The Magdalen Girls

by V. S. Alexander

  “What is it?” she asked, irritated by the interruption of her sleep.

  Lea sat on the edge of the bed. “Something’s happened to Nora. Something bad.”

  If she had been anywhere else but the convent, Teagan would have laughed, but her intuition told her she should pay attention to what her friend was saying. “What?” She pulled the covers up to her neck.

  “Something she’ll regret.”

  Teagan scoffed. “You don’t have to be a fortune-teller to know that. She’s in a load of trouble. There’ll be hell to pay if she gets caught.” She withdrew her arm from under the covers and pointed at her. “You’re paying too much attention to hocus-pocus—with the tarot cards, seeing things at night. I’m beginning to think you are daft.”

  Lea put her hand on Teagan’s shoulder. It was warm on the cold night. “I’m not mad. I have a gift. I’ve had it all my life. My mother, God rest her soul, passed it on to me. My stepfather didn’t understand my power. He wouldn’t let me use it.”

  “Now you’re talking nonsense.”

  Lea bent over and a shaft of light cut across her eyes. The effect made her look as if she were in a 1940s detective movie.

  “I saw it again last night,” Lea said. “This time I knew it was real.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Sisters Anne, Mary-Elizabeth, and Ruth. I couldn’t see the faces of the other nuns, they were in shadow. Mr. Roche was digging a hole. It was small and they placed something, wrapped in white, inside it. Mr. Roche took off his hat and Sister Anne and the others dropped to their knees and prayed. Then they covered the ground with fresh sod.”

  A shiver skittered over Teagan and the hair rose on her arms. “What are you saying?”

  “They’re burying things in the corner. The same plot where I’ve seen Jesus, where I know spirits live. The nuns have been out there with Mr. Roche. I’ve seen them at least five times. At first, I wasn’t sure of what I was seeing, but now I know why these visions come to me, and why I keep staring at the grass. Spirits live there—all holy.”

  Teagan sat up. “You’re telling me that Sister Anne and the others are burying ‘things’ on the grounds and no one knows about it?”

  “Yes.” Lea lifted her head and the light fell across her mouth. Her lips were firm and straight with determination.

  “Well, it’s probably not gold or treasure, and it can’t be adults,” Teagan said. “Sister Anne isn’t the kindest person in the world, but I don’t think it’s black magic. This isn’t some satanic ritual. If they’re small and wrapped in white . . . they’re burying . . . children. What else could it be?”

  Lea nodded. “I knew it inside, but I didn’t want to accept it because it’s so horrible. I wanted to rid my mind of what I saw. It makes me cry—all those poor babies buried in a mass grave without so much as a headstone or a cross. No church burial. Nothing but the cold earth. That’s why Jesus is there—to give them comfort.”

  Teagan lay back, suddenly heavy and tired. Lea’s admission had exhausted her with grief. “It’s late. Let’s try to get some sleep before we have to get up.”

  Lea rose from the bed. “What do you think we should do?”

  Teagan grabbed her arm before she got away. She was concerned that her friend’s revelation might go too far and cause all the Magdalens a great deal of grief. “I’m glad you told me, Lea, but let’s keep this to ourselves. I’d rather no one else knows about this for the time being.”

  Lea lifted a finger to her lips and slipped into bed without a sound.

  Teagan turned over and looked out into the dark. She couldn’t see the southwest corner Lea spoke of, but she knew where it was. If she got out of bed and stood in front of the window, she would be able to see it. The world outside was cold, uninviting in the fall, and she thought about the babies, buried under the damp earth. In the winter, their unmarked graves would be covered by frost and snow, in the spring and summer by wildflowers and fresh grass, and in the fall by yellow oak leaves. No one would ever know what rested under the ground. Except the nuns.

  She stared out the window, hoping to fall asleep, but rest did not come easy. A few stars shone brightly enough to be seen. How far away were they? Did the planets that circled them hold beings who suffered as much as earthlings? Speculating on such thoughts was foolish. She closed her eyes and imagined a letter she would write to the Pope asking for her release. She hadn’t harmed anyone; she had been sent to the Sisters by a vengeful priest. And if those words did no good, perhaps she would have to describe a plot of ground that held the bodies of many innocent children. Perhaps the Pope would be interested in knowing what horrific events had occurred at the convent of The Sisters of the Holy Redemption. Perhaps he would send someone to investigate.

  * * *

  Nora learned his name was Sean Barry and he’d been a member of the Guards for two years. She’d found this out when he’d dropped her off at his one-room Ballybough flat after midnight. He still had several hours to go on his shift, and then he would need to go to the station to check in. He told her to take a shower and make herself at home. “Whatever you do,” he said, “don’t go out.” Mrs. Mullen, the landlady, he explained, was a force to be reckoned with and did not take kindly to girls being entertained by single young men. “I worked too feckin’ hard to get this place, and I don’t want to be down and out.”

  Nora promised to do as he said.

  “Help yourself to whatever’s in the icebox.” He left her alone.

  The flat, if you could call it that, was a bit ragged, but it was warm with a comfortable bed in the middle. The blinds were pulled on the lone window that looked out on the road. A shower, sink, and toilet were tucked behind a blue curtain off to one side. A hot plate and tiny refrigerator rested on a counter across the room. A battered old television with a bent silver antenna sat on a cheap metal stand near the window. The only other piece of furniture was an overstuffed armchair with shirts and trousers tossed on it.

  Nora took off the clothes she had been given at the shelter and threw them on the bed. She stood in her bra and panties and felt self-conscious about being nearly naked in a man’s flat. But what difference did it make after what she had done to save herself from being sent back to the convent?

  She stripped and fled to the shower. Cold air smacked against her skin. The steam heating pipes hissed across the room. Some of the stall tiles were missing, and a ring of black mold circled the drain. Sean’s housekeeping habits were of little concern to her, although her mother would never have let her family live this way. She turned on the hot water and luxuriated in its warmth as it streamed down her body. She took his soap and shampoo and showered thoroughly. Even though it wasn’t as nice as her bath at home, this old shower was much nicer than the one at the convent. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth,” her mother had told her repeatedly. She now understood what that old adage meant.

  The hot water ran out. She stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel hanging from the rack. The small oval mirror above the sink was fogged. She rubbed her fingers over it, and before it clouded over again, she caught a quick glimpse of herself—a girl with short black hair and heavy eyes who looked much older than she should.

  She slipped back into her bra and panties and crawled into bed.

  Sean awakened her several hours later with a kiss on her forehead. He slipped out of his uniform and snuggled his lean body against hers. They had sex twice before they fell into a deep sleep.

  In the afternoon, they woke up together. Nora fried potatoes and a cut of beef, and they ate together on the bed, watching television. They didn’t talk much. The situation reminded her of her parents when they would eat out of the kitchen. She and Sean had gotten so intimate, so comfortable, in so short a time, yet she hardly knew him. Was this what growing up, finding a man to marry, was like? The circumstances seemed odd, off-kilter, because the specter of the Sisters hung over her like the Holy Ghost, prodding and poking at her conscience.

  After they ate, Se
an showered and dressed for work.

  She watched him put on his uniform and asked, “What did you tell them at the station?”

  “About what?”

  Nora shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “About me?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I said I didn’t find no woman.” He tossed her a pack of cigarettes. “I bought these for yeh. Amuse yerself while I’m gone, but don’t smoke them all. Fags are expensive.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Stay easy. Make yerself pretty for me, so when I come home we can tear up the bed.”

  She pulled a cigarette from the pack. “Thanks. How long is this supposed to last before I go crazy, or you decide to toss me out?”

  He put on his hat and gathered his coat from the chair. “As long as it lasts—as long as it works. I’m a good man, trying to do a girl a favor.” He put his hand on the doorknob and then stopped. “Yeh can leave anytime, but where would yeh go?” He opened the door and stepped into the dark. She heard the bolt fall into place.

  He was right. There was no place to go until she figured out what to do.

  * * *

  For two nights, she sat on the bed, watching the telly and smoking cigarettes. She finished the Gauloises Lea had given her and part of Sean’s pack. Occasionally, she took a nip from a bottle of Irish whiskey he had tucked under the counter. The sex was okay, but the isolation of another prison was getting on her nerves. She found herself checking the locked door, counting the cracks in the plaster, cleaning the bathroom and the hot plate, hoping for a jaunt in the daylight.

  On the third night, she walked to the blinds and peered out. The drizzly weather of the past few days had ended; the sky looked black and clear above. The window glass felt cold on her fingertips. She thought about what she wanted to do. She turned off the lights and quickly raised the blind. No one was out except a black cat who sat licking itself on a trash bin across the road. Sean had good maps of the city and she knew where she was. The flat was only a fifteen-minute walk from Pearse’s.

  She tested the window lock, and it opened without any trouble. There was no screen, nothing to get in her way if she decided to leave. She lowered the blind, sat on the bed in the dark pondering her fate. Sean wouldn’t be home for hours. She could leave the window unlocked, go out, come back, and he would never know. At least, that’s what she hoped. She didn’t think he was a violent man, but he had warned her not to leave.

  Sitting was driving her mad. Nora put on her blue dress and bundled up in the gabardine coat. In a few minutes, she was walking among the few people on the road. She passed a store with a tall case clock in the window. It was about ten minutes after eight. Most everyone was home eating dinner, or at the pub knocking back a pint. A cold wind from the northwest stung her face. As she got closer to her destination, the shops, the roads themselves took on a familiar look. Still, the neighborhood seemed strange, different. She wondered again if it was she who had changed and not the surroundings.

  She came to the whitewashed door with the brass number 17 tacked onto it. She lifted her hand to knock. He heart thumped so hard she could hear it in her ears, feel its frantic beat in her chest. The same sensation had filled her when she had knocked on her parents’ door a few days before. Would Pearse have the same reaction? What if he slammed the door in her face and refused to talk? Why would he have anything to do with her? What would she do, walk away? The whole idea was crazy. Still, if she thought about it, he was the one who had gotten her into this mess by not taking her away. If only she hadn’t thrown herself at him, and instead let things work out naturally. Maybe there was still a chance that Pearse would do what she wanted. Was there no way out of this horror? She would never know unless she tried.

  She took a deep breath, tightened the muscles in her face, masking her fear, and knocked on the door.

  Someone was at home. A television blared in the background—a British comedian’s jokes and audience laughter echoed in the room. She knocked again, this time louder.

  The door opened a crack and a young woman peered around its edge. “Yes?” was all she said.

  Nora took a step back.

  The woman opened it a bit more. She was pretty, but looked tired with purple half circles under her eyes. Her hair was sandy red, the color of a fall sunset, and fell loosely about her shoulders. She wore blue jeans and a large men’s shirt. When she opened the door fully, Nora saw why she wore the white shirt. The woman was pregnant.

  The sight took her breath away. She forced the question out “Is . . . is . . . Pearse here?”

  “Who wants to know?” the woman asked.

  “I’m . . . an old friend.”

  “He’s working late at the garage. I’ll tell him you called. What’s your name?”

  She said the first name that came into her head. “Monica.”

  “Monica?” The woman, narrowing her gaze, stepped back behind the door. “He’s never mentioned a woman named Monica. I know he had girlfriends before me. I’m his wife.”

  Nora stared at the woman, unsure what to say. After a few uncomfortable moments, she backed away. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  The door closed and she was alone on the road again. It figures, she thought. Every door closes in my face. The bastard deserted me and married the woman he met at the pub. She’s the one who took him away! I hope to God he didn’t talk about me so much she recognized me!

  She hurried back to Sean’s. The flat was dark. She opened the window, crawled through, and locked it behind her. She fell on the bed, with her clothes on, and cried. She had never felt so alone in her life. Only Sean could keep her away from the Sisters. There was nothing else to do.

  * * *

  Sean had the night off two days later. Something seemed to be troubling him, but Nora couldn’t tell what it was. She asked, but he shrugged off her questions.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” he told her after tea. “It’ll do us both good to get out of the house.”

  She agreed—it was the first time he had suggested they go out together. He put on his jacket while she grabbed her coat. She was still wearing the same blue dress she’d gotten from the shelter because she owned nothing else in the world.

  They walked to the east, in an area that Nora hadn’t been in before. She tried to start a conversation—about where they were walking—but Sean only shook his head and grunted, “I don’t know.” He was in no mood to talk.

  When they rounded a corner, Nora saw a man standing in a derelict doorway about halfway down the road. His right leg was casually bent, his heel propped against a brick wall. He saw them coming and lit a cigarette. The flash lit his face and she recognized Pearse. He looked more grown-up than she remembered. His black hair was slicked back, but his face was harder, his frame heavier than before. He wore a leather jacket over a white T-shirt and jeans.

  She turned on her heels, ready to run, but Sean grabbed her arm and dragged her along the footpath toward the door. Pearse smiled as she struggled against him.

  “I’ll take over from here, boyo,” Pearse said.

  “Thanks,” Sean said, and pushed her toward Pearse.

  “Let me go!” Nora thought about calling out for the Guards, but that would achieve nothing. She was already in the custody of a man who could deny everything she said.

  “Men have to stick together,” Pearse said, and took hold of her arm. “When you have a woman like this—”

  Nora slapped Pearse as hard as she could. His head swiveled from the force of the blow. Pearse lifted a fist, but Sean held him back.

  “Remember what we agreed to, boyo,” Sean said. “No rough stuff. She’ll have enough to deal with when she gets back to the Sisters.”

  “I’ll make sure of that.” Pearse rubbed his jaw with his free hand.

  “She left you with a going-away present,” Sean said. “Four fingerprints on your cheek.”

  “I hope you got what you wanted.” Pearse puffed out a little. “She wanted it from me, but
didn’t get it.”

  “Yeah, fine,” Sean said. “I’m off now. Yeh’ll make sure she gets delivered?”

  Pearse nodded.

  Sean walked a few steps, but then turned back to Nora. “I can’t believe yeh took advantage of me. Ate me food, drank me whiskey, smoked me fags. Yeh lied about yer age. A man can get in big trouble for that.” He stalked off, leaving her alone with Pearse.

  “Want a fag?” Pearse fumbled with his jacket. “Maybe your last?”

  “Yes.”

  He struggled to hold on to her and take a cigarette from his pocket. “I’ll let you go, if you promise not to run.”

  Nora sighed. “I won’t run. Where am I going to go? I don’t even know where we are.”

  Pearse offered her the cigarette. “I can outrun you anyway, even if I’ve put on a stone.”

  Nora backed up to the door, which led to an abandoned secondhand furniture store. A broken table, a few old chairs still stood in the grimy windows on either side of them. She felt like the furniture—used, discarded, unable to do much of anything except rot.

  “So your wife ratted on me.”

  Pearse took a drag on his cigarette. “How could you be so stupid? I married her after you left. Did you think I was going to desert my pregnant wife for a brasser, for a rock ’n’ roll, just because you’d come back? I’d have to be off me nut. Your da did me a favor.”

  “I thought I loved you,” Nora said. “Now I see who you really are.”

  “You only wanted to get out of Ballybough.” Pearse stomped out his cigarette on the footpath and looked at his watch. “They should be along any minute now.”

  “Who?”

  “The Sisters.”

  Nora inhaled and then puffed the smoke in his face. “I’ll get out again, and when I do, I’m not coming back. As far as I’m concerned you’re all dead.” She shoved her back against the door to keep from shaking.

  “When me wife told me, I knew it was you. I went straight to the Guards and found out you were missing. My inquiry got back to Sean. He was more than willing to let you go when he found out how old you really are.” He stood in front of her. “My God, Nora, how far will you stoop to have a man?”