Chapter Twenty
Granny is gone. This morning, we will bury her.
The Ward pulls together at times like this.
I hardly need do a thing when it comes to laying her to rest. Somehow the news found my brothers, and they sat with me through the night, staying awake by the coffin, keeping evil spirits away.
She lies in a pine coffin that Mr. Leary made, the same sort he made for his wife not a week ago.
The pine has a sweet, soft, but distinct scent, and I know I will always think of Granny when I smell it.
Her coffin is closed. We will not have a wake, because no one wants to take a chance and catch what killed her, God rest her soul.
The hour draws near for me to say my final farewell.
I have never felt this way before. Foggy.
Lost. Like the silence is too loud. I’m sitting on Granny’s rocking chair, feeling like I’m in my own sort of coffin.
I can’t get out, and no one can come in.
I wish I could still sense her. I rock the chair a bit, wanting to hear the creaking.
Seems like all my life, I’ve fallen to sleep with that sound in the background.
The creak and Granny’s knitting needles. Click click click.
A couple of Granny’s friends will be at the funeral, or at least I hope they will be.
Tuberculosis has hit the neighbourhood hard, so ’tis difficult to say.
There might even be another funeral going on in the cemetery at the same time.
I want to see the old women again, hear their laughter and their Gaelic.
I remember them playing cards with Granny, snapping them on the table. Snap snap snap.
My father will not be at the funeral. He was in Montreal, but I do not know if he is still there.
So he has no idea that his mother lies dead.
Maybe someday he’ll come back, and when he does, he will cry over Granny.
I hope he does. I hope Da is happy. Faith, I do.
I hope that he remembers us and feels at least a shred of regret at leaving us behind.
My best friend will not be there, either. I know that Mrs. Evans would have given Bianca some time off so she could attend, but she chose to work. I understand that. She needs the money. We all do. But I cannot help thinking it would be nice if she was here. I’ve a notion to cry on her shoulder.
I want to block out the noises outside. It’s pouring rain, but I still hear the filthy children playing out there, yelling, splashing, screaming. I want to hear Granny, not them.
I don’t want to go outside and face all those people, all of them staring at me with sad eyes and no idea.
“There are no strangers here, only friends you haven’t met yet.” Another one of Granny’s favourite sayings. I know most of the folks in The Ward, so how is it I feel so alone?
Damien arrives, and I sob into his arms. My brothers give him a hard time at first. They have no right, and I show them that.
“Leave him. He’s with me,” I snap, and they slink away like the dogs they are.
When ’tis time to go, the heavens open, and I tell myself the angels are weeping.
Damien and the other men hoist the coffin to their shoulders, then they walk wordlessly into the rainstorm.
I cannot imagine ’tis heavy; she was so small.
The rest of us follow to the cemetery, and everyone’s hair is pasted flat to their heads.
I hear someone murmur, “Happy the corpse that the rain falls on,” which is absurd.
Mind, if ’tis true, I hope Granny is happy.
Father William recites the rosary over the coffin, then my brothers and I take turns shoveling mud onto it until Granny’s fully buried.
I lift my face to the rain then, and the drops mix with my tears. I want to ask Granny so many things. Did Father William come to her in time? Did she wish I’d disobeyed and stayed with her that day instead of going to work? Can she see me now?
I glower at the priest, wondering how much of a sin it is to despise a man of the cloth.
I have known Father William all my life, for Granny said he was at my baptism.
Granny went to this very same church, as did my parents and Bianca’s.
Other priests have come and gone, but not Father William.
We are stuck with him. He’s a right chancer, full of himself, and without a care for anyone else.
Ah now, and he drinks like there’s no tomorrow.
I can’t help but glare daggers at him whenever I see him.
He cares nothing for his parishioners, or at least he does not care for me.
I have gone to him twice recently, asking for guidance about Damien and my sinful feelings about him.
I know they are sinful, for only the divil could encourage me to dream of him the way I do.
Every time I hold his hand, I want to press my palms against his chest and feel his strength.
I want to kiss him but not stop at the quick little kisses we already enjoy.
I want to commit the greatest of sins with Damien.
That is why I went to the father to confess, but both times, he paid no attention, as if my questions were a waste of his time.
Am I, and the others of his flock, not deserving?
He has given me no advice at all, other than to remind me that I’m a sinner for thinking the way I do, and I will become an even greater one if I indulge these feelings.
He tells me to say prayers for forgiveness.
I have been praying for guidance since I first felt something for Damien months ago.
Like every other soul in this part of The Ward, I was raised to go to Mass every blessed day and the holy days besides.
But since I’ve been working, I’ve started missing it more.
The notions of sinning and praying have become difficult for me of late, so they have.
If my sin was stealing something, even a loaf of bread, that crime would sit on my heart like a stone in a well.
I would pray for God’s grace, for forgiveness, and for him to guide me to better choices in my life.
But when I think of Damien, when I imagine living my life with him, I feel a lightness in my spirit.
And pure happiness. And so, while I understand my feelings for Damien are sinful, praying for forgiveness is difficult.
All I want to do is thank God for bringing him to me.
After the funeral, we all shuffle through the rain to Avery’s Tavern for a shot of whisky and to tell tall tales about the Old Days. I’m not sure that Granny figures in any of them. Maybe a couple of her old friends are remembering her kindly, but most have passed on, God rest them.
I lose Damien in the crowd, but he finds me sitting in a corner, sorry for myself.
“Rosie? Would you want company now?”
“Depends who it is,” I say, feeling warm for the first time today. “If it’s yourself, then yes, please.”
He hands me a glass. “Whisky?”
I shoot back the liquor and it burns a trail down my throat. “I would love a cigarette. If Bianca was here, she’d give me one.”
He taps one out of a little box in his pocket, then he holds out a lighter and glances around the tavern. “She’s not here?”
“Couldn’t get time off work,” I say, blowing out the smoke. “Thank you kindly, by the way, for paying your respects.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your granny, Rosie. I don’t like to see you hurt, and I’d never leave you to suffer alone.”
He hugs me, and I hold on to him with one arm, my cigarette safely out of range.
I need this, his arms wrapped around me.
He’s filling me with strength just by being with me.
When he draws back, his hands go to my shoulders, but in that moment, I feel Mr. Carboni’s grip instead. Quick as a flash, I shift out of reach.
Concern creases Damien’s brow. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” I say, embarrassed. “Can we leave here? The noise is too much.”
He takes my hand, and we walk into the early evening.
The ground is still wet, but at least the rain’s stopped.
The sun peeks out from behind low, dark clouds, turning the crooked rooftops of The Ward gold.
The raindrops on the dark green grass sparkle like jewels.
I like that Damien doesn’t try to break the silence with chatter.
He doesn’t talk just to fill the quiet. Sometimes, a silent mouth is sweet to hear.
I think he understands that. Damien understands me, and ’tis a rare thing.
We walk past Li’s house, but everyone must be inside, keeping dry. We turn the corner.
“Where are we going?” I ask, dropping my cigarette in a puddle.
“Wherever you want,” he says. “I just want to be with you.”
That stops me in my tracks. “That’s the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
He faces me. “ ’Tis true, Rosie. Surely you know that. Tell me plain. Do you want me with you?”
“You and only you,” I assure him, meaning it to the core of my soul.
He takes my face in his hands so he can kiss me with a passion that turns me to liquid.
This is what I want. This and more of it, and more still.
I want everything he has. Of course it’s a sin, but Father William seemed to care not one whit.
I tell myself that means I don’t need his forgiveness, because ’tis not so bad.
God is good. We all know that. And because of that, I can lie to myself and say that God would never forbid something this wonderful.
“You know I mean it,” he says, resting his brow against mine. I can feel his warm breath tickling my lips, and my body tingles with desire. “I’m saving my money for me and you. For our life ahead. You know that, right?”
“I do.”
“Would you marry me? I mean, not right now, but someday?”
Everything I feel when I’m with Damien bubbles up through my chest like the champagne in the flutes of the guests on the night of the opening gala. I shut the door against the guilt in my heart, and I seize his face in my hands so I can kiss him again.
I whisper against his lips, “I would marry you any day.”
“I’m waiting on a big payday.” The words come out in a rush, as if he’s been holding them in. “Do you know how to get a letter to your da? I could write to ask for your hand.”
His voice is steady and certain, and the words he speaks are not the words of a rascal, but of an honest man. The change catches me unawares. Love swells in my chest, and I am helpless to deny him anything.
“I don’t think Da’s ever coming back, Damien. It’s been months with no word.” My throat tightens into a knot. I try not to think about Da these days, for the truth hurts.
He leans in close. “Shall I ask the Father, then?”
“No. Father William doesn’t care. Just ask me. Never mind those fellas.”
Damien drops to his knees in the muddy street. His green eyes glitter in the lamp’s early light, and the truth in them takes my breath away.
“Would you marry me, Rosie Ryan?” he asks quietly.
There’s an urgency pushing his words, as if he can’t say them quickly enough.
I feel the same, but a part of me aches to hold the moment a bit longer.
“I’ll never do you wrong, never make you sorry.
I’ve no ring to give you yet, but that’s what the necklace means, if you need assurance. ”
“Tell me you love me, Damien Walsh,” I say with hardly a tremble in my voice. All my dreams are coming true in this one rainy moment. “I need no other assurance than that.”
There’s no hesitation. He doesn’t even stop to catch his breath. “There’s not your equal in all the world, Rosie. I love you more than my own life, and that’s the truth of it.”
His sincerity undoes me. I throw myself onto him and wrap my arms around his neck.
I can’t stop laughing, not even when we lose our balance and topple backward with a splash.
Laughing and kissing until we’ve no more breath in us.
The day of my granny’s funeral has turned from grief to joy, and I feel the cold heaviness of my sorrow lifting into the air around us.
A new adventure is starting.
If she was here, Granny would not approve of what I ask Damien next.
“Would you take me home?” I whisper against his lips. “To yours, I mean?”
He winces. “I would, but if you’re thinkin’ what I hope you’re thinkin’—and I hope you don’t think me too bold by thinkin’ it myself—we wouldn’t have no privacy at all there. The cousins…”
My mind goes to my home and its flat grey walls, the stink of dampness and lye that never fades, and the five beds in one room, every one of them empty.
I think briefly of Granny, clicking her rosary beads like knitting needles, and of the indifferent scowl on Father William’s face, then I fling open the door to possibilities.
I don’t care if sin comes in. I want Damien more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.
“Come to my home,” I breathe, feeling like a different person from the one I was just minutes ago. “Stay with me and make it our home for now.”
The rain starts again, and we run through the puddles to my apartment, holding hands, drunk with a rich mix of laughter and desire.
I am flying, and he soars with me. Inside, he quickly pulls two beds together, and between us, we learn what love is all about.
It’s messy and awkward, and it’s beautiful, like nothing I’ve imagined.
Seeing his face above mine, his expression so earnest, his cheeks flushed, I am moved to tears.
Never mind the rats that prowl our filthy neighbourhood, almost as big as the cats that chase them.
Never mind that this apartment is broken and smells of defeat.
What’s it to me if the little box under my bed is never full?
The whole world can crumble, and I won’t give a fig.
He is here, and he is mine. I want for nothing more.
He lies on his side after, watching me, one finger curling my hair behind my ear. “Are you all right?” He’s shy now. He’s worried I’ll doubt what we did. I’ll tell you this much. I never will.
“Better than all right.”
“Are you sorry that we didn’t wait? Until getting married, I mean.”
Guilt clenches in my gut, but I cannot let it win. I did what I did, and I am not sorry. I cannot believe that God would send me to hell for this.
Now ’tis me who tucks the soft, damp strands of his hair back. His lashes are pale, dabbing against his cheeks. “Ah now,” I tease. “ ’Twas my idea, was it not? Mind, we’ll have to make things right. I’d like to find a different priest, if we can. Not Father William.”
He kisses me gently, and I’m water again. “You know, some people say that we just got married in God’s eyes. What do you make of that?”
My face roars with heat, and my stomach wriggles with longing.
That very night, he moves into the apartment permanently. In the morning, my heart is torn with sadness when I remember that Granny is gone, but then I see my beloved’s face on the pillow beside me, and I could burst, I’m so happy.