The Godforsaken Daughter

by Christina McKenna

  May avoided her sister’s eye. “No, it’s just . . . it’s a stomach bug. I’ll be all right in a couple of days.”

  “You should go and lie down, May. Ruby, you’ve finished cleaning the room, haven’t you?”

  “Yes . . . yes. The bed’s just been fresh made. I’ll bring you up some tea . . . and a biscuit, if you like.”

  May picked up her vanity case. She swayed slightly, looked unsteady. “Just the tea. I can’t eat anything.”

  “I’ll ring Dr. Brewster for—”

  “I’m all right, Mummy,” she snapped. “I don’t need a doctor.”

  “But what if it’s more serious, May dear—”

  “It’s not serious. I just need to rest in bed a couple of days. Now stop fussing.”

  Minutes later, Ruby took the tray of tea upstairs.

  She found May lying on top of the bedcover, palms pressed against her abdomen.

  “Anything else I can get you, May?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Ruby made to leave.

  Then: “You didn’t come across a letter belonging to me?”

  “No . . . no, I didn’t.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The question forced Ruby to turn round. “Yes . . . I’m sure. Why? Was it important?”

  May searched her face. The air between them tightened.

  “It’s a . . . a reference from . . . my boss,” she said, her gaze sliding away to a statue of the Child of Prague. “I must have dropped it . . . at the weekend.”

  Ah, thought Ruby, might he be the father? Might he be the man that got her into this mess? The one she never ceased talking about. Suddenly, she felt very sorry for May.

  “Mr. Ross?”

  “Yes . . . him.”

  “Why, are you going to leave Boots?”

  “Yes . . . that’s why it’s important I find the reference . . . don’t want to give him the trouble of writing another one. Are you sure you didn’t see it?” May’s eyes were pleading.

  Ruby felt bad, but she couldn’t go back on her word; the lie would have to stand for now. “No . . . but I’ll have a wee look round the house and outside. You could have dropped it coming up the lane.”

  “Thanks . . . thanks, Ruby. I think I’ll try and sleep now.”

  Chapter twenty-six

  She’d bathed in saltwater, to rid herself of negative energies. Made a pouch of herbs tied up with red wool to burn on the altar. Had assembled the objects of devotion in a carry bag. Now Ruby sat in her green robe on the bed, plaiting a garland of laurel leaves and ivy, laced with montbretia and buttercups, to wear on her head.

  Twenty minutes to midnight. The time of celebration was here. Soon she’d be entering into the womb of the great Goddess Dana; would be purifying herself in the waters of Beldam and awakening to her new life. The veil between the worlds, at its thinnest now, would allow Dana’s children, the faerie folk, to give her safe passage to the Afterworld, where her dear father waited. Ruby’s heart lifted at the very thought. She was eager to be gone.

  At that witching hour, the house was still. Martha and May sound asleep. She had to be very, very quiet, however. It was not her mother she was concerned about, but May. Her arrival home on this day of all days was a setback she’d never anticipated.

  Task completed, she eased herself off the bed and went to the mirror, positioned the garland on her head. It fitted perfectly. Then stood gazing at her reflection, transfixed. In the half-light, with that crowning wreath of flowers, her amber hair falling loosely about her shoulders, and wearing that beautiful green robe, she could have been Dana herself. An overweight Dana, but Dana nonetheless.

  This is how Grandma Edna must have looked, too.

  Cingulum so unabased,

  Bind it three times ’bout the waist

  The cingulum! She’d forgotten to put it on.

  Anxious now, she grabbed it from the case, opened the robe and bound it about her.

  She retied the robe, careful not to glimpse her nakedness in the mirror.

  Her girth made her refrain from too much inquiry. Her body: a foreign country. On the bureau lay the Tarot card, “The Star.” She picked it up and studied it again. The naked woman in the picture was who she was. Yes: she, Ruby, was the star. Tonight she would shine.

  Ten minutes to midnight. She hoisted the bag of altar things on her shoulder. Pushed her feet into carpet slippers. Took one last look around the room. Then quietly, very quietly, opened the door and peeped out into the corridor.

  Silence reigned.

  She was safe.

  Noiselessly, she made her way down the stairs. Paused by the picture of Michael the Archangel.

  Crossed herself.

  Wondered briefly why she’d done that. Lifted a high stool. It would do duty as her altar.

  She’d left the back door ajar in readiness. Now, as she moved toward it, it banged shut.

  Ruby froze, her heart pounding.

  She waited to hear a stirring from above. Prayed they hadn’t heard. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked down the seconds. It would not chime the midnight hour. She’d seen to that, too, and removed the gong.

  “THERE IS NO DARKNESS BUT IGNORANCE. YOU ARE PROTECTED.”

  Ruby smiled. The house and its dwellers slept on.

  She slipped out the door, stole down the field. The grass crackled underfoot. Above, the stars shone bright. Beldam gleamed like satin in the moonlight. Never had it looked so beautiful, so inviting.

  At the jetty she set down the bag. Placed the stool on the grass and hurriedly assembled the altar. Shells and stones on the border, a silver candle, the censer dish with the pouch of herbs, and under it, her three wishes. Lastly she dipped a small dessert dish in the lake, emulating the naked lady in the tarot card, and put it beside the other offerings.

  She struck a match, lit the candle, ignited the pouch of herbs, inhaled deeply their heady scent.

  Cast the circle thrice about,

  To keep the baleful demons out.

  Ruby stepped out of the robe, self-conscious at her nudity. But who would see her here? Her allegiance was to Dana and Edna, and to that end she must carry out the ritual to the letter, if she wanted to see her father again and have her dreams come true.

  She fetched the sickle, and holding it aloft, began dancing around the altar, intoning the chant she’d learned by heart.

  Lady of the moon of the restless sea

  And verdant earth,

  Mother of all gods and of the Tuatha De Danann,

  Great lady of the oceans,

  Mistress of the fertile lands,

  Grant me the wisdom to see thy presence here,

  I call on you now to join me here,

  In the waters of Beldam, that I may . . .

  Back at Oaktree Farmhouse, May stirred in her bed. She woke up feeling nauseous. She rushed to the bathroom, and threw up into the toilet bowl.

  Gripping the edge of the bath, she sat down awhile to recover. She wondered when the sickness would pass. At least the bleeding had stopped. A fortnight of illness was surely enough. But it was the price she must pay. The penance she had to suffer for her great sin.

  She became aware of something strange under her bare feet. It felt like grit. Hardly, though; the bathroom was always spotless. Ruby was a diligent cleaner. She switched on the light to investigate.

  There was a trail of white stuff on the floor. A drum of table salt sat by the bath.

  Who was scattering salt in the bathroom, of all places? Ruby? Yes . . . would hardly be Mummy.

  But why?

  Down by the lake, Ruby was getting into the spirit of things: twirling and swirling round and round the altar under the solstice moon. Never before had she felt so happy, so free. Her eyes were closed, her face upturned. She w
as waiting for the call.

  Suddenly, it came.

  “DRINK, MY CHILD.”

  Ruby stopped. She looked toward the lake. A swirl of mist descended. She blinked. Dana was there! She couldn’t believe it. The Goddess was standing at the end of the jetty, tall and proud, with ivory skin and eyes the color of the sea. She wore a flowing robe of green and held a great silver dish from which all the waters of life were cascading. It was like the painting in The Book of Light. The Goddess raised a hand and beckoned.

  Entranced, Ruby moved toward her. Behind her the lighted candle toppled.

  It fell on the green robe.

  The robe caught fire.

  May switched off the bathroom light. Feeling uneasy, she went back onto the landing; glanced at Ruby’s bedroom door. There was something on the floor. It looked like a playing card. She bent down, turned it over. But it was not a playing card. It showed a naked woman kneeling by a lake.

  She tried Ruby’s door.

  To her surprise, it swung open.

  “Ruby . . . are you there?”

  But there was no one in the bed. It hadn’t been slept in. Mystified, she looked down at the card again. A woman by water. Then it occurred to her.

  Beldam.

  She went to the window.

  What on earth . . . ?! There was a fire burning by the lake.

  May’s heart sagged. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Ruby, naked, holding aloft what appeared to be a sickle blade, was moving slowly down the jetty.

  Jesus! She was going to drown herself.

  “Mummy, Mummy, wake up, wake up!”

  Martha Clare’s startled eyes locked on her daughter. “What in heaven’s—”

  “Ruby’s gonna do away with herself in Beldam! Quick, quick, get up!”

  “Oh my dear God!”

  Martha tried to get up, but the fright had sucked the energy from her. She fell back on the pillows.

  “Run, May, run! Don’t wait for me,” she gasped. “I’ll ring the doctor. Oh Jesus and His Blessed Mother. I knew this was coming . . . I knew it! I knew it.”

  May grabbed her nightgown, bounded down the stairs. No time for slippers. Her sister’s life hung in the balance. Would she be in time to save her?

  Ruby moved down the jetty, by turns elated and afraid. But as she drew closer, she saw that the beautiful woman was not Dana.

  The beautiful lady was she herself. That was Ruby’s face. Those were Ruby’s eyes. She—ordinary, plain Ruby Clare—was the Goddess.

  How could that be?

  She halted.

  Afraid.

  “AFRAID? HOW CAN YOU BE AFRAID OF YOURSELF?”

  The voice was everywhere. It came from the sky. Rose up from the water. Echoing through the woods and the hills beyond. A mirror reflecting. A hundred voices chorusing, over and over and over again.

  “AFRAID? HOW CAN YOU BE AFRAID OF YOURSELF?”

  The vision floated farther across the lake, borne upon a diaphanous cloud. Ruby had no choice but to follow. This chance would never come her way again. She had to follow.

  The jetty descended into a series of steps beneath the water. She took the first one, then the next. Tentative. Hesitant. The water was warm, inviting. She thought of her three wishes. She thought of her father. The great prize was within reach.

  Fear ebbed away.

  Her tears ceased.

  Soon she’d be home.

  Down and down she went. Feet gracing the slippery treads. Limbs growing heavy. Sickle raised in salutation. Curved blade glinting in the moonlight.

  The water of Beldam came up to meet her. Its graceful pull. Its powerful embrace, drawing her deeper and deeper, lulling her into the Afterworld. The world beyond. The one she’d soon glimpse, but from which she’d return, renewed, reborn, enlightened.

  Ruby smiled as her chin caressed the surface of the lake.

  “Ruby, Ruby, what the hell are you doing?”

  A voice behind her. A woman’s voice. But not Dana’s. Not the voice from beyond.

  Oh God!

  All at once an arm was locking itself around her neck.

  Ruby struggled. She kicked, tried to free herself, but someone was pulling her back.

  She tried to scream, but the arm took her breath away.

  It was useless.

  Her body went limp. She ceased fighting, allowed herself to be dragged from the water, collapsed like a beached mermaid onto the jetty.

  “Jesus, Ruby, are you all right?”

  She opened her eyes. May’s frightened face floated above hers.

  “Wha-wha-s . . . what’s . . . happen . . . ing?” She tried to speak but water, rank and bitter, churned up in her throat. She turned aside and retched.

  “Oh, thank God you’re all right.”

  Ruby attempted to sit upright. Only then did she become aware of her nakedness. She was appalled. She crossed her arms over her breasts and started to cry. Her whole body shaking, great shuddering sobs of deep despair.

  May pulled off her nightgown and threw it about her sister’s shoulders.

  “Ruby, Ruby . . . Oh God, Ruby,” she gasped. “You . . . you just tried to kill yourself!”

  “No-o-o-o-o-o-o!” Ruby wailed, letting out a long, low, tear-jerking lament. The sound stretching away from her, slipping away from her, a wingspan flapping out of sight, everything, now, out of sight, out of reach, all her dreams gone: crumbling, fading, gone to dust in the catch of her prying sister’s hand.

  She howled, the howling despair of the soul that has just glimpsed the golden gates of paradise, only to be snatched back, cast down, down to the very depths of the netherworld.

  Out of those depths she fought to find the voice that would let her sister know that she’d committed the most treacherous of acts—an act of the direst, deepest, darkest kind.

  When she finally found that voice, it had all the force and fury of a dying soldier finally succumbing to the open arms of a Valkyrie.

  “I was not trying to kill myself! I was only . . . tryin’ to . . . to see Daddy . . . and you . . . you s-t-o-p-p-e-d me-e-e-e-e . . . I . . . h-a-t-e . . . y-o-u! O-o-h . . . G-o-d . . . I . . . h-a-t-e . . . y-o-u!”

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Henry had just gotten into bed when the phone rang. A distraught woman calling herself Mrs. Clare was pleading with him to come quick, because her daughter had just tried to drown herself and was in need of urgent attention.

  Now, in the semidarkness, behind the wheel of his car, negotiating a series of country roads with no signposts, Henry hoped her garbled directions would take him to a set of wrought-iron gates with the nameplate Oaktree Farmhouse.

  “Oh Holy Mary Mother of God!” Martha Clare stood shivering, rosary beads in hand, as May guided the half-naked, shuddering Ruby into the house. May’s size 8 nightgown barely covered Ruby, and when the mother saw her daughter with hardly a stitch on, flecked with algae and dripping waterweeds, she very nearly fainted. May might well have been parading Satan himself before her.

  Ruby could not meet her mother’s eye. She wept and wept. The embarrassment she felt searing, scorching, burning into every part of her, taking her mind to the darkest of places imaginable. She saw her aunt in that tub chair in St. Ita’s. That was the fate that awaited her. She was sure of it. Her mother had won. Better now to just flee the scene, race back down to Beldam and throw herself in. It’s what they believed she was going to do anyway. At least the whole sorry episode would be over. She’d have no defending or explaining to do. No shame to endure. No guilt to carry for the rest of her days.

  “What . . . what in under God was she doing?”

  Mrs. Clare, not affording Ruby the dignity of a direct question, knew how to make her daughter suffer.

  “She said she was trying to see Daddy,” May said.

  Then
the mother exploded. “Get up them stairs and cover yourself up! You’re an absolute disgrace to this family. I knew you were taking bad with your nerves, but God, I didn’t know you were as bad as this. I’ve rung the doctor. God grant it, he’ll get you into St. Ita’s before the night’s out.”

  “I’m not goin’ nowhere!” Ruby bawled. She ran up the stairs. On the landing, she halted at the sound of a scream—her mother’s.

  “Oh Jesus!”

  “What is it, Mummy? What is it?” May’s frantic voice.

  “The footprints . . . oh my God, the footprints.”

  “What about them? They’re Ruby’s.”

  “No-o-o-o-o, you don’t understand. She’s back!”

  Ruby understood none of it. She flew into the bedroom, slamming the door, locking it against them all. No doctor was going to put her in the loony bin. She’d kick. She’d scream. She’d fight. She’d rage against the moon.

  She threw off May’s nightgown, tried to wipe off the algae with a towel, but the rubbing action only made things worse, turning her skin green. She needed to get into the bath, but not now. She would not be leaving the locked room. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and was shocked at the sight. With her green body and wet hair trailing leaves, she could have passed for the Incredible Hulk.

  She pulled on her own nightdress and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted, and sobbed her heart out.

  The desolation only matched by the pain she’d suffered seven months before as she crashed onto her knees by her dead father in the field; the scorching flame-hot pain of loss. Of knowing that in this cruel world you’re on your own. That it was ever thus. That she wouldn’t be seeing her father again. Not in this life. He was gone. He would not be coming back. That her dreams would not come true. That her three wishes had turned to ashes, quite literally, and vanished on the air. That the Goddess and Edna had abandoned her when she needed them most.

  Henry pulled up in the yard of Oaktree Farmhouse. At the door he was met by a young woman whom he thought he recognized.