I’d rather weep to see thee free,
Than win thee to destroy…”
When the ballad was finished, everyone offered their praise. Joseph heard only Miss Conley’s.
“Surely one of our guests will favor us with a song as well?” Hélène urged.
Miss Conley lowered her eyes. “Oh, no, we couldn’t—especially after?—”
“Don’t be so modest, Tessa,” her brother encouraged. “Everyone always said you had the sweetest voice in our parish.”
The sweetest voice in all of Ireland, Joseph would wager.
At last, Miss Conley conceded. She needed no accompaniment. She sang a lament in her own language, wild and ancient and absolutely breathtaking. She kept them at a distance, then drew them in and left them intimate strangers.
Joseph let the others shower Miss Conley with acclaim. His only compliment was wordless, an exchange of smiles from one singer to another. He was afraid that a true admission of how Miss Conley’s voice affected him would reveal how much of the man remained in him, how his transformation into Priesthood was not as instantaneous as he’d hoped.
PART IV
A PRIEST FOREVER
1835-1837
Charleston
The Lord has sworn, and He will not repent:
You are a Priest forever…
— Psalm 109:4
CHAPTER 21
In a short time the persons begin to act towards each other not like angels…but like beings clothed with flesh. The looks are not immodest, but they are frequent and reciprocal; their words appear to be spiritual, but are too affectionate. Each begins frequently to desire the company of the other. And thus…a spiritual devotion is converted into a carnal one.
— Saint Alphonsus Liguori,Dignity and Duties of the Priest(1760)
At a glance, Joseph continued to resemble other men. Outside the cathedral and seminary, he wore a simple black suit. To stroll down the streets of Charleston in his soutane would have been akin to carrying a pillory. To most Protestants, he remained incognito; his neck-cloth only appeared out of date or too formal for day wear.
But Catholics could identify him as a Priest by this “choker,” a white silk neckerchief. It contained a great deal more cloth than a stock or a cravat, so it took a bit of practice to make it tidy. Castalio had to help him the first time. Joseph learned to wrap the folded neckerchief around his shirt collar thrice, then tie the ends at his throat. Finally, he pushed the knot up out of sight, like a secondAdam’s apple, and tucked the tails into his waistcoat. In the winter this thick neck-cloth was a boon, though Joseph suspected he would feel differently come summer.
Unfortunately, some of the Protestant boys also grew to recognize him. Their favorite projectiles wereMelia azedarachfruits. In Charleston, these trees were called chinaberries. In Europe, they were called bead trees, since religious orders often dried the berries to make rosaries.I am being pelted with prayer beads, Joseph would think. They stung nonetheless.
The boys had an endless supply: the berries lingered on the branches well into winter, looking like shrivelled yellow marbles. As if they were playing Indians, his tormentors shot them out of improvised blow-pipes. Even when the berries hit his clothes and caused little pain, Joseph always started, and the boys always laughed.
Give thanks to God for the chance to share in His sufferings, Joseph reminded himself.
He ran this gauntlet daily. His duties as a curate were never-ending. His immediate superior, Father Richard Baker, was not only pastor of the cathedral but also president of the seminary, chaplain of the Ursuline Convent, superior to the Sisters of Mercy, and editor of the diocesan newspaper.The dedicated Irishman was strong in spirit, but malaria had rendered him weak in body. Years after his first attack, he remained vulnerable not only to recurrences but also to other diseases. So parish calls fell mostly to Joseph, and Father Baker authorized him to perform Sacraments and create sacramentals.
Everyone sought a blessing from the new Priest for themselves, their children, their homes, shops, scapulars, rosaries, carts, cart-horses… Joseph told himself these visits would become less exhausting once he knew all his parishioners. But he soon realized this was impossible. New faces appeared every day. In addition to the babies he baptized, Charleston was a port city.
Many Catholics came from the German states, but the majority of the immigrants were Irish. Some became established, even wealthy, in Charleston. Most were terribly poor. They lived in theworst part of the city, tightly packed into ramshackle tenements near the Cooper River wharves.
Sweet olives and gardenias perfumed gardens only a few streets away, but these alleys stank of excrement, fish, and the decay peculiar to the Low Country. By day, sharp-eyed vultures perched on the rooftops, watching for offal; by night, rats and cockroaches scurried amongst their leavings.
The filthy, ragged state of the children here pained Joseph to the quick. He could do very little to improve these people’s earthly lives. Instead, he directed their thoughts toward Heaven. He reminded his parishioners that this squalor would not last forever. If they remained faithful, God would reward them.
Every morning during Mass, Joseph struck his breast and cried thrice: “Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof.”Who was Joseph to ask the living God to change a wafer into His own Body? Who was he to consume that divine flesh?
