Authors: Rhys Bowen
“Anna, is it possible that she decided to stay in the convent and become a nun?” I asked.
She thought about this. “Stayed and become a nun?” She frowned, considering something that hadn’t occurred to her before. “I suppose it is possible,” she said. “I wouldn’t put something like that past her. Like I told you, she was very devout. Always on her knees praying and she remembered every kind of saint’s day and holy day. And no meat on Fridays. All those kinds of things mattered to her.”
“Then it’s possible she didn’t leave the convent at all,” I blurted out. It all made sense now. The abandoning of the little statue and her hairbrush. She had renounced her worldly goods when she went into the novitiate. Perhaps she had even taken a new name, which was why the novice at the door didn’t know who she was. The only strange thing was why the nuns claimed that she had run away—unless they had promised Mrs. Mainwaring she would return to be nursemaid of her child, and she had begged the nuns to hide her. It had been easier to slip Maureen into the convent and then claim that she had run away.
“Thank you, Anna,” I said. “You’ve been really helpful. I think I might have a good chance of tracing Maureen now.”
She looked pleased. “If you do find her, would you give her my best? I was real fond of her and I worry about her.”
“I will,” I said.
She glanced around again. “I’d best get back to work before someone sees and I get an earful.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m glad I had a chance to talk to you. If I had listened to other people I’d have believed she’d run off to New York.”
“Not Maureen. Never.” We broke apart as one of the workmen came toward us. “Can you fill up the water jug again for us, miss?” he asked. “It’s hot work today.”
“Of course.” Anne glanced across at me. “Mrs. Mainwaring has taken it into her head that she wants a summer house.” She hesitated as if she might want to say something more, but then added. “I hope you find Maureen and she’s all right. Tell her Anna sends her kind regards.”
Then she went inside to refill the water jug, while I made my way unseen to the front gate and back down the hill to Irvington Station.
Twenty-two
I found myself smiling with satisfaction as I took the train back to Tarrytown. It all made sense now. Maureen had been heard to say, “You can’t make me. It’s cruel.” And she’d meant going back to a situation where her child belonged to another woman and where she was at the mercy of a master with lustful ways. I remembered the way he had looked at me, almost undressing me with his eyes, in spite of my condition. Perhaps when she ran off angrily she had gone straight to the mother superior and appealed to her. And that good woman had decided to spirit her away.
It was still early in the day. Sid and Gus would hardly have had time to buy a bathing costume for Bridie and go swimming with her yet. They wouldn’t be missing me and wouldn’t want me to interrupt their fun. Which meant I had hours of freedom ahead of me. If I went up to the convent, I could ask to speak to the mother superior and nobody else and surely she would tell me the truth—maybe even let me speak to Maureen and give her a message of reassurance from her family.
But what if they brushed me off again, as they had certainly done last time? If those two nuns I had seen before claimed that the mother superior was busy or at prayer again, what then? If I told them I wanted to interview girls for possible future service in my household would they let me in? Let me chat with the girls? Wouldn’t they be suspicious that I had returned after questioning them about Maureen—and if there was anything to hide, they’d simply get rid of me as quickly as possible again. And there would be no way I could look into what really happened to poor little Katy.
Then suddenly I came up with a brilliant idea, one so daring that it made my heart beat faster. I actually had a way to get inside the convent and see for myself. I put my hand on my belly. If I arrived on the doorstep as a fallen woman in need, surely they’d take me in. Then I’d have a chance to look around, to speak to Maureen, and when I was ready to leave, I’d simply tell them that I’d changed my mind and I wasn’t going to stay.
The only people who had actually seen me clearly before were Katy and the novice, and Katy was now dead and the novice in the solitude of retreat. The nuns had only been shadows behind the grille to me, so presumably they’d only seen a similar indistinct impression of me in that dark little parlor. And I’d been sitting down when they came in, so they’d never have seen that I too was in the family way. All I had to do was to let down my hair and broaden my Irish accent. Daniel always said that with my hair down I looked no more than fourteen. It was worth a try and the very worst they could do would be to tell me that they had no room for me. In which case I’d let on that I was Maureen’s cousin—and we’d see what happened then.
I sat impatiently until the train came to a halt. Outside the station I looked around cautiously, just in case Sid, Gus, and Bridie happened to have chosen that moment to walk from the town to the waterfront. But the station yard was deserted, apart from a horse and buggy standing in the shade, the horse with its head down, half asleep. I went over and asked if they were for hire. The driver also looked sleepy but grudgingly agreed. However when I asked him to drive me up to the convent, he stared down at my bulging stomach then gave me a pitying nod.
He held out his hand and helped me climb up. “I’m sure you’re doing the right thing, miss,” he said. “The nuns will take good care of you.”
Once I was seated in the buggy I remembered to remove my wedding ring and tuck it into a pocket at the back of my coin purse. Then I took off my hat and unpinned my hair. It cascaded over my shoulders, blowing out in the wind as the horse got up speed. This had seemed like a brilliant idea in the safety of the train compartment, but when the forbidding wall of the convent came into view, I began to have second thoughts about what I was doing. Was I running a risk going inside those walls? Maureen had vanished. Katy had revealed secrets to me and Katy had died. But then I reassured myself that Maureen’s disappearance would now have a simple explanation. And Katy’s death would probably turn out to be a sad accident, but an accident nonetheless. It was a convent, after all, I told myself. Full of holy women doing a charitable service.
But I couldn’t shake off the thought that Maureen had come to me in a dream with Katy. It was fine for Gus to deny that dreams could come from the beyond. She had never lived in Ireland and had neighbors whose dear departed relatives often came and spoke to them in dreams. That thought made me sit up rigid. Had Maureen been a voice from the beyond? If she was happily at the convent now, why had she come to me in the dream, clearly asking for my help?
The buggy came to a halt. The driver jumped down and offered me his hand to help me from the seat. I almost said, “I’ve changed my mind. Drive me back to the town,” but my pride wouldn’t let me. The driver refused to take any money either. He gave me a sympathetic smile and a pat on the back. “It will all work out for the best, you’ll see,” he said. “Good luck to you, miss.”
After that I could hardly ask for him to come and get me again later in the day. I’d have to find my own way down to the town when I came out. I took a deep breath, smoothed down my hair, and walked up to that front door. It was opened by a thin and pale girl, with no bulging belly like mine. In fact she looked distinctly unwell, with dark circles under her eyes.
“Hello,” I said in my best Irish accent that had faded after four years of living with New Yorkers. “I’ve come to see the sisters. I’m newly arrived in this country from Ireland and I heard about this place. I’ve nowhere else to go.”
“Come in,” she said, with a smile of understanding. “What’s your name?”
“It’s Molly,” I said, deciding that it’s easier to tell the truth than to lie whenever possible.
“I’m Blanche.” She held out her hand and shook mine. She felt as fragile as bone china. And cold too, almost as if she was barely alive.
“Are you a novice?” I asked.
“No. I’m here for the same reason as you,” she said. “Betrayed by the boy I loved and trusted. I had a baby three weeks ago.”
“Did you? Was it a boy or a girl?”
“A girl,” she said. “She was stillborn. I had a rough time of it and I’m still trying to get my strength back.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She nodded. “It happens. Not all babies live, do they? Not all mothers live either. It’s the curse of Eve they say.”
On that encouraging note she ushered me into the parlor.
“I’ll tell Sister Perpetua you’re here,” she said.
“What about the mother superior? I’d rather see her first,” I said.
“Mother’s not very well these days, so they say,” she said. “She’s been confined to her room, except for when they take her to chapel. Sister Perpetua is in charge, although Sister Jerome likes to think she is.” She lowered her voice and glanced around as she said this.
“Who is Sister Jerome then?” I asked, remembering that tall gaunt shape with the sharp voice. She’d certainly acted as if she was a person of authority.
“She’s the bursar. But recently she’s taken over the running of the maternity section. It used to be Sister Francine, but she died recently. Sister Jerome only used to handle the business side of the adoptions but now she’s training Sister Angelique to take over as midwife, and frankly neither of them are very good at it. Sister Jerome is far too fastidious and Sister Angelique—well, she just doesn’t have a feel for it like Sister Francine did.”
“What happened to Sister Francine?” I asked cautiously.
“What happened? What do you mean?”
“I mean how did she die?”
She frowned. “She was really old. She just died in her sleep a few weeks ago. Everyone was really sad, both the nuns and the girls. Especially me. I had to have Sister Jerome help deliver my baby, and it got stuck and she had to use forceps. Poor little mite.” She shuddered, then said, “I shouldn’t be scaring you like this. I’m sure you’ll be just fine. You stay there and I’ll go and find Sister.”
I perched on one of those uncomfortable chairs, this time expecting a face to appear at the grille. I jumped, therefore, when the door opened behind me and Blanche reappeared. “Sister wants you to come through,” she said. “Follow me.”
She led me under an arch, down a narrow hallway, and then through another heavy oak door that was now open. She paused to shut the door behind her, pushing the iron bolt into place. It appeared I was inside the convent, whether I liked it or not. We’d only gone a few yards when she tapped on a door and heard a gentle voice say, “Come in.”
I was ushered into a room even more Spartan than the parlor. A small barred window let in a shaft of light. The floor was stone, the chairs plain wood, and on one of them sat a small, delicate figure in severe black habit.
“Here’s the new girl, Sister,” Blanche said.
The elderly nun looked as I would have expected from her voice. The face was ageless, innocent, and the eyes still bright, but I could tell from the hand she held out to me that she was old. “Thank you, Blanche, dear. You may leave us,” she said. “I am Sister Perpetua. Mother is indisposed, I’m afraid.” She was still clutching my hand in her bony, withered one. “Now what is your name, child?”
“It’s Molly, Sister,” I said in a voice scarcely more than a whisper. I looked down, avoiding her eye.
“Sit down, Molly. There is no need to be afraid,” she said. “You are among friends here.”
I pulled up a crude straight-backed chair and sat.
“Now then,” she said. “I don’t have to ask why you are here. I can see that for myself.”
I nodded. I had come up with a story on the train ride from Irvington and it sounded convincing to me. “I didn’t know where else to go,” I said. “I came over from Ireland to marry Joe. He went on ahead to make some money so that we could marry. But after he left I found out that I…” I looked down again. “You know.”
“He left you with child,” she said severely.
“Oh, he would have married me right away if he’d known,” I said. “Joe would have done the right thing. He wasn’t that sort of man.”
“So you came to America to find him,” she continued.
“I did. I scraped together enough for the fare and when I went to the address Joe had written from, he wasn’t there.”
“He’d gone off somewhere?” She was looking at me with great sympathy.
“Yes, but not what you think,” she said. “It turns out they came around recruiting laborers to go down to Panama and dig the new canal. Good money, they said. And Joe signed up right away.” I put my hand up to my mouth. “So I don’t know if he’s alive or dead or where he is,” I said. “I’ve no way of getting in touch with him, and no money to go back home. Not that my father would allow me to come back. Terrible strict he is on matters like this.”
“I’m sorry, my dear,” she said gently. “I hear stories like yours all the time. And I wish we could help you, but we have our full complement of young women at the moment. And a waiting list too. Girls write to us from all over several months before they need to come and we have to turn so many away.”
“You mean I can’t stay?” I asked, hoping there was enough desperation in my voice. “Where else would I go?”
“I can write to other convents on your behalf,” she said. “There is no other order around here that devotes itself to our mission of charity, but sometimes there is a spare bed to be had and the good sisters will welcome a stranger in time of need. I can’t guarantee anything, of course. There is so much need these days. So much suffering.”
I wondered what I should do next. In a way I felt profoundly relieved that I wasn’t going to be admitted and I could go back to join Sid and Gus and Bridie at the riverside, where we’d laugh and eat ice creams and enjoy ourselves. They were right. I really had done all that could be expected for a girl I had never met.
I got to my feet. “Thank you, anyway,” I said. “I’d better go, then.”
“I hate to do this,” she said, “but if I took you in, it wouldn’t be fair to a girl who has waited months to come here and her confinement is imminent, would it?”