January 31, 1852
Now that I have been back at St Joseph’s for three days, I will steal an hour from my chores and record the astonishing events that have come to pass. January went slowly as, once I had determined to leave the de la Hayes, it seemed that I could not wait to return to Kingston. It was as if some strong cord was pulling me. To my chagrin, there was no response from the Kingsleys.
Sister Martha, however, wrote most eagerly, “My child, it is as if you have read my thoughts. I long to see you again and Father Andrew joins me in sending his love. You will find that he has aged rather rapidly since dear Isobel was called to the Lord. I believe that, to him, she was always a younger sister, and it made her passing more painful. I have been blessed with having help with the young children, but more of that when you arrive. The good Lord moves in mysterious ways.”
The journey was tedious, perhaps because I have not fully gathered my strength since I fell ill over the Christmas season. The roads were slow and difficult after recent snowfalls. This resulted in delays and chillsome waits. I welcomed our stops at inns, farmhouses and hotels. When we finally arrived in Kingston, dark had fallen.
I could not carry my bags to St Joseph’s and, seeing no familiar face, I hired a cab to take me to the door. I walked up the familiar path slowly, looking for each remembered feature of the grounds. Inside, lamps were burning and the soft warm glow seeped through the curtains. When I knocked, I waited a lengthy time. A lanky girl of about twelve years of age opened the door.
“Yes, Miss?”
“Am I not expected? It’s Catherine, I know - ”
A cry of joy, and Sister Martha came bustling forward. “My dearest child, we did not expect you till tomorrow. The coach did not arrive and we thought you’d spent another night on the way.”
I was enveloped in a huge embrace. I heard Father Andrew’s voice and he advanced to welcome me.
Sister Martha turned on the luckless girl who was standing gawking. “Get moving, Ursula, you silly child. Can’t you see that Catherine needs refreshment?”
The child turned and ran towards the kitchen. I imagined I heard a confusion of voices, as in the past.
Later, when I had eaten and drunk the hot beverage prepared for me, we sat and talked long hours. I confessed all my difficulties and even my forbidden love for the young Irish officer.
“Ah, you girls,” sighed Sister Martha.
Speaking of my prospects of employment, I remarked on my disappointment at not hearing from the Kingsleys.
“Why, Catherine, I do believe that they are still away,” the sister observed. “You are far too inclined to take these matters to heart.
““Did they go to New York again?” I remembered that they had spent the summer with her family.
“No, my dear. The major’s mother has been poorly for some time and they returned to England to solace her on her deathbed. I believe the poor soul was called from this world a few weeks after their arrival. Mrs Gildersleeve came by to leave some clothing for the girls and told me that the Kingsleys were due back this spring and that Mrs Kingsley was most eager to return.”
I listened with much interest, knowing that Sister Martha had no objection to hearing all the gossip, though she was kindly in repeating it.
“Did Mrs Gildersleeve have any other news?”
“Well, my dear, I wouldn’t wish to repeat idle talk but I do remember that she said she thought Mrs Kingsley found it hard to be compared to the first wife, who apparently had been quite a favourite. The poor woman died on her way here to join her husband and so, they said, did the little daughter.” Sister Martha looked at me reflectively, “but I expect you remember that, for you became very fond of the family, didn’t you?”
“Yes, indeed I did. Major Kingsley is a fine man and I got used to his wife’s ways. I look forward to seeing them again.”
“Well, no doubt you will, and now, my dear, I think it is high time that we went to bed.”
She led me to the room that I had shared with Darra for so many years. I stood outside the door for a minute, and turning to Sister Martha with a slight sob, I said, “It has been perfect coming back, seeing you again, except that I miss Sister Isobel and - oh, Darra! When will I ever see her again?”
Sister Martha gave me a brisk kiss and answered, “If the Lord wills it, very soon.” Giving me a little push towards the room, she turned and walked down the passage towards the children’s dormitory.
I opened the door and immediately noted a lamp burning. There was Darra’s bed and on it was... Darra!
For a moment, I stood speechless, not believing my eyes. She looked at me, her eyes filled with tears. Running over to the bed, I flung my arms round her and we clung to each other as if we’d never let go.
“Darra! I thought you were in New York. Why didn’t you write? Or if you did, I never received your letters.”
“Oh, Cat. Cat.” She held me closely, sobbing. I realised that she was not lit with the same joy that enveloped me and I cried out in terror.
“Darra! What is it? What has happened? I can sense something different in you. What is it?”
Whatever I might have expected her to say, it was not the words that followed.
“Oh, Cat, I’m not your sister,” she cried.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Darra, of course you are my sister. Whatever are you saying?”
“Cat, listen to me.” Sitting up, Darra pulled herself away from me and began to speak. She poured out all that had been told her by someone with the name of Beaufort Powell, the while choking with sobs. She ended forlornly, “and so it is certain that I am Noreen’s child and no one knows who my father may have been.”
I reeled, remained silent a minute and then said, “In that case, whose child am I?”
You could have heard a pin drop. After a minute, Darra’s eyes met mine with a look of infinite affection and a faint smile shimmered in the tear-wet green depths. “Such wonderful news! You will never believe it, but you already know your father. He is Major Kingsley and, of course, his first wife was your mother. She sailed on the same boat as did mine,” She went on to tell all that Mr Powell had told her.
It was difficult for me to deal with so many conflicting emotions, so many new ideas. They swirled inside me. One emotion, however, dominated all the rest.
“Darra, I’ll never tell him, or if I do, it will only be if you are welcomed as my sister. Darra, nothing can divide us. You mean too much to me. My home will always be yours. No one who fails to love you, will be anything to me.” I spoke the truth. Darra and I had shared so much together, and being with her at that moment only reminded me how sorely I had missed her.
“Cat, that is not all.” She looked down, hesitating, “Sister Martha said I have no need to upset you with all this but I cannot hide it from you.” She shuddered, and I realised that some terrible, damaging thing had almost extinguished my sister’s inner flame, her vitality.
It made me feel protective, I flung my arms around her, exclaiming, “You tell me, or you don’t tell me, as you wish. All I know is that we are back together. I hate anyone who has hurt you.”
“I should have had a baby, Cat, and I lost my little son. At least, I think it was a son.” she wept.
“Oh, Darra!” I gasped, despite myself. All at once, my own past difficulties seemed minor.
“When I was in New York,” she continued, “I was tricked into working in a house of ill-repute. I ran away and then I became ill.”
I listened, appalled as she described the machinations of that villain, Levishon, or some such name. I could not imagine the “palaces of pleasure” she described, nor did I want to believe that men could be so vile.
“Sister Martha?” I enquired cautiously after Darra had completed her sorry tale, “What did she say? Did you tell her?”
“I told her everything, except....” There was a faint twinkle, more like the old Darra. “I didn’t tell her how really fine I looked in some of those clothes.”
“But whatever did she say?”
“She was so kind and good. ‘Darra,’ she admonished me, ‘you are genuinely sorry, that I can tell, I think your sufferings have been punishment enough. The past is now behind you and I must urge you not to over indulge yourself in guilt, I do not wish to hear any more. You should not think further about these matters. Kindly accept the sacrament of absolution in the spirit our Lord means you to.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “That sounds like her, dear Sister Martha, our Mother and the best one we could have.”
Darra glanced up at me and we both smiled. The past months disappeared and, for a moment, we were together again as if time and fate had not intervened.
February 16, 1852
The past two weeks have been placid and Darra and I have built ourselves a routine. We get up, attend prayers, help with the household affairs, or perhaps settle the children for their morning lessons. We are at Sister Martha’s call and we remind Father Andrew of his messages. Neither of us discusses the future, nor what it may hold. I am awaiting the Kingsley’s return, wondering how I will be received. At all events, I am determined to make my own life and will seek employment at a later date.
In the afternoons we ply our needles, take the children for their daily walk and perhaps read or study. Darra is slowly regaining her confidence, though at times I find her sitting silently in the chapel, perhaps in tears. Sister Martha does not allow this “self-indulgence” but I find a period of reflection to be a healthy thing. As the body grows in strength, so must the mind rest and then rise and seek answers.
I slip in beside her and, kneeling for a minute, whisper, “Darra, are you feeling better?”
“Yes,” she whispers back, and we cross ourselves and leave together.
February 25, 1852
At the best of times, February is a difficult month. The memory of intense cold, bitter winds, heavy robes and boots tend to discourage us from outdoor activity. Indoors, the fire burns but, away from it, cold draughts frisk about in all the corners of the room. Yet the February sun has a warmth to it that is heartening, Darra and I are closer in thought and emotion to each other, and the pain we have, each in our own way, experienced is beginning to soften round the edges.
Sister Martha seldom chides Darra now about “moping” in the chapel and has been heard complaining that, since she came home, the little ones can think of nothing but stories. I too have been busy in the schoolroom, trying to capture some of the eager, listening faces with my brush.
“What next, Darra, what next?” they cry if my sister so much as pauses for breath. Once, when I became caught up in the tale, her lilting voice carried me back to childhood delights and the stories we loved. Almost unaware, my fingers lightly sketched the princess, her carriage and the prince.
The children gathered around, calling, “Look, oh look, clever Cat has drawn the princess and - look! Why, she looks just like Darra,” and so she did.
Today I received a letter from Roger in the post. It brought a surge of memories, some joyful, some painful.
My dear Catherine,
You will not be surprised, I think, to hear that Madeleine Sevigny and I are to be married. We want you to be the first to know. The children are delighted and cannot wait for us to be installed in one household. It is our sincere wish that you will consider our home yours and that you will not hesitate to visit us.
I hope, dear Catherine, that happiness lies ahead for you and I will always remember you with love and respect. Roger.
So many unexpected endings. Moira Parnell, engaged to be married, and now Roger and Madame Sevigny to say their vows. Only Darra and I are back where we began. Darra, who seems wonderfully contented at the moment, says that she is reborn. Sister Martha gives her a quick look to see if she is dramatising. But I? I feel restless and experience a need to take up my life anew, now that I am fortified by my days at home.
March 30, 1852
I have neglected my journal lately. At first, there seemed little news to write of and then... life changed unexpectedly.
It must have been the first day of spring when Sister Martha sent Darra to the drygoods store to choose fabric for our summer needs.
“It will do you good to get out,” she said, “and you may choose some extra yardage in case you have any invitations from young men. I do not expect you and Catherine to sit about like nuns. Nor does Catherine need to look like a charity case when her father returns.”
Darra and I exchanged glances. She is still reluctant to enter the world of eligibility and marriage, and I am fearful of my reception at the Kingsleys’. There was no arguing with Sister Martha, however, so Darra selected her light cloak and, asking me my colour preferences, was on her way. When she did not return in time for the midday meal Sister Martha was extremely put out,
“I did not ask Darra to prepare a wardrobe for our good Queen,” she pointed out, “and I fail to see that the decisions of buttons and bows should be that time-consuming.”
When Darra did return, she was flushed and excited. She murmured excuses about meeting an acquaintance from Toronto and begged leave to return to the stores with me that afternoon. “I have need of Catherine,” she pleaded, “There are some decisions that I cannot make for Cat. Please let us go together.”
“Well, it is true that girls like to plan their wardrobe themselves.” concurred Sister Martha, “Off you go then, and, at the same time, buy me a pound of arrowroot as our stock is low. Some of the children still cling to their winter coughs and need extra nourishment.”
The two of us set out. Darra seemed unusually gay and strangely vague about the problems of dress we were to settle. Instead of turning towards the drygoods store, she said, “Cat, let us go to the tearoom, I feel an astonishing thirst and need to rest my legs.”
I looked at her in some concern, then with suspicion, “Darra, in the past, you have often advised me on my dress and seen better than I what colour or style will become me. Why is my presence now so necessary? Furthermore, we have just finished dining.”
Darra merely laughed and said, “It is so long since we have sat and enjoyed the tearoom cakes together. Do let’s go.”
It’s true that St Joseph’s fare is plain, though nutritious, and the memory of the tearoom cakes rose in my mind.
“Why not? I would enjoy it.”
We walked slowly, enjoying the milder air. The robins had returned, their shrill cries heard from time to time as the wary cats slunk by. The trees were in bud and spring flowers appeared tentatively in the sunnier beds. Passers-by were dressed in lighter attire, some men were hatless.
The tearoom was enjoying a brisk trade. Darra hastened in eagerly, I following in her wake. She headed towards an alcove at the back. I wondered why, for it seemed already occupied by a young man. He appeared to be sitting as though waiting for someone. Unwillingly, I thought of Cavan. Indeed, the man was very reminiscent of - it was Cavan!
I stopped, unable to take another step. He rose and came towards us, his eyes fixed on my face.
“Catherine!”
“I will leave you now,” Darra murmured as she stirred beside me. “Don’t disappoint me.” Turning gracefully, she disappeared from the tearoom.
I stood still, warmth flooding my cheeks, my eyes lowered before the longing in his gaze. It can only have been a moment before he led me to a seat and placed himself across from me.
“Catherine! My love. This morning, when I saw Darra about her errands, I recognized her at once as the charming young actress I had met in Toronto last year. She told me you were back, that you had left the de la Hayes. We talked of many things; she’ll tell you about it later. Cat, I have so much to say to you, but not here, not before all the world. May we take a drive? I’ll hire a cab. It is such a lovely spring day.”
I looked into his hazel eyes, green sparks dancing with mischief.
“I recall, Cat, a most pleasurable time I spent with you in a cab on another occasion.”
“Sir, you forget yourself,” I rallied boldly, “I am not at all sure I should risk my life in your hands. Besides, Darra awaits me.”
“No, alanna. Darra goes back to St Joseph to ask Father Andrew to grant me an interview tonight.”
“For whatever reason?”
“Come, my sweetheart, let us find a cab and I will make my reason clear.”
Taking my arm, Cavan led me out and I, accepting as if in a dream, followed his lead. Helping me onto the seat, Cavan gave the driver some directions and climbed in beside me. Without speaking, he slid his arm round my waist. I leaned against him, my head resting on his shoulder. Our hands locked. It was as though we belonged together.
Then Cavan raised my face and kissed me tenderly on the lips.
“My dearest love, I have news for you. I have been given honourable discharge from the army on account of that silly accident I suffered last year. No! No!” he exclaimed, seeing my look of alarm. “Do not fear. My health improves daily. There is but one thing I need to restore me to my former strength.”
“What is that, Cavan? What has your physician recommended?”
“He has recommended marriage, my love. He suggested I find some pretty girl who would be willing to take me on. Unfortunately, I have not won the lady of my choice.” His hand slid caressingly under my cloak. I looked up into the ardent face bent to mine.
“I am sorry to hear that, Sir, perhaps you were a little too forward in your approach, as you certainly are now!” Teasingly, I removed the errant hand. “Tell me something of this woman of your choice?”
“She is little and beautifully formed. Her eyes are cornflowers, her hair is flax. She walks with grace and dignity. More than that, she is loyal and kind.”
“She sounds a paragon, Sir, and why has this lovely not accepted your hand?”
“Pride, Catherine. Her pride.”
At that moment, the carriage stopped, I had been giving scant attention to our route and now found that we were out of Kingston, the river to our left and, to our right, a gate leading to a small farmhouse. Beyond the house lay as lovely a vista of rolling land, field, and coppice as I had ever seen.
“Where is this, Cavan?” I asked in surprise.
“This is Fairlee Farm, Cat, it comprises 100 acres and is currently for sale. I find it to my taste. Do you like it?”
Taking my hand, Cavan helped me from the cab and we paced carefully down the road. Then, turning me towards him, Cavan raised my hand to his mouth, kissing each finger in an old remembered gesture.
“Alanna,” he asked softly, “will you marry me? I’ve loved you for so long. Be my wife and grace my home, will you? Come and live with me at Fairlee Farm.”
I answered without hesitation, “Yes please, Cavan.”
Folding me in his arms, our bodies blended as one, our lips met sweetly. Time ceased, eternity was ours.
* * *
I have paused, for the memory of those moments will be with me always. Sometime later, we wandered back to the cab and, seating ourselves inside, settled back to enjoy our dreams of the future. The trip home passed quickly and soon we arrived at St Joseph’s. Cavan and I walked up the path, hand in hand. As we entered, Darra peeped from the parlour door and, seeing our smiles, rushed up to me and threw her arms around my neck.
Father Andrew stood up to greet us, saying, “What is all this, my child? Who is this young man? Introduce me, please.”
Leaving the two men to discuss business affairs. Sister Martha, Darra and I retired to the kitchen, where we exchanged embraces and, I must admit it, shed some tears.
“Our first wedding,” sighed Sister Martha.
Turning to more practical matters, we prepared refreshments, it being taken for granted that Cavan would spend the evening.
We dined apart from the children. Father Andrew and Cavan seemed in good accord and Sister Martha beamed on us as if all were of her making. Darra sparkled, teased and laughed without a care in the world. I thought how admirably she and Cavan agreed, their puckish humour providing foils for each other.
After dinner, Father Andrew and Sister Martha excused themselves and left the three of us to our own devices. Cavan settled himself beside me on the horsehair couch and Darra curled up in the big armchair beside the fireplace.
“Since it is only family, Sister Martha cannot tell me to sit up properly,” she remarked.
“That is true, Darra,” Cavan remarked, “But, sister mine, you should show a little respect to your older brother and his affianced bride.”
Darra laughed and, just as she was about to say something, I broke in, “Oh Cavan, I am so glad you already feel that Darra is a sister. I couldn’t marry you if you did not.”
Cavan turned to me very seriously. “Cat, Darra has been patient, but she has something to tell you.”
Puzzled by his tone, then alarmed, I turned to Darra hastily.
“Oh Darra, what is it?”
“Don’t sound so worried, Cat, I have good news, but I didn’t want to tell you about it too soon. Believe it or not, I have found my father, but the best part of the whole story is that I have also gained a brother!”
I gazed at her incredulously. Darra had found her father? And a brother? For a moment, some selfish impulse made me afraid. Would these strangers alienate her from me?
All at once, the realisation of what this meant to my sister came to me and, jumping up, I ran over, threw my arms about her and demanded, “Why have you kept it from me? Where are they? Who are they? When will I meet them?”
Darra rose, pushing me aside. With great dignity and presence, she crossed the room to where Cavan was sitting. Regally, she waved him to his feet. “Miss St Joseph, may I present my brother, Cavan O’Hara?”
I opened my mouth to protest in astonishment, then closed it again. I saw Darra’s red curls dancing just below the russet locks of my love; two pairs of mischievous slanted eyes, green lights flashing, two straight noses above the mobile mouths. How much the two looked alike!
Seeing my utter bewilderment, Cavan took me in his arms and pulled me back to the couch, “Sit, my love. We will explain it all to you,” Then, with my head resting against him, secure in the cradle of his arm, I listened to Darra’s arresting tale.
“When Cavan ran into me on the street, we stopped to exchange greetings. Of course, I thought of you, Cat, and wanted to detain him so that I could discover what was going on. I was determined that his presence in Kingston would not mean further hurt for you.”
“And I,” broke in Cavan, “could not believe my good luck. There was my long-lost love’s sister, all smiles and charm and ready to confide in me.”
“Silence,” Darra interrupted imperiously, “I turned on my wiles fully and the gentleman quickly succumbed to the honour of accompanying me to the tearoom. At first, all he could talk about was my sister, her charms, her cruelty and so on. I was becoming a bit bored with it all. Suddenly I saw his gaze riveted on my maidenly form. Why, he even ceased talking.”
“Darra!” I objected.
“Next,” she continued, ignoring me, “he leaned forward and demanded ‘Where did you get that brooch?’” She fingered the lovely emerald, gold-entwined ornament which Beaufort Powell had given her at their last meeting.
“Your mother’s brooch?” I asked, recalling the happiness with which she had shown it to me on our reunion.
“Indeed yes. He could not take his eyes off it.”
“It just happens,” interjected Cavan, “that it was a perfect match to a set of my mother’s. She received it on the occasion of her marriage. The set includes a necklace, pendant, ring, brooch and earrings. My mother scarcely wore the pieces, declaring that green was not her colour. I remember one evening when my father demanded that she wear the set and there was a quarrel. Eventually, my mother appeared without the brooch. She said it was lost. My father was furious and wanted to call in the servants. My mother cursed him and admitted that she had given the brooch to the maid. “You know why she left, Timothy. You gave her something,” my mother insisted, “so why should I not do so also?” With that, she stalked out of the room.
“I was interested in the whole story. All the estate knew that the girl was pregnant by my father. I remember her, Noreen. She was a cheerful, young thing of Darra’s general build and colouring.
“Well,” picked up Darra, “I told him all that Mr Powell had revealed to me. We compared notes, we compared features and we decided that we were related.”
“Indeed,” remarked Cavan, “we were both amazed, but it pleases us greatly. In order to complete our happiness, we decided that I should marry you so that you would in reality, and in law, have Darra as a sister.”
“We arranged to have you meet Cavan at the tearoom,” Darra continued, “and everything went just as planned. Oh, Cat....” The tone of her voice abruptly changed in emotion. “Isn’t it wonderful? I can scarcely take it all in. You and Cavan and I. A real family at last.”
As I record this, I am still filled with amazement and joy. Each day brings the three of us closer together. The only cloud which mars my happiness is my forthcoming meeting with the Kingsleys.
April 2, 1852
It is general knowledge that the Kingsleys arrive back in Kingston tomorrow. I become increasingly fearful. Cavan, Darra and I have held endless discussions as to how I should be introduced as the rightful daughter of the household. Finally we decided that Cavan would ride over in the afternoon and initiate the subject while Darra and I wait here. Cavan can then proceed as he sees fit.
Cavan and I have decided on a June wedding. How greatly I wish to grace his home as Catherine Kingsley! I am not, however, unaware that much will depend on Kingston’s acceptance of my arrival into society by so unusual a route. Whatever will Mrs Kingsley think? I fear that Darra is right when she says, “Dear Agatha will agree with whatever seems most acceptable to the social élite.”
Cavan will not allow me to dwell unduly on the subject and I must end my scribbling. Even now, he urges me to join him in a drive to Fairlee Farm. The purchase is now complete and we had the pleasure of taking Darra to view the property. She was utterly delighted and vows that she will spend all her free time with us.
April 4, 1852
I am writing this in the nursery at the Kingsleys’, in my father’s home. Last night there was no persuading them that I should return to St Joseph’s for the night. Indeed, after so traumatic a day, I was more than ready to refresh my strained emotions with sleep.
Cavan left us shortly after three in the afternoon, kissing me roundly, and ordering Darra not to allow me to give in to my fears. We withdrew to the parlour and speculated endlessly on what could be occurring. At the point of despair, wondering how much longer I could endure the tension, we heard the sound of hoofs.
Darra raced to the window and, peeping from behind the curtains, called out, “Oh, Cat, it’s Major Kingsley’s carriage! He’s leaping out and hastening up the path!”
At that very moment, the door bell pealed. Darra was out of the room in a flash, but I stood motionless. Major Kingsley, my father, rushed into the room, almost preceding Darra in his anxiety. He stopped. We gazed at each other. Finally he stepped forward and embraced me.
“Catherine! My dear child. How could I have not suspected something? You are so much like your mother.”
By then I found that I was crying and the next few minutes passed in confusion. Darra wiped her eyes, went running to brew fresh tea and called for Sister Martha.
I will never forget the next half hour. Father Andrew slipped in to receive Major Kingsley’s gratitude for having cared for me. Sister Martha shed a few tears.
“If only dear Isobel could have been here to witness this.” she said.
Turning to them, Major Kingsley spoke, “May I beg permission to take my daughter back with me? I assure you that I shall make a tangible donation to St Joseph’s in appreciation of all you have done for Catherine. Meanwhile, I should return home.”
Wondering about Cavan’s whereabouts, and assuming he had preferred to allow my father to come on his own, I ventured to inquire, “Where is Cavan, Father? Is he waiting outside?”
“He is at our house,” replied the major, “attending to Mrs Kingsley. The news was rather a shock for her.”
Darra and I exchanged glances.
“I do hope she will not mind too much,” I murmured.
My father cleared his throat. “I think you know that Agatha is highly strung, my dear, I have no doubt that she will come to her senses shortly. Your young man seems to have the situation in hand.”
We rose to leave and Darra stood aside in silence. I opened my mouth to ask my father’s permission for her to accompany us.
“Come along, Darra,” the major said, tapping her on the arm. “Cavan has told me that you are related to him. That’s quite a story, my girl. In all events, I would as soon have two daughters as one. Get your cloak and don’t let us delay.”
Darra glanced at him incredulously but, seeing the smile on his lips, she broke into smiles and almost danced out of the room.
I pressed his arm, whispering, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Soon the three of us were installed in the carriage, filling in the missing pieces of the story.
“Did you not receive my note?” asked Darra, “I thought when you saw the quilt that you would know at once.”
“Mrs Kingsley and I received it when we were in England. We could not understand it at all. Then, with other worries on our minds, we put it out of our thoughts. Of course, we would have checked at some point. In fact,” he remarked, looking somewhat puzzled, “I still do not know what relevance it has. We will unroll it once we are home.”
When the carriage drew up at the Kingsley house, I was struck by the irony of my arrival as daughter, where previously I had been maid, then companion.
Cavan greeted us at the door, saying quite matter-of-factly to my father, “Mrs Kingsley is in the parlour, Sir.”
My father strode ahead, I followed, Cavan and Darra took up the rear amid whispers and low-key laughter.
Mrs Kingsley lay draped across the couch, her smelling salts on the table. Her face was red with much weeping.
At the sight of me, she burst out, “This is most inconsiderate of you, Catherine. You know very well how sensitive I am”
“Madam, I am very sorry,” I answered as was my habit.
Mrs Kingsley raised her handkerchief to her face and allowed a few sobs to escape her.
“What will the town say?”
“The town will rejoice in our good fortune, my dear.”
“We will be having a most fashionable wedding,” added Cavan, grinning at me in a teasing manner, “We hope you will honour us with your presence.”
Mrs Kingsley rang the bell and demanded a fresh brew of camomile tea. Oonagh, who answered the bell, stared at Darra and me in open amazement.
“What are you staring at, girl?” demanded Mrs Kingsley in a new burst of temper. “Get me a fresh brew and keep your mouth shut.”
Darra and I smiled at Oonagh sympathetically as she hurried from the room.
“My dear,” my father was speaking firmly. “I must ask you to take a strong hand on yourself. You have two new daughters. Catherine, beloved child of my first wife, and Darra, Cavan’s sister.”
“That little piece! How can you, Edward?” With a low cry, Mrs Kingsley once more swooned on the couch. Cavan raised the smelling salts to her nose with a briskness that caused her to gasp.
“I believe your opinion to be quite mistaken.” he spoke up, “You have here two of the loveliest young women in Kingston for daughters. They have been brought up with great respectability. In opening your home to them, you set a fine example to society. I have no doubt that you will be much admired.”
“Do you think so?” was her doubtful response.
“I am sure of it, my dear,” added the major. “Let us plan a small dinner for a select few to celebrate our daughter’s engagement. There is no doubt that the wedding will cause quite a stir, with the arrival of Catherine’s friends from Government circles. Of course, the Gildersleeves will expect to be invited.”
Mrs Kingsley looked thoughtful, “Catherine, my dear, as I have said all along, it was inconsiderate of you to give us so little time to prepare for a wedding,” She looked resentfully at Darra. “I hope you too are not expecting me to wear myself to the bone in preparation of a second marriage for you.”
“Indeed! No, Madam,” said Darra, shocked. “I expect to take the veil... Sister Martha, however, considers me still unready.” All heads turned to her in surprise.
“Oh Darra!” Cavan and I spoke simultaneously.
“Most unready! Most unsuitable, I should say.” said Mrs Kingsley unkindly. “Besides, I will expect help with all that is going to fall on my shoulders. Men have no idea what a wedding involves.”
“I’m most anxious to help you, Mrs Kingsley. I am much more experienced in gracious living now. You will find me far less flighty.” Darra hastened to reassure my stepmother.
“Enough, enough, girl. Fetch me my blue shawl from the bedroom. I have a chill, my nerves being so badly shaken. If I must have two girls around, at least be of some use.”
Cavan winked at Darra as she went dutifully in search of the shawl. At the same time, my father left the room and soon returned with the quilt.
“Let us unroll it together,” he said.
My heart contracted when I saw the bundle again after so many months. We untied the strings, carefully laid it out on the floor and all the old remembered patches shone up at me. My eye wandered from one old favourite to another.
“Of course,” said my father in wonder.
“Why, Edward, it is exactly like the one that was in your mother’s room,” cried Mrs Kingsley.
“Yes, She made several and gave one to Frances for the baby, for Catherine, Oh, my dear” he said, turning to me, “if only I had looked at this when you left it behind last year.”
Later Darra declared it time to return to St Joseph’s or she would be unable to attend to her duties with the children the next morning. Cavan drove her home, but not before she and I exchanged hugs and kisses and my father gathered her into his embrace, reassuring her that his home was hers.
Mrs Kingsley sniffed and reminded Darra to call on her in order that they might discuss the luncheon for Catherine’s engagement. “I cannot be expected to do all the planning,” she complained, “and get out all the invitations in my state of health.”
Cavan bade her farewell, insisting he would be the envy of all his friends, having won so young and chic a mother-in-law.
Mrs Kingsley bridled somewhat, then rallied, “Enough of that, young man. I am, of course, far too young for Catherine to be my own child.” Somewhat mollified, she rose and accompanied them to the door.
My father took her arm, saying, “I am proud and grateful, Agatha. You have borne the shock of this admirably. Let us now see Catherine to her room.”
Once in bed, I slept peacefully. This morning, when I woke early, I began writing in my journal instantly. What a long way Darra and I have come since the day we left St Joseph’s to go into service.
June 24, 1852
Tomorrow is my wedding day. Never again will I write in my journal as a single woman. Indeed, the pages are exhausted and I have barely room to paste in one of the wedding invitations.
My wedding gown, of pure silk, is hanging in the wardrobe. It is plain but for a delicate border of embroidered pansies encircling the bodice, cuffs and full skirt. Mrs Kingsley has lent me the blue garter which she wore at her own wedding. Darra’s cross awaits me on the chest of drawers. I shall return it before Cavan and I leave for our honeymoon. My veil is of Brussels lace, stitched to a neat Juliet cap.
We are expecting a large number of guests since Agatha, as I must remember to call her (“I’m far too young to be called Mother,” she told me), insisted that this must be the season’s most fashionable wedding, I had hoped for a more intimate ceremony but was over ruled by Agatha.
“Good gracious, Catherine,” she protested, “we do not want the world to think that we have anything to hide.”
My stepmother was much elated at the luncheon she gave in my honour. It was attended by the cream of Kingston society, headed by Mrs Gildersleeve.
“My dear Catherine,” she said, crushing me to her bosom, “this is the most romantic story I have ever heard, I vow I wept when I was told how you were restored to your father. “Agatha,” she added, “you are a fortunate woman to be part of such a touching tale.”
“It was not as surprising to me as you may think,” my stepmother responded, “I always said to Edward that there was something different about Catherine. ‘That child has something special in her,’ I told him. ‘We must do all we can to help her.’” This theme was oft-repeated and, listening to the kindly interest of the guests, Agatha was soon convinced that I was virtually her discovery. Accepting Darra was more difficult, but seeing that she was Cavan’s sister, Agatha had no recourse but to acknowledge her to the guests.
“Yes,” I heard her say, “The girl’s father and mother are overseas and I told Edward that it behooved us to act as parents in their absence. ‘Our home is yours,’ I told her.
“You are so kind, Agatha,” one of the guests said.
“Why, I only do my duty, as any Christian would.”
Towards the end of the afternoon, Mrs Gildersleeve approached me.
“I must admit to being quite vexed with this young man for stealing your heart just at this time.” she chided me.
“What do you mean?” I asked, smiling.
“My husband and I are travelling to Europe shortly. He is called upon to do some business with Her Majesty’s government. I will be on my own a great deal of the time. Of course, we have friends and I will have introductions, but I had counted on taking a companion with me. You would have been ideal, Catherine. I really do not know who would suit me as well.”
A merry peal of laughter rang out at just that moment and my eyes turned towards my sister. How sweetly she rejoiced in my good fortune, when most of her dreams had turned to grief. While my future lay, God willing, secure at Fairlee Farm with Cavan at my side, what lay ahead for her?
I spoke impulsively, “Oh, Mrs Gildersleeve, would you consider taking Darra? I know my sister is free to go and I am sure you would find her a most pleasant companion.”
Mrs Gildersleeve turned and looked towards Darra, who was deftly helping Agatha. With a smile here, a word there, she moved among the guests, a study of grace, conspicuous with her bobbing red curls.
“That just might be a happy solution, Catherine,” the older woman agreed. “I will think on it.”
A week later, Darra came to me saying that Mrs Gildersleeve had discussed the matter with Sister Martha and received her full approval. They expected to leave in four weeks’ time and would be away at least three months. Everything would depend upon the success of Mr Gildersleeve’s business negotiations.
My sister and I will, therefore, be parted again, but this time the separation holds no fears. Our letters will continue to cross the land and the waters. By Christmas, Cavan and I should be well settled at Fairlee and Darra will be back to visit us.
Darra is calling me to prepare for sleep, chiding me gently for keeping late hours on the eve of my wedding. And so I reluctantly put aside my pen.
“We must both take our beauty rest, Cat, you to prepare yourself as a wife, and I? Why, I am off to Europe, perchance to meet the Queen.”
--- The End ---
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