Searching for Pemberley (49 page)

After telling Michael about my conversation with my mother, he agreed we needed to hold off on a wedding. “I understand why your mother is upset, but I think if she has an opportunity to see the two of us together, she'll realize how well-suited we are for each other. I'll just have to stay in Minooka for a few weeks.”

My first reaction was, “Hell no!” But after calming down, I didn't see any other way to reassure Mom that Michael and I belonged together.

When Father Shea arrived at the house the next morning, I thought he was going to talk to us about laying the foundation for a good Catholic marriage and the importance of bringing the children up in the Church. Instead, he asked Michael about India and the new country of Pakistan. Did Michael think a bloodbath could be avoided between the two countries? As a young priest, my uncle had wanted to be a missionary, and he closely followed international affairs. When Michael took a bathroom break, I hurried after him and told him we needed to get the conversation back on track. Solving Pakistan and India's problems could wait.

“Father, would you like to go for a walk?” I asked in a pleading voice. Although he was my uncle, we were never allowed to call him anything other than Father Shea.

As soon as we got clear of the house, my uncle asked, “Will you be needing to speak to your Uncle John or Father Shea?”

“Both, I think.”

We were walking up Birney Avenue to the city line when my uncle asked Michael if he attended church regularly. I thought, “Holy crap!”

“Regularly? No, I don't. When I was in Malta, I occasionally attended chapel. However, there was little opportunity to do so in Germany. Since I've been discharged from the service, I haven't been to church at all.” There was nothing defensive about this statement, and I was wondering how my uncle would react to someone who didn't apologize for “not keeping holy the Sabbath day.”

“I see,” Father said, clearly not pleased with the answer.

“But what I think you are asking me, Father, is if I honor the Creator and his creation, and I most certainly do and plan to continue doing so through medicine.”

I looked at my uncle to see if that answer satisfied him. He said nothing, and we kept walking. We were nearly to the city line when he finally said, “Michael, I've worked among miners for most of my adult life. Their occupation of clawing ore out of a mountain is dehumanizing, so they either turn to the Church or they turn to drink. My goal has been to keep them within the arms of the Holy Mother Church because, without it, they descend into a life of alcoholism and abuse. The Church helped my sister to get through the poverty of her childhood and an abusive stepfather. It has comforted her in the loss of a child. It has given her the strength to live in a household with a mean-spirited old man, an alcoholic husband, and a son with the remarkable ability to find trouble where there was none. You, young man, pose a threat to the very thing that has kept her whole.

“Here's what I'm going to do. I'll tell Delia that we spoke at length, and I am convinced your beliefs run deep. I will reassure her that Maggie will continue to attend church.” Father looked at me to see if that would be the case, and I nodded eagerly. “I ask that you delay marrying for at least a year because you come from very different backgrounds. If you agree to a year's engagement, I think that it will go a long way to putting my sister's mind at ease. And, Michael, you must understand there is absolutely no divorce in the Catholic Church. Maggie will be your wife in the eyes of the Church until her death.”

After crossing into Scranton, my uncle pointed to Mateo's Bar and said, “Now, there is a matter of much greater concern—a
possible alliance between Bobby Lenehan and Teresa Mateo. Your difficulties pale in comparison.”

Winking at me, my uncle let me know that things would turn out all right. I only hoped that he was right.

MY UNCLE HAD BARELY reached the safety of his mountain parish before a storm came barreling out of the Midwest hitting the Lackawanna Valley with a foot and a half of snow. After digging out our house, Michael took his shovel and went down to Mamie's where he was bunking out during the Minooka part of our courtship. Bobby had practically begged Michael to stay at his house as a buffer between his mother and him. News of his courtship with Teresa had finally reached his mother, and her reaction had been as expected. A loud, “Hell no!” But Bobby was holding his ground, and Michael's presence was preventing Mamie from killing him.

Michael attended Mass with my family on Sunday. Before beginning his sermon, Father Lynch reminded his congregation that the Catholic Church has closed communion, and that you must be a congregant who is free of the stain of mortal sin in order to receive the sacrament. The part about being a non-Catholic was for Michael; the part about being free of mortal sin was for me.

Since we were the talk of the town, everyone wanted to meet Michael. Because of his British accent, he was something of a curiosity, and he answered even the most embarrassing questions graciously. Mamie proved helpful. In an effort to throw an elbow at Bobby, she was telling all her friends that Michael was everything a mother could possibly want in a son.

Although we had agreed we would not set a wedding date, Michael thought he could garner a lot of goodwill with my cousins and friends if we had an engagement party with an open bar. So we made plans for the big event at the Hotel Casey in downtown Scranton.

The day after the party, Michael and I planned to visit his Aunt Laura before going back to London. I was hoping we could have some private time before returning to England. It seemed to be bothering me more than Michael, and he suggested yoga and meditation.

“I meditated quite a bit when I was in hospital in Burma, and yoga has many benefits. It maximizes flexibility,” he said with a big grin. And they say girls are teases.

When we called Beth and Jack to tell them we were going to have an engagement party, they said they wanted to come. Although I warned them about winter weather in the Poconos, they said they would take their chances. When Michael and I arrived at the station to meet the train from New York, sitting on one of the waiting room's wooden benches was Geoff Alcott.

“What are you doing here?” we both asked at the same time.

“I could lie and tell you that I flew in just for the celebration of your engagement, but the truth is that I have been in Washington for the past week. It appears that a North Atlantic alliance between the United States and Western Europe is a
reality. The major players have departed, including my father, and have left the subalterns to dot i's and cross t's.” Geoff was clearly pleased with the results of months of negotiations. “It is gratifying to see that, on occasion, one's labors bear fruit.”

After checking Beth, Jack, and Geoff into the Hotel Casey, we headed to Smith's Diner in South Scranton for lunch. Beth asked how things were going. She was eager to hear how her son had been received.

“Everyone really likes Michael,” I said, which surprised neither of his parents.

“Even Grandpa Joyce likes me—somewhat,” Michael added. “He told me stories about growing up on Omey Island where two or three men would go out in a curragh and collect seaweed. They'd throw hundreds of pounds of the stuff onto what he called 'rafts' and float them in to shore. The seaweed was used for iodine and potash for pottery. Curraghs are little more than big canoes, so it was quite dangerous.”

“My grandfather told you that?” I had never heard that story, but then I realized my grandfather didn't tell stories to anyone other than his card buddies down at the church hall, or when a few old friends stopped in for a cup of tea. I couldn't even eavesdrop because they swapped stories in Irish.

“I'm surprised he's even talking to you,” Jack said. “From what I've heard from Maggie, he can't stand the sight or the sound of an Englishman.”

I decided not to tell Michael that my grandfather, his newfound friend, had said that listening to his British accent was like having needles stuck in his ears.

“He enjoys telling stories about how the Irish kicked British ass after the first war.”

Before anyone got the mistaken impression that my grandfather had opened up a new chapter in British/Irish relations, I told them we would be having a get-together for the two families at Mamie Lenehan's house. I wasn't going to court trouble by having three citizens of his former enemy in his house.

“Michael has been staying at Mamie's,” I explained. “She has a larger house than we do, and since Grandpa never leaves the house now, you won't have a chance to meet him.”

Jack smiled at me. I was sure that he knew why they would not be meeting my grandfather. “It seems you've had a warmer welcome than you might have expected,” Jack said to his son.

“It's been great. I go to Mass with Maggie on Sunday. Father Lynch seems to think I need to be reminded from the pulpit that I am not Catholic. But that's not the best part. After Mass, he told Maggie he hadn't heard her confession since she's been home. I'm sure he suspects some midnight assignation between us.”

Michael looked at me as if to say, “If only it were true.”

“When you think about it, because he hears confession, he has the goods on everyone in town. Minooka has almost no municipal structure, so Father Lynch is mayor, judge, jury, and the police. It's amazing how much power he has.”

“Don't worry about Father Lynch,” Jack said. “You'll be out of here soon enough. How are you getting on with Maggie's family?”

“Sadie likes me. And I've lent my services as a mechanic to Patrick and Maggie's cousin Bobby at their gas station, so I'm definitely in their good graces. I went to a local bar with Mr. Joyce to have a few 'shnorts.' He's a quiet man but highly intelligent and knows the newspaper business inside out. When he has a beer or two in him, he'll tell you stories of when he was a breaker boy and mule driver. As for Mrs. Joyce, I'm still trying
to win her over. I've rewired the chicken coop, repaired the fencing around her garden, cleaned gutters, and shoveled snow. She acknowledges everything I've done, but…”

The reason Michael couldn't complete the sentence was, despite his best efforts, he had made little headway with my mother. As for me, I had made no headway at all.

“Speaking of Sadie,” Geoff said, “when do I get to meet her?”

Michael started to laugh. “Geoff, I'd love to hear a conversation between the two of you. You'd dazzle Sadie with your rapier wit, and she'll respond with a cudgel.”

Jack started to tap the table. “Speaking of shnorts, where can we get a drink?”

“Mateo's. It's right across the street,” Michael answered. “Bobby is dating their daughter, and Mrs. Lenehan went through the roof when she heard about it. Apparently, the Irish arrived here a generation before the Italians, and they look down on them because of their dark skin and exotic ways. In all seriousness,” Michael added, “I think I did a bit of good with Bobby's mother when I told them about James, Angela, and Julia. The past few days I've detected a thawing of relations between Bobby and his mother.”

After the men went across the street to the bar, Beth asked, “How are things between your mother and you?”

I didn't know what to say. Mom was still giving me the cold shoulder, believing her obvious displeasure would make me rethink my decision to marry Michael.

“Maggie, you don't have to weigh your words with me. Has she voiced any objections to Michael?”

“No. My mother's problem is not with Michael. It's with me.”

“Does her unhappiness have something to do with the fact that Michael is not a Catholic?”

I nodded. “Mom doesn't believe Catholics should marry outside their faith. I could deal with that, but she also thinks I'm promiscuous, and according to her beliefs, I am.”

“Maggie, you are not promiscuous. Quite the opposite. Your modesty does you credit.” Patting my hand, Beth asked, “Will this affect your decision to return to England?”

“No, it can't. I'm sorry I've made my mother unhappy. Hopefully, over time, that will change.”

Beth thought it might be helpful if she talked to Mom, explaining how the relationship between Michael and me had come to be.

“That's fine,” I said, “but I'd be surprised if it did any good. That is one lady who can dig in her heels.”