About the BryonySeries: Old St. Patrick's Cathedral Catacombs

Cindy, who makes our Ribbit-Ribbits, announced at our marketing dinner in December that she and her family would be spending New Year's Eve at Times Square and a few days in New York, seeing "the sights."

At the time, Cindy didn't have any "sights" in mind. So I suggested a few.

Because the BryonySeries prequel "Before The Blood" is part historical fiction, I created the "feel" of the time and locations by lightly blending real landmarks and events into the overall story.

One landmark was St. Patrick's Old Cathedral, which was established in 1815 at 263 Mulberry Street in Lower Manhattan and was the seat of the acrchdiosese until 1879, when St. Patrick's (New) Cathedral on Fifth Avenue replaced it as the seat.

You can read a brief history and excerpts from  "Before The Blood: John Simons" in this blog: About the BryonySeries:  Basilica of Saint Patrick's Old Cathedral.

Today's post focuses on St. Patrick's Old Cathedral cemetery as well as the catacombs beneath the church and the opportunity to view the catacombs during a candlelit tour, which Cindyand her son Justin took.

Enjoy a glimpse of the experience through Cindy's photos.

Below the photos, read an except from "Before The Blood: Byrony Simons," which takes place in the catacombs.

 

He released her and looked away. "Would you like to meet my mother?"

            The abruptness of the question and the lingering pressure of his fingertips warned Bryony to think carefully before speaking.

            "Your mother?" she whispered.

            "Yes."

            "You want me to meet her?"

            John did not speak again, nor did he direct the driver

. But they soon stopped outside a gray and salmon-colored church with Gothic stained glass and a red brick and stone fence surrounding it.

            "What is this place?"

            "Old St. Patrick's Cathedral."

            "I don't understand."

            "You will."

            They walked past the simple yet dignified building to the churchyard, dotted with old stones and markers, toward the front of the building. They silently trod over the lumpy ground, the silence broken by the rumbling of carriages, the twittering of gray birds, and an occasional snapping of twigs beneath their feet.

 

            “My mother is encased in her sad little world. And my father is dead.”

           

            John led her up the stairs, opened the heavy front door, and, before she could absorb the cathedral's plaster interior and marble statues, headed for a side door and opened that, too.

            He led her down the dark narrow stairs to a cold stone room and double set of wooden doors, which he also opened.

            Through the dim candlelight lining the walls, Bryony glimpsed an endless tunnel of splendor and gloom.

            "John?"

            "Catacombs, darling."

            "Catacombs? In New York?"

            He shut the doors, locked them, and then took her wrist.

            She was sealed in an underground cemetery with no means of escape except doors John had secured.

            What did he want of her?

            Then she remembered. She stood tall and met his eyes.

            "Faith," she said.

            She saw a hint of animation in the pale blue at the word, and she felt emboldened at the sight. She didn't understand the game, but at least she was learning the rules.

            Bryony clung to her small victory during the grim trek through an everlasting passageway of arched doors and nameplates. John kept only a loose grasp, for where would she run?

            Their heels clicked on the stone; their respiration rasped in the stillness. She tried not to think of all the human bones lying behind the cold walls.

            After a time,  John stopped at a door. The golden plate gleamed with single word: Simons.

            John inserted a key.

            She grabbed his wrist. "John, no!"

            John pried her off and swung open the door. She started to run, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her inside with him.

            At the far end of the lighted room lay a single sealed coffin.

            Bryony stared at it and then stared up at John, her heart racing.

            He didn't look angry, which she expected given her outburst, or sad at the sight, which she hoped. Instead, he casually pointed out the fixtures hanging from the ceiling.

            "Edison and Co." His voice echoed as he spoke. He gestured at the vault's lining. "Guastavino tiles."

            "What?"

            "Only the finest for my mother. And today my father joins her. Isn't it exciting?"

            She turned back to the coffin.

            "Did they love each other?"

            John did not answer. So she tried again.

            "Is...is this what you meant about her being "encased in her own little world?"

            "Somewhat."