, pushed his chair back and knelt before the small boy.
‘Daniel,’ he said, and took his son’s hand in his own, ‘we have much to learn about each other, you and I. And it may take a little time, but we have lots of it, for I am home for good now. What’s more, I have brought you a present all the way from London.’
The boy’s face brightened.
‘Now, Daniel. I looked into your room last night when you were fast asleep, but I didn’t get to see all your toys and books because of the dark. I hear you have a spinning top from Galway? Shall we go and see it?’
Daniel wriggled out of Carissa’s lap, took his daddy’s hand and led him out of the room.
‘Have you my present?’ came the childish voice. The boy’s voice echoed down the hall to them, James’s reply lost as they climbed the stairs, hand in hand.
Peg sighed with relief, ‘That went as well as could be expected, I suppose. From small, slow beginnings come great things, you wait and see, Carissa,’ she said. ‘Carissa?’
But Carissa was lost in thought as she remembered the terrible day James Quinn had come to their home, the day her father was laid out cold and stiff, her mother laying down weeping, and how she never wanted him to leave. Now, unexpectedly, she felt the same way.
‘Cake soon, Daddy?’ Daniel asked his father as they walked to St Anne’s churchyard under the cheerful, sunny Dublin skies.
‘Cake soon, Daniel,’ said James, smiling down at him. ‘At Aunt and Uncle Lynch’s house, just around the corner.’
‘She does let me help. I am a good helper,’ Daniel told him solemnly.
‘Yes, my boy, I am sure you are.’
James was distracted and unhappy, not sure how he would feel when he reached Marguerite’s grave. He remembered his last time at the church, and blushed as he recalled his behaviour.
Peg noticed James’s discomfort and guessed its reason, though she had never told him of his brandy-soaked confession to her, and she took Daniel’s hand and walked with him and Carissa. James wandered on alone, lonely for Marguerite and feeling the ongoing loss of her in his life so deeply that it hurt.
The graveyard was peaceful and quiet, with birdsong and a soft wind moving through the yew trees, disturbing their upright finery only a little. As James walked up to Marguerite’s grave, a butterfly flew past, a bright reminder of life among the angels and granite headstones of the dead.
‘Hello Marguerite, my darling, I am sorry that it has been so long,’ he whispered and knelt down, running his fingers over the inscription on her headstone, his vision obscured by tears.
‘Sacred to the memory of much beloved Marguerite Quinn, who departed this life on the 14th day of July 1738 aged 23 years.’
He had been too distraught to come up with the words; his father and Marguerite’s had told the stonemason what to inscribe. And then the memories of her and how she would never be here again with him, to hold him and love him, talk with him, share Daniel with him, overcame James again and tears rolled down his cheeks. He bent his shoulders and wept for the woman he loved.
‘Why is Daddy crying?’ James heard a small voice ask Carissa.
‘He misses your mother, my dote, and he is feeling very sad,’ she said with a catch in her voice. Daniel held out his hand to Carissa, and Peg stood back to let James grieve. They walked away quietly, but he did not hear them anyway.
‘Are you still crying?’ Daniel asked a little later, pulling at his father’s sleeve, worry written all over his face. ‘Why are you crying? Do you miss Mummy? I did never see her. Did you hurt your own self Daddy? A nice cup of milk makes you better.’ The small boy held out his arm and wiped his sleeve over his father’s wet cheeks.
James smiled at Daniel through his tears.
‘Here,’ said his small son, and handed him a bedraggled posy of wildflowers that he had picked. ‘For Mummy in Heaven. And the angels. They like pretty flowers. I did pick them my own self. But Carissa helped me. Don’t cry, my daddy.’
James looked at Marguerite’s living memory and wiped his eyes, watching as Daniel laid the tiny bouquet on her grave.
‘What is that furry one, Daddy? Daniel asked, pointing to the flowers.
‘Why, that is a very special one, Daniel. It is called a dandelion and the furry part is the lion’s mane, or other people call it a clock.’
Daniel looked on, bewildered.
James picked the dandelion up in his hand and blew on it, the tiny white feathers making their way up into the sky. ‘You see these, Daniel, flying towards the sun?’
Daniel nodded.
‘These are called wishes. You know what a wish is? When you want something? Well, you blow here,’ and he showed his small son where to blow, ‘and the wish goes up and up, and then you can whisper the thing that you want after it and it will carry it away and your wish will come true. Would you like to have a go?’
Daniel took the dandelion out of his father’s hand, and blew furiously on it, white down scattering and dancing above his head. He scratched his nose as the nap tickled his upper lip on its ascent.
‘I did wish, Daddy. For you to be not crying no more.’
James got up from his knees and held his son tightly, then released him and took his hand in his own as Peg and Carissa came to stand with them.
‘No more tears,’ he told Daniel, ‘just happy stories about your mother that I will tell you any time you like, for she was strong and beautiful and brave. She loved you very much and would not want us to cry for her.’
Then they were walking to the Lynches’ home on Coote Lane, Carissa ahead with Daniel, James and Peg behind.
‘Thank you for tending to Marguerite’s grave while I was away, Peg; it is nice to know that she has been cared for as well as Daniel has. I cannot thank you enough for both.’
Peg stopped and looked at him.
‘Caring for Daniel has been a real pleasure for Carissa and myself. But it is she alone who has been tending to Marguerite’s grave.’
James looked intently as Carissa went on with Daniel, hand-in-hand, singing as they went.
> 17
To stop bugs and insects from feasting upon roses
Small insects and other crawling ones like to feast upon roses, eating the blooms and destroying them. For the one, plant parsley in between the roses. For the other, sprinkle sugar on which they will feed instead.
Quinn Household Recipes and Remedies Book
* * *
‘He loves it here, Aunt Lynch. Thank you for everything.’
Sarah Lynch sat with James and they watched Daniel play hide-and-seek with Peg in the small, rose-covered garden at the back of their house.
She took his hand and smiled at Daniel’s childish laughter ringing out.
‘It has been a joy,’ she replied, ‘like having a little piece of Marguerite here with us still.’
He squeezed her hand.
Upstairs, Carissa sat with her sister Aileen, who had travelled with her from Galway and now worked for Sarah and Bernard Lynch.
‘He’s nice. Good-looking too,’ Aileen said playfully.
‘Who’s that?’ replied Carissa, but her blush gave her away.
‘I knew it! You like him!’ Aileen got off the bed on which they were both sitting and danced around the room.
‘Aileen!’
‘Here comes a grand fellow to sweep you off your feet and dance you round and round in your fine gown. May I?’ she enquired, bowed before her sister, hand outstretched. Carissa took it laughingly and danced with her sister, until they collapsed on the bed in a heap of feminine exhaustion.
‘Be careful,’ her sister said, seriously, ‘a broken heart is not an affliction you want to suffer from.’
‘How would you know, Aileen?’ replied Carissa, and seeing the hurt in her sister’s eyes breathed out and changed the subject.
‘I don’t quite know what to do with him, and I feel so bad about it. First my indifference and prolonged absence and now, at the very start of trying to build up my relationship with Daniel, I don’t know how to be.’ James looked at the patterned rug.
‘Ah James,’ replied Sarah Lynch, ‘be yourself. You must feel your way slowly and gently. It will take time, but you will earn his trust.’ She put her hand on his arm and looked him deep in the eyes. ‘Children are very trusting; he will come round, James. You must relax until he does. He will feel your emotions and take his actions from them. But do not spoil him in recompense for imagined slights, for you will ruin him – do the simple things with him, James, and all will be well. Guilt will get you nowhere.’
She saw that his eyes were glassy bright with tears.
‘Daniel looks just like that when he is doing his best not to cry; his nose reddens in just the same way.’
James smiled and blew out his breath.
Daniel waved in the window to his father and great-aunt and they smiled and waved back.
‘You see?’ urged Sarah Lynch. ‘And you know where we are if you ever need to talk. You are doing Marguerite proud, James. You have become an even finer man and will be a great father to Daniel.’ She took his hand and held it. ‘And now I hear my errant husband!’
‘I am sorry, I was kept late with work.’ He kissed his wife on her proffered cheek and said to James, ‘You look well, James, time has been fair. Better to you than me, I fear, with my new paunch!’ He slapped James on the back and sat as Sarah poured the tea.
‘I am grateful for the time and kindness you have given Daniel while I have been away,’ said James. ‘Peg and Carissa too. Daniel loves it here; he told me so.’
Sarah smiled.
‘Also for our house, which you have not charged us for while I have been away, thank you. But now I am back, and eager to settle up my debts. I am sorry it was not arranged before I left, but I was in no fit state.’
Sarah looked at him in understanding.
He went on, ‘I wonder, Uncle Lynch, if you would be so kind as to set up a meeting with your banker for me? I would like to buy our house and pay my father-in-law back for financing my studies in Paris and London. I couldn’t have done it without your help.’
‘Bernard can arrange the meeting, James, but you and I need to arrange some new clothes for your meetings!’ Sarah smiled at him once more and Bernard laughed as James’s face fell at the thought of going to the tailor for fittings.
Dublin, 4 July 1741
My dearest Catherine,
I hope this letter finds you well and many thanks for your news from London.
How I miss our time together and the sweet notes you coax from the piano. If I close my eyes, I can see you there, fingers on the keys, picking out exquisite melodies.
I myself have been very busy since my return, getting to know Daniel – whom I am sure you will love! – and meeting up with friends and family here. Daniel turns three in ten days’ time, so we are all in a state of high excitement and planning a cake, toys and books for him.
Daniel, Peg, Carissa who looks after him, and myself travelled down to Galway last week to see my family, and what a welcome we received. He was very excited to see both sets of his grandparents and my sister, his Aunt Kate, and had to bring Carissa everywhere with him – they are quite a pair – with our family dog Finn following close behind.
My mother and Daniel are firm friends and she even let him help her to make a cake. You can only imagine the chaos! He was very impressed by my father’s study with its grown-up books, as he called them, but quite put out when he was not allowed to try the pipe.
Thomas Lynch sat him on his shoulders and Daniel loved sitting at such a great height, while his Grandmother Lynch clucked around and fretted about Daniel falling from that great height and hitting his head!
It felt so good to be home after all this time, and I can’t wait for you to meet my family.
And now, Catherine, let me tell you a story.
Once upon a time there was a beautiful girl, and her name was Galvia. Now, she was not as beautiful as you, her eyes did not sparkle like gems, nor her curly hair caress her shoulders as yours does, but she was beautiful nonetheless.
This girl, Galvia, was a princess, and she spent her days doing royal things. But one terrible day, some say nursing a broken heart, she fell into the rushing waters of the River Corrib and was drowned. It is after the princess Galvia that Galway is named.
Fear not, Catherine, your tale is sure to have a much happier ending, and we will stand by the Corrib and perhaps think of Galvia before walking to the spot where the explorer Christopher Columbus stood before his great voyage, and go on to the fine building that is the King’s Head to admire the marriage stones over the hearth there.
James’s writing was interrupted when Daniel ran into his study, with Carissa in quick pursuit.
‘Daddy!’
‘Daniel, you can sit on my knee. I’m writing to Catherine, a lovely lady who is coming to see you and me in September.’
Carissa stood quietly, taken aback; she hadn’t realised there may be a new woman in his life. Her heart thumped uncomfortably in her chest.
‘Here Daniel, smell the lovely perfume on the letter she wrote to me. She might even come to live with us. Isn’t that wonderful?’ and he hugged his son to him.
‘I am going to play again!’ Daniel declared and he squirmed away as Carissa stood in the doorway, watching as James bent his head to continue writing. Then she turned and went after Daniel.
And Catherine, Barna, beautiful Barna. James looked out in the window and was lost in sweetly precious reverie.
The water babbled sweetly as James and Marguerite sat on the grass in the sun-dappled clearing in Barna Woods. They could hear the sea in the distance and the birds singing close by. Low stone walls guarded James and his love that day, and the sun shone through the ancient trees made by nature, encircling them, protecting them.
Marguerite, made languid by the heat and stillness, laid her head on James’s chest and he could smell her sweetness. Her lashes swept her curved cheek and she sighed with happiness.
James tickled her gently.
; ‘James! I’m trying to rest!’
He tickled her again, and she laughed and pushed him away playfully.
They lay down again and talked of how they would be together forever and ever, as the smell of the earth, the sea, and the sun on the trees and their skin filled the air. The beauty of it all embraced their souls and they knew they would never be the same again, filled as they were with the clarity of the depth of their emotions for each other.
He bent down to embrace her and kissed her softly.
‘I love you, Marguerite.’
James Quinn sat at his desk, the candle illuminating the work laid out in front of him, the summer evening finally darkening, and read over what he had written in his journal:
Collection 1, Of Laborious Cases Delivered by Instruments, Number 1, Case 1. Attendance on Mrs Slaney on William Street near by Mercer’s Hospital for the Poor, 20 July 1741.
At an early hour when all slept soundly, a note was carried to me from my friend and mentor Surgeon Laurence Stone. A woman lay undelivered and in a perilous situation. In his message he wrote that Doctor McFadden had failed to bring the case to a satisfactory end; it may be that the man had theoretical knowledge but lacked sufficient practical experience in the art of childbirth.
As the woman remained undelivered despite much effort, he determined to insert a whalebone fillet to assist delivery but failed in his attempts to introduce the instrument past the infant’s face.
On later application of a vectis, the woman’s internal parts were rent by the metal lever and bled profusely. No further progress being apparent, the midwives had urgently requested the attendance of my friend and mentor. They followed his advice and then sought my presence instead for the birth.
James Quinn felt the woman’s pulse, which raced under his fingers. He took in her swollen face, cheeks red and feverish. Her tongue was so dry that she could not answer his gentle questions. He called for broth and sack wine for the weakened woman.