The Magdalen Girls Read online

  She ran to Patricia’s bed. She patted the pillow and lifted the mattress before she spotted the lumps under the blanket. As she’d suspected, Patricia had hidden the extra rolls she’d stolen at breakfast. Nora reached into her pocket and sprinkled a white powder over the rolls. She wiped her fingers on her apron and placed the rolls where she’d found them.

  Dusting the excess powder from her hands, she joined Teagan and Lea in the jacks. “What a relief,” she said as she pulled up her dress and sat down on the toilet. “Now to wash me hands and get something to eat.”

  * * *

  “Sister Anne had the window nailed shut,” Teagan whispered to Nora at bedtime. “I can’t believe it. How would we get out of here if there was a fire?”

  “I don’t suppose anyone cares,” Nora said and pulled the blanket over her. They said good night.

  Later, Teagan awoke to the sounds of coughing and spitting. The Magdalens sat upright in bed, looking at the girl who had created all the commotion. It was Patricia, who, between bouts of gagging, cursed to the air.

  Betty, one of the older Magdalens—a woman about fifty years old with gray hair—rushed to Patricia’s bed. She could just make out the older woman’s dim form bent over the bed. “My God, what’s happening?” she asked in a voice loud enough to wake everyone in the room—if they hadn’t been already.

  “Someone tried to poison me,” Patricia sputtered.

  “Don’t be daft,” Betty said. “What are you talking about?”

  Nora sat up in bed. Her friend was paying particular attention to the interaction between the two women.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m talking about.” Patricia pulled something from under her sheet and thrust it toward Betty’s face.

  The garret doors opened and the light blazed on. A gasp rippled across the room.

  “What nonsense is going on here?” Sister Mary-Elizabeth stood at the door in her nightgown. Teagan had never seen the nun out of her habit. She was as round as a plum, especially her face, which shone white under the band that held back her cropped black hair. “You’re making enough noise to wake the dead.” She walked toward Patricia, eyeing every girl as she went. “Believe me, you don’t want to wake Sister Anne, who’s very much alive. There’ll be hell to pay after what happened this afternoon.”

  The nun arrived at Patricia’s bed and ordered Betty back to her own. She held out her hand and Patricia gave her a partially eaten roll. “How did you get this?”

  “She stole them,” Nora said from across the room.

  The Sister swiveled toward Nora. “That’s enough out of you.” The nun turned back to Patricia. “I want to hear the story from you.”

  “They fell into my lap at breakfast.”

  Gales of laughter swept the room.

  The nun held up her hand. “Quiet! Quiet! I’m telling you that Sister Anne will have none of this. How many rolls do you have?”

  Patricia dug under the sheet and pulled out two additional rolls. “Three.” She pointed to the top of one. “Look, someone tried to poison me.”

  Sister Mary-Elizabeth took a roll, studied it, and then lifted it to her nose. “Borax. Well, you might have had to run to the jacks, but you wouldn’t have died. This is laundry soap, put plainly.” She looked around the room. “Who did this?”

  Teagan knew who had put the soap on the rolls. She gave a sideways glance to Nora, who lifted her eyebrows slightly.

  Patricia pointed at Nora. “She did it. I’m certain of it.”

  “And why would Monica put borax on your rolls?” Sister Mary-Elizabeth asked.

  Patricia sighed. “Well . . . because.”

  “Go on. I’m waiting.”

  Patricia crossed her arms. “I’ve nothing more to say.”

  “I figured as much,” the nun replied. “Give them to me.”

  Patricia handed them to the nun as if she were giving away a fortune.

  “I’m not going to say anything more about this—and I’m confident this will never happen again. Much ado about nothing.” She looked at Nora. “A bit of a power struggle going on? Now, for heaven’s sake, go to bed and be quiet.” Sister Mary-Elizabeth walked to the door and turned off the light.

  The room was once again in darkness.

  “There’s nothing worse than a rat,” Nora said aloud. “And you know what happens to rats.” A murmur of consent filled the room and then died in the air. Someone said, “Life is tough enough without snitches.” The Magdalens settled into their beds with a rustle of sheets and blankets.

  Teagan tossed uncomfortably, knowing that Nora had put the soap on the rolls. She was amused and at the same time horrified by her friend’s actions, which could have gotten her into deep trouble. However, her revenge made sense. Patricia had spotted them on the roof and reported them. That’s how word had gotten to Sister Anne. But Patricia hadn’t incurred the wrath of the Mother Superior and spent the afternoon on the floor of the old library, however unfair that might have been.

  Teagan leaned toward Nora and whispered, “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “No comment,” Nora whispered back.

  Teagan heard Nora say, “Oh Christ.” She looked to her left to find Lea staring out the window.

  Teagan got out of bed and stood behind her friend. “Now what?”

  “It’s Jesus,” Lea said. Some of the other Magdalens heard Lea’s pronouncement and rushed to the window.

  Teagan, shoving with the others, stared out the glass. Slivers of light cut across the lawn, but the grounds were empty. “There’s nothing out there,” she said.

  All the girls took a look and then, shaking their heads and muttering epithets about Lea’s sanity, headed back to their beds.

  Lea continued to stand at the window.

  “I saw Him,” Lea said. “Standing on the lawn. In the corner. He was surrounded by children.”

  “Sure, Lea.” Nora took the index finger of her hand, swirled it around her ear, and shook her head.

  The sign language was clear. Lea was going mad after four years at the convent. Teagan didn’t want to suffer the same fate. The time had come to plan an escape from The Sisters of the Holy Redemption.

  CHAPTER 7

  October lingered on with many days of gray skies and dreary rain.

  Teagan was now entrenched in lace-mending, which she enjoyed much more than laundry work. The hours in the old library were pleasant compared to the sweat house conditions in front of the washbasins. Lea was an amiable, but silent work companion. Nora even expressed some jealousy of Teagan’s “easy life.” Sister Anne made sure that Nora worked extra hours and said additional prayers after their spat.

  Teagan learned mending from the able hand of Sister Rose. The old nun’s fingers were gnarled and knobby with age, but still nimble. Sister Rose taught her how to choose the appropriate materials, thread a bobbin, make stitches, and perform other feats with a needle. Her desk was now crowded with scissors, thread, pattern books, and the tools she needed for the trade.

  Even Sister Anne stopped by from time to time to study her mending. The Mother Superior never said much, but when she did, it was to point out flaws. Rather than engage the nun, she nodded her head and asked for forgiveness for her sloppy work. Sister Anne acknowledged her contrition with a smirk and a quick exit.

  While she worked, she often daydreamed of her parents, her mother in particular. She wondered if her mother spent long days in the living room staring at her Chinese porcelain, or on the bed crying. Her father would be at work on weekdays, leaving her mother at home, except when she left the house to play bridge. It occurred to her that her mother would have to explain her absence. What would Shavon tell her card-playing friends when they asked about her? The ridiculous came to mind. Was she murdered? Had she been kidnapped? Abducted by space aliens?

  Of course, her father wouldn’t have to account for anything. He would never have to bring up the subject at work, or with his friends at the pub. She could hear him saying, “She�
�s fine,” to his Guinness-swilling buddies, if the subject was ever broached. Perhaps a few eyebrows might be raised at church, but the good parishioners of St. Eusebius knew how to keep a secret. Only the most brazen would be bold enough to touch upon so delicate a subject. Perhaps her mother would tell her friends that she was in staying in New York City with her aunt Florence and her rich doctor husband. Yes, her mother could make the most of it if she wished, bragging to her friends about what a good life her daughter was living in America’s most vibrant city. Teagan could only wish her life had produced such a fairy tale, as she mended a tear in the white lace sleeve of a dress.

  One night, as they had other times when it was possible, she and Nora discussed how they would escape. No easy plan came to mind. They talked so softly they were sure even Lea, in the next bed, couldn’t hear. Teagan scrunched in the corner of the eave, as close to Nora’s ears as she could get.

  “I’ve tried to make a few friends with the deliverymen,” Nora said, “but they’re in and out so quick—hardly time to flirt. Even with me extra hours.” She turned on her side facing Teagan. “I think Sister Ruth has cut back on her drinking. Maybe the Mother caught her napping. Now she’s like a cat stalking a mouse—all eyes and ears. Hardly anything gets past her.”

  Teagan sighed. “I don’t have a plan at all.” She shook her head. “I sit at my desk, mending lace, and think about my ma and da and Cullen. I even dream about them, and no answers come. I keep hoping something will guide me. Maybe we need to pray for our release.”

  Nora frowned. “It was God that got us here in the first place. I wouldn’t go looking to Him for help.” She pointed to Lea, identifiable only as a narrow mound under her blanket. “If she wasn’t so nuts, I’d say she was our best chance. But I don’t trust her. She probably knows every nook and cranny of this place and the location of the keys to every lock.” Nora smacked her lips. “I can almost taste getting out of here. There’s got to be a way. We’ll find it.”

  “I hope so. Sometimes I want to give up and be like Lea or Sister Mary-Elizabeth—accept what life has dealt me. Then I come to my senses, and I want out of here more than anything else in the world.”

  One of the Magdalens stirred in the middle of the room. Teagan hoped it wasn’t Patricia, although the girl had presumably learned her lesson from Nora’s revenge.

  “Better be off,” Teagan said. She grasped Nora’s hand and said good night.

  * * *

  One Monday in early November, a light rain, mixed with flecks of snow, fell upon the convent’s grounds. Teagan watched the white flakes fall as she scrubbed stains at the laundry basin. One of the Magdalens was sick with a bad cold, and she had been assigned to take her place. Nora was nearby working at one of the washers. Sister Ruth varied their duties because she felt it was good for the girls to “learn as much as you can.”

  Nora had been right in her assessment of the supervising nun. She was more attentive than usual when the vans arrived carrying their cargo. Except for an occasional look at a magazine, she kept her eyes on the girls. She checked the laundry bags at the door, so the men got only a quick look at the Magdalens before heading back to work. The return laundry was handled much the same. The girls hauled the bags to the hall. Sister Ruth watched as the men picked them up, limiting any interaction with the girls.

  About ten in the morning, Sister Mary-Elizabeth walked into the laundry and tapped Teagan on the shoulder. “You’re popular,” the nun said with mild sarcasm. “Another visitor.” She motioned to Sister Ruth, who nodded her assent.

  Sister Mary-Elizabeth smiled, but Teagan declined to join in her good mood. “I’ll withhold judgment until I find out who it is.” Unpleasant memories of her meeting with Father Matthew lingered in her head.

  The nun’s smile broadened. “It’s a young man accompanied by an Anglican priest.”

  The blood drained from her head. She held on to Sister Mary-Elizabeth’s arm as she came to the realization that her visitor might be Cullen Kirby, her boyfriend whom she hadn’t seen in four months.

  The Sister patted her hand and said, “He’s a nice-looking boy with reddish-brown hair.”

  It had to be Cullen. She was excited now, the most she had been since her conversation with Father Mark at the parish house. She blushed in front of the Sister. I must look a fright! She looked at her rough-worn hands, chapped and red from work. She patted her hair and smoothed her apron.

  The nun sensed her eagerness and led her up the stairs to the old library. Teagan braced herself as she entered the room. As usual, Lea was working on her book. A tall man in a dark overcoat stood near the drawing table admiring her work. Sister Anne stood in front of another man sitting by the lace table. The Mother Superior turned as Teagan entered the room, revealing Cullen.

  Teagan wanted to rush to his side and hug him, but Sister Anne’s stern expression tempered her desire. She spoke harshly to her: “I’ve only agreed to this meeting because the Reverend Conry is in this room as an emissary of the Anglican Church.”

  The man standing near Lea turned and smiled at Teagan. “Happy to meet you, Miss Tiernan.”

  Sister Anne frowned. “She should be addressed by the name given to her by the good Sisters of the Holy Redemption—Teresa.”

  The Reverend Conry smiled at the Mother Superior. “Of course. My mistake.” Teagan surmised there was no love lost between the two.

  “I think fifteen minutes should be more than enough time to complete your business,” the Mother Superior said to Cullen. “Sister Mary-Elizabeth will be back to see you out.” She strode from the room along with the other nun, her habit brushing against Teagan.

  “Pay no attention to me,” Reverend Conry said to her. “I’m fascinated by what this young woman is doing—imagine duplicating our national treasure!” He took off his coat and wandered back to Lea’s table.

  Cullen got up from his seat and extended his hand. He was being cautious, Teagan thought. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the Mother Superior had laid down rules for their meeting.

  Teagan shook his hand and reveled in the warmth of his touch, a shocking surprise on the cold day. Sadness clawed at her as she took her seat at the table. “I’m sorry you have to see me this way.” Tears stung her eyes.

  Cullen grasped her hand.

  She sobbed as his fingers touched hers. “Please, don’t. I’m afraid I’ll get you into trouble. And I don’t want you to remember me this way.” She drew her hands away from his and hid her face.

  “I don’t care about that old busybody,” Cullen said. “My God, Teagan, what have they done to you?” He forced the words out, nearly gasping for air. “You’re so pale, you look weak. Are you okay?”

  She nodded, lowered her hands, and looked at him. He retained the sandy red hair, the ruddy blush, the smattering of freckles on his cheeks that she remembered so well. However, he looked older now, more mature, his brown eyes steely with confidence and his mouth firmly set. It wasn’t hard for her to imagine that he was her protector—a prince who had come to rescue her from the wicked stepmother of fairy tales.

  He reached inside his coat and withdrew a small package wrapped in Christmas paper. “This is for you,” he said, and handed it to her. “From your mother. She thought it would be easier if I smuggled it in. It wouldn’t have to pass inspection from the Sisters.”

  Cellophane tape held the triangular folds on the paper in place. She raised her index finger to open it and her hand shook.

  “It’s all right,” Cullen said. “They’re early presents. Your mother told me what was inside. Go ahead.” He looked as if he wanted to reveal more, but frowned instead, as if he was scared his words might upset her.

  Teagan dug into the package, ripping off the paper. She wondered what to do with it, concerned that the Mother Superior would confiscate the gift. “She doesn’t know you’re delivering this?”

  Cullen grinned. “No. I kept it hidden in my coat. It wasn’t easy.”

  She peeled off the
last of the paper, took a pair of scissors, and cut the tape that held the box shut. It popped open and revealed the transistor radio her father had given her, along with a rolled piece of silk. A small earphone lay next to the radio. She could listen to it while falling asleep and not disturb the other Magdalens. Teagan lifted the silk. A neck scarf imprinted with a pattern of red poppies on a green background unfurled before her eyes. She carefully folded it and put it in her pocket.

  “Please thank my mother,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m going to hide my presents so no one can get them.”

  “I’ll thank her. Your mother told me to put fresh batteries in the radio. They should last a few months.” Cullen looked at the Reverend Conry. He was standing on the other side of Lea now, watching her draw. Cullen moved his chair and leaned closer to Teagan.

  She could feel the heat from his body. He smelled clean, not like laundry soap, but of freshly scrubbed skin. She wanted to touch him, to huddle close to him, feel him next to her.

  “Do you know why I’m here?” she asked him.

  He lowered his head for a second, but then lifted it and looked at her free from pity. No priest, no nun, no boyfriend, not even her father and mother had looked at her the way Cullen was looking at her now. His love traveled from him into her heart. She grasped the table to keep from swooning.

  He nodded. “I heard the rumor, but I don’t believe it. My father told me there were nasty words being spread about you. He said the rumor began with your da at the pub. . . .”

  “My da is a drunk,” she said. Maybe she had been wrong about her father’s ability to keep a secret. “Obviously, he has no inhibitions at the pub, but he can barely speak to my mother.” She looked down at the radio, remembering the last time she had used it. The song “I Can’t Stop Loving You” came into her head.

  “Let’s pretend we’re holding hands,” Cullen said. “Touch the ends of my fingers.” He reached his right hand across the books and the lacework that lay on the table.