Chapter 2

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Matthew Winston sat fidgeting on the green, vinyl sofa. “But I’m not tired, Millie,” he insisted.

“Not tired, ya say,” she retorted. “Ya’ look like hell, if ya’ don’t mind me sayin’ so. Annie is sittin’ with Kathleen now so this is a good time for you to rest. Here, I’ve brought you a pillow and blanket. Now stretch out and nod off a bit.” She didn’t wait for an answer, but set to work placing the pillow under his head and spreading the blanket. Matthew allowed her to fuss, comforted by her care. He didn’t want to be alone.

“Do you miss home, Millie--Ireland, I mean?” he asked.

“Why yes, of course I do. I hate like the dickens to be away from my Brian and the girls, but the money is good and three months isn’t so long, really.”

“Kathleen and I went back there several times since we were married, the last time was five years ago. I promised I’d take her back again, but we never made it. I can’t imagine how she could stand living here with me in the city after growing up in such a beautiful place.”

“Well, I know the answer to that and so do you. She loves you, and her life is here with you and the children.”

“I know, Millie, but sometimes I wonder if she regretted it--marrying me, I mean.”

“Why would ya’ say such a thing? I never knew a happier woman in all my life!”

“Yes, I suppose so, but I don’t think she ever imagined when she took that job at the base that she’d end up marrying a guy like me.”

“Oh, I suppose not. But you didn’t expect it either, did you?”

“Oh, God no. I was mad as hell when I was stationed there. I thought it was the most awful place I ever heard of.” It was a well known family story. His parents were incensed when Matthew ran off and enlisted in ‘42. His father pulled some strings with the War Department and had him stationed at a small Naval base in Derry, Ireland.

“Kathleen was a clerk, wasn’t she?” Millie asked, settling into a nearby chair.

“She was sitting behind the desk when I reported in to the O.D. I was spittin’ mad, but she put me in my place, real quick. Should have seen her. That’s when I noticed her.” He could recall the scene as though it was yesterday. Her face was flushed so that the pink in her cheeks gave her an attractive glow. Even though her hair was tied in a tight, severe bun, it did not camouflage her exquisite beauty. “I was smitten the moment she began talking. The other guys on the base said I didn’t have a chance. Kathleen O’Hara did not fraternize with American boys. It took awhile, but I finally won her over.”

“Oh, yes, Matthew,” Millie laughed. “I imagine you were quite charming.”

“Well, I thought so, but she was tough. I could tell she liked me, but she kept putting me off. She showed up one night at the Officer’s Club. Every guy in the joint was hangin’ all over her, asking her to dance, but she only said yes to me.” A smile of extreme satisfaction spread across his face as he remembered his joy when she took his hand and allowed him to escort her onto the dance floor.

“It must have taken a great deal of courage for her to give into your advances, Matthew. Her grandparents were dead set against her having anything to do with you lads on the base, American or otherwise. Kathleen’s own mother ran off with some brash radical from Northern Ireland and got himself killed. Poor girl was left to die alone with a newborn baby. It was quite a scandal!”

“Yes, Kathleen told me about it. That’s why I kept begging her to take me home with her for a weekend. I wanted her family to meet me.”

“I’m sure it took ever a bit of courage she had. I can still remember how intimidating my Uncle Patrick was. My goodness-- and you bein’ a Protestant and all. It’s a wonder Kathleen ever found the nerve!”

“Thank God she did! I loved it there! Remember how you’d come over the hill from the east and look down at their place? God, it was pretty!” The scene was etched indelibly in his mind. The farm was surrounded by a horseshoe of purple and green Atrium Mountains. There were acres of heather blue grasslands and small vegetable gardens, divided by waist-high walls made from stones gathered by generations of O’Hara’s. The whitewashed buildings with thatch roofs, wooden plank floors, and rough hewn doors and windows blended perfectly into the countryside in a peaceful harmony like nothing he had never known. “Kathleen warned me it would be a little primitive but I was a little surprised with the outhouse and fetching water from the well.”

“Yes, well, I do remember that you made quite an impression on all the relation. You never acted like a cocky Yank, ya‘ know.”

“No, Millie, I loved it there – the milkin’ and bringin’ in the turf. Those noisy chickens and the sheep. I think those were some of the best days of my life,” he mused, still smiling. “Do you know that I never once slept in that house? I was given a heavy quilt and a pillow, and sent to the haymow. Of course, they never knew that –” He stopped, self-conscious of what he was about to say.

Millie only laughed and got up from her chair. “Yes, well, I think I should go look in on Kathleen. Now you get some rest!” She turned and left without waiting for a response.

Matthew lounged back, listening to her muffled footsteps disappear down the hallway, now grateful for the quiet. Having been reminded of those days and nights back in Ireland, he yearned to submerge himself in those memories.

He vividly remembered the strong, sweet smell of his bed of straw and the tiny specks of moonlight that seeped in through the cracks in the timbers. He would lay there, straining to hear the sound of Kathleen’s footsteps. Then she’d be next to him and he would gather her into his arms for a night of love making.

Kathleen’s grandparents managed to be cordial and seemed appreciative of Matthew’s efforts to please them, especially his willingness to attend Mass every Sunday. He would have done anything to make her happy and earn the blessings of her family. However, his parents became aware of the situation and immediately interfered. They did not approve of him carrying on with some Catholic Irish girl and took steps to have him removed from the area. Since his father’s company was one of the largest ship building outfits on the East coast, all it took was a phone call to get anything he wanted. In September of ‘43, Matthew received orders to report to the Naval Headquarters in London.

The last night in Ireland with Kathleen remained one of the most poignant memories of Mathew’s life. It was a cool autumn evening, and Kathleen took him to her secret, rocky glen where she played as a little girl.

“This may look like any ordinary place with ordinary stones,” Kathleen said, her soft voice resonating with child-like rapture, “but I know differently. These are the ruins of an enchanted castle. Over there was King Conor’s great banquet hall where all the warriors of Ulster gathered to eat and drink. They would challenge each other in contests of skill and strength, and of course, the handsome, young Cuchulainn won them all!”

Although Kathleen had a barb’s knowledge of Irish folklore and could recite dozens of legends about heroes and their ladies, her favorite was Cuchulainn and his beloved Elmer. They were star-crossed lovers long before anyone had ever heard of Romeo and Juliet. “They met in a place called the Garden of Lugh,” she explained. ”They were a perfect match because he was the strongest, bravest man in all of Ireland, and she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. They fell in love instantly.”

“What happened?” Mathew murmurred, not wanting the magical aura to slip away.

“Well, one night – a night such as this – they stole away and proclaimed their love for one another. Cuchulainn looked down upon her chest and said, ‘I see a sweet, soft place to lay my head.’ But Elmer made outrageous demands on him, saying no man would rest upon that place until he had completed great feats of strength and courage. Cuchulainn boasted he would do everything she asked and more.”

Matthew kissed her then and cupped his hand around her breast. “What great feats must I do before I can rest my head on your soft, sweet place?” he asked as he began to unbutton her blouse.

“Just promise me this. You would sooner cleave every stone in this field with your bare hands than ever break my heart.”

“Break your heart? My God, Kathleen, never!” He was startled by her response.

“You say that now, but you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.” Tears began streaming down her cheeks. “We come from two different worlds, Matthew. I can’t leave my family, and what about yours? Do you do think they’ll welcome me with open arms?”

“Then I’ll stay here with you. As soon as the war is over, I’ll come back. Look at my hands, Kathleen − calluses. I’ve never been happier than these past few months. I love the work. I love this land. You’ve been telling me I should be a farmer, so I will.” He said those words with such fervor that she seemed to take heart and stopped crying.

They made love then with the wild, reckless abandon as lovers often do during times of war. But their lovemaking did nothing to calm their fears. They clung to each other, trembling and afraid. Their secret sanctuary now seemed like a dark pit, and the moon and the stars, which had shown so brightly before, disappeared into an angry sky.

He left for London and was billeted aboard a destroyer, patrolling the North Atlantic. He made First Lieutenant by the time his ship became part of the huge armada anchored in the choppy waters off Normandy that cold, stormy day in June ‘44. Although he was miserable those months apart form Kathleen, he was proud to be serving his country. He immersed himself in his work and waited for the ordeal to end so he could return to Ireland.

However, a few months before the war was over, he was called home. His father had suffered a stroke, so Matthew was needed to assume responsibility in the family business, something he knew nothing about and cared for even less. As the only son, he was told it was his duty. In his letters he promised Kathleen it was only temporary, but his father never recovered and the pressures of post-war transition in the shipbuilding industry kept him in New York. His four sisters rejoiced, thinking there would be ample opportunity for them to arrange a more suitable match. An endless procession of pretty young debutantes were paraded past him incessantly. But he rebuked their efforts at every turn.

Finally, in the summer of ‘47, Kathleen sent word that her grandparents relented and gave their blessing. They couldn’t stand to see her so unhappy. Matthew stole away to Ireland, and there in the Irish countryside, they were married. He brought her home to New York, and was then content to take his place as permanent head of the company.

That’s the way it had been all these years. The only thing that changed was that their family kept getting bigger on a regular basis. There were ten children now, counting the new baby girl. He was a good father, he thought. His whole world revolved around that bulging brownstone. He was a dutiful son, going off to the office everyday for 26 years of boring meetings and anxious decision making. He was a good husband too, even a good Catholic. He loved the Church because she loved it. That probably wasn’t the right reason but he didn’t care. He loved the way she looked when she draped her veil over her long, beautiful hair and knelt to light the candles, or the way she insisted on saying the Rosary each evening with her less than enthusiastic brood. It had been a good life, and he never regretted a minute of it.

Many times he tried to duplicate those happy days in Ireland. He had a greenhouse built at the back of the house where he dabbled in growing vegetables and flowers. He liked to feel the dirt between his fingers and watch the tiny seeds sprout and flourish. For summer vacations, he packed his family off to rural areas out West or upstate New York. Instead of sitting by the pool in resorts or country clubs, he’d go to taverns and drink beer with the locals. He’d ask them questions about hybrid seed and fertilizers or implements and livestock. Once he paid a farmer a $1000 to let him to plow the fields. How Kathleen would laugh at him, saying that God must have intended for him to be a farmer after all.

Matthew drifted off to sleep then, having found the peace that comes with remembering happier days gone by.


“Matthew! Matthew!” a voice called. “Wake up. Kathleen is awake and asking for you.” He rushed to her room, not knowing if he should feel hope or dread. He could see she was weakening and was having even more difficulty breathing.

“Oh, Darlin’, how is the baby?” she cried. “I wish I could hold her. She’s all right, isn’t she? You’re not keeping’ anything from me, are you?”

“No, no, she’ll be fine, I promise.” He took Kathleen’s cold, frail hand and pressed it against his lips. “She looks like Annie. Her eyes and hair – beautiful like her mother.”

“Yes, what a lucky pair we are!” She sighed, but then gasped as a spasm of pain struck through her. Matthew looked at her, so sick and fragile, enveloped in a jungle of tubes and machines. He longed to carry her away to a place that was fresh and free.

“I’m worried about Annie,” she murmured. “She’s such a good girl, but it’s not fair that she’ll have to take all this on herself.”

“But isn’t that what we did? We always did what our families expected of us. It wasn’t so bad, was it?” he whispered, stroking her cheek. “You know what I was thinking about? Those wonderful days back at your grandfather’s farm. Remember how happy we were? You teased me that I should be a farmer.”

“Maybe you should have listened to me,” she sighed. “What happened to all those dreams? Maybe now--” Her voice faded then.

Matthew was stunned. “Kathleen, what are you saying? Weren’t you happy?”

“I would have been happy with you anywhere. I had everything I wanted and much more. But you – year after year, I watched you go off to that office, knowing you hated it.”

“No, Kathleen, I was happy, too, as long as I was with you!” He couldn’t bear to watch her struggling to speak. Her breathing became so labored that her chest heaved with every syllable. “But we don’t have to talk about this right now. You should rest. We can talk more tomorrow, please!”

“Matthew, listen. You had such wonderful dreams and now you have sons who are young men themselves. They have everything, but they don’t know how to dream. You must show them…teach them…somehow.” She grasped his hand harder then. “Oh, Matthew, I’m just so tired.” She closed her eyes then and slept.

Matthew was left to sit alone, drowning in the echo of her last words. What was she saying? Why talk about old dreams now? I can never have dreams without you. He wanted her to awaken. She had to explain – to finish it, to help him understand.

“You wife needs her rest,” some far away voice said, but he couldn’t move. He watched her sleep, struggling for every breath. Her mouth was drawn and tight, her beautiful face, pale and sunken almost beyond recognition. Oh God, what an awful way to die. People were supposed to smile and then gently slip away. Not like this. He watched her until he couldn’t any longer. He put his head in his hands and wept.

Sometime later, Annie crept in beside him. Together they kept a quiet vigil until the early morning hours when Kathleen slipped into a coma. Matthew insisted that his daughter return home and demanded to be left alone as he sat at Kathleen’s bedside, allowing only medical staff inside the sacred confines of his wife’s death chamber. When others begged permission to enter, he sent them away harshly. His grief was too private, his pain too profound, his spirit too broken to allow for any intrusion. He only spoke to her – pleading, urging, singing, cajoling, willing her to open her eyes one last time. But Kathleen never awakened to speak or even smile again. After two long, excruciating days, Matthew knew the end was near.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, clutching her cold, lifeless hand. “I will rest my head upon your soft, sweet place again someday, I promise”

Chapter 3

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