Authors: Marita Conlon-McKenna
The Magdalen (18 page)
V
isitors to the Magdalen laundry at the top of Convent Road were few and far between, most folk chosing not to encounter the “fallen women” hidden behind its high walls, their downcast eyes, regimented haircuts and drab uniforms only serving to make the visitor feel guilty. Guilty for living life on the outside, for being at liberty, for having some semblance of a normal life. Thomas Doyle cared little about that, his only intention being to see his sister and check on her well-being.
isitors to the Magdalen laundry at the top of Convent Road were few and far between, most folk chosing not to encounter the “fallen women” hidden behind its high walls, their downcast eyes, regimented haircuts and drab uniforms only serving to make the visitor feel guilty. Guilty for living life on the outside, for being at liberty, for having some semblance of a normal life. Thomas Doyle cared little about that, his only intention being to see his sister and check on her well-being.
“You have a visitor, Esther!” Her heart leapt with joy and trepidation as soon as Sister Margaretta came to tell her.
“It's a young man.”
For one instant the hope that Conor might have come and searched for her and would rescue her and the baby came unbidden. “I believe he's your brother. There's a close family resemblance.”
Any disappointment she might have felt was swept away with the exciting notion of a visit from any of her brothers. Stopping what she was doing, she ran to dry her hands.
Sister Margaretta had already turned around and was beginning to walk out of the laundry and back up to the reception hall and parlour where she worked in the mornings. The elderly nun hated the laundry, as the bleach in the air stung and irritated her eyes and made her cough.
“I'll be along in a minute.”
Sister Josepha reluctantly nodded her head, giving her permission to leave her work and go up to the visitors' parlour.
She had been loading and unloading the huge machines since early morning. This load would take at least another hour. “Sheila, will you keep an eye on the machine for me, as I have a visitor.” Sheila could always be relied on to complete a job and help out a friend.
“Aye,” nodded the ginger-haired girl, curious.
Out in the corridor, Esther pulled on her warm woollen stockings and shoes, cursing the way her wet feet slowed her down. She had a tiny tortoise-shell comb which she kept in her overall pocket, and she ran it through her hair. It felt greasy and lank, but there was nothing she could do about it, her washday was not until Thursday. Why hadn't Sister Margaretta told her his name? Which of them was
it? She tried to appear calm and unhurried as she made her way to the visitors' parlour.
it? She tried to appear calm and unhurried as she made her way to the visitors' parlour.
“Tom!” she screamed with delight, seeing her younger brother, hugging him close.
“You'll squeeze the life out of me, Esther! Go easy will you!”
“It's just that I've missed you so, and I'm that glad to see you.”
She was doing her best to keep the flood of emotions from her voice, to stop herself from breaking down in front of him. At eighteen he looked even taller and more grown-up, his thick black curls cut close to his head making his face seem stronger and broader, handsome even. He was wearing a tweed jacket and a shirt and tie, and was definitely no longer the little boy she remembered from home.
“How's teacher-training college going?”
“It's great, Esther. I'm having the time of my life, stuck in books, studying, and have made great friends. That's why I'm in Dublin: one of the fellahs lives over on the north side in a place called Clontarf. I'm staying with his family tonight.”
Tom Doyle tried to hide his dismay at seeing his sister. She was all out pregnant, her apron and overall stretched across her mound of a stomach, her arms and legs scrawny and stick-like, her face washed-out and exhausted-looking. Why, even her hair looked dirty! “Why did they cut your hair?” he blurted out.
“Everyone has to, because of the lice and nits,” she said matter-of-factly, noticing the look of disgust on his face.
“Jesus, Esther! You should never have come here. It's a desperate place. I don't know how you can stand it.”
Esther tried to compose herself. What would her younger brother know of women's suffering or the life of a Maggie?
“What are the nuns like? Are they treating you all right?”
She considered before answering, knowing well that there was nothing Tom could do to help her. “I'm fine,” she lied, “just fine.”
“You're not fine! You're not bloody fine!” he shouted angrily. “You look exhausted.”
“Hush, Tom! Sit down or the nuns will hear you! They're not the worst, Tom, honest. It's just that the work is hard, I'm not used to standing all day and because of the baby I get tired.” She wiped her nose and eyes with her sleeve not wanting to cry in front of him. “Tell me about college and the rest of them at home,” she begged, changing the subject.
“The college is great. I'm in digs with three other lads. Two are in my year.”
“Are you enjoying it?”
“Aye! 'Tis the best thing ever happened to me, and I can't wait to be qualified. Imagine, me, a teacher, standing up in front of a class, teaching them!”
She laughed. “That's what you'll be doing, Tom!”
“Paddy's getting on great at school. Mr. Brennan complains that he's a bit of a boyo, but that fellow has brains bursting out of him. Liam's the total opposite, doesn't give a damn for school and studying. He has the brothers driven
mad as all he wants to do is play hurley and football, and get on one of the county teams.”
mad as all he wants to do is play hurley and football, and get on one of the county teams.”
“Aye, he'll do it too.”
“Donal's thinking of going to England in the summer.”
“I don't believe you! Donal's such a home-bird.”
“He's been talking about it for ages. I suppose he's fed up of Ger ordering him around; anyways, he's a new boss in his life now. You know Barbaraâshe's one of the Joyces, they have a big farm up beyond Carraroe way? Well, he's doing a strong line with her. She's going nursing in England and Donal wants to be near her. She's going to one of those big fancy hospitals in London.”
“Donal, in love with a nurse, I don't believe it! She's really pretty, isn't she? Her sister Fidelma was in school with me.”
“Talking of romances, Ger's getting married,” declared Tom ruefully.
“Brona, I presume.”
“Aye, of course. John Joe is giving them a huge wedding in the summer. Half the parish will be invited and they're having the breakfast in that fancy hotel in Salthill, at least eighty people!”
“I suppose I'll get no invitation,” she joked indignantly.
Embarrassed, Tom could barely meet her gaze.
“Wouldn't want the likes of me disgracing them, waltzing around the floor. What would the McEvoys and all the neighbours say?”
Tom leant forward in the mahogany chair, pulling her close. “I'm sorry, Esther, I shouldn't have told you, upset
you. You know I wouldn't hurt you for the world. I'm a stupid ass. Things will get better, once the baby's born, get back to normal. You'll see.”
you. You know I wouldn't hurt you for the world. I'm a stupid ass. Things will get better, once the baby's born, get back to normal. You'll see.”
“Aye,” she replied bitterly, patting her bulge, “once this is out of the way.” An awkward angry silence lay between. She didn't want to be fighting with her brother. “How's Mammy?” she ventured, noticing that he became more guarded at once.
“She's happy about the wedding, and all Ger and Brona's plans. They bought Vera's place, you know.”
“Did poor old Vera die?”
“Nah! She fell on the way out of the church and broke her hip. She's in the hospital in Galway, but is going to an old folks home after.”
“So Ger got what he wanted in the end. John Joe's daughter, a house with a bit of land. Things always seem to work out for Ger. Did Mammy get my letters? I wrote to her so many times and she never writes back.”
Tom spread his hands. “She won't read them,” he confided apologetically. “I read them out to her, but she won't budge. I've tried, Esther, honest I have, but anger is choking her.”
“She still blames me for Nonie.”
“That was nobody's fault! We all knew that Nonie wasn't right in the head, that something could happen to her at any time. God took her early, that's all. It was no-one's fault, just God's will.”
“Does she ever talk about me, mention the baby?”
He shook his head. “She's eaten up with bitterness. Daddy's gone, Nonie taken away from her, Donal going away, even me going to college, though I try to get home
at the weekends, and you here in Dublin ⦠well you know just the way things worked out.”
at the weekends, and you here in Dublin ⦠well you know just the way things worked out.”
“Me having a baby and not being married.”
“Aye! Aunt Patsy's been trying to talk to her, to make her see reason, but you may as well be talking to the wall, for the moment anyways.”
“Tom, have you seen Conor at all?” She couldn't help asking about him; wondering if he missed her.
“Christ, Esther! Don't tell me you're still thinking about that bastard after all he's done to you.”
“I can't help it!”
“Well, he married that McGuinness one last month.”
“They're married!” Esther sat down. She felt physically sick. It was totally over. Con had actually married Nuala. He didn't give a damn about her.
“Aye, but Father Devaney refused to do it. He said that someone of Conor's character wasn't fit to get married, and told Nuala that he'd seduced an innocent girl! Didn't matter, though, some distant cousin of hers is a priest in Athlone and he performed the ceremony, so now that bastard's back running her farm like king of the heap.”
Esther didn't want to hear any more of Conor and his new bride. It pained her too much.
“How long till the baby?” asked her brother.
“About six weeks or so.”
“You'll be glad to have it over, Esther. Once the child is born you'll be able to put all this behind you and no-one will be any the wiser.”
“What do you mean, Tom?”
“Well, when you give the baby up.”
“I don't want to give the baby up!” she protested.
“This is my baby, my flesh and blood, part of our family! Why should I give my child away to some other woman to raise?”
“This is my baby, my flesh and blood, part of our family! Why should I give my child away to some other woman to raise?”
“But you've agreed to giving the baby up for adoption,” argued her brother. “You can't go changing your mind now!”
“I can do what I want with my child!”
“I'm just saying thatâ”
“Ah, shut up, Tom! D'ye know something, you may be the one getting an education but you're still ignorant as can be. Keep your nose out of my business!”
“Look, Esther, in a few weeks you'll have had the baby, the nuns will look after it, then you can begin to think about the future and coming back home.”
“Future? I have no future. What kind of person do you think I am, that I can hand over my baby and pretend that none of this ever happened! I'm not a man, I can't just walk away! Maybe I'll stay here in Dublin in the laundry; some of the girls have children in the orphanage.”
“What kind of life would that be?” cajoled her brother.
Sister Margaretta arrived at the parlour door. “You're needed back in the laundry, Esther. I'm afraid your visitor will have to go.”
Esther stood up awkwardly, her brother giving her a hand. Why was she fighting with the one person in the family she was close to, the one who'd saved her life?
Tom Doyle didn't know what to say. He'd intended his visit to comfort and cheer his sister, but instead had only managed to annoy her. “Look, I'd better be going.”
She nodded, trying to pretend it didn't matter.
Tom pulled back on his jacket and wrapped his scarf around his neck. It was freezing outside.
Sister Margaretta stood waiting at the heavy front door to let him out.
Despondent, Esther walked him across the mosaic-floored hallway, wondering when she'd see him again.
“Esther, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you,” he apologized, bending down towards her.
She looked in his eyes, seeing his confusion and guilt.
“Young man, I'll have to ask you to leave now. The penitents, strictly speaking, are not meant to have visitors during working hours. Your sister has work to do.”
“Will you be up in Dublin again?”
“I don't know, but if I am I promise I'll get out to see you.”
They hugged each other clumsily. Tom hated leaving her like that, but promised to try and visit again, Esther with the tears running down her face, wishing she could escape this place and go with him. She watched from the doorway as her brother walked away, the bare trees on Convent Road standing to attention like sentries in the drizzling rain.
“You know you are not supposed to have visitors, especially during laundry hours,” complained the nun. “I made an exception today, but will not be able to in the future. Do you understand?”
She didn't even bother replying to the old biddy.
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