The House Children

by Heidi Daniele

  “How about ya burp Ryan while I put the kettle on.”

  “I’ve never held a baby before. I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t ya worry, Peg, ya’ll do fine. Gently pat him on the back.”

  She put a cloth on my shoulder and placed him into my arms. He kept moving, and it was a challenge to keep him in place.

  When we sat down at the table, I told Mrs. Hanley that Father Doyle had come to visit the industrial school, and she wanted to know all the details. I was thrilled to have her attention.

  “He’s known as the Rosary Priest. I think he’s goin ta become a saint.”

  “Oh Peg, I know all about him! He’s on the radio, ya know. He says the family that prays together, stays together.”

  “He has a lovely voice.”

  “Twas a blessin ya got ta see him. But tell me, is he as handsome as his photos?”

  When Mr. Hanley came home, she had me tell him about Father Doyle’s visit, but he didn’t seem as impressed.

  “They treat him like he’s an American film star.”

  Mrs. Hanley took Ryan along for our walk to the cemetery. We chatted as we strolled by the rows of headstones, but she was clearly distracted. I felt a little out of place all evening, until she came in to my bedroom that night and lay down next to me. Feeling her beside me felt right, and I reached for her hand and pulled her arm over me.

  In the morning, Mrs. Hanley set out a bowl of porridge for me, and then she disappeared. I’d finished my breakfast before she returned with the baby in her arms. While she fed him, I washed up and got ready to go into town.

  We went to the shoppes and then stopped in Eyre Square. I ran around with the other children and Mrs. Hanley sat on a bench rocking the pram. I looked over at her a few times, but she didn’t seem to notice me.

  Unlike my prior visits, this time I felt very uncomfortable. I’d been used to having Mrs. Hanley to myself. One evening during supper, Mr. Hanley and I were laughing and Mrs. Hanley got upset with us.

  “You two keep it down! Ryan is sleepin!”

  Mr. Hanley smirked and raised his eyebrows, but I felt like crying. I’d never seen her so angry before.

  When Granny came to visit, she doted on the new baby, too. If I didn’t have the story about Father Doyle, I don’t think she would’ve talked to me.

  I didn’t have any fun until we went to Salt Hill with Delia and her girls. It was a big ordeal getting on and off the bus with the extra baby things, but it was worth it once we got there. We played in the sand and waded in the cool bay water. Evelyn asked me what I thought about the new baby.

  “He’s fine. I get ta hold him.”

  “Well, I hate boys.”

  “Why?”

  “Cause they’re always the favorites.”

  We were working on a sand castle when Mrs. Hanley called us over.

  “Ryan’s not feelin well, he’s fussin quite a bit. It’s best we get home.”

  Mrs. Hanley and Delia were already packing up our things.

  Evelyn rolled her eyes and whispered, “Told ya, anythin ta please the boys.”

  During the bus ride, Regan and Evelyn told me they had an older brother and their mam favored him, and that’s the way it was in everyone’s house. The boys were spoiled.

  While the baby took a nap, I peeled the potatoes and helped get supper ready, grateful to be spending time alone with Mrs. Hanley. After we ate, she tended to household chores and Mr. Hanley read his newspaper. I began to think that I might have been better off staying back at the industrial school with my friends. My feelings were jumbled, because when Mrs. Hanley lay down beside me in bed that night, I felt differently.

  Over the next few days, our plans were continuously changing on a moment’s notice, depending on how the baby was acting. Mrs. Hanley was always trying to figure out why he was fussing and what would please him.

  “Let me warm up some milk fer Ryan,” Mrs. Hanley said and placed him into my arms.

  I sat in the chair, unwillingly cradling him, while he cried and squirmed. His face was red and blotchy and snot was coming out of his nose. I rocked him a bit and he began to settle down.

  “Ah, you’ve got the hang of it, why don’t ya feed him?”

  Reluctantly, I took the bottle and put it into his mouth. I felt a little proud that I was able to soothe him, and it pleased Mrs. Hanley, but when he was done with the bottle, he spit up all over me. I screamed, he cried, and Mrs. Hanley ran over and took him from me. I ran outside to the yard, and after a while she came out to get me.

  The days dragged and I found myself feeling annoyed, bored, lonely, and anxious to get back to my friends at the industrial school. There was no way I could compete with Ryan. He was Mrs. Hanley’s baby, and I was just one of the house children.

  On Saturday, when the baby slept late, I had Mrs. Hanley’s full attention for most of the morning. She taught me how to make bread and let me put the cross on top. I found myself feeling hopeful, but for what, I wasn’t sure.

  Later, when Granny arrived, Mrs. Hanley was changing the baby in the back room, so I set the table. Granny watched me butter the slices of bread and pile them on a serving dish.

  “I helped make the bread today.”

  “Did ya? Well, that’s grand, Peg, but there’s more ta keepin house than that. Can ya sew?”

  “No, but I can knit.”

  “Sewing is important, ya’ll have ta learn.”

  “I don’t know if the nuns teach that.”

  “It’s in yer blood, ya’ll learn.”

  I smiled and nodded, but wasn’t sure what she meant by that. She seemed a bit confused, but still gave me a sixpence before she left.

  I went to bed feeling fine about returning to Ballinasloe the following day, but then it happened again. Mrs. Hanley lay down next to me, and I listened to her breath and felt the warmth of her body beside me, and I wanted to stay.

  Saying goodbye to Mrs. Hanley at the station had always been a special moment, and I was hurt when she asked Mr. Hanley to take me. Before I boarded the train, he pulled a banana from his pocket and gave it to me and patted me on the head.

  “Somethin ta nibble on durin yer ride.”

  “Thank ya, Mr. Hanley.”

  The train whistle blew and I looked out the window to wave to him, but he was gone. During the ride, I ate my banana and wondered if that was my last visit to Galway.

  I returned to the industrial school feeling glad and mad at the same time. I was glad to be with my friends again, but mad at Mrs. Hanley for having a baby. It was so confusing, because part of me loved Mrs. Hanley and a part of me hated her—well, hated that she loved her new baby so much.

  It wasn’t too bad getting back in to our summer routine, and I told myself that life with the Hanleys wasn’t that great. I enjoyed being with my friends, and we had lots to talk about while we were knitting out in the yard, but I couldn’t deny missing Mrs. Hanley’s cooking.

  Before the summer ended, ten girls transferred in from Goldenbridge Industrial School. Against Mary’s warning, I befriended one of them, a girl our age named Maggie.

  When I tried to teach Maggie how to knit, I noticed scarring on her hands.

  “What happened to yer hands?”

  “Tis from stringing beads.”

  “What do ya mean?”

  “We had ta make rosary beads fer the nuns ta sell. Twas terrible, stringin the beads onta wire, sixty decades every day. Them nuns were terrible, breathin down our necks, calling us illegitimates, and the devil’s handmaids. Ye’ve got it good here.”

  Listening to Maggie talk about Goldenbridge made me more appreciative of Saint Thomas’.

  We were assigned new jobs at the end of the summer before returning to school. Although I’d be working alone, I felt fortunate to be polishing the banister of the main staircase in the convent. On my first day, an older girl named Erin met me in the convent foyer and showed me where to get my supplies. I’d also began to meet many of the nuns I hadn’t seen b
efore, including Sister Louise, who’d be our new teacher in Fourth Class. I was fond of her because she showed no favoritism to the town’s children.

  In October our singing class started up again and everyone was very surprised to hear Maggie sing. Her voice was magnificent, and Sister Angela praised her. As the weeks passed by, it became obvious that Maggie was becoming Sister Angela’s pet, and many of the girls were jealous.

  During breakfast one morning, Maggie took a medal out of her sock and showed it to us.

  “It’s Saint Celia, patron saint of music.”

  “Where’d ya get that?”

  “Sister Angela gave it ta me.”

  “I wouldn’t be tellin everyone about that. Keep it ta yerself.” Either someone overheard her or Maggie didn’t take my advice, because later that day, Mary and I watched a group of girls surround her in the yard.

  “Let’s see yer fancy medal!” they chanted as they pushed her to the ground and ripped off her clothes, looking for the medal. Maggie kicked and cried, but there was nothing I could do to help her. The dinky little medal fell out when one of the girls pulled off her shoes. They passed it around until one very tall girl threw it over the wall.

  “Where’s yer medal now? Where’s yer medal now?”

  I began to think Mary was right; it was best if we kept to ourselves. Mary was my best friend, and I finally confided in her about Mrs. Hanley’s new baby. In her pragmatic way, she told me I was wasting my time thinking about them. She discouraged me from entertaining any fantasies of another life, other than the real one I was living. So I tried not to think about the Hanleys or how they were celebrating Christmas with their new baby, but when I had trouble sleeping, I couldn’t help but think about them.

  It was one of those nights when I couldn’t sleep, February 25, 1947, that Ireland got hit with the biggest blizzard of the century. The dorm windows rattled and the freezing wind penetrated the walls. In the morning, everything outside was glazed in ice and downstairs the windows were blocked by snow drifts. Ballinasloe was shut down and we all felt cold and trapped.

  In the rec room, the girls talked about sleeping together to keep warm.

  “Are ya sharin yer bed?”

  “No, but I keep my clothes on under my sleeping gown.”

  “Well, don’t let anyone in yer bed. Sister Constance checked our dorm last night and anyone doubled up got a thrashin.”

  “She said it’s immoral.”

  We were sent out in the yard after Mr. Campbell and his son cleared a walking path. Huddled together in groups, we tried to keep warm while our hands turned blue and purple. When we were finally let back inside, Dr. Green had to be called because so many girls were complaining of swelling and itching. He said we had chilblains and left a few jars of ointment.

  The cold was brutal, and I’d linger as long as possible, polishing the banister in the warm convent. While working, I listened to the nuns talk about rations until the roads could be cleared, which explained the smaller portions we’d been receiving.

  We were all desperately hungry, and Mary was stunned when I broached the idea of breaking into the pantry. It was dangerous, but I was starving and so was she.

  From the dorm window I watched for the last light to go out in the convent, then took a deep breath and slid out from under my blanket. I’d kept my socks on, which made it easy to slide across the cold wooden floor without making noise. At the doorway, we glanced up and down the hall to make sure it was empty and then ran to the staircase. We hugged the wall of the dark stairwell and crept down one step at a time. The main floor was dimly lit and we rushed to the refectory door. Once inside, it was dark and still, and Mary began to panic.

  “Maybe we should go back.”

  “No way. We’ve come this far!”

  “What if we get caught?”

  I grabbed her with one hand and placed the other on the wall and led her toward the scullery. This was new territory, and we had no idea where the food was kept. We found the pantry, but all the cabinet doors were locked. Again, Mary wanted to go back, but I refused. Together we pulled on one door until we broke the lock. The cabinet was filled with cans of fruit and boxes of red and green gelatin.

  I grabbed a can of peaches in syrup. “Look at all these!”

  “Put it back, we’ve no way of openin it!”

  Mary handed me a box of red gelatin, and we took out the small blocks. I licked the hard, sweet square to soften it up, and then ate two more. As we crept back through the refectory, we heard a noise out in the hall. We hid under the table and watched two other girls come in and run across the room and into the scullery.

  Over breakfast the following morning, Mary and I exchanged a knowing glance when we learned that two girls with green mouths were punished for breaking into the pantry.

  Three long weeks passed before the Primary School was reopened. Mr. Campbell and his son, Mathew, put wooden boards over the wet mess in the lane for us to walk on. A nun waited at the back door of the school and made us bang the mud off our shoes before entering the building. During class, I asked if the storm had hit other towns and Sister Louise said yes. I wondered if Galway was one of them. Then she said that things were getting better and deliveries of supplies were expected to arrive in Ballinasloe today.

  From the window I saw a lorry full of food park on Society Street, at the end of our lane. When we were dismissed at noon, the girls ran down the lane and I pulled Mary up toward the street.

  “I need ya ta hoist me up.”

  She lifted me onto the bed of the lorry and I tossed down rubyred beets that she stuffed into her clothing. We escaped as the driver emerged from the convent.

  By May, the lives of everyone in Ballinasloe were getting back to normal, except for one girl in my class, Patsy Doran, one of the town’s children. Her mother died giving birth during the storm, her new baby brother was living with her aunt in town, and Patsy and her three sisters were sent to the industrial school. I thought of Ryan and told her that’s how it is, boys are always favored.

  Patsy began to pal around with us, and Mary didn’t seem to mind; she said Patsy could help us since she knew her way about the town. We invited Patsy to jump the gate with us when we heard the nuns were going to Dublin.

  Saturday morning, I polished my way down the banister and said goodbye to the nuns as they left the convent carrying their black leather totes. I rushed to put my supplies away, and as I was leaving Erin called me from the china closet.

  “Sister Rita wants ta see ya in the kitchen.”

  “I thought all the nuns went ta Dublin.”

  “Not the lay nuns.”

  I rushed down the corridor and cracked open the glass door.

  “Good mornin, Sister Rita. Erin said ya wanted ta see me.”

  “Yes, come in. I’ve gotta job fer ya.”

  She handed me a bucket of soapy water and a rag and told me to scrub down the tables in the nuns’ dining room. I moved as quickly as I could, washing down the six long, white, wooden tables. When I was done, she gave me a butter sandwich that I gobbled down as I ran back to the industrial school. I scanned the yard looking for Mary and Patsy, but they were gone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  T he excitement I’d felt in past years didn’t surface as I packed my things for Galway. I was concerned about my absence from the industrial school for a whole week—it would give Mary and Patsy time together without me. They were forming a close friendship since they had gone into town together, and I didn’t want to be excluded. I liked Patsy, but I loved Mary, and I didn’t want to lose her. Mary was like a sister to me; she knew me better than anyone. Living as orphans in the industrial school required us to form our own families among ourselves. We’d been together since I arrived.

  Reluctantly, I walked to the station and boarded the westbound train. I looked out of the window without noticing the passing landscape, wondering what my friends would do without me while I was away. Feelings of jealousy stirred inside of me, and t
he train ride seemed uncomfortable and longer than usual.

  Mrs. Hanley was waiting for me on the platform, with Ryan in a stroller, and I was surprised by how much he’d grown. At the house, she asked me to entertain him while she did a few chores. He was able to walk and spoke a few words now, and he seemed as curious about me as I was of him. Mrs. Hanley gave him a bottle when we sat down for tea, and he waddled around the room drinking his milk while we talked about the blizzard. I was startled when he came up behind me and tugged at my clothing. Mrs. Hanley looked pleased.

  “He’s sweet on ya, Peg. He wants yer attention.”

  I’d never been around a toddler before and was fascinated by how he communicated his needs. He pulled at people for attention, brought them a book when he wanted to be read to, cried by the kitchen sink when he was hungry, and called “Mam, mam,” when he was tired.

  Mr. Hanley paid more attention to Ryan now that he was bigger, and spent time playing with him in the evening while Mrs. Hanley and I went for a walk. Before I got into bed, Mrs. Hanley came into the room and stood there looking at me with her hands on her hips.

  “Peg, yer gettin so big. I can’t believe yer goin ta be ten years old this summer. I guess ya won’t be needin me ta lie down with ya anymore.”

  I just smiled and slid in between the sheets, and then she said good night, kissed my forehead, and left the room. I wanted to cry. I’d loved the feeling of her weight beside me, and inhaling her scent was always so comforting. We didn’t celebrate birthdays at the industrial school, but I knew I had to be ten to go into Fifth Class, and I guess that was too old to have someone lying in bed next to you. I lay there thinking about Ryan, and couldn’t help but wonder what I’d been like at his age. Who taught me to walk and talk? Did I ever call out “Mam” to my mother? I tried to remember, but nothing came to me, except a feeling of deep sadness.