“Slut!”
“Tramp!”
“Bitch!”
“Dirty little whore!”
“She’s a filthy tramp!”
The words rained down on her like blows. Her brothers and Majella screaming at her in the kitchen.
Majella had finally noticed her condition. She’d been standing at the sink washing a bowl of clay-covered potatoes when her mother had asked, “When’s the child due?”
Esther stood totally still. She had waited weeks for this to happen, now she was almost relieved that the pretence was over. “March,” she’d replied as the water splashed from the sink on to the tiled floor.
For an instant her mother had almost hit her, but instead had turned and gone to sit down on the armchair, disgust and despair etched on her worn face. Drying her hands, Esther had run in after her, kneeling down beside her.
“Mammy. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you … but I just didn’t know what to do.”
“I suppose that Conor fellow is the father!”
Esther nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Will he marry you?”
Esther knelt, miserable, ashamed and unable to meet her mother’s gaze.
“I didn’t suppose he would,” Majella said sharply. “The like of him never do.”
“What’ll I do, Mammy?” she blurted out in panic and desperation.
Her mother sat silent and unresponsive. “Gerard will have to be told,” she said eventually. “He’ll think of something.”
“Mammy, I’m sorry, honest to God I’m sorry. I didn’t mean this to happen. What will I do? What will happen to the baby?”
Majella Doyle closed her eyes, cutting her off. “Let me be! ‘Tis too late to be sorry, and I’m far too tired to think. In God’s name will you just leave me alone!”
Ger and Donal had taken it badly. Poor Paddy and Liam hadn’t a clue what was going on with all the shouting and roaring and were banished outside to take a walk on the
beach as her mother told the older boys the news. Tom had kept quiet, not letting on that he already knew. Not one kind word was said by any of the family when they heard that she was going to have a baby. She looked at their handsome faces, now grim and ugly. These were her brothers, her flesh and blood. She’d washed, cooked and cleaned for them for years! They’d gone mad when they heard, screaming and shouting at her, calling her filthy names.
“You must get rid of it!” urged Gerard.
“We’ll kill the bastard that did this to you!”
“Leave him out of it,” she pleaded. “This is my baby.”
They were ashamed of her. Even good-hearted Tom couldn’t meet her gaze.
“Slut!”
“Dirty little tramp!”
“A hussy of a daughter. That’s what I’ve raised!”
“You couldn’t wait for it, like the rest of the decent girls in the parish,” jeered Gerard. “Couldn’t keep those legs of yours closed. Eddie Boylan wasn’t good enough for you. You sneered at him, looked down your nose at him. I’m telling you, Eddie would have married you, taken you to live on that big farm of his, done the decent thing.”
“I love Conor,” she sobbed. “I thought he loved me too.”
“Love, so that’s what you call it!” sneered her mother, her face blotched and angry. “That’s not what I’d call it, or the neighbours will call it.”
“I’ll break every bone in that bastard’s body!” shouted Donal.
“No!”
“Christ! Wait till John Joe hears!” groaned her brother. “We’ll be the talk of the place.”
All they could think of was what the neighbours would say, the gossip and scandal she would cause. She had listened to their vile words and realized that they were ashamed of her. The baby growing inside didn’t seem to matter a bit or merit any consideration, all they wanted was for her and her pregnancy to be kept secret. She would have to go away.
Her Aunt Patsy was sent for. Esther had always been fond of her mother’s older sister. Taller and heavier-built than her mother, her aunt had always been a rock of good sense. She had made the most of being a wealthy farmer’s wife and lived on the Galway-to-Spiddal road. All her family was raised. The eldest boy Willie now helped his Uncle Sean with the farm; two of the cousins had gone to England; and Marian, a daughter, was living in Galway with a nice husband who worked in the bank and two wild little boys who were always up to mischief. Patsy had always been kind to the Doyles, and of late had done her best to help Majella cope with the grief of losing Nonie. On her arrival, at least her aunt hugged her and asked how she was feeling and if she was taking any rest. “You poor child!”
Esther almost bawled, as they were the first kind words that anyone had said to her in weeks. Once she started crying, she could barely stop, and Patsy sat with her till she could cry no more.
“It’s not the end of the world, Esther, no matter what Majella says to you. You are not the first to get caught and you won’t be the last. Many a decent woman has started her married life in similar circumstances. People forget. Girls go away for a spell and then come back home, it’s nobody’s business where they go to or the reason why. We can arrange it.”
Esther looked up. Her aunt’s slightly pink face, with those thoughtful grey-blue eyes, was sincere.
“You know Majella won’t hear of you staying at home and having the baby here. She’s a silly woman, that sister of mine, but I suppose she’s had more than her fair share of troubles to deal with, so you’ll have to go away, Esther.”
“I know!” she whispered, dreading the thought of it.
“The Mercy nuns run a Magdalen home laundry in Galway, would you go there?”
Esther hadn’t a clue what her aunt was talking about. “A Magdalen home laundry! What in God’s name is it, Auntie Patsy?”
“‘Tis a home run by the nuns for girls like yourself that are in trouble. In return for their keep the unmarried mothers work in the convent laundry. The work is hard and they say the nuns are strict there, but at least the girls are looked after. It’s called after Mary Magdalen, you know, the sinner in the Bible who repents.”
“What about my baby?” asked Esther, her throat raw with pain and grief.
“You know the baby will be given up, Esther pet, the nuns will do their best to find a nice couple willing to adopt or foster the child and raise it as their own. Then
when it’s all over you’ll be able to come back home and put this all behind you.”
“Couldn’t I keep my baby? I’d look after it!”
“Esther love, how would you manage a new baby?”
“I’d manage!” she replied stubbornly.
“Majella wouldn’t have you, Esther, so don’t go fooling yourself that she’ll change her mind. Will you go to the Magdalen home in Galway?”
Esther shook her head vehemently. The home in Galway was much too near. The thought of her mother and her brothers coming into the town on a shopping trip, or worse still Conor and that McGuinness one passing by on their way to the markets or the bank or the like, just didn’t bear thinking about.
“No, Auntie Patsy! I want to go away, get out of this place, maybe to Dublin or Cork.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Esther, it’s probably better to go further away,” agreed her aunt, “then if you have the baby in Dublin, a family there could raise it.”
Esther nodded, miserable.
“‘Tis only a year of your life, child! I know how sad you must be feeling and heartbroken after that rotten pig of a fellah let you down, but it will pass, I promise. The best thing is to go away before the neighbours guess what’s going on.”
Patsy was glad that her niece had no interest in going to the home in Galway; she’d heard rumours of the harsh regime that existed there and how the women were always trying to run away.
Majella appeared silently, carrying a tray of tea things. “Has she agreed to go away?” she asked tersely.
Patsy tapped her hand. “Aye! That she has. Father Devaney will help arrange it. He knows a nun in Dublin.”
“I’ll talk to him then,” murmured Majella, pouring the tea.
Esther wanted to rage and scream and let her feelings of panic and rejection out, but instead she sat drinking sour-tasting tea with them, excusing herself after one cup.
Lying on her bed, she knew that the two sisters were discussing her, and the stupidity, the madness that had ended with her pregnant and having to face it on her own. What had she agreed to? Everyone wanted to organize her life, tell her what was the right thing to do; nobody cared a jot about what she wanted for this baby and herself. The rest of them wanted her out of the way and hidden, even Aunt Patsy didn’t understand at all what she was going through. All her life she’d been trying to please people, do what her mam or her big brother told her, had believed all the things Conor told her. Now there were two of them, the baby and herself, that was all that mattered for the moment. Sure, things would have been different if Conor had loved her, wanted her and his baby. Instead he had chosen to reject them. They all wanted her to give her baby up, hand it over for someone else to raise, never see her child again. Her mother had given birth to seven children and raised each one of them. How could she demand then that Esther just hand her child away after carrying it for nine months? They wanted her to go to a place run by nuns, where she would be treated as an outcast for having loved someone and made the fatal mistake of getting pregnant. Her
mother still grieved for Nonie, crying in her sleep for the daughter God had taken from her. Had she no inkling of the grief Esther would endure if she gave away her child? So be it! She would go if that’s what they all wanted. Rolling up into a ball, curling in on herself, keeping her baby warm and safe, Esther tried to sleep.
Father Brendan Devaney was coming out of the sacristy when he spotted the kneeling figure of Majella Doyle. The woman seemed to have aged about ten years in the past few months. She seemed engrossed in prayer, but then, spotting him, lifted her mantilla-covered head.
“Good-morning, Majella.”
Up close she looked bewildered, anxious. “I need to talk to you, Father,” she murmured.
The priest sighed. The poor mother had been to confession almost every week since the child had died, wretched and sobbing in the other side of the box, frantic for some kind of understanding as to why her child had been taken from her. Even the neighbours had begun to realize it was unwise to get caught behind her in the confessional queue.
“Is it about Nonie?”
“No!” she said vehemently. “It’s about Esther. I want you to come to the house, talk to her.”
Confusion filled his face. Perhaps the child was blaming herself again, like she did the time before when the father had died. “Tell her it’s not her fault! Tell her to come up to the house for a chat if she wants to.”
“No, Father Brendan, it’s not that. Esther’s in trouble.”
At first he didn’t understand, but then, seeing the livid blush on the middle-aged woman’s face and the cold anger in her eyes, he understood.
“I’m sorry for your trouble, Majella. Tell your daughter I’ll call up to the house later this evening.” He patted the worn hand, the fingers already beginning to twist ever so slightly. All the women of the parish had hands like that, worn out from work. He left her behind him, still praying, her fingers gripping the pale blue of the rosary beads as if they were a lifeline, in the silence of the small church.
“Will you have another cup of tea, Father?”
The priest nodded. He’d been sitting in the small cluttered parlour, trying to make small talk, for over an hour. He was missing his favourite radio programme, Opera Requests. This week they had mentioned that Puccini would feature. He nibbled at a slice of heavy Madeira cake. Esther sat across from him, uneasy. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she wore a shapeless green dress that did nothing but make the child look paler than usual. Majella was tense, and he wished she would leave him and the daughter to talk on their own.
Donal came in, nodding briefly. “Ma, Tom wants you in the kitchen,” he suggested tactfully.
“A drop of hot tea in the pot would be nice,” encouraged the priest, passing her the white china teapot.
“Excuse me, Father.”
Esther sat watching him, noticing the fine crumbs that clung to his heavy black suit. The priest could do nothing to help. There was no absolution for what she had done.
She had loved too much and no priest could possibly understand that. She had to suffer the consequences.
“Your mother mentioned something of your predicament,” he suggested discreetly.
“Aye, Father, I’m going to have a baby. It’s due in March.”
The priest tried not to let any reaction show on his face. At least once a year he was faced with a similar admission from one of the female members of his congregation. The resolution was the important thing. Weddings out of the parish could be arranged. “Are you going to get married, Esther?”
She shook her head, miserable. “He doesn’t want to!”
“You have told him about the baby?”
“He knows, but it makes no difference. He says that he doesn’t love me anymore. He wants to marry someone else.”
“Makes no difference, indeed!” Father Devaney tried to hold his anger in check. If he had a pound for every blackguard who tried to take advantage of young innocent girls, he would be a wealthy man. “What is this fellow’s name? Do I know him?”
Esther felt afraid. She was reluctant to give him Conor’s name.
“Who is he?” By Christ, he’d track down the local boyo who thought he could ruin a young girl’s name in the parish and walk away from his responsibility. He’d have him begging to marry her.
“Conor … Conor O’Hagan.”
The priest sat back in the chair. The handsome rogue from West Cork, he should have guessed! The O’Hagan
fellow and Nuala McGuinness had already called to see him, asking him to post the banns for their marriage next month. Nuala was smitten with him. She was like a young woman in love, delighted to have finally found a mate and someone to run her farm.
He shifted awkwardly, wondering if Esther had heard yet. “I know of him,” he said gently. “What do you want to do?”
She considered. “Since I can’t get married, I’ll go away. It’s what my mother and the rest of them want.”
“Carraig Beag is a small place. They are good people. Nobody better when you are in trouble, and God knows they have been more than kind to your poor mother. Christian charity! But at times they could turn on you like a pack of dogs!”
“That’s what I’m afraid of, Father.”
“Well, we must prevent it then. You are agreed to go away?”
“Aye, Father Brendan. Normally I’d want to have my baby born here at home, but I know my mother and brothers would never stand it. I have no say in it, so you see I have to go away.”
“‘Tis for the best, that’s all we’re thinking of, child!”
“I suppose so.”
“And what about when the baby is born?”
“I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet, Father.”
Father Brendan shifted uncomfortably on the ancient couch, which was in sore need of respringing and padding. His back was at him. At least the girl hadn’t started crying and wailing like some he’d seen. Her face was pale and she looked tired, her eyes expressionless. Who could tell what
girls that age were thinking? “Over the years I’ve helped girls like yourself. There’s the Magdalen home in Galway, run by Sister Dominica. You know the place?”
“I don’t want to go to Galway, Father, I want to go further away, someplace nobody knows me, like London or Dublin.”
“You might be lonely, so far away from home and your people.”
She laughed harshly. “That doesn’t matter!”
“There are two or three Magdalen homes in Dublin that I know of, but the Holy Saints nuns have a place over somewhere on the south side of the city. They provide board and lodgings and good care for girls like yourself, in trouble, and in return you work for no wages and help out about the place. It’s laundry work, same as the place in Galway. Another Magdalen laundry.”
“I’m used to washing and ironing for the family here, Father.”
“Well, it’s a bit different to that. You’ll be expected to rise early and help all day in the laundry, ‘tis a busy place by all accounts, with no chance of resting or pampering: the nuns work there themselves—but you’re young and strong. Then when your time comes and the child is born, the nuns will look after you and your baby.”
“What happens then?” Esther hesitantly enquired.
“Well …” He didn’t want to alarm her. “Then the usual is that the nuns take care of the child until hopefully a married couple are found that wish to foster or adopt the child, and raise it. The child becomes theirs.”
“So my baby would be given up?”
“Yes.”
She stifled a sob. Everything her aunt had told her was true.
“Esther, do you want to think about it, talk it over with the family?”
She sat miserable and silent. Her mother had slipped back into the room. “Could you arrange it, Father Brendan?” she interrupted. “Straight away, she’s showing already!”
Esther nodded wordlessly. She would go along with whatever they arranged for her. Her body and this growing child seemed almost distant and apart from her. She wanted rid of it all, this whole awful thing that was happening, she wanted to forget it, pretend that Con and herself had never happened, and that things could go back to the way they were.
“Mammy, I’ll go to Dublin if that’s what you want.”
Her mother sat on the red corner chair, pulling it up close to the table beside the priest. “What’ll we tell people?” she asked him.
“It’s a private matter, confidential,” he suggested matter-of-factly. “All the neighbours need to know is that Esther’s gone to Dublin on a visit, doing a course maybe, staying with family. The confidence will not be broken, and Sister Gabriel and the Holy Saints nuns are the souls of discretion, I promise.”
Relief flooded her mother’s worried features. “She’s disgraced us, Father. I can’t believe that I raised a daughter that would get herself in this kind of trouble.” Her mother flushed angrily. “Dermot, Lord rest him, would turn in his grave if he knew!”
“Majella! Majella! There’s no point going back over
what’s happened. It’s Esther you must be thinking of now!” he admonished her. “She needs your love and support.”
Annoyed, Majella Doyle pursed her lips.
Sensing the change in atmosphere, Father Devaney drained his teacup, declaring, “I must be going, but I’ll get in touch with the convent straight away and set it up. I’ll write to them tonight. Try not to worry, Esther’s not the only one that has faced such difficulties.”
The two women stood up, anger and pain dividing them.
“I’ll be in touch,” he murmured, making his goodbyes.
As soon as the priest had left, Majella Doyle spoke again. “Thank God your father’s dead, and is not here to witness his tramp of a daughter and the shame you’ve brought on us,” her mother spat out fiercely, turning and leaving her standing in the narrow hallway on her own.