“Would ya be Mary Margaret?” he asked.
“Dan, call her Peg,” said Mrs. Hanley.
I couldn’t help but smile at him.
“Okay, Peg it is then. Well Peg, I’ve got one question fer ya,” he said in a serious voice.
I straightened my back and for a moment I thought I’d done something wrong.
Then he asked me, “How are the nuns treatin ya?”
I hesitated for a second, recalling Sister Constance’s warning.
“They’re very nice, especially Sister Constance,” I replied.
“I don’t believe ya!” he said, and then he roared out laughing.
I couldn’t help myself and started to giggle.
During supper Mr. Hanley entertained us with stories he’d heard at the pub and Mrs. Hanley gave me a second serving. Later in the evening, she ran a bath for me and allowed me to soak in the tub of warm water for a long time before she washed my hair, and carefully rinsed it so no soap went into my eyes.
She knelt down beside me while I said my prayers and then tucked me into the wide bed and drew the curtains together, making the room darker.
“Good night, Peg—sleep well,” she said, closing the door behind her.
After she left the room, I sat up, feeling afraid of the dark and the unfamiliar silence.
It didn’t seem like much time had passed when the door creaked open and Mrs. Hanley looked in.
“Are ya alright, Peg?”
I didn’t answer her, because I didn’t want her to know I was crying. She came over and sat on the edge of the bed. Her soft hand wiped my cheeks dry and she swept a stray hair off of my face.
“Slide over, I’ll lie down with ya, till ya fall asleep.”
I did as she said and the weight of her body beside me felt comforting and I quickly fell asleep.
When I woke up in the morning, Mrs. Hanley was gone, but the door had been left ajar. I crept out of the room and stood where the hallway opened into the kitchen. The table was set for two and Mrs. Hanley was stirring something in a pot on the electric cooker.
“Well, good morning, Peg! I hope yer hungry. I’ve made us some porridge.”
She filled our bowls with warm, thick, creamy yellow porridge and swirled in a spoonful of jam. She told me I wouldn’t see Mr. Hanley in the mornings because he leaves early to go to work at Merlin Park Hospital. We ate together and then she told me to wash up and put on one of the frocks she’d left on the bed. One was blue and the other green, both made from a light, soft material. I put on the green one and she was pleased to see how well it fit. She said her sister, Hannah, sent them over from America, which made them extra special.
We went to Boot’s Chemist Shoppe in the city center, where she bought me hair clips and a bag of sweets. I unrolled one of the pinwheels, stretched out the long lace of liquorish, and ate it slowly as we walked over to Eyre Square. When I finished eating the third one, Mrs. Hanley urged me to join the other children and I shyly walked over to them.
After a short while, one of the girls tugged me and said, “Yer mam is callin ya.”
I looked up to see Mrs. Hanley beckoning me over to her; the girl thought she was my mother. I said good bye and ran over to Mrs. Hanley, placing my hand in hers, then turning to wave to my new friends.
Back at the house later in the day, I sat at the table watching Mrs. Hanley fix supper at the counter. While she cut the vegetables, she told me stories about living on the farm. That made me think of the Clearys, and I remembered her visiting there more than once.
“Was Mrs. Cleary yer friend?”
She put down the knife and looked at the floor for a moment before answering.
“Not really, well sort of. I mean I knew the Cleary family, but we weren’t really friends.”
“Mrs. Cleary isn’t my mam, ya know.”
“I know that,” she replied quickly.
“Do ya know her? My mam? Do ya know who she is?”
Mrs. Hanley picked up a dish towel, and twisted it in her hands as she came over and sat across from me. She seemed preoccupied for a few moments, spreading the towel out on the table and flattening it with her hands.
“Peg, when I found ya in the barn and took ya back to Moycullen, I wanted ta keep ya. But I just couldn’t do that.”
“Ya mean, keep me like the Clearys, as a foster child?”
Mrs. Hanley paused, and took a deep breath.
“Well, yes, sort of, but it wouldn’t have worked.”
“Was it because of that man? Yer pa?”
“Oh no, Peg, it’s hard ta explain. I’d just started courtin Dan, and Hannah was leavin fer America.”
I nodded, but I really didn’t understand what she was saying. I didn’t want to know about those people.
“But Mrs. Hanley, do ya know who my mam is?”
She folded the dish towel, stood up, walked over to the sink and looked out the window.
“No Peg, I don’t know who yer mam is.”
After I climbed into bed, Mrs. Hanley lay down beside me again, and this time she put an arm over me. I felt a little restricted, but it really didn’t bother me, and I liked the way she smelled and it felt nice having her close to me.
In the morning after breakfast, I put on the blue frock and Mrs. Hanley put the matching clips in my hair. I admired myself in the mirror, and was glad that no one could tell that I was one of the house children. Skipping down the hill ahead of her, I was excited to get to the park to play with the children. Mrs. Hanley sat on a bench and watched me run over to the girl I’d played with yesterday.
“Hi, Peg,” she greeted me. “I like yer hair clips.”
I leaned in toward her and responded in a low voice, “Thanks, my mam bought em fer me.”
When we returned to the house, Mrs. Hanley washed the laundry in a tub and I handed her the pins as she hung the clothing on a line. I noticed her looking at the number 27 marked in my jumper.
“That’s my number.”
“I know,” she said. “I was 15.”
“You were in Saint Thomas?”
She shook her head no. “No, no, I wasn’t there. Never mind.”
When Mr. Hanley came home that evening he was as jolly as ever. “Do ya know yer horses, Peg?” he asked.
“The only horse I ever knew was Ginger from the Cleary’s,” I said.
“Well, ya’ve got ta know yer horses, Peg,” he said. “This is race week in Galway and we’re goin ta place a bet. Tell me Peg, which one is goin ta be the winner? Will it be Devil Diver, Sleepy Fox, Ticino, Brown Jack, Kelso . . .”
I laughed at all the silly names.
“I’d say Sleepy Fox is goin ta be the winner,” I said.
“Sleepy Fox it is then!”
The following morning, a crashing sound woke me and I jumped out of bed and rushed into the kitchen. Mrs. Hanley was on her knees picking up the pieces of a shattered dish.
“Peg, go sit down while I clean this up,” she said.
I sat by the fireplace and noticed something different about her— and it made me feel uneasy. She gave me breakfast, but she didn’t sit with me and she didn’t talk to me—and every few minutes she looked out the window, as if she were waiting for someone.
I got dressed, went out to the yard and looked through the bushes at the children playing. I’d just picked up a stone to toss over the hedge when I noticed a woman standing at the back door. Her gray hair was pulled back in a bun and she wore round, wire-rimmed glasses.
“Come on over here, let me get a good look at ya.”
I was a little nervous; but did as she said, and as I got closer, I recognized her as Mrs. Hanley’s mam.
“I’m Peg,” I said.
“Call me Granny, that’s what all the children call me.”
“Hi, Granny,” I said.
“I hear yer doin well in school.”
“I am, and I made my First Holy Communion.”
“So I’ve heard. Do ya know yer rosary?”
“Yes, I do. We say it every night.”
She nodded with approval, then turned around and went back into the house. I listened by the door, but couldn’t hear anything.
After Granny left, Mrs. Hanley called me in and she seemed more like herself again. She told me her mam visits every Wednesday and Saturday after selling eggs and milk at the market.
I helped her put away the goods Granny had brought over and then we went into town. She bought me a sweet bun and we sat on a bench across from the Great Southern Hotel, a stately inn busy with tourists visiting for the races. We watched them come and go and shared a few good laughs critiquing their fancy clothes and outrageous hats.
“You’d think they were in the films!” she said, referring to the men wearing bright summer suits and matching top hats.
Later we joked about the hat styles we’d like to wear ourselves and laughed as we conjured up the perfect suit and hat for Mr. Hanley to wear for his film debut.
He was in an equally good mood when he came home.
He waved a card in his hand and asked, “Peg, do ya know what this is?”
“No, I don’t.”
“It’s a race card, and this one’s a winner!” he exclaimed. “Yer call on Sleepy Fox was on the money!”
Both of the Hanleys seemed very happy about this and I was glad that I’d picked a good horse.
“Peg, I’ve got a little somethin fer ya,” he said. “How’d ya like a banana?”
“I’ve never had a banana.”
“Well then, it’s high time ya did!”
Mr. Hanley unfolded his newspaper and removed the odd-looking yellow fruit. I watched him peel back the thick skin from the stem, revealing the white pulp inside. It tasted sweet and delicious and after my last bite I said I’d be happy to pick another horse for him. He let out a hearty infectious laugh and Mrs. Hanley and I joined him.
Before going to bed, I said good night to him and he gently patted me on the head.
“You know what, Peg? I think yer my lucky charm.”
As I lay in bed that night, with the warmth of Mrs. Hanley beside me and the thought of being Mr. Hanley’s lucky charm, I knew I wanted to stay here.
Thursday morning after breakfast, Mrs. Hanley gave me a pair of short pants and a sleeveless top to wear.
“We’re goin ta the strand!” she said.
I suddenly realized that I hadn’t thought about the house children or the trip to the beach that I’d missed.
Mrs. Hanley packed ham sandwiches and a jug of lemonade into a sack and took a large blanket from the press. At Eyre Square we met her friend Delia and her two daughters—Evelyn, a year older than me, and Regan, my age. We boarded the bus for Salt Hill and I sat in between the girls, and Mrs. Hanley and Delia sat behind us.
It was a short ride to the little beach town lined with pastel-colored shoppes. The bus pulled up in front of a big white building with a sign that read, “Hawthorn Lodge.”
In a single line, we walked down a long, narrow path leading to the beach. I looked ahead at the waves crashing into the shoreline and took off my sandals, letting my feet sink into the soft, grainy sand.
Mrs. Hanley fed us and then we ran down to the water, where I cautiously wet my feet. The bay was cold, and when Regan splashed me, it tasted salty. We played on the beach all afternoon and were wiped out when it was time to leave.
At the house, I collapsed into a green chair while Mrs. Hanley busied herself in the kitchen.
I was about to fall asleep when Mr. Hanley came barreling through the front door.
“It looks like the beach wiped ya out, Peg!”
I smiled and nodded.
I could barely finish my meal and when we were done, I asked Mrs. Hanley if I could go to bed.
“Of course ya can, Peg. The sun and salt water will do that ta ya.”
Mrs. Hanley laid down next to me. My last thought before falling asleep was that she had to be the nicest lady in the world.
Mrs. Hanley was making bread when I came into the kitchen the following morning. She placed the dough into the black pot, and I looked at her curiously as she cut a cross onto the loaf before placing the lid on top.
“Tis ta bless the bread and give thanks.”
I nodded and smiled at her, thinking what a great mam she’d be and wondered why she didn’t have any children.
The day passed easily in her company. We strolled through the city talking and laughing, and when we stopped in Saint Nicholas’ Church she gave me a halfpenny to light a candle. I knelt down and prayed to God, thanking him for my holiday and asking him to let me stay.
That night, I offered to set the table, and as I took the dishes from the cupboard, I looked at the photographs on display. Mrs. Hanley came up behind me and pointed to a picture of three girls and a boy.
“Twas the last time we were all together,” she said. “That’s my older brother, Martin, my older sister Margaret, Hannah, and me. We used ta have great fun, but now they’re all in America.”
I could hear the sadness in her voice.
The following morning I was surprised to see Mr. Hanley sitting at the table drinking a cup of tea.
“It’s Saturday, Peg, and it’s my day off.”
Mrs. Hanley spooned porridge into the three bowls on the table. “My mam will be comin by again today, Peg.”
“She told me ta call her Granny.”
“Did she?”
Mr. and Mrs. Hanley exchanged a look of surprise.
I was lost in a daydream, pretending I lived with the Hanleys, when Granny came through the door. She didn’t knock. She just walked right in and placed two baskets on the table. One was full of eggs and the other held two jars of milk. Mrs. Hanley went to the sink to fill the kettle and Granny turned to me.
“Will ya be havin tea with us, Peg?”
I looked over at Mrs. Hanley and she smiled and nodded.
“Yes, I will,” I said.
Mrs. Hanley emptied the basket and set the table while Granny questioned me.
“Are ya any good at yer sums?”
“I am,” I said, “but I prefer readin.”
“Yer sums are important,” said Granny. “Let me see yer hand.” She took my hand and stuck something in my palm—it was a sixpence coin. My eyes nearly popped out of my head.
“Is this fer me?”
“Tis.”
“I’ve never had any money before.”
“When ya get back ta school, pay attention ta yer sums.”
“I will, Granny. Thank you.”
I turned the coin over in my hand as the two women chatted. Granny finished her tea and looked toward me before getting up to leave.
“Now Peg, remember what I told ya—mind yer sums!”
Mrs. Hanley seemed relieved when Granny closed the door behind her.
“Peg, today is the last day of yer holiday,” she said. “Would ya like ta go back ta the park?”
“Yes, I would,” I said.
I played with the children knowing it would be the last time I’d see them, and I was upset when it started to rain. Reluctantly I said goodbye, but didn’t mention that I wouldn’t be back.
At the house, Mrs. Hanley gave me a pencil and a sheet of paper.
“Here Peg, ya can practice yer sums.”
I sat at the table and wrote out some arithmetic problems, and she settled into a chair by the fireplace and began knitting. Every now and then, she looked over at me and I wondered if she was as sad as I was about my holiday being over.
As usual, Mr. Hanley came barreling into the house with the paper under his arm.
“I think I beat the heavy rain,” he said. “I could hear it comin up behind me. So Peg, yer leavin us tomorrow.”
“Yes, I have ta go back,” I said.
“Is it the nuns yer missin?” he asked, and then he howled with laughter.
I didn’t laugh with him this time. I didn’t miss the nuns or the industrial school. I wanted to stay right here with the Hanleys.
>
That night when Mrs. Hanley laid down next to me, I tried not to fall asleep because I didn’t want the day to end.
On Sunday morning, I put on my green frock and walked between the Hanleys to Saint Nicholas’ Church. During the homily the priest said some terrible things about the Galway races and Mr. Hanley looked at me with a devilish grin—I had to hold back my chuckle. We returned to the house for a big breakfast and I stuffed myself with eggs, rashers, and black pudding.
Mrs. Hanley packed my bag and I said goodbye to Mr. Hanley when it was time to leave.
“We’ll see ya again, Peg,” he said and handed me a banana. “Somethin ta eat on the train.”
I sadly took my last look at the city as we walked to the station. We stood on the platform waiting for Sheila.
“Peg, I hope ya had a nice time.”
“I did, Mrs. Hanley. Thank ya very much.”
“I’ll try ta come see ya.”
“That would be nice,” I said. “I’ve never had a visitor.”
Before she could say anything else, Sheila came over to us and gabbed on about her holiday until the train rolled in. Mrs. Hanley gave me a hug and handed me my bag, and for a moment it looked like she was about to cry.
I knelt on the seat and held back my tears while I waved to Mrs. Hanley as the train pulled out of the station. Once the Galway Bay was out of sight, I sat back down.
“So how was yer holiday?” asked Sheila.
“Oh Sheila, it was the best!” I said. “Mr. and Mrs. Hanley are the nicest people. She cooked fer me every day and we went ta the strand and we . . .”
Sheila interrupted me.
“Peg, I’m happy fer ya, and that’s all fine,” she said. “But fer yer own sake, ya might not want ta be tellin the others what a grand time ya had.”
I paused for a moment, thinking about what she’d said, and realized she was right.
The House Children Page 4