Bless the Bride

recently come from a peasant cottage in Ireland, with no money, no background.
    The fact that Daniel’s mother and father had come from similar beginnings was never mentioned. From the way she talked, one would have thought that she’d been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth. I had endured her subtle criticisms with a patience verging on saintliness that would have amazed those who knew my usual quick temper, wanting for Daniel’s sake to keep the peace and even to make my mother-in-law like me. But after ten days my patience was wearing awfully thin.
    She took the rest of the silk from me. “You’d better let me finish this and you stick to the undergarments,” she said. “In my young day they always said that if a woman wasn’t handy with her needle, her children would go in rags.”
    “Then it’s lucky that I’m going to live in New York City where there are plenty of department stores selling ready-made clothes, isn’t it?” I replied sweetly.
    She pursed her lips. “Ready-made clothes? You’ll make my son a pauper if you start off married life with ideas like that.”
    “Actually I do know how to use a sewing machine, if someone likes to give me one for a wedding present,” I said. “I worked in a garment factory once.”
    “A garment factory? Did you?” The disapproving look again, as if I’d dropped yet another notch in her estimation. “Daniel never mentioned that to me.”
    I didn’t think that Daniel had mentioned a lot of things I had done while working as an investigator. My profession was a constant thorn in his side. But I didn’t want my future mother-in-law thinking that I had been reduced to working in a sweatshop. “I was on an undercover assignment to find out who was stealing dress designs. It was awful. You should see the conditions those poor girls have to work in.”
    “So I’ve heard,” she said. “Well, I expect you’ll be glad that you won’t have to do such unpleasant things any longer. A lady detective, indeed. It’s not natural for a woman.”
    “I had to earn my living or starve,” I said. “I imagine that it was much the same way that your family had to survive when they came from Ireland in the famine.” I paused to let it sink in that I was well aware that her family had come over to America with nothing. “It was either that or fish gutting in the Fulton Street Market, or prostitution.” I was attempting to make a joke but her lips were still pursed, so I added, “To be truthful, I’ve enjoyed running my own business, and the excitement.”
    “Daniel’s been worried about you, you know. He doesn’t say much, but a mother can tell.”
    “I know. But he didn’t have to. I’ve learned to take care of myself pretty well.”
    This wasn’t exactly true. There had been times when I was lucky to come out of a situation alive. Those were the times when I had longed for the peace and security that I was now experiencing. Now that I’d had ten days of it, I was ready to go back to my world of excitement and danger. But I’d made Daniel a promise that I’d give up working when we married. I couldn’t go back on that now, could I? My thoughts turned to Daniel and the upcoming wedding and the cold feet returned. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to marry him. I loved him. I was just scared of becoming a wife, confined to the life that respectable wives led: tea parties, sewing and idle gossip, and children soon enough, knowing the way that Daniel and I made love.
    “It’s too bad he can’t join us for Labor Day after all,” I said. “I’m sure you were looking forward to seeing him as much as I was.”
    Mrs. Sullivan sighed. “You’ll soon learn that being a policeman’s wife isn’t easy. Meals at all hours, calls in the middle of the night, and sometimes hardly seeing your man for days. And the constant worry when he doesn’t come home on time. I went through it all those years with my husband. My hope for Daniel is that he’ll soon leave the force and go into politics. He has the connections, you know, and I’ve no doubt that Tammany Hall would back him. They’d love to see another Irishman in Washington.”
    “But he loves what he does,” I said. “He’s good at it. I wouldn’t want him to give it up because I was worried.”
    As I said it the thought crossed my mind that he was making me give up my job for that very reason. Or was it rather that my being a detective would not sit well with his colleagues—even