The Magdalen Girls

by V. S. Alexander

  Her words touched Teagan. She reached through the gate and clasped Lea’s hand. If her friend was right—if there was a God—she needed Him now more than ever. Lea’s God was kind and accepting, the kind of God Teagan wanted to know.

  She let go and walked north toward St Stephen’s Green. She remembered her father driving by the park as he brought her to the convent. It struck her that finding Cullen’s house might be easier than getting to her parents’. He lived near Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. When they had first met at a party, he had pointed out that he could see the cathedral’s spires from his front door. She had been to his home several times.

  She picked up her pace, running on adrenaline, wanting to see Cullen, anxious to see her parents, hoping for their acceptance. The road stretched into interminable night, but on each side of it there were lights from residences and shops that lit the way. She would follow those beacons. Perhaps the feeling of hope they provided would last until she found her way home.

  CHAPTER 15

  Teagan had never experienced such odd feelings before. Dread hung over her like a cloud. Every few minutes she would feel a counteracting rush of excitement. It was as if she had never been free in her life, like a baby bird spreading its wings for the first time. Dublin was big, even larger at night it seemed, and now she was an escapee. The Guards would be looking for her as soon as the nuns discovered her absence.

  She tried to get out of the rain, but it was difficult. Some buildings had awnings and overhangs; others didn’t. She avoided road lamps. Her apron was soaked, and she clutched herself, shivering. It had protected her dress somewhat, but even it was beginning to get wet. She walked as fast as she could, headed north.

  She skirted the greenways of St Stephen’s, the park she had passed the terrible night she was brought to the convent.

  A twenty-minute walk brought her to a neighborhood that looked familiar. The jutting spires of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, dreary against the night, came into view. She ducked under one of the arches and shook herself like a dog to wick off the water. Standing beneath the sheltered archway of the Protestant cathedral provided a glimmer of hope. Cullen Kirby’s house was nearby. She knew that from her visits to his home. From his porch, she had seen the cathedral’s spires with their crosses pricking the sky. The hour was late, and she had no place to turn. She would have to somehow get to her parents, in Ballsbridge, in the morning. She had nothing to lose.

  Why not? The worst that can happen is I get arrested. The Guards will take me back to the convent, and I’ll spend the night in the Penitent’s Room.

  Her memory served her in this time of need. Except for a wrong turn, which she attributed to the late hour rather than a faulty sense of direction, she was soon standing across the road from the flat where Cullen lived with his parents. His bedroom window was around the side of the building, sheltered by a narrow alley created by an adjacent home. His parents’ room was on the front overlooking the road. No lamps were on, except for a small one over the door, which cast a rectangular patch of light.

  The footpath to the door was gated, but the alley was not. She crossed the road, sloshed through the grass, and stopped in front of Cullen’s window. What if he and his parents had switched bedrooms? His parents would certainly be upset and report a young woman trespassing on their property. The Guards would be called. However, she had to take the chance.

  She tapped on the window—so lightly at first she could barely hear the knock herself. The glass was covered inside by thick curtains. She gathered her courage and tapped again. This time she was certain that anyone inside would hear the noise.

  The curtains parted. An eye peered out. The fabric fell back into place, and the process was repeated again. The second time they opened slightly wider. Suddenly, they were flung apart, revealing Cullen, his eyes wide with shock. He was naked from the waist up, attired only in his pajama bottoms.

  Teagan put a finger to her lips.

  He lifted the window and gaped at her. After a few moments, he whispered, “It’s really you. At first, I thought I was dreaming.”

  “I’ve run away.” She was embarrassed to admit it. How sad to be reduced to a girl running away from a cloistered prison.

  Cullen shook his head, and his hair shifted like sand. “My God, where are you going?” He looked back into his bedroom. “Do you know it’s after two-thirty?”

  She pulled her arms close to her chest. The damp was sinking in now, like a coating of frost on her limbs. “Can I come in? I’m cold and wet.”

  “Of course, but we have to be quiet. My parents are home. I’ve never had a girl in my room in the middle of the night.” He opened the window as high as it would go and held out his hands. The ledge was slightly higher than Teagan’s waist. She grabbed him, while he tugged, and within a few seconds she was seated on the floor.

  “Shhhh,” he whispered. He searched for his pajama top in the chest of drawers.

  “Can I stay long enough to warm up?” Teagan whispered back and shivered again, this time more violently.

  He switched on a small lamp attached to the headboard. “Don’t be silly.” He sat on the side of his bed. “You can’t wake up your parents at three in the morning. They’ll have a fit. Your da is hardly stable as it is.” He patted the mattress, offering Teagan the opportunity to get off the floor.

  Teagan shook her head. “I’m fine.” She scooted closer and reached for his hands. “I know it’s very odd for me to show up at your house like this, but I’m here because you’re my best friend. . . .” She studied him, feeling scared that she might do something she would regret later. She wasn’t anxious with him the way she’d been with Father Conry. If anything, it was tempting to be with her boyfriend. Any feelings of discomfort dissipated in Cullen’s warm bedroom. Her thoughts didn’t embarrass her. A spark flashed between them. “I think I’d better stay on the floor,” she finally decided.

  “What kind of guy do you think I am, Teagan? It doesn’t hurt that you’re special to me, but I want to help you, not seduce you.”

  She looked into his eyes. “Thanks. There can’t be anything more between us at the moment. I can’t even think like that.” She wrapped her arms around his knees and savored the feel of his body. His legs were thin, but strong, like a runner’s. He’d always been lean, not too muscular, but with a knack for field sports.

  “Brrrr. You’re cold. You need to get out of those wet clothes.” He loosened himself from her grasp and got a blanket from the closet opposite his bed. “You could change in there, but there’s hardly room to get in. Why don’t you wrap up in this and you can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the floor.” He handed her the blanket. “You’ll have to leave in a few hours because my da gets up early for work. Maybe I can sneak you a piece of toast or something.”

  “That’s nice. I might take you up on it.”

  Cullen fought back a giggle. “If someone knocks, roll off the bed and get between it and the window. I’ll jump back in bed.”

  How nice it would be, Teagan thought, to take him in her arms and hold him. She pushed the thought aside almost as quickly as she considered it. Hugging Cullen would lead to more than playful caresses. Cullen might not resist, and if pushed, she probably wouldn’t put up much of a fight, either. It had been so long since she’d walked with him or held his hand. Even a kiss could be dangerous. Right now, he was the friend she needed. If there had been more time, she would have told him everything about the convent—her struggles and how good it was to be free again.

  Cullen turned away as she stripped to her undergarments and wrapped herself in the blanket. When he turned back, she was holding her dress and apron in her hands.

  “I’ll hang them in the closet for a few hours,” he said. “Maybe they’ll dry a bit.”

  He took her clothes, got hangers, and hung them up. He grabbed a pillow and settled on the floor.

  Still encased in the blanket, Teagan slipped into bed and covered herself with the sheet. She rolled onto her st
omach and leaned over the edge. Cullen peered up at her. “Just one kiss—for thanks,” she said.

  He lifted himself on his elbows. Their lips met briefly, and a jolt coursed through her. They drew apart, Teagan, at least, sensing that had the time been right, she could have asked him into bed. Now she was warm enough that the blanket was hot and cumbersome. Keeping herself covered with the sheet, she cast off the blanket and dropped it on the floor next to him.

  “Hey,” Cullen said, “you don’t need to do that.”

  “You’ll be cold by morning.”

  He smiled up at her. “I’m perfect, just perfect.”

  “Good night.” She switched off the light and settled in bed, thinking how fortunate she was to have a friend like Cullen. The house was quiet, and she felt calm and protected in his room. The light from the road lamps cut across the top of the curtains and threw thin slivers of white across the ceiling. She traced her fingers up her stomach, across her breasts, and to her face. She felt more alive than she had in months. When she looked up, the ceiling seemed to drift into the heavens leaving a universe of stars above her.

  * * *

  When Cullen nudged her, she was in a deep sleep that ended too quickly. He sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her forehead, then drew away. “It’s nice to wake up with you in the morning.” He opened the curtains. The blue light of day flooded the room.

  Teagan yawned and rubbed her eyes. She was used to getting up at dawn, but not used to staying out so late.

  “My parents will be up in about a half hour,” he said, looking out the window. “Do you want something to eat?”

  Oddly enough, she didn’t feel hungry—she was eager to get to her parents’ home as soon as possible. “Don’t bother. Why take the chance of waking them up? I’ll eat something at home.” She straightened under the covers, aware that she only had on underwear.

  Cullen coughed. “I’ll take a trip down the hall while you put on your clothes. When I come back, I’ll open the door a crack rather than knock. Tell me if you need more time.” As quick and quiet as a cat, he was gone.

  Teagan threw off the sheet and ran to the closet. Her dress was damp, but it didn’t matter. She had nothing else to wear. If the sun was bright, it might be dry by the time she got to her parents’. She dressed quickly, in a hurry to leave. Every minute in the daylight would mean taking extra care, especially if the Guards were around. The clock in Cullen’s room read five thirty—about the time she would be discovered missing from the convent.

  Cullen poked his head around the door. He sat beside her on the bed. “Father Conry told me he visited you.”

  Teagan nodded. “He gave me the bad news about my father. He also told me about the rumor that Father Mark had gotten a girl pregnant. I don’t know what to think.”

  He grasped her hands. “Everything will work out. You’ll see—and when it does, remember the friend who took you in.” He leaned over and kissed the side of her head, his red hair brushing against her face. She loved the soft feel of it.

  “I have to go. I don’t want the Guards to see me. They’ll question a woman on the street at this hour. I’m leaving my apron here. Get rid of it when you can.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Cullen padded over to the chest and pulled a drawer open. He returned with a five-pound note. “Take this. It’s a bit of a haul to Ballsbridge from here, but this should leave you with some money to spare. There’s a taxi stand at the end of the road.”

  “That’s too much,” Teagan protested.

  “Pay me back someday.” He folded the note into her hand.

  She kissed him gently on the cheek and got up to leave. He raised the window and held on to her as she slid to the ground. She felt dirty, like a tramp, sneaking out of a man’s room at dawn, even though nothing had happened.

  He called out softly, as she walked away. “Remember what I said.” He leaned out the window and waved. “Come back to me.”

  She blew him a kiss and then strode to the footpath. She looked east to the end of the road and saw several taxis queued up there. The five pounds Cullen gave her would come in handy.

  * * *

  The house looked empty. She leaned forward from the backseat and looked through the glass. Her nerves popped like fireworks. A lifetime of memories came flooding back as the driver pulled up to the curb: playing in the garden out back, birthday parties, visits from school pals, the meeting with Father Mark. She blotted that dark stain from her mind.

  The car was gone and the curtains were closed. Her mother always kept them open unless they were going out. She looked in the post box—it was empty. The anxiety she’d experienced in the taxi lessened somewhat with the idea that her parents might be away. She had hoped that only her mother would be home. They could talk before her father arrived from work.

  She didn’t want to stand in the yard as the neighbors left their homes. Some nosy person had probably already seen her. Her mother always kept a spare key under the garden gnome at the edge of the drive. She tipped it on its side—but there was no key on the ground. She was about to reposition it when a flash of silver caught her eye. Black electrical tape held the key to the statue’s base. She ripped it off and fitted it into the lock.

  Nothing had changed. The hall rack sat near the door as it always had. Her father had grabbed his coat from it the night he had taken her away. The Oriental carpet runner on the stairs looked clean and fluffed; the banister glowed with a golden-brown polish. Her mother’s Chinese porcelain plates still shone red and white in the living room. However, her portrait had been removed from the mantle. She wondered if every trace of her existence had been obliterated.

  One thing was different in the kitchen. A plant stand filled with African violets sat near the back door, in front of the garden window. Her mother had never grown house plants. She had been satisfied to putter with window boxes in the spring. A dozen or more plants rested on metal arms that shot out from the tall stand. The violets bloomed profusely, offering clusters of white, purple, and yellow flowers. The tubular leaves were healthy and green, like soft pillows covered with fine down.

  Teagan spotted a note on the kitchen table: Dear Mrs. Bryde: Thank you for taking care of the plants while we’re on holiday. I’m quite obsessed with them these days. You only have to water them on Wednesday and they’ll be fine for the week. Please don’t get any drops on the leaves. What day was it? Wednesday? The days blended together when you were at the convent. Sunday was the exception.

  She only had to turn on the telly or the downstairs radio to find out. She didn’t know Mrs. Bryde; in fact, she had never heard her mother mention the name. Would this woman be looking for the key under the garden gnome, too? It was too overwhelming to think about, standing alone in her “home.”

  She returned to the staircase and walked slowly up. Her parents’ bedroom door was open; hers, which her father had broken down, was closed. She put her hand on the knob, dreading what she would see, but twisted it open anyway.

  Light flowed into the room from the hall, like the sun trying to penetrate a murky ocean. The curtains were drawn tightly over the window. Everything came into focus in shades of gray. Nothing looked out of place. Her bed was undisturbed. Her books were just as she had left them on her desk. The sweater she had left at the parish house during her encounter with Father Mark hung over the back of the chair. She swiped a finger over her desk and a coating of dust collected on its tip. She wondered if anyone had set foot in her room for more than a year.

  The closet was closed. When she opened it, she found her clothes lined up on hangers, undisturbed from when her father had taken her away. The dress she had worn on her fateful meeting with Father Mark still hung, white, shiny, like a troubled beacon before her eyes.

  She stepped out of her dress and stood naked in front of the mirror. The convent had few mirrors because they encouraged vanity. The only time she caught sight of herself was when she spotted her reflection in the laundry windows. However, the mir
ror over her desk didn’t lie. She was thinner, her face creased and tired, and she looked much older than a girl her age should. Her cropped blond hair was darker now, possibly because there was so little light in the room, but when she opened the curtains briefly, she realized that the lustrous shine of her youth had evaporated. She was bony and not fit to be seen—all thanks to the Sisters.

  She wanted to get out of the bedroom—it brought up too many bad memories. The living room was the only pleasant place to spend a few hours. But what now? A shower, some dinner, and clean clothes? That was the best plan she could come up with. She showered and put on a blue summer dress over clean panties and a bra. The rich, silky fabrics were like heaven compared to the coarse cottons she wore at the convent. She stepped out back, stuffed her old dress into the garbage bin, and covered it with trash. She doubted her parents would ever notice.

  They hadn’t left much in the icebox because of their holiday, only enough to make a sandwich. Cold water sat in a pitcher. She decided to try a beer from her father’s stash in the pantry. She had sipped it before on occasion, when her father allowed, but its taste seemed particularly harsh and bitter today. Ugh. I don’t understand why he likes it. The foamy brown liquid made her sleepy after half a bottle.

  She ate her sandwich at the kitchen table, looked at the plants, then snapped on a small transistor radio her mother had positioned on a shelf over the sink. The announcer dutifully reported the weather for Wednesday. Mrs. Bryde could be here at any time, she thought in a momentary panic. She cleaned her plate, poured the half-finished beer down the sink, and stretched out on the living room sofa.

  The sound of the front door opening jolted her awake. Teagan looked sleepily at the petite woman in a floral housedress who stepped into the hall.

  “Hello!” she called out.

  The woman jumped, dropping the key. She clutched her purse, which was strapped over her right shoulder. “My lord,” she said breathlessly, “you scared the life out of me!”