VENOM AND LAUGHTER

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Contents

Chapter 1: Yankee Perdition (September 4, 1850).......................................................................1Chapter 2: The Honeymoon Is Over (September 12, 1850).................................................................10Chapter 3: Newcomer Vignettes (Autumn, 1850)..........................................................................18Chapter 4: Holiday Cheer (November, 1850).............................................................................25Chapter 5: The Hill (December 2, 1850)................................................................................33Chapter 6: Helping the Needy (December, 1850).........................................................................40Chapter 7: Close Call (January, 1851).................................................................................46Chapter 8: Shamrock Laughter (February, 1851).........................................................................51Chapter 9: Hilltop Escapade (April, 1851).............................................................................59Chapter 10: Deluge (July 18, 1851)....................................................................................63Chapter 11: A Rigid Heart (July, 1851)................................................................................72Chapter 12: Red-Haired Newcomer (August, 1851)........................................................................79Chapter 13: A Chance Encounter (September, 1851)......................................................................82Chapter 14: Rippling Pond (September, 1851)...........................................................................86Chapter 15: Au Revoir, Seymour (October, 1851)........................................................................91Chapter 16: Death Reined In (April, 1852).............................................................................96Chapter 17: A Farmer's Wisdom (Spring, 1852)..........................................................................100Chapter 18: A Wanderer Returns (April, 1852)..........................................................................105Chapter 19: Commencement (June, 1852).................................................................................109Chapter 20: Love Explored (June, 1852)................................................................................117Chapter 21: Hate Unbridled (July 3, 1852).............................................................................123Chapter 22: Coping Strategies (July, 1852)............................................................................133Chapter 23: Baby Talk (July, 1852)....................................................................................136Chapter 24: Star Spangled Snake Oil (Early September, 1852)...........................................................139Chapter 25: Trial for Murder and Torture: Prosecution (September, 1852)...............................................146Chapter 26: Trial for Murder and Torture: Defense (September, 1852)...................................................156Chapter 27: Baffling Blaze (October, 1852)............................................................................167Chapter 28: Three Year Montage (1852-1855)............................................................................177Chapter 29: Golden Return (December 23, 24, 1855).....................................................................180Chapter 30: Christmas Dinner (December 25, 1855)......................................................................186Chapter 31: White Stag (October, 1856)................................................................................192Chapter 32: Venom and Laughter (November, 1856).......................................................................199Appendix 1 Original 1961 Preface by Julia Cooley Altrocchi............................................................203Appendix 2 A Connecticut Lady and Her Irish Daughter-in-Law in the 1870s by Nellie Wooster Cooley.....................206

Chapter One

(September 4, 1850)

The little Naugatuck Railroad train clattered along the new roadbed from Derby to Winsted on the morning of Saturday, September fourth, 1850, like a string of blocks dragged by a playful boy. Paper flowers of female passengers' straw bonnets nodded, demi-veils fluttered, eardrops tinkled and the travelers seemed, in spite of their jiggling spines, to be enjoying the journey. All, that is, except Submit Swayne Wooster who sat coldly plumb, disdaining even to look out the window.

The tall, fair-haired young man in gray broadcloth and gray top-hat who sat next to her resembled her in build, coloring and good looks but not in facial expression for he had a happy countenance. He cast a sidewise glance at her profile and noted her rigid lips and scriggles at eye-corners, the subtleties of which he had learned to read by the age of three.

Letsome smiled as he thought of his soon-to-be wife. He hoped the smile would lure his mother into a more joyful mood. He laid his hand affectionately on her black lace mitted hand. "We're almost there. Waterbury, as you know, is a special town because that is where Julia and I met." The solicitude in his voice and hand sent a quiver through his mother's stiff body from her black bonnet to the hem of her black silk dress.

Restive thoughts were rushing through Submit's mind like waters swirling down the Naugatuck River a few yards from the roadbed. Every atom of her being rebelled against the necessity of the journey and the ordeal towards which it was taking her—the wedding. She was trying to rise to this unhappy occasion for the sake of her favorite son who had been swept off his feet by the ensnaring tentacles of a scheming Irish colleen.

Submit's armigerous gentry friends, with not-so-subtle flickers of their eyelids, downcasting corners of their mouths, and quick lookings-away, had told her with unmistakable upper class mannerisms that such a marriage with a shamrock girl was quite unacceptable. Her mind tried to reject the racial implications. My God, an Irish girl forever soiling the purity of our English blood! The words "Papist!" "Paddy!" and "Biddy!" raced through a mind which was pervasively permeated with prejudice against such members of an immigrant lower class.

Submit Wooster's intrinsic disdain was enhanced by three hundred years of English misinformation, biased teaching in schools, rumors of sinister "Popish Plots" to take over England, massacres of Huguenots, and monastery scandals. Anti-Irish prejudice in New England had been enhanced by heresy statutes, the extreme narrow-mindedness of Puritan immigrants, recent anti-Irish riots in Philadelphia and Harrisburg, and frenetic "patriotic" activities of self-styled "native" Americans who felt that loyalty meant hating anyone different. Bigotry and intolerance were heavy in the air of New England in the mid-1800s.

Letsome had repeatedly tried to mollify Submit by emphasizing that the Sweeneys were gentry of Cork who had come to the United States twenty years before the recent potato famine, and that William Sweeney was a well-educated man who wrote and spoke fluent Latin. His daughter, Julia, was born right here in Connecticut, had graduated with honors from High School in Waterbury and had spent two years studying with hired Trinity College tutors in Dublin.

Submit tried to bolster herself with the old self-strengthening New England axiom: "it's a hard row to hoe but I'll hoe it." The whole object of the effort, however, made her cringe. It was unutterably upsetting to her core beliefs.

The little train snorted to a standstill. Let lifted his mother's black ruffled parasol down from the rack as well as a suitcase carrying wedding clothes for relatives. Submit tightened her fingers over the polished parasol handle and followed her son down the train steps, feeling as if she were getting out of a tumbril to ascend the platform of a waiting guillotine.

Her son was already greeting, with astonishing cordiality, a very tall man with curly russet hair, sideburns, a small pointed red beard, a moustache that turned up over happy lips, and hazel-green eyes that looked as if they had just seen a whole street of people dancing an Irish jig. He wore a dark olive suit, pale green waistcoat and white cravat. As William Sweeney reached a welcoming hand towards her, Submit reluctantly conceded to him the tips of her cold, moist fingers which protruded from her black half-mitts.

"Mrs. Wooster!" he greeted her warmly, bending gallantly. She withdraw her hand to scrounge around in her black silk wrist-bag for an unnecessary handkerchief. "I hope the journey didn't tire you, ma'am."

"Not at all," she answered stiffly, trying to force a smile. Her draw-string lips and the draw-string of her wrist-bag closed simultaneously. In one flash of his quick green eyes William had sized up his daughter's future mother-in-law and knew he must curtail his usual flow of Celtic affability. How could the cold, restrained lady in front of him be the mother of such a free-thinking, sensible and likeable young man as Letsome Wooster? She was clearly a prime example of a haughty, stern New Englander to which the Irish minority had become thoroughly accustomed.

You couldn't, he knew, change solid granite in a day but you could shine the sun of pleasantness upon it and allow ferns and wood-sorrel, plant-kin of the shamrock, to gentle it. He smiled and turned away to engage Letsome in conversation. He was thinking that if anyone could mollify a rigid, arrogant New Englander it would be his own outgoing and happy family—his wife, Mary, and his children Kevin, Julia and Maggie.

Submit had not yet met any Sweeney, not even Julia, for, although Let had many times suggested bringing Julia to Seymour for a visit, Submit had refused, hoping she would just disappear. According to her own creative interpretation of family history, no Swayne or Chatfield or Brockett or Terrell or Wooster had ever married a woman who wasn't from the proper social stratum.

Let had shocked her to the core in mid-August when he suddenly announced that he and Julia were getting married in two weeks. Submit had cried out, "Let! You cannot do this! You can't break my heart! You can't destroy your whole life, your career, your family and especially me!"

"Please control yourself, Mother" he answered with unusual firmness. "No tantrums, please! The decision is made. Julia is kind, beautiful, and intelligent, full of laughter and charm that passes description. I deeply love her. None of your upper class Connecticut girls can hold a candle to her."

The station rig drew up at a pretty white cottage at the north end of town. There was a small lawn in front with a border of rose bushes and marigolds. It was neat enough, Submit observed with some surprise, compared to her vision of mud, wattle, barking dogs and dirty children. As soon as the vehicle stopped, an aproned woman walked rapidly out of the front door with an auburn-haired girl coming after.

"Oh, my dear Mrs. Wooster!" exclaimed the plump, black-haired, red-cheeked, sapphire-eyed woman, extending her hand. "A hundred thousand welcomes!" Her rich brogue speech was as melodious as if she had been singing a song.

Submit extended her hand reluctantly and again tried to force a smile.

"Dear Mrs. Wooster, I'm Mary and this is our daughter, Maggie. Our Julia is superstitious about not being seen until the moment of the wedding."

A small shudder went over Submit which Mary Canty Sweeney detected. Mary threw her arms around Let, drawing him tightly to her, a touch of Celtic mischievousness, perhaps, for she knew that Submit's teeth must be clenching. The Irish imp on Mary's shoulder was chortling.

"Bless you, my son!" she exclaimed. "Welcome to the family Sweeney!"

Drawing away, Mary cast a glimpse at Submit. The poor woman's icy gray eyes, surrounded by pickle-colored shadows, seemed to have sunk into her head above her taut lips. Mary couldn't help adding to Let:

"It's a good family you're marrying into, Let. Stock of the O'Neills, High Kings of Ireland." Mary laughed and turned towards Submit. "Mrs. Wooster, you must meet our lad who is studying at Yale Law School. Or rather, I should be saying, he must meet you! Come out here, Kevin."

Kevin exited the house. He was of medium height, slim, brown-haired, with quizzical upturned eyebrows, bright blue eyes and amusement on his lips. There was something disturbing to Submit about his eyes which seemed to penetrate all her protective layers of dignity. She drew her shoulders together, as if to hitch the heavy cloak of pride over her exposed self.

Kevin gave a half-bow and lifted Submit's unextended right hand with dramatic overcourtesy. Her manner and appearance bore out every one of his assumptions except that she was handsomer than he expected. He noted her dignified carriage and well chiseled nose. With an inward twinkle, the thought occurred to him that if he could teach her how to smile and laugh in the Irish way, she might even be considered beautiful.

"A privilege to meet you at last, Mrs. Wooster," he said.

Submit shook his hand, then withdrew it quickly but had to admit to herself that these were remarkably friendly and good-looking people.

They all moved now towards the house. "I'll be wanting you to meet my sister, Gleona McGinnis, her husband, Darcy and the kids," said Mary. "You see," Mary went on, "Julia wanted only the two families at the wedding ceremony. She regards a wedding as something very sacred indeed."

"I should hope so," replied Submit.

"She's a most towardly, friendly girl and there'll be slews of people coming in afterwards for the wedding shindy. `Twill be a great let-out entirely." Mary smiled, happy in the prospect of Irish hospitality.

It all seemed so inevitable, thought Submit. There was no way to stop the wedding at this late date. She urged herself to try to adapt to the situation but felt the walls inevitably rising within her. She noted to her surprise that the house was really quite lovely, with fine hand-crocheted lace curtains and beautiful carved walnut furniture from abroad. There were vases and pots of flowers everywhere. In the dining room a mass of ivy vines had been trained up along a trellis and half covered the dining room ceiling. In front of a bank of potted flowers on tiered shelves in the parlor was a statue of a monkish person on a pedestal with arms outstretched in a gesture of benison.

Let had told her many times that the Sweeneys weren't Catholic but she couldn't believe it. He had told her how William had known Mary Canty in his boyhood in Kilmurry near Macroom, Cork, how William's Catholic family had sent him to a seminary to study for the priesthood. William, after two years, had broken with the Church for reasons of stifling dogma, had returned to Kilmurry, married Mary and they had sailed to the United States to start a new life.

Let had told Submit about William's love of learning, his constant reading and study of history, his liberal ideas wrought from his England-oppressed background and his keen interest in science. His first job was as a textile dyer in Hudson, New York. Two years later he moved to Waterbury to work as a chemical engineer for Scovill Manufacturing Company, producer of brass buttons, rolled brass and cast copper. It was in Waterbury that Let had met him on one of his metallurgy business trips.

From the window Submit could see the long lawn going down to the Naugatuck River with a pleasant view of the hills beyond. Tables had been set up near a large arrangement of flowers and branches. Two red-headed boys were turning somersaults around the tables. To Submit, a typical shades down, curtains drawn New Englander, the idea of an outdoor wedding reception was indecent. How public! She turned and stood in front of the pagan statue.

Mary Sweeney now approached with a brown-haired woman and a freckled, red-haired man. "Mrs. Wooster, these are my sister and brother-in-law, the McGinnises from Hartford." Mrs. McGinnis wiped her hand on her apron, extended it and in a low, well-bred voice said, "It's a great pleasure, indeed, to meet the mother of so gr-r-r-rand a son. We're all much admiring of Let."

"How do you do," said Submit, forcing a weak smile.

"Yes," McGinnis echoed his wife. "A fellow rooster is Letsome Wooster." He laughed and let out a fine spray tinged with alcohol fumes.

Submit stepped back briskly from the fountain of Gaelic spray, toppling the terra cotta statue from its pedestal and smashing it to bits. Submit simply could not bring herself to say she was sorry. Who put the statue there in the first place? In her embarrassment, she felt like screaming. A wave of maroon went up over her cheeks but she remained silent.

"Oh, that's all right, Mrs. Wooster. Never you be minding," Mary said. "I'm sure we can find another St. Francis for Julia. He's kind of a patron saint for her because they both love all outdoor creatures." Mary saw the varied expressions racing over Submit's face and feared for her daughter's future with such an icy block of New England granite.

At this moment Chatfield, George and Sally Swayne arrived on horseback. Letsome had brought their wedding garb with him on the train. He now made the introductions. Slim, attractive and dynamic Sally brought electricity into the house with her fun-hunting eyes and sudden smiles. Mary had the impression of a beautiful swallow veering and diving in its search for prey.

Chatfield Swayne derived from the same tall, wide-shouldered mold as his sister, Submit, and his nephew, Let, but his appearance was less impressive, with rounded shoulders, a less characterful chin and a mouth masked by a blonde handle-bar moustache. He had a somewhat remote air, so different from Let, but he was capable of smiling which his sister found difficult to do.

George was almost too handsome, a dark-haired, stylish, haughty young man who had known Kevin slightly at Yale and had come to his cousin Let's wedding reluctantly, motivated only by family loyalty and curiosity. The three new arrivals retired to bedrooms to change clothes. Shortly Sally emerged wearing a ravishing gown of chameleon glac silk in tones of green and bronze to match her eyes and hair, with a wide-brimmed silk bonnet to match.

The Congregational minister, Reverend S. W. Magill, now arrived and the wedding party was complete. Mary Sweeney came out of the kitchen and said to Submit, who was talking with Chatfield, "It's time now, Mrs. Wooster, for the wonderful ceremony to begin. Would you be following me to the garden?"

"The garden? Is my son to be married neither in a church nor under the roof of a house?"

"In a garden under the trees. God's first temple, you know," said Mary. "It was Julia's wish, most joyously agreed to by Let. Would you be saying now that God lives only in a structure put together by man?"

Her head and back rigid, Submit gripped her brother's arm and forced herself to follow the happily tripping figure of Mary Sweeney down the garden path to several rows of green benches arranged around an improvised altar banked with asters and chrysanthemums.

When the families had taken their places, Maggie Sweeney in a pretty pale green muslin dress came down the path carrying an Irish harp. She seated herself on a low bench near the altar and played three charming Irish tunes which Julia had selected, including Thomas Connellan's "Harp Tune" of the 17th Century and an Irish air, "The Young Man's Dream." Then Kevin sang in a good baritone voice a favorite song of Julia's to his sister's accompaniment, "The Fair Hills of Eire O" by James Mangan, giving the first verse in Gaelic, the second in English. Awaiting the bride, Maggie continued to play Irish tunes on her harp.

Something deep within Submit, in spite of herself, responded to the songs and lovely setting of oak and maple trees framing panels of the river and hills. It was indeed a beautiful backdrop.

Now Letsome and the minister appeared walking side by side. How superb Letsome was—tall, fair, elegant—aristocratic in every fiber of his being. He deserved the most stunning, best-born, best-bred girl in Connecticut or any place else in New England or New York! Good God, why was he ... Submit tried to repress the tears that were springing to her eyes. She couldn't remember having felt the pressure of tears since her husband Albert had died six years before at the age of thirty-six when Letsome was only fourteen.

Now the white bridal figure appeared on her father's arm. A surprisingly handsome girl, tall, well-built, with black wavy hair, light olive complexion, bright rosy cheeks, a full-lipped smiling mouth and enormous eyes of startling peacock-breast blue. Submit thought she had never seen anyone look so happy. It was immodest to show such feelings but yes, she was attractive. It was easy to see how Let had become tentacled.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from VENOM AND LAUGHTERby Julia Cooley Altrocchi Paul Hemenway Altrocchi Copyright © 2012 by Paul Hemenway Altrocchi. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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