Chapter 8

The words of the priest echoed in the large sanctuary of the cathedral. Ciara’s gaze flowed over the majestic interior, touching on the tall, clustered iron columns dividing the church into three naves hemmed by ornate, imposing arches. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows and caressed the painted wall surfaces. On most Sundays, the atmosphere of the church itself lent its spiritual comfort to her.

This morning, despite her best efforts to find solace and connection, she bowed her head, her mind far from the melodious, serene recitation of the sacred rites.

It lingered on what happened last night.

She tried to focus on the words of her religious instruction, but her mind refused to stop its awful churning.

Ciara slanted her eyes to her husband’s face, seeing his left eye swollen shut, and cuts along his cheekbones and his lip. She knew he nursed his left side, favoring his sore ribs. She wanted him to stay home, but he refused.

“I’ll die before I let ‘em kill me.” His jaw ticked as he gingerly made his way to the cathedral this morning.

“Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.”

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven.

Before they entered, she stared at the coarse stone frontage interspersed with recesses that framed pointed doorway arches. Brendan had told her it was the largest church in the city. A hundred and twenty feet long, eighty feet wide, and seventy-five feet high, she usually looked upon its grandness with a sense of Irish pride. The second Irish Catholic church in the city, it stood as a symbol of Irish pride and identity, letting all those who hated them know that they were here to stay, by the grace and will of God.

Today, the hatred of the unseen thousands weighed on her soul.

Would it always be this way? Would she and her husband and whatever children that the Lord should bless them with be subjected to this violence forever?

Whenever Ciara thought about her homeland and that she would never see it again her heart grew weary. They had come here to escape death only to be thrown into Death’s hands. When Brendan had come back from the saloon she had no idea she’d be facing his battered body.

“Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.”

Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

Their evening had started out with so much promise. Brendan had received an invitation from one of the aldermen of the Tammany Hall Society. Brendan was pleased to have been extended the invitation to join their meetings.

After all, the Society had been helpful with getting his papers for citizenship processed. He had told her that they were also working on her papers as well.

“What would we have done without their help, I wonder?”

“Those be good men there, mo leannán. They have the Irish interests at heart.”