Joseph prayed: “O God, Thou hast consecrated the Marriage union, making it a Sacrament so sublime that the nuptial bond has become an image of the mystical union of Christ with the Church.” Joseph turned to the bride and smiled, hopingshecould seehimthrough her veil. “O God, mayest Thou regard Thy handmaid with bounteous kindness. … May she be fruitful in offspring… Plighted to one husband, may she fly from forbidden intimacies, fortifying by stern discipline the weakness of her sex…”
“Amen,” the bride and the others responded.
In spite of his exhaustion, Joseph did not sleep that night either.
CHAPTER 25
“Oh! come, then, best beloved of my heart; come, Lamb of God, adorable flesh…nourish, cleanse, and purify my soul…all unworthy as I am to receive thee…” Ardent love swelled her throbbing bosom…for her amiable spouse…
— John D. Bryant, describing his heroine’s reaction to the Eucharist,Pauline Seward(1847)
Several days later, after making sick calls, Joseph was returning the pyx to the cathedral when he noticed the new bride sitting alone in the pews. At first, he hardly recognized her. She wore such fine gowns now (this one of violet silk) and her long hair was hidden beneath a large, frilly bonnet. But more than that, her posture had altered. Her shoulders, neck, and head—everything above her corset—drooped like a bruised flower. She stared down at her hands, sheathed in black lace mitts. They lay limp on her lap beneath a crumpled handkerchief.
He could not pass her by. “Are you all right, Miss Conley? Pardon me: Mrs. Stratford?”
She released a harsh puff of breath. “I wish—” She broke offsuddenly and closed her eyes. Her jaw clenched, and the tendons in her slender neck tensed above her lace collar. “Please, Father: I wish you’d call me Tessa.” She turned her reddened eyes to him and attempted a smile—the barest quiver at the edges of her lips, as if they’d forgotten the shape. “We shall be family soon, after all.”
“Then you must call me Joseph.”
“I-I couldn’t, Father.” She dropped her eyes to her lap again. “It wouldn’t be right.” She raised the handkerchief and blotted her nose. Before Joseph could formulate a question, she looked up to the altar. “’Tis such a comfort, knowing He is always here, whenever I need Him.” Her strained voice belied her words, as if she sought comfort but had not found it. “In County Clare, most of the churches must also serve as schoolhouses or threshing-floors. So God resides in the Tabernacle only when the Priest is celebrating Mass.” Her fingers worried the handkerchief in her lap. “I only wish I could receive Him every day. When I take Him into my body, I can feel His strength suffusing me. I can feel Him inside me—not an invasion but a completion.”
“Daily communion isn’t only for Priests. You are welcome to receive every day.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “How am I to approach Someone so holy when I feel so unclean?”
“You haven’t been reading any Jansenists, have you?”
She kept her eyes closed. “If I’ve—lain with my husband… ” It was only a whisper.
Suddenly her distress and her exhaustion made sense. She was passionate about their Lord, horticulture, and music; of course she would bring that passionate nature to her marriage bed. Perhaps she’d startled her husband (hadn’t he thought ladies incapable of desire?) and they’d quarrelled. Now, she was struggling to reconcile the yearnings of her body with the yearnings of her soul.
Nervously Joseph glanced behind him to confirm that no one else had entered the cathedral. He should speak of sexual matters only inside the confessional. But how could he ask her to uproot herself when she looked too weak to stand? Slowly Joseph sat, anarm’s length away from her, and lowered his voice. “Provided you do nothing to preclude conception, finding pleasure in the marital act is only a venial sin, and you need not confess venial sins before you receive Our Lord. He recognizes your contrition.”
“But if I refuse my husband, that is a mortal sin?”
They should definitely be inside the confessional. “Has he asked something unnatural of you?”Please, please don’t ask me to define?—
She shook her head.
“Then, yes: if your husband desires intercourse and you refuse him, you commit a mortal sin.”
Her eyes opened slowly, though she only stared at the back of the bench before them. “What if Iwantto refuse him? Is that also a mortal sin? I feelnothingbut dread and repulsion and…”
Joseph had been wrong.
“I knew it would be painful the first time, but not— I think there is something wrong with me.” She shielded her face with her hands, muffling her words. “I’m so sorry, Father; I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“Have you discussed it with your husband?”
“How can I?” She opened her hands. “It would humiliate him!”
“He must know something is wrong.”
She shook her head fiercely. “Heis quite content.”
The man was even more obtuse than Joseph had feared. Had her husband really mistaken discomfort for purity? “But—the act remains painful for you?”
She nodded miserably.
