A Secret Ambition

XXXVIII

"Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die." Saint Augustine

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XXXVIII.

Callan's tongue was caught in his throat as his mother's question hit him as though she had slapped her hand across his cheek. He knew exactly what she had meant by her question. His rambling questions had probably made it clear to her what the root cause of his turmoil was. She was Callan's mother, after all. Didn't mothers know their kin best of all?

But Callan was still Callan. He was an obstinate man whose own stubbornness was exacerbated by the values his father had instilled in him as though they were unbreakable laws, sins even, and to cross the line that had been drawn for him was simply unthinkable.

"I have met a lot of people," Callan mumbled in reply.

"Don't be such a stick in the mud," Siobhan scolded as she pinched his ear. Callan swore, which was followed by another pinch as punishment. "Your more like your dadaí than you realise, I think. Both as stubborn as an ox. Both with a taste for lasses above their station."

Callan recoiled from the table, standing so quickly that the chair fell over behind him. He turned his back on his mother so that she couldn't see his face. He was not certain what expression he was making, but he knew it was not masking the truth of her words.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Siobhan challenged.

Callan felt his mother grab hold of his arm as she tried to make him turn to look at her.

"Who is she? Tell me her name. Where does she come from? Where does she live?" Siobhan's questions flew from her mouth one after the other, her tone a mixture of curiosity and anxious eagerness. "How old is she? Who are her parents? How long have you known her? What does she look like? Is she bonnie?"

Siobhan finally got her way when she forced Callan to face her, and upon seeing whatever was the look on his face, her own expression fell.

"Yes, Mammy," Callan uttered. "Bonnie she is ... is Lily." His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Lily," repeated Siobhan. "None of it matters, you know." Her voice was as soft as Callan's was then, all the curiosity and excitement from her line of questioning gone.

"Stations, money, judgement. The world is only the way it is because people let it be so. I never heard of such a good reason to break a stupid rule than for love. It doesn't come around very often, you know. Love, that is.

"People are sequestered in their groups, and they don't have occasion to meet anyone beyond their circle. But, by the grace of God, sometimes they do. And it is not a sin to cross that line, not when it comes to something as divine as love. A man who turns his back on the one he loves is proud and stupid. There is no good reason to do that. No group, no station, no money, no title, no jewels, no nothing. If you love someone, you make it work. Be damned the consequences. The consequences only exist, as I said, because people adhere to stupid rules. The more that people forge their own paths, the happier society will be.

"A man is not better than another because of material possessions. When all is said and done, and you stand before Saint Peter to be judged, you shall have none of that with you. What you will have is your character and your choices. Choosing to love and cherish someone is the most divine act a man can do."

"You sound like a dreamer, Mammy," Callan murmured. A loon, really, but Callan did not want to be slapped again. No matter how tall he grew, he did not think he would ever be old enough to escape being thrown over his mother or father's knee for giving lip.