Kitty sulked about having to miss the Irish American Society's annual St. Patrick's Day dance, but Margaret must have piled on the guilt in order for Mama to grant me a weekend pass. While I wasn't particularly excited about spending an evening peeling young men off of Molly, I was happy to escape Rose Hill, if only for a few days.
"Is that all you brought with you?" Molly asked, slightly horrified as I carefully laid out a navy blue skirt and white cotton blouse on her bed. "We're going to a party, not a funeral."
I tried not to be too insulted; Molly was not known for her tact. "That's all I have," I said simply. I didn't tell her that it was my best outfit.
"Rosie, you can't look like Sister Mary Miserable tonight. Bobby will think I'm a big baby if he thinks my mother sent you along to watch me. You need to look like a girl who wants to have some fun. You know what I mean?"
I laughed. "Not really."
Molly dug through her overstuffed closet and pulled out a pink, form fitting dress. "Mom bought me this dress last week. I think it'll look great on you; we'll just need to pin it. And can I do your makeup and hair? Please?"
"Sure, but don't make me look like a clown."
"I'll make you look beautiful. You'll see."
While she didn't succeed in making me look beautiful, but she certainly made me look different. Auntie Margaret almost fell into her cup of tea when the two of us came down to the kitchen.
"Molly, what have you done to my poor niece?"
"Oh, don't listen to her, Rosie. If it was up to her we'd be wearing saddle shoes and poodle skirts!"
Auntie Margaret admitted defeat and said, "Have a good time you two, but be home by eleven. Don't make me send your father down after you."
I winked at Auntie Margaret as Molly rushed me out the door. While we walked the five blocks to Lenihan's Pub on Third Avenue, Molly filled me in on her six month romance with Bobby Connelly. Molly chattered on about Bobby and I listened, amazed by how different my cousin's life was from my own. She spent her days passing notes in biology class and giggling on the phone while I made dinner and changed bedpans. I wasn't jealous of Molly's life as much as I felt far removed from it. I'd graduated from high school less than three years earlier and yet I felt a million years older than pretty Molly.
My Uncle John had said at dinner that Lenihan's was usually a real old timer's bar. However tonight, except for the proprietor, Donal Lenihan, who stood behind the bar like an old crow, there wasn't a soul in the pub over the age of twenty-five. The cadets, many of whom had marched in the parade in Manhattan, were proudly decked out in their dark gray uniforms. Men outnumbered the women by at least three to one so we were greeted by loud cheers and catcalls when we entered the crowded pub. Drunk cadets swarmed us until the brawny Bobby fought them off. With a proprietary arm around Molly, Bobby led us to the bar.
"Donal, three beers," Bobby shouted over the din.
I raised my eyebrows at Molly, but she hissed at me, "Just pretend to drink yours if you want. Don't embarrass me."
I didn't want to make a scene so I smiled and pretended to sip the warm sudsy beer. No one was looking at me anyway so it was easy enough to pour the unwanted beer onto the pub's sawdust floor. More and more young policemen and their heavily made up dates squeezed into Lenihan's. Tired of being jostled, I sidled my way past the boisterous cadets and found a relatively uncrowded corner. From there, I observed Molly and counted the number of drinks she had. Fortunately, Molly was more concerned with making sure her lipstick didn't smear than drinking the sour beer, so I didn't need to intervene.
For the next hour I stood quietly in my corner and drank in the scene. To see so many people my own age laughing and flirting was enjoyable after my many months of exile, even if I wasn't an active participant. No one bothered with me except for the occasional cadet who told me to smile or offered to refill my plastic cup with cheap beer. That was until a blonde cadet walked up to me with a tray of shot glasses.
The cadet handed me a shot glass filled to the brim. "It's not St. Paddy's Day without Irish whiskey."
"Oh, no thank you," I said primly.
"I know you were sent to babysit Molly. I don't think she wants to leave anytime soon, so here, take this. It'll help pass the time."
The young man had such an engaging smile I didn't have the heart to refuse him. I lifted the shot glass. "Cheers."
"Cheers, Molly's bodyguard." The young man drank his shot in one gulp. Not wanting to be outdone, I followed suit. The whiskey burned my throat and my eyes teared. I looked up to see if my new friend noticed, but he and his tray of spirits had already moved onto to the next group of revelers.
The next hour passed much as the last with more singing and drinking. Molly found me twice to accompany her to the ladies room, where my sole purpose was to tell her whether she had enough lipstick on. I warned her that we would need to leave soon, but she pretended not to hear me as she hurried back to Bobby. After each visit I returned to my dark corner and continued to observe the party. My blonde friend visited me again and pressed another whiskey on me. The second affected me more than the first and I soon swayed to the music.
The crowd eventually thinned. Feeling guilty after leaving me on my own for so long, Molly finally waived me over. Bobby found us two seats by the bar. Bobby was telling us boastful stories of his football playing days at neighboring Xavier High School when my blonde friend from earlier took the seat next to me. "Still on guard duty?"
I smiled. "Yes."
"Hey, Connelly, when're ya gonna let this lady go home and go to bed. She's been a good sport."
"Rosie's having a great time, aren't you, Rose?" Molly shot me a death stare. "She's doesn't want to go home yet."
"I don't want to go home yet," I parroted back to my new friend.
He laughed. "Well, in that case we'd better get you another one of those whiskey's that you like so much. Pop," he said to wizened old man behind the bar, "four whiskeys."
Molly was so grateful to be allowed to stay out a little later that she said nothing when her ex-nun cousin knocked back a whiskey like a pro. And she said nothing when the blonde cadet put his arm around me as the four of us got together for a photo.
When there were only a few stragglers left, the bartender threw a ring of keys at my friend. "It was your party, boyo, so you can lock up."
My friend caught the keys expertly, as if he'd done so a hundred times before. "Night, Pop."
"Night, Donal," Bobby said. Bobby turned to my new friend and said, "Hey, Denis, one more round before we go."
Denis hopped over the bar and poured us, along with the three remaining stragglers, another round of whiskey. Molly didn't even attempt to drink it, but I on the other hand swallowed it straight back.
"That's my girl, Rosie," Denis said.
I smiled. I wasn't sure at that point whether I was drunk or not, given that I'd never been drunk before, but I did feel a certain lightness, a looseness. The three stragglers soon left.
After he finished the whiskey, Bobby said, "I'd better walk these ladies home."
"Aw, you gonna leave me all alone?" Denis asked me.
I smiled at him.
"It's okay, Bobby. I can walk her home," Denis said.
Molly, eager to walk home alone with Bobby, said, "Okay, Rosie. I'll leave the side door open for you," and then quickly grabbed her coat and dragged Bobby out the door before I could change my mind.
Denis followed them to the door and locked it behind them. He then called over to me, "You like to dance, Rosie?" Without waiting for a reply he walked over to the jukebox, punched in a few buttons and a slow song, I couldn't remember which one, played. He then took my hand and we swayed to the music. After the song ended, he led me across the floor, toward the back of the bar. Through the fog of the alcohol, I thought clearly, "I can take this chance. I can do this."
In a back room littered with papers, he gently kissed me. I willed myself not to flinch as his hands explored my body over Molly's d
ress. As if in a dream, I soon found myself laying beneath him, naked, on an old couch, its upholstery torn and reeking of stale beer. His movements were smooth and well practiced. He barely seemed to notice when I cried out in pain.
When it was over, Denis rolled over on his side and almost instantly fell asleep. I listened to his drunken snores and laid there, still. When I thought enough time had passed, I climbed over Denis' almost lifeless body and got dressed. I felt slightly dizzy, from both the whiskey and the close, rank air of the room. The crisp air of the dark Brooklyn streets cooled my fevered skin as I walked the five blocks back to Auntie Margaret's. I crossed myself when I passed the Visitation convent, only two blocks from Margaret's house, and said a quick prayer in front of the statute of Our Lady. A prayer asking for forgiveness for my recent sin. A prayer that, nonetheless, God would grant me a blessing from that sin.
A cough from the corner of the room brought me back to my hospital bed, back to my current prison. I opened my eyes, and even without my glasses, saw the outline of my daughter.
"What time is it?" I asked, my voice rough from sleep.
"After one. Are you hungry? They brought by lunch a half hour ago, but I can ask them to bring you something."
I reached for my glasses and once they were on, Ellen came into focus. Her short, somewhat severe haircut had grown out a bit, and framed her face in soft blonde waves. Her eyes looked even bigger than normal in her thin face. Her mouth was a slash of red against her pale skin. In her hand she held something tightly. It looked like a piece of paper.
"What do you have there?"
Slowly, she made her way over to the bed and placed the paper into my hand. But it wasn't a piece of paper. It was a photo. An old, creased photo.
"I know," she said. "I found this and Molly told me. I've met him, Denis, and I've heard his side of the story. Now I want to hear yours."
I looked at the photo and smiled despite myself, to see me and Molly looking so young and pretty. "He was a handsome man, your father."
"Is that what happened, Mom? You were carried away, seduced by a handsome man?"
I laughed. "Hardly."
"Well, what then? Were you drunk?"
"I had been drinking, yes, but I wouldn't say I was drunk."
"Well, what then?" Ellen asked, her usual irritation with me seeping through. "Did he force you? Attack you? Rape you?"
"Goodness, no. Nothing like that. He was a lovely fellow, from what I can remember."
"Okay, well, if he was such a lovely fellow, then why didn't you contact him when you found out you were pregnant?"
"I never thought to."
"You never thought to? What do you mean you never thought to?"
"I just stayed home. I had responsibilities at home."
Ellen paced the room. "Why are we playing twenty questions here? Why can't you simply tell me what happened."
"Ellen, sit down. You're making me dizzy."
Ellen took her seat, and waited for me to continue.
"I met a man and got pregnant. Then I had the baby, you obviously, and raised you with my family. That's all that happened, Ellen. I don't know what else you want me to say."
"You can't honestly think that that is an acceptable answer. After all this time, that's it? That's the big reveal?"
I said nothing.
"Why did you, an ex-nun, have a one night stand with a guy you didn't even know? Why? What did you want? To experience sex, was that it?"
"You. I wanted you," I whispered. My head pounded and my vision blurred. "I'll tell you more tomorrow. Get the nurse, Ellen. Now."
Chapter 17
Ellen
Armed with a large coffee and bran muffin, I walked into my mother's room. The blinds were closed, so I quietly made my way to the chair in the corner without disturbing my mother's sleep. She'd been sleeping longer and longer these past few days.
About an hour later she opened her eyes. I handed my mother her glasses and helped her sit up.
"How long have you been here?"
"Not long," I answered. "I'll have them bring in your breakfast."
"Tell them just tea and toast. I can't face those eggs."
After my mother managed to eat her meager breakfast, she said, "Fire away."
"Fire away?"
"Yes. Fire away. Ask me the rest of your questions. Let's finish this."
My mother's cheeks seemed to have sunken even further overnight. I should forget all this, but of course I couldn't. "I've been thinking about what you said yesterday, about sleeping with Denis because you wanted a child, and it still doesn't make sense to me."
"Why? I would think you of all people would understand," my mother said without inflection.
I looked at her, surprised. My mother had never even seemed to notice that my twin boys were born only seven months after my hasty wedding, and she'd certainly never asked me about it.
"True, I was pregnant at my wedding, but I had a wedding. I got married and created a family. There was no groom in your scenario."
"You wanted a husband. I only wanted a child. Something of my own."
"Do you think it was fair to bring a child into the world without a father?"
"I don't know," she said with a somewhat confused look on her face, as if such a question never crossed her mind. "I think fathers are overrated."
Not exactly the answer I'd expected. I continued my interrogation. "But weren't you planning to go back to the convent after Peter died?"
"Of course I wanted to return to the convent, but the doctors said that Peter's heart was strong, that he could live for years. In my day, only young girls were allowed to enter the convent. I thought I'd be too old by the time Peter finally died."
"What do you mean? I thought he died when I was an infant."
She said nothing for a few moments. Then, without looking at me she said, "Yes, well, that was an accident. He choked."
I said slowly, "And then it was too late for you to go back, wasn't it? You were finally free to return to the convent, but you couldn't. Because of me."
She nodded slightly.
"If you hadn't gotten this 'something of your own' then you would've been free to leave that house and return to the convent."
My mother said nothing.
"But instead, you were stuck there. Is that right, Mom? Do I have that right?"
She looked at me unapologetically. "I always loved you, Ellen. I did the best I could for you."
"But you didn't want me. Once you finally realized what you had gotten yourself into, you didn't want me."
"I'll be honest with you, Ellen, I was young when you were conceived. Perhaps I acted rashly. I had some regrets, yes. But, that doesn't mean that I didn't love you."
Tears gathered in my eyes. "My father doesn't want me now. You didn't want me then. Kitty probably didn't want another child in her already overcrowded house."
Rose reached for my hand. "You're twisting my words around like you always do. You're not hearing me. I said I've always loved you. Kitty and my brothers loved you. You may not have had the perfect nuclear family, like the Conroys, like you created for your children, but you had a family that loved you. You have to believe that."
I snatched my hand from her. "I don't know what to believe anymore and I don't know why I even bothered coming back up here. For what? To sit by and watch the mother who resented me and lied to me my whole life? Denis was single when you got yourself pregnant. He seems like a decent guy. He probably would've done the right thing by you. Married you. Been my father."
My mother looked away from me and stared out the window for a few moments, and seemed to focus on the statue of the Blessed Virgin. Without looking at me, she said in a strange hollow voice, "I never would've married him, Ellen. I'd never marry any man. I wouldn't put myself through that, not for anyone. Not even for you."
Feeling slightly hysterical, I shouted. "Why? Because you're a lesbian? Is that it? Is that why you wanted to live with a bunch of women?"
My mother finally faced me. "I'm not a lesbian, Ellen," she said, without rancor. "I wanted to devote myself to God. That's why I joined the convent. After seeing my mother's marriage to Peter, I never wanted to get married myself."
"I don't know what to believe. What if this is another one of your lies or half truths?"
My mother deflated before my eyes. She pulled the covers up to her chin. "I don't know what else I can say to you. Maybe you had better leave."
"Yes," Molly said from the doorway. "I'll stay here with Rose. Ellen, why don't you go home and collect yourself."
"Fine, I'll leave. And I might not come back." I grabbed my purse and pushed past Molly.
Roaring out of the parking lot, I nearly mowed down poor Sister Elizabeth as she pushed one of the residents in a wheelchair. Too angry to stop and apologize, I continued my frenzied ride home. Once there, in the hot, stuffy house, I paced the rooms and randomly rifled through drawers and searched for what, I didn't know. More clues. More answers. What was this family that I was thrust into and what other secrets did these old walls hide?
But, my search turned up nothing. A gas bill from 1982. Kitty's expired passport. Paul and Lisa's wedding invitation. Just meaningless bits and pieces. Nothing to tell me who my mother was. Who I was.
After an hour and nearly faint from the hunger, I went to the kitchen. All I could find was a solitary almost expired yogurt and half a loaf of stale bread. I made a cup of strong tea, took two aspirin and ate the yogurt. It was only eleven and without my St. Francis duties I was at loose ends. I tried to catch up on a few emails, but the letters seemed to float around the screen and I couldn't make sense of them. I finally snapped the laptop shut, took the stale bread from the counter and walked out the front door without locking it. I walked across the road to the Centershore bridge. Whenever tensions between my grandmother and mother ran too high, I would always escape to the bridge. My grandmother used to gently scold me for wasting her fine bread on the swans and ducks, but on some level she realized that the breeze and the waves were my refuge.
The Girls on Rose Hill Page 11