Bernice bent down, wrapping her large fleshy arms around her, then, wordless, climbed into the bed beside her. “I’ll stay with you tonight,” she offered.
Bernice held her all through that long night, cramped on the narrow bed beside her, not saying anything, not giving advice, just willing to share that first night of parting. “Morning will come.” That was all Bernice could promise.
The morning did come. She had faced the chapel and the mass, not praying, ignoring the priest’s Latin rigmarole and facile words. She had eaten breakfast and walked down to the laundry to begin work. She welcomed the silence, forcing herself to concentrate on the rituals of washing, the wetness of the linen, the coldness of the water. The basket after basket that was emptied, laundered and replaced. Work. The work. That was all she had left now. Obsessed, she prowled the wall between the orphanage and the laundry, searching for an opening, listening for the noise of children on the other side. Holding her breath each time she heard an infant cry, wondering was it Roisin?
She knew it. She was slipping into insanity. She would be like the Marys and Myra, the longer she stayed here. Detta had stayed all her life, was even buried here. Esther was scared. Because of Roisin was she destined never to leave this institution, to stay a Magdalen, unforgiven for ever! Each day her only thoughts were of her child, on the other side of the convent wall and yet so far away. She wished she were like Rita and could escape and climb those walls. She had to leave the laundry, get free!
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dreams of escape obsessed her now that Roisin had been taken from her and placed in the orphanage, waiting to be given up. It was foolish of her to think that anything she would say or do could change what would happen to her child. The Church, believing her an unfit mother, had separated them, deciding that it was better her child remain motherless and be raised by strangers.
She planned it while she worked each day, washing the soiled clothing mechanically, ignoring her water-soaked hands and her bleach-burnt skin. She needed her family to collect her, to take her out of the convent. Swallowing her pride, she had written three letters home to her mother and brothers, telling them of her situation. She waited week after week and still there was no reply. Frustrated and angry, she cursed them. Perhaps the sly nuns had not posted her letters. She wrote again, one more final begging letter to her mother, another to her Aunt Patsy, this time asking Jim Murray to post them for her.
“Keep calm, lass!” he cautioned her. “Your family will come. They’ll not leave you here.”
Of late she found herself seeking out Jim’s company more and more. She admired his air of common sense and calmness. He never reproached her about Roisin or enquired about Conor. She felt safe with him. The others slagged her about him, but she doubted Jim had any romantic inclinations towards her other than plain old-fashioned kindness. He talked a lot about his children and worried about them. “My mother’s too old to cope with them. I’m going to have to find someone to take proper care of them while I’m at work.”
She waited and waited for news, until finally Sister Margaretta informed her that a member of her family was coming to Dublin at the end of the week and would escort her home. She hadn’t been able to sleep a wink since. Funny, but she had imagined that she would have been jumping for joy at being finally liberated from the Magdalen laundry, but instead she felt nervous, afraid to leave the convent and the women who surrounded her.
“For God’s sake, Esther, you’ve been waiting for weeks to hear from them. Don’t even think of changing your mind!” Maura screamed at her. “You don’t want to end up like the rest of us, Esther. I’d have given anything for my husband or sister, or anyone, to take me out of here. By Christ, I’d be long gone from here if I could!”
“I won’t know what to do outside, Maura …” She hesitated. “I’m different now. I can’t pretend to be the same, that nothing has happened.”
“When you leave here and go back outside, nobody will know about the baby,” interrupted Sheila, “unless you tell them. It’s your secret!”
“But I’ll know! I just can’t walk out of here and pretend that I never had Roisin. Here at least I’m close to her, near the orphanage. I might even get the chance to see her.”
“You stop that kind of talk, Esther, d’ye hear?” said Maura furiously. “Are you going to tell me that you’d let your little girl be brought up in an orphanage by the bloody nuns? Are you mad?”
“A nice family could take her and raise her, Esther,” whispered Saranne.
“But I’m her mother! I’m her family!”
“That’s not enough!” insisted Maura. “Do you want your daughter to end up here when she’s sixteen, working in the laundry like poor Saranne and Helen? Is that what you want for Roisin?”
“No!” she sobbed, hiding her face in her hands, not sure anymore of what she wanted to do. The Maggies sat around on the beds, staring at her accusingly. “No! No! I want Roisin to have a proper home and a family, but I just don’t want her to forget about me.”
“My Stephen’s got a nice family now,” murmured Bernice, shoving up beside her and clasping her arm around her. “A mammy and a daddy to love him and care for him, that’s what Mother Benedict told me. He don’t need me no more! So I’m trying to get my sister Betty to come and take me out of this dump. I could live with her and her husband till I get fixed up in a new job—that’s if they’ll have me …”
Esther, listening to their talk, had eventually gone to Sister Gabriel and told of her change of mind. She would give Roisin up. It was better for her child to be placed with a family than raised in the order’s orphanage.
Mother Benedict and a social worker called Joan Connolly had met her and arranged for her to sign all the necessary forms in order that Roisin could be fostered or adopted. She had to agree to never seeing her child again, though Mrs. Connolly, a pleasant-looking woman with a fawn-coloured perm, had promised her that the expensive white baby suit and the knitted bainin blanket she had made would both be sent with her baby.
Numb, Esther realized that she was not doing this because of her mother or Conor, or local gossips, but solely for herself and Roisin. Following her decision Esther now knew that she wanted to leave the laundry, but was still unsure about returning home to Carraig Beag. How in God’s name could she possibly go back to living with her mother after all that had happened, the two of them working in the close confines of the cottage, both bitter and angry, pretending nothing had happened, grieving for children lost to them? Wash and cook and clean for brothers who had refused to stand by her when she needed them most! ’Twould drive her crazy! Then there was Conor … Every step she took along the narrow paths and roadways, she might run into him. She could murder him for what he’d done to her. Imagine having to sit in the church of a Sunday and the parish watching her as he sat in the aisle across from her with his bride. She already felt fragile, cracked. Returning home, she knew, would break her.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Upstairs in the dormitory, Esther cleaned the last few things out of her locker. She still couldn’t credit that she had spent over eight months incarcerated in this room, in this prison of an institution, being punished for having her baby. She had snipped two pieces of black hair from Roisin’s tiny head two weeks after she was born. It was all she had of her. She wrapped them carefully in a white linen hankie and put them in the case. She undressed, taking off the overall and putting on her cotton dress and over-jacket. It felt strange, putting her outside clothes back on. They hung loose on her now. She folded the overall, leaving it on top of the bed, glancing round for one last time at the long dormitory and its row of iron beds, remembering Detta, who had shown her such kindness, and Rita, who had made them laugh and fight the system, and poor Tina. She’d already said her goodbyes to the others this morning, too upset to speak, knowing she would probably never see any of them again. She hoped Bernice would get to leave too.
Jim Murray had made a point of seeing her t
he day before, the two of them standing out in the sun-filled yard. “That job minding my girls is still there, Esther, if you’ve a mind for it!” He’d given her a piece of paper with his address written out in large looped writing. She shook his large rough hand, not believing he would consider a penitent good enough to mind his children, but promising to think about it.
Ina had slipped her the name of a cousin of hers who ran a digs in a place called Rathmines. “The rooms are small, Esther, but it’s cheap and clean and near everything, should you decide to stay in Dublin.”
Down below in the tiled hallway Sister Gabriel was talking to her Aunt Patsy.
She could always rely on her aunt to turn up when she was most needed. The Galway matron, dressed in her Sunday best, a pale-blue fitted suit, had arrived to escort her and sign her release from the “home” of the Holy Saints Order. The two women stood awkwardly below at the bottom of the stairs, her aunt anxious to escape the claustrophobic confines of the convent, a flicker of relief lighting her eyes when Esther finally joined them.
“Thank you for taking care of Esther, sister. Her mother and the family are very grateful.”
“That’s kind of you,” replied the nun, softening. “Helping girls in their time of trouble is what we are here for. It’s our lives’ work.”
Esther stood for a few seconds looking at her. This woman standing in front of her in her nun’s habit and pale skin, as white as any of the Maggies, was no bride of Christ. Mercy, compassion, and charity were unknown words to her. She had shown not one shred of kindness towards herself or any of the poor penitents in her charge. God help all the rest of them, the Maggies condemned to live out the rest of their lives within those convent walls, slaving in the laundry. Esther couldn’t bring herself to say one word to the nun, not a single word.
Embarrassed, Aunt Patsy made their good-byes.
The nun leant forward as if to hug her or shake her hand; Esther managed to step adeptly out of the way. “Try not to think too badly of us, Esther. We were only doing what was best for you and your child. In time you’ll come to realize that.” Sister Gabriel, blinking her lizard eyes, her face expressionless, escorted them to the front door.
“Goodbye, Esther child!” added Sister Margaretta, pulling the heavy bolt across. “God bless.”
Esther couldn’t say a word the whole way down the driveway; fear, anger, and bitterness choked her as they drove through the heavy iron gates. She could not breathe and relax properly till they were at least another mile away from the Magdalen institution. Patsy O’Malley, shocked by the change in her niece, held her hand in silence. The taxicab drove them to the centre of the city and up along the quays, depositing them outside the entrance to Kingsbridge Station.
“We’ve a while to wait for the train, so we may as well get a bit of lunch. You look half starved, Esther. Whatever did the nuns do to you?”
The waitress showed them to a nice quiet table in the corner of the station café, her aunt ordering two lunch specials.
“My God, Esther, you look desperate, like a puff of wind would blow you over! What did they do to you in that place? How are you really?”
Unbidden tears came into her eyes, sliding down her cheeks and plopping down on to her plate.
Her aunt passed her a handkerchief.
“I miss my baby, Auntie Patsy. I should never have agreed to giving her up. I didn’t want to give Roisin away! Sometimes I feel like a part of me is dead and it will never come back.”
“It must be the worst thing ever, Esther,” agreed her aunt, teary-eyed too. “Of course you miss the baby, pet, that’s only natural, but you did the right thing for the both of you. Sister Gabriel was only saying to me while you were upstairs that they’ll make sure she is placed with a good Catholic family. She’ll have chances that many children don’t get these days.”
Esther nodded, sniffing, conscious of the gaze of one or two of the busy restaurant’s customers, who sensed an argument.
“You wait and see, you’ll recover from this. You’re young, there will be another man you’ll fall in love with, and in time, please God, more babies! We all make mistakes. The thing is to put them behind us.”
“What did Mammy say about Roisin?” asked Esther, leaning forward across the table.
“She showed me your letters. She was relieved that yourself and the baby were healthy and well.”
“Did Mammy want me to come home?”
“Sure, Majella knows you’re coming home. She’s expecting you. You’ll be able to keep her company and give a hand about the place now that the older lads are moving out. Don’t be worrying yourself, Esther, that sister of mine will come round.”
“What about Conor?”
“The baby’s father! Well, from what I hear tell of him, he’s working morn and noon and night on that farm he wanted so bad. God forgive him for what he did to you, Esther, but he’ll never have a son or daughter of his own to share it with. He’ll get old before his time, mark my words!”
Esther poured the thick brown gravy from the jug over her sliced roast beef, wondering how she could tell her aunt what she was really planning, knowing how worried Patsy already was. “Aunt Patsy.” She sighed. “I don’t want to go back to Connemara, and the way things used to be. Not just because of Conor, but because of Mammy too.”
“Not go back! What do you mean, Esther? I’ve come all this way to get you and now you’re saying you don’t want to come with me!” Her aunt’s voice rose almost hysterically, an anxious waitress sidling over to check that all was well with table sixteen. “Esther, I know you’re upset about your mother but you’ve got to try and understand her. Practising her faith, the old virtues and values, those things are all important to her, that’s all that keeps her going since she lost Dermot and poor Nonie. She knows you’ve more than done your penance.”
“My penance!” said Esther bitterly. “Aye, she wanted me gone from the house the very minute she found out I was pregnant. She’d not even speak or listen to me, she took such a total turn against me.”
“Aye, well, that’s a different story,” murmured her aunt. “Majella was already shocked over Nonie. That’s partly why she took it so bad.”
“She blamed me for Nonie, and she still does!”
Her aunt toyed with her slice of roast beef. “Esther, I’ve never told you before, but Majella herself got pregnant when she was twenty-three. Our da, Lord rest him, wanted to throw her out of the house when he found out. He didn’t like Dermot, but had no choice but to accept him as a son-in-law, or face the humiliation and disgrace of his daughter and the illegitimate birth of his grandson.”
“Gerard!”
“Aye. I know, it’s hard to imagine the bold Gerard born out of wedlock, but he nearly was. Dermot and Majella married when she was six months gone. My father was furious with them both. He didn’t approve of Dermot one bit, you know, the two of them never got on. He always said that he wasn’t good enough for his daughter—maybe he was right.”
“She never said anything to any of us about it.”
“Your mother is full of secrets, Esther. She’s had a hard life. Father used to say, “Majella’s made her bed, now let her lie down in it!” “She’s made mistakes, but so have we all, and we just have to get over them.”
Esther fiddled with the marrowfat peas on her plate.
“And you’ll get over yours, too. The neighbours, they might gossip for a while, but none of them know about your baby. It’s your secret. Back home you’ll be a great help to your mother, and you know there are plenty of nice lads around your own age. In time you’ll settle, have a family of your own. Put the past behind you like many another woman has had to do. Honest to God, in time you’ll forget.”
She sensed her aunt’s sincerity, but was unable to respond to it. “I’m not going home with you, Auntie Patsy. I don’t want to go back to living with Mammy and the boys. I want to stay here in Dublin.”
“What!” A few heads turned in their direction
.
“I’m not going back to Connemara. I just couldn’t stand it! I won’t be getting the train with you.”
Patsy O’Malley sat totally flummoxed in the high-backed chair of the station cafe. “Are you sure, Esther?”
“I’m sure. I want to stay on in Dublin. It’ll mean I’ll be still near my baby.”
“But you’ve given her up, Esther. You signed her away. She’s not your baby anymore.”
“She’s mine! She’ll always be mine, no matter what any bit of old paper says!”
Her aunt started fussing, reaching down into her huge black handbag for a handkerchief. “I hadn’t expected this. Majella thinks you’re returning with me.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m staying here in Dublin.”
“What will you do! How will you manage?”
“I’ll get a job, find digs. I’m used to hard work, you know, and I still have most of the money Ger gave me. I’m an adult now, and it’s about time I started to try and make some kind of life of my own.”
“Where will you stay?”
“There’s digs in Rathmines; one of the women who runs the kitchens gave me an address. Her cousin is the caretaker. She said it wouldn’t cost too much.”
“And what about a job! Where will you work? Will you work in another laundry?”
“No!” she blurted out. “I’ve had enough of laundries. I’ll find something, though. There’s bound to be plenty of work in a big city like this, with all the hotels and restaurants and bars. Anyways, if I’m really stuck I know someone who wants a girl to mind his children a few hours a day, when he’s at work.”
“You seem to have your mind made up, Esther.” Finishing her cup of tea, her aunt reached into her bag, taking out her purse to pay the lunch bill, and after a bit of searching around drew out a twenty-pound note which she passed over to her niece. “Take this, Esther. You may need it.”
Normally Esther would never have dreamt of accepting so much cash from her aunt, but she realized she might well have need of it in the weeks ahead, in order to survive in the city. “Thank you!” she smiled, grateful for all her aunt had done for her.
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