The Magdalen Girls

by V. S. Alexander

  “Oh, all right.” Her eyes were drawn to the fourth card on her right. She picked it up and turned it over. Lea shone the light on the card. It showed a regal woman sitting on a throne. In one hand, she held a gold scepter.

  “The Empress,” Lea said solemnly. “A trump card in the Major Arcana.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “You’re going to get pregnant.”

  Teagan resisted the urge to scream. “Pregnant?” she asked in a voice as soft as she could make it. A sudden heaviness wrapped around her legs and groin.

  “The Empress is the nurturer, the mother of all creation.”

  “I suppose that means I’m getting out of here. That’s the only good thing.”

  “It’s a good card,” Lea said. “It means you will have a long and fruitful life.”

  Teagan took the card and studied it. The woman looked royal, a Mona Lisa smile on her face. “Lea, this is silly. I don’t believe in this stuff.”

  Lea held the light up to her face and blinked. “Then don’t. But the cards never lie. I’ll draw a card for Nora.”

  The mention of the Nora’s name made Teagan shudder.

  Lea took the seven cards, shuffled them, and placed them on the bed. She rubbed her long fingers in circles over them and picked one. It was The Empress again. “How odd,” she said. “Nora will have a family, too.”

  “I’m happy for that,” Teagan said. “It means Nora and I will both escape this horrid place.” She wondered where Nora was and hoped that her friend would remember their promise to help each other escape. How glorious it would be to live out their lives free from the Sisters.

  Lea returned the card to the six others, shuffled them again, and hesitated. “Now I’ll draw.” She placed the cards on the bed, spread her fingers wide across them, and mouthed a few words Teagan couldn’t understand. She picked the card at the right end and lifted it so only she could see it.

  “Well?” Teagan asked, eager to find out what Lea had picked.

  Lea dropped the card between them and shone the light on it. It was The Hanged Man, a figure suspended upside down by his feet from a tree branch.

  “It looks frightful,” Teagan said. “I hope it’s nothing bad.”

  “It’s not the death card.” The sparkle disappeared from her large eyes. “You can interpret it two ways. It may mean I’m happy just where I am, my life is ‘suspended.’ Or it could be a card of . . .” She turned it over and returned it to the deck.

  “What?”

  A frown spread across Lea’s face, its darkness settling upon her like a weight.

  “Sacrifice . . . martyrdom.” Lea gathered the cards and placed them in the pack. “I think you should go back to your bed.”

  Teagan wanted to soothe her. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that. Anyway, I don’t believe in these cards. It’s silly stuff for children.”

  Lea turned off the penlight and their makeshift cavern went black. She lifted the blanket and cold air rushed in. Teagan shivered and made her way out of Lea’s bed.

  She lay in her own for a long time, cocooning the blanket around her. She was too cold and then too hot. The images on the tarot cards lingered in her head, especially The Hanged Man. She wondered what it meant for Lea, and then she shook her head, thinking how silly it was to believe that a card could predict your life.

  She wondered how Nora had escaped. Had she climbed over the wall? That would have been too dangerous, and surely someone would have seen her. How had she done it? Had she slipped out a door or hidden in a laundry bag? She clutched the side of the bed until her burnt palm hurt. Damn. Damn her to hell. She rarely used curse words, because her mother had told her that only the “lower classes” used them, but she found herself berating the Mother Superior and Nora. Her friend had deserted her like a traitor, and not only she, but all the Magdalens had paid the price. However, when she considered what her friend had gone through to escape, she admired her courage. Nora had taken a chance and succeeded. Most likely, she would have done the same.

  She dabbed at her eyes with her sheet. She couldn’t beat her fists against the wall or slam a pillow on the bed because she would wake up the others. There would be hell to pay.

  She remembered her vow to write to Father Matthew, or maybe even the Pope, to tell her side of the story. What sin, what transgression had she committed? Someone in the Church had to believe her. She would make them believe it! She forced herself to relax and released her grip from the bed. Her respite was short-lived, however, and her body soon succumbed to tension.

  She pondered a question: What good will it do to mail any letters?

  And then a more disturbing thought struck her. Who would mail them for me?

  CHAPTER 9

  The taxi dropped Nora several blocks away from her home. The driver, uninterested in Ballybough, collected his fare, wished her a good evening, and sped off, the exhaust twirling in the cold air.

  She stood looking at the row houses that had been part of her neighborhood for as long as she could remember. Her time at the convent had twisted her perception. It seemed so long since she’d been gone, yet it had only been a few months. The doorways, the cars, even the garbage bins were the same, but the view felt different, somehow distorted as if seen through a lens.

  The road lamps came on as dusk fell. Drizzle fell in white drops through the light. She pulled up her collar and kept it close to her face. She didn’t want anyone she knew to recognize her. That chance was too likely. At one point, she even ducked into an alley to avoid a woman who lived down the road from her parents. She was glad she had eaten, because going into a shop was too risky.

  The cold kept the roads quiet for the most part. She walked for an hour, smoking a few cigarettes, and then stood under a lamp, staring at the door she knew so well. The droplets on her coat reflected the light like tiny, sparkling diamonds.

  My old home. It seemed like years had passed since July. A turbulent well of emotions bubbled inside her. Her insides tensed, yet a strange sense of relief came with the knowledge that she at least had a chance to talk to her parents. She swiped at her eyes, her wet fingers cold against her cheek.

  She wondered what to say, what to expect, after she had gathered enough courage to knock on the door. The anger she directed toward her parents dissipated with her anxiety. She had vowed to kill her father for what he had done. But reality was different. How could she confront them—possibly anger her parents—when they were all she had? Perhaps it would be best to beg for mercy. If they would accept her apology, she could start over again.

  What had she done to deserve this punishment? She had gone over the question a thousand times since her father had dropped her off at the convent. It came back to her again and again. Maybe it didn’t matter, but standing under the lamp, she took an inventory of her sins. She had been vain, thrown herself at Pearse and fantasized about him and a few other boys. She hadn’t always been kind to her father and mother. She avoided housework and didn’t study as much as she should. Was she so different from other girls? Didn’t they think about boys, and wonder what it would be like to hold them and kiss them and someday make love? Perhaps her major sin was pride. She thought she was better than her parents, better than the neighborhood, even better than calling Ireland her home when it came down to it. Her parents couldn’t abide that sin. Pride. It had gone before her fall.

  She walked to the door, lifted her hand to knock, and then stopped. Her fingers, suddenly heavy, froze a few inches from the wood. A combination of exhaustion and despair fell upon her and she gasped for breath. Shivering, wet, cold, she forced her fist to the door. With each knock she gained a bit of strength.

  A light flashed deep behind the closed living room blinds. From where it was situated, she knew it came from her parents’ bedroom. A grumble filled the small house. Then she heard her father’s rough voice. “Hold your horses, for God’s sake. Can’t a man rest?”

  The door yanked open, spilling the light upon her
and the walk. He stared, taking her in from top to bottom and his mouth opened. No words came out.

  “Gordon, who is it?” Her mother appeared in the bedroom door wrapped in her heavy green bathrobe.

  “Da,” Nora said. “Please let me in.” For the first time, she wondered if she had made a mistake.

  “How did yeh get here?” he asked.

  Her mother took a few steps, and then, recognizing Nora, covered her mouth with her hands.

  “I ran away.”

  “Our daughter is dead.” He slammed the door.

  The force knocked her back on her feet. “Oh my God,” she whispered. Her anger kicked in. She hadn’t come this far, taken this risk, to be stopped. He hadn’t even listened to her. She needed to get inside to—what? What did she want to tell them—apologize and ask them to take her back? She’d be a good girl and do everything they demanded. If they would only listen, she could convince them she had changed. She never wanted to be sent away again.

  She pounded on the door. The last knock faded.

  Her father yanked the door open again. This time a blistering rage covered his face. He spit at her. “Go away, whoever yeh are. Didn’t yeh hear me? Me daughter is dead.”

  “Da, please listen.” She thrust out her arms. “I’ve changed. I’ll never cross you and Ma again. I promise. Please let me come inside.” She stepped toward him.

  His hand rocketed toward her. It struck hard against her left cheek and sent her reeling onto the sidewalk. She landed on her rear with a plunk.

  The door slammed again.

  Behind it, her father shouted, “Go away. Our daughter is dead. I’m calling the Guards.” She could hear her mother yelling, as well, indistinguishable beyond the door, her strangled voice filled with hostility.

  She pulled herself up and rubbed her bottom. Her cheek stung as if little needles had been poked into it.

  Her father lifted a slat on the blinds and swore at her again. The slat dropped and the house went dark. She knew her father would call the Guards.

  She hadn’t prepared herself for their reaction. She had wanted to believe that her parents would listen to her, even welcome her into the house. Stupid. Whom could she turn to? Pearse? He lived a few blocks away. Maybe she could convince him to come to the door, at least talk to her, but after this confrontation she wasn’t prepared for another. Cold. A cup of tea would do her good.

  She hobbled down the road, to the east. Soon, houses would be decorated for Christmas and families would gather to celebrate. There would be lights and song and parties to break the dark. Her home was dead. She strode toward Pearse’s flat, despondent that she would never be part of her parents’ lives again and angry that she was alone.

  He has to let me in. After all, he caused all this trouble in the first place. If he’d taken me to Cork like he promised, I wouldn’t be in this mess. She would show Pearse what a mistake it had been to desert her.

  She slowed as she came near to a row of homes much like her parents. Everything was cold, black and gray. Headlights flashed behind her and she shifted to a casual walk, to allay suspicion. She didn’t dare look back. Her body shifted from anger to anxiety as a chilly fear encased her. The car rolled up beside her, traveling even with her, disappearing and reappearing between the autos parked on the road. She spotted the blue panel on its side and knew immediately it was a Guard’s vehicle.

  The car sped up to an empty space ahead and pulled over. The Guard rolled down his window and peered out. “Get inside.”

  Nora stopped, leaned toward the officer, and smiled. Maybe he would leave her alone if she cooperated. “What’s wrong?” Her nerves, tightly strung, sang in her head.

  “You might be who I’m looking for. We got a call about a woman trying to get into a house. A man reported his daughter should be taken back to The Sisters of the Holy Redemption, where she’s been living for several months. That’s a long way from here. Do you know anything about that?”

  Nora shook her head.

  “I think you do, so why don’t you get in the car and it’ll save me the trouble of getting me shoes wet.”

  It was no use. Her father had called the Guards and they had her now. She dropped the smile and studied the officer. He was young, raven-haired under his cap, with a strong chin and intense eyes that scrutinized her under thick black brows. She could do worse than this man, she thought.

  “Crawl in the passenger seat,” he ordered. “Lucky I dropped me partner off an hour ago. He’s got a divil of a cold. Won’t be out tomorrow, neither.”

  Nora stepped into the road, around the car. She opened the door and slid inside. The warm air from the heater blew under her coat, knocking the chill from her legs.

  “So, are yeh Nora Craven?” He knocked a cigarette from a pack with his knuckles and lit it. A smoky haze filled the interior.

  Relishing the smoke, she breathed in deeply. She leaned toward the officer and asked, “Do you mind if I have a fag?” Why use her own?

  He tipped his cap back and shook his head. He knocked another cigarette out, handed it to her, and opened his lighter. When he did, she cupped her hand around his.

  She sat for a moment, enjoying the pleasure of the cigarette. It occurred to her that she could lie, but she knew the Guard would be smart enough to take her to the station and question her there. A quick call to The Sisters of the Holy Redemption would reveal the truth. In no time at all, she would be back, facing the wrath of the Mother Superior. On the other hand, she could relax with the officer, maybe even have a little fun before being returned to her holy prison sentence. Why not?

  “Would you believe that I’m eighteen and my name is Molly Malone?”

  The officer laughed. “Yer dress isn’t cut as low as hers is, I wager.”

  “No.” The heat was rising in the car. Nora opened her coat and exposed her plain blue dress. She hoped the officer would take note of the ample curves under her less-than-sexy outfit.

  The Guard smiled. “How old are yeh?”

  “Eighteen. Just turned.” One lie led to another. She would turn seventeen in February, but the way her life was going she didn’t care if she told a little white one. Everyone thinks I’m a slut anyway. Isn’t that why they sent me away? Because I’m a tramp?

  “Yeh look older,” he said, “maybe twenty-one.”

  “If I were with anyone else, I’d slap them. You never tell a woman she looks older than she is.” She wondered if he was right. Maybe her time with the Sisters had done something awful to her face, or maybe it was her cropped hair. She hadn’t time to think about such details.

  “Gordon Craven said his daughter is a Magdalen. I’ve heard of them before. We took a couple of them back to a convent about a year ago. They were bad girls. Always looking for the thing that made their families send them away. Are yeh like that?” He took off his cap and placed it in the seat between them. His raven hair, wavy and full, came into view.

  She looked down at his left hand. There was no ring on his finger.

  She nodded and immediately felt sad. She knew what the Guard was after. Maybe if she let him have his way, she could convince him to let her go. Then she could find Pearse.

  How stupid! Pearse wouldn’t want me if I have sex with another man. I know it. Oh, what’s the use! He’ll never want me—I’m damaged goods.

  The Guard threw his cigarette out the window, pulled the car away from the curb, and headed southeast. At first, she thought he was taking her to the station, but as they drove farther away from Ballybough, past the Royal Canal and then on to Dublin Port she began to worry. The radio crackled and he picked up the microphone. “No sign of her,” he reported. “Still looking. Broadening the search.” He signed off.

  He seemed to know where he was going. Nora rolled down the window and threw out her cigarette. The car passed rows of brick warehouses on deserted dismal roads. Fog lowered its misty hood over the lamps and hung on the tops of buildings like wet gauze. The officer slowed at a dull road and pulled in
between two parallel rows of trucks near a wharf.

  He stopped the car and turned off the lights. The dashboard still emitted a feeble glow. He slid closer to her and placed his arm over her shoulder.

  “What would yeh do to keep from going back to that awful place?” He looked into her eyes.

  Sex was not supposed to be this way. She had no illusions about a white gown, a perfect wedding, and a blissful honeymoon night with her new husband. However, intercourse in a Guard car at a deserted quay wasn’t the picture she had imagined for an ideal first time. The Guard was right. The convent was an awful place and she didn’t want to go back, but was it worth the cost? Her eyes clouded over as she thought about the choice she had to make. Was it really a choice? Her parents considered her dead. She had no one to turn to. A man was offering her a bit of solace in exchange for pleasure. What could be wrong with that? As far as she was concerned, she had no other plan for the future. The voice inside her head screamed: I’ll get even with them for throwing me out!

  She took a deep breath. “Almost anything.”

  “Good.” He unbuckled his belt. Nora turned her eyes away when she heard the zipper crackle. “Want another cigarette?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe later.”

  “Okay.” His hand moved to the top of her head, forcing her face downward.

  She surrendered any resistance and the world turned black.

  * * *

  Someone shook Teagan’s shoulders, waking her from a sound sleep. She was too comfortable under the covers to move.

  “Wake up,” the voice insisted.

  She recognized it as Lea’s and said, “Go away.” She opened one sleepy eye and gazed toward the cold and vacant window. As far as she could tell, dawn was many hours away. She had no idea what time it was.

  Lea shook her again. “I have to talk to you.”

  Teagan rolled over under the comfortable warmth of her blanket, rose up on her elbows, and tried to make out her friend’s face in the dark. Only the lamplight from the far ends of the grounds traced into the room. The garret was brighter now that it was winter. In the summer and fall the light was obscured by oak leaves.