by Carol Rivers
A little shiver went down Ettie's spine. ‘No, Sister Patrick. Nothing lasts forever. Except heaven.’
‘Heaven is our eternal home,’ Sister Patrick agreed. ‘But in this life, we are in the hands of the Good Lord.’ The nun's tongue slipped nervously over her dry lips. ‘We must accept our fate. The bishop has given us a directive.’
Ettie sat up. This new bishop who had replaced the old one, was very important. When he visited, he arrived in a shiny cab pulled by a fine black horse. A special rug was produced for him to stand on; even Mother Superior knelt down and kissed the ring on his finger.
‘Rome can no longer support us,’ explained Sister Patrick. ’And there are many repairs to be done. The windows are all broken. There are leaks in the roof of the school house.’
Ettie wondered why this was important. ‘We catch the drips in pails,’ she reminded the nun.
‘Those drips are becoming waterfalls,’ Sister Patrick objected. ‘The chapel needs attention as well. Sure, the big bell is so rickety it’s about to fall from its tower.’
‘Can’t it be tied with rope?’ asked Ettie innocently.
The nun smiled sadly. ‘Ah, if only the sisters had your youth! We should do a great deal more than we do now.’
Ettie rarely thought about the age of the nuns. They all looked, well, just like nuns. There was perhaps, Sister Francis who walked with the aid of a stick. And Sister Bernadette who sat in a chair most of the day muttering her prayers in French. But now, Ettie realized, there were very few younger faces.
‘Already Sister Catherine has left for the motherhouse in Belgium,’ Sister Patrick added. ‘Soon Sister Enuncia will follow.’
Ettie swallowed. ‘Then who will teach the children?’
The nun heaved a sigh. ‘Sad it is, Ettie, but they too must go.’
Ettie felt a lump grow large in her throat. ‘But where?’
A tender smile touched the nun’s lips. ‘We must pray for guidance.’
‘But …’
Sister Patrick put a finger to her lips. ‘Quiet, now, Ettie. The problem is that we, the Sisters of Clemency, have lost our patrons over the years. The old bishop took no interest in money. He was a good man but only wanted to save souls. He loved his orphans and thought God would provide. But unfortunately, we are lost without patronage.’
Ettie remembered the wealthy gentry arriving in their fine carriages who once attended Mass in the chapel. But as the East End of London grew poorer, their visits declined. Yet she had been taught that God was loving and merciful. Surely, He would save the orphanage?
‘God helps those who help themselves, doesn’t He?’ Ettie boldly protested. ‘We could grow vegetables and fruit for Sister Ukunda to sell at the market. Keep hens for eggs and a goat for milk. Perhaps even a cow. With Arthur’s help we could build a stable to keep them in.’
‘Arthur is just our gardener, child. He’s not a farmer, just as we are not builders.’
But Ettie would not give up. ‘We could learn to be,’ she insisted.
Sister Patrick shook her head sadly. ‘Shh, darlin’ girl. Rome’s decision is final.’
Ettie hung her head. It was hard to keep her tongue silent.
‘Life changes,’ Sister Patrick tried to soothe. ‘We must accept God’s will.’
‘But Sister Patrick,’ Ettie burst out, ‘I can't live without you.’
The nun looked lovingly into her eyes. ‘My child, you have all your life to live without me.’
Suddenly Ettie realized that something or someone far greater than either herself or Sister Patrick was now governing their lives. It was a frightening discovery. Ettie's heart, which usually overflowed with love and gratitude, felt heavy and lost. At last the dam broke. Her sobs echoed in the big room like loud claps of thunder.
‘Hush, my dear one,’ comforted a loving voice. A voice that she had trusted all her life. A voice as close to a mother’s voice as she had ever heard. ‘We have spent many happy years together. God only loaned you to me. Now I must give you back.’
Ettie heard someone wailing. The cries were lifting right up to the rafters. They bounced on the sharp glass of the broken windows and against the faded holy pictures on the walls.
These noises couldn't be from her, of course they couldn’t! But they weren't from Sister Patrick who was trying to console Ettie.
‘I'll never leave you,’ Ettie heard herself insist. ‘Never!’
‘Wherever you go,’ Sister Patrick murmured calmly, ‘I'll always be in your heart.’
Ettie felt the pain so violently, it felt like an earthquake inside her. Yet nothing could alter the look of defeat on Sister Patrick’s face.
Whether or not the nuns approved of Rome’s directive, it had to be obeyed. But it was such a dreadful, unkind and heartless directive! It tore people apart and caused such loss, that Ettie, for the first time, questioned the faith on which she had built her life.
Chapter 3
The convent’s schoolroom was very old, with brown-painted walls and ink stains smudging the desks and floor. A grey and depressing light seeped in from the broken windows. In the very same manner as Ettie had held tightly to Sister Patrick, the little girls held fast to Ettie.
‘We don’t want to go,’ they wailed, cuffing the snot from their noses.
Ettie had just delivered the news. She wanted to tell the children herself. They had to prepare themselves.
‘I want to stay here with you,’ Kathy insisted.
Ettie lifted the little girl's chin. ‘Say your prayers. Jesus will look after you.’
‘We’re being got rid of!’ accused Johnny Dean, scratching nervously at one of his disfigured ears.
‘The nuns don’t give a farthing about us,’ agreed Michael Wilson, who looked very angry as he clenched his fists. Ettie always smiled when he bragged that he was older and wiser than her. Though tall and skinny as a rake, he was very strong. ‘We’ll be turfed out on the street,’ he declared. ‘Or sent to the workhouse.’
Ettie looked into his rebellious grey eyes. ‘Where is your faith, Michael?’
‘The only faith I’ve got,’ he shouted dramatically, ‘is in myself!’ His face darkened as he poked a finger at her. ‘Can the nuns stop the rozzers from nabbing me the moment I step out of this place?’
Ettie felt her tummy turn over. He could be right; for it was only the nuns’ intervention with the law that had prevented Michael’s arrest.
‘God will provide,’ she promised. ‘He'll answer your prayers.’
‘He’s never answered them before,’ he retorted. ‘Why should he answer them now?’
Ettie wanted to remind him that it was only because of the nuns’ request to the police that he wasn’t now incarcerated in the boys’ reformatory. But she knew this would upset him even more.
From the smaller children there were sobs and gulps as they listened to this harsh exchange. How could she reassure them?
‘Let’s say our prayers,’ she said and obediently they kneeled on the floor. All, except Michael.
‘May God surround us with His light,’ she prayed fervently. ‘May He enfold us with His love. May He protect us and guide us, so that forever we will remain safe in the palm of His hand.’
‘I’m clearing out,’ interrupted Michael, kicking his boot against a desk. ‘While I’ve got the chance.’ He grabbed his grubby cloth cap from the chair. ‘Good luck to all of you. You’ll need it.’
The younger ones began to cry and Ettie went to comfort them.
‘Michael, don’t go,’ she pleaded.
‘Why should I stay?’ demanded the angry boy, his cheeks burning as he stood at the door.
‘I don't know exactly, but please think again.’
He pulled on his cap over his unruly dark hair. ‘I'm off while no one's looking.’
The door banged behind him and the orphans wept even more.
Ettie followed Michael into the cold passage. ‘Michael, you can't leave,’ she called after him.
‘Who says I can’t?’
‘But where will you go?’
He gave a careless shrug. ‘I'll manage.’
‘But how?’
‘Listen Ettie, you don't understand the world. You've lived in the convent too long. You don't know what life’s like on the outside.’
Ettie agreed she had led a sheltered life, but how bad could the world be? Hadn't Michael learned to trust the nuns even a little? Tears bulged in the corners of her eyes.
‘Crikey, Ettie don't cry.’ Michael looked confused. He put his arm around her.
‘You're making me sad.’
‘I don't mean to,’ he said, squeezing her shoulder. ‘You and the other kids, well, I like you all.’ He added in a gruff tone, ‘You, mostly.’
Ettie stared up at him. Suddenly he seemed much taller and older than she was, though only one and a half years separated them.
‘I’ve never said that to a girl before.’
‘Really?’ Ettie sniffed.
‘It means something special when you tell a girl you like her.’
Ettie smiled, forgetting her tears. ‘Thank you.’
‘But listen!’ He pushed her away. ‘Don’t get no ideas. I’m not staying, not even for you.’
Ettie felt sad. She would miss this boy with the beautiful grey eyes, but who spoke words that could be so hurtful.
‘Friends are supposed to look after each other,’ Ettie said softly.
‘I’d be no good to you if I stayed.’
‘Why not?’
Michael stared at her solemnly. ’Do you really think the bishop couldn’t help the nuns if he wanted?’
This was a question that took her by surprise.
‘Listen, the Roman candles are rich, Ettie,’ he continued passionately. They’ve got more money stacked away than the Queen of England. If the bishop wanted, he could flog that ring on his finger and buy a whole new orphanage! But he won’t. ‘Cos this is the East End and out of favour with the toffs who fill his coffers. Mark my words, the sisters are done for.’
‘Michael,’ she gasped, ‘please stop.’
‘It's the truth. I'm older than you – and wiser.’
Ettie wanted to say that he must be wrong, but the words seemed to stick in her throat. ‘Stay for the children,’ she begged one last time.
Michael took hold of her shoulders. ‘Sorry, kid.’
‘You're really set on going?’
He nodded.
She flung her arms around him. ‘Oh, Michael, I've grown so fond of you.’
He held her gently as though she was china. ‘Tell you what,’ he mumbled and made a show of straightening his jacket. ‘We'll meet up somewhere like Victoria Park.’
‘Victoria Park? Is it close by?’
‘Just down Old Ford Road.’
Ettie nodded uncertainly, her brown hair falling across her eyes. ‘When?’
‘First Sunday in December. Three o’clock sharp at the water fountain.’
‘I’ll try.’
Michael laughed cruelly. ‘You see, you’re scared to come, ain’t you? You won’t even go out on your own.’
Ettie didn’t understand Michael when he lost his temper. He’d say things he really didn’t mean. She’d always prayed that God would change him. But now she feared that Michael was a lost soul. A tear trickled down her cheek.
‘Cheer up,’ he said with bravado. ‘You’re my girl, remember.’ He bent and kissed her cheek.
She blushed, trying to ignore the unfamiliar pain in her chest.
‘You watch out for yourself, Ettie O’Reilly. This world's a rotten place. The sooner you get used to the idea the better.’ He waved jauntily. ‘See you soon. That is, if you’ve got the guts.’
Ettie shivered as she watched him hurry down the passage. She felt so cold without him. As if something was dying inside her. She wanted to go with him. But there were the orphans to consider. She had to look after them until they left the orphanage.
Slowly she returned to the schoolroom, trying to forget the awful things that Michael had said. As much as they hurt, there were tender new feelings growing inside her. And she knew Michael was the cause of them.
Chapter 4
It was a sombre grey day at the end of November and the temperature in the laundry was almost freezing. Ettie's fingers were numb and red raw. All the children’s clothes had to be washed in cold water since there was no soap left to clean them with. This made the scrubbing twice as hard.
Sister Patrick was pushing the wet clothes through the wringer with laboured movements and sighed to herself.
‘Sister Patrick?’
‘What is it child?’
‘Has Mother Superior had news of Michael?’
‘Why should she? The boy ran off.’
Ettie was surprised that the nuns hadn’t been more concerned at his disappearance. ‘Shouldn’t we try to look for him?’
‘He left of his own accord; there’s nothing we can do.’ Sister Patrick looked up from the ancient wringer with its huge rollers. She swept the beads of sweat from her cheeks. ‘A boy like Michael will always find trouble.’
‘He was beginning to change,’ Ettie insisted.
The nun shook her head wearily. ‘Then God will look after him,’ she said and walked slowly to the big basin. ‘Ettie, I have some news for you. Dry your hands and sit on the stool.’
Ettie obeyed. Sister Patrick’s face was solemn and that could only mean one thing. This news wouldn’t be welcome. Ettie's heart lurched.
Sister Patrick said heavily, ‘Mother Superior has found you a position.’
Ettie looked blankly into the misted spectacles.
‘You are to be placed with a shopkeeper and his wife near the city. Your duties will be much the same as they are here. Your board and lodging will cost nothing.’
‘Sister Patrick, I’ve never been to the city before.’
‘London is full of splendour and majesty. You’re very fortunate. Mother Superior has provided your new employers with a good Character. She has written the reference herself.’
‘Thank you,’ Ettie replied. ‘When am I to leave?’
‘In the new year. After your fourteenth birthday.’
Ettie screwed her hands into fists, her nails biting painfully into her palms; a needed distraction to hide how desperate she felt.
‘Ah, my dear girl, I know it’s hard.’
Ettie nodded. The news had come as a dreadful shock.
‘Your new position is an enviable one.’
‘What will happen to the orphans?’ Ettie blurted out.
‘They will be found homes soon.’
‘But where?’
A grim expression crossed the nun’s face. ‘That’s not your business, Ettie.’ A cold finger touched her cheek. ‘Say your prayers now.’
Ettie hung her head. She shut her eyes tight and asked Jesus, Mary and Joseph to make her request come true. For she knew there was no one else to keep up the children’s spirits.
When she opened her eyes, she was alone. Once more she returned to her bargaining with God. This time she offered the only thing she had left. ‘I don’t care for myself, dear Lord, but help the orphans,’ she begged, though after some thought, she added hopefully, ‘Or best of all, send a miracle to change the bishop’s mind.’
On the first Sunday of December the terrible news was broken.
The chapel was so cold that Jack Frost had scratched his long nails on all the windows.
’We cannot afford to light the fires,’ explained Mother Superior as she stood, hands clenched, before the orphans. ‘I am sorry to say there will be no celebrations.’
All the children looked bewildered.
‘Nor will there be any gifts.’
At this, a soft murmur went round.
‘Instead, the bishop will give us his special blessing. Remember, Jesus gave his life for us and died on the cross. Now he asks you to do something for him. If you make this sacrifice willingly, then He will al
ways take care of you.’
Ettie stared around her, at the sad, grubby faces of the orphans. She knew every one of these children loved Christmas. The nuns always made a fruit cake that was divided into thin slices, one slice for every child. The orphans would receive a tiny parcel carefully wrapped in newspaper. A pencil or chalk for the boys, a ribbon for the girls or even a book. This was the happiest time of the year, especially for Ettie whose birthday it was on the 25th. But now there was to be only a blessing.
After Mother Superior’s announcement they were told to put on their coats before going to the schoolroom. Usually they were eager to play and ran around the yard excitedly. But today there were no smiles.
‘We don’t want to play,’ they complained as they stood, shivering in the cold.
Ettie tried her best. ‘Let’s have a pretend party.’
‘Without presents or cake?’
‘We have each other. Come here.’ They all gathered together. She began to sing. She was so cold that her voice was shaking. ‘Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright …’
The orphans slowly joined in as they pressed their bodies together for warmth. Gradually their voices grew stronger. Smiles touched their lips and roses bloomed in their cheeks.
There in the bleak backyard of the orphanage, they sang the carols they loved best and had always sung at Christmas.
That afternoon, even though the weather was cold and miserable, Ettie followed Michael’s directions to Victoria Park. The convent gates were open for one day only in order to welcome visitors. But it was rare that anyone came now. Donations were expected for the big wooden box, yet people were poor and very few had money to spare. And if they did, it went to their families.
The roads were busy as Ettie made her way through the streets. There were many carts drawn by panting horses and a few pedestrians, though today was quieter than when she walked to the market with Sister Ukunda, where she would wait to carry the nun’s weekly purchases. This was a day she always enjoyed. But now she was on her own.
She felt sorry for the beggars huddled in their rags on the corners of the street. Their filthy hands were held out for alms but she had nothing to give them except a smile. In her ill-fitting and threadbare coat, she felt very fortunate to be dressed as she was. Even though her boots were two sizes too large, they still had good wear in them. Her undergarments and smock had been washed so many times they were paper thin but Sister Patrick had knitted a shawl for her. Though it was only made with cheap wool, it kept her warm.