The House Children

by Heidi Daniele

  “It’s not in the cards fer us, Peg,” said Mary. “We’re just house children.”

  On Friday, January 4, 1952, I received a card from Connor.

  December 22, 1951

  Dear Peg,

  I’m so sorry I haven’t written. My senior year in school has been very busy. I’ve been working on college applications. The Air Force is still my first choice, but my mam is giving me a real hard time about going. I’m not sure what I’m going to do.

  We’ve had lots of snow here. My pals and I have earned a nice penny shoveling side-walks. When we’re done we go over to the Italian neighborhood and order a few large pizzas. Have you ever had pizza? It’s the best! In America, you can find all kinds of people, and all kinds of food.

  I’m enclosing a few more stamps for your collection. I hope you don’t already have them.

  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

  Fondly,

  Connor

  I dissected each sentence, as if looking for a code. Why was he putting off going into the Air Force? Not to upset his mam? Or in hopes that I’d come to America? I didn’t understand why he wrote about the Italians and pizza. Maybe he was trying to say everyone is welcome in America regardless of who you are. Maybe it meant nothing! I was upset he hadn’t answered my questions about the sponsorship.

  I looked at the stamps in my hand. I felt like a phony. I had no collection, only the few stamps he’d sent me. Connor’s letter left me feeling empty. I felt like a fool.

  I’d have to find my way to America on my own. Why did I think anyone else would help me?

  I listened attentively when my classmates spoke about their plans to go to the States and find good jobs. They all seemed to have a contact of sorts, mostly other family members. The process sounded laborious, requiring lots of documentation. I tried not to be discouraged.

  As June approached, I prepared feverishly for my exams. After completing them, I left the classroom feeling confident. Later that day, I bumped into Mary in the hallway. She was carrying the standard brown case given to girls leaving for their situation. I knew it contained a handful of personal effects and one brand-new outfit.

  “I was looking fer ya,” said Mary. “I’m leaving on the 4:00 train.”

  “So I see,” I said, glancing at the case. “Where are they sendin ya?”

  Mary smiled. “Saint Vincent’s in Dublin.”

  “Isn’t that where Theresa is?”

  “Tis,” said Mary.

  “Well, if I wind up in Dublin, I’ll look ya up.”

  We exchanged a warm, heartfelt hug. I still loved Mary and always would.

  “Peg, I know Dublin ain’t America,” said Mary, “but I hear it’s not so bad.”

  I nodded and she smiled. Then Mary walked out the door to begin her new life. I went into a toilet stall and cried.

  Four weeks passed before the exam results were sent back to the school. Patsy, Clare, and I stared at the manila envelope Mother Bernard picked up off her desk. She carefully removed three sheets of cream-colored paper.

  “Congratulations, girls,” she said. “Here are your Intermediate Certificates.”

  I held it gingerly, trying not to crease it. At the top of the certificate, inscribed in green ink, it read “Intermediate Certificate Awarded to Mary Margaret Joyce.” Beneath that, written in black ink, it read, “Proficient in Domestic Science, History, Literature, and French.” On the bottom left it was dated June 6, 1952. On the lower right was an embossed seal from “The University College of Dublin.”

  It was the happiest moment in my life up to that point. Mother Bernard dismissed Patsy and Clare, but asked me to stay behind.

  “Peg,” she said, “you’ll work in the china press until your release in August. You can start when you return from holiday in Galway.”

  I hesitated for a moment. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Mother Bernard.”

  She was nowhere in sight, but Norah Hanley managed to dampen my special day.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A lthough I wasn’t thrilled about returning to Galway, the idea of having an opportunity to speak with Hannah was enticing. Plus, I looked forward to spending time with Ryan and Rachel. I settled into my seat and resolved to make the best of my holiday.

  During the train ride, I wondered where Mother Bernard would send me for my situation. My Intermediate Certificate gave me an edge over the other house children. Surely she wouldn’t send me out to be a skivvy.

  Norah watched Rachel run over to greet me as I stepped out on to the platform. Rachel appeared to be as thrilled to see me as I was to see her. She was a darling little girl. Thankfully, I was conscious not to impose my resentment on her. My envy of Norah’s affection for Rachel was not her fault.

  Nothing had changed at the Hanleys’ house and the familiarity was somewhat comforting. I guess Norah’s life was as routine as mine, except she shared a home with her family and I shared a lonely life with a hundred destitute girls living in an institution run by nuns.

  I eyed the new jar of orange marmalade set down beside the butter on the table. That gave me reason to surmise that American visitors had already arrived. Rachel sat beside me.

  “Ryan’s with Hannah and the boys out in Moycullen,” said Norah as she poured the tea.

  “Will I see them?”

  “They’ll all be here on Wednesday after the market.”

  Then Norah asked me about my exams. I told her I did well.

  “Ya’ve got Hannah ta thank fer that, ya know,” she said.

  I was surprised by her comment. In the past, for some odd reason, it felt like a secret.

  “Do ya know where the nuns will send ya ta work?”

  “No. I won’t know till it’s time fer me ta go. That’s the way they do it.”

  Norah nodded, with a pensive look on her face. I wondered what she was thinking.

  After a few moments, she spoke again.

  “As soon as yer settled, I’d like ya ta write me.”

  “I will,” I said. I wasn’t sure that I would, but it was the right thing to say.

  I sensed some mild tension between Norah and Dan during supper. He wasn’t his jovial, complimentary self. I was concerned my presence was the reason for his mood. It wasn’t my intention to cause a riff in the Hanleys’ home. That evening I tried to be as pleasant as possible.

  In the morning I made the bread and offered to help Norah with the household chores. She asked me if I’d mind running errands in town. She was pleased when I offered to take Rachel along, but right before I left, she changed her mind and kept Rachel at home. I could only guess why she’d done that. Did Norah fear my influence on the child? Or was she afraid I may divulge her great secret?

  I appreciated the space and time away from Norah, although I felt angered by her decision to keep Rachel home. Norah’s controlling ways were in clear view for me to see and I didn’t like it.

  I took my time walking about the town, stopping to look in the shoppe windows. On my way back to the house, I stopped in Saint Nicholas’ Church to light a candle. Instead of asking God to mend my relationship with Norah, I prayed that Hannah might offer to help bring me to America.

  The following days were confusing. I enjoyed my time with Rachel. Her desire for my attention made me feel special. She looked up to me with admiration, seeking my approval. No one had ever done that before.

  I often caught Norah watching us from afar. Sometimes I felt as if she enjoyed seeing us together. After all, we were both her daughters. She rarely left the two of us together out of her sight. I felt as if she was concerned about the relationship we were developing.

  I wondered if Norah viewed me like the Ballinasloe townspeople did. Was I an outcast in her eyes because I was an illegitimate? That thought stirred angry feelings inside of me. It was unfair that I had to carry this stigma because of her sin, while Norah went about life without the burden. My hostile feelings surfaced during our conversations. I allowed myself to be rude to her, often
ignoring her and leaving the room when she spoke to me. One afternoon, when she expressed curiosity about where the nuns would send me to work, I erupted.

  “Are ya worried they’ll send me ta Galway?” I asked.

  I could see my response made her uncomfortable, but she didn’t say anything.

  So I provoked her.

  “A little too close fer comfort, I imagine.”

  “Watch yer smart mouth!” she lashed at me.

  I left the room. That was the first time she displayed any anger toward me. I knew I was in the midst of a turning point. Going forward, after this visit, any interaction I had with Norah would be dependent on my own efforts. Mother Bernard would not be in charge of me or arranging my holidays once I left the industrial school.

  On Wednesday morning, I felt both nervous and excited to see Hannah. I wanted to present myself in a good light to her. I took great effort to tame my hair that morning, flattening it with my hands and pushing it behind my ears.

  The anticipation of Hannah’s visit appeared to make Norah uneasy. She snapped at Rachel while she fussed in the kitchen.

  It was half eleven when Granny came through the front door. Ryan and his two American cousins barreled in behind her. They nearly knocked her over. Then Hannah entered.

  “We’re here!” she announced.

  I’d forgotten what a presence Hannah had. The small figure dressed in white slacks and a floral print blouse dominated the room.

  I greeted Granny and the boys first. Then I turned to Hannah. She embraced me warmly. I felt self-conscious when she stepped back and looked me over from head to toe.

  “Tis amazing what can happen in a few short years,” she said. “Why Peg, you’ve turned into quite an attractive young lady!”

  I smiled shyly. “That’s very kind of ya ta say, Auntie Hannah.”

  The children went outside and I sat at the table with the three women. We sipped our tea and listened to Hannah talk about her good life back in the States. I asked what inspired her to cross the ocean. Before she could answer my question, Norah quickly changed the topic.

  “In Margaret’s last letter, she said Connor put off goin inta the Air Force.”

  My ears perked up and I listened with interest.

  “She begged and pleaded with him,” said Hannah. “I’m sure he’d rather go away than stay home.”

  “She’d be lost without him,” said Norah.

  Granny shook her head with disapproval and said, “He’s got ta make his own way if he’s goin ta become a man.”

  “How about you, Peg?” asked Hannah.

  “Well, I’m not sure where I’ll be sent. But my plan is ta save up and eventually go ta America.”

  “America!” Norah exclaimed. She stood up as if to make a statement. “Sure, Peg, that’s no place fer a young girl!”

  Angered by her judgement, I snapped back, “Many Irish girls make their way over there!”

  “She’d do well,” said Hannah. “Sure there’s plenty of work fer a bright young girl.”

  Norah handed me a stack of sliced, buttered bread. “Peg, take this out ta the boys.”

  Unable to hide my feelings, I leered at her as I took the bread. From the rear door stoop, I heard Norah raise her voice.

  “Don’t ya encourage her!”

  I couldn’t believe Norah was trying to manipulate my future. She had no right to try and hold me back.

  Hannah appeared at the back door shortly afterwards. She stepped outside and put an arm around my shoulder.

  “Peg, I’m sorry. I can’t help ya without Norah’s consent.”

  “Why does she have ta consent?”

  “A mam has that right,” she said in a low voice.

  “A mam doesn’t have rights over a child she gave away!”

  Hannah took me by the arm and walked me to the side of the house, where we couldn’t be heard by the children.

  “Norah wants what’s best fer ya.”

  “Do ya think givin me away and not acknowledging that I’m her daughter is best?”

  Hannah couldn’t answer me.

  “We’ve got to get back to Moycullen. Peg, please don’t be so hard on Norah. She does love ya, no matter what ya think.”

  Then Hannah called for the boys and they left.

  I returned to the kitchen. Norah was clearing the table. She avoided making eye contact with me.

  “I’ve got this,” she said. “Go on outside. Ya’ve spent no time with Ryan yet.”

  “I want ta talk ta ya.”

  “There’s nothin ta say.”

  “But there is. I need Hannah’s help ta get ta America.”

  “There’s nothin there fer ya!”

  Angrily, I snapped back at her. “There’s nothin here fer me!”

  “I know what’s best fer ya!”

  “Oh, is that why ya sent me ta be reared by the nuns?”

  “It’s not how ya think Peg. I had no choice!”

  I glared at her and she continued, “You’ve no idea what I went through!”

  “So I have ta suffer?”

  “Suffer? Peg, ya’ve got a bright future. A good education, better than most young girls I know.”

  I didn’t respond and she continued.

  “Yer ready ta take off before ya even see where the nuns are sendin ya! Hannah puts on airs and graces. It isn’t like that fer everyone in America. Tis a different world over there!”

  I took a deep breath and thought about what she’d just said.

  Maybe she was right. Norah’s action and words always left me confused.

  I felt as if she were dangling a thread of hope before me, and foolishly, I’d try to grab onto it.

  The following day Hannah returned with the boys. At Norah’s suggestion, we all went into town. The boys ran ahead, the two sisters linked arms, and I took Rachel by the hand. It was at times like this that I felt like part of the family.

  At the park, I sat on the bench with Norah and Hannah while the children played. Unlike the people in Ballinasloe, the people in Galway were friendly toward me. Many said hello in passing or stopped to chat a bit about the weather.

  On our way home, we stopped at the sweet shoppe. Hannah handed me money.

  “Peg, why don’t ya go on in with Rachel. It’s best we keep the boys out here.”

  The boys pressed their faces against the window and watched the lady fill a bag with assorted sweets. Behind them, Norah and Hannah conversed with two other women.

  As I doled out toffee and licorice to the boys, Norah pulled Rachel to her side. I could overhear her speaking to the women.

  “This is my daughter, Rachel,” said Norah.

  “Oh, she’s lovely,” one of them replied.

  Norah proudly patted Rachel’s head while she continued to chat. She didn’t introduce me—she didn’t even look at me.

  I began to feel sick and wanted to cry. As I turned my head away, my eyes met with Hannah’s. She was looking right at me. The boys ran ahead, eating their black straps. Rachel held on to her mother’s hand as they followed behind them. Hannah came over to me and linked my arm.

  “I’m sure the nuns will get ya somethin nice, Peg. Ya’ve got yer whole life ahead of ya.”

  “I hope so.”

  We continued up the hill. Knowing this might be my only chance, I summoned up the nerve.

  “Auntie Hannah, I don’t want ta stay here. Could ya please sponsor me? It’s my only way out of Ireland.”

  She stopped walking and looked down at the ground.

  “I won’t be a burden,” I said. “I’d find work right away.”

  She took my two hands into hers and looked at me.

  “Peg, it’s not that simple. I couldn’t do it without Norah’s blessin.”

  “Please, please, talk to her,” I pleaded.

  Hannah took a deep breath and then exhaled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  She embraced me tightly. Her kindness gave me hope. When she released me, I saw Norah watching us with
a suspicious eye.

  After Hannah and the boys left, the house fell very quiet. Even Ryan settled down.

  I didn’t see Hannah and her boys again during my holiday. I wondered if Norah stopped them from visiting.

  The few times I tried to discuss my desire to go to America, Norah dismissed the conversation. She’d become stern and abrasive with me.

  On Sunday morning she left the children behind with Dan and walked me to the train station. Nothing was said between us and we silently stood on the platform. I knew this could be the last time we were together.

  “Ya don’t have ta stay. I’m fine on my own.”

  She hesitated to respond.

  “Peg, I don’t want ta part like this.”

  “Then why won’t ya let Hannah help me?”

  “Peg, I know ya’ve got grand ideas of goin ta America, but let’s see what the nuns have fer ya.”

  “I know other girls goin ta America! Why can’t I go?”

  The train pulled into the station. The crowd bustled as people got off and on the train. Norah’s eyes welled with tears. I picked up my satchel to board the train and Norah grabbed my arm.

  She whispered into my ear, “I don’t want ta lose ya, that’s why!”

  I shook my arm loose and glared at her.

  “Lose me? Ya gave me away!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I looked back and forth between Mother Bernard and the thin folder on her desk. My name was written on the tab. It was Monday, August 11, 1952, my fifteenth birthday, the last day of my sentence to Saint Thomas’ Industrial School. I would be released the following day.

  “I’ve arranged for you to work at Kerrigan’s News Agent in Dublin,” said Mother Bernard. “You’ll assist in handling the stock and store front.”

  I sighed with relief as I digested the information, grateful not to be bound to Ballinasloe, or working as a skivvy for some wealthy person.