“I’m Teagan Tiernan.” She got up from the couch.
“Who?” The woman stepped toward her. She was pleasant enough, Teagan thought, with a bright face and dark hair streaked with gray.
“Teagan.” She extended her hand. “I’m Cormac and Shavon’s daughter.”
“I’m Mrs. Bryde.” The woman shook her hand.
“I know. I saw the note.”
Mrs. Bryde stared at her. “I’ve come over to water the violets.” Her gaze wandered over Teagan, from head to toe. The woman took a few steps toward the kitchen and then turned back. “I hope you don’t think me rude, but this is a very odd situation. Your mother never mentioned to our bridge group that she had a daughter.” She fidgeted with her hands, exposing the silver rings on her fingers.
“How long have you been playing bridge with my mother?”
“About a year. She’s new to our group in Donnybrook.”
So, her mother had abandoned her old bridge partners in Ballsbridge for women who didn’t know her. Teagan smiled as an excuse popped into her head. “That explains it. I’ve been away for a while—living with my aunt Florence in New York. My mother misses me so much she doesn’t like to talk about it. I’m only here for a short visit. I hadn’t planned to arrive before they got back from holiday.”
Mrs. Bryde frowned, apparently not buying Teagan’s explanation. “They’re not scheduled to be home until Sunday.” She clasped her hands. “You’ll have a long wait.”
Teagan returned to the sofa and stretched out her legs. “Well, please go ahead and water the violets—I’m not good with plants.” She laughed. “My mother decided to exercise her green thumb after I left.”
The woman looked at her oddly and slipped off to the kitchen. Teagan heard the rush of tap water and the clang of the metal watering can in the sink. As she listened, she formulated her answers to the woman’s expected questions. Mrs. Bryde returned in a few minutes.
“How long are you staying?” the woman asked.
“I’ll be staying with friends the next few nights and then back on Sunday. I came over to check on the house—my mother wanted me to do that.”
“It was nice meeting you,” Mrs. Bryde said. Teagan could tell she didn’t mean it. “Perhaps I’ll see you later in your visit.”
“Perhaps. Don’t bother to lock up. I’ll take care of it.”
“Good-bye.” Mrs. Bryde opened the door. Teagan watched as the woman got into her car.
She shut the door, collapsed against it, and sighed. So that was it. Out of embarrassment and shame, her mother had joined a new bridge group after Teagan had been taken to the convent. That way, her mother would never have to talk about a daughter. Silence was her mother’s new fashion. Mrs. Bryde would certainly be curious about finding her in the house and find the circumstances odd, but probably not serious enough to call the Guards. If she called other members of the group, they would be as in the dark as Mrs. Bryde.
Teagan returned to the living room and plopped on the couch. She had exchanged one prison for another. Was there no way out of being a Magdalen? She turned on the television, hoping it would distract her. A long day stretched ahead with nothing to do. A bit more food and then what? She couldn’t go to Cullen’s or any of her girlfriends’. Everyone acquainted with her knew her story, she suspected. She thought of Father Matthew and Father Mark enjoying a glass of wine in the parish house as she sat a prisoner in her own home. Her parents were on holiday. How depressing. Her father was probably drunk by now, and it was hardly noon.
The telly would have to be her company for the day. Nothing was working. Life was horrible, with the real possibility that it might get worse. Sunday seemed an eternity away. She had planned to keep the curtains closed and most of the lights off after sunset. Just like a gaol. The thought depressed her. The hours crept by.
* * *
By the next afternoon, Teagan had had enough. She had slept poorly on the couch, keeping one eye open during the night. Every pop and creak, every breath of wind, sent her nerves jangling. She expected a Guard to show up at the door at any minute. A cold sandwich and water were her only fare. She missed her mother’s cooking: salmon cakes, beef and cabbage, coddle sausage, and potato stew. The imaginary odors filled her head and made her hungry for something more substantial than the dregs she was eating. She still had most of the money Cullen had given her. Perhaps she’d have to go out for food.
As the day dragged on, she found a sheet of her mother’s stationery and a pen. She wrote three notes, but destroyed each of them before she found the right tone on the fourth. It was a simple letter explaining her escape from the convent and how she had come back to her home to be reunited with her parents. She hoped they would forgive her and welcome her back. That was what she wanted “more than anything in the world.”
She placed the note on the kitchen table next to her mother’s instructions to Mrs. Bryde. Her mother couldn’t fail to find it there. As she paced, she thought about returning to Cullen’s after dark. If nothing else, it would break the boredom of being alone. Maybe he’d agree to put her up overnight, and together, they could work out what she should do next.
Dusk was falling when Teagan heard a car door slam in front of the house. She lifted a slat on the living room blinds and peered out. A black sedan had pulled up to the curb, and two men in black suits were exiting the car. Both men, lean and long, looked official and stern. She gasped when she saw who was in the rear seat. Cullen, his head cradled in his hands, slumped forward.
She ran to the kitchen, hoping to escape by the back door. One of the men was already on the brick walk leading to the garden. A heavy knock reverberated through the hall. She had to open the front door. What if they broke it down? She couldn’t hide. Even if she did, how long could she hold out before they found her?
She smoothed her dress, took a deep breath, and walked down the hall.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the knob.
The man cocked his head and doffed his hat when the door opened.
“Teagan Tiernan?” His eyebrows lifted.
“Yes?” she asked, as if asserting her innocence.
He introduced himself as a “district detective,” flashed identification, and then returned it to his coat pocket. “Please come with me. We’re here to take you back to The Sisters of the Holy Redemption.”
She peered over the man’s shoulder. Cullen was still slouched in the seat. “He had nothing to do with this,” she said.
The detective looked at the car. Cullen leaned back, disappearing from view.
“We know,” the detective said. “The elderly lady who lives next door to the Kirbys saw you crawl out the window yesterday morning. It took a while for her to tell Cullen’s parents, and for him to confess what had happened. He’s in no trouble—except with his family. It wasn’t hard to figure out where you were.”
“Let me close up,” Teagan said. The man followed her in as she picked up the key from a living room table. As she locked the door, the other man appeared from the side of the house and got into the driver’s seat. She replaced the key under the garden gnome.
The detective took her to the car. Teagan slid into the backseat with Cullen.
“I’m sorry,” he said as they pulled away. “My parents wore me down. I lied at first, but then I told them the truth. They were upset you spent the night in my room. That nosy old biddy next door—I could . . .”
She shot him a look. “Don’t say too much. Don’t worry, everything will be all right.” But deep down, she knew she was only soothing Cullen’s feelings. The crushing feeling of despair, which had been a part of her life for more than a year, fell over her again. Life had been a shifting terrain. The elation she’d experienced on slipping out of the convent had vanished once she got to her parents’ home.
She said nothing on the trip back to Cullen’s, other than good-bye. The car sped off to the convent. She wondered what Sister Anne would have in store for her. She dreaded seeing
her again. They drove past Saint Patrick’s Cathedral and St Stephen’s Green, and traveled down a few of the roads that she had walked in her short time away. Mr. Roche was standing at the gate when the car pulled up. He looked at her like a mortified parent, swung open the iron enclosure, and waved them through. As they passed under the oaks and pines, Teagan wondered what her escape had accomplished. Not much, as far as she could see—a brief encounter with Cullen and a heartfelt note to her parents. If her father found the note before her mother, he would destroy it and no one would be the wiser. It would be as if she had never set foot in the house. The only thing her father might miss was the one beer she drank.
When the car stopped, Teagan opened the door. The Mother Superior stood at the top of the steps, in the same spot as their first meeting. Nothing had changed in a year but the thoughts in her head. She looked at the granite façade and sighed. This will be my home forever. Better get used to it. Her concession felt hollow. No sense of relief, depression, or elation filled her. Suddenly she felt nothing.
Teagan walked up the steps to Sister Anne. The heavy doors from which she had escaped only a few days ago stood open. Sisters Mary-Elizabeth and Rose stood in the hall.
The Mother Superior’s face was fixed in a quiet fury that crackled with anger. The nun said nothing as she walked past. Neither did the other Sisters. Teagan walked down the hall and heard the clang of tableware and shifting chairs overhead. The evening meal was being served.
She stopped at the entrance to the Penitent’s Room. The door was open, revealing the dark cave of solitude. She had avoided it in her days here, but this time there was no way out. She sat on the small stool. Sister Mary-Elizabeth approached. The door closed, the lock bolted, and she was jolted into nothingness. Her breath fled and she thrust her palms against the walls to steady herself. Black. Black. A darkness she had never experienced. The stone felt cold against her hands. After a few minutes, her fingers felt as if they were frozen. She stabbed at the granite as she slumped to the floor.
CHAPTER 16
The sun reflected off the grounds like a bright lantern when Nora arrived back at the convent from the hospital. She wanted to walk through the lush blades and feel the dew splatter against her ankles, but her baby boy clamored for attention. He wasn’t sleeping; instead, he pummeled her breasts with his fists and gurgled incessantly. The sound made her happy. In fact, it thrilled her much more than she expected.
He was a strong child, despite being delivered early, but had made good progress once the natural birth occurred. The doctors had kept her a few more days than usual because of his early arrival. She called him Seamus because she’d always liked the sound of the name. She dismissed calling him Pearse, her exboyfriend; Sean, the child’s father; or Gordon, her father. They reminded her of her problem with men.
She wanted to sit in the sun with her baby and enjoy the sparkling day. He batted his long black lashes and cooed. Seamus had the strong chin of his father. He would be a looker someday, she thought, quite the ladies’ man.
The hospital nurse escorted her to the top convent steps and then returned to the car. Sisters Mary-Elizabeth and Ruth waited for her. Both nuns, particularly Sister Mary-Elizabeth, smiled broadly when Nora lowered the blanket from Seamus’s face.
“Oh, by the saints,” Sister Mary-Elizabeth said and pinched his cheek. “What a fine-looking young man.”
“He’ll make some family very happy,” Sister Ruth chimed in.
The nun’s words struck her like ice water in the face. Nora recoiled when Sister Ruth reached out to touch him. She knew what was going to happen to her son. Nothing in the world could change her baby’s fate. He would be suckled by her, then by a wet nurse, and later put up for adoption. She had learned through whispered conversations what happened to a Magdalen’s child. Even the kind doctors and nurses at the hospital told the truth, telling her she should enjoy her baby while she could. Everyone knew what happened to a child born out of wedlock. Many “deserving” Catholic families would welcome Seamus because they couldn’t bear children of their own. Even so, it was tasteless and crass of Sister Ruth to bring up the adoption of her child before she set foot in the convent.
Sister Ruth ducked into the Mother Superior’s office and Sister Mary-Elizabeth guided her to a door on the west side of the chapel. Nora had noticed it before at prayers, but had no idea where it went. If anything, she thought it might open to the gated compound surrounding the convent. The portly nun jangled her keys to find the right one. To Nora’s astonishment, a bright hall opened before them. A group of nuns Nora had seen only at prayers and meals strode through the long, narrow building. Sister Mary-Elizabeth had taken her to another area of the convent that housed the orphanage. The cries and laughter of children echoed down the hall.
The wing was shaped by a series of connecting granite arches, as if it had been a portico at one time. But unlike the main building, the walls were paneled. Ancient beams, pockmarked by woodworm, stretched across the roof. The building reflected its durable age, a comforting thought. It was somehow inviting, more of a home than the sepulchral chambers in which the Magdalens lived and worked.
Sister Mary-Elizabeth opened a door about halfway down the expansive hall to a small room that contained a chair and table. A glass contraption, a large suction cup attached to a bottle, sat on the table.
“Feed your baby and then give us milk,” the nun ordered. She pointed to the breast-milking apparatus. “The wet nurse won’t be available for a few days, so we’ll need to get a supply now and then. We want your child to be well-fed. He’ll be staying in the orphanage under our care.”
“What? Now?” She couldn’t believe they were taking Seamus away from her so quickly.
“Don’t worry,” the Sister said. “He’ll be fine. Believe me, it’ll be easier for you—the sooner you get used to giving him up. There’s no sense prolonging the agony.”
“Me breasts are in agony now,” Nora said. “He’s been a hungry divil.” Her nipples were raw and sensitive underneath her uniform. She wanted to take the suction cup and smash it on the floor. That way she would get to see her baby every feeding time.
“Come now,” the nun coaxed. “I’ll help you with your uniform.” The Sister unbuttoned Nora’s uniform so it fell open at the back. “If you want privacy, I’ll step outside.”
Nora nodded, and the nun went into the hall and closed the door. Sister Mary-Elizabeth could still see Nora if she wished, because the door had a glass insert.
She placed Seamus in her lap and wriggled out of her uniform and the shoulder of her cotton slip, revealing her right breast. Seamus looked up hungrily, as if he knew what was in store. He reached for her. Nora leaned over and brought his head up. She winced as his mouth attached to her nipple.
After a few seconds, the pain disappeared and she became one with her child. The feeling was unlike any she had ever experienced. This little creature, so dependent on her, gazed into her eyes with a look of warm helplessness and love. No one had ever loved her so unconditionally. She brushed back his fine black hair and he gurgled happily. The sucking sounds comforted her and filled her with a sense of purpose. She was doing something good for the first time in her life. She didn’t want the happiness to end.
Sister Mary-Elizabeth turned, looked in the window, and smiled. The nun pointed to the milking machine and made pumping motions with her hand. “I’ll show you how to use it, if you need help,” the nun shouted through the glass.
“I can figure it out,” Nora shouted back.
Sister Mary-Elizabeth turned to talk to another nun who passed by. Nora was left again with the baby and her thoughts. The feeding lasted until Seamus took his lips away. Nora raised him to her shoulder and patted him on the back. He let out a loud burp.
Nora situated Seamus in her lap, until he was comfortable, and then used the machine. Her milk, a thin white liquid, poured into the container until it was full.
She kicked the door with her foot and Siste
r Mary-Elizabeth turned. She signaled for Nora to wait. The nun reappeared with Immaculata, the Sister who had sent Nora to the hospital. She took Seamus from Nora’s arms and smiled when she saw the bottle on the table. “That will come in handy,” Sister Immaculata proclaimed. “He’s such a good baby. It’s amazing how good things can come from bad.” She looked sternly at Nora. “We only need you for milk until the wet nurse arrives. You can return to your duties. I’m sure the Mother Superior will approve.”
Nora’s stomach turned over. The thought of giving up Seamus made her nauseous. He was already gone! The Sisters wouldn’t even allow her a few meager moments of joyous motherhood.
Immaculata walked away with Seamus and opened a door on the left side of the hall. Nora made a mental note of the room’s location as she dressed. A plan had already hatched in her mind.
“Time to go back,” Sister Mary-Elizabeth said. “How do you feel?”
“A little weak,” Nora said, stretching the truth.
“I don’t doubt that you’re knackered from the birth,” the nun said. “You probably need rest before you go back to work. But, knowing you, I’m sure you’ll be up and about tomorrow.”
Nora nodded, but said nothing as the Sister led her down the hall. When the nun opened the door leading to the chapel, Nora fell forward, dragging the nun inside with her. The door shut by itself. Nora stumbled to a pew and collapsed.
Sister Mary-Elizabeth rushed to her, so consumed with Nora she forgot to lock the door. Nora had hoped that would happen. “Are you all right?” the nun asked as she hovered over her.
“I’ll be fine.” Nora gasped a few times for extra effect. “Just get me to bed.”
The nun helped her up from the pew. Soon Nora was resting with a grin on her face. She had escaped laundry duty.
She glanced at Teagan’s bed. It looked as if no one had slept in it for several days. The blanket was neatly folded at the foot, and the sheets were crisper than the other Magdalens’ beds. There was no one around to answer questions about her friend’s whereabouts.
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