The Magdalen Girls

by V. S. Alexander

  * * *

  Nora dragged herself to tea. Teagan was still missing. At vespers, Nora was thinking about a different matter than her friend. She kept her eye on the door that led to the orphanage. Nothing had changed as far as she could tell. She hoped it would still be unlocked when she came back in the early morning hours.

  At bedtime, she questioned Lea about Teagan, but her friend revealed nothing. If anything, Lea seemed depressed, unable to talk. Even the country girl’s enigmatic smile had faded, but Nora suspected Lea knew a great deal more than her silence indicated.

  Having nothing to do for a few hours, she curled up in bed and slept. A few Technicolor dreams about giving birth and nursing invaded her sleep. One, about suckling, seemed so real she shot upright in bed, her nipple burning in pain.

  The garret was dark, and the time was right. The Magdalens, unaware of her, snored and snuffled as she walked to the doors. She stopped in the toilet before she headed downstairs to the chapel.

  Its doors, heavy and wooden, echoed the design of the convent’s entrance, only on a smaller scale. They were always closed, except during prayers or Mass, but never locked. Her breath caught as she pulled on the carved wooden handle. What if one of the nuns was inside? The thought scared her briefly, but she would lie if necessary. So sorry to disturb you, Sister, but I felt the need to pray.

  A small electric lamp burned in the corner. It cast a dim light throughout the chapel. All the votive candles had been extinguished, but Nora knew where they were kept, because she had seen the nuns fussing with them so many times. She found them tucked inside a chest of drawers near the back. She took one of the longer candles and a box of matches and headed toward the door that led to the orphanage.

  Her prayer had been answered. The door swung open to the orphanage hall. A large cathedral lamp hung from one of the weathered beams, throwing its light, suffused with filigree shadows, over the granite and wood.

  Nora glanced at the clock attached to the wall. It was after two, and everything was quiet. She wasn’t sure where the nuns who worked here slept, but no one was up. It was long past any midnight feedings. How many nuns, how many children, were here? She had no idea.

  She reached the room where Immaculata had taken Seamus. Her heart racing, she gathered her courage and opened the door.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, for only the scattered light from a small lamp attached to the orphanage’s south wall filtered through the windows. As the room came into focus in dull gray forms, she was able to make out a row of metal cribs in its center, five in all. A desk and chair sat on her left, to the east, while a heavy, mirrored armoire took up most of the west wall. Her nose twitched. It smelled like a baby, with the unmistakable odor of a diapered infant in the air.

  She lit the candle and put the matches on the desk. Holding the flame, she tiptoed toward the cribs, then stopped and looked in each, from left to right. All were empty except the last one, near the armoire. She placed the candle on the desk and walked back to the last crib. She uncovered the baby inside and turned the child over. Seamus’s black hair and strong chin came into view. The baby sputtered, and Nora put a finger to his lips to quiet him. His arms flailed at his sides briefly, but, as if he had been expecting the comfort of his mother, he closed his eyes and drifted off.

  She gathered her baby and sat in the chair, content to rock him in her arms and watch the candle’s flickering shadows play about the room. The thought crossed her mind that she was like the Madonna—caring for the poor child she had brought into the world. She could have been anywhere—her bedroom, a cottage near the Cliffs of Moher, a manger—all equally suitable nurseries for the expression of her maternal warmth. Nothing in the world could take the place of being close to her baby. He slept peacefully, lulled by the quiet and depth of her affection, as she drifted toward sleep.

  For what must have been an hour—she wasn’t sure how long—she kept watch, savoring her devotion to her baby. She knew sitting with him was forbidden. Sister Immaculata had made it clear that she wasn’t to see Seamus again, but her love was greater than the nuns’ demands. She wanted to see her baby as many times as she could manage.

  Seamus kicked and fussed when she repositioned his body against her chest, and soon, his bawling erupted into whining screams. One of the nuns was sure to hear him cry out. If she was discovered, her time with him would be gone forever.

  She ran back to the crib and covered him while he thrashed about. The candle still burned on the desk. A terrible thought struck her; she couldn’t blow it out, for the smoke would fill the room. She would be discovered for sure.

  The armoire. It was the only place large enough to hide. She gathered the candle and matches, hurried across, and opened its double doors. The cabinet was divided into two sections, with drawers on the left and a tall compartment on the right that was empty except for sheets draped over hangers. Nora ducked inside, the candle still burning, and closed the doors behind her.

  Seamus, now fully awake, howled.

  Keeping the candle aflame was too risky. She blew it out hoping the wick wouldn’t smolder for too long. Smoke churned in the air. She grabbed the edge of one of the sheets as a makeshift mask and breathed through it to keep from coughing. A small spit of orange died on the wick. She placed the candle on the matchbox in the corner of the armoire.

  The nursery door creaked open. Footsteps sounded in the room. She heard the bustle around Seamus’s crib, a body length away. The nun’s voice was muted, but words sounding like “now, now” filtered through the armoire doors. For a few minutes, a soft hum, like a song, rose in the air. Seamus quieted and the singer’s voice faded. The door clicked shut.

  To be safe, she waited a few more minutes before slowly opening the armoire doors. She peeked out. The nursery was dark and empty, except for her baby. Seamus was asleep on his back, a pacifier perched near his lips. It was too dangerous to stay. She had to get back to bed before dawn.

  She leaned down, kissed him, and then looked around the room to make sure that everything was just as it had been when she arrived. She closed the armoire, pushed the chair close to the desk, and tiptoed out of the room. The clock read fifteen minutes before four. She made her way down the hall, through the chapel, and back to bed without being noticed.

  * * *

  Screams awakened her as dawn broke.

  “Fire! Fire!”

  Sister Mary-Elizabeth, dressed in her nightgown, flung open the garret doors and screamed at the Magdalens. “Get out, now! Go downstairs to the lawn. Mr. Roche will see you out!”

  Nora shot up in bed, awake to the horror around her. Shouts echoed down the hall. She jumped from bed and looked out the barred window. Balls of thick black smoke, rising from the orphanage, filled the grounds. The roiling clouds billowed into the pink sky.

  She trembled at the terrible thought that filled her head: The candle and the matches! I put the candle on the matchbox and left it in the armoire.

  She sank to her knees in front of the window. “Seamus! Seamus!”

  Lea grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her up. “We have to go outside.” Her friend sounded calm compared to the frantic voices around her.

  “My baby . . . my baby is in there. Please, let me go.”

  Lea grabbed her hands and led her toward the door. “I can help.”

  The gritty smell of burning wood filled the hall as they fled down the stairs. Below them, the nuns screamed. The Magdalens, like a herd of frightened animals, rushed down the stairs in a torrent and out the doors.

  Lea kept her hands on Nora, pushing her forward until they were in the yard, running past the front of the convent, then south and west, until they could see the burning orphanage. They gathered in an area normally off-limits to them.

  Nora shook violently at the sight of the burning building. “Oh my God! Dear Jesus.” Her son was inside—the son she had hoped would have a better life than she. She clenched her hands and brought them up to her temples. The p
ain was excruciating. How could she have been so stupid? Please don’t let my son die! I can’t go on if he dies!

  She collapsed to the ground and buried her face in her hands.

  * * *

  Lea had heard something when she and Nora fled past the chapel. It sounded like frantic knocking from the Penitent’s Room. The noise bothered her, but there was something more important in the yard that vied for her attention. She needed to save Nora’s child because the others told her so.

  Their tiny bodies wrapped in burial cloths, they floated above the ground and pointed to the orphanage windows. They cried, especially a little boy with dirty smudges on his face and hands. Save him. His crib is in front of that window. The boy stuck a grubby finger toward it. Go through the chapel. Lea had been with the nuns in the orphanage a few times when they needed help, but she had never spent much time there.

  The Sisters attacked the flames with buckets of water and then fell back from the heat and smoke. Sister Immaculata appeared around the side of the convent, leading a stream of coughing children into the yard.

  “Please look after Monica,” Lea said to Sister Rose, the old nun who stood watch over the Magdalens. “Her baby is inside the orphanage.” The nun steepled her fingers in prayer and nodded.

  Lea ran to Sister Immaculata. The orphanage children clustered around the nun’s legs.

  “Where’s Monica’s baby?” Lea asked her.

  The nun shook her head. “The smoke, the flames . . .” The nun was too shocked to be of any use.

  Lea spotted Mr. Roche at the entrance to the convent. He stood on the steps waving his hands through the air as if he could magically remove the smoke from the building.

  “I need your keys, Mr. Roche,” Lea said.

  He looked at her, stupefied, and waved her away. “Go on with yeh. I’ve no time for yer craziness.”

  “Someone’s in the Penitent’s Room. It’s locked!”

  “Christ Jesus!” He crossed himself, then sprinted, keys in hand, toward the room. Smoke rolled across the convent ceiling, darkening the already dim interior. He thrust the key into the lock, turned it, and pulled on the handle. Teagan, gasping, tumbled against him.

  “Get out!” He pointed to the open convent doors. “The orphanage is on fire.”

  Lea pushed her friend toward Mr. Roche, who was poised to head outside. “Take care of Nora.”

  Sirens sounded around the convent. The fire service had arrived.

  Teagan looked back. “Where are you going?”

  Lea ducked into the chapel. Mr. Roche grabbed Teagan’s arm and pulled her away. Her friend was yelling, but the words she was shouting made no sense; it was as if she had stepped into a dream.

  Regal and serene, He stood in front of the orphanage door, welcoming her, hands outstretched. She smiled because He was so like the pictures she had seen in her Bible and in art books. He even bore some resemblance to her “Christ Enthroned” portrait from the Book of Kells. Her mind flipped back to her picture. The face at the door came alive. He was wearing a red tunic and a blue robe, but the colors of His clothes made little difference. They were diffused by a halo of light that surrounded Him. His brown skin shone in the white light; His luxuriant beard, the color of His skin, came to a point well below His chin. His eyes locked on to hers. She was shocked to see that they were blue, but behind their deep sparkle lay the stars and galaxies of the universe.

  He motioned for her to follow. The door flew open, and a thick plume of smoke poured into the chapel as if funneled by a ferocious wind.

  She covered her mouth. The smoke parted around her, and she was able to breathe.

  She followed Him into the hall. The flames turned to ash where He stepped. Glass broke on the north side of the orphanage, and a column of water flew over her head. The stream struck the burning beams and fell, steaming, back to the floor. Part of the roof collapsed behind her with a crashing thud. She continued forward. He held up His hands and the water bounced back as if it had hit an invisible wall. A shower of cool drops fell upon her, knocking back the blistering heat.

  The door she’d sought was coming close, on the left. He pointed to the knob, and she turned it. The metal singed her flesh, but she felt nothing except the desire to move into the fire. The water splashed and sizzled behind her. She opened the door.

  The thick black smoke parted around her. Through her stinging eyes, she saw firemen running on the other side of the windows. The heat stabbed at her; flames licked at her feet and arms. Her guide was gone. She was alone in a room filled with fire. The little dead boy outside had pointed to the window at the far end of the room. A crib lay across from it. She walked to it, feeling as if the sun blazed around her.

  The infant looked up at her, blinking. How beautiful he was. Fine black hair covered his head. Perfectly formed lips complimented the sturdy chin. How handsome the eyes, too. They were blue, like the man’s eyes who had guided her in, and they glittered with the same stars. The child held out his arms and she grabbed him.

  He snuggled against her.

  She held him in her outstretched arms, reaching for the window, trying to get him as far away as possible from the inferno. The furniture blazed, the cribs burst into flame, the walls and ceiling crinkled with heat.

  Nora! Nora! Here he is!

  * * *

  “Oh my God!” Teagan stood by Nora, holding her back from rushing toward the window.

  The fireman grabbed his ax and smashed the glass. It shattered in a gale of shards. Dense smoke plumed from the window.

  The ashen cloud parted briefly. Teagan saw Lea’s arms with the baby in her grasp. Her friend’s clothes burned upon her as she split the flames.

  Nora screamed. The fireman reached inside with his protected hands and arms. He pulled the baby from Lea and placed him on the ground. He dropped over the infant, his mouth upon the baby’s. He pushed on the infant’s chest, but it did not move. He bent again and again, forcing his breath into the boy.

  Teagan ran as close as she could to the window before the heat forced her back. “Get out, Lea! Save yourself!”

  Her friend smiled as she had seen her do a thousand times, that enigmatic look of peace, a tranquility that Teagan had seldom experienced.

  The wall of fire leapt forward. The orphanage windows crackled.

  Lea stood in the flames, quivering, with her arms outstretched from her sides. Her hair burned as she sank into the fire.

  “Oh God! No!” Teagan cried out. You were too good for the world—a saint living on this wicked earth. I’ll miss you.

  A blast of water from the opposite side of the orphanage burst through the windows. The room exploded in gray smoke and ash.

  Teagan turned to see the fireman still bent over the child.

  Nora hovered nearby. Her friend looked blankly at the baby and uttered, “Seamus . . . Seamus.” Even the tears had stopped flowing.

  The baby lay limp on the wet grass.

  The fireman put his hand on Nora’s shoulder and shook his head.

  Nora wailed and dropped to her knees. Her cries sounded to Teagan as if all the good, all the reasons for living, had drained from her soul.

  Teagan knelt and sheltered Nora’s body with hers. Her friend stiffened, but didn’t cry out. Every muscle in Nora’s body shook as she reached for Seamus. Her arms failed her, and she collapsed on the ground. Teagan fell on top of her and cried.

  CHAPTER 17

  The girls spent most of the day in the old library, sitting uncomfortably near the whir of gigantic fans that forced smoke out the windows. Teagan found herself staring, with tears in her eyes, at Lea’s desk much of the time. The uncompleted Book of Kells lay on top, a testament to the convent’s loss. Out the window, she could see the firemen, and a few of the nuns, sifting through the charred debris. Sister Anne stood silent, stern, most of the time rarely looking away from the orphanage. Often, she would lower her head and clasp her hands in prayer.

  The Magdalens had been excused from lau
ndry duties as the firemen cleared the smoke from the convent. The orphanage had been destroyed. All of the children had been saved except for Seamus. He was nearer the heart of the fire than any of the others. The firemen weren’t sure how it had happened, but in the destroyed armoire, they found the remains of a melted candle and the cinders of burnt matches.

  Nora huddled in a corner near the lace-mending desk. If Teagan hadn’t known her friend was in the room, she wouldn’t have spotted her. She was like a trapped animal, hiding, wrapped into a ball, never speaking or moving. When the cooking staff delivered the noon meal from serving carts, Nora refused to eat.

  “Please say something,” Teagan said to her friend after eating. “I’m sorry about your baby.” She struggled to hold in the sadness that swamped her.

  Nora stared past her, mute, her gaze like an inmate in an asylum. Teagan had no idea whether her voice even registered with her friend.

  The day crept by with nothing to do. Sisters Mary-Elizabeth and Ruth were always nearby, keeping the Magdalens in check, ordering them to keep quiet, and admonishing them to spend the day in silent prayer. It was hard to say anything over the roar of the fans.

  Late in the afternoon, Sister Mary-Elizabeth kneeled on the floor near Nora. She held her hands and prayed for what seemed like an eternity. When the nun turned, she had tears in her eyes. She gathered the other Magdalens in a semicircle in front of her so she could be heard.

  “The orphanage has been destroyed,” the nun said in a quivering voice. “We believe the fire was started, accidentally or on purpose, by a candle and matches in the newborn room.”

  The girls gasped. Teagan looked at Nora, who stared straight ahead like a mannequin.

  “We’re devastated,” the Sister continued, “but the damage has been done and it will be months before we can reopen. The fire service thinks the whole wing is unsafe and might need to be demolished. Fortunately, thanks to Sister Immaculata, all of the children escaped the fire alive—except for one.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. “We also lost someone very dear to us—your sister Lea. She now rests in God’s arms in heaven. She died trying to save . . . a baby.” The nun looked at Nora, who still sat like a rock in the corner. She got no response. “There’ll be no work today, but we’ll resume our schedule tomorrow with a few changes. You’ll sleep here tonight because we need your beds for the nuns who were displaced by the fire.”