The Magdalen Girls

by V. S. Alexander

  Teagan lifted a pair of dirty jeans out of the pile and shoved them into the “darks” bin. “It sounds like you’re getting comfortable with being a mom. A few weeks ago, I didn’t think you wanted to have the baby.”

  Nora smiled quizzically, as if she knew something that Teagan didn’t. “What happened to Lea has made me think about life. I don’t want to die, and I want my child to live. I know the nuns are going to make me give it up for adoption, but at least it’ll have a life—and it might have a good one if the right family adopts. It’s not great here, but it beats living on the street, and the nuns will take care of my baby.”

  Teagan was astonished by her friend’s words, and she felt her mood darken. “You’ve had a change of heart. You sound as if you want to stay here now. What happened to ‘hellhole’ and ‘prison’?”

  Nora’s eyes displayed an intensity that had been reserved for her displeasure with the Sisters. “What choice do I have? It’s hard for a pregnant woman to hide. I want to have my baby, and now that that’s been decided, I’m going to play the game for a while.”

  “Well, I’m disappointed, to say the least, but I understand. Maybe we can—”

  A hand came to rest on Teagan’s shoulder. She jumped and turned to find Sister Mary-Elizabeth standing behind her. Her broad frame obstructed any view into the laundry.

  “Follow me, both of you.” She directed them to the corner of the laundry where Teagan had had her confrontation with the Mother Superior. Nora sat in the same chair while Teagan stood beside her.

  Sister Mary-Elizabeth held a bulging laundry sack in her hands. She stuck it out. “I’ve left Sister Ruth with Lea and hauled meself down the stairs. Look at this.”

  Teagan looked at Nora, wondering what they should do.

  “Well, go on,” the nun urged. “I haven’t got all day.”

  Teagan took the bag by its rope strings, placed it on the floor, and opened it. The bag’s wide mouth revealed the clothing scraps and the tattered sheets that had been collected and stored under Lea’s bed. A deck of tarot cards, Mr. Roche’s hammer, sewing machine oil, the nails used on the window, and Teagan’s Christmas gifts rested on top of the fabric. Teagan’s hands trembled as she looked up from the bag. She didn’t want to look the nun in the eyes.

  “You both should get down on your knees and thank Jesus that I found this, and not one of the other Sisters,” the nun said. “I doubt Lea had anything to do with this.”

  “We were planning to escape,” Nora said. “Lea was helping us.”

  Teagan couldn’t believe her ears. “Nora!”

  Sister Mary-Elizabeth shook her finger at them. “I don’t want to hear any more about it. Polluting the mind of an innocent girl like Lea . . .” She pointed to Nora. “You’re in no condition to try such a thing, and you—” Her fiery eyes pierced Teagan. “I’m surprised, but when I think about it, I should have figured you were in on such nonsense. You’re the fancy one in the group. How about bed checks every night? Is that what you’d like?”

  Teagan started to object, but the nun wouldn’t have it. “If Sister Anne had found these things—and these cards—I shudder to think what would have happened. Imagine, satanic worship going on under our noses.”

  “How did you find them?” Nora asked.

  “That’s me business, but if something from a Magdalen is pitched under the bed and you have to go looking for it . . .” Sister Mary-Elizabeth closed the bag and lifted it. “I’m going to return this hammer and oil to Mr. Roche and destroy the rest of these items.”

  “The radio and the scarf are my Christmas presents from my mother,” Teagan said. “I didn’t get to use them.”

  “And how did they get here?” the nun asked. “You know such things are forbidden.”

  She thought of the sad day at the lace table when Cullen had given her the gifts. “Someone who loves me delivered them.”

  The Sister sighed. “I’ll ask the Mother Superior to keep them, but I can’t guarantee it. I don’t want to see or hear of any such nonsense again.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “If I’m forced to act as a watchdog, I will report you to Sister Anne. Mind yourself.” She turned and left them in the corner.

  Nora stood. Teagan plopped in the chair. Sister Mary-Elizabeth conferred with Sister Rose at the other end of the laundry.

  Nora placed her hand on Teagan’s shoulder. “You look beat.”

  The urge to give in to the nuns, to cry, to break down, had never been stronger. She felt as if her insides had turned to lead. What was the use of fighting such a force? It was more than she could handle to take on The Sisters of the Holy Redemption, let alone the Church. If she couldn’t win the battle here, nothing she could do, no letters she could write, would ever succeed in freeing her from the convent.

  Teagan looked at her friend. “We were going to be a team. We were going to get out of here together.”

  “I know,” Nora replied wistfully, “but I’ve made my bed, and now I have to lie in it. I’m sorry.” She leaned over and whispered, “I’ll help you in any way I can.”

  Teagan shook her head. “No. You’re in enough trouble as it is. I can take care of myself.” She looked out the large bank of windows at the bare March trees. “Did you know that today is my birthday?”

  “No,” Nora said. “Happy birthday. Mine was last month.”

  “It’s glorious being seventeen, isn’t it?”

  Nora managed a chuckle.

  They continued their work in silence until it was time for tea.

  After prayers, Teagan and the other Magdalens filed into the garret. Patricia, the girl who had reported them for being on the roof months ago, smiled smugly at Teagan as she walked past on her way to bed.

  Teagan glared at her, and in a voice loud enough that all the Magdalens could hear, said, “I’ll make your life a living hell if you ever rat on anyone again.”

  Patricia recoiled with a look of mock horror, holding her hands up to her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She eased back against her pillow. “If I were you, I’d think carefully about what you say from now on, or you’ll be the one living in hell.”

  She wanted to spit in Patricia’s face. Instead, she walked away as the girl called out, “I’m going to be a nun. I’ll pray for you.”

  A few of the Magdalens chuckled.

  Later, Sister Mary-Elizabeth settled in the chair beside Lea, but not before checking under all the Magdalens’ beds. Teagan looked at Lea, still unresponsive, and Nora, who had covered her head with the blanket. For the first time since Nora had arrived, she knew she was alone in her quest to escape the convent.

  * * *

  The weather shifted in late April, and although the days were mostly cool and damp, the sun often shone on the grounds with the radiance of spring warmth. The winter grass, which had retained some of its color, deepened to its rich Irish green as the weeks progressed.

  Lea had recovered her strength and was well enough to hobble about the garret. The nuns brought her food daily, so she wouldn’t have to walk downstairs. Sister Rose hauled in part of a broken school desk, along with paper and paints, so Lea could continue her work on the Book of Kells. She still spent most days resting with her leg elevated, but the nuns’ bedside vigil had ended. So had Sister Mary-Elizabeth’s nightly bed checks, much to Teagan’s relief.

  One night, Teagan told her friend that their plot had been discovered.

  Lea sighed with relief. “We should never have planned an escape.” She pointed to the heavens. “See, it was never meant to be. God was looking after us. We’ll all be happy here.”

  Teagan grasped her hand, but cringed inside, knowing Lea’s alliance with the nuns was assured. I can’t believe there’s no way out. I won’t believe that.

  One Sunday afternoon, Teagan, Nora, and Lea sat outside enjoying the day. Teagan couldn’t remember a more beautiful spring day. The sun’s rays bathed her, coaxing the winter chill out of her bones. The warmth felt glorious on her face
and arms. The other Magdalens, spread across the lawn, luxuriated in the day, as well, happy to be out of the laundry’s confines. Even the nuns enjoyed a special freedom because the Mother Superior was out of town on Church business. Sisters Mary-Elizabeth and Ruth sprinted across the yard in an impromptu game of shuttlecock. The white plastic “birdie” flew high into the sky. Sister Mary-Elizabeth was worse at the game than Sister Ruth and missed the shuttlecock on most tries, her large arms jiggling underneath her habit.

  Teagan lay back on the warm ground and thought again about escaping from the convent. On such a beautiful day, it was hard to focus on a suitable plan. She kept drifting off while Lea and Nora talked about babies. Her eyes had fluttered shut when a shadow blocked the sun from her face. Sister Rose bent over her, the nun’s long fingers stretched toward her.

  “An Anglican priest is here to see you, Teresa,” Sister Rose said with extreme formality. The nun straightened as Teagan jumped up from the ground. Her heart beat fast; it had to be the priest who had come with Cullen before Christmas. Who else could it be? The only news she had gotten about her family had come through her boyfriend. Was the priest alone?

  She followed the nun, who strode toward the door in long, rigid steps. “He wants to talk with you. I wasn’t sure what the Mother Superior would do, so I made a decision,” the Sister said. “You can meet him in the library—with the doors open. I’ll sit on a chair outside until you’re finished.”

  The priest was seated at Lea’s desk when they arrived. It was the same man. Teagan struggled to remember his name. Sister Rose nodded to the man and excused herself.

  “I’m Father Conry,” the priest said. “I hope you remember me.”

  “Certainly,” Teagan replied. “It’s nice to see you again, Father. Please, sit down.”

  He sat in the chair in front of the lace-mending table, stretching his long legs in front of him. “Thank you. It’s a rather awkward arrangement here at the convent, but we have no other choice.... Sister Rose told me the Mother Superior is gone today, so I feel we can speak freely.”

  It was odd having a man, a priest, so close to her. He made her a bit nervous; after all, her experience of meeting with another priest last summer hadn’t been good.

  “Cullen is sorry he couldn’t be here,” Father Conry said. “He’s very fond of you, you know.” He looked at her sadly, as if he felt an unrequited love existed between Cullen and her.

  The blood rose in her cheeks, and she wondered why she had such an emotional reaction. In this case, it didn’t stem from a forbidden attraction she felt for her boyfriend, but from embarrassment. Why would it be so uncomfortable seeing Cullen? Last July, she would have given anything to be with him. Had months of the Sisters’ influence crept into her head and heart? She felt dirty thinking about a boy she’d once liked and desired, and about being alone with this priest—as close as she would ever come to a man these days. These thoughts made her question her commitment to leave the convent, and she tamped down a shudder. No! I won’t stay here! She struck them from her mind and looked at the priest. He had a kind, caring face, masculine in its width; there was no dainty femininity to his features. She might be able to talk to him about anything, if she felt up to it.

  “I’m certain he would hope for the same from you,” he said.

  Teagan lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m surprised by your visit—I . . . we, rarely get visitors.”

  He leaned back and crossed his legs. “I don’t have good news, unfortunately.”

  She leaned forward in anticipation of his words.

  “Your mother requested a meeting with me, which was a much wiser course of action than calling Cullen.” He took a breath. “I do believe your mother likes Cullen, even though he’s not Catholic. She was happy he delivered your Christmas gifts.”

  Teagan winced at the memory of her gifts. She didn’t know whether they had been destroyed.

  “Your mother is concerned—concerned enough that she wanted to talk to a member of the clergy; however, not one of your parish. She knew I was here with Cullen in December.” He fixed his eyes upon her, and Teagan braced for bad news. “Your father’s drinking has gotten worse and your mother . . .” He intertwined his fingers. “I’m sorry . . . it’s difficult enough to say to anyone, but especially to a young woman in your position.”

  “Please, tell me.”

  “Your mother is depressed. I believe it’s because she has lost her daughter, and she’s about to lose her husband.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She thinks your father can’t be saved from his alcoholism. He may harm himself.”

  Teagan closed her eyes.

  Father Conry reached across the table and touched her hand. “Don’t despair. There may be hope yet. Perhaps he can work himself out of this. Your mother is trying to get help for both of them, for the first time in their lives.”

  The old anger came back to her, an inner tirade against her father and what he had done to their family. She calmed herself as best she could. “I know my father. It will take a miracle to get him to quit drinking. Even Father Matthew has told him more than once that he drinks too much.” She remembered the day she met Father Mark and how her father had exploded in rage. He’d had enough to drink then, which Father Matthew had pointed out. “I hope he doesn’t hurt my mother. If I were out of this place, I’d convince my mother to leave him. . . .”

  “Cullen was brave enough to tell me your story.” He let go of her hand. “Between you and me, I don’t believe the rumors. You’re a kind girl, who I think has been mistreated.”

  Teagan choked and fought back tears. At last, someone believed her, but what good would it do?

  “Unfortunately,” the priest continued, “my hands are tied. I have no legal standing over you, and even less influence with the Catholic Church.”

  She sat back, trying to take it all in. Was there nothing Father Conry could do? Probably not, but she was cheered by the possibility that he believed in her.

  “There’s something else—” His face reddened. “I wouldn’t say it, were it not for your situation, but you’re old enough to know.” He looked around the room. “One can see a library like this and believe it’s all peaches and cream at The Sisters of the Holy Redemption. I’m not convinced. I believe innocence can be lost in the houses of the holy as easily as in the dwellings of evil.”

  Sister Rose appeared at the door, craning her neck to see what was going on.

  Father Conry waved to the nun. “A few more minutes, Sister.” He turned back to Teagan. “I’ll get on with it. There’s a rumor that Father Mark—the young priest at St. Eusebius—has gotten a girl in trouble. Mind you, it’s just gossip, and nothing has been proven. I think the diocese is in a bit of an uproar, however.”

  Drained by his words, Teagan slumped in her chair. “Oh, Father, I don’t know what to think. If it’s true, people may believe he’s not the man of God he says he is, and I might be vindicated. On the other hand, they may think I set him on this course.”

  The priest nodded. “I thought you should know. Such news may work to your advantage in the future. Please do me one favor, however. Don’t mention that you heard this from me. I’ll keep my ears and eyes open, and if there’s anything I can do, rest assured I will.” He got up from his chair and smiled. “I sincerely hope all turns out well. I’ll give Cullen your best.”

  Teagan shook his hand. “Thank you, Father. Your words have given me the most encouragement I’ve had in months. I’ll go to sleep tonight with hope. Yes, do give Cullen my best.”

  He turned and called out, “Sister, I’m ready to leave.”

  The old nun appeared in the doorway. She escorted Father Conry to his car. Teagan followed them out to the green lawn shimmering in the bright sunshine.

  The priest drove away toward the gate. She knew Mr. Roche would be waiting there to let him out, a thought that struck her with some force.

  “Aren’t you the fancy one,” Nora said as
Teagan rejoined her and Lea. “You get all the visitors—priests, boyfriends, Anglicans—while Lea and me sit on our bums.”

  Teagan didn’t respond. She plopped down, snatched a blade of grass, and stuck it in her mouth. Her attention was focused on the car moving toward the gate.

  CHAPTER 14

  Teagan was startled from her sleep one early morning in late June. Heart pounding, she sat up to find Sister Anne kneeling in front of her bed. The nun’s head was bowed, her body forming a black triangle, illuminated from behind by a single candle. Its yellow rays flickered, spreading a ghostly light through the garret. The flame quivered, and Sister Anne’s hands, folded in prayer, emerged from the darkness.

  The nun lifted her head, and in the faint glow, Teagan saw the sagging mouth, the sallow skin, and tear-streaked eyes. The other Magdalens were silent in their beds. Teagan wondered whether she was having a nightmare. But the nun raised a finger to her lips and began to whisper her prayers again, sounding a soft mantra. This was no dream. Sister Anne went on for several minutes, while Teagan, legs stiff, arms plastered to her sides, stayed rigid in bed. The other girls seemed to have been under a spell.

  Finally, Sister Anne looked up. “I’m praying for myself, but I wanted to see you. Do you know the pain you’ve caused me?”

  “Why? What have I done to you?” Teagan managed to eke out the question.

  The nun shook her head. “It matters little now. What’s past is past, but the memories remain. When I look at you, I look into the blackness of my soul.”

  Her words made no sense. She couldn’t force the Mother Superior to reveal her pain, and she didn’t want to scream at her. The others might think that Sister Anne was praying at her bedside to exorcise some demonic spirit. The Magdalens would never look at her the same. So she closed her eyes and kept quiet as the nun continued her prayers. Enough! Enough! She tried to remain calm as the nun’s prayers drifted into her ears: penitence, forgiveness, redemption.

  Nora and Lea were of no use to her now. The escape plan had been thwarted when Sister Mary-Elizabeth discovered the scraps of fabric under Lea’s bed. Her friend had nearly lost her life because of her scheme. Looking back, it seemed a desperate idea. Nora was only concerned with her baby. She pictured herself at Betty’s age, still mending lace or tending the laundry, day after day, week after week, year after year. The monotony, the penance, would chip away a bit of her soul each day until there was nothing left but a robotic shell of a woman who prayed continually to God but who had no life, no real reason to live.