He smiled thinly. He didn’t want to fight.
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, Anne.”
“What, then?”
“Ah, Annie. All I mean is that you have a beautiful and very special passion for life. I’ve watched you in Boston. Here in Newport. You are in magnificent communication with Kathleen already. But you are closed off to yourself. Oh, hell, I’ll keep my big mouth shut. And walk. And take in the gilded fantasies of turn-of-the-century America. It is beautiful here. I’ll give you that.”
Justin was afraid to look at me now. When he did, he saw the big glistening tears flowing down my cheeks.
He’d hurt me, hurt me badly. Struck close to home, and he had no right to do that.
I suddenly broke away from his side. I couldn’t stay here. I began to run up the vine-strewn path, not knowing where I was going, except that I knew I had to go away from Justin O’Carroll.
Chapter 39
KATHLEEN WAS GOING STIR-CRAZY in her parents’ house. She desperately wanted to be with her friends — Sara, Fran, and the irrepressible Chuck. She felt hemmed in by the walls and by the heaving bulk of her own flesh.
She came carefully down the back stairs, holding tightly to the thin banister. Every single tread creaked under her weight.
It was still hard to get used to the physical changes in her body. Her breasts were bigger than her mother’s. Her fingers and ankles were swollen. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. And it was infuriating not to be able to wear any of her normal clothes.
When this was over, would the old Kathleen reappear? God only knew.
Until the baby came, the only pleasure she had was the beach. Thank God for the beach!
Miraculously, Kathleen got to the pantry without being heard. In particular, she didn’t want to have to face Mrs. Walsh right now. For the past few weeks, her old friend just wasn’t herself. She seemed to disapprove of everything that Kathleen did or said.
Beyond the pantry, the mudroom was deserted. An assortment of footwear was lined up under a bench. Kathleen stepped into a pair of Docksiders. Her father’s yellow cardigan was hanging from a hook and Kathleen buttoned it over her jumper.
Minutes later she was at the shoreline, listening to and watching the hypnotic breaking of the waves. God, what a day. It had to be seventy and so far the fall had been incredibly mild. She took off the sweater and slung it over one arm.
An idea occurred to her, and she absolutely loved it. Something she had once read about water and weightlessness and that it was good to take the weight of gravity off the baby. She stepped out of her Docksiders, then her sweater and jumper, and moved into the ocean.
This was so daring of her, but so right. The water was warm on the surface and felt unbelievably good slapping up against her swollen legs. She thought the wavelets were like puppies licking her feet.
Kathleen waded in several more feet, still only yards from shore. She felt in a trance now, as if she weren’t completely herself. Did she dare? Yes, she did. She took a breath and bent her knees so that the water came up almost to her chin. It felt so wonderful.
“Oh, this is heaven.”
The waves lifted her a little, then put her down. She sighed. Then she laughed out loud. Here was the weightlessness she craved. She felt light, no longer the lumbering elephant she’d become. She hadn’t been this comfortable in months; she hadn’t been so at peace with herself.
The next wave had a long, sweet pull, and it hauled her away from the beach. She went with the gentle flow. She put her arms out and her head back and floated for a moment or two. The changing of colors in the sky was fascinating. Blue to pink to purple to indigo . . .
Kathleen lost track of time. How long had she been floating? With effort, she rolled over on her stomach and got a fix on her position. She was already out much farther than she’d thought. How could it have happened? It couldn’t have! Something was wrong. How had she gotten way out here?
Frightened now, she began to stroke the water, to swim toward land.
It seemed that every yard she advanced was taken away by the outward pull of the tide.
Don’t panic, she told herself.
Just keep your eyes on the house and swim.
She wondered how she could have been so stupid. She knew about tides, had known about them her whole life! Something very weird had happened. It was as if she had lost time. Was she crazy?
Her arms were aching. She had a stitch in both sides and the cold was leaching out the strength in her body. She wanted to call out for help, but there was no one out there, no one at all who could hear her. As if the ocean were a big powerful man with his arms around her waist, Kathleen was pulled, then dragged down beneath the waves. She was frightened by the sea’s grip.
Don’t be afraid, she heard. It was the Voice, but it was almost soothing.
No! She gulped water, then managed to find the surface again. She screamed a long, wordless scream.
Just go with the sea, Kathy. The sea is the universe and it is eternal. Be the sea!
She pawed at the air, futilely, as splintered images flickered before her. Her friends, her mom, her dad, her baby —
The next wave dragged her under again. A sharp pain in her lungs increased unbearably before it was quenched by the sea.
She was drowning, and so was her baby.
Chapter 40
I STOPPED RUNNING when my shoes finally hit pavement out on lovely, tree-tented Bellevue Avenue.
What is the matter with me? What is the matter?
I mopped the ridiculous tears from my cheeks with the Kleenex tissues I kept up the sleeve of my sweater, then stood beside the towering black iron gates of one of the mansions and watched a bright yellow tour bus from Batavia, New York, loading pilgrims.
After a while, I managed to get a grip on myself.
I knew exactly why I’d run away from Justin. No big secret for the ages there. I was still in love with him, wasn’t I? And now I was angry with him too. I wasn’t cut off from life.
He was. He was the Irish Catholic priest. He acted so smart and worldly, but how much had he really experienced?
Having caught my breath, I wandered down behind the houses to a walkway that led to the beach. I was obsessing as I played “can’t catch me” with the creamy lip of the ocean. Maybe I really did love Justin. I thought about him constantly. He wanted me to be married, to be a mother. Maybe he’d expressed a selfless thought. Or he was just reminding me of what I already knew.
I wandered the beach, cycling and recycling these thoughts until twilight streaked the sky in ever-darkening bands of blue, from a pale aqua over the ocean to a deep, star-studded indigo in the great upended bowl of a sky. I cast my eyes around to get my bearings. Something on the beach pinned my attention.
A form lying motionless on the sand.
The form of a young woman.
“Kathleen!” I screamed.
Chapter 41
I CHARGED FORWARD, calling out, “Kathleen!”
When I reached her, I threw myself onto the sand beside her. I rolled her gently onto her back. Kathleen was unconscious, but thank God she was still breathing. Why was she on the beach? How had she gotten this soaking wet? Had she been swimming?
“My God, Kathy! Oh, my God.”
She was too heavy to carry, and we were alone on the darkening beach. What had happened to Kathleen? Had she hurt herself on purpose again? What about the baby?
She was still breathing all right. I called her name again. Tried to think in straight lines. I considered my options. There were two.
Stay with her.
Run as fast as I could for help.
“Okay, Kathy. Kathy . . . It’s okay.”
I tapped her lightly on the cheek.
Kathleen’s skin was very cool to my touch. Had she taken an overdose of something before she went in the water? I couldn’t know, but it was never far from my mind that she’d attempted suicide once before. Kathleen moaned and moved her legs
.
And that’s when my heart nearly stopped. I muttered, “Oh, my God! Kathy!”
I screamed her name over and over again.
I saw the streaks of blood along her thighs.
Something was terribly wrong.
When I turned my head, I saw Justin running full speed toward us.
“Justin,” I called out. “Kathleen’s losing the child!”
Chapter 42
WE ARRIVED AT the hospital with the ambulance’s sirens wailing. A half-dozen doctors and nurses came stampeding out to meet us. I was wrapped in Justin’s windbreaker and an EMS blanket. I’d gotten soaking wet trying to help Kathleen. I looked ridiculous, but I didn’t care.
Every available obstetrician at Newport Hospital was called in to observe Kathleen. She was conscious. She was also calm, although no one else was.
There was a medical consensus: The baby was in trouble. Deliver the child by C-section before it was too late.
Kathleen absolutely refused. “The baby will be fine,” she said. “Leave us both alone.”
Her own physician, Dr. Armstrong, begged her to let the doctors intercede. Her parents pleaded with her, tears streaming down their faces. If the baby was taken now, it would have a chance. If she waited, it could die. But it was no small thing to force a competent young woman to have a cesarean section.
“Anne — tell them. I’ve seen the Lady. She told me not to be afraid.”
I blanched visibly at her suggestion. Medically, a C-section was the right course to take. Kathy would live and the baby would have a good chance of survival. It was the only sane thing to do.
But then, of course, the delivery would not be a miracle. The birth would bypass the birth canal. And the Church would never claim the child was a miracle.
“Kathleen,” I said, “I want you to listen to everyone — give the doctors their due — and then do what you believe is best.”
It was a night of living hell, and I don’t say that lightly. We stayed at the hospital for hours. One of the nurses brought me dry clothes from her locker.
Finally exhausted, I slumped in a chair. I was starting to doze off when I became aware of someone shaking me. Carolyn Beavier was sobbing. She threw her arms around me.
“She’s fine, Kathleen’s fine,” she said. “And the baby’s fine. The bleeding has stopped and there’s no sign of damage. Kathleen is still carrying her baby. It’s truly a miracle!”
I was told it wasn’t exactly a miracle, but it was extraordinary enough to stun the medical staff at Newport Hospital. The only person who wasn’t surprised, or impressed, was Kathleen herself.
“Thank you for having faith in me,” Kathleen said. “You were the only one who did. You’re the special one, Anne. That’s why you’re here. You and Father Justin. You’re my special protectors.”
I stayed in the hospital room with Kathleen until Justin peeked in, around one in the morning. He gestured for me to come out into the hall. Kathleen was sleeping, so I did.
When I got into the hallway, I saw that Justin was pale, his eyes wide. I was concerned for him. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?” I asked.
“Something quite unbelievable has happened here at the hospital,” he said in a hushed whisper. “Anne, there’s been a case of polio. It’s as if it followed Kathleen here.”
Chapter 43
Ireland.
COLLEEN GALAHER THOUGHT that if she had to stay within the claustrophobic confines of her home any longer, her mind would explode into the tiniest pieces, never to be put back together again. She made sure her ma was comfortable in her room, then she sneaked from the house and saddled the horse.
She rode down the hill on horseback, her hand wrapped in the mane of her mother’s horse, Gray Lady. She sang one of her favorite Boyzone songs to herself, pausing midverse to wave at the gypsies in the lower field. She wanted to be a simple schoolgirl again; she wanted her life back.
The gypsies were not the dusky Romany types from Central Europe, but rather descendants of displaced Irish people who’d lost their holdings during the Great Famine in 1845. For generations they’d moved from county to county, mending things, racing their sulkies at fairs, and, some said, doing thievery or worse.
They were scorned as she was scorned. It wasn’t fair; it wasn’t right.
She remembered now with shame how she, too, had scorned the gypsies. Then, six months ago, something had happened that changed her mind.
As today, she’d been passing the field on her way to the idyllic spot widely known around Maam Cross as Liffey Glade. A woman with flaming red hair, a purple velvet skirt, and an old Harris tweed jacket had beckoned to her.
The gypsy woman walked toward her — her eyes gone huge. She crossed herself and began to pray, clutching her rosary as if it were a lifeline attached to Heaven itself.
Colleen had been shocked by the display, afraid and curiously bold. Yet moments later, she’d accepted the gypsy’s invitation to join her for tea inside the caravan. The woman’s name was Margot, and her caravan was a marvel of organization. There were neat shelves layered with tools, hatboxes covered in shelf paper, racks of clothing hanging according to color, and, surprisingly, an expensive new television set, battery-operated.
Beside the TV was a shrine to the Holy Virgin. She was a beautiful porcelain Madonna, her hand raised in blessing, a shawl of blue and white lined with real gold draped over her flowing hair.
“You’ve seen her in the flesh as well as the spirit,” said Margot. “I know you have. Isn’t it true?”
Colleen had turned to her, dumbfounded. What did this strange woman know?
“You love children, Colleen,” Margot then said, her voice humble and reverent. And she’d looked pointedly at Colleen’s stomach, which had just barely begun to swell.
“I know your secret, little girl. You are just like her. Your secret will change the world.”
Chapter 44
I KNOW YOUR SECRET, little girl.
Colleen took a long, slow ride that day toward the north side of town. The large hospital for the county was there and she wanted to visit before it was her time.
She tied Gray Lady to an old oak in a lush field near the hospital. Then she walked across the back lawns and entered the small lobby. Colleen had been at St. Brendan’s before to visit sick relatives, but she didn’t remember ever coming by herself.
She felt grown-up and maybe a little brazen as she slowly made her way up the winding staircase to the second floor. Colleen knew where she wanted to go — the maternity ward. It was to the left once she entered the main corridor on the second floor.
She pushed open the swinging doors and was immediately met by a nurse. The woman saw her condition and smiled in recognition. “Hello, dear.”
“Just taking a walk,” Colleen said. It wasn’t actually a lie.
A woman was moaning loudly inside one of the rooms, and then the woman began to scream.
Almost immediately, and seemingly in sympathy, a second woman down the hall let out a piercing scream.
Colleen leaned against the wall and tried to compose herself. My God, it sounds so awful. Will I be able to do this when the time comes?
She listened to the two women as they continued to moan and scream.
One of them called out for her husband, then almost in the same breath she cursed him.
I’ll be alone, Colleen thought. I have to be so brave.
She had thought the pre-visit to the hospital would be a good idea, but it didn’t seem to be. She was clearly more anxious now than she’d been.
She turned down the corridor in the opposite direction. What was down here? More birthing rooms? More women in terrible pain?
But then Colleen noticed the glass window, and she saw the tiny babies inside. Some were crying, but most were sleeping or just looking around, checking out the world.
Colleen began to smile for what seemed the first time in months, and she knew she would be all right. She wasn’t going to be alone
anymore. She would have her baby.
Chapter 45
WHEN SHE WAS JUST half a kilometer away from home, Colleen could smell the cool sweet air of Liffey Glade. She looked forward to entering the grottolike clearing that had been a natural shrine long before the Christians, even before the Druids. It was to Liffey Glade that Colleen came when she wanted to be alone.
A brisk-flowing clear stream bubbled through the grotto on its way to Loch Corrib. The pine and spruce trees hunched over the water.
Nine months earlier, on January 23, in Liffey Glade Colleen had undergone what she now considered a mystical experience. Before that night, she had been known around Maam Cross as a quiet and well-mannered scholarship student at Holy Trinity.
Colleen was liked at school, but she was never fully accepted by most of her schoolmates. She was appreciated best by the sisters at the convent school, who perhaps saw themselves in the quiet and reflective girl who was usually near the top of her classes.
She felt herself lucky to be of service to others, and that was why she’d come to her decision. She would become a nun.
Then, in a moment in Liffey Glade, everything changed. Colleen Galaher became the bride of Christ not just in spirit, but in body as well.
This particular early October afternoon, Colleen carefully rode Gray Lady down across the sodden cow pastures behind their cottage. At Liffey Glade she tethered the horse to a tree and pushed her way through wet, rustling branches. The girl knelt on the soft carpet of pine needles and duff in the private little outdoor chapel.
Colleen lowered her head of gleaming dark red hair.
“Dear Father in Heaven, I am your humblest servant. I know you can feel my sadness, and my love for you. Father, I am so lonely now. I am so terribly lonely these nine months.”
But Colleen Galaher was not alone.
She was being watched — always watched.
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