The House Children

by Heidi Daniele

  “My sister Theresa and her friends are goin foxin over ta the nuns’ orchard, let’s go with them.”

  I needed a sin to confess, so I quickly agreed. We found Theresa and joined her group running down the lane, past the gate, past the clothes lines and into the nuns’ orchard by the river. Some of the girls climbed up the trees, while others jumped up to grab apples from the branches. Mary and I sat by the river stuffing ourselves with golden, juicy apples, feeling proud to have a sin under our belt.

  It poured on the day we made our first confession, and with our hands over our heads we ran down the street and turned into Saint Michael’s Square. We rushed toward Saint Michael’s Church, with its spire rising so high it appeared to pierce the clouds. I was so worried about what I was going to say in the confessional that I didn’t pay any attention to the town itself. We entered the church soaking wet to find a very dry Sister Frances waiting for us.

  She lined us up by height, putting me at the front of the line, and then ushered us halfway down the aisle and into a pew. I sat down and looked in awe at my surroundings. The ornate ceiling was at least three stories high and the walls were graced with paintings of the Stations of the Cross, each one separated by an enormous stainedglass window. Sister Frances told us the church was God’s house, so I’d expected it to be majestic. I wondered if God was here right now. Interrupting my thoughts, she tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the confessional.

  I pushed the heavy red velvet curtain to the side and stepped into the small cubicle. I knelt down on the red leather kneeler and rested my folded hands on the shelf beneath a small window. The window slid open and a screen separated me from the priest. I whispered my confession to him, and he told me to say two Hail Marys and three Our Fathers for penance and then I recited my act of contrition. When it was over I returned to the pew feeling very relieved.

  The rain had stopped by the time we were done and Katie tried to urge us along, but we took our time. At Phalen’s Sweet Shoppe we pressed our faces against the window to ogle the goods on display, and then we made a game of guessing what was in the oven as we passed the bakery. We stopped to admire the haberdashery window until the sales clerk came out and shooed us away. I could have stayed in the square all day watching the townspeople go about their business. I thought I’d look forward to our weekly confessional trip to Saint Michael’s, but that changed.

  In November the weather turned raw, and we raced through town without coats or gloves to go to confession every Saturday. There was no reason good enough to linger by the shoppes in the bitter cold.

  When we returned to the industrial school, we were sent back into the yard regardless of the temperature. The younger girls crowded together to keep warm while the older girls snuck into the boiler room. Many of the girls got sick, and Sister Constance prescribed a daily dose of cod liver oil to help prevent winter ailments. So each morning Katie plunged a spoonful of it into our mouths, using the same spoon for everyone. It tasted awful, the smell was horrible, and the girls still got sick. Bedwetting increased during the cold months, and sometimes up to a dozen girls would follow Sister Constance out of the room after inspection. She took them down to the laundry and dunked them into an ice bath, believing that would remedy their problem. Thankfully, I never wet the bed, but I did have one terrible bladder incident in class.

  I raised my hand and asked if I could use the toilet; Sister Frances said no. When I raised my hand a second time, she just shook her head no. I wanted to cry because I didn’t know why she kept refusing me and I felt like my bladder was going to bust open. I tried to hold it in, but I couldn’t, and I peed in my seat. Catherine saw what happened and I hoped she wouldn’t say anything. I knew Sister Frances would be furious and everyone would make fun of me. I looked at the clock. It was almost noon. I tried to think of a way to leave without anyone noticing.

  “House children stand. House children go.”

  I stayed seated until the girls behind me got up and then I slowly stood, moving my hands behind me, trying to cover up the wetness. I walked toward the door with my back to the wall, hoping no one would notice.

  “She peed! She peed!” said one the town’s children, pointing at me.

  I felt the panic build inside of me, and Sister Frances immediately got up from her desk. Her eyes were fixed on me. She grabbed me by the ear and pulled me to the front of the classroom. My ear stung with pain and I wanted to cry, but I held back the tears.

  “Hands on the desk, palm side down.”

  I had dreaded this moment since the first day of class. Tears welled up in my eyes and I couldn’t hold them back any longer as I placed my hands on her desk. Through the puddles in my eyes, I followed the ruler as she lifted it in the air and then I looked pleadingly at her normally pale face, which was now flushed with red. I felt her dark eyes piercing through me, and to this day I could swear a grin appeared on her face before I closed my eyes.

  WHACK!

  I shrieked, pain searing into my hand and I kept my eyes closed while the tears poured down my cheeks. I held my breath while I waited for the next one, but it never came.

  “You little egit,” she said. “You can reveal this bad bit in confession.”

  My knuckles burned and I sobbed as I left the classroom with the other house children, but in an odd way, I felt grateful she only hit me once.

  The winter wasn’t all bad, because the nuns loved Christmas. In December, before the first Sunday in Advent, Sister Angela would take a group of girls to the countryside to gather baskets of ivy and fragrant fir branches. She used the greens along with silver bells to transform the dreary rec room for the festive holiday. During our singing lessons, she taught us Christmas carols along with the hymns, and everyone was in a good mood despite the cold weather. On Christmas Day, Sister Virginia surprised us all with a tasty meal of potato cakes and minced meat with bits of currants and sultans. She also made green Jell-O for dessert. Even Sister Constance was in better form. She gave each of us a brown bag containing a new pair of socks, a pencil, a pad of paper and an orange. Instead of being sent out in the yard, we were allowed to stay in the rec room where we sang and danced all afternoon.

  Those first few months I felt happy and content living in Saint Thomas’ Industrial School, until I heard about Bridget leaving. In January, I learned she was being sent to a town called Althone to live with a family and care for their two children. The thought of her leaving was upsetting and I worried about myself having to go, too. Bridget assured me that I’d see her again.

  “I’ll be back ta visit. Don’t ya worry, Peg, by the time yer fifteen ya’ll be ready ta go yerself.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  We returned to class in January, and Sister Frances began to prepare us for our First Holy Communion. Her explanation about the Liturgy of the Eucharist left me confused and somewhat doubtful, but I didn’t dare question her. Instead, I asked Mary what she thought.

  “Doesn’t matter what ya think,” she said, “and stop askin silly questions and just start believin it before ya get in trouble.”

  If I’d only been as pragmatic as Mary, I could’ve saved myself a lot of grief.

  In mid-May, Sister Frances made the announcement we’d all been waiting to hear.

  “This Saturday you will be taking the Sacrament of First Holy Communion in Saint Michael’s Church.”

  Along with the rest of the class, I fluttered with excitement until she told us that the house children would be making theirs separately in the convent chapel on Friday.

  While the rest of the house children ate breakfast on Friday morning, nine of us were in the washroom, being scrubbed down by Julia and Katie. A rack loaded with white dresses mysteriously appeared in the hallway and when I reached up to touch one, Julia quickly slapped my hand back.

  “I know what’ll fit ya best.”

  She picked a dress with embroidered flowers along the hem, helped me slip it on, and fastened the pearl buttons down the back. Katie secured
a simple tulle veil on my head and gave me a pair of short socks and white patent-leather shoes.

  On our way to the chapel my stomach growled and my head felt dizzy. I turned to Ellen behind me and said, “I feel sick.”

  “Well, don’t ya pass out,” she said, “cause that’ll be the end of ya if ya do!”

  She was right. I’d seen many a girl get sick at mass, and then get a good lashing for disrupting the service.

  Sister Constance stood at the chapel door. She looked us over, gave a nod of approval, and motioned for us to go inside. Nervously, I walked down the aisle, genuflected before the altar, and then took a seat in the first pew. As we sang the opening hymn, I watched Father Doherty bow in front of the tabernacle and kiss the altar before going to the podium.

  I paid close attention to the mass waiting to see the transformation of bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ; but colored prisms shining through the stained-glass windows distracted me. I felt like God was looking down on me, and although I’d missed the miracle, my skepticism was replaced with a feeling of reverence.

  After the mass, we gathered for a special breakfast in the refectory, where Sister Constance presented each of us with a religious medal and then gave us permission to go into the nuns’ garden. I walked through the flower beds, admiring my shiny medal, a treasure I’d keep in my cubby to remember this day.

  Our lessons at the Primary School ended in mid-June, and we traded in our shoes for summer sandals. The walls of the yard obstructed any breeze from the river, making the sunshine feel even hotter. On some days it was unbearable and a few girls would strip down to their knickers at the risk of getting a beating. It wasn’t the heat that got to me as much as the boredom, and I often wished to be back in class with Sister Frances.

  It was Saturday, the ninth of July, and we’d just finished saying the rosary when Sister Constance announced that she had arranged for us to take a trip to the strand on Monday. As we roared with excitement she raised her hand to silence us, and then read off a list of numbers.

  “If your number was called, remain in the room. The rest of you may leave now.”

  She had called my number, 27, and I stood there frozen. Ellen looked at me with raised eyebrows and Mary whispered, “Start sayin yer prayers!”

  Fear built up inside of me as I tried to think of what I did wrong. Fourteen girls including myself remained, and I didn’t know any of them. Sister Constance handed each of us an empty brown paper bag as she began to speak.

  “You will be leaving tomorrow for a one-week holiday. Katie will distribute envelopes with the details after morning mass. Summer holiday is a privilege, and I expect each of you to be at your best. If I receive any reports of bold behavior, you will be punished. You may use these bags to pack your things into.”

  She gave us a good long stare, then a quick smile and left the room. I followed the others upstairs with a bag tucked under my arm and listened to the girls ahead of me talking.

  “No matter where we go, it has ta be better than here.”

  “Don’t be so sure. Last summer I was sent ta Dublin ta care fer Father Doherty’s widowed sister, and that was no holiday!”

  “Sure, I’ll be cleaning the whole week while I stay with my aunt.” “One of the girls that went on holiday last year never came back!” Listening to their comments about going on holiday left me feeling discouraged. Going to the strand for a day with my friends was much more appealing than spending a week with people I didn’t know. That night I couldn’t fall asleep, wondering where I was being sent to.

  In the morning after mass Katie gave out the envelopes.

  “Pack yer bag after breakfast and meet up in Saint Luke’s. Peg, I’ll have Sheila look after ya on the train.”

  In my envelope was a piece of paper that read, “MRS. NORAH HANLEY,” and a train ticket to Galway. During breakfast, I poked at the cold lump of gray porridge with my spoon while the other girls gabbed about going to the strand. Without warning, Mary snatched the envelope I’d tucked in my waistband and scornfully examined its contents.

  “Hmmm, do ya know her?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  “Well, maybe she’s a relation. Have ya ever been ta Galway City?”

  I shook my head no and took back the envelope.

  Ellen got up from the table. “Have fun, Peg. I’ll miss ya.”

  I forced a smile and then looked over at Mary.

  “I hope we see ya again!” she said.

  I stopped at my cubby to get my medal before going upstairs to pack, just in case I wasn’t coming back. I carefully put it between my two sets of clothes and my sleeping gown in the paper bag.

  I joined the others and we walked to the station, where five of us waited on the westbound platform, and the others, going to Dublin, waited on the eastbound side. We waved to each other across the tracks until the train came into sight, billowing smoke and blowing its whistle. Sheila, a much older girl, held my arm as we boarded the train and looked for an empty seat. I slid in first and sat on my knees to look out of the window. We rode through spans of countryside and little towns and after a while it all looked the same. When the other three girls got off in Athenry, I asked Sheila how much longer to Galway City.

  “Tis the last stop,” she said. “You’ll know we’re close when ya see the water.”

  It felt like we’d been traveling for nearly an hour before it came into view, and I was dazzled by the sight of the blue waves with beams of yellow sunshine bouncing off the water. Hypnotized by the vastness of the Galway Bay, I hadn’t noticed that the train was slowing down until the whistle blew, and suddenly I felt sick as the train came to a screeching halt. Sheila handed me my bag, gripped me by the arm and led me out onto the crowded platform. I felt panicky looking around at all the people.

  “How am I ta find Mrs. Hanley? I don’t know who she is, or what she looks like!”

  “I’ll stay with ya till she comes,” said Sheila. “Don’t ya be worryin. These’ll be nice people, it’s not like yer gettin fostered out, they ain’t gettin paid ta keep ya. Now if ya were bigger, I’d be thinkin they need ya fer cleanin or watchin the little ones, but yer just a wee bit of thing yerself.”

  I recognized the woman waving and rushing toward us; it was the lady who found me in the Clearys’ barn. She was smiling as she bent down to hug me, but I instinctively jumped back, preferring not to be touched.

  “Don’t mind her, Mrs. Hanley,” said Sheila. “We don’t get any hugs at the industrial school, so she ain’t used ta that. But don’t ya worry—she’s well-behaved.”

  Sheila said she’d meet me back here next Sunday at noon and then disappeared into the crowd, and I stood there, not knowing what to do.

  Mrs. Hanley reached for my bag. “I’ll carry that fer ya, Mary Margaret.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, “and ya can call me Peg, that’s what they call me now.”

  “Do ya remember me?” she asked.

  I nodded yes, feeling relieved that she was familiar to me.

  Galway City was nothing like the little town of Ballinasloe, so I stayed close to her side as we navigated through the bustle of people. Once we were out of the city center heading up a steep hill she began to talk, telling me she’d gotten married and no longer lived on the farm with her parents. At the top of the hill, she stopped in front of a small white house with a bright red door.

  “This is where I live now,” she said proudly, pointing to her house. “And ya’ll be stayin here with us.”

  As she opened the door, the aroma of freshly baked bread jogged my memory, reminding me of the two days I’d spent with her in Moycullen. We entered into a large room. To my left was a sitting area and to the right was the kitchen, where a table covered with a yellow cloth was set for tea.

  “Go on and sit down while I put on the kettle,” she said.

  I took a seat at the table and looked over at a large cupboard dominating the back wall. It was filled with dishes and f
ramed photographs. Mrs. Hanley filled the kettle and placed it on an electric cooker, then she took the bread cooling on the window sill and cut it. My mouth watered as she spread generous amounts of butter and jam on several slices, and placed them onto a platter. When the kettle whistled, she poured the tea, leaving hers black, and adding milk and a few lashings of sugar to mine. As I stuffed myself and drank the sweet warm tea, she asked me questions about the industrial school. I was careful to only share the things I knew Sister Constance would approve of. When we were done eating, there was an awkward silence and I felt uncomfortable.

  “Peg, I want ya ta feel at home here. I’ve made up a room fer ya, and we’ve got a yard fer ya ta play in, and I think ya’ll like Dan, Mr. Hanley. He’ll be home in a bit, he just went fer a chat with his pals at the pub.”

  She showed me the room I’d be sleeping in and then we went out to the yard, bordered with blooming rhododendrons. While she took the laundry off the line, I peered through the bushes at the children playing in the neighboring yard.

  Later, while Mrs. Hanley prepared supper, I sat in one of the green chairs flanking the fireplace, thumbing through a book she’d given me. I was more interested in what she was doing and watched her fill a black pot with meat and vegetables which she hung on a hook in the fireplace.

  “That’ll take a while ta cook,” she said. “Why don’t we go fer a walk?”

  I was glad to be outside and welcomed our stroll between the rows of tombstones in the cemetery. Together we read some of the epitaphs and admired the carvings on the stones, and gradually the awkwardness between us lessened. By the time we returned to the house I felt a bit more comfortable and quite hungry.

  I was helping Mrs. Hanley set the table when the front door swung open and a tall, broad-shouldered man came into the house. In one sweeping move he removed his tweed cap, revealing a mostly bald head. He hung the cap on a hook by the door and slid across the room. Before I knew it, he was down on one knee in front of me and we were face to face, his blue eyes twinkling like the Galway Bay.