Nance’s response suddenly made Fiona feel guilty. As if she had no compassion or understanding. As if she had been almost cruel. “Oh, Mam!” she sighed, “Don’t say things like that.”
“I know I’m a burden on you, Fiona. Don’t think I don’t know it.”
“You’re not a burden – we just need to get you well again.” She halted to choose words carefully now, wary of upsetting her mother further. “Maybe if we got to the doctor’s and saw if there’s anything more they can do.”
Nance nodded her head. “He says I’ve got to give the new tablets a few weeks. I’ll go back after that if things aren’t any better.”
Fiona lifted the tray. “Have another sleep and see how you are when you waken later.”
It was only as she was walking back downstairs that she realised her mother had completely changed the subject, and she had not actually agreed to phone her sister.
Chapter 25
Bridget put down her cleaning box on the front pew, then she went to genuflect in front of the small side altar in the church. She stood up, and then moved back a few steps to observe it, and decide where she should start cleaning. There were three tall brass candlesticks at either side of the statue of Our Lady, and two big vases of pink and white lilies at each side. She only had half an hour before her English class began, and she wanted to have the beautiful little altar sparkling
A few moments later she went up the carpeted steps to the white marble altar, and lifted down the two biggest brass candlesticks and set them down on the floor at the side. She repeated this until she had taken all six candlesticks down. She then removed the vases, carefully lifting them one at a time.
She took her damp cloth and wiped over the surface of the altar. There was little dust or anything to clean. The centres had been taken out of the flowers by Sister Magdalene, before being put in the vases. She had done a good job with them, as there was hardly a speck of the orange pollen which the girls complained stained their hands and clothes.
When the marble was dry, she took a dry cloth and buffed it till it shone. She then began replacing each item.
She was just about to start wiping a side table when the sacristy door creaked and Sister Bernadette came in. She came down the main altar and over to where Bridget was working.
“Bridget,” she said, her voice quiet and calm, “you can leave the cleaning for now. Mother Superior would like to have a word with you in her office.”
Bridget’s face froze. “Is there something wrong at home?” Her mind flashed back to the last time she was called into the office. The day Patrick was waiting on her to take her home.
“No, no – not at all. It’s nothing to do with home.” Sister Bernadette put her hand out and touched her cheek. “I’m sorry if I gave you a fright. It’s not actually anything to do with you personally. Mother Superior just wants to have a little chat with all the girls in your class.”
Relieved, Bridget dropped her cloth into her cleaning box, and then stooped to pick the box up. “Are the other girls there already?” she asked.
Sister Bernadette shook her head. “No, she wants a little chat with each person individually. You don’t need to worry about anything.”
They walked quickly across the yard from the church to the main building, stopping to put her box back in the cleaning room. As they walked down the corridor, Sister Bernadette said, “There might be a few nuns here, and do your best to answer any questions as truthfully as you can.”
“Of course,” Bridget said. She presumed she was going to be questioned about her vocation again. It happened on a regular basis with her Spiritual Director and Sister Bernadette. But since they were in their second last year of school now, she supposed Mother Superior was becoming more involved. In just over a year’s time she would be moving to another of the order’s convents near Limerick, where she would become a postulant nun.
Sister Bernadette knocked on the door, and then she gestured to Bridget to follow her in.
Mother Superior was sitting at her usual place behind her desk, with a nun at either side. All three nuns had notepads in front of them.
“Sit down, Bridget,” Mother Superior said. Her face was serious and when she smiled it did not reach her eyes. “We are interviewing all the girls in fifth year. We just want to ask you a few questions about two girls in your year. We want you to answer all the questions with complete honesty. Nothing you say will be repeated back to them, and this inquiry will be completely confidential.” She looked Bridget in the eye. “Do you understand exactly what I am saying?”
Bridget’s felt her heart start to thump. Whatever this was about, she felt it was something serious. The incident with Veronica and Carmel suddenly flew into her mind. “Yes,” she said, “I do.”
“The girls in question are Veronica and Carmel. You know who I am talking about?”
Bridget felt her throat run dry, and her legs start to shake. She was right. “Yes,” she replied.
“You know the rules of the school, don’t you?” Mother Superior said. “You know what the girls are allowed to do, where they are allowed to go?” She paused. “And you know who they are allowed to speak to?”
“Yes,” Bridget repeated once again. She was filled with dread as to what she might be asked next. She wondered now had someone seen her down at the wall when she found the letter?
“Now, it has come to light that they have been seen in places they shouldn’t have been, and involved with males outside the school.”
One of the other nuns cleared her throat and then said, “We have been informed that this has happened both during school time and outside of it.”
Mother Superior sighed, and it occurred to Bridget that she was tired of repeating these questions. There were over twenty girls in their class, and she was probably saying the same thing, repeating the same questions to each and every one of them.
She looked at Bridget now. “Have you ever seen either of those girls doing anything they were not allowed to do? Have you seen them speak to anyone they shouldn’t?”
Bridget suddenly felt as though she was going to be sick. She had tried to put the memory of the day in the garden with the two girls out of her mind. She had told herself it was something stupid and trivial. It now appeared that it was more serious than she thought. She looked at Mother Superior now, knowing that whatever she said was not going to be the right thing.
If she denied knowing anything, there was a chance it would remain her secret and no one would be any the wiser. The girls had not seen her checking the note hidden in the wall, and the nuns, as far as she knew, had not seen her either. She didn’t think the boy working on the farm had seen her. But, there was always the possibility someone had observed her. If that had happened, all the nuns sitting in front of her now would know she was lying. And, if they didn’t know, she would have to then live with the fact that she had told an outright lie, and hope that it did not burden her conscience too much.
Her other choice was to tell the truth – now. And although that was right thing to do, she knew she would be in trouble for not telling anyone about what she had seen that particular Saturday, and her suspicions about the girls. She would be in trouble either way.
She looked up now, and saw all the nuns staring intently at her.
Mother Superior put her hands flat on the desk. “Do you want me to repeat the two questions I just asked you about the girls, Bridget?”
Bridget shook her head. A large lump seemed to have formed in her throat. “I remember now...” She stopped to swallow, but the lump wouldn’t budge. “I did see something, but I didn’t think it was important. I didn’t really understand.”
The two nuns at either end of the desk bent their heads and started to write in their notebooks.
“Tell us everything,” Mother Superior said, her voice quiet and calm. “Start at the beginning, Bridget, and tell us every single thing you know about the girls.”
Half an hour later, Sister Bernadette and B
ridget walked along the corridor again. Bridget’s face was puffy and red from crying.
“You don’t need to be so upset,” the nun said. “You have done nothing wrong.”
“I kept a secret,” Bridget said. “And Mother Superior said that was a sin. A sin of omission.” She looked up into the kindly nun’s face. “I didn’t mean it. I just didn’t think – I didn’t realise that something serious might be going on. I didn’t want the girls to think I was a tittle-tattle.”
“I understand,” Sister Bernadette said. She drew Bridget to a halt. “You can’t go into class like this. We will go down into the kitchen – I think a cup of tea and a biscuit might help you.”
When they got to the kitchen, Sister Bernadette went to the hot water urn to make the pot of tea, and she told Bridget to get two cups and saucers and then she directed her to the cupboard where the biscuits were kept. When everything was sorted, they came out into the dining area and sat at one of the tables.
Bridget lifted her cup to take a drink of her tea, but her hand was shaking so badly that she had to put it back down on the saucer.
“You seem very upset, Bridget,” Sister Bernadette said. “You’ve no need to be. This business has nothing really to do with you. Apart from seeing the girls put the note in the wall, and saying nothing about it – you are not in any way involved.”
Bridget stared down at the cup. “Mother Superior seemed very angry with me. She said she was surprised that I hadn’t told you, at least.” She shook her head. “I really didn’t think it was important, or so serious.” She started to cry. “And I didn’t realise that keeping a secret was a sin. I always try my best to do the right thing …” She searched in her skirt pocket for her hanky.
“Is there anything else wrong, Bridget? You don’t seem to have been yourself for a while. Is it just this issue with Veronica and Carmel, or is there something else worrying you?”
Bridged dabbed her eyes. “There’s nothing else wrong at school,” she said. “This is the only thing that has ever happened. The only thing I know about.”
“Is there something worrying you at home? Something you need to talk about?”
Bridget took a long, shuddering breath. “It’s another thing I’ve kept secret. I thought I was doing the right thing...protecting my mother.”
“What is it?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “It was something I overheard between my father and my aunt – just days before he died. Something no one else knows.” She brought her hanky up and pushed it hard against her eyes. “I need to tell someone, but I’m afraid of what will happen...my mother is ill and I don’t want her to know.”
“Sit up, dear,” the nun said kindly. “Take a few deep breaths.” She waited and watched while Bridget took several good long breaths. Then she said. “Now take a good drink of that tea. It will do you good.”
A few minutes later, having drunk the most of the cup, Bridget felt more composed. She dried her eyes again and looked at Sister Bernadette. “If I tell you, will you have to tell Mother Superior?”
Sister Bernadette pressed her lips tightly together, thinking. “It depends on what it is,” she said carefully. “But, Bridget, you should know that God only judges us on what we do – not what others do. Mother Superior is the same. She’s not going to judge you on what other members of your family have done.”
Bridget nodded her head slowly, trying to take in what the nun had said. She thought it meant that Sister Bernadette would probably have to tell the nun in charge. She suddenly had a picture in her mind of Mother Superior talking about sins of omission, and she realised that she could not commit the same sin twice in one hour. How could she even imagine she could be a nun if she could not tell the truth? And yet, she wondered what the nuns would think of her father when she told Sister Bernadette what she had overheard.
“Is it alright if I just say a silent prayer?”
“Take your time,” Sister Bernadette said. “There’s no rush.”
Bridget closed her eyes and then, in her head, said the silent prayer she said every night: Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thy intercession was left unaided. Inspired with this confidence, I fly to thee, O Virgin of Virgins, my Mother; to thee do I come; before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petition, but in thy mercy hear and answer me. Amen.
When she finished the prayer she sat for a minute or so, thinking. Then, she opened her eyes and looked at the nun. “My father has a son who my mother doesn’t want anything to do with.”
Sister Bernadette stared at her in shock. “What do you mean?”
“I heard him say to my aunt, on the phone, that it was time to be honest and tell the girls about their brother. He said he wanted to introduce him but my mother was adamant she wouldn’t have anything to do with him. She was going to leave the house and not come back, if he insisted on bringing him home.”
“Are you sure?” the nun said.
Bridget nodded her head. “That’s what I heard him say.” Tears streamed down her face. “I’ve thought about it over and over again, and all I can think of is that Daddy has had an illegitimate child with another woman.”
Chapter 26
In the afternoon, when Michael O’Sullivan had driven off to Athlone, Fiona was on the small ladder in the shop, stacking packets of flour and porridge oats, when Mrs Mooney came in.
“How did you get on?” Fiona asked her.
“Ah, grand,” she said. “I had to go on a machine and then get blood tests and get weighed and all that kind of thing – you know what the hospitals are like. It’s something to do with the change of life, a lot of women get it. He said it would do me good to do a bit of walking and lose a stone or two in weight. I thought there’s not much chance of that happening, but I said nothing to him of course. I’d like to see him striding out along the Charleville Road if he had legs like mine.” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively. “All in all, I don’t think I’m too bad.”
“Oh, I’m glad.”
“I’ve been up at the house and I was delighted to see your mother is downstairs. She was sitting by the fire in the kitchen when I went in...”
There was a silence and then Fiona looked at her. “Was she smoking?”
Mrs Mooney nodded her head. “So you know about it? She told me she just started the other day, but I didn’t know what to make of it.”
“She told me she thought it might give her a bit of a lift.”
“A bit of a lift?” The housekeeper’s voice was high. “She didn’t look very lifted this afternoon!”
“To be honest, I lost my patience with her when I was up there at lunchtime … I was annoyed she won’t speak to my Aunt Catherine on the phone.”
Mrs Mooney rolled her eyes. “I’m not one of the family, so it’s not my place to say anything. I’m only saying this to you like. It makes no sense to me at all the way she is with your auntie – you’d think she’d be glad that she has a sister that cares about her.”
Fiona felt her stomach tighten. She touched her hand to her mouth. “There’s something not right with her, Mary Ellen. I know she’s still not right from the shingles, but there’s something I can’t put my finger on. She’s slightly better in one way, and I’m certainly delighted she’s up and moving around a bit more, but there’s something odd about her that’s worrying me.”
“I know exactly what you mean – I’ve noticed it myself. A kind of vagueness about her.”
Just then the door opened and a man they knew, a mechanic from the nearby garage, came in for a packet of cigarettes. After exchanging greetings, Mrs Mooney moved down to the vegetable rack as though she was examining some onions. The man made a remark to her about the wind knocking over his bin that morning, and then, while Fiona sorted his change at the till, they chatted about the good weather forecast for the weekend.
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��Sunday especially,” he said, “is to be fine. And they’re saying on the radio it’s to last for up to two weeks. An Indian summer they’re calling it, whatever that means.”
“You’d imagine they’d have good weather in India all the year round,” Mary Ellen said. “Those weather people on the radio and television don’t know what they’re talking about, half the time.”
“True for you, Mrs Mooney,” the man agreed. “You’d think they were making it up.”
The minute the door closed behind him, Mary Ellen moved back to her earlier position at the counter and the two of them resumed their earlier conversation.
“I told her that smoking wouldn’t do her one bit of good,” Mary Ellen said, shaking her head in exasperation. “I had a brother, Bartie, who smoked sixty a day. He ate cigarettes! When I think back to the state of his chest, the coughing and everything.” Her eyes narrowed. “He died at fifty-three, and I’d swear it was the smoking that killed him. They said it was his heart, but those cigarettes couldn’t have done him any good.” She lowered her voice. “Not to mention all the money that it cost them, for his wife smoked like a chimney too – but, as the oul’ saying goes – ach sin scéal eile – that’s another story.”
Fiona had heard stories of Bartie and his family before, so was not shocked by this new piece of information about them. Two more men came into the shop, one for tobacco and the other for cigarettes and a packet of Fisherman’s Friends.
After the doorbell sounded behind them, Mrs Mooney said to Fiona in a disgusted voice. “Another one that ates the fags. The Fisherman’s Friends will be for his chest, no doubt. A lot of good that’ll do him, I’m sure. Don’t you think?”
“Exactly,” Fiona said in a distracted tone.
A woman came in then, who had ordered a birthday cake from the baker’s for her eight-year-old son and, after paying for it, she gave Fiona a ten-shilling note for the Christmas Club. Fiona got her club book out and noted it down, and gave the woman a carbon copy of the page.
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