In Name Only (31 page)

Immediately, he
was struck by the feeling of intrusion, like he ought to just take the envelope
and whatever it contained to the attic with the rest of her possessions.  If
this were something she had wanted him to read before she died, she would have
given it to him.

Earlier today,
when he was overseeing the clean up of Lee’s room, he found it necessary to
control the urge to rummage through every drawer, every book, anything that Lee
owned.  When he opened up the cigar box on Lee’s bureau, he practically gasped
to find the watch.  He smiled inwardly to see the ticket and cringed when he
took out the coins and letter.  He understood why Lee had kept the ticket, but
why in the world had his brother saved the other, painful reminders?

At the time, all
he could do was close the box and hand it to Kip to give to Caroline.  She
wouldn’t know the significance of the other items anyway, but she ought to have
the box, to remember Lee.

However, when he
discovered the “Mother” pin that Lee was planning to give to Caroline, he bit
his lip and fought the urge to cry. Before he died, Lee had shared with him
that he was greatly looking forward to being a father and the opportunity to be
a better, more loving father than their own had been.  And now David would have
to shoulder that responsibility.

He turned the
envelope over.  The back did not carry his mother’s wax seal on it and did not
appear as if it had ever been sealed.  Perhaps. . .no, most likely. . .never
sent.

He carefully
lifted the letter out. This was most definitely his mother’s handwriting, but
the strokes were bold, dark, the ink pressing deeply into the page. 

September 15,
1870

Dear Jack,

You are angry
now, but I am also full of rage.  I entered the hallway and you ordered me back
into my room, my dungeon, and you have refused to allow me to comfort my son.
And so tomorrow, I will pretend that I did not hear you and your rage-filled
voice. I will act as if nothing has happened.  However, you will not stop me
from loving my son and from giving him what you have never given him.

I have prayed
that you will be more accepting of our youngest son and of his sensitive
nature.  I know where you wanted to take him this evening and it sickens me.  I
know that you and David go to that awful place once a week.  I prayed that Liam
would have the strength to refuse you and your detestable sordid gift.

I wish I could
leave you and never see you again.  It pains me to see the manner with which
you treat your own flesh and blood.

However, I
know that it is impossible to leave you as it would most certainly mean giving
up everything and I would never, ever leave without taking Liam with me. 

The letter was
not finished nor signed. His mother wished to leave his father?  But where
would she have gone?  How would she survive with no money? 

He always thought
that his mother knew nothing about his or his father’s illicit adventures.  He
shuddered to think that a woman so gently bred would know of such aspects of
life.

“I have changed,
Mother.  I am different.”  The words sounded hollow in the empty room, the cool
autumn air still blowing. 

David had changed,
but there were times in the last several months that he felt like the old
David.  Embracing a life of chastity had been difficult at best, especially
when memories popped into his head at inopportune times.  Every day was a
struggle for him to look at women with respect. Each day held temptations that
he tried hard to resist.

He stuck the
letter in his pants pocket and slowly lowered the window.

“Mother would
have loved Caroline, Lee. .
.”

Their mother
surely would have embraced Caroline as the daughter she never had.  She would
have relished being a grandmother.

He recalled his
mother’s mood the first week after his father died. While she respectfully
appeared somber at the funeral, within days, she began to laugh more and smile
frequently, her voice and manner gay and lively.

That was
certainly a contrast to Caroline’s grief-stricken countenance. David hardly saw
his sister-in-law and when he did, like earlier today at the clearing in the
forest, there were few, awkward words exchanged.  From her manner, he was
certain that she still found this whole arrangement, and him, distasteful.

He closed the
door and stood in the now darkening hallway of the west wing. All of a sudden,
loneliness consumed him.  His immediate family had all passed on.  The only
blood relation left in this world was baby Kathleen.  She would never know Lee
and that caused him to be melancholy. He proceeded downstairs to the study and
turned on the gas lamps.  At the bookshelf he lifted out his journal and stuck
his mother’s letter inside. 

He pulled the
chair out from the desk.  An image came to his mind of the one time two summers
ago when he brought a girl to this room.

He felt that urge
for pleasure, the overwhelming desire to. . . No.  He shook his head to rid
himself of the image and made his way to his ship building table near the window.
He turned up the gas lamps so the room was as bright as daytime. He sat down
and began to sand down the carved-out section of the stern which he had made
yesterday. 

Last week, he had
read a section of Augustine’s Confessions which included the quote “
Grant me
chastity and continency, but not yet
,” a sentiment which often rang true of
his own heart. Many nights, as he struggled to fall asleep, he wondered whether
the torture and self-denial were worth it.  However, in his heart, he knew that
this was one of the most important sacrifices he could ever make because at the
very least, he was no longer using women for his own lustful passions. 

During his
meeting with the priest last week, he almost asked the young Father Flaherty
how in the world he had remained chaste for so many years and how did he seem
so happy. These days, when David was having a difficult time, he would go, in
haste, to the clearing in the forest.  Or he would retire to the study and
build ships or read or smoke his pipe.  Sometimes, he would find himself
barking at Jane or Kip and then apologizing to them for his behavior.

He picked up the
chisel and carved out a design below the stern. He knew exactly what he would
name this boat.

Chapter 32

Caroline placed
two more logs in the fireplace.  A spark flew out at her skirt and burned red
for a second, then left a tiny hole in the fabric.  She shrugged.

She remained
close to the fire, warming her hands and her body.  The past two months since
Christmas had been bitterly cold and Caroline found herself shivering most of
the time.

Thankfully, the
fireplace kept the frigid cold at bay. In theory, the huge coal stove in the
basement was supposed to keep the east wing of the house warm.  But it did
little to do so these days.  Kip kindly brought a portable coal heater to her
room which she kept close to her bed and Kathleen’s crib. It had made a
difference in keeping the room more comfortable, but now she was out of coal
and decided not to venture down to the coal shed at the back of the house at
this time of the night.  For one brief moment, she regretted that the household
had no servant ropes. While the bitter cold spell continued, she trusted that
either Jane or Kip would come into her room during the night and add logs to her
fire.

She straightened
and stared at the small clock on the mantel.  It was a few minutes after
midnight.  She leaned down to put another blanket over Kathleen in her crib. 
The baby was warm and sleeping soundly. 

She pulled her
robe closer to her body and sat on the edge of the bed.  The oil lamp was
blazing brightly on the night table.  She wasn’t yet ready to extinguish the
light.

Shadows under the
door and noises in the hallway suggested that someone was walking by her room. 
Perhaps Jane or Kip were awake?  Since the two servants were married last
month, they seemed to be spending more time in their room during the evening
hours, but they always tended to their duties. 

She crossed the
room and opened the door.  She gasped.  David was standing outside her room and
he stepped back as the door opened.

“David!”  She
stared, her eyes widened.  Then she whispered, “What are you doing here?”

He spoke quietly.
“I was wondering if you might need some more wood or coal.  I didn’t want to
knock in case you were already asleep.”

“As a matter of
fact, I do need more coal as I used the last bit two hours ago.  And six logs
would probably be sufficient for the night.”

“I’ll get those
for you.”

“Thank you.”

He quickly
disappeared down the rear staircase.

Caroline closed
the door and leaned her back against it. Ever since she discovered David in the
forest on his knees praying, she had avoided him whenever possible.

A few moments
later she heard footsteps in the hall and opened the door. David stood in the
doorway with a metal can full of coal looped over his arm and five split logs
in his hands.  She motioned him inside and he quietly placed the can beside the
coal stove, then crossed the room and laid the wood near the fireplace.

“I couldn’t carry
six.  I can go back and get a few more, if you’d like.”

“No, that should
be fine. Thank you, David.  I do appreciate it.”

He nodded but
remained silent, then left.  She closed the door and stared at it, as though
she could see through it. She could not hear him walking and wondered if he had
stayed in front of her room.

Caroline crouched
down in front of the small stove and added a shovelful of coal. She placed two
more logs in the fireplace and slipped into bed. 

Chapter 33

David buttoned up
his nightshirt, then studied himself in the mirror.  He supposed that he did
not look any different. However, Liam was now gone almost a year and his
brother would have been shocked to know what he had accomplished today.  His
father, who commented that only weaklings adhere to religion, would have
disowned him.  His mother would have been pleased.

Earlier today, he
was formally received into the Catholic Church at a solemn celebration at Mass.  However, when he arrived home, there was no congratulatory dinner, and it was as if
no one knew that the old David no longer lived here.

He not only had
managed to successfully make it through one full year of celibacy, he also
succeeded in being able to refrain from drinking and gambling. He had arrived
at a place in his life where he could say with certainty that he had become one
of the righteous.  And, as each day passed, it became easier for him to remain virtuous.
This way of life had become second nature.

During the past
year, he felt at peace and happy, despite the loss of his brother, despite
being forced into a marriage of convenience. He felt God’s presence every time
he heard Kat laugh, or during a rainfall or when he was taking a ride in the
mountains. God’s influence, God’s hand, seemed so much a part of everything in
life.

Earlier this
week, Caroline had asked him to take her to the cemetery to visit Liam’s grave
tomorrow.  It would be a difficult outing, for her most especially, but she
seldom asked for anything so he readily agreed.

He picked up the
Douay Bible which Father Flaherty had given him  and turned to the letter of
St. Paul to the Ephesians, 3:16, the reading which Father Flaherty read today
at Mass:

“That he would
grant you, according to the riches of his glory, to be strengthened by his
Spirit with might into the inward man;

That Christ
may dwell by faith in your hearts. . .
”

David now felt
certain that he could conquer anything, any difficulty, any challenge, any temptation.
He was a new person, clothed with Christ.

*  *  *

Caroline stirred
as her baby began to whimper.

“Shhh, Sweet, I
will pick up you momentarily,” she told her daughter in the crib beside her.

“Miss Caroline,
you want me to calm the baby down?” Jane asked through the closed door.

“No.  I think she
wants to nurse.”

“Very well.”

She lifted up her
child and began to nurse. Kathleen gulped eagerly and began to drift back to
sleep. Caroline was always comforted by her baby’s sweet milk breath and the
warm weight of her small body next to hers.  She found it difficult to believe
that her daughter was already ten months old.  Her hair color, fair complexion
and fine features made her a most breathtaking child.

As her baby
nursed, Caroline could see out the window that it was going to be a cloudy and
dreary day. It had now been one year since he had died, one year of heartache,
grief and loneliness. Two months ago, she had tried to conjure up Liam’s face
in her mind and, unable to do so, immediately procured their wedding
photograph.  How could she forget his face?  And what would she have done
without the picture of him?