“Are you all right, love?” murmured Kathleen. “Did something happen to you?”
“Ah, now,” I said wearily, “I wouldn’t know where to start to tell you.”
Just then Mary McAteer came strolling by, her fat face stretched in a false smile. “Good morning, girls. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” She stopped and looked me up and down. “Why, Sheila.” She pursed her lips. “I do hope no one of importance sees our Linen Queen looking like a gypsy. Wouldn’t do, would it?”
She sailed off and Patsy stuck out her tongue behind her.
“Bitch!” she said.
I took a deep breath and began to tell Patsy and Kathleen the story. I needed to speak it out loud to be sure it was real. I told them about Sunday afternoon and the ructions I found with Grainne and the police and Father Flynn. I deliberately left out the night with Joel and his offer to take me with him to England and my visit last night when like an eejit I had told him I’d only been using him. I hadn’t even let the reality of it sink into my own head yet. And what would they think of me for losing the offer of a lifetime because I was worried about some whore’s daughter? They might not have believed me. I hardly believed it myself.
“And I could hardly sleep after all that. So in the middle of the night I got up and rode my bicycle up to the Flagstaff. I dozed off up there, and when I woke up the sun was coming up and I was freezing my arse off.”
Kathleen clasped her hands in front of her as she listened.
“Ah, the poor wee child,” she said, “sent to that awful place. You wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy.”
Patsy just shrugged her shoulders. “There’s worse things,” she said. “At least the girl has a roof over her head, which is more than I’ll have when my da finds out about this.” She looked down at her stomach, which was still fat under her apron. Kathleen followed her gaze and then threw her hand to her mouth in understanding.
“Och, Patsy, no,” she said.
In the midst of all my own troubles, I’d completely forgotten about Patsy and the baby. It made me twice as glad I hadn’t said anything about turning down Joel’s offer of escape. In the same situation, Patsy would have jumped at the chance even if the pope himself had ordered her to stay.
“Any word from Sylvie?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. And not likely to be.” She looked up at me, her brown eyes intense. “You’ll still go with me to see Father Toner, won’t you? He’s the only one can help me. You said you’d go.”
A ripple of annoyance filled my head. Why was I expected to save everyone but myself? This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. I, Sheila McGee, owed nothing to anybody. I’d had a hard life, and I deserved every bit of happiness I could get. I had no obligation to other people in trouble. They were old enough to look after themselves. I wouldn’t have lifted a hand to help Patsy if it had meant giving up my dream of escape. But now, Grainne’s face floated in front of me. Why? Why in God’s name had I run to Joel worried sick about leaving her? I silently cursed her. I knew she was trouble the day I saw her. But little did I know how much her presence would cost me. A splitting pain seared through my head and I closed my eyes.
“I can go with you, Patsy, if you’d like,” said Kathleen in a soft voice.
I opened my eyes and sighed.
“It’s OK, Kathleen. I said I’d go and I’ll go.”
The presbytery where Father Toner and Father Flynn lived was a huge gray stone house set between the church and the graveyard. I wondered what it would be like to look out at graves in the middle of the night. The thought gave me the willies. As we stood on the doorstep preparing to ring the bell beside the big oak door, Patsy shivered. She gripped her handbag between her fingers as if afraid it would take flight any minute. I wondered how I would feel in her shoes. Well, luckily I wouldn’t have to find out.
An old woman with gray hair and a black apron opened the door.
“We’ve an appointment with Father Toner,” I said.
She looked us up and down and opened the door wider.
“Come in. He’s finishing his tea. Youse can wait in here.”
She led us into a big parlor with high carved ceilings and dusty furniture. It smelled of mothballs. The room was so big it made you feel very small. I wondered if that was the point of it. For centuries people had been coming to see the priest in the biggest house in the village. They were supposed to bow and scrape and beg the good father for whatever small indulgence they needed. And for centuries, the local priest sat in judgment—judge, jury, and executioner. There was no going against the priest.
“Fecking freezing in here,” Patsy grumbled. “D’you think they let you smoke?”
I shrugged. “Dunno.”
She took out a cigarette and lit it and passed the pack to me. Her hands were shaking.
“He’s nicer than the other one,” she murmured. “Father Toner, I mean.”
I nodded and lit my own cigarette.
We heard a man cough in the doorway and we looked up. It was Father Flynn. He glared at the both of us.
“Put them things out,” he shouted, nodding towards our cigarettes. “Have youse no respect at all?”
I looked around and didn’t see an ashtray. Where was I supposed to stub the thing out? I could feel the heat of his stare. In desperation I rubbed the lit tip of the cigarette between my thumb and forefinger, sending sparks into the air. Jesus, it hurt. I had nearly burned the fingers off myself. Patsy spat on her butt and shoved it into her handbag. I waited for the bag to catch fire.
“What do youse want?”
Father Flynn moved into the room. He was tall and boyish with close-cropped blond hair. He was the kind of man that older women wished their sons looked like. I thought he was nothing but an arrogant, ignorant lout, full of himself with his training in Rome and all the rest of it. If this was the new crop of priests coming up, I thought, we were all in trouble. He was also the man who had taken Grainne away. My heart began to thud in my chest and I clenched my fists.
“We’re here to see Father Toner.” Patsy sounded like a wee mouse—not like herself at all. “We have an appointment with him.”
“He’s finishing his tea at the minute. And then he has to go out on a sick call. You can talk to me.”
He pulled out a faded armchair and sat down in front of us. I looked at Patsy. Her face had turned white.
“It’s a private matter,” I said.
A crimson flush rode up his cheeks. “There can be no secrets between a sinner and her priest.” He glared at us. “Since it’s not something you wanted to tell in confession, then I have to assume it’s a more serious matter.” He pointed a long white finger at me. “What’ve you done now, miss? Out with it!”
I nearly jumped out of my chair. “Nothing!” I yelled back at him. “And if I had, you’re the last person I’d be telling.”
“Watch your mouth, young woman, or I’ll be dragging you up to the convent like the other one. You are two of a kind.”
“I’m a grown woman,” I said. “You can’t do anything to me.”
“I can excommunicate you. And don’t think I wouldn’t.”
I suppose he thought that would shut me up, but I was so angry I didn’t even take in the seriousness of his words. I jumped up and turned to Patsy.
“C’mon, Patsy. We’ll come back another time when Father Toner is free.”
Patsy looked from me to Father Flynn and back. Her face was chalk white. She looked as if she might vomit. Father Flynn fixed his eyes on her.
“Is there something you have to say to me, Patsy Mallon? Oh, don’t look so surprised. I know well who you are. I know your father and mother.” He looked at us with a smirk on his face. “I make it my business to visit all the people in the parish. Your parents are good people. But I hear you’ve given them a lot of bother over the years. I hope you’ve done nothing to disgrace them.”
“Ah, there you are. I’m sorry I have been called out on an emergency.” Fathe
r Toner poked his head around the doorway. “I’ll leave you to young Father Flynn here. I’m sure he can help you out.”
I didn’t know if I imagined it, but I saw a dark look pass over Father Flynn’s face. Before I could get a word out, Father Toner was gone.
“So, Father Toner has left me to the dirty work here,” Father Flynn said.
I grabbed Patsy’s arm to leave, but the priest put up his hand.
“Stay!”
It was a command, not a request. I dropped Patsy’s arm as if it were on fire and sat back down.
“You are pregnant, Miss Mallon.” A sneer spread across his face. “Don’t look so surprised. I see weak, stupid, sinful girls like you every day. Admit it!”
Patsy bowed her head. “Yes, Father,” she murmured.
“And the father is a soldier.”
There were no flies on this boyo.
Patsy nodded, biting her lip to fight back tears.
“And you want him to marry you?”
Patsy looked up at him, wide eyes hopeful. “Yes, Father, I do. I was hoping you could persuade him—”
Father Flynn raised his hand to interrupt her. “Go no further, Miss Mallon. I will tell you what I have told the others—I will not force a marriage on a young man who has been tricked by a tramp like you. And how dare you even think you have any right to enter into the sacrament of holy matrimony in your sinful state?”
My temper boiled over. I jumped up from my chair. “How dare you treat her like that?” I yelled. “He’s the one got her in trouble, and him a Catholic.”
Father Flynn stood up to face me. “And how dare you question my authority, Miss McGee? Are you sure you’re not in the same predicament yourself? From what I hear…”
“You bloody…,” I began. But before I could get out the insults that crowded my tongue, Patsy pulled me back down into the chair.
“It’s all right, Sheila,” she said. “I expected as much.”
I had never seen or heard Patsy this defeated. It was as if somebody had let all the air out of her. I was raging, but the ferocious look on the priest’s face silenced me. I had said too much already.
“What about the baby?” Patsy murmured.
Father Flynn sniffed. “It will be born illegitimate of course, a terrible burden on a child. But when the time comes we will arrange for it to be put in the care of an orphanage, and hopefully adopted into a good Catholic home.”
He walked to the door. “Now if you will excuse me, I have other parish work to attend to.”
Patsy and I linked arms as we walked back down towards the village. For a while neither of us spoke. I sucked on my thumb and finger trying to calm the burn from the cigarette. I didn’t know what had got into me. I had lost control altogether, talking back to a priest like that. Aunt Kate and Ma would not be long hearing about it—and Mrs. McAteer, and maybe even oul’ Carlson himself. What was I thinking? I’d already lost Joel; now maybe I’d lose my job at the mill. Father Flynn only had to say the word to Carlson and he’d sack me.
“He’ll tell my da!” Patsy said.
“Jesus, Patsy. Don’t be saying that.”
“He will, he’ll tell him. God, what am I going to do?”
She walked on ahead of me sobbing. So much for the comfort of the church, I thought.
The following Sunday I stood at the bottom of Convent Hill in Newry, staring up at the huge gray building that housed the Convent of the Holy Mother. I had made two earlier tries to go there that afternoon, but each time I had turned on my heel and hurried away. This time I willed myself to stand in place. I have to do this for Grainne’s sake, I told myself. “You’re a grown woman now, Sheila,” I said aloud. “They can’t touch you.” But inside I was the frightened wee girl who put her hands over her eyes every time her ma pointed up to the building and told her to behave herself. Swallowing hard, I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other and walk up the hill. My dread deepened as I drew close to the heavy oak door and put out my hand to push the bell. Everything in me wanted to turn and run. And I might have done, except the door opened quickly and an old, bent woman waved me in. She never looked me in the eye as she led me into a big drawing room. I supposed she was old and a bit simple. I wondered how long she had been in this place, and my thoughts moved to Grainne. Abruptly I turned away from her. The sight of her made me shiver. The place smelled of polish and candle wax and was quiet as a funeral home.
“May I help you?”
A tall, thin nun wearing a black habit and white wimple swept into the room. Her long, white fingers caressed the crucifix hanging from her belt. She smiled at me as she spoke, but her eyes were sharp as a fox. “I am Sister Thaddeus. Won’t you sit down, please?”
It was clear she had no idea why I was there or she would hardly have been so polite. I sat down on a flower-patterned sofa. I expected the cushions to be soft, but they were as hard as boards. She sat in a wing chair opposite me and waited. My earlier resolve began to melt under her gaze and the speech I had practiced went completely out of my head. Coming here had seemed logical at the time. I had let Joel go on account of Grainne. Now I had to get Grainne out of this place or my sacrifice would have been for nothing. I squared my shoulders—it was now or never.
“Good afternoon, Sister,” I began, as politely as I could, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s good of you to see me without an appointment. My name is Sheila McGee.”
I was used to being around nuns from my school days. The more polite you were the better. I pretended to myself that this nun was no different.
“I’d like to speak with you about a young girl who was recently brought into your care.”
“Of course. What would be her name?”
“Grainne Malloy.”
That did it. Sister Thaddeus’s spine straightened like a stick and her eyes pierced my face. The smile, however, remained.
“Yes, I know the girl.” She shook her head from side to side. “Unfortunate. Very unfortunate.” She sighed. “She may be too far gone even for us to help her. But God has sent her to us as a challenge and we must do our best to measure up to it.”
Her grip on her crucifix tightened, and she paused as if inviting agreement from me.
“Ah, yes, Sister,” I said. “The girl has had a very difficult life. And evidently she has had very little spiritual direction.”
That was a nice touch, I thought. My courage was growing. Sheila McGee could do this.
“But,” I went on, “you’d agree wouldn’t you that maybe some other alternatives could have been found? Bringing her straight here to the convent was an awful big step. I know Father Flynn must have thought it best at the time, but now I’ve had time to think about this, I’m prepared to take her off your hands, so I am.”
I thought the good Sister was about to burst. Her face grew exceedingly red as I was speaking and I could see she had a hard time not leaping out of the chair and grabbing me by the throat.
“And just why, young lady, do you think that you are in a better position to offer her the guidance she needs than we ourselves are? After all, we here at the convent are called by God to protect the purity of our young women. Our work here has gone on for more than a century, and please God it will continue for another.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you, Sister,” I said, swallowing my temper, which was boiling inside me. “It’s just that I believe the girl deserves a second chance, and I’m prepared to look after her… and protect her.”
The ructions began in earnest then. Sister Thaddeus rose from her chair and stood over me. “How dare you, Miss McGee! How dare you put yourself on a level with the sisters of the Holy Mother Convent! It’s been many a year since I have witnessed such false pride. Shameful, Miss McGee. Shameful. And a mortal sin, I might add.” She paused briefly for breath. “And wait until I tell Father Flynn about this. He will know how best to deal with such arrogance. All I can do is pray for you.”
She stared at me and I shivered. I was s
uddenly as cold as a corpse. But, strangely, my fear of her had gone. An image of Grainne’s frightened face as she was dragged out of the house by Father Flynn rose up before me. How dare they have done this to her? And I thought of Patsy’s tears as she begged Father Flynn for help. How dare they treat girls like them, and me, like the scum of the earth? Had we no rights at all? All the years of ridicule and judgment at the hands of my supposed betters came rushing back to me in a blaze of hot anger. I jumped up and put my face so close to Sister Thaddeus’s that I almost gagged on the carbolic soap she used to scrub her skin. All my earlier pretense of politeness was gone.
“You haven’t heard the last of this,” I shouted. “You won’t make a prisoner of that girl the way you’ve been doing to others for years! Mark my words, I’ll get her out of this place—”
“Father Flynn will stop you. He’ll—” cried Sister Thaddeus.
“The entire Church won’t stop me!” I yelled.
As I raced out into the hallway the housekeeper blocked my way.
“That’s right, love,” she said. “Steal wee Grainne. Steal her now!”
She straightened up and peered at me with a peculiar light in her eyes, and I saw that she was not old at all. Her mouth contorted and she let out a lewd laugh then clapped her hand over her face. She was astray in the head. There was no doubt about it.
“Marian! See that tramp out. Now!” Sister Thaddeus’s voice was shrill behind me.
I pushed past the housekeeper and out the door and down the steps. I felt like I was running from hell itself. I didn’t dare look back. Part of me felt like a schoolgirl who had been severely scolded by the nuns. But that was the old Sheila. As I ran another more powerful feeling took hold of me. What fueled it was the need to right a wrong and it was unlike anything I had ever experienced.
“I’ll get you out of there, Grainne,” I muttered. “No matter what I have to do.”
Chapter 18
Later that day I sat in P. J. O’Hare’s pub in Carlingford with Gavin. I had sent word with a young lad up to his house telling him to meet me. I didn’t know if he would come, but I hoped he would sense I was in trouble and needed his help.
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