The House Children

by Heidi Daniele

  “Welcome Peg, welcome to Saint Thomas’, may God bless you.”

  We entered a plain room with bare windows and a few old chairs strewn on a tattered rug.

  “This is Saint Luke’s Parlor, where ya’ll have yer visitors.”

  Passing through a glass-paned door we stopped at the base of a wide staircase.

  “Yer never ta go up these stairs. They’re fer Sister Constance.”

  We continued down the hall and Katie showed me the girls’ toilet room with two stalls.

  “This is it fer all the girls, so no dilly dallying in here.”

  She didn’t seem to notice Sister Constance scolding a girl in the next room. She just pointed and said, “That’s the rec room where we say the nightly rosary.”

  I nodded, even though I had no idea what a nightly rosary was.

  A blast of intense heat hit me in the face when we entered the laundry, where two women immediately looked up from their pedaldriven sewing machines. Several girls behind them didn’t appear to notice us; they continued working, poking long sticks in large tubs, pushing garments through rollers, and ironing mountains of clothes.

  One of the women stood up and rested her hands on her wide hips.

  “I’m Julia Cassidy, head seamstress here, and what’re we callin ya?”

  “I’m Mary Mar . . .”

  Katie tugged the back of my dress. “Call her Peg, she’s number 27.”

  “I’m Peg,” I said.

  Tears welled up in my eyes as I felt forced to abandon the one thing that was mine. Julia reached over and patted me on the shoulder.

  “Ah, it takes a bit of time ta get used ta, lass. Don’t ya worry.”

  A pretty, green-eyed girl with long red hair walked toward us, carrying a basket of wet clothes.

  She winked at me and said, “Hi ya, cutie pie!” and then she barked at Katie, “Move yer arse outa my way!”

  Katie scrunched her face and lurched into a side-step as the girl barreled past her.

  “That Angela O’Neill is such a cheeky one,” Katie said.

  Julia nodded, “Too big fer her britches, she is. Now Peg, let me see yer feet.”

  I lifted my right foot, then my left.

  Julia looked at my feet and then scanned me from head to toe, calculating my measurements.

  “I’ll have ta check the boot room. I’ll have Peg’s things ready after supper.”

  We left the laundry and went toward a door that had been left slightly ajar. As we got closer, the sound of voices increased and we stepped out into a yard crowded with young girls, all wearing the same gray farm clothes.

  “I want ya ta stick with the wee ones yer own age,” said Katie.

  She grabbed a lanky girl with dark hair and milky white skin. “This is Mary. She’ll show ya around.”

  “I don’t know what she wants me ta show ya. This is the yard. The only way out is through the gate at the back wall, and that’s locked.”

  Mary introduced me to a few of the girls and I became selfconscious of the frock I was wearing. It was intimidating to be in the midst of so many other children. I was glad when Katie returned, ringing a hand bell to call the girls in for supper. I queued up and followed them into the refectory, a dull beige room with windows overlooking the nuns’ garden. I sat next to Mary on one of the benches at three long communal tables set with tarnished tin mugs and plates.

  The appearance of Sister Constance in the doorway extinguished the chatter in the room and the girls folded their hands and bowed their heads. I did the same. Their voices melded together and in unison they prayed.

  “Bless us oh Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

  I wasn’t familiar with the words but it sounded lovely and I wanted to be a part of their chorus.

  Sister Constance left the room and the girls began to converse in whispers. Four older girls poured cocoa into our mugs and set out platters of bread that were quickly emptied as each girl grabbed her share. The cocoa tasted watery and the spread on the bread was greasy, but it was filling.

  In the evening, Mary showed me the cubbies along the back wall in the rec room, one for each girl to store her special items. She was about to show me the contents of hers when the overhead light flashed, and the girls dropped to their knees and folded their hands again. While they prayed, I thought about the nice ladies I’d stayed with, and wished I were still with them. My knees began to hurt and I wanted to stand up, but the watchful eye of Sister Constance told me it wouldn’t be a wise move.

  At bedtime, we filed up a narrow staircase to the second floor and the girls dispersed into two dorm rooms, each furnished with fifty metal beds lined up in three rows. Katie escorted me to dorm two, row three, bed fourteen, where a short stack of gray farm clothes sat neatly folded, each piece marked with the number 27. She gave me a pair of shoes with metal bits hammered into the sole and told me to store my things in the box below the bed.

  Along with the other girls, I stripped off my clothes and put on a nightdress and lined up to use the washroom. We washed up without any soap and shared the few small towels. Sister Agnes, a small scrawny nun, monitored the washroom to ensure we weren’t fooling around or drinking water from the tap.

  “Some of the girls say Sister Agnes is the meanest one of em all,” Mary informed me.

  When I returned to the dorm, my blue dress and shoes were gone. I would have liked to have kept the dress, but at least with these other clothes I wouldn’t stand out. The overhead light flashed, and the girls dropped to their knees and folded their hands, and the chorus began.

  “Now I lay me down ta sleep, I pray the Lord my soul ta keep. If I shall die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul ta take. Amen.”

  I was thankful it was a short one.

  The metal bars beneath the thin mattress dug into my side and it took a few twists and turns before I settled into a comfortable spot. I looked out through the bare window at the new moon, and listened to the beds creak, the low whispers and soft cries. I turned my face to the thin pillow and allowed my own tears to emerge. This didn’t seem like a terrible place, but I just didn’t understand. Why was I here?

  The next morning, the loud clanging of a bell woke me. I looked up. It was Sister Constance. Everyone jumped out of their beds and began folding their linens. An older girl came over to help me.

  The light flickered and we were praying again.

  “Father in heaven, ya love me. Yer with me night n day. I want ya ta love me always. In all I do and say, I’ll try ta please ya. Father, bless me through the day. Amen.”

  Afterwards, we stood at attention beside our beds as Sister Constance walked down the aisles, inspecting our linens. She pulled the sheet off one girl’s bed and threw it at her. The girl took the sheet and walked over to the doorway. The same thing happened to three others, and when Sister Constance left the room, they followed her. The girl next to me whispered, “Bedwetters.”

  That morning I experienced a pleasant sense of belonging. Dressed in my gray farm clothes, I queued up to go to the convent chapel, where we filed into pews behind several rows of nuns. The curtain of black cloth in front of me obstructed my view of the one-man show. Unfamiliar with the ceremony and rituals, I followed the movements of the others, standing, sitting, and kneeling. When I went to join the line for communion, Mary pulled me down into my seat.

  “Not yet, we aren’t ready.”

  Over a breakfast of cocoa and lumpy porridge, Mary told me that we’d be prepared for First Holy Communion in Primary School and that would start in three weeks. I liked having something to look forward to.

  The next hour was scheduled for daily chores. I was assigned to polish the floor moldings on the second floor with Ellen, a plump girl with frizzy red hair. While we worked, Ellen told me her mam went mad and was put into an asylum after her pa died. She said Sister Constance changed her age so she’d be old enough to stay here with her sisters, otherwise she
’d be in foster care. I began to tell her about the Clearys, and Ellen held up her hand to silence me.

  “Listen, here she comes.”

  Sure enough, I heard the sound of the wooden beads and leather strap clinking as she climbed the steps. We stood up together and greeted her, “Good Morning, Sister Constance.”

  She nodded and continued down the hallway.

  Once she was out of sight, Ellen told me Sister Constance sleeps in one of the cells just past our dorm and the other nuns take turns sleeping in the second cell.

  Back down on my knees, I dipped my rag in the tin of polish and rubbed it into the molding. My thoughts of Sister Constance were beginning to soften. I slid backwards and polished a bit more, glancing over at Ellen as she worked on the other side; I wondered if maybe my mam was in an asylum, too.

  During the next two weeks I embraced the comfort of routine and a sense of belonging. I enjoyed my new friends and felt their concern for me. Ellen fed me general tips: try to get the last pour of cocoa because the mix settles at the bottom of the pitcher, and tell Julia you need the next size up, because the looser the clothing, the less it scratches your skin. Mary was more focused on the rules. She told me the dos and don’ts of Saint Thomas’ Industrial School, and there were many. I tried to follow her simple solution: “Stay out of Sister Constance’s view!”

  There were some things about the industrial school that I didn’t like. For example, there was absolutely nowhere to go to be alone, except in one of the two toilet stalls. And although I was grateful for my meals, Sister Virginia was a terrible cook and she fed us the same thing every day. The one thing I really hated was being confined within the high stone walls of the yard. But on the whole, living here was good, and it was certainly better than at the Clearys’.

  Close to a hundred girls resided in Saint Thomas’ Industrial School, and half as many nuns lived in the convent. I learned there were two types of nuns: the educated choir nuns, and the lay nuns. Sister Constance was a choir nun, trained as a nurse, and our House Manager. Some girls said the Devil himself would fear her. She was strict and sometimes cruel, but she treated all the girls the same way— she had no pets. I’d heard some nuns had pets, and all of the girls longed to become one, because then you’d get a little extra attention.

  At the start of my third week, Primary School opened and I was enrolled in First Class. After our morning jobs, we assembled in the yard and Katie unlocked the gate and sent us up the lane. We crossed a grass lawn and entered the Primary School through the back door. Our classroom had four rows of desks, each one large enough to accommodate two students. I took the empty seat in the third row, next to a girl wearing a yellow frock. Her golden hair was tied up in a bow, and her hazel eyes twinkled when she said hello to me.

  Our teacher was a tall, skinny nun with severe facial features. She stood at her desk, straight as a pin, holding a ruler in her right hand, and tapping it in the palm of her left.

  Sister Frances spoke slowly and deliberately as she outlined her expectations. Our first lesson was about the Sacrament of Penance. She said her intention was to bring us to the path of God’s forgiveness and keep us out of hell, an evil place where the Devil lived in the midst of burning flames.

  During the lesson I glanced behind me and noticed Ellen had fallen asleep. Sister Frances’ face reddened with anger as she noticed, too. A grim silence took over the room, and I sat as still as a corpse as Sister Frances walked down the aisle past me. All eyes were riveted on her ruler as she poked Ellen. The color drained from her chubby face when she looked up.

  “Hands on the desk, palm side down,” Sister Frances demanded.

  I held my breath watching her raise the ruler high in the air, and I clenched my fists when she whipped it down, fast and hard, onto Ellen’s knuckles.

  WHACK!

  Ellen shrieked in pain, and Sister Frances hit her again and again.

  The girl next to me closed her eyes and covered her ears with her hands, I slid my fists beneath my thighs. Sister Frances returned to her desk and continued with the lesson and I kept my eyes wide open while listening to Ellen weeping behind me.

  At noon, an announcement came through a loudspeaker in the corner of the room.

  “House children stand. House children go.”

  I sat and watched the girls in the row behind me rise up from their seats and line up by the door. The girl in the yellow dress nudged me.

  “That’s fer you, too.”

  It was at that moment I realized it was only the girls in gray farm clothes that were lined up. I felt the class watching me as I walked over to join them. Sister Frances opened the door and we filed into the hallway already filled with girls from the industrial school exiting through the rear door.

  Mary ran over to me as I walked down the lane.

  “Why didn’t ya get up?”

  I shrugged my shoulders.

  “We are the house children! And we’re not allowed ta get friendly with the town children, so don’t be chattin it up with the girl in the yellow frock.”

  I felt bad for Ellen. She sat alone while we ate our midday meal and refused to walk with us when we returned to class. It was only our first day and Sister Frances had already put the fear of God in me. I vowed to do whatever was necessary to stay in her good graces and keep out of hell.

  As we headed back to class, Angela walked by us with a basket of wet clothes. She smiled and said hello.

  “Where’s she goin?”

  “Ta hang laundry on the lines down by the river.”

  “Why doesn’t she go ta school?”

  “Not all the girls go ta school,” said Mary. “If yer not good at learnin or the nuns don’t like ya, they’ll keep ya back fer cleanin.”

  The following days were more of the same. Sister Frances read aloud and we repeated everything she said verbatim. Her class was boring and predictable, but there was comfort in the routine and I preferred to be in the classroom than confined in the yard. I also enjoyed the occasional moment when I was able to talk with Catherine, the girl who sat next to me. She told me her dad had a small orchard on the other side of the wall in our yard, and I was delighted when she invited me to play after school.

  “My mam said we’re all God’s children and I can be yer friend.”

  I broached the topic with Mary and she advised me to squelch the idea. I knew she was right—the nuns wouldn’t let me go over to her house.

  At the end of September, news spread about the arrival of Sister Angela, a young, energetic nun who had recently entered the convent. Sister Constance arranged for her to give us singing lessons on Tuesdays in the rec room after class. Everyone loved her. She glided around the room like she was floating on air and she always had a smile on her face. Her skin was fair and smooth, and wavy strands of auburn hair slipped out from under her veil. She defied all the things I’d come to believe about nuns. I wanted to touch her to see if she was real, and when she slipped me a sweet one day, I tried to hold onto her hand. Sometimes at night, I dreamt I was her pet, and Tuesday became my favorite day of the week.

  The weekdays weren’t bad but I hated the weekends, and Friday nights were the worst. We trudged our dirty clothes and linens down to the large bins and then lined up for a bath in one of three deep tubs in the back of the laundry. One after another we’d take a turn dipping ourselves in soapy water for two or three minutes to wash up. It was awful, and if you were toward the end of the line, the water would be cold and dirty. Wrapped up in tiny towels, we’d run to the rec room and wait for our number to be called to collect a clean set of clothes and linens. There were many fights over the few combs available, as we tried to keep our hair from drying up in knots.

  Saturdays we’d sit in the yard, waiting to see who’d appear at the gate. Ellen’s grandmother usually showed up and she’d pass sweets to her, which Ellen quickly gobbled up. The local boys could be counted on to come and cause a ruckus. Once they were throwing dead frogs at us and one hit Mary. She w
as so mad that she started yelling and cussing at them. I thought Sister Constance was coming to Mary’s defense when she rushed into the yard with her long stick, but instead she started hitting Mary with it. I hated watching anyone get hit, especially one of my friends.

  If the weather was fair on a Sunday, Katie took us for a walk to the train station and back. I’d try to pair up with Bridget for the walks because she made up little rhymes and quips that kept me laughing. One thing that was different about Bridget was that she never spoke poorly of the nuns. She said she’d always be grateful to them for taking her in.

  Ballinasloe held a week-long horse fair every October on the green across the street from the Primary School. Looking out at the fairgrounds from the classroom window was like torture for me. Fortunately, Tofts Amusements, the vendor for the large mechanical rides, gave free passes to the house children on the last day of the fair. I’ll never forget the first time I went.

  I was bursting with anticipation as Katie handed out the passes on Saturday morning. Before unlocking the gate, she made an announcement warning us to keep away from the tinkers.

  “They’ve got bad blood in em, and they’re known fer stealing little girls.”

  With my pass clenched in my fist, I linked arms with Mary and ran up the lane and across Society Street. I was immediately drawn to a cluster of brightly painted wagons, where a group of people, dressed in colorful clothes, sat on wooden crates. They clapped their hands to the beat of the lively music that played and watched their children dance.

  “Tinkers,” Mary whispered in my ear.

  They appeared to be a happy clan, and I thought to myself that it wouldn’t be such a terrible thing to be stolen by them.

  Mary pulled me over to the games and rides, where we lined up for the Big Dipper. I thought I might get sick when our bucket stopped and lingered for a few moments at the very top. Mary took the opportunity to point out the River Suck behind the industrial school, and then she suggested the perfect crime for us to commit in preparation for our first confession.