Rebel Sisters (29 page)

Grace smiled, but she could tell from the slight coolness in Geraldine's demeanour that her future sister-in-law was not too keen on the proposal.

‘Congratulations,' Joe's younger brothers George and Jack echoed each other warmly.

Grace felt like pinching herself – it was all moving so fast. In a few months' time she and Joe would be married, a proper couple with a home of their own. She dreaded telling her own parents, suspecting that Mother would certainly not approve.

‘We'll tell them soon,' she promised him.

Her sisters were delighted for her; they had a high regard for Joe.

‘I am so pleased for you both!' cried Muriel, hugging her, when Grace told her the news and showed her the ring Joe had given her. ‘MacDonagh and I are so fond of him and soon he will be my brother-in-law!'

‘I intend telling Mother and Father soon,' she said to Kate, ‘but you know what she will be like …'

‘Pick the right moment,' Kate advised sagely. ‘Mother's disapproval is horrendous …'

‘That's what I fear,' said Grace nervously.

‘Her bark is far worse than her bite,' said Nellie reassuringly. ‘Mother has accepted MacDonagh and Walter as sons-in-law, and she will accept Joe too.'

Grace hoped that her sister was right.

‘I never thought that I would actually fall properly in love and get married,' she admitted. ‘I thought that I would end up the old spinster artist aunt working up in some attic with my paints and covered in ink and charcoal.'

‘That was never going to happen!' chorused her sisters.

Joe too was happier than she had ever seen him, writing her love letters and proudly telling his close friends about their plans to wed in a few months' time.

They attended the big Anti-Conscription Meeting that Frank Sheehy-Skeffington had organized in the Mansion House; it drew thousands of people. Joe linked his fingers discreetly through hers as they listened to both Padraig Pearse and James Connolly give impassioned speeches. Grace realized how proud she was of the fact that Joe would always be at the heart of things, always ready to stand up and fight for what he believed in … She could see people looking at them together, wondering, for they were an unlikely couple … But fate had somehow brought them together and decreed that she would marry such a man.

ISABELLA SAT ALONE
eating her usual breakfast. The morning newspaper, which had just been delivered, lay beside Frederick's place at the breakfast table. She finished her porridge and was helping herself to a slice of soda bread and marmalade, trying not to be irked by his tardiness. She had left him dressing in their bedroom and preceded him downstairs. Their daily routine usually involved her husband's reading aloud of the newspaper's headlines and a discussion of such over a pot of tea. She was tempted to open the paper herself, but knew how much Frederick enjoyed reading it before he left for the office. Likely there would be an obituary for Dr Francis Heuston. She had attended the respected surgeon's funeral only last week. His poor wife was insistent that he had died of a broken heart following the death of one of their twin sons, Fred, at Gallipoli. Isabella and Frederick both understood such grief.

‘Madam, will I hold the breakfast for the Governor?' asked Julia.

Concerned, Isabella left the table and went upstairs.

As she entered their large bedroom she immediately saw him slumped near the side of the bed.

‘Frederick, what is it?' She rushed over, leaning down beside him. He seemed to be having a problem speaking and there was a strange twist to his mouth. She managed to lay him against the pillows and bring his feet up on to the bed before calling for help from Julia and her daughters.

Nellie quickly came in and took charge.

‘Father, can you hear us? Are you in pain? What is it?'

Frederick tried to say something, but despite his efforts could not get the words out properly. He closed his eyes as if he had not the energy to respond.

‘I'll run and see if Dr Mitchell is still at home,' offered Grace.

‘Go quickly!' urged Isabella, trying to suppress her mounting sense of panic.

Fortunately Grace was in time and the doctor came immediately to Temple Villas.

‘Isabella, you were lucky to catch me before I left for the hospital,' James Mitchell said as he approached Frederick, who seemed barely able to speak or respond.

‘Well, Frederick old fellow, what seems to be the matter? Bit of a turn, I believe.'

She watched as the doctor tested his arms and hands, took his blood pressure and listened to his heart. She could see concern written on their neighbour's face.

‘Frederick, to my mind you have had a stroke. Your speech and swallow and movement down one side have, I'm afraid, been affected. I know it is alarming for you, but you must rest so we can see how things develop.'

Fear flooded Frederick's now twisted, distorted face, with one drooping eye from which a tear escaped. Isabella felt dizzy and weak herself with the shock of it all.

‘Lie back, Frederick, while I have a word with your good wife,' Dr Mitchell said reassuringly as he led her out of the bedroom to the landing.

‘Will he die?' she burst out tearfully.

‘It is a possibility, for strokes are difficult to treat, and they can recur. We cannot tell if there will be another worse event in the brain which Frederick would not be able to survive,' he replied frankly. ‘He may have problems with his breathing and I suspect will not be able to manage to drink or eat properly without risk of choking – that is a common occurrence.'

‘What am I to do? Should he go to hospital?'

‘Moving Frederick may make the situation worse. My advice is to arrange full nursing care for your husband here at home and I will visit him regularly. But I think you should inform the family and perhaps arrange for them to visit their father.'

Isabella reached for her handkerchief, trying not to cry.

She sent Julia with a message for Muriel and Grace sent a telegram to Kate, informing both of them of their father's illness. This evening she would write to Ada and Sidney in America and to all of the boys to tell them about Frederick's condition.

A sturdily built young woman appeared. She was an experienced nurse from Sir Patrick Dun's and she took charge at once, settling Frederick in bed in a position that was more comfortable for him and made it easier to breathe.

Muriel arrived immediately, having left Mary to mind the children.

‘What has happened to Father?' she asked tearfully as she raced upstairs.

Kate was there two hours later and was in a state as she sat by his bed.

Frederick seemed to be sleeping heavily, saliva running from one side of his twisted mouth which the nurse wiped away.

MacDonagh came and Isabella could see her son-in-law was upset. He and Frederick enjoyed a close friendship and he went in and sat beside the bed to talk to him.

‘Has Frederick had the last rites?' he asked her.

‘I will ask our rector to come to see Frederick.'

‘I mean the priest,' MacDonagh persisted. ‘Has he had the priest to anoint him?'

‘No,' she replied tersely.

‘Frederick would want the priest,' he said firmly. ‘The priest from the church he attends in Rathmines.'

‘Mother, if Father could talk I'm sure he would want his own priest, not the rector,' agreed Grace. ‘He is Catholic, after all.'

Isabella could feel a strange tightness and tension in her head.

‘I will not have a priest under my roof,' she insisted fiercely.

‘This is Father's roof too,' Kate reminded her gently. ‘It is his faith.'

‘Grace is right,' continued MacDonagh. ‘Frederick should have the priest come to the house to give him the rites. The man is entitled to that.'

‘I forbid it!' she found herself shouting. ‘I will not have it.'

She could see MacDonagh flush with annoyance and a look of disappointment in her daughters' faces. A few minutes afterwards her son-in-law said his goodbyes to Frederick and left the house angrily.

An hour later a priest came to the door enquiring for Frederick and Julia showed him upstairs. Isabella was about to despatch him back to his parish church, but on seeing Frederick the priest immediately greeted him warmly and stepped over near the bed. Grace and Kate were clearly daring her to interfere as the priest began his prayers in Latin and Frederick opened his eyes in recognition.

She could not bear to watch and went downstairs. Nellie brought her a soothing cup of tea in the drawing room from where she refused to budge until she saw the priest leave her house. Muriel went home and a night nurse arrived to take over from her colleague.

Frederick appeared calmer, more relaxed.

‘He's holding his own,' the nurse informed her.

The following two weeks were exhausting, but Frederick clung tenaciously to life. Every time he took a small sip of water or tried to swallow a spoon of clear broth Isabella was sure it would be his end.

MacDonagh had not returned to Temple Villas and she hated the coolness that now existed between her and Muriel. Christmas would soon be here. She wanted her daughters and her grandchildren around: this might be the last Christmas they would all share together.

Burying her pride, Isabella took out her pen and wrote to MacDonagh, asking for his forgiveness and inviting him, Muriel and the children to join them at Temple Villas for Christmas dinner.

GRACE LISTENED TO
the Palestrina Choir singing some Handel as she sat in the crowded wooden pew. Their voices were pure and beautiful, the music so stirring that tears pricked her eyes. The long mass in Latin seemed no hindrance, as the voices of the choir filled the roof and dome of the great cathedral.

The boys and young men of the Palestrina well deserved their reputation; it was the finest choir she had ever heard. They were like a host of angels singing and it moved her deeply. Joe had told her that the world-famous tenor John McCormack, when he was younger, had trained and sung here, his first audience the poor from the nearby tenements who were able to listen to such a voice sing at their masses.

This church was so very different from their church in Rathmines, for here no well-to-do Dublin families were given pride of place and positioned in the front pews. St Mary's was a church of the people. Some of the families she recognized from Liberty Hall and from serving school dinners with Maud Gonne and her sisters – factory- and dockworkers kneeling to pray alongside shopkeepers, students and bankers. Mother would have hated it.

Grace's faith had always been assumed, marching to Sunday school and service with her family. Now she was an adult and she wanted to make a choice about it. To Joe his spirituality and faith meant so much. Father, despite Mother's disapproval, had kept his faith, praying in his own church. It had seemed weak when she was young, but now she realized the hidden strength that Father possessed.

Kneeling down, she put her head in her hands and prayed.

She thought of her father. Getting up to leave, she stopped in front of the brass candlestand with its little flames flickering in front of a large statue. She reached into her purse and dropped a few pennies into the stand, taking a small candle and lighting it.

‘Lord, this is for my father. Look after him, please.'

Mother was sitting quietly reading in the drawing room when she returned home. The nurse was upstairs minding Father. Mother looked tired. Father's illness had taken its toll on her too.

‘Mother, I want to talk to you about something important.'

Her mother put down her novel and looked up.

‘Are you all right, dear?'

‘Yes … Mother, I'm engaged to be married – to Joe Plunkett.'

For a second Mother looked confused.

‘The Plunkett boy with the car and the motorcycle? You intend marrying him?'

‘Yes,' she said, keeping her voice level. ‘We love each other.'

‘How can you even consider such a marriage?' snapped Mother. ‘The Plunketts may be wealthy property owners, but I have heard of creditors and unpaid bills. They say the countess is a law unto herself and does what she pleases.'

‘Mother, I am not marrying the count or countess, I am marrying Joe. Joe Plunkett is the man I love. I will not let religion be a barrier.'

‘Why am I so afflicted with such daughters?' Mother sighed dramatically. ‘There are also rumours that that Plunkett boy is consumptive and has to travel abroad for his health.'

‘He has had pleurisy but is much better now,' Grace returned angrily.

‘But what if his tubercular illness returns? You could be left a widow.'

‘Mother, with the war thousands of wives will be left widows. I can't think of such a thing. Why would you even say it?'

‘I am only thinking of your good.' Mother's eyes flashed.

‘Can't you be happy for me, that I have found someone to love and be loved by? I am twenty-seven years old, nearly twenty-eight – do you not want to see me married like my sisters?'

‘Grace, I want only what is best for you.'

‘Then be happy for me, for marrying Joe Plunkett is my happiness.'

Mother said nothing more and picked up her novel.

‘I wanted to tell you, as Joe and I intend officially announcing our engagement as is the custom.'

She went upstairs and sat beside her father. He had lost weight and could not stand, walk or talk. One side of his body was still weak. She reached for his hand and his eyes opened.

She told him about Joe.

‘I am happy, Father – very happy.'

He tried to talk and she knew that he approved of their engagement. Grace kissed his cheek and sat with him awhile.

JANUARY BROUGHT COLD
weather and the British Prime Minister's announcement of the Military Service Act introducing conscription for all single men between eighteen and forty-one years of age in Great Britain.