John jumped into his van and offered Aengus a lift back to Bangornevin, stopping on the way at the Deane farm to drop a basket off for Maeve that his wife had made him take with him.
‘Are ye bloody mad? It’s pouring down, woman,’ he had said to his wife.
‘Do stop complaining now. Maeve gave all her eggs away today and she needs more for the morning. Do as I say. Go on, away with ye.’
And with that and brooking no nonsense, she had closed the door.
As John ran through the rain towards the Deanes’ front door, Aengus left the van and walked down the path with the oilskin to cover John who was already almost soaked through.
When his aunt had asked John to take the eggs, Aengus’s heart had skipped a beat. He was glad of the rain and an excuse to leave the van. He stood a few steps behind his uncle in the remains of the firelight radiating out through the front door.
To his disappointment, his uncle refused the invitation from Maeve to step inside as he handed over the basket. The thunder eased and, in the silence that followed, Aengus heard an unfamiliar noise. He looked towards the bedroom window just feet away from where he stood.
His ears pricked as he heard the sound of a wounded animal, which pulled on his heart as if dragging it down deep into his chest. He stared at the window, looking for a light or a flicker of the curtains, anything to show him where the noise had sprung from.
It stopped suddenly, but Aengus was glued to the spot. While Maeve and his uncle were chatting about the success of the day, he strained to hear the sound again.
But there was nothing.
Kitty’s heart had already broken.
There was no sound left to be made.
The Abbey and the laundry lay at the bottom of a shallow valley and were approached via a long gravel driveway.
The drive would have been easy to miss if it hadn’t been for the two red-brick pillars, standing proud like two lone effigies, supporting the high wooden dark-green fence that surrounded the Abbey. A thick belt of tall fruit trees grew directly behind as though providing an additional barrier to entry. Torpid branches reclined along the fence top, slipping down exhausted from carrying their weight of green apples.
‘The kids from the village will have them apples before they are ripe,’ said Liam as they drove through the black wrought-iron gates, which were opened wide.
Nellie was sat on Kathleen’s knee, Kitty on Maura’s, crammed into the front of the truck. They had left the last village ten minutes since and Nellie was now desperate for the toilet and had been for over half an hour.
‘They would have to be brave kids,’ answered Kathleen.
Liam nodded. The unspoken truth, suspended in the air of the small cab.
The truth everyone knew.
The nuns were the sisters of no mercy. If you stole from a convent, no matter how poor or how hungry your family, the Gardai would be summoned. Forgiveness was a valuable commodity, the currency of redemption. Not to be wasted on poor, hungry children.
Kitty hadn’t spoken a word since they passed through Castlefeale.
She had clung to Maeve when they left her, early in the morning.
Maeve had slowly unhooked Kitty’s hands that were clasped round her back. Holding both of them in her own, she looked into her eyes and said, ‘Kitty, promise me this, that ye will come back very, very soon. Promise me now. I want ye to know that if you need somewhere or someone, I am here with no need of warning.’
Kitty found it hard to reply. Her throat was tight and the effort required to answer had all but deserted her. She had been morose over breakfast and lost in her own thoughts, her hand never far from Maura’s.
She felt herself drag the words up from somewhere deep inside as she answered, ‘I will, Maeve, I promise I will.’
Maeve had wanted to give her something to take with her and to hold onto: the knowledge that she was welcome, indeed, wanted, back.
Maeve put her hand into her apron pocket and brought out something gold and glistening. She slipped it over Kitty’s wrist.
Kitty was speechless. It was a bracelet, hung with exquisite and beautiful charms.
With her mouth open in amazement, she lifted the charms one by one. A thatched cottage, a milk churn, a lady’s boot, a fish, a tiny bird and a teapot.
Kitty felt guilty. She looked from Nellie to Maeve. Nellie was directly related to Maeve, so surely this was Nellie’s.
‘Sure, now don’t you be worrying about that, little miss,’ said Maeve, grinning. ‘She has me whole jewellery box marked out as her own, that one does.’
Nellie and Maeve both laughed as Nellie came and joined them both in the hug. Nellie’s sweet nature would not for one moment allow her to show a pang of regret that Maeve was giving the charm bracelet to Kitty. Nellie instantly felt guilty. She had so much compared to Kitty.
Maeve hugged them both together.
‘Well, that’s grand, then, and I will be waiting to see ye, so I will. I expect ye back here next year with our Nellie and Kathleen because I have no idea how I will manage another harvest without ye help. I would have given up and sent everyone home if it hadn’t been for ye, Kitty.’
Kitty smiled. She almost laughed, for the first and last time that day.
As they drove off down the Ballymara road, Kitty and Nellie turned round to face the small window in the back of the cab and waved.
Maeve walked across to the other side of the road and stood by the stream so that she could remain for longer in their view.
The rain was falling in the Irish way, soft and misty, but Maeve didn’t notice. She wanted to do more for Kitty and if all she had left to offer was to show her she cared by standing in the rain, then that was what she would do.
Kitty and Nellie sat forward together as the van tyres crunched across the gravel drive, creating a noise loud enough to announce their arrival. An imposing white building loomed into sight with a short flight of steps leading up to the front door.
Both girls placed their hands on the dashboard and leant closer to the windscreen for a better view.
A smaller building stood a short walk away from the convent with a long windowed corridor linking the two. Manicured lawns bordered the drive.
‘The grass looks like it’s been shaved,’ said Nellie as they pulled up outside the first white building.
As they piled out of the van, the large wooden door opened and a nun stood with her hand on the big brass doorknob.
She didn’t speak. She barely moved. She watched, without a flicker of expression. Maura felt uncomfortable.
‘Jesus, would a smile hurt? A kind word never broke anyone’s mouth, now did it,’ she whispered to Kathleen as they lifted Kitty’s bag out of the back.
A feeling of cold dread had already lodged itself in Maura’s gut and it was going nowhere.
They felt conspicuous under the nun’s gaze. Liam lost his usual light-hearted manner and felt as though he was walking awkwardly.
‘Feck, does she have to stare like that?’ he whispered under his breath as he pulled back the tarpaulin on the back of the van.
‘Shush, Liam,’ whispered Kathleen. ‘She will turn ye into stone with that look. Come inside with us. I forgot to mention, you’re Kitty’s father. Maura knows, so she does. Just let me do the talking and don’t forget, Kitty, yer name is Cissy.’
Liam looked as if he was about to faint. He had been taught by the nuns and still, as a grown man, he trembled in their presence. He hadn’t wanted to step foot inside the convent and had hoped he could wait in the van.
They walked slowly towards the nun, who appraised each one individually as they approached. No smiles or words of welcome came their way.
Maura felt as though they were trespassing.
Had they come to the wrong place? Was someone about to turn them away?
Suddenly, from behind the door appeared an older nun, the Reverend Mother, Sister Assumpta, who glided beneath her habit like a butterball on wheels. Maura had never in h
er life seen nor met such a rotund woman. There was no wobble, no lurching gait.
‘Good morning, Mrs Deane.’ She looked directly at Kathleen.
Sister Assumpta’s small, bright blue eyes were almost totally occluded by her plump red cheeks. Nellie was stunned by her likeness to the butcher back home in Liverpool.
‘Come along inside.’ Her voice was well suited to her size and sounded masculine, far from the kindly, maternal voice Maura had imagined.
She moved towards a white panelled door on the left and turned yet another large and shining brass knob. She swung the door open and with a wave of her hand ushered them inside.
‘Who in God’s name cleans all this brass?’ whispered Maura to Kitty as they walked hesitantly into the room.
The dark shining wooden floorboards were covered with beautiful rugs and the windowsills were lined with silver ornaments that shone brightly, even though it was a dull day.
‘Who cleans all this silver?’ whispered Kathleen to Nellie.
‘Please, do sit,’ said Sister Assumpta as she moved behind her desk and sat herself in an ornate chair of carved wood and leather.
They all did as instructed and sat in chairs assembled round the desk. There were not enough so Liam withdrew into the background and stood against the wall. He ignored the look Kathleen had thrown his way. Still, no one spoke.
Although there was no sun, bright daylight poured in through the tall window behind the desk, transforming Sister Assumpta into a faceless black shadow.
Sister Celia, the nun who had watched them arrive, walked into the room carrying a tray of tea, which she placed on Sister Assumpta’s desk and then without speaking a single word, left the room.
‘You must all have a thirst after a long journey,’ Sister Assumpta said with a false brightness. ‘Mrs Deane, would you like to pour?’
Kathleen jumped to her feet as Sister Assumpta smiled at her. It was a brittle and fixed smile, exuding no warmth.
‘Thank ye, Reverend Mother,’ said Kathleen.
As she stood, Nellie pulled on the back of her coat. Kathleen turned round and knew the look on Nellie’s face.
‘Mother, could Nellie here please use the bathroom? She has been desperate for some time now, haven’t ye, Nellie?’
A look of displeasure crossed Sister Assumpta’s face.
Oh God, please don’t say no, thought Nellie, who was sure that if she had to wait much longer, she might wet herself.
Maeve had plied her with tea in the morning and now she regretted it.
Sister Assumpta rang a bell on her desk and then put it straight back down again.
‘Sister Celia will have returned to the kitchen by now. Come with me,’ she said brusquely to Nellie as she rose and opened the door. ‘See, down at the end of the floor runner,’ she pointed, ‘there is a corridor to the right.’
Nellie nodded.
‘Turn right there, it is a short corridor and the washrooms are at the end. Be quick now and do not talk to anyone, that is forbidden, do you understand?’
She had pulled the door almost shut behind them and stood with her hand on the brass knob. Nellie instinctively knew she was making sure the others couldn’t hear. Her manner was now far from friendly and her look was cold.
‘Walk on the floor, not the runner,’ she hissed under her breath.
‘Thank you, Reverend Mother,’ said Nellie and she began to quickly walk down the corridor. As she looked back over her shoulder, she saw the last of the nun’s habit sweeping across the wooden floor as she glided back into the room.
There was no one in the corridor and not a sound other than that made by Nellie’s shoes on the floor as she walked alongside the Persian runner.
As she turned into the corridor on the right, the opulence of the main corridor instantly disappeared. The walls were painted an aquamarine blue and the only ornamentation was that of grottos to the Holy Mother, placed at regular intervals, and pictures of Our Lord, carrying his cross on the final stations.
Ahead was an opening leading on to a brown-tiled floor. Nellie tentatively stepped inside and looked around. She saw washbasins to her left and cubicle doors to her right.
Nellie felt as though she were not alone and yet she could see no one else. All the cubicle doors were closed. She bent slightly to look underneath, but there were no feet on the other side of any of them. Nellie cautiously opened the first cubicle door and jumped in alarm as she let out a startled yelp. Behind the door, crouched on top of the toilet seat, was a young girl with her fingers to her mouth.
She whispered, ‘Sh, please God, please don’t make a noise. I need ye to help me, please.’
Nellie, already older than her years, let out a deep breath as she looked at the girl. She instantly noticed her unusual dark hair, which was roughly cut and very short, like that of a boy. Her brown eyes were huge as she stared at Nellie, all but begging her as they threatened to overspill with tears.
Nellie whispered, ‘All right then, please don’t cry,’ as she stepped inside and, with great seriousness, slid the bolt across on the cubicle door behind her.
As she did so, she stared at the toilet door for just a second before turning round.
Nellie knew she was special. She had known for a long time. It wasn’t just that she didn’t know anyone else whose mother had died in childbirth, or even that from time to time she saw her ghostly mother. It was simply her life. She was different. Things happened to Nellie.
‘Can ye help me, please?’ the girl pleaded.
Nellie turned round to face her.
‘What can I do? What’s wrong?’ said Nellie.
‘I came here to have my babby five years ago. My daddy died while I was in here and my mammy can’t pay to get me out. She knocks at the door every day and they don’t even let her in. They just send her away. I see her from the window and for months I didn’t even know she was trying, I thought she had forgotten about me. I have to get to Dublin. Can ye please help?’
‘How did you know we were here?’ said Nellie.
The girl was whispering hurriedly as she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.
‘I was cleaning the floor in the hall when the lady with the silver hair came to visit. I heard her say she was coming back today and so I thought I would clean the toilets and hide in a cubicle in case anyone came. If they find me, I will be punished so bad.’
Her panic mounted as she spoke the last few words and she began to cry again in a way that was so heartbroken it grabbed Nellie’s heart.
‘We are travelling to Dublin straight from here, but I don’t know how we would get ye away.’
And then suddenly, the tarpaulin came into Nellie’s mind.
‘If ye can get to the front, can ye get under the tarpaulin on the truck?’
The girl began to laugh and cry at the same time.
‘I can, oh God, thank ye. The last time I got away, I waved down a car on the road and it was the priest who stopped and brought me back. I was so desperate. I will go round the back and I will crawl out from behind the bin in front of the truck, if ye can help me.’
‘I can and I will,’ said Nellie. ‘But before I do, what is your name?’
‘It’s Besmina.’ Besmina grinned at Nellie.
‘Before I go, Besmina, I have to use that toilet.’
Kathleen had poured the tea and handed a cup to Liam, Kitty and Maura. Kitty noticed how Sister Assumpta looked straight at her with an expression of astonishment when Kathleen handed Kitty the tea. Maybe Kitty wasn’t supposed to have any tea. Maybe the tea was just for the adults. For an awkward moment the atmosphere froze, as Kathleen and Maura had exactly the same thought.
‘So, Cissy.’
Kitty stared at her tea.
‘Cissy,’ the voice boomed.
Kitty’s head shot up. ‘Yes, Reverend Mother.’
‘You will be sharing a room with eleven other girls and working in the laundry until the day of your confinement. You will rise at five in
the summer and five-thirty in the winter. First mass is at six and then we take breakfast each day, during which one girl takes the readings. Can you read, Cissy?’
Maura and Kathleen tried not to look shocked.
‘Yes, I do, Reverend Mother,’ said Kitty quietly.
‘She reads very well, in fact,’ said Maura, feeling her hackles rise. ‘As soon as she comes home, she will be continuing with her education.’
Sister Assumpta gave a small, almost imperceptible snort.
‘I’m quite certain she will, Mrs Doherty. It’s a shame her education ever had to be broken, some would say.’
Sister Assumpta was now wearing her small reading glasses and shuffling papers around on her desk.
‘However, we are where we are. Many girls who end up here can neither read nor write.’
As she spoke, she peered over the top of her glasses at Maura. Her look was almost provocative. Tempting Maura to talk more. Testing her.
Kathleen jumped in quickly before Maura could. ‘Will it be possible to speak on the telephone on occasion, Reverend Mother?’
There was no time wasted in the delivery of a response.
‘No, it will not. We run an abbey and a workplace here, Mrs Deane. We reject, wherever possible, interference from the outside world. We seek peace and quiet in which to worship Our Lord and honour our total obedience. Telephones are a distraction from prayer.’
As she spoke, both Maura and Kathleen stared at the black Bakelite phone on her desk.
Sister Assumpta continued. ‘The girls have three meals per day and two hours off after lunch each afternoon, for the nursery, recreation and devotion. Bedtime is at nine o’clock. Do you have any other questions?’
The words ‘if you dare’ hovered in the air.
Kathleen and Maura were silent.
Sister Assumpta looked over her glasses at them both. They could only just define her facial features against the bright light.
When neither replied, she lifted up a paperweight from the desk.
‘I have the adoption papers here for you to sign, Mrs Deane. We usually keep the babies until they are three years of age. However, in this case, upon the request of such an eminent midwife, we have agreed to arrange for the baby to be adopted almost immediately. We have many American couples desperate to provide a child with a good Catholic upbringing along with letters of recommendation from our priest, Father Michael, from the church of the Blessed Sacrament in Chicago. He arranges everything at the American end. This way, Mrs Deane, ye can be sure that the paths of the child and yourself never cross.’
Hide Her Name Page 24