The decision was taken not to smuggle Daisy out until the day the job finished and the workmen were leaving for the last time. That way, it would look as though one of the workmen was to blame. Frank and Maggie would be free from suspicion.
As the day approached, they became more and more twitchy and Frank worried that Jack would change his mind.
‘Jesus, we have helped many in the mother and baby home to hear word from a relative or snuck out a letter. I’ve even smuggled food into the dormitory for the girls, all of which would see me strung up, but I’ve never done anything as bold as this,’ said Maggie to Frank.
The thought of what they were about to do almost made Maggie shake with fear, but she would not let this deter her.
The night before they were due to put their plan into action, there was a gentle ring on the gate bell.
‘Jesus, who can that be?’ Maggie almost jumped out of her skin.
Frank had already opened the door from which he could see the gate.
‘’Tis the foreman, Jack.’
A minute later, Jack was standing in front of the fire with a mug of Frank’s poteen in his hand. He looked on edge.
‘I’m not sure we should be doing this, Frank,’ he said. ‘If we are caught, the Reverend Mother may stop our money and, sure, ’tis serious money. I have wages to meet for the week’s work on Friday night. I cannot risk the men not taking their pay packets back to their own families.’
Maggie began to speak, but Frank held up his hand and stopped her. Instead, Maggie placed her arm round Daisy’s shoulders. She looked crestfallen.
‘I understand that now, Jack, sure I do, but how about this? We carry on with the plan and, if we are caught, Maggie and I will own up. We will say that it was us that smuggled Daisy into the back of yer van and ye had no idea whatsoever what was happening.’
Maggie and Daisy both gasped. Maggie was more aware of the consequences.
They would be turfed out of their home there and then. No amount of Maggie’s prowess in the kitchen would save their necks from that. Within an hour, Frank and Maggie, together with what belongings they had, would be on the wrong side of the convent gate.
‘Well, I’m sorry to say as I know the risk to you now, but that would put a different complexion on things. As long as I could have your word, Frank?’
‘As true as God, ye have my word,’ said Frank, holding out his hand to shake Jack’s.
‘Did I do the right thing, Maggie, love?’ Frank whispered to Maggie later that night as they lay in bed while Daisy slept on the lodge floor in front of the fire.
‘Ye did what yer heart told ye to do, Frank, and that can never be wrong. I’m sure someone or something was guiding yer words as there was no time to think.’
‘There will be plenty of time to think tomorrow, if we are caught,’ whispered Frank.
Maggie stroked Frank’s arm and silently said her own prayer that they could safely survive the next twenty-four hours.
They had helped lots of the girls, but none had presented as great a risk as this.
The following morning, the tension they all felt was palpable.
‘What clothes will I wear, Maggie?’ said Daisy, who had worn nothing other than her calico since the day she had arrived.
The girls weren’t allowed bras and Maggie always thought there was something particularly degrading in the way the nuns dressed them.
‘Leave that to me,’ said Maggie. ‘I know where the linen room is and where the clothes the girls turn up in when they first arrive are stored. I will fetch them later, after breakfast. If I don’t find yours, I’ll find something better than that outfit ye is wearing now.’
Daisy smiled. The thought of not having to wear the disgusting uniform filled her with pleasure.
‘Could ye look for my hat, Maggie? I don’t really care about the clothes, but I would really like my new hat back.’
The hat was the only present Daisy had received in her entire life. It had happened on such a special night. She grinned stupidly to herself when she thought of that moment, seeing the mothers and children in the school hall, clapping as Miss Devlin had placed the hat on her head.
The final day of the fitting out of the laundry was one of celebration.
The bishop had arrived and was to bless the brand-new facility with a mass.
From nowhere and with no warning to Frank and Maggie, there had been a fresh intake of girls, with bleakness and sadness in their eyes. At the same time that the laundry was fitted, an attic had been converted into a dormitory.
When Frank saw the Reverend Mother inspecting the gardens, he had the audacity to ask her where the girls had come from.
‘Frank.’ Sister Theresa talked down to him, her expression disdainful. ‘We are here, at the behest of the Irish authorities and the Vatican, to become the guardians of local morals. Where girls do not behave as they should, they are sent to me by the local priest, or the council, and they will live here. They are not girls who abide by the word of the Lord our God, Frank, they are penitents. Sent here to work, in order to seek salvation and to atone for their sinful lives. These girls will work in the new, mechanized, very latest, up-to-the-minute laundry. There is no other like it in all of Ireland, and with the sheets each girl washes, she will be filled with the knowledge that she is rinsing away the stains of sin from her life.’
‘Aye, Sister,’ said Frank, looking as though he fully understood and agreed with everything she said.
He had once asked one of the girls what had brought her to the convent’s door. She told him she had been sent from the convent orphanage in Dublin, where she had been left by her mother when she was barely twelve, to prevent her father from coveting her. The lust she had incited in her father had made her a sinner in the eyes of her mother.
‘There is nothing to choose now between ourselves and the Abbey,’ said Sister Theresa to Frank, changing the subject. ‘In fact, there will be many institutions preferring to use our services. We have dryers. They don’t have those in the Abbey now, do they? Our laundry will be far more productive.’
‘Yes, Reverend Mother,’ Frank replied, ‘superior altogether, I would say.’
He had no idea what they did and didn’t have in the Abbey, and he cared even less.
The workmen were invited to the mass to bless the sinks and the dryers. Jack, the foreman, said they had better stay, even though the men were kicking off, all hoping to be back in Liverpool for a Friday night in the pubs, which they now saw slipping away.
Jack had also agreed to keep his promise to stop at the lodge to collect Daisy. He would hover on the outer side of the gate while Frank and Maggie bundled her into the back of his van.
When the time came, Daisy stood inside the lodge door with Frank and Maggie.
It had been difficult for Maggie to run back to the lodge, which was half a mile from the convent, since Sister Theresa had wanted to put on a special tea, to bless the laundry.
Local dignitaries had been invited, and the Reverend Mother and the nuns from the Abbey had been invited too, to admire the new equipment.
It was now their turn to be envious.
Frank watched from inside the lodge as the workmen’s vans made their way down the drive.
He saw the brake lights of the first van as it slowed down to pass through the wrought-iron gate.
‘Jesus, Holy Mother, where the feck is Jack?’
Frank opened the front door to look the other way down the drive. He saw Jack’s van turn out of the parking area at the front of the convent at the same time as Sister Assumpta and Sister Celia slipped into their own car to return to the Abbey.
‘I cannot wait to be out of here,’ said Sister Assumpta to Sister Celia as she placed her key in the ignition. ‘I think the bishop needs to provide a few more lessons in the scriptures down here. Are they not aware that greed is a sin? I have no idea why the Holy Father thought there was a need for another convent around here. God knows, ’tis we who take in sin in
abundance and who work wonders, converting these girls into something far more holy altogether.
‘’Tis we who suffer and now the Holy Father rewards Sister Theresa with the laundry equipment. They have the home and the orphanage and the retreat. Do they not have enough?’
Whilst Sister Assumpta ranted, Sister Celia listened. And then she ranted some more.
‘Why is that van stopping at the gate? And that’s another thing: this convent employs staff. We do all our own work ourselves. We have never employed gardeners or cooks or kitchen maids. Seems to me as though they are all a little too high and mighty around here, so they are.’
Their car pulled up behind the van, which had stopped at the gate.
The van driver put his arm out of the window and waved Sister Celia to overtake him.
‘Sorry, Sister,’ he shouted out of the window as she drove past. ‘Something wrong with the engine now, sorry, Sister.’
Sister Celia raised her hand in acknowledgment and slowly moved round the stationary van.
She turned down the road and, as she did so, in her rear-view mirror she noticed a woman leave the lodge house and then quickly step back inside.
But Sister Celia’s thoughts were elsewhere.
‘Do you know,’ she said to Sister Assumpta, ‘I would love the recipe for those coconut golf balls. Now, where in Galway would sell desiccated coconut? Would we have the time to call in?’
Daisy was halfway out of the lodge doorway when Maggie pulled her back inside.
‘Not yet,’ she hissed. ‘They slowed right down, once they were on the road, and all nuns have eyes in the back of their heads. I don’t trust them not to see.’
Daisy threw her arms round Maggie, her eyes full of tears.
‘Maggie, will I ever see you and Frank again? I can’t bear it if I don’t.’
‘Aye, Daisy, ye will. I don’t know where or when but I do know this, things are changing. I can feel it. This business of locking away for their entire lives girls who have done no wrong, it cannot carry on. The world is moving on and Ireland will be called to account for its sins one day. The biggest of them all will be this, as God is my judge. I know I’m right. God willing, we will meet again, soon enough.’
Daisy sobbed, scared. Caught up in the excitement of the adventure, she had been anticipating this moment with impatience. Now that it was here, she was loath to leave the safety, the company and the comfort provided by Maggie and Frank.
Frank was on the drive, talking though the open window to Jack.
‘I’ve cleared a space, in amongst the tools in the back, Frank, and put some rags on the floor. ’Twas a bit dirty, like, but is all right now,’ said Jack.
‘Bless you,’ Frank replied. ‘There will be a place in heaven waiting for you, Jack.’
‘Aye, well, I hope so.’ Jack laughed. ‘That was a close call,’ he said, nodding towards the nuns’ car.
‘Don’t leave her until ye knows the police are listening to her, will ye now, and would ye drop me a line to let me know all was well? There’s a good man.’
‘I will write ye a line on Sunday after mass and before the pub, and post it on the Monday. But, ye and yer missus, have no fear now, I will do all ye have asked.’
Frank looked round to see where Maggie and Daisy were. Looking up at the house, he caught sight of the bishop opening the door of his own car.
‘Maggie,’ he hissed. ‘Get a move on.’
In a second, Daisy was by his side, pulling at his sleeve..
‘Go on now, in the back,’ he croaked. ‘Maggie, sort her.’
Frank pushed Daisy gently towards Maggie as she began to break down. He bent again to Jack’s window.
‘Don’t let her come back. She will be upset but, sure, she will come to her senses quick enough. And don’t stop for the bishop. He will be on yer tail now all the way to Dublin, unless ye can shake him off.’
Frank and Jack heard Maggie slam the rear doors of the van.
Frank looked up and she winked. He banged the palm of his hand twice on the van roof and, within seconds, the van, with Daisy safely stowed in the back, moved away down the road.
Ten seconds later, they raised their hand in farewell to the speeding bishop.
Frank put his arm round Maggie’s shoulders and, for the first time in twenty-four hours, they both heaved a sigh of relief.
Frank noticed the tears in Maggie’s eyes. ‘Come on now, away inside.’
‘Do you know, Frank, I reckon we could do that again one day if we needed to. We should try and help these girls more.’
‘Let’s hope so, love,’ said Frank. ‘Let’s hope so.’
6
SEAN SHUFFLED FORWARD on the back seat of Henry’s newly imported red Bentley so as to narrow the distance between himself and his sister, Mary. She had shrunk so far down into the passenger seat, it was as though Sean and Henry were the only two people travelling in the car. Sean linked his fingers tightly together, his knuckles shining white through his now all-American tan, while his thumbs rolled over and over. The Bentley was an unusual sight on the streets of Chicago. Henry could have had any American-made car he chose, but that was too easy and did not confer the one-upmanship over the British which he subconsciously sought.
Sean had no idea what to do or say and so, his voice laden with concern, he said the obvious. Being a father himself, he could sympathize to some extent with the pain felt now by his sister and her husband.
He gently laid a hand on Mary’s shoulder and said, ‘Come on now, Mary, don’t cry.’
‘I’m not, Sean, I’m not crying. I’m fine, really I am,’ his sister responded brightly, as she lied through her hankie. ‘I’m just being silly, aren’t I, Henry?’ She looked sideways to her husband for support as she laid her hand on top of Sean’s with a reassuring pat.
Henry didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed straight on the road ahead, his facial muscles unyielding and set. The only visible movement was a vein in the side of his broad red neck, beating wildly. Henry never lied.
Sean looked directly into the rear-view mirror. For a fleeting second, his eyes met with Henry’s, who quickly averted his gaze, but it was too late. Sean had noticed. The usual, ever-present twinkle of mischief and happiness in Henry’s bright blue eyes had been replaced with a deep, desperate sadness, and Sean had seen it.
Sean leaned back and stared out of the side window. Once again, his hands in his lap, he continued rolling his thumbs. It was a habit he had acquired during his boxing days in Liverpool whilst he sat in the back of the arena, waiting to dive through the ropes and into the ring. It had helped him when he was anxious and his nerves had got the better of him, listening to the roar of the crowd, counting down, chanting, yelling for the blood of the poor bloke in the ring. He would rock gently, back and forth. Over and over his thumbs had rolled.
And now here he was, in the back of his brother-in-law’s car, having offered to accompany Henry and his sister to the doctor’s office to provide some family support. Here he was in a situation so grave that he had no idea what to say or do. Everyone had known that something was wrong with Mary and Henry’s little boy.
Alice, who called herself Sean’s wife, even though they weren’t married, had mentioned it to him many times.
‘There is something wrong with that little Dillon,’ she said. ‘Look at his face, he’s as white as a sheet and he hardly wants his bottle. Mary keeps making excuses, but I’ve seen enough babies born on the four streets to know something is wrong. He’s too slow to put on weight.’
Alice had left her own son, Joseph, behind in Liverpool. She hadn’t seen him since the day she and Sean had set sail from Liverpool, to join Mary in America.
Sean had ten daughters by his real and only wife, Brigid, a strict Catholic who would see hell freeze over before she granted Sean a divorce. He had neither seen nor heard from his daughters since the day he had left England, and likely never would until they were adults and could meet him on their own terms, free fr
om their mother’s bitter anger.
The concern over his nephew had made him think more about his daughters and the pain in his gut was like nothing he had experienced in the boxing ring. It gnawed at his insides at times, making it impossible for him to eat.
Only yesterday, he had confided in his mother.
‘I can’t eat that, Mammy,’ he had said, when she had placed his breakfast in front of him. They were the only two people in Mary’s kitchen, which was as big as the school hall on the four streets, where Sean’s daughters sat for assembly each morning.
Mrs McGuire leaned across the dining bar.
‘That pain ye feel, the pain in yer gut, that’s putting ye off breakfast for the first time in yer entire life, it’s called guilt, so it is. Guilt and grief. I suppose I should be glad because, to me, ’tis a sign that at least I reared ye to have a conscience.’
Sean had worried that it must be hard for Alice, having left her own son, to live in a house with a baby boy, especially one as angelic as Dillon, Mary and Henry’s little son.
Dillon was everything his parents had prayed for throughout the long barren years. Not a day went by when his parents had missed the four o’clock Angelus mass. Wherever they were, at the end of Henry’s working day, they gave thanks to the Lord for the miracle that was Dillon.
Mary’s happiness was infectious. She was often to be seen dancing around, holding her son.
‘I prayed for a little lad and the angels sent me you,’ she would sing as she swung him round and round. He spent his life being kissed and cuddled, and only because Mrs McGuire intervened did he now sleep in his own room, instead of tucked into his mother’s arms.
The all-Irish team, of Henry and his two brothers, ran a large and successful construction company. They had finally persuaded Sean to take up his rightful place as a member of the family firm, making all four of them wealthy.
Sean had taken the plunge only six months ago. The delay had been a matter of frustration to everyone, Sean having been held back by his wife Brigid, who had no intention of emigrating to America. Always pregnant with another child, she had clung to Liverpool, using guilt and family to hold Sean back for too long. But then Sean had fallen in love with Jerry’s wife, Alice, and she, just like Sean, wanted to seize with both hands every opportunity their new country had to offer.
The Four Streets Saga Page 73