Saints for All Occasions

by J. Courtney Sullivan

  Kitty was the closest thing to Elizabeth Taylor she had ever seen in real life. She had those sharp contrasts to her face—milky white skin and bright green eyes, though her hair was a gorgeous shade of auburn. She was tall, as tall as her brothers. When Kitty stood, she curved her shoulders forward slightly, as if to take a few inches off.

  Under Babs’s tutelage, Theresa had purchased one pink lipstick. She could never decide if it looked good on her, but she continued to wear it anyway. She also had a tube of black mascara, a prized possession. Kitty had more makeup than a fashion model. She laid it out on the dresser, pushing aside Theresa’s hairbrush and her rarely perused Bible to make room for perfume, for eye shadow and blush, for black eyeliner and two fat white powder puffs in white porcelain jars.

  When Kitty was out, Theresa looked through her things. She once dared to spritz a fine mist of Kitty’s perfume and then sat fretting for the next hour, afraid of what might happen if Kitty or Nora came in and smelled it in the air.

  Kitty came to breakfast one morning in a pair of bright blue Capri pants and a sleeveless button-down shirt, looking like something from a magazine. Theresa vowed to save her money to buy an identical outfit.

  Two years ago, Enda Kelly had horrified everyone in Miltown Malbay when she walked into the chemist’s with a visiting American cousin—a teenage girl in blue jeans. Theresa hadn’t seen her, but her friend Sheila reported that the old ladies in line shook their heads in disgust. Nora said the poor girl probably felt mortified when she realized how out of place she was there. But Theresa doubted it bothered her. She guessed that the American cousin felt superior to them all and went on with her day. That’s how she wanted it to be when she went back. She would cause a stir and barely notice.

  Theresa begged her sister for the full story about Kitty. Nora told her not to be nosy. But after a week, she relented. The two of them were in their beds, tucked in beneath the covers. Kitty wasn’t home yet. Nora was in a rare and lovely mood, light and unguarded, the way Theresa liked her best.

  “Two years ago, she ran off and married a Protestant. A doctor,” Nora whispered. “No one’s heard from her since. Charlie supposes now the doctor’s gone and left her and so she’s back.”

  Theresa had never heard of a married woman living without her husband, unless he was dead. “No one says anything about it,” she said.

  Nora seemed amazed by her surprise. “They wouldn’t now, would they?”

  “Do you like her?” Theresa asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You should make friends. She’ll be your sister-in-law soon.”

  Nora didn’t say anything.

  “Well, won’t she?”

  “If we get married, then yes.”

  “If!” Theresa said.

  “Charlie’s been after me to set a date. Every time I think of it, I want to be sick.”

  Theresa was thrilled to be let in on her sister’s private thoughts. She started to reply, but the door opened then, and Kitty said, “It’s only me.”

  It didn’t seem like something she would say. Under normal conditions, she would have barged in as if this were her room alone. And so they knew that Kitty had heard it all, or some part of it anyway. When she turned her back to them, taking hold of a hanger in the closet, Nora widened her eyes at Theresa, then closed them tight as if to erase the moment from her mind.

  5

  THERESA WAS ON HER WAY to the tub when Kitty Rafferty pushed past her into the bathroom. “Sorry! I need to get in there! I’ve had a visit from my little friend and I’m headed out the door.”

  Theresa waited outside in her robe. No matter how she timed it, a bath was never a simple proposition. Thirteen people shared this bathroom. Mrs. Quinlan didn’t like them to bathe more than once a week. “Saturday’s wash for Sunday’s dash will do you fine,” she said. But even then, there was usually some complication.

  When Kitty came out, Theresa went in and ran the water. She undressed as she waited for the tub to fill. Kitty’s mention of her little friend put Theresa in mind of her own. When she first got to Boston, she didn’t bleed for three months, but after that, her period arrived just when she expected it. Until recently. How long had it been? She tried to recall as she sank into the bath.

  Theresa ran a hand over her stomach. Was there a rise there that she hadn’t noticed before, or was she imagining it?

  She lay still until the water grew cool, and then she added more.

  A thought crossed her mind.

  There was a pounding at the door. She shot upright.

  “While we’re young, Theresa!” shouted Aunt Nellie, who was eighty-five.

  She stood and dried off in haste, then pulled on her robe and went to the bedroom.

  Aunt Nellie called after her, “I was twelve when you went in there!”

  Alone in the bedroom, Theresa let the robe fall to the floor and looked down at her belly. Next moment, the door flew open.

  “Sorry, I left my—” Kitty’s eyes landed on Theresa’s naked body. She slammed the door shut, leaning up against it as if fending off a mob.

  “Jesus,” she whispered. “Are you pregnant?”

  Was it possible to know something fully and yet not know it at all? The truth came to light, and still Theresa said, “Of course I’m not.”

  “Do you know how babies are conceived?”

  Theresa thought she did, vaguely, though no one had ever told her.

  She nodded.

  “Have you—has someone—some man—done something to you?”

  “No! Well. Yes. In a way.”

  “When?”

  “It’s happened a few times.”

  Kitty looked almost amused. “That’s where you sneak off to.” She seemed to catch herself. Her face turned serious. “Have you felt ill?”

  “No.”

  But now that she thought of it, Theresa had been exhausted. Twice, she fell asleep at work. Fasting before Mass had become a hardship. She snuck a slice of bread from the kitchen the previous Sunday. She had blamed it all on her late nights, on the hunger she worked up dancing.

  Kitty started pacing the room.

  “I’ll get a cup at work and bring it home,” she said. “I’ll just take a sample to the hospital. I’ll mark it Joan Doe. People do it all the time. Of course, they’ll probably think it’s mine.” Kitty laughed, considering this.

  —

  While she waited for the results, Theresa wanted more than anything to tell Nora. Every day at work, she’d stare at her sister until Nora said, “What’s the matter with you?”

  She knew Nora would be furious over what she had done. But somehow she still didn’t believe it could be true. At night, all three of them in their beds, Theresa bargained with God in her head. If He would just let it not be so, she would do anything. She did not sneak off to a dance even once. She didn’t talk back to her sister.

  When she found out for sure, Theresa wept. Kitty made her go to a doctor to confirm it. He said she was four months along.

  She did not have to find a way to break the news to her sister, because that same day, Kitty told Nora and Charlie.

  “I can’t be the only one who knows,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  The four of them gathered in the bedroom, trying to whisper.

  It was a relief and it was a nightmare, having her sister know. Nora sat on her bed. She didn’t say a thing. She wouldn’t look at Theresa.

  “He’ll have to marry you,” Charlie said.

  “Do you want that?” Kitty asked. “Could you marry this man?”

  Theresa was too fearful even to find the words. “I thought,” she began. “Someday.”

  “It’s not the time, Charlie,” Kitty said. “She’s too young.”

  “I forgot, we’ve got a marriage expert present,” he said.

  “Why are you angry with me? I haven’t done anything. We’ve all made mistakes, haven’t we?”

  “Some worse than others,” he said. “Plenty of gir
ls her age get married here. It’s not like at home, where we’re forced to wait until we’re a hundred. Here, you decide these matters for yourself.”

  “That’s just the point,” Kitty said. “She hasn’t decided.”

  “Where is he?” Charlie said. “Where does he live?”

  The thought of Charlie and Walter in the same place, discussing this, mortified her. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? Christ in heaven.”

  “It’s all right, Charlie. Calm down,” Kitty said. “I’ve talked to a nurse at the hospital who knows someone. It will cost two hundred and fifty dollars. I don’t know where we’ll ever get that, but I can help a little.”

  Charlie shook his head, closed his eyes. He breathed in deep through his nose, so all of them could hear. “I knew you would say that. I should have you sent home for even suggesting it.”

  Kitty laughed. “I’d love to see you try.”

  “If she won’t be married, she’ll go to Saint Mary’s,” Charlie said.

  Theresa watched them as if she were watching a play, as if it weren’t her fate they were deciding.

  “You have no idea what you’re asking of her,” Kitty said. “My way will be easier.”

  “Easier until she’s burning in hell. Until we all are, since you’ve brought us into it. I won’t allow it. It’s a crime. It’s a sin!”

  Theresa weighed her soul against her freedom—she had only just begun to know it.

  “Do you want this decision to be down to you, Charlie?” Kitty asked. “Do you want whatever happens on your shoulders?”

  He ignored her.

  “Saint Mary’s is a nice place, Theresa,” he said. “Run by nuns. It’s next door to the hospital where Kitty works. You’ll go away for the last few months. Then you’ll have the baby at Saint Margaret’s. No one ever has to know.”

  “How will she go away?” Kitty asked. She came to Theresa’s side. “If you do what I tell you, you’ll have a short visit to a doctor’s office. It will be like getting your tonsils out. It will all be over in a day or two.”

  “A doctor’s office!” Charlie cried. “It’ll be a short visit, Theresa, provided you don’t die on the good doctor’s table.”

  Theresa had never seen him like this. Serious, stern. All his humor drained away.

  She felt the full force of it now. Die on the table or go to the nuns.

  She looked to her sister, but Nora sat staring straight ahead, saying nothing.

  “Nora,” Theresa said softly. “What should I do?”

  “You don’t ask me that now,” her sister said. “It’s too late for that.”

  “Please don’t tell Daddy,” she said. “I’m begging you.”

  Nora closed her eyes. “Is that all you can think of?” she said. “Oh, Theresa.”

  —

  It was decided that Theresa would go to Saint Mary’s at five months and stay until the baby was born. Nora made her swear that she would never see Walter again. Theresa agreed, but she could not leave him wondering. She went to the next dance as planned, met him outside. When Walter reached for his wallet to pay their way in, she put a hand on his and said, “Let’s take a walk.”

  She told him what had happened and felt her body flood with shame, as if they had not done the thing together. He didn’t believe her at first. He said she didn’t look pregnant, and he should know. But Walter had only ever seen her body in the dark.

  Theresa told him her plan, and he nodded along. He said he knew a girl who’d gone to Saint Mary’s once.

  He told her he loved her. He said, “I’ll be here when you come back.”

  Theresa felt overcome with a deep disappointment she couldn’t quite name. Maybe she had wished that he would ask her to marry him, despite what she’d said.

  “You can visit me,” she said.

  “I will, then.”

  He kissed her good night.

  —

  Saint Mary’s was a small, unremarkable building, tucked into the shadow of Saint Margaret’s Hospital. Theresa must have passed it a dozen times without ever wondering what went on inside.

  Charlie and Nora brought her when the time came. They told Mrs. Quinlan they had found Theresa a summer job on the Cape, cleaning in some visiting family’s beach house, the job she had always wanted. In the fall, Theresa would start teaching, so nobody minded much when she left the seamstress’s shop and went off for what Charlie described as her last hurrah.

  “You’ve done the right thing,” he said before they parted ways on the sidewalk. “Remember that.”

  Nora walked Theresa to the door. The nun who answered had a warm smile. She introduced herself as Sister Josephine.

  “Come now, I’ll take you to meet Sister Bernadette. She’s in charge of intake.”

  Nora held back, waiting, until Sister Josephine said, “You can come in for this part.”

  She led them both to an office at the end of a dark hall.

  Sister Bernadette had an intimidating bosom, a slight mustache. She rose from her desk when they stepped into the room and stayed on her feet while she spoke, her fingers knotted together as if in prayer.

  “You girls are from Ireland.”

  “Yes, Sister,” Nora said.

  “And does your mother know about your situation?” She was looking at Theresa now.

  “My mother is dead, Sister.”

  “Your father, then.”

  “No.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Back home.”

  “Whereabouts is that?”

  “In the west. County Clare.”

  “I don’t suppose you know the O’Rourke family in Killarney. Ailish O’Rourke?” She paused. “No, why would you?”

  When Theresa didn’t reply, the nun said, “You do realize you’ve committed a mortal sin. Have you been to confession? Have you told a priest?”

  “No, Sister,” Theresa said.

  Nora straightened in her chair.

  “Well. You will while you’re here. You’ll behave, and you’ll be brought back to the path of righteousness. You can get on with your life. Put this behind you. The baby will go to a good Catholic family. We consider it a gift to them, from God.”

  “Have they already been chosen?” Nora asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Will I meet them?” Theresa said.

  Sister Bernadette shook her head.

  Theresa nodded, relieved. She envisioned the moment when she would leave this place and finally be herself again. She wondered how soon Walter would come.

  “Are we understood?”

  “Yes, Sister.”

  “Good.” Sister Bernadette passed a pen and paper across the table. “Sign that,” she said.

  Theresa did as she was told. She looked at Nora and Nora forced a smile.

  Sister Josephine was waiting in the hall. She guided them back the way they came.

  “I’ll just show you out,” she said to Nora.

  Before they parted, Nora hugged her so tight Theresa thought her ribs might crack. She didn’t want her to pull away.

  She watched as Nora slowly descended the stairs to the sidewalk, to Charlie waiting in the car. The door closed, taking the light with it.

  Sister Josephine led her up a long marble staircase. At the top, doors on either side lined a wood-paneled corridor.

  The nun went to one of the doors and pushed it open.

  “This will be your room,” she said. “You’ll have two roommates—Susan and Mae. These are not their real names. And you’re not to tell them yours. As long as you’re here, you are Kate. Do you understand?”

  Theresa wanted to go home, to undo all of this. But she held back her tears and said she understood.

  The bedroom had white walls and three single beds. They weren’t permitted to bring anything of a personal nature—photos or makeup or magazines. She thought of the room she shared with Nora, with Kitty, bursting with signs of life. Here, the beds were neatly made, covered in plain whit
e blankets. The room looked like no one had ever set foot in it. The only thing out of the ordinary was the one window, boarded over, with planks of wood nailed into the frame on either side.

  —

  Within five minutes of meeting her roommates, Theresa learned that Susan’s real name was Patricia and Mae’s was Elizabeth. When Elizabeth left the room, Patricia whispered that she was soft in the head. She wouldn’t say how she’d gotten pregnant, but Patricia suspected something awful had happened to her. On her first night at Saint Mary’s, Elizabeth had tried to throw herself out the bedroom window. Patricia held her back. The next day, a priest came around with the wood and the hammer and nails.

  Each day at lunch, they ate stewed tomatoes on white bread. The nuns made them take a water pill to keep from retaining fluid. On Monday afternoons, the doctor examined them. A bell rang and they lined up in the hall. Theresa felt shame course through her when the time came to lie on the table and open her legs. It was unimaginable that those brief moments of pleasure with Walter had led her here.

  They attended Mass in the parlor each morning. Afterward, Sister Bernadette spoke to them about their sins and how they might use their free hours to atone. Once, a girl about Theresa’s age raised her hand and asked how they should tell their future husbands about all this.

  “Don’t,” the nun said plainly. “No man would want to marry a girl like that.”

  She thought of Walter, how he wasn’t like other men. He hadn’t blamed her for being here. He hadn’t come to see her yet. She wondered if he was all right. A nagging thought hung at the edges of her mind, but she refused to let it in.

  —

  In the dark at night, Theresa’s roommates cried. They were louder than they might have been if they weren’t trying so hard to be quiet. Patricia told her that she didn’t want to give her baby up, that she could feel the child kicking, begging her not to go away. She had gotten pregnant by her boyfriend. Her parents made her swear never to tell him what happened. The boyfriend thought she was a counselor at a summer camp in New Hampshire. Patricia said they would still be married one day.

  Theresa cried for Walter, not for the baby. But no one could tell the difference. Her breasts grew swollen, foreign, as the weeks passed. Her belly stretched taut like a drum. She didn’t think of the thing inside her as a child. It was something happening to her, besieging her, which would pass like any unwanted boil or bruise or flu. She felt horribly lonesome. She thought God had been creative, punishing her for going out to the dances on her own by leaving her truly alone here.