Esther sat in front of him. There was little else he could do. She rummaged in the pocket of her blue knitted jacket, producing an assortment of half-crowns and a ten-shilling note to pay him. He didn’t want to take the money but knew she would be insulted if he refused it. It was her first time ever visiting the doctor on her own and she needed to be treated as an adult. He knew right well she’d probably scrimped and scraped to get the fee together, like so many of his patients: women with prolapsed wombs who could barely walk but hadn’t the money to see him or one of the consultants in Galway, children whose illnesses went undiagnosed because a trip to the doctor meant no food on the table. The system was crazy; was this what he had studied medicine for? Dr. Noel Browne, a Galway doctor like himself, had put forward his Mother and Child scheme while in government, proposing that all mothers be entitled to free ante- and postnatal care and that children’s health be the responsibility of the state. The Catholic bishops had torpedoed it, forcing his colleague into resignation. The new government was prepared to listen to Browne, who had run as an independent, and he hoped to Christ that Eamon De Valera would keep his election promises and do something to help the women and children of the country. Watching Esther Doyle walking along the path outside the surgery he knew that, like hundreds of other women, she’d a long hard road ahead of her as an unwed mother in holy bloody Ireland.
Esther found the bottle of poitin hidden in a paper bag under the kitchen sink, alongside a bottle of porter. It was her mother’s emergency drink supply. Of late Majella had become fond of a drop of whiskey or a glass of sherry. She drank them alone and in secret, not realizing that the family could smell it on her breath and sense the change in her demeanour as the alcohol took effect. Esther pulled out the bottle and unscrewed the lid. The liquor smelled strange. Gulping it down, she could feel it burning her throat, making her choke. Jesus it was awful! Strong stuff! No wonder the authorities banned it. She could feel it shooting into her brain, lungs, and stomach. Uncaring, she took another swill, her eyes almost streaming. It was like a poison inside her, racing through her veins. How in God’s name did her mother drink the stuff! There was meant to be a secret poitin still in Spiddal, where a man called Frankie Fox brewed up this concoction. Her mother said she bought it for medicinal purposes. Esther drank another drop, for her own purposes. She began to walk around the kitchen, her courage growing with each sip, becoming more resolute about the answer to her problem. Grabbing hold of Donal’s jumper that lay on the chair and pulling it on, she opened the cottage door and stepped out into the night air. Giggling, she tried to follow the path that led across to the beach and down to the sea. Her legs would not do exactly what her brain told them, and she felt strangely detached and floaty.
The tide had turned and even in the moonlight she could see the soft waves rippling towards the shore. The family were all fast asleep and she was glad of the peace and quiet. The blindingly obvious solution to her problem had snaked into her mind and now she realized what she must do. There was no way out of her misfortune, no way of turning the clock back and pretending her pregnancy did not exist. She felt used, dirty, and soiled. Conor did not care about her anymore. If he had his way she would disappear to England and solve all their problems by ridding herself of the child. The embarrassment she would cause him was nothing compared to the shame that she knew lay ahead when her family discovered about the baby. She had never done anything truly bad in her life, except perhaps maybe love and trust Conor. She had been foolish and stupid. There was no going back.
The alcohol coursed through her veins as the gansey slipped off easily and she left it on the weed-covered rocks. Barefoot, she walked across the stone and shingle, right to the water’s edge. The freezing cold water lapped at her feet and ankles, the bottom of her nightdress, trailing around her legs, soaking as she began to walk out into the sea.
“Christ!” she gasped as the chill of the Atlantic suddenly enveloped her.
Funny, but she didn’t feel scared, she was glad now that she could barely swim. The icy water covered her thighs and bottom, caressing the curve of her belly. She just kept on walking, glad that there were no waves to knock her off her feet and delay her purpose.
The water was getting deeper, the going heavier, as she tried to wade out further and further. The nightdress was weighing her down as the water covered her breasts and arms, her hair floating around her shoulders.
The cold was almost unbearable, forcing the breath from her body, as if she were already dead. Surely only a few more steps would do it. Her whole body was shivering, her teeth chattering as she kept on walking. She shut her eyes.
“Uurrghh!” Salt water filled her nostrils and mouth, choking her. She gasped and coughed as it poured down into her throat and lungs, forcing her instinctively to try and breathe.
“Esther! Jesus! What are you doing!” Tom was in the water, pushing through it, grabbing her and pulling her towards him.
“Leave me alone!” she screamed, trying to push away from him, fighting him off.
Her brother grabbed her from behind, forcing her afloat. “What are you trying to do? Drown yourself?”
“I’m shhwimming!” she said, feeling giddy. “Leave me alone!”
“You can’t swim! And you’re drunk!”
“No, I’m not, so bloody get lost! Go away!” She tried to break away from him and move even further out of her depth, as a wave broke over them and she swallowed what seemed like another gallon of sea water. Frantic, she closed her mouth, desperately trying to tilt her head and neck and stretch out of the water. Panicking, she tried to tread water and attempt to dog-paddle. I’m going to die! I deserve to die! she told herself.
“Esther!” Tom pulled at her, forcing her arms round his neck, dragging her shorewards. “Let me help you, stop fighting against me.”
It was so dark and she felt too tired to even bother trying to keep afloat. Tom dragged and wrestled with her, forcing her into the shallows where she stumbled and crawled to the water’s edge, another wave rolling over them both as they gasped and struggled to get to their feet, Tom gripping on to her, shale scraping her feet and legs as, wincing with pain, she collapsed on to the beach, coughing after all the salt water and freezing with the cold.
“What in God’s name were you trying to do?” questioned Tom, his dark eyes serious, his face filled with concern as he knelt beside her.
“I don’t know,” she sniffed, “I don’t know. I’m just so sad and I don’t know what to do.” The two of them sitting there in the darkness, teeth chattering, freezing cold.
“You’re drunk!”
“I know,” she said, giggling, feeling stupid.
“What is it, Esther? What’s going on?”
“‘Tis a secret, Tom. Are you good at keeping secrets?” Tom stared at her, impatient and annoyed. “I’m pregnant,” she announced, grinning wildly. “I’m going to have a baby.”
Tom groaned. He should have guessed it would be something like that. “What about Conor?”
She shrugged, laughing crazily. “He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want the baby.”
“The bastard, the bloody bastard!” said Tom angrily. “What are you going to do, Esther? Have you told Mammy yet?”
The very thought of Majella’s reaction to such news scared them both, and Esther suddenly felt exhausted and sick. Her brother put his arms around her and held her as she wept drunkenly. “We should go back home, Esther, you’re freezing.” Tom grabbed the jumper from the beach and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“Promise me you won’t say anything to the others,” insisted Esther, standing in front of him, sensing his dismay.
“Only if you promise not to try anything stupid like this again.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry, Tom.”
They walked back up the beach together, Esther suddenly miserably sober, aware of what she had tried to do and how she must disgust her younger brother. Intense gratitude surfaced and broke inside her. She didn�
��t really want to die, even though nothing had changed, she was still pregnant and eventually would have to face her mother and brothers. Praying that the rest of them were still asleep, she sneaked back home to the comfort of her warm bed.
Chapter Fourteen
“Slut!”
“Tramp!”
“Bitch!”
“Dirty little whore!”
“She’s a filthy tramp!”
The words rained down on her like blows. Her brothers and Majella screaming at her in the kitchen.
Majella had finally noticed her condition. She’d been standing at the sink washing a bowl of clay-covered potatoes when her mother had asked, “When’s the child due?”
Esther stood totally still. She had waited weeks for this to happen, now she was almost relieved that the pretence was over. “March,” she’d replied as the water splashed from the sink on to the tiled floor.
For an instant her mother had almost hit her, but instead had turned and gone to sit down on the armchair, disgust and despair etched on her worn face. Drying her hands, Esther had run in after her, kneeling down beside her.
“Mammy. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you … but I just didn’t know what to do.”
“I suppose that Conor fellow is the father!”
Esther nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Will he marry you?”
Esther knelt, miserable, ashamed and unable to meet her mother’s gaze.
“I didn’t suppose he would,” Majella said sharply. “The like of him never do.”
“What’ll I do, Mammy?” she blurted out in panic and desperation.
Her mother sat silent and unresponsive. “Gerard will have to be told,” she said eventually. “He’ll think of something.”
“Mammy, I’m sorry, honest to God I’m sorry. I didn’t mean this to happen. What will I do? What will happen to the baby?”
Majella Doyle closed her eyes, cutting her off. “Let me be! ‘Tis too late to be sorry, and I’m far too tired to think. In God’s name will you just leave me alone!”
Ger and Donal had taken it badly. Poor Paddy and Liam hadn’t a clue what was going on with all the shouting and roaring and were banished outside to take a walk on the beach as her mother told the older boys the news. Tom had kept quiet, not letting on that he already knew. Not one kind word was said by any of the family when they heard that she was going to have a baby. She looked at their handsome faces, now grim and ugly. These were her brothers, her flesh and blood. She’d washed, cooked and cleaned for them for years! They’d gone mad when they heard, screaming and shouting at her, calling her filthy names.
“You must get rid of it!” urged Gerard.
“We’ll kill the bastard that did this to you!”
“Leave him out of it,” she pleaded. “This is my baby.”
They were ashamed of her. Even good-hearted Tom couldn’t meet her gaze.
“Slut!”
“Dirty little tramp!”
“A hussy of a daughter. That’s what I’ve raised!”
“You couldn’t wait for it, like the rest of the decent girls in the parish,” jeered Gerard. “Couldn’t keep those legs of yours closed. Eddie Boylan wasn’t good enough for you. You sneered at him, looked down your nose at him. I’m telling you, Eddie would have married you, taken you to live on that big farm of his, done the decent thing.”
“I love Conor,” she sobbed. “I thought he loved me too.”
“Love, so that’s what you call it!” sneered her mother, her face blotched and angry. “That’s not what I’d call it, or the neighbours will call it.”
“I’ll break every bone in that bastard’s body!” shouted Donal.
“No!”
“Christ! Wait till John Joe hears!” groaned her brother. “We’ll be the talk of the place.”
All they could think of was what the neighbours would say, the gossip and scandal she would cause. She had listened to their vile words and realized that they were ashamed of her. The baby growing inside didn’t seem to matter a bit or merit any consideration, all they wanted was for her and her pregnancy to be kept secret. She would have to go away.
Her Aunt Patsy was sent for. Esther had always been fond of her mother’s older sister. Taller and heavier-built than her mother, her aunt had always been a rock of good sense. She had made the most of being a wealthy farmer’s wife and lived on the Galway-to-Spiddal road. All her family was raised. The eldest boy Willie now helped his Uncle Sean with the farm; two of the cousins had gone to England; and Marian, a daughter, was living in Galway with a nice husband who worked in the bank and two wild little boys who were always up to mischief. Patsy had always been kind to the Doyles, and of late had done her best to help Majella cope with the grief of losing Nonie. On her arrival, at least her aunt hugged her and asked how she was feeling and if she was taking any rest. “You poor child!”
Esther almost bawled, as they were the first kind words that anyone had said to her in weeks. Once she started crying, she could barely stop, and Patsy sat with her till she could cry no more.
“It’s not the end of the world, Esther, no matter what Majella says to you. You are not the first to get caught and you won’t be the last. Many a decent woman has started her married life in similar circumstances. People forget. Girls go away for a spell and then come back home, it’s nobody’s business where they go to or the reason why. We can arrange it.”
Esther looked up. Her aunt’s slightly pink face, with those thoughtful grey-blue eyes, was sincere.
“You know Majella won’t hear of you staying at home and having the baby here. She’s a silly woman, that sister of mine, but I suppose she’s had more than her fair share of troubles to deal with, so you’ll have to go away, Esther.”
“I know!” she whispered, dreading the thought of it.
“The Mercy nuns run a Magdalen home laundry in Galway, would you go there?”
Esther hadn’t a clue what her aunt was talking about. “A Magdalen home laundry! What in God’s name is it, Auntie Patsy?”
“‘Tis a home run by the nuns for girls like yourself that are in trouble. In return for their keep the unmarried mothers work in the convent laundry. The work is hard and they say the nuns are strict there, but at least the girls are looked after. It’s called after Mary Magdalen, you know, the sinner in the Bible who repents.”
“What about my baby?” asked Esther, her throat raw with pain and grief.
“You know the baby will be given up, Esther pet, the nuns will do their best to find a nice couple willing to adopt or foster the child and raise it as their own. Then when it’s all over you’ll be able to come back home and put this all behind you.”
“Couldn’t I keep my baby? I’d look after it!”
“Esther love, how would you manage a new baby?”
“I’d manage!” she replied stubbornly.
“Majella wouldn’t have you, Esther, so don’t go fooling yourself that she’ll change her mind. Will you go to the Magdalen home in Galway?”
Esther shook her head vehemently. The home in Galway was much too near. The thought of her mother and her brothers coming into the town on a shopping trip, or worse still Conor and that McGuinness one passing by on their way to the markets or the bank or the like, just didn’t bear thinking about.
“No, Auntie Patsy! I want to go away, get out of this place, maybe to Dublin or Cork.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Esther, it’s probably better to go further away,” agreed her aunt, “then if you have the baby in Dublin, a family there could raise it.”
Esther nodded, miserable.
“‘Tis only a year of your life, child! I know how sad you must be feeling and heartbroken after that rotten pig of a fellah let you down, but it will pass, I promise. The best thing is to go away before the neighbours guess what’s going on.”
Patsy was glad that her niece had no interest in going to the home in Galway; she’d heard rumours of the harsh regime that existed t
here and how the women were always trying to run away.
Majella appeared silently, carrying a tray of tea things. “Has she agreed to go away?” she asked tersely.
Patsy tapped her hand. “Aye! That she has. Father Devaney will help arrange it. He knows a nun in Dublin.”
“I’ll talk to him then,” murmured Majella, pouring the tea.
Esther wanted to rage and scream and let her feelings of panic and rejection out, but instead she sat drinking sour-tasting tea with them, excusing herself after one cup.
Lying on her bed, she knew that the two sisters were discussing her, and the stupidity, the madness that had ended with her pregnant and having to face it on her own. What had she agreed to? Everyone wanted to organize her life, tell her what was the right thing to do; nobody cared a jot about what she wanted for this baby and herself. The rest of them wanted her out of the way and hidden, even Aunt Patsy didn’t understand at all what she was going through. All her life she’d been trying to please people, do what her mam or her big brother told her, had believed all the things Conor told her. Now there were two of them, the baby and herself, that was all that mattered for the moment. Sure, things would have been different if Conor had loved her, wanted her and his baby. Instead he had chosen to reject them. They all wanted her to give her baby up, hand it over for someone else to raise, never see her child again. Her mother had given birth to seven children and raised each one of them. How could she demand then that Esther just hand her child away after carrying it for nine months? They wanted her to go to a place run by nuns, where she would be treated as an outcast for having loved someone and made the fatal mistake of getting pregnant. Her mother still grieved for Nonie, crying in her sleep for the daughter God had taken from her. Had she no inkling of the grief Esther would endure if she gave away her child? So be it! She would go if that’s what they all wanted. Rolling up into a ball, curling in on herself, keeping her baby warm and safe, Esther tried to sleep.
The Magdalen Page 11