The Magdalen Girls Read online

  “That could take the rest of your life,” Nora said.

  “I’ll be here. I like the convent. At the farm, I felt useless.”

  Nora groaned and wriggled closer to Lea. “I want to be sure I heard you, you eejit. I can’t believe me ears.” The red tip of her cigarette faded to black. She rubbed it against a tile and tossed it off the roof.

  Teagan pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders. She imagined Sister Mary-Elizabeth, or one of the Magdalens, looking out the window. What a fright they would get from the scene—three disembodied heads sitting on the roof.

  “You’re fine if you toe the line,” Lea said.

  “Yeah, but what if we don’t want to,” Nora countered. “What if we want to get out? And where do you get off saying we’ll be fine if we bow and scrape to the nuns? You don’t get cigarettes by being nice to the Sisters.”

  “I could get more, but they might not be French. People do nice things for me because I’m nice to them. One of the deliverymen gave me chocolates because he thought I was a ‘good girl.’ I didn’t encourage him, and I took them because it made him happy. He’d probably get me cigarettes if I asked for them.”

  Nora laughed. “Yes, you’re a ‘good girl,’ but he probably wanted more.”

  Lea scoffed.

  “Getting fags—almost anything except a Bible—is forbidden,” Nora added. “You’re going against the Sisters.”

  “No one’s getting hurt. If I can make someone happy, it’s worth it. Weren’t you happy to get the cigarettes?”

  Nora nodded. “I can’t argue with that.”

  “My mother used to say, ‘You can catch more ants with honey than you can with vinegar.’ I can get candy if—”

  Teagan cut Lea off with a “ssshhh.” She looked toward the window and whispered, “I thought I saw someone.”

  They stared at it for a few minutes.

  “We should go in,” Teagan said. “We’ve stayed out longer than we should have.”

  Lea looked dreamily up to the sky. “It’s so nice out. I don’t want to go in.”

  “That’s the problem,” Nora whispered. “If this was anyplace else we could sit out here and smoke until we rotted. No, we have to go in because we have to get up at five in the morning for prayers and then spend the rest of the day doing laundry. You have it easy because of your talent. The rest of us suffer.”

  Lea smiled. “I was chosen by God, Nora, but I forgive you for mocking me.” She gave the Gauloises to Nora.

  Nora looked at the pack and then tossed it back to Lea. “Keep ’em. I don’t want your forgiveness.”

  Lea looked hurt by Nora’s words. Teagan patted her on the back. “Let’s not fight. We need each other.”

  “I’ll keep the cigarettes for you,” Lea said. “You’ll probably want one in a day or two.”

  Teagan lifted the blanket from her shoulders and the others did the same. She crawled toward the window. Looking through the glass, she saw a white nightgown speed away in the gloom. One of the Magdalens jumped into bed and pulled the covers over her head.

  “I think we’ve been found out,” Teagan said to Nora.

  “Who?” Nora asked.

  “In the middle, on the east wall. I think her name is Patricia.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Nora said.

  “Be nice and see what happens,” Lea whispered.

  “I have one question for you.” Nora’s voice wavered on the verge of a hiss. “If I wanted to escape this prison, would you help me?”

  Lea didn’t back down; instead, she looked at Nora intently. “I want you to be happy. I like everyone.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Come on,” Teagan said. “We don’t have time to argue.” She grasped the screen delicately, hoping that the hinges wouldn’t squeak. They didn’t. She held it up as Nora and Lea crawled inside.

  When they were all in, Teagan got into bed. She spread out her gray blanket and gagged. Lea was right; it reeked of smoke. She kicked it off her, but it was hard to get the odor out of her nose. She opened the window a crack to let fresh air in. Instead of returning to bed, she walked down the room and looked at Patricia. The girl was asleep—or pretending to be. The other Magdalens seemed to be resting peacefully. There was nothing she could do now.

  A few minutes later, as Teagan was about to drift off, Nora whispered, “I’m dying for a cigarette.”

  Lea tossed her the pack.

  * * *

  The next morning at breakfast, Nora made it her job to keep watch on Patricia. Her target was a slight girl with black hair and brown eyes, but who looked as if she could hold her own in a fight. Nora wondered if she was from North Dublin because she reminded her of girlfriends from Ballybough.

  Patricia shot Nora a few knowing glances throughout the meal, taunting her with her blackmail-worthy knowledge. Nora didn’t flinch.

  One of the nuns, for no particular reason, had baked a large basket of rolls. They were a special treat greedily consumed by the Magdalens. Nora noticed that when the basket came to Patricia, the girl took one roll and then tipped the basket toward her lap. Although Nora couldn’t see it plainly, she suspected that Patricia had pilfered several. The girl covered her lap with her napkin.

  Good, Nora thought, I’ve got her now.

  Teagan sat at the lace-mending table looking at the wide array of items that lay on top of it. She had not been there since her meeting with Father Matthew. She picked up a lacy circle that looked like a large coaster, white with filigree work, and her heart sank. I will never be able to do this. Several of the pieces looked like what her mother would have called “embroidery” and “crochet” work.

  Sister Mary-Elizabeth had taken her to the old library room, after nearly a full day in the laundry, and told her to wait for Sister Rose. The old nun who had cut her hair was going to be her teacher.

  The sun was still high enough in the late afternoon that a few rays filtered through the windows, catching the reflection of the motes, which swam in the air like white jewels. Teagan glanced at Lea, who drew the tip of her brush across her picture. As usual, her friend’s lips trembled in silent prayer. She had taken no notice of Teagan and Sister Mary-Elizabeth when they arrived.

  She opened a book from the large pile on the table. It was titled: The History of Lace Making from 1500. The other books, many with leather covers and musty-smelling pages, dealt with lace-making or mending, as well. She thumbed through several, with their detailed drawings and photographs of the varieties of lace, from needle- to machine-made. Apparently, Sister Rose was serious about her instruction.

  She had liked history in school, but couldn’t imagine being interested in mending lace, a tedious task at best. It seemed suited for a girl in the early 1800s, whose life consisted of working in a household. She imagined a young servant, sitting in the kitchen, huddled next to the stove, mending the garments of her mistress. The wife of her master, on the other hand, sat in her wing chair, warming herself before the hearth, reading the Bible or the latest novel she could get her hands on.

  Her daydream was broken by Sister Rose, whose bony form appeared at the door. Her habit hung like a sack over her ancient arms and legs. The nun carried what looked like a blue pillow covered with a dizzying number of wooden bobbins. They hung by threads pinned to a swirling pattern of lace. She placed the pillow in front of Teagan. The nun was about to speak, when Sister Anne, frowning, swooped through the door like an angry crow.

  “Sister,” she said to the old nun, “your lesson will have to wait.” The Mother Superior pointed to the door. “Please gather the other Sisters, except Ruth, and return here. Sister Mary-Elizabeth is on her way with Monica.”

  Teagan’s heart thumped. On her way with Monica? Monica was Nora’s assigned name. Something was terribly wrong if all the nuns were to be called to the old library except Sister Ruth, who was supervising the Magdalens in the laundry.

  Sister Rose left without saying a word. The Mother Sup
erior stepped toward Teagan as if she were treading upon a grave.

  Sister Anne bowed her head. Her veil threw her face into shadow. “You have defied me. I told you I would administer punishment, if necessary. Now you’ll see that I keep my promises.”

  Soon the nuns gathered at the door like a swarm of black flies. Most looked on in apprehension, as if transfixed by what was about to happen. Sister Anne pulled the rod from her long sleeve and slapped the desk.

  Sister Mary-Elizabeth broke through the phalanx, holding Nora in front of her. Her friend looked determined, but with a glint of fear in her eyes.

  “Lea, Teresa, and Monica, get in the middle of the room,” Sister Anne ordered. Lea looked up from her work, but her expression was flat, as if what the Mother Superior said was of no concern.

  Teagan joined Lea and Nora in the center. Together, they faced Sister Anne.

  The nun pointed the rod at them. “You were on the roof last night.” Before they could speak, she blunted any objection. “Don’t try to deny it. I have a witness. One of you smoked a cigarette.” Her eyes flashed and she stabbed the floor with the rod. “How dare you! You’ve endangered us all. The convent could have been destroyed by fire!”

  She crept closer to them. Teagan shuddered as the Mother Superior’s face contorted with rage.

  “I can’t send the three of you to the Penitent’s Room. God knows, I can’t send you to your parents, who, for good and holy reasons, don’t ever wish to see you again.” She tapped the rod against her palm. “No, here we work with love. A punishment should never leave a bruise or draw blood. To do so would defile the body and bring disgrace upon our Order. No, it is better to make a penitent realize their mistake through the love of Christ. To suffer as He suffered for our sins.”

  “Now, wait a feckin’ minute,” Nora said.

  Sister Anne shoved the rod into Nora’s chest and sent her stumbling backward.

  “Unholy, do not soil our ears with your curses. Teresa, lie on the floor with your arms spread.”

  Teagan wanted to jump through the window and end it all. A simple crash through the glass, a plummet to the trench below, and this torture would be over. But what good would it do other than to give Sister Anne the satisfaction of her death?

  A few of the nuns clucked at the girls’ predicament, some giggled in nervous excitement. Many clutched the crucifixes that hung by their sides. Even Sister Mary-Elizabeth, the friendliest of the nuns, eyed her sternly.

  She had no choice but to obey and lowered herself to the floor. The stone tiles were cold against her skin.

  “Lie back, with your arms out, as our Lord would have done, nailed to the cross.”

  Teagan complied. Going to the roof was a mistake, and now they were all paying for it.

  “Monica—one of the thieves—take your place to the right of Teresa, in the same position only lower.”

  Nora obeyed, but her eyes bubbled with hate.

  Sister Anne placed Lea to the left in a similar position and then turned to the nuns. “Look, Sisters, what we have here. Their dresses hang like sackcloth, arms spread in supplication, bodies as stiff as the board they would be nailed upon. Imagine what our Lord endured to give us His holy love.” She spread her arms like a great black bird. “It brings me no pleasure to hurt them, but the penitents must realize how they have hurt the Order. Such insubordination, such vain camaraderie, will not be tolerated from those who’ve sinned. The sinful bond among them must be broken.”

  One of the nuns spoke a quiet “Amen.”

  Sister Anne crossed herself. “Penance.” She stood behind Teagan, then knelt near her face. “Do you know why you are here?” the Mother Superior asked. “You have hurt us, damaged us with your words and actions. You have tried us severely.” She pointed the rod at Teagan, but addressed them all. “You will lie here, in the position of the Cross, until you learn your lesson. You will understand what Jesus suffered. You will not eat, nor drink, nor soil yourself.” She brushed the rod near Nora’s face. “When the evil has been removed from your spirit, you’ll be able to join us. I do this out of love, so you will know Christ and His ways.”

  Teagan shifted her gaze to the left, but didn’t move. Lea’s eyes were closed, her mouth moving in silent prayer. Then she looked to the right, in time to see Nora spit at Sister Anne’s feet.

  The nuns gasped.

  “Sister, get me a towel,” the Mother Superior said to Sister Mary-Elizabeth. The nun did so quickly and wiped the spittle from the hem of Sister Anne’s habit.

  Teagan watched as the Mother Superior turned her attention to Nora. “You have much to learn,” the nun said and withdrew a long straight pin from her sash. The thin silver tip descended toward Nora’s palm.

  Nora got up on her elbows. “Don’t you dare!”

  “Hold her hands against the floor.” The Mother Superior barked the order at Sister Mary-Elizabeth.

  Nora struggled briefly, but she was no match for the stout nun.

  The Mother Superior traced the pattern of the cross over Nora’s palms. “If I hated you, I would drive this into your hand to show you what Christ knew,” Sister Anne said. “His persecutors reviled Him, they welcomed His suffering, and suffer He did. I don’t want you to die a sinner. I want you to be resurrected into heaven.”

  A chorus of “Amens” went up from the nuns.

  Sister Anne rose, replaced the pin in her sash, and clasped the crucifix by her side. “Sister, stay with them until their penance is through.”

  The nuns dispersed. Sister Mary-Elizabeth sat in a chair behind them, acting as their warden.

  “Remember what I told you,” Sister Anne called out. “I love you.”

  The Mother Superior’s heels clicked in the hall until the sound disappeared.

  “I hate her,” Nora whispered.

  Teagan didn’t answer. She stretched out two fingers of her right hand to signify the “yes” they had devised in sign language.

  * * *

  Sister Anne closed the door to her office and prayed. Why do these girls try me so? Rehabilitation and penance were all she asked. Why should it be so hard? The memory she had tried to shake since July roared like hellfire into her mind. She flinched and lowered her head into her hands. There was nothing she could do to be rid of it. The room flashed into her mind: the crib, the baby’s toys, the bed overflowing with blood where only days before . . . Yes, her sister was working on lace, just as Teresa would be during her years here.

  My sister, my beloved sister, writhing in agony, filled with so much pain, the blood nearly burst forth from her brow. Why did it happen? How could so much evil be visited upon one person?

  There were no answers for these questions. She lifted her head and stared at the door, knowing that above her three Magdalens were doing penance. Should she let them get up? No! They needed to pay. They needed to learn what obedience meant. Placing them in the form of the Crucifixion had given her a small amount of pleasure. Even Sister Rose had told her how beautifully the punishment was presented. She smiled, lifted by the thought.

  She knew instinctively that Monica would be the last to come around. Stricter measures might be called for, more trips to the Penitent’s Room, longer hours in the laundry, more vigils in the chapel for prayer. She would bend Monica to her will—for the greater good.

  Daylight had fled, leaving her in the murk of dusk. She wanted to believe that nothing could be accomplished by dwelling on the past, but her mind wouldn’t let go of the hatred. More prayers. Prayer will solve my problems. She rose from her desk and headed to the chapel to pray.

  * * *

  It would serve Sister Anne right if I peed on the floor, Nora thought. The room was growing dark. Sister Mary-Elizabeth had lit a candle rather than turn on the lights. Under her watch, no one had moved. Every now and then, Nora had heard a garble from Lea’s direction—probably a prayer. She tapped her fingers silently on the floor trying to pass the time.

  As night fell, someone stopped in front of
the room. Nora couldn’t see what had happened, but a silent communication flowed across the room.

  A few moments later, Sister Mary-Elizabeth said, “All right, all of yeh, rise and shine.” The nun slipped into her accent with a little too much humor and liveliness, Nora thought.

  “It’s about time,” Nora said. “I need to go to the jacks.”

  “You’re about to miss tea, so go, all of you and be quick about it. You’ll get a bite—if you’re good.”

  Teagan and Lea pushed themselves off the floor. Nora’s elbows popped as she got up. Lea yawned and stretched as if she had been taking a nap. Teagan stretched her arms above her head and looked at her. Nora had never seen Teagan, eyes downcast and mouth pursed, look so depressed. They walked out of the library, Lea bringing up the rear.

  “Don’t tarry,” Sister Mary-Elizabeth shouted after them. “I don’t want to come looking for yeh. Ten minutes and then to eat.”

  They passed the room where the Magdalens ate. Several of the girls smirked at them.

  “Are you all right?” Nora whispered to Teagan as they walked up the stairs.

  Teagan shook her head and smoothed down her apron. “I’ve never been so humiliated—and by someone who claims to ‘love’ us.” There was a desperate bitterness in her voice.

  “She’s a bitch,” Nora said.

  Teagan stopped on the landing. “There’s more to it than that.” Lea drew close. “She hates me and I don’t know why. I can feel it. She wants more from me than penance. I can feel her cold soul. She’d just as soon see me dead.”

  Nora continued climbing with her friend to the next floor. “Well, your imagination’s got the better of you. She might be a devil who brandishes a pitchfork, but why would she want you dead?”

  “Her heart is hard because it’s been broken,” Lea piped up from behind.

  Nora turned, eyes blazing. “And how do you know that? Come to your senses, Lea. I’ve got a broken heart, too, but I don’t go ’round treating people like shit. Well . . . sometimes.”

  Nora stopped. “You ladies go to the jacks, I’ve got some unattended business to take care of.” She sprinted down the hall and pushed the garret doors open a crack. No one was inside—all the Magdalens were still at tea.