“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.”
By the time Beth and Jack had arrived at the Lenehan house to meet my family, everyone knew a great deal about them, including Beth’s being the daughter of a baronet. The fact that she was also the wife of a butler’s son got less playing time. Mamie wanted to know if she should address Beth as Lady Elizabeth, and I explained that Beth’s only title was Mrs. Jack Crowell.
Beth was as charming as she could be. She didn’t react when Uncle Mike, who was missing all but his thumb and forefinger on his right hand, shook her hand very much the way a lobster would. She admired Uncle Joe’s shrapnel scar from World War I that ran just below his ribs, and she pretended to be impressed when Mamie pointed out that, as the wife of a prominent Democrat, she entertained so much that she had to special order extra leaves from Philadelphia for her dining room table. When introduced to J.J., she offered her condolences for his loss of my Aunt Marie and later spent a generous amount of time listening to the story of their unmarried life together.
Jack made an excellent impression as someone who didn’t stand on ceremony, and since many of the young men were earning a living in highway construction, Jack shared some stories of building railway bridges in India while listening to the difficulties of paving roads on the steep inclines of the Pocono Mountains. With my father, Jack discussed the one American baseball game he had seen during the First War. The Yanks had invited the British to an exhibition game of their national pastime, and Jack readily conceded that baseball was a lot less boring than cricket. Dad took the opportunity to boast of all of the local talent that had come out of our little town, including Steve O’Neill and his brothers, Chick Shorten, and Mike McNally, all of whom had gone on to play in the majors.