Ireland Rose

  “Seems the Cap’n did say somethin’ bout dat . . .” Portia’s eyes seemed unable to leave the portrait. “Her name was Lucinda.”

  “Lucinda. Lucinda Lovell.” Rose repeated in a whisper. “He never mentioned her name or anything about her.”

  “Captain loved that woman, sure enough.” Portia was evidently remembering the past.

  “She is a real woman.” Rose whispered, feeling a strange melancholy.

  “You’s a real woman, too. When Captain Lovell come home, you can get you some babies. Then you won’t be all by yerself when he gone on them ships.”

  Rose knew there would be no babies.

  And she would be by herself. Her husband was twenty-seven years her senior and only took her as his wife to repay an old debt to Rose’s father.

  Camden John Lovell had been born of strong Scot and Irish blood. Having come from London as a lad, he made his fortune in shipping. He had been a handsome man in his younger days; his portrait hung on the walls on the first floor.

  The house she now lived in was among Charleston’s finest. Located on the Battery and built in the English Tudor style, it resembled the fine homes of English royalty. He had lived here with Lucinda, who she knew was of Italian descent. She had died during the summer of 1875 of malaria while he was in London. There had been no children and it was said that Captain Lovell was inconsolable at his wife’s passing.

  Suddenly it became important to know Lucinda. “Are there other things that belong to her up here?”

  “Thinkin’ there is. I know someplace der’s a picture with her in dat weddin’ dress. I know it sure as I’m standin’ here.” Portia reached up and threw the blanket over the portrait.

  “Do you think Captain Lovell would enjoy her portrait hanging below stairs.” Rose questioned.

  Portia spoke quietly. “You best leave sich ideas to the Cap’n.”

  “You are right. Would it be a sin if we looked through Lucinda’s things?”

  “Ain’t no harm I can see. The woman be gone nigh unto eleven years now.” Portia’s deadpan voice sounded hollow in the space.

  “Then we shall look about.” Rose reached behind the painting for a large book and dusted the front. “It’s their wedding portraits.”

  “Well, it be so.” Portia whispered, her eyes large.

  The book held in Rose’s lap, revealed page after page of the young Captain Lovell and his beautiful wife. “She’s very small, like me” Rose smiled.

  “See, a child ain’t a child ‘cause of ‘der shape . . . a child be a child because of they thinkin’.” Portia pointed to her head.

  “Portia, you make me laugh.”

  “Truth ain’t it?”

  “Hmmmm….” Rose agreed.

  “Now you go on pokin’ yo’self round here. I got to be gittin down to the galley and fix you some suppah.”

  “Step lightly.” Rose warned her.

  “Me, step lightly? Huh, you sees I cain’t with this chunk o’body God done gave me. Chile, I be making three o’you.”

  “Well that wouldn’t take much.” Rose smiled and picked up another memento. “Mind you take care going down that ladder, Portia.”

  Portia slowly descended the steps while Rose, content to look around, spent the next hour searching for something to keep her mind busy and to learn more about her husband. He had signed her name to his worldly goods? Had he some place in his heart left after Lucinda? Heaven knows she was not a true wife to him and knew he would never ask her to be.

  Chapter 3

  Recalling the moments that led up to her marriage, Rose sighed as she put the wedding album back behind the painting away from the sun. She fingered old silver candlesticks, books, fine linens and other memorabilia, rolling them in her hands, thinking of the day when someone else used these items.

  “Life is so fragile…” she whispered as memories flooded her thoughts.

  She’d been fifteen when her parents called her into her father’s office. That was the day she learned that he was seeking a proper alliance for his only child. He chose Captain Lovell, a widower. He was wealthy and had lived alone since his wife died several years earlier.

  Until then Rose’s life in Baltimore, the city of her birth, had been simple and free. Sean Michael McKensie and Branna Cathleen Malvina had married young. Too young, her mother always said. When the potato famine had ravaged Ireland in the mid 1840s, they fled the thatched-roof cottage her father built with his own hands. He farmed the rocks from the hills of Ireland on lands that belonged to his father.

  Rose heard the story many times. Her parents were proud to be Irish but glad to be in America, where at least they had food and opportunities to own property. Sean McKensie founded a printing company and had done well. Once they established their business they were not free to return to Ireland.

  No children had come to their home until 1864 when her mother discovered she was to have a child late in their lives. Rose knew her birth 3 May of 1865 changed their plans, for her mother was never well after she was born. They made a good life in America and planned a return to their homeland to spend their last days there when her mother became ill. She remembered the conversation well.

  “Ireland Rose McKensie, you are old enough to understand that your mother and I are too old to continue the business. We have agreed to a sale with Mr. Smithers, who you know has been my able assistant. He has set by enough money to pay cash. He will assume the ownership two years hence.”

  When her father stopped speaking and looked to his wife, Rose’s gaze slowly turned to her mother.

  “Rose, your father and I will return to Ireland. We have been away too long and we wish to walk among our Irish hills afore we die.” Her mother’s firm look brooked no argument. “You may come along with us.”

  “We would have you in Ireland, too.” Her father said quickly. “But you must decide.”

  “I? Leave you? But…”

  “’Tis two years ya have to make yer choice, lass.” Her father’s gentle voice reached her brain, which was swirling.

  Two years?

  “If ye wish to stay in America, I have found a man worthy of ya. We will not leave our only lass without protection.”

  “Aye, as it is, we will not live long in this world and it would be a shame for you to be in Ireland without a man.” Her mother said in her usual no nonsense manner. “Our families are long gone and we have lost touch with our auld friends because most of them fled along wi’ us.”

  “We would not turn you out, lass. But as you are attaining the age of reason, we expect you to think about these things and give us an answer when you are ready.” Her father’s voice came from somewhere far away.

  “Aye, and don’t take long, lass.” Her mother said sternly and quit the room.

  “There now, don’t look so downcast. All will turn out well. We have taught ya to believe in yerself and yer religion. Rose remembered the tears that fell on her lap. “You really did want me then, father?”

  He had come and knelt next to her chair. “Lass, more than you know. Mother was nearing the age of forty years and had given up the hope she’d have children, so her heart was not as warm. And…she had to carry the child.” He smiled.

  “Aye.” She wiped her eyes. “It cannot have been easy.”

  “Easy? It was not for yer muther. But from the moment you were born you were a gleeful, chubby child, with an angel face, blue eyes and that red-blond hair o’yours. Irish to be sure! I was proud of me wee lass.”

  Rose had jumped up from her chair and tossed herself into her father’s arms, nearly toppling him to the floor.

  “Father, you love me so well.”

  “Ah your mother does too. She shows it differently lass. She is sick at the idea of leaving you, yet we must return. She is not well…and ya know her wishes are mine as well. We are not long for this world and care nothing for it, except for you.”

  Rose sobbed on her father’s shoulder.

  “Ah, now. Your
mother knew the day would come and has tried her best to teach you world-wise ways so that you will be safe, lass. It is unfortunate for you that ye arrived so late in our lives. But we are glad of it.”

  Sean McKensie released his daughter and from that day to the day of her wedding, Rose prepared her heart to be left behind. She wanted to see Ireland. But she would not go and watch her parents die in a land she did not know. It was better they have the time to be together alone again, as they had so many years before.

  Rose had heard often enough from her mother, “Ireland Rose learn to take in all the facts, be wise in your decisions, you never know what repercussions they will make for the future.”

  Their friends had not understood her parents’ wish to leave their young daughter to return to their bonny Ireland to be buried under the soft green hills. She knew, for she had seen the tears of deep despair when they told their stories of how they were forced to abandon their home. But hunger had declared war and there was nothing to do but make their way to England’s shore and come to America.

  And now there was nothing to do but return to their beloved home. Rose understood. Their gratefulness for freedom and deep affection for their homeland had soaked into her spirit and she learned to love Ireland as well. But this was her home

  Chapter 4

  One day two years later, her father came to her while she was in the garden, planting new seedlings. It was spring. “Rose, Captain Lovell will pay a visit as he is coming into port day after tomorrow.”

  The sun slid behind a cloud and so did her heart. “So soon, Father?”

  “Aye, child, ye knew of it long ago. And ye are seventeen. Mother is unwell and we must go before . . .”

  “I know.” Rose squinted against the sun as the cloud passed over it. “Petunias are so pretty blowing in the winds. They are so delicate.” She mused.

  “As you are.” Her father said softly and went back to his work, walking slowly away.

  Knowing the Captain owned a successful shipping business and a fine home in Charleston, the elder McKensie’s knew she would be cared for. Twenty-seven years her senior, he could offer their daughter protection and a good life.

  Rose also knew the Captain was offering his life as a sacrifice because of a debt he owed her father. It seems the story was as a young man, rather for lack of money or position she did not know, he stowed away on a ship to America and had been caught in his deed. The serious charge could have sent him overboard easily enough. Her father learned of the lad’s trouble and paid his way across. Pledging his undying devotion for saving his life, Camden John Lovell could now repay his debt and offered to take their daughter’s hand in marriage.

  By the time she reached the age of seventeen she knew what she had to do.

  The ceremony was held in the Charleston House, away from her beloved Baltimore. Her mother had sewn her wedding clothes, even though her eyesight was bad enough that Rose had to finish the final stitches herself.

  Memories of cooler evenings, and windblown leaves of every color in Baltimore left her heart broken. But there was nothing to be done. Her mother’s words bore into her soul as if her body was being pulled down into quicksand. “Ireland Rose, you are a woman now. Your lot has fallen to this place and lucky ye are to have it.”

  Rose had listened that day, because for all the years she lived with her parents, they had prepared her for their leaving. In a few days they would be gone and she would be Captain Lovell’s wife.

  Fear skidded into her mind and raced around frantically trying to find a place to reside. She had stood by Captain Lovell and said the words that made her his. And, just that morning her mother had sat her down and told her, in her forward way, that she must make Captain Lovell a good wife in every way. The first three days of her marriage she had spent with her mother and father, per her new husband’s instructions.

  Four days after the wedding she stood at the dock and waved her lacy wedding handkerchief in the air bravely as the ship sounded it’s foghorn and pulled slowly away with her mother’s uncharacteristic last words, “Ireland Rose, will you not go with us?” resounding in her head.

  “Mother I have married.” Rose thought she sounded grown up.

  But the words quickly faded into panic as it overtook her just like the time she almost drowned in the huge waves of the Atlantic. Captain Lovell had noted her distress and taken her arm in his and slowly walked home. Feet heavy upon the marble foyer floors, she found herself being handed over to Portia.

  “Take her above stairs and see she has rest. I will be in my office.”

  Climbing the stairs had been the hardest thing Rose had ever done. Her feet felt like cinderblocks and sobs lay beneath the surface waiting to choke her very existence to death. Portia’s ministrations, without a single word, had been her undoing.

  The woman had taken her in hand, undressed her, pulled a soft white gown over her head, washed her face and pulled the covers up to her neck.

  When their eyes had met, Rose heard herself whisper, “I thought I was grown up, but I’m not . . .” and the sobs had overtaken her. Her parents were gone. Forever. And she was alone with a man who was now her husband.

  Chapter 5

  Two years passed. The first year of their marriage her husband spent most of his time in his office at home and at the shipyard, overseeing the addition of a second ship. He had helped his crew build it. He introduced her into society and she learned quickly the Captain was a respected man among the Charleston aristocracy.

  When the new ship, christened the Ireland Rose, had first gone into her waters, it was a beautiful fall day. The second year of their marriage, the Captain had been away commandeering his new ship abroad. He hired Captain Wyatt to man the Emerald Star a year ago and promised to be in Charleston more often. Now he was ill and would not be coming.

  “Just because he’s not coming home…” she tried. But her emotions were stronger than her resolve. Loneliness washed over her like a cascading waterfall. Why did it matter that her twentieth birthday was today, May 3rd and their third wedding anniversary was May 23rd .

  Thoughts of her parents in Ireland pressed on her heart. Her mother had passed into her rest the second year of her marriage and father three weeks later. There was no one to care if she had a birthday or not.

  “Let it go.” She scolded herself. “There are other people who are much less fortunate.” Again her mother’s words. Right now she knew they were right. She would be about getting out again in society without her husband’s help, even if the ladies despised the Captain’s young wife not only for her beauty but for her Yankee upbringing. Charleston ladies, above all things, loved family connections and beauty -- in their societies, in their homes, and in their manner of dress. Portia told her these things…and glad she was that her maid and friend was honest and forthright.

  She pulled the bell rope. “Lily, would you send for a carrier?” She handed the young servant a missive. “See that it is carried to Miss Estella Rose Perry on Tradd Street.”

  Estella’s shared middle name had bonded them instantly, but a more sisterly bond formed the day Stella had grabbed her hand and pulled her – hard – through the doorway into the gardens, snapping her hoops nearly in half. Rose couldn’t help but smile at the memory.

  “Shhh… Stella had laughed. “Now straighten your dress and get those abominable hoops level.”

  Rose would never forget that moment. And it had all occurred during a most important engagement at one of the finest homes in Charleston. The banker’s handsome son had recently declared his intentions to marry Celeste Antoinette Bertram. Her beauty alone would have turned any man’s head, but with her added connections and wealth she was Charleston’s reigning queen. Gold glittered from every available surface, from the crystal chandeliers to the necklace on the miniature pug-faced dog.

  “Her name may mean heavenly, but she is anything but.” Stella had nearly shouted in her ear, exposing their secrets to those standing nearby. That incid
ent alone nearly cost Rose her position in Charleston’s high society.

  Later that evening Captain Lovell quietly suggested, “Rose, you must be careful to entertain dignity among the ladies, especially while I’m away, or you may find yourself ostracized and lonely.”

  “It is as you say.” She agreed, “But how shall I keep Stella from repeating such musings in my ear. You know she doesn’t care a whit about decorum.”

  “This is true. She does not. Still, should you find yourself in need of assistance while I am away. . .” he had kindly reminded her and smiled indulgently. His once-dark hair was now gray. But he was a very distinguished looking man and she felt proud to walk on his arm.

  “I must be about my work. Do you need anything?”

  Rose had answered no out of respect, but did indeed need something. She needed companionship.

  “Sir, do you mind very much if I send an invitation to Stella for this evening? I could use

  a bit of refreshment. And we are safe from society’s eyes and ears….” She smiled.

  He agreed and kindly acquiesced. Rose heard the office door close quietly. She wondered if Captain Lovell were happy in the least.

  * * *

  “Stella, you are like a naughty child. Why must you be staring out the windows? Someone will see you gawking.”

  “Look Rose, it’s Miss Bertram. She’s got her parasol stuck in the branch of the Myrtle tree. She’s incensed but can’t seem to pull it free. Now she’s stomping her foot. Do you know those shoes just had to come from Paris?” Stella was bent over the plant, holding back the curtains laughing.

  “Stella do you know what a spectacle you make?” Rose laughed. “You bend in such unladylike positions . . . to stare at people outside my window. “You’d best come back so you won’t be seen, don’t you think? And your dress. It’s so beautiful, you mustn’t muss it.” Rose chuckled.

  “Oh puff. If I could I’d trade these old things for my husband’s shirt and trousers and walk around with my hair stuck under his hat just to see what it’s like to be a man, I would. And right down this street I’d walk, too. At least we wouldn’t have to wear these awful fake smiles and look away when the men speak, as though we had no mind at all.”