The Magdalen Girls Page 6

  The nun shook a finger when she started to speak. “You are here because you have sinned. Many arrive because they are about to succumb, but you have committed a mortal sin, a deliberate and deceitful act, which requires your expiation.”

  She heard the nun’s words, but they didn’t make sense. What mortal sin have I committed? Whom have I sinned against? She sunk in her chair, crushed by those disturbing questions.

  The nun took the papers from her desk and pointed them toward her. “Not the least of your sins is the disparaging lack of honor you have displayed to your father and mother through your lies. I can tell you are headstrong and spoiled. Our way is no Life of Riley. I expect you will remain here for many years.” Sister Anne dialed a number on a black desk phone and then spoke into it. “Tell Sister Mary-Elizabeth to come to my office immediately.”

  Teagan stared at the nun, who looked as if she dared her to speak. “I’ve done nothing wrong,” she blurted out.

  Sister Anne opened a desk drawer, reached inside, and pulled out a burnished metal rod with a leather handle.

  “I’ll warn you once more. Speak when you’re spoken to.” Sister Anne pointed the rod at the blocks on her desk. “I don’t like to use corporal punishment, but at times, I have no other choice.” Her tone softened. “We are redeemers here. We believe in love.”

  Teagan fought a bitter urge to laugh as she sunk further into a deepening gloom. Oh, I see how much you love. Spare the rod, spoil the child! How would she ever break free from this hellish place if she couldn’t defend herself? She had gripped the chair so hard her arms were numb. A horrible emptiness permeated her; even tears refused to fall.

  The nun turned the rod toward her and it flashed, coppery in the light. “We have no need for physical adornment here. Give me your earrings and ring.”

  “What?” She couldn’t believe she was being stripped of her possessions. They were so much a part of her she’d forgotten she had them on.

  “You are a penitent, unclean before our Savior and the Church. Your body must be naked before God. Hand them to me.”

  Teagan hesitated before wrenching her fists free from the chair.

  Sister Anne stiffened in her chair. “Don’t make a fuss. I’ll have them taken off you if you don’t comply.”

  She pulled the backs off the pearl earrings her mother had given her when she was fourteen. They had gone to a local jeweler on a blustery day. An old man had pierced her ears with an instrument that looked like a pair of pliers. After a stab of pain in both lobes the ordeal was over. Her father didn’t notice the small studs at first. A few days later, he did and yelled at her mother for making a decision about his daughter without consulting him. Teagan was certain he would make her take them out, but her father scoffed and said, “The damage is done.”

  That Christmas, her father gave her a pearl ring with silver band to match the earrings. He told her the ring represented purity and he quoted Bible verses—“The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant who seeks fine pearls,” and then words from the Sermon on the Mount, “. . . nor cast your pearls before swine.”

  She tossed the ring and earrings on Sister Anne’s desk.

  The nun scowled as she scrambled to retrieve them.

  Teagan touched her naked earlobes and noticed the lighter skin on her finger where the ring had been.

  The Mother Superior swept the jewelry off the desk into the envelope Teagan’s father had given her.

  A portly nun appeared in the doorway. She nodded, half-bowed, to Sister Anne and then turned to Teagan. A hint of a smile creased the nun’s fleshy cheeks, and Teagan leaned forward, grateful to see a touch of humanity in the gloomy atmosphere of the office.

  The nun folded her arms and stood before her. “I’m Sister Mary-Elizabeth, here to show you the ’rounds.”

  “Sister Mary-Elizabeth will take good care of you,” the Mother Superior said. She placed the rod and envelope in the desk, withdrew keys from her habit pocket, and locked the drawer. “I’m off to morning prayers. Sister, you are excused to be with the penitent.” She got up from her chair. “Be kind to our newest charge. Show her the true meaning of redemption.” Sister Anne started toward the door, but turned before she reached it. “Say your name,” she ordered.

  “Teagan Tiernan.”

  Sister Anne pursed her lips and studied her from head to toe. “Now you will be called—‘Teresa,’ a good Christian name. I doubt you will ever emulate the saint of Avila.” She stepped into the gloomy hall and disappeared.

  Sister Mary-Elizabeth asked, “Are you hungry? You must be this time of the morning.”

  Eating was the furthest thing from her mind. She shook her head.

  “I’ve got a mouth on me, and you don’t want to see me vexed,” the nun said.

  Teagan was surprised. The nun sounded as if she had walked in from a working-class Dublin neighborhood. She knew what she meant: Sister Mary-Elizabeth was hungry and if she didn’t eat soon she’d be cranky.

  “May I speak?” Teagan asked, more at home with this nun than with Sister Anne.

  “Of course, child. We’re not all cut from the same mold as the Mother Superior.” She chuckled and her cheeks jiggled. “But don’t get your hopes up. We play by the rules. Come now, I’ll show you the laundry before your breakfast, and then there’s a whole list of things to do. I’ll shrink to nothing if we don’t get moving.”

  The nun took her by the arm and led her from the office. They turned right in the hall and walked to a stairwell near the convent entrance. Sister Mary-Elizabeth stopped. “Thank the Lord, I don’t have to accompany a new girl every day. And you should thank your lucky stars we could take you. Sometimes we get petitions for more girls than we can handle. If that was the case today, you might be living in the park.” The Sister flipped a switch and a string of bulbs illuminated the stone steps, which led down to a passageway.

  Teagan stayed rooted to her spot. “Why am I here?”

  The nun’s face darkened. “I don’t know—and that’s no fib. That’s between Sister Anne, whoever sent you here, and God.”

  “My father brought me here, and I’m sure he was talked into it by a priest.” The thought made her heart ache.

  “It’s none of my business, but there must have been a good reason. Your parents have given you up in the name of the Lord.” She snapped her fingers and started down the steps. Teagan followed.

  Sister Mary-Elizabeth stopped at a metal door at the end of the passage. It contained a small rectangular window crosshatched by chicken wire. The nun took out her keys, opened the door, and flipped on the light. “It’ll soon be time for work. Here’s where you’ll be spending many of your days.”

  The smells of bleach and detergent that Teagan had detected when she arrived filled her nostrils. The long rectangular room contained sinks, washers, dryers, laundry baskets, ironing boards, and washing supplies. Rows of fluorescent lamps hung from the ceiling in their tent-like enclosures and cast their harsh light on the appliances and tile floor. A large bank of barred windows, some partially belowground and overlooking a trench, ran the length of the room. Through them, she saw the edge of a verdant lawn and the ashen trunks of old trees.

  “This is where I’ll be?” she asked, hardly believing her eyes. She stepped inside, taking in the rows of white industrial washing machines and dryers that stared at her with their round, solitary eyes of glass.

  “Here and in the lace room,” The Sister opened her arms in a grand gesture. “You’re lucky—you’ll have two jobs. But I admire most those who work in the laundry. There’s something cathartic about sticking your fingers in hot water. Getting clean, ridding your hands—and your soul—of dirt . . .” She rubbed her palms together. “Wash away your sins in the name of the Lord. We’ll put you to the sorting bins first, to break you in.”

  Teagan covered her mouth with her hands. The Sisters of the Holy Redemption already had plans for her. How horrific could this nightmare become? Her dreams of university, of making a
life for herself, lay in tatters. She had always helped her mother with the laundry when she was a child, and had done her own now that she was older—but a lifetime of this? Had God deserted her and condemned her to unending servitude?

  The nun stood behind her, putting a strong grip on Teagan’s shoulders. “Believe me, there’s no use pitching a fit. I know. I used to work here.”

  Teagan turned. “You worked in this horrid place?”

  The Sister took Teagan’s hands in hers. “The laundry was the best place for me. I was such a scalawag before I came here. It took me about a year to realize I wanted to be a nun.” Sister Mary-Elizabeth looked around the room with reverence. “Let me give you two pieces of advice. First, don’t fight it. It’s best if you try to fit in. I’ve seen all kinds of girls here and the happiest are those who get along. Do what the Mother Superior tells you and don’t get into trouble by concocting schemes or listening to others who offer bad advice. If you run away, the Guards will bring you back.

  “Second, don’t give up. Something good will happen if you allow it. Maybe you’ll accept that this is your place in life. It may be a struggle, but it will happen. Or maybe someone will come for you when your sins have been washed clean and you’ll walk out of here a good woman. In my case, it was God who saw fit to change my life. Repent and a new life is bound to happen.”

  Teagan’s legs buckled. Convulsing, she collapsed against the nun.

  Sister Mary-Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her and repeated, “Now, now,” like a lullaby. The nun’s unexpected compassion soothed her until she was able to pull herself together. “Let’s have something to eat,” the nun said. “We could both use some sustenance.” Sister Mary-Elizabeth led her through the passageway and upstairs to the hall, now filled with a dull morning light from overhead windows. As she walked behind the Sister, Teagan railed against the reality of her new home—a holy prison filled with hard work and penitence. The odors of bleach and detergent lingered on her clothes. She didn’t deserve to be here, but she had to get along until she could figure a way out.

  At the end of the hall, Sister Mary-Elizabeth climbed the stairs to another corridor with a number of rooms off each side. One was the breakfast room. The nun seated Teagan at an empty chair near the end of a long oak table. “Eat quietly. Don’t speak. I’ll be back after I’m done with breakfast.”

  Nearly a dozen girls and women, each attired in a gray dress and white muslin apron, sat at the table. Teagan assumed they were Magdalens—the ones Sister Anne had said would live beside her. They had a sunken, defeated look about them. Some slumped over the table, their backs bowed like the arched branches of trees; many lifted their spoons in a shaky manner as if they were old women, despite their young age. A few, whom Teagan judged to be old, might, on further speculation, be young. The deep wrinkles and dark circles under their eyes had obliterated their youth.

  An elderly woman, a cook, served Teagan her breakfast: a bowl of watery oatmeal, a piece of burned toast, and weak tea. The woman acted as if the Magdalens didn’t exist as she set the food on the table. None of them spoke, although a few mouthed silent prayers.

  The plates, cups, and utensils were pitted and scarred from years of use. Teagan had no appetite for any of it and sat staring at the others. She counted ten; she was the eleventh, and they weren’t all girls. There were women here, as well; some, Teagan estimated, in their thirties and forties, if not older. Prisoners, we’re all prisoners. She could think of no better word to describe their condition. Inmates, perhaps.

  For the most part, the others avoided any eye contact with her, as they did with each other. All had short, clipped hair, except for one, who had somewhat longer black tresses pulled up by bobby pins. When the girl leaned back from the table, Teagan spotted the swollen belly of her pregnancy.

  The room was stripped to the minimum: straight-backed oak chairs placed around a table battered with gouges and scratches. A single crucifix affixed to a wall was the only decorative object. The room faced east. The warm July sun fell through broad windows in pleasant splashes. The shadowy waves of leaves quivered on the floor.

  Breakfast plodded along for a gloomy half hour. Teagan lifted her spoon and dragged it through the oatmeal. Beige chunks of oats floated in the tepid water. She put the food in her mouth and gulped it down, likening the taste to a packing box. The toast came next. She knew her stomach would be growling if she had nothing to eat. After a few bites, she put the rest back on the plate as the blackened particles of bread stuck to her tongue and the insides of her cheeks. The tea was no better, cold and lacking in taste.

  Sister Mary-Elizabeth appeared at the door a half hour later and motioned for Teagan to follow. The others remained at the table. She suspected the Magdalens would soon head to the laundry.

  The nun led her up a third set of stairs to the top floor of the convent. Here, the hall narrowed to a point. There were two sets of doors at the end of the passage, a double door to the right and a smaller one to the left. The nun pushed open the larger doors and showed Teagan a large garret containing six beds against each wall. The plain wooden floors and walls had been dulled by the years. It seemed the garret was an afterthought to the stone that made up most of the convent. The ceiling vaulted above her, but any sense of open space was lost in the gloom.

  “You get the bed at the end,” the Sister said. She pointed to a mattress lying on top of a metal frame supported by four legs. The bed sat to the right of the doors, on the west wall, near the lone window.

  “I suppose no one wants it because it’s close to the window—too cold in winter, too hot in summer,” the nun said. She looked around the room and patted a bed halfway down the left wall. “This is where I slept for a year. It’s a middling place, but you’ll get used to it. The jacks is across the hall, another reason your bed’s not taken—too far to walk in the middle of the night to the toilet.”

  She wondered how to respond. Rather than antagonize the nun, she decided to be polite. “I prefer the window.” She walked to the bed and pushed her hand into the mattress. It sunk under the pressure from her fingers. The bed was small. How silly, she thought, to worry about such a trivial matter. Her toes would hang over the edge in the winter. There were no screens around the beds, nothing to offer any privacy.

  A small chest sat in front of it. She lifted its cover and looked inside.

  “Your dress and apron, along with your nightgown and sheets, are already there,” Sister Mary-Elizabeth said. “You can store the clothes you’re wearing.”

  Teagan looked down woefully. Her white blouse was wrinkled; her jeans had lost their crisp feel. She reached inside the chest and pulled out a gray dress that hung like sackcloth in her hands. It had been patched in several places and obviously passed down from one girl to another. The apron had been bleached so often it felt like a stiff board.

  “I’ll have a sit while you get into your dress,” the Sister said. “Whew. It’s hardly past Lauds and I’m already knackered.” The nun plopped herself down on another bed and watched as Teagan unbuttoned her blouse.

  She kept her back turned to the nun as she undressed, carefully folding her blouse and jeans and placing them in the trunk. The dress slid on over her bra and panties and fell limply over her figure. Only a few days ago, she had complained about wearing her white satin dress to Father Mark’s reception. It seemed a lifetime had passed since then. The apron settled upon her, as stiff and solid as a suit of armor.

  Sister Mary-Elizabeth got up from the bed and stood behind her. “Let me help you. It needs to be tied at the back. You’ll soon get the hang of it. . . .”

  The nun deftly tied the strings into a tight bow, but her touch unnerved Teagan. Few women had put their hands on her back. Her face flushed. “Won’t it be hot in the laundry? We have to wear aprons in the summer?”

  Sister Mary-Elizabeth turned her around and examined her from head to toe. “Of course, you don’t want to get bleach, or something worse, on you. You’ll be thank
ful to wear it in the winter. Summer is the worst, but the body adjusts.” She patted Teagan’s arm. “It’s good you got the window.” The nun closed the trunk lid and said, “You’ll find your way, especially if you’re a good girl. Come on, I want to introduce you to someone before you get your hair cut.”

  She instinctively raised her hands to her head. She hadn’t thought about losing her hair, but it made sense after seeing the Magdalens at breakfast. She stroked the blond strands, which were soon to be gone, cropped close to her head like the other girls. She was a prisoner. In history class, she had read about people who were held in World War II camps. They had been robbed of their identities and their possessions. She shivered at the thought. Much like those prisoners, she was dependent on The Sisters of the Holy Redemption, her captors, for her food, clothing and shelter—until she could escape. The notion smoldered inside her. Escape. But Sister Mary-Elizabeth was right about some things. It would be impossible to walk out of the convent. She would have to plan an escape, carefully and intelligently, waiting for the right time.

  The nun showed her the “jacks” across the hall, a simple setup with two partitioned toilets and three showerheads protruding from a tiled wall. Teagan suddenly realized she’d had no idea how fortunate she was to have a bathroom at home she could use by herself.

  “There’s no talking during working hours and after going to bed,” the Sister cautioned as they headed down the stairs to the second floor. “I know some of the girls whisper now and then, but you better not get caught, especially by Sister Ruth. You’ll be so tired by the end of the day you won’t have much time to get into trouble.” They passed the breakfast room, now empty, except for a few of the kitchen staff. It was almost eight. “The Magdalens you met this morning have been working for a half hour already. The girl I’m introducing you to starts work at six, after her prayers, sometimes earlier. She won’t talk to you, but she’ll pray with you. If Sister Anne puts you on lace, you’ll be next to her. Everyone knows Lea.”