The Magdalen Girls

by V. S. Alexander

  Sister Ruth was finishing up. Time was running short.

  “Remember. Not a soul.” She blew a kiss and hurried back to her station.

  The young man stuffed the letters in his back pocket and waited for his boss. As he was leaving, the young man looked back and grinned. The two disappeared into the van. Teagan hoped she had made the right decision, but as with all of her actions these days, she had little choice.

  * * *

  At tea and evening prayers, Teagan asked God’s forgiveness for what she had done. She had acted like a tease and lied to the young man. If He listened, she hoped God would forgive her. She’d worry about the boy later. Her prayers were sincere, the most they had been in months. Perhaps the Creator had better things to do, bigger problems to tackle, than to pay attention to a penitent at The Sisters of the Holy Redemption. After all, in October, the world had teetered on the brink of nuclear war when the United States and the Soviet Union sparred over missile bases in Cuba. Even the nuns had prayed for peace.

  That night, after lights-out, she talked quietly to Lea about what she had done—how she had written the letters to the Pope and Father Matthew and asked the young deliveryman to mail them.

  “I even offered him favors,” she said, thinking her words would shock Lea.

  Her friend seemed unconcerned. “It happens all the time. The country boys always wanted something from me. When they were young they saw what animals did. They wanted to experience it, too. It was natural they should be so curious. I told them no—I was keeping myself a virgin for God and the Saints. All I had to say was ‘God and the Saints’ and they kept their hands to themselves. My stepfather would have murdered them if he’d found out what they were looking for.”

  Teagan laughed too loudly and Lea shushed her. Her friend put a finger to her ear and ducked under the covers. Teagan did the same when she heard the footsteps in the hall.

  The door creaked open and a shaft of light pierced the room.

  Teagan opened her eyes and peeked out from under her blanket. A nun—it could only be Sister Anne, as tall as she was—held an electric torch. Its beam cut through the air and bounced off the beds in the room until it came to Nora’s.

  A girl who looked like Nora followed the Mother Superior, but this penitent didn’t have the swagger or confidence of her friend. In fact, she looked broken: head down, arms hanging at her sides. She shuffled like an old woman a few paces ahead of the nun. Teagan wondered who the new Magdalen was.

  As the girl drew closer, she recognized the face, the black hair scruffier than when she had seen it last. It was Nora! In a blue dress like the one she had seen on the girl in the Penitent’s Room.

  Her friend collapsed into bed. She said nothing as Sister Anne pulled the blanket over her and switched off the torch. The room went dark until the Mother Superior opened the door and disappeared in the hall.

  “Nora. Nora,” Teagan whispered, and sat up in bed. It didn’t matter to her whether the others heard her or not. She was sure they were as curious as she was.

  “Teagan?” The question was weak, the voice watery with exhaustion.

  “Yes. You’re back!” Her friend had returned, but not in the shape she had expected. How could she be angry at her for her desertion? “What happened?”

  Nora rustled under the bedclothes. “Tired. Too tired.” The voice drifted away like a whisper lost in the air.

  “Are you all right?” Teagan asked, but there was no answer.

  “Leave her alone.” Lea appeared at Nora’s bed, staring down at her. “I told you something bad happened. I was right.”

  Teagan, worried that Nora had been hurt, lay back as Lea returned to her bed. She wanted to go to sleep, but she also wanted to hear what her friend had to say about her escape. Dispirited and exhausted, she had ended up back at the convent. She had been the girl in the Penitent’s Room. Teagan looked at the silent figure under the blanket. If she couldn’t escape, how can I? The thought fell like a weight upon her. She was dying to hear Nora’s story. The morning couldn’t come soon enough.

  CHAPTER 11

  The cold air on Christmas Day stabbed into the lungs. Snow had fallen during the night, turning the ground a milky white. Teagan and the Magdalens, happy to be out of the frigid garret, watched from the window of the breakfast room as it fell from the slate sky. Betty said snow always gave her a good feeling about the holiday. She remembered the last time it had snowed on the day—1956. Sister Rose, looking frail, came in to announce a special Mass for the Magdalens after they ate. The rest of the morning and most of the afternoon, excluding dinner and evening prayers, would be devoted to games in the old library.

  “No work today,” Sister Rose said to elation around the table.

  The nuns had draped the convent walls on the first floor with colored lights. A live tree stood at the end of the hall near the Penitent’s Room. When she had the opportunity to pass by, Teagan watched its vibrant red, blue, and green lights blink, the colors reflecting off tinsel. The tree with its heady scent of pine reminded her of past holidays and evening gatherings around the fireplace at home. She had thought of those as good times, but now she wondered. Away from her parents for so many months, she was able to put into perspective what family holidays had been like. Her father would begin drinking about noon—any excuse was a good excuse—and wouldn’t stop until it was time for bed. The hours would drag by as she and her mother watched her father slide into a boozy oblivion. Her mother would sip a few drinks, as well, to appease her husband, but always ended up guiding him upstairs. If it was a two- or three-day holiday, the process would begin again the next morning with a “spot of the hair of the dog that bit him.” Her experiences at the convent and at home bore psychological similarities. The Mother Superior, however, was a different matter. Her physical abuse was different from her father’s threats. Here, she was learning to take care of herself, to guard against it if she could.

  After breakfast, the Magdalens were herded down the stairs, past the tree, and into the chapel, which, despite a number of lit candles, was not much warmer than the garret. Teagan took her place in a pew about halfway back from the small altar. Nora slid in next to her.

  They’d had little time to talk since Nora’s return, even though Teagan was bursting to hear about her time away from the convent. Nora had never wanted to discuss it, as if she had been a different person from the one who had managed to escape. A lot of the fire that Teagan admired had vanished. The color in Nora’s cheeks was slight and she often wiped sweat from her brow on the coldest days. Talking to Nora was like talking to a middle-aged woman whose life was reduced to a humdrum existence, much like the picture Nora painted of her mother in Ballybough.

  Teagan turned to her friend. Nora’s lips parted and she took Teagan’s hand in hers. There would be no chance to talk now.

  The nuns filed into the room in a silent cadence. The chapel’s stillness was broken only by the rustle of their habits as they took their seats in the first two rows of pews. Three priests walked behind the Mother Superior, who stopped near the altar.

  Teagan gasped. A priest she didn’t recognize led the way, but he was followed by Fathers Matthew and Mark. The men didn’t look at the Magdalens. They stared straight ahead, walking as solemnly as the nuns, and sat in chairs placed on opposite sides of the altar.

  Sister Anne held up her hands. “We gather on this blessed day to celebrate the birth of our Lord.”

  Nora looked at Teagan as Sister Anne spoke. “What’s wrong?” she asked, whispering.

  “That’s Father Matthew on the left and Father Mark on the right, the one who got me in trouble . . . well, you know what I mean.”

  Nora craned her neck to look at Father Mark. “He’s a nice-looking priest. I can think of worse men to get in trouble with.”

  Betty turned from the pew in front and scowled. “You better hold your tongues or you’ll get the rough edge of Sister Anne’s.”

  Nora frowned at the older woman, but T
eagan was too upset to care about Betty’s comment.

  “Our special guests today are Fathers Matthew and Mark from St. Eusebius,” Sister Anne said. “They are most concerned with your well-being on Christmas. As a holiday gift, they have brought along Father Anthony, who is visiting here from Italy. He will hold today’s Mass. Give him your attention.”

  The tall priest with deep-set eyes began the Mass in Latin. Teagan paid little attention to the words because she was scrutinizing Fathers Matthew and Mark. Neither of them appeared interested in the girls. Father Mark turned his handsome face toward Teagan once, and then looked quickly away. Had he seen her, or was he gazing at the group?

  She trembled on the cold, hard pew. She wondered whether Father Matthew had received her letters. Was that why the priests were here? The thought rocked her and she pressed herself against the hard backrest. She wanted to scream at them, proclaim her innocence in front of the Magdalens and plead for her release. But a vision appeared in front of her face—a hand. It was her father’s hand, threatening to strike her if she caused trouble. The fingers in front of her were enough to dispel her anger. Her rage simmered into sadness.

  “Are you all right?” Nora asked and gripped her hand harder.

  Teagan nodded and took a breath. It would do no good to speculate. The priests were here for Christmas and probably nothing would happen.

  Father Anthony conducted communion behind the small altar. Each of the Magdalens filed up after the nuns, taking the host. Father Matthew held the wine. Father Anthony smiled at Teagan and blessed her as he placed the wafer on her tongue. Father Matthew wiped the cup, but neither smiled nor spoke to Teagan as he lifted it to her to drink. She wondered whether he even recognized her. Father Mark sat motionless across the room.

  The Mass ended about forty-five minutes after it began. The priests and Sister Anne left first, leaving Sisters Mary-Elizabeth and Ruth in charge of the Magdalens’ exit.

  Teagan crowded her way forward to look at Fathers Matthew and Mark. They were racing after Sister Anne, as if they were in a hurry to escape the girls. The Mother Superior turned and held out her arm. The sleeve of her habit hung like a black drape as she ushered them into her office. She followed them inside and shut the door. They were gone. The vague sense that she might have a conversation with the priests evaporated.

  Sister Ruth clutched the railing as she led the girls to the old library. Sister Mary-Elizabeth took up the rear. Teagan held back on the stairs until Nora caught up with her. They climbed up side by side.

  “Maybe we can sit together,” Tegan said. “We’ll have a chance to talk.”

  Nora puffed, her face turning red with each step.

  “Are you ill?” Teagan asked. She wrapped her arm around Nora’s waist. “You haven’t been the same since you got back.”

  “I’m all right,” Nora said, swiping her hand across her brow. “I think I got a bit of a cold in the Penitent’s Room. I was there for a day and a half.”

  “For so long?” She remembered seeing the girl in the blue dress. They were at the top of the stairs now. Teagan let go of her as they walked to the library. “That’s horrible.”

  Nora nodded. “It really wasn’t so bad. I let myself go. I know it sounds strange, but it was like I became the room. I blended into the walls, became part of the darkness, part of the rock. I was sad when the door opened because I had to eat my toast, or go the toilet, and deal with this nonsense again.”

  A warm glow filtered out of the library door. The Magdalens filed inside in silence. Teagan hadn’t been inside the room for a week because she was needed in the laundry. Colds were going around, and, depending on their severity, some of the girls were confined to bed.

  The nuns had decorated the room with candles and red and green crepe paper. A long table had been set up against the wall near Teagan’s lace-mending desk. A punch bowl and two rows of round, individually wrapped, packages sat on top of it. Four round tables with folding chairs were set up in the center.

  Sister Mary-Elizabeth clapped her hands. “Girls, today is Christmas. Remember to give thanks when you open your gift. Count your blessings you’re able to live here, doing meaningful work, and you’re not out on the streets fending for yourself like poor, miserable unfortunates.” She pointed to the table. “Help yourself to punch, without any kick from the divil.” A few of the Magdalens laughed and the nun smiled. “Your present is marked with your name. Enjoy it with Christ’s blessings. And you may talk until evening prayers!”

  A cheer arose from the Magdalens. Teagan held on to Nora as the other girls chatted away in good spirits. “Let’s go to the back of the line so we can talk,” she said with anticipation about an event that at any other time would have been ordinary—Nora’s foray into Dublin. “Tell me everything that happened.”

  “I’m completely knackered.” Nora sighed and leaned toward Teagan. “You can’t tell anyone, not even Lea, but I think I’m knocked up.”

  Teagan gaped at Nora.

  “Shut your mouth and look normal,” Nora said. “Don’t give the nuns any ideas.”

  “You’re pregnant?” she asked as quietly as she could.

  Nora walked a few steps. “I think so. I shagged a Guard while I was out. He turned out to be a bit of a tool. That’s to be expected—most men are. But I’ve not been meself lately. Me breasts hurt and I’ve been feeling nauseous in the morning. I’ve been keeping this under wraps.”

  “Oh my God, Nora. What’re you going to do?” Teagan covered her mouth as soon as the words were out. “I’m sorry. What a stupid question. There’s nothing you can do but have the baby.”

  Nora looked down, red-faced. “I don’t really want the baby, but I can’t have an abortion, so I’ll carry me little bad egg to term. There’ll be a new Craven in the world come next August, give or take a week.”

  Nora’s news shocked Teagan. All the happiness and planning that would go into having a baby were pointless here. She watched as the Magdalens ahead of them went about their Christmas Day, getting their little gifts, when much more important news was happening around them. If Nora were in love with this man and they intended to have a child, they would be celebrating her pregnancy with cake. Everyone would be talking about their life together. Here, all Nora had to look forward to was having the baby and putting it up for adoption. Teagan wondered whether her friend had even thought that far ahead. She knew that as the baby grew, it would be harder for Nora to leave the convent, so any escape they might make together would have to be made soon. Time would grow shorter with each day.

  Teagan clasped her hands. “I don’t know what to say. Congratulations?”

  Nora smiled. “I wouldn’t go that far. I suspect, but I’m not sure.”

  “When will you tell the nuns?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. If it’s true, I’ll keep it a secret as long as possible and then tell Sister Mary-Elizabeth. At least she won’t hit me.” She looked down at her stomach. “Not showing yet.”

  The punch bowl was in front of them. Nora took a cup, poured a full ladle into it, and took a sip. “Umm, grape.” She smacked her lips.

  Teagan did the same. She searched for her gift on the table, only a few were left. She came to a circular package bound in white Christmas paper and red ribbon. Teresa was marked on the top in pen.

  Nora found hers and sniffed it. The other girls were unwrapping their presents—they were all the same.

  “Chocolate biscuits,” Teagan said. “I suppose it’s better than nothing. We never get dessert.” She wondered what her parents were doing this Christmas morning. What about Cullen? Was he thinking of her? Her stomach turned over.

  “Yeah, biscuits.” Nora said and rubbed her belly. “I already got my present.” She rolled her eyes.

  Teagan laughed and held on to Nora as they looked for Lea. She was sitting at one of the tables and munching on her present. No one sat with her. Most of the Magdalens avoided her because they thought she was so strange. Teagan
and Nora joined her at the table, ate their snacks, and looked forward to a day without work. Sarah soon joined them for a card game of Authors.

  * * *

  The more Teagan thought about Christmas Day, the angrier she got. She knew the priests were at the convent for a meeting with Sister Anne, and she intended to find out why. Something else bothered her, as well. If she and Nora were to escape, they would have to do it within the next few weeks, not months later. A plan needed to be devised soon. She wondered whether Nora had changed her mind.

  A few days after Christmas, Teagan returned to her table in the old library. Now that Nora was back and the colds had died down, she was no longer needed in the laundry. She had begun work on mending a lace tablecloth when Sister Anne came to the door and motioned for her to follow. The Mother Superior led her downstairs to the office, closed the door, and told her to have a seat. The LOVE blocks were arranged in a different position from the last time she had seen them. They were directly in front of Sister Anne, so anyone sitting in the chair couldn’t miss the message.

  “I’m trying hard to control my anger,” the nun said. “How dare you do this?” The Mother Superior pulled two letters from the desk drawer and shook them at Teagan’s face.

  She blushed, but rather than making her feel bad, her embarrassment energized her. She held on to the chair and leaned forward. “How dare you do this to me when I’ve done nothing wrong? You’re angry because you know I’m right.”

  Sister Anne dropped the letters on the desk and reached for the rod. It appeared near the folds of her habit. She thwacked it against her palm. “I ought to beat you for what you’ve done. Do you realize the mess you could have created if these letters had gotten out? Fortunately, the delivery boy you bribed with sexual favors turned them over to his boss. The man has been doing business with us for years and knows how foolish you girls can be. He was right to give them to me.” She slapped the rod against her desk. “Fool! Petitioning the Holy Father and Father Matthew because you have been wronged? Who would take the word of a slutty girl over an ordained priest?”