enough.”
Kathleen dragged herself to the spinning wheel, but when her mother went outside, she pulled Michael’s purse out from under her straw mat and counted the money once again. Spring was coming; ships would be sailing for America. If only she could summon more courage and strength. But it seemed the baby in her womb was robbing her of the last of her energy—or perhaps it was the contempt and cruelty of the people around her that exhausted her. The only one in the village who showed Kathleen any kindness was Father O’Brien. The old priest had, no doubt, seen his share of women fall from grace, and he seemed to recognize that recriminations would do no good.
When Kathleen confessed the whole story to him in tears, he even tried to intervene with the prison chaplain in Wicklow.
“If Michael’s willing to marry you, perhaps the chaplain will do it,” Father O’Brien said. Kathleen had some hope, but just a few days later the response arrived: the chaplain strongly advised against marrying a prisoner before deportation. His opinion was clear in his letter to Father O’Brien:
No blessing lies in sealing a union that can no longer be consummated. On the contrary, we would be encouraging sin thereby. The young man will remain in the colonies forever, and the young woman in Ireland. Is she to remain chaste her whole life? Naturally, we might wish for that, but the flesh is weak. A marriage before his deportation would, moreover, nourish the hope that he might return. Thus, he would not integrate himself in the colonies. We would be fomenting recalcitrance and resistance, not to mention that Michael Drury is not counted among the obedient and God-fearing. It would be better if this Kathleen O’Donnell was to accept her fate and view it as expiation for her sins. May she serve as an example to the other girls of her village.
Father O’Brien expected tears from Kathleen as he read his colleague’s opinion. But her eyes remained dry—and the priest recognized more anger than sorrow, let alone remorse.
“And what about the baby, Father?” she asked harshly after a pause. “Whom the church is denying a father and an honorable name? Should I have it baptized with the name ‘Example’?”
O’Brien shrugged his shoulders. He could have admonished her for disparaging the church, but there was no point. In his heart of hearts, he agreed with her.
The first days of March were sunny, and Kathleen remembered her happy days by the river with Michael. She would have gladly left the dark hut to enjoy the outdoors, but her mother brought her plenty of wool to spin, enough to keep her busy all day.
Kathleen was just considering whether she should move the spinning wheel out in front of the cottage and whether that would invite the scorn and mockery of the passing villagers, when there was a knock at the door. When she opened the door, she was amazed to see Ian Coltrane standing there.
The young horse trader smiled at her. “A good day to you, Mary Kathleen O’Donnell,” he said formally.
Kathleen bowed slightly and returned his greeting. “What brings you here, Ian?” she asked, not unfriendly but reserved. “We don’t have any horses to sell, and my father doesn’t mean to buy any.”
Ian grinned. “No, nothing about a horse,” he said. “I didn’t come for that. I wanted to see you, Kathleen. But should we go inside or to the village square? It could put you in a bad light if a passerby sees you talking with me here.”
Kathleen wondered if he was serious. “You can’t sully my name any more; that’s been done already,” she said casually. “I don’t care what the people say. So, what brings you here, Ian?”
Ian smiled. “Well, I need to get back to Wicklow in the coming days. And I wanted to offer you another ride. In case you’d like to visit your aunt again.”
Kathleen sank her head. Was he mocking her? Well, she would not show any reaction. She would not be shamed by him. “My aunt
Kathleen dragged herself to the spinning wheel, but when her mother went outside, she pulled Michael’s purse out from under her straw mat and counted the money once again. Spring was coming; ships would be sailing for America. If only she could summon more courage and strength. But it seemed the baby in her womb was robbing her of the last of her energy—or perhaps it was the contempt and cruelty of the people around her that exhausted her. The only one in the village who showed Kathleen any kindness was Father O’Brien. The old priest had, no doubt, seen his share of women fall from grace, and he seemed to recognize that recriminations would do no good.
When Kathleen confessed the whole story to him in tears, he even tried to intervene with the prison chaplain in Wicklow.
“If Michael’s willing to marry you, perhaps the chaplain will do it,” Father O’Brien said. Kathleen had some hope, but just a few days later the response arrived: the chaplain strongly advised against marrying a prisoner before deportation. His opinion was clear in his letter to Father O’Brien:
No blessing lies in sealing a union that can no longer be consummated. On the contrary, we would be encouraging sin thereby. The young man will remain in the colonies forever, and the young woman in Ireland. Is she to remain chaste her whole life? Naturally, we might wish for that, but the flesh is weak. A marriage before his deportation would, moreover, nourish the hope that he might return. Thus, he would not integrate himself in the colonies. We would be fomenting recalcitrance and resistance, not to mention that Michael Drury is not counted among the obedient and God-fearing. It would be better if this Kathleen O’Donnell was to accept her fate and view it as expiation for her sins. May she serve as an example to the other girls of her village.
Father O’Brien expected tears from Kathleen as he read his colleague’s opinion. But her eyes remained dry—and the priest recognized more anger than sorrow, let alone remorse.
“And what about the baby, Father?” she asked harshly after a pause. “Whom the church is denying a father and an honorable name? Should I have it baptized with the name ‘Example’?”
O’Brien shrugged his shoulders. He could have admonished her for disparaging the church, but there was no point. In his heart of hearts, he agreed with her.
The first days of March were sunny, and Kathleen remembered her happy days by the river with Michael. She would have gladly left the dark hut to enjoy the outdoors, but her mother brought her plenty of wool to spin, enough to keep her busy all day.
Kathleen was just considering whether she should move the spinning wheel out in front of the cottage and whether that would invite the scorn and mockery of the passing villagers, when there was a knock at the door. When she opened the door, she was amazed to see Ian Coltrane standing there.
The young horse trader smiled at her. “A good day to you, Mary Kathleen O’Donnell,” he said formally.
Kathleen bowed slightly and returned his greeting. “What brings you here, Ian?” she asked, not unfriendly but reserved. “We don’t have any horses to sell, and my father doesn’t mean to buy any.”
Ian grinned. “No, nothing about a horse,” he said. “I didn’t come for that. I wanted to see you, Kathleen. But should we go inside or to the village square? It could put you in a bad light if a passerby sees you talking with me here.”
Kathleen wondered if he was serious. “You can’t sully my name any more; that’s been done already,” she said casually. “I don’t care what the people say. So, what brings you here, Ian?”
Ian smiled. “Well, I need to get back to Wicklow in the coming days. And I wanted to offer you another ride. In case you’d like to visit your aunt again.”
Kathleen sank her head. Was he mocking her? Well, she would not show any reaction. She would not be shamed by him. “My aunt
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