The Magdalen Girls Page 10

  She leaned toward him. “Is she sick?”

  “No.” He swiped a few gray hairs back from his forehead with his pudgy fingers.

  “Would you care to ask how I’m getting along?”

  His eyes widened. “I have no intention of doing so. I would never presume to tell the Mother Superior how to conduct the convent’s business. I’m sure you don’t have it easy, but it’s an obligatory life for a penitent.” He shifted, stuck his hand in a pocket, and withdrew a small envelope. He allowed her to study it for a moment and then handed it to her.

  Teagan recognized the cream-colored paper and the handwriting on its front. The inscription read: To My Dear Daughter. The penmanship was her mother’s, but it seemed different, not the facile and loose script of earlier days, but constricted and cramped.

  “Your mother wanted to visit, but your father forbade such an action.” He pointed to the letter. “A wise choice, I believe, considering the circumstances. It would have caused great family harm.”

  “Harm!” She couldn’t believe what the priest had said. “What do you think I’ve been going through since I—”

  He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “No outbursts, or I’ll be forced to leave. No message will be relayed to your mother.”

  “Even you couldn’t be that unkind,” she said. Her eyes clouded with tears.

  He took out a handkerchief and offered it to her.

  She ignored the gesture.

  “On the contrary,” he said. “I’m far from heartless, but I know when I’m right. By all God’s angels in heaven, I’ve done what is holy.”

  She threw the letter on the desk. “I don’t want any part of your heaven.”

  “Watch what you say.” He pushed the letter back to her. “Read it. Time is short.”

  She picked it up, forced her finger under the sealed flap, and ripped it open. She grasped the folded stationery, but then hesitated, fearing what might be written. She gathered her courage and read.

  My dearest daughter,

  I’ve wept so many nights for you. I hope you’re well and adjusting to your new home. My heart cries out in pain as I write these words, but we have no other choice, only to assume that your father has done the right thing in sending you away.

  The peace I used to know has departed despite my prayers, and, I think, your father suffers, as well, but he displays it in different ways. He has become sullen and withdrawn of late and spends evenings away from the house, leaving me quite alone for much of the time. My anger, disappointment, and frustration are tempered by the turmoil I observe within him. If only I could reach him, be a better wife, perhaps this agony would end.

  Father Matthew has agreed to visit you. I begged him to. At first, he wouldn’t consent, but a sufficient quantity of tears eventually melted his heart. Please let me know you are well. I think about you every hour of the day and night. Tell Father Matthew that you think of us.

  I miss you, but I know this action must be for the best. Father Matthew has assured me of such, and that we will all be justly rewarded. I will pray for your repentance, as I spend equal hours praying for you to reopen your heart to us, and our family to come together once again.

  I love you,

  Your mother

  Teagan brushed a tear from her cheek, folded the letter, and put it back inside the envelope. She looked at the priest and said, “You’ve convinced my mother, haven’t you? What you should be talking about is how I came to be here. This is about Father Mark, isn’t it?”

  The priest turned away.

  “Isn’t it!” She said it loudly enough that Lea looked up from her work.

  Father Matthew got up from his chair. “I must be leaving now.”

  “Nothing happened, and you know it!”

  He gathered his raincoat from the chair and stood facing her with a clenched jaw. He glared at her and finally said, “I have one thing to say. What is spoken in confidence between members of the clergy cannot be divulged. Nothing you can say or do will change that.” He flung his coat over his arm and turned.

  Sister Anne appeared at the doorway. “Is everything all right? I heard shouting.”

  “Everything is fine, Sister,” the priest said. He turned back to Teagan, his face flushed with anger. “Do you think I would believe your deception over the words of a man of God? Tell me, why should I do so?” He slammed his fists on the table. “Tell me!”

  “Because I’m telling the truth,” she said calmly.

  Father Matthew sighed. “Do you have a message for your parents?”

  “Tell my mother I love her.” She picked up the letter and placed it in her apron pocket. “Where is Sister Mary-Elizabeth? I believe we’re finished.”

  “She’ll be here shortly,” Sister Anne said. “Come, Father, I need to talk to you.”

  “Good-bye, Teresa,” Father Matthew said. “It’s doubtful we will see each other again on earth; perhaps in heaven, after your repentance.”

  She couldn’t say the words to his face, but she could think them. I couldn’t care less if we ever meet again, in heaven or hell.

  They walked into the hall and turned toward the stairs.

  Teagan smoothed the letter in her pocket and looked across the room. Lea was working on her Book of Kells drawing, her mouth moving in silent prayer.

  As she waited for the nun to return, her breath faltered. It came in quick, halting gasps. For a moment, she felt as if nothing mattered, as if her life had been taken away. She looked at her hands. Her spirit was wounded, but her body still remained.

  * * *

  One October Sunday afternoon, after Mass and the noon meal, the Magdalens were allowed on the grounds. This “reprieve” happened only when the Mother Superior was in a good mood. Teagan, Nora, and Lea sat on the lawn enjoying the autumn breeze. The other girls were gathered in bunches around them. Some of the nuns sat outside, as well. Sisters Mary-Elizabeth, Rose, and Ruth, their habits billowing in the wind, enjoyed the day, sitting comfortably in their folding chairs.

  The sun broke through the clouds occasionally as leaves fell around them. Teagan picked up a yellow leaf and looked at the spidery veins that stretched through its indented blades. A soft brown tinted the edges. She had always hated this time of year, when the days grew short and the sun retreated far to the south. Usually, autumn was gloomy, with only the prospect of bleak winters ahead. She shook off her sour mood, telling herself she needed to enjoy the beautiful day—a respite without the drudgery of the laundry. This was also an opportunity to talk without being punished.

  “Tomorrow I begin lace-mending,” Teagan said, twirling the leaf between her palms.

  “How wonderful,” Nora said, her voice brimming with sarcasm. “How did you get that gig?”

  “I’m not sure,” Teagan said.

  “The Mother Superior reserves that task for special penitents,” Lea said.

  Nora rolled her eyes. “Well, I’ll be. Isn’t it grand that you’ll be ruining your fingers and eyesight because you’re special. Isn’t it delightful that we are able to learn skills that’ll help us so much when we finally leave this hellhole?”

  Lea shushed Nora with a finger to her lips.

  “Come off your cloud, Lea,” Nora said. “Lace-mending and laundering? What good will they do us?” She looked up at the semi-naked branches of the oak they sat under. “Tasks to keep us in our place. Oh, I suppose a husband might appreciate it, if a man would ever look at us now that we’re tainted.” She plucked a stem of grass as yet untouched by frost. “I hate Pearse. I’m beginning to hate men period.”

  Teagan threw the leaf in the air. “I wanted to go to Trinity College, even though it’s not Catholic, but I’d need permission from the Church’s archbishop. I guess that won’t happen. But women should do more than keep house and have babies, don’t you think? My father would disagree.”

  Nora nodded. “God, I wish I had a cigarette. I may have to pocket some from one of the deliverymen. Ugh.”

  Lea gazed
into a corner of the walls surrounding the convent. “I can get you some.”

  Nora’s mouth fell open. “What’d you say? Get me some fags?”

  Teagan laughed. “Lea—a good girl like you? You sell black-market cigarettes?”

  Lea ignored their taunts and never took her eyes off the corner. “Do you feel it?”

  “What?” Nora looked toward the high stone walls.

  Teagan followed her stare, as well. Glass glittered like sharks’ fins across its top.

  “Smart ones, they are,” Nora said. “Every time I see that wall I get angry—broken glass on the ledge so you can’t crawl over, unless you want to get sliced apart. I didn’t notice it when we were on the roof.”

  “It was dark, how could you?” Teagan asked.

  Lea pulled a few blades of grass and stuck them in her mouth. “Yes, I feel them.”

  Nora chuckled. “Lea, sometimes I think you’re completely daft.”

  Lea turned to Nora, her wide eyes filled with excitement. “Can’t you feel them? They’re over there in the corner. Maybe they only want to communicate with me.”

  The sound of children’s laughter drifted across the grounds.

  “Are there kids around here?” Nora asked.

  “We can’t go around the corner.” Lea pointed past the west end of the convent. “But I think there’s another building at the north end—an orphanage.” She paused. “Children. I know they’re here.”

  Nora shook a finger at her. “You’re trying to get us, pull a fast one, aren’t you? This place is creepy enough without you adding to it. If you keep it up, you’ll end up in an asylum.”

  “No.” Lea picked up a leaf and swung it in front of her face like a hypnotist’s watch. “I’m not lying. I like you two. You’re my best friends.”

  Nora tapped Teagan’s shoulder. “That counts for something, right, Teresa?”

  “Please, don’t call me that, even in jest. I can’t stand it.” She touched Lea’s leg. “What do you feel? Can you tell us?”

  “Tonight,” Lea said. “We’ll go out on the roof and you’ll see them, too.” Her eyes glittered. “I’ll get you some cigarettes, Nora. Don’t worry. You can smoke them on the roof and no one will know.”

  Nora took in a deep breath of the autumnal air. “Just the thought does me good, but don’t forget matches or a lighter. This woman has no fire left.”

  “I have that, too. An hour after lights-out.” Lea got up and walked away, leaving them behind. She stopped in the corner and stood with her back to them, stiff and alone like a sentinel.

  “I really think she’s mad,” Nora said, “but if she can get me fags . . . who am I to complain.”

  Teagan got up and kicked at the leaves. “Maybe she’s not as crazy as we think. What if it’s all an act?”

  Nora brightened, as if she’d had a sudden revelation. “Yes, I get it. She acts daft, so she’ll get out of here. It’s the madhouse escape, just like I figured. Now, that’s a plan.”

  Teagan grabbed another leaf and studied its brown edges. Decay made her sad. She let it flutter to the ground. She walked toward Lea unable to shake the strange heaviness that filled her. There were only a few more hours of daylight and little left of enjoyment outside. Tea and evening prayers would come too soon.

  * * *

  Teagan’s anticipation of another rooftop excursion made the hours drag by. Tea was less than satisfying, as usual, but she had learned to eat what was set in front of her unless it was utterly disgusting. The evening menu would win no awards as far as she was concerned: a thin strip of tough beef, candied beets, and a few kernels of soggy corn. She managed to eat without gagging. The nuns always ate a more sumptuous meal—in a large chamber on the other side of the breakfast room, adjacent to the kitchen. This information came from Lea, who once ate with the Sisters when she announced her Book of Kells project. “The food was much better,” she’d said without a hint of irony.

  Evening prayers seemed to last an eternity. Lea told Teagan she was excited about going out on the roof. “It’s something different,” she whispered as they headed to the garret. “I like doing things with my friends.”

  After showering and getting into bed, Teagan lay back with her eyes open, alternately looking at the rafters and checking to see whether Lea and Nora were asleep. She was about ready to drift off when a “psssttt,” jolted her.

  Lea, dressed in her nightclothes and, holding something in her hands, stood at the foot of the bed. She reached and tapped Nora’s toes. The bed jiggled and Nora started.

  Lea motioned for quiet and nodded her head, indicating that the other Magdalens were asleep. She clenched her teeth, unhooked the screen, and raised its frame slowly. It made no sound. A cool breeze wafted into the garret. Teagan grabbed her gray wool blanket in case it was too cold on the roof. They had each been given one when autumn arrived.

  Lea led the way, pointing toward the cornice where Nora had sat on her first night. She rested about a yard from the edge and looked at the grounds spread out before her. The convent was mostly surrounded by dark woods; however, a few street lamps adjacent to the property cast their feeble light upon the roof. Teagan and Nora took places on either side of her. A half moon blazed overhead.

  Nora put two fingers to her mouth and puffed. Lea handed her a cigarette.

  “What the hell are these?” Nora asked.

  “You wanted cigarettes,” Lea replied matter-of-factly.

  “My God, these are Gauloises.” Nora pointed to the pack. “They’re French, and expensive.”

  “They didn’t cost me anything,” Lea said.

  “I want your connections,” Nora said. “When we get out of here, we’ll go into business together.” She bent over, the cigarette in her mouth, and struck a match. The tip flared in an orange flash. She brought the flame up to the tobacco and inhaled deeply. The smoke fanned around her body and disappeared in a haze. She flipped the dead match into the air. It flew past the cornice and fell out of sight.

  “Be careful,” Teagan said. “You’ll burn the place down.” She looked at Lea. “How do you do it? The rest of us hardly get a decent meal. You’ve dined with the nuns and work outside the laundry.” She pointed to the pack Lea clutched like gold. “And who gives you cigarettes? Aren’t you afraid you’ll get caught?”

  Lea shook her head. “No. Everyone trusts me. I’m a good person.” She rubbed her arms.

  “Let’s wrap up,” Teagan said. “That’s why I brought the blanket out.” She tilted her head toward Nora. “Don’t burn it with your fag or I’ll be in deep.” She handed the corners of the blanket to each of them and they huddled closer together.

  “Yes, do tell,” Nora said, and held out her cigarette in curled fingers, imitating a rich lady. She continued in a stuffy English accent, “Do give us an account of your black-market adventures.”

  “My stepfather smokes them. He only spends money on expensive cigarettes. I wanted him to quit.”

  Nora shook her head, amazed. “No wonder they didn’t cost you anything—you stole them.”

  “Smoking’s not good for him. He has a terrible cough.”

  “Where does your stepfather live?” Teagan asked.

  “On a farm, west of Dublin,” Lea said.

  “I’ve only been west a couple of times, for a drive in the country,” Teagan offered.

  “I lived near Celbridge. Not much happens there, including making a living.” Lea stretched her long neck and looked up at the moon. After a few moments, she said, “My stepfather couldn’t afford to keep me. I wasn’t his flesh and blood, and I wasn’t cut out for farming. He called me ‘too fancy.’ He talked to the parish priest, who told him to send me to The Sisters of the Holy Redemption. That was four years ago.”

  “Four years!” Teagan immediately regretted her exclamation.

  Nora thrust her cigarette into her mouth and pulled the blanket over her head like a hood. “For God’s sake, Teagan, you’ll have us in the Penitent’s Room. Everybody g
et under and keep quiet for a minute.”

  They huddled beneath the cover. Nora lifted the corner closest to her to let the smoke out.

  Lea sputtered and coughed. “Those are nasty,” she said, waving the smoke away.

  “Like manna,” Nora replied. “Now, keep quiet.”

  After a few minutes, Teagan removed the blanket from her head. The stars twinkled through a white haze surrounding the moon. She looked back, toward the window, to see whether anyone was there. No one stirred. “I think we’re safe.”

  “Thank God,” Lea said and waved her hands frantically in front of her face. “We’re going to smell like smoke.”

  “Oh, don’t complain.” Nora inhaled with gusto, nearing the end of her cigarette. “Lea’s not your real name, is it?”

  She shook her head. “Sister Anne named me Lea. I hardly remember my real name it’s been so long since I’ve used it.”

  Nora stared in disbelief. “Sure.” She took another drag.

  “My stepfather needed a man to help on the farm, so I was the one who got the boot.”

  Teagan thought about being taken from her own home. “Don’t you miss it?”

  “Sometimes, when I want to feed the ducks, or play with the sheep and goats. The air is fresh, and my stepfather is a good cook. He learned from my mother.” She paused. “But nothing I did on the farm paid for my room and board. Here I can work on my Book of Kells.”

  “Are you an artist?” Teagan asked.

  “I dabbled at the farm, but I didn’t really try until I came here. I heard Sister Mary-Elizabeth and the Mother Superior talking about the Book of Kells and how beautiful it was. They had seen it. It came to me in a dream that night. God told me I should copy it and give it to them. That way, good things would come to me. So the next day I told Sister Mary-Elizabeth about my dream and she got me the supplies I needed.” Lea stiffened with pride. “I’m working on ‘Christ Enthroned.’ My next picture’s going to be of the Virgin and Child. Sister Anne is thrilled with my work and can’t wait for it to be done. She said it will be ‘the pride of Irish convents.’”