CHAPTER 9
The taxi dropped Nora several blocks away from her home. The driver, uninterested in Ballybough, collected his fare, wished her a good evening, and sped off, the exhaust twirling in the cold air.
She stood looking at the row houses that had been part of her neighborhood for as long as she could remember. Her time at the convent had twisted her perception. It seemed so long since she’d been gone, yet it had only been a few months. The doorways, the cars, even the garbage bins were the same, but the view felt different, somehow distorted as if seen through a lens.
The road lamps came on as dusk fell. Drizzle fell in white drops through the light. She pulled up her collar and kept it close to her face. She didn’t want anyone she knew to recognize her. That chance was too likely. At one point, she even ducked into an alley to avoid a woman who lived down the road from her parents. She was glad she had eaten, because going into a shop was too risky.
The cold kept the roads quiet for the most part. She walked for an hour, smoking a few cigarettes, and then stood under a lamp, staring at the door she knew so well. The droplets on her coat reflected the light like tiny, sparkling diamonds.
My old home. It seemed like years had passed since July. A turbulent well of emotions bubbled inside her. Her insides tensed, yet a strange sense of relief came with the knowledge that she at least had a chance to talk to her parents. She swiped at her eyes, her wet fingers cold against her cheek.
She wondered what to say, what to expect, after she had gathered enough courage to knock on the door. The anger she directed toward her parents dissipated with her anxiety. She had vowed to kill her father for what he had done. But reality was different. How could she confront them—possibly anger her parents—when they were all she had? Perhaps it would be best to beg for mercy. If they would accept her apology, she could start over again.
What had she done to deserve this punishment? She had gone over the question a thousand times since her father had dropped her off at the convent. It came back to her again and again. Maybe it didn’t matter, but standing under the lamp, she took an inventory of her sins. She had been vain, thrown herself at Pearse and fantasized about him and a few other boys. She hadn’t always been kind to her father and mother. She avoided housework and didn’t study as much as she should. Was she so different from other girls? Didn’t they think about boys, and wonder what it would be like to hold them and kiss them and someday make love? Perhaps her major sin was pride. She thought she was better than her parents, better than the neighborhood, even better than calling Ireland her home when it came down to it. Her parents couldn’t abide that sin. Pride. It had gone before her fall.
She walked to the door, lifted her hand to knock, and then stopped. Her fingers, suddenly heavy, froze a few inches from the wood. A combination of exhaustion and despair fell upon her and she gasped for breath. Shivering, wet, cold, she forced her fist to the door. With each knock she gained a bit of strength.
A light flashed deep behind the closed living room blinds. From where it was situated, she knew it came from her parents’ bedroom. A grumble filled the small house. Then she heard her father’s rough voice. “Hold your horses, for God’s sake. Can’t a man rest?”
The door yanked open, spilling the light upon her and the walk. He stared, taking her in from top to bottom and his mouth opened. No words came out.
“Gordon, who is it?” Her mother appeared in the bedroom door wrapped in her heavy green bathrobe.
“Da,” Nora said. “Please let me in.” For the first time, she wondered if she had made a mistake.
“How did yeh get here?” he asked.
Her mother took a few steps, and then, recognizing Nora, covered her mouth with her hands.
“I ran away.”
“Our daughter is dead.” He slammed the door.
The force knocked her back on her feet. “Oh my God,” she whispered. Her anger kicked in. She hadn’t come this far, taken this risk, to be stopped. He hadn’t even listened to her. She needed to get inside to—what? What did she want to tell them—apologize and ask them to take her back? She’d be a good girl and do everything they demanded. If they would only listen, she could convince them she had changed. She never wanted to be sent away again.
She pounded on the door. The last knock faded.
Her father yanked the door open again. This time a blistering rage covered his face. He spit at her. “Go away, whoever yeh are. Didn’t yeh hear me? Me daughter is dead.”
“Da, please listen.” She thrust out her arms. “I’ve changed. I’ll never cross you and Ma again. I promise. Please let me come inside.” She stepped toward him.
His hand rocketed toward her. It struck hard against her left cheek and sent her reeling onto the sidewalk. She landed on her rear with a plunk.
The door slammed again.
Behind it, her father shouted, “Go away. Our daughter is dead. I’m calling the Guards.” She could hear her mother yelling, as well, indistinguishable beyond the door, her strangled voice filled with hostility.
She pulled herself up and rubbed her bottom. Her cheek stung as if little needles had been poked into it.
Her father lifted a slat on the blinds and swore at her again. The slat dropped and the house went dark. She knew her father would call the Guards.
She hadn’t prepared herself for their reaction. She had wanted to believe that her parents would listen to her, even welcome her into the house. Stupid. Whom could she turn to? Pearse? He lived a few blocks away. Maybe she could convince him to come to the door, at least talk to her, but after this confrontation she wasn’t prepared for another. Cold. A cup of tea would do her good.
She hobbled down the road, to the east. Soon, houses would be decorated for Christmas and families would gather to celebrate. There would be lights and song and parties to break the dark. Her home was dead. She strode toward Pearse’s flat, despondent that she would never be part of her parents’ lives again and angry that she was alone.
He has to let me in. After all, he caused all this trouble in the first place. If he’d taken me to Cork like he promised, I wouldn’t be in this mess. She would show Pearse what a mistake it had been to desert her.
She slowed as she came near to a row of homes much like her parents. Everything was cold, black and gray. Headlights flashed behind her and she shifted to a casual walk, to allay suspicion. She didn’t dare look back. Her body shifted from anger to anxiety as a chilly fear encased her. The car rolled up beside her, traveling even with her, disappearing and reappearing between the autos parked on the road. She spotted the blue panel on its side and knew immediately it was a Guard’s vehicle.
The car sped up to an empty space ahead and pulled over. The Guard rolled down his window and peered out. “Get inside.”
Nora stopped, leaned toward the officer, and smiled. Maybe he would leave her alone if she cooperated. “What’s wrong?” Her nerves, tightly strung, sang in her head.
“You might be who I’m looking for. We got a call about a woman trying to get into a house. A man reported his daughter should be taken back to The Sisters of the Holy Redemption, where she’s been living for several months. That’s a long way from here. Do you know anything about that?”
Nora shook her head.
“I think you do, so why don’t you get in the car and it’ll save me the trouble of getting me shoes wet.”
It was no use. Her father had called the Guards and they had her now. She dropped the smile and studied the officer. He was young, raven-haired under his cap, with a strong chin and intense eyes that scrutinized her under thick black brows. She could do worse than this man, she thought.
“Crawl in the passenger seat,” he ordered. “Lucky I dropped me partner off an hour ago. He’s got a divil of a cold. Won’t be out tomorrow, neither.”
Nora stepped into the road, around the car. She opened the door and slid inside. The warm air from the heater blew under her coat, knocking the chill from her legs.
“So, are yeh Nora Craven?” He knocked a cigarette from a pack with his knuckles and lit it. A smoky haze filled the interior.
Relishing the smoke, she breathed in deeply. She leaned toward the officer and asked, “Do you mind if I have a fag?” Why use her own?
He tipped his cap back and shook his head. He knocked another cigarette out, handed it to her, and opened his lighter. When he did, she cupped her hand around his.
She sat for a moment, enjoying the pleasure of the cigarette. It occurred to her that she could lie, but she knew the Guard would be smart enough to take her to the station and question her there. A quick call to The Sisters of the Holy Redemption would reveal the truth. In no time at all, she would be back, facing the wrath of the Mother Superior. On the other hand, she could relax with the officer, maybe even have a little fun before being returned to her holy prison sentence. Why not?
“Would you believe that I’m eighteen and my name is Molly Malone?”
The officer laughed. “Yer dress isn’t cut as low as hers is, I wager.”
“No.” The heat was rising in the car. Nora opened her coat and exposed her plain blue dress. She hoped the officer would take note of the ample curves under her less-than-sexy outfit.
The Guard smiled. “How old are yeh?”
“Eighteen. Just turned.” One lie led to another. She would turn seventeen in February, but the way her life was going she didn’t care if she told a little white one. Everyone thinks I’m a slut anyway. Isn’t that why they sent me away? Because I’m a tramp?
“Yeh look older,” he said, “maybe twenty-one.”
“If I were with anyone else, I’d slap them. You never tell a woman she looks older than she is.” She wondered if he was right. Maybe her time with the Sisters had done something awful to her face, or maybe it was her cropped hair. She hadn’t time to think about such details.
“Gordon Craven said his daughter is a Magdalen. I’ve heard of them before. We took a couple of them back to a convent about a year ago. They were bad girls. Always looking for the thing that made their families send them away. Are yeh like that?” He took off his cap and placed it in the seat between them. His raven hair, wavy and full, came into view.
She looked down at his left hand. There was no ring on his finger.
She nodded and immediately felt sad. She knew what the Guard was after. Maybe if she let him have his way, she could convince him to let her go. Then she could find Pearse.
How stupid! Pearse wouldn’t want me if I have sex with another man. I know it. Oh, what’s the use! He’ll never want me—I’m damaged goods.
The Guard threw his cigarette out the window, pulled the car away from the curb, and headed southeast. At first, she thought he was taking her to the station, but as they drove farther away from Ballybough, past the Royal Canal and then on to Dublin Port she began to worry. The radio crackled and he picked up the microphone. “No sign of her,” he reported. “Still looking. Broadening the search.” He signed off.
He seemed to know where he was going. Nora rolled down the window and threw out her cigarette. The car passed rows of brick warehouses on deserted dismal roads. Fog lowered its misty hood over the lamps and hung on the tops of buildings like wet gauze. The officer slowed at a dull road and pulled in between two parallel rows of trucks near a wharf.
He stopped the car and turned off the lights. The dashboard still emitted a feeble glow. He slid closer to her and placed his arm over her shoulder.
“What would yeh do to keep from going back to that awful place?” He looked into her eyes.
Sex was not supposed to be this way. She had no illusions about a white gown, a perfect wedding, and a blissful honeymoon night with her new husband. However, intercourse in a Guard car at a deserted quay wasn’t the picture she had imagined for an ideal first time. The Guard was right. The convent was an awful place and she didn’t want to go back, but was it worth the cost? Her eyes clouded over as she thought about the choice she had to make. Was it really a choice? Her parents considered her dead. She had no one to turn to. A man was offering her a bit of solace in exchange for pleasure. What could be wrong with that? As far as she was concerned, she had no other plan for the future. The voice inside her head screamed: I’ll get even with them for throwing me out!
She took a deep breath. “Almost anything.”
“Good.” He unbuckled his belt. Nora turned her eyes away when she heard the zipper crackle. “Want another cigarette?”
She shook her head. “Maybe later.”
“Okay.” His hand moved to the top of her head, forcing her face downward.
She surrendered any resistance and the world turned black.
* * *
Someone shook Teagan’s shoulders, waking her from a sound sleep. She was too comfortable under the covers to move.
“Wake up,” the voice insisted.
She recognized it as Lea’s and said, “Go away.” She opened one sleepy eye and gazed toward the cold and vacant window. As far as she could tell, dawn was many hours away. She had no idea what time it was.
Lea shook her again. “I have to talk to you.”
Teagan rolled over under the comfortable warmth of her blanket, rose up on her elbows, and tried to make out her friend’s face in the dark. Only the lamplight from the far ends of the grounds traced into the room. The garret was brighter now that it was winter. In the summer and fall the light was obscured by oak leaves.
“What is it?” she asked, irritated by the interruption of her sleep.
Lea sat on the edge of the bed. “Something’s happened to Nora. Something bad.”
If she had been anywhere else but the convent, Teagan would have laughed, but her intuition told her she should pay attention to what her friend was saying. “What?” She pulled the covers up to her neck.
“Something she’ll regret.”
Teagan scoffed. “You don’t have to be a fortune-teller to know that. She’s in a load of trouble. There’ll be hell to pay if she gets caught.” She withdrew her arm from under the covers and pointed at her. “You’re paying too much attention to hocus-pocus—with the tarot cards, seeing things at night. I’m beginning to think you are daft.”
Lea put her hand on Teagan’s shoulder. It was warm on the cold night. “I’m not mad. I have a gift. I’ve had it all my life. My mother, God rest her soul, passed it on to me. My stepfather didn’t understand my power. He wouldn’t let me use it.”
“Now you’re talking nonsense.”
Lea bent over and a shaft of light cut across her eyes. The effect made her look as if she were in a 1940s detective movie.
“I saw it again last night,” Lea said. “This time I knew it was real.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Sisters Anne, Mary-Elizabeth, and Ruth. I couldn’t see the faces of the other nuns, they were in shadow. Mr. Roche was digging a hole. It was small and they placed something, wrapped in white, inside it. Mr. Roche took off his hat and Sister Anne and the others dropped to their knees and prayed. Then they covered the ground with fresh sod.”
A shiver skittered over Teagan and the hair rose on her arms. “What are you saying?”
“They’re burying things in the corner. The same plot where I’ve seen Jesus, where I know spirits live. The nuns have been out there with Mr. Roche. I’ve seen them at least five times. At first, I wasn’t sure of what I was seeing, but now I know why these visions come to me, and why I keep staring at the grass. Spirits live there—all holy.”
Teagan sat up. “You’re telling me that Sister Anne and the others are burying ‘things’ on the grounds and no one knows about it?”
“Yes.” Lea lifted her head and the light fell across her mouth. Her lips were firm and straight with determination.
“Well, it’s probably not gold or treasure, and it can’t be adults,” Teagan said. “Sister Anne isn’t the kindest person in the world, but I don’t think it’s black magic. This isn’t some satanic ritual. If they’re small and wrapped in white . . . they’re burying . . . children. What else could it be?”
Lea nodded. “I knew it inside, but I didn’t want to accept it because it’s so horrible. I wanted to rid my mind of what I saw. It makes me cry—all those poor babies buried in a mass grave without so much as a headstone or a cross. No church burial. Nothing but the cold earth. That’s why Jesus is there—to give them comfort.”
Teagan lay back, suddenly heavy and tired. Lea’s admission had exhausted her with grief. “It’s late. Let’s try to get some sleep before we have to get up.”
Lea rose from the bed. “What do you think we should do?”
Teagan grabbed her arm before she got away. She was concerned that her friend’s revelation might go too far and cause all the Magdalens a great deal of grief. “I’m glad you told me, Lea, but let’s keep this to ourselves. I’d rather no one else knows about this for the time being.”
Lea lifted a finger to her lips and slipped into bed without a sound.
Teagan turned over and looked out into the dark. She couldn’t see the southwest corner Lea spoke of, but she knew where it was. If she got out of bed and stood in front of the window, she would be able to see it. The world outside was cold, uninviting in the fall, and she thought about the babies, buried under the damp earth. In the winter, their unmarked graves would be covered by frost and snow, in the spring and summer by wildflowers and fresh grass, and in the fall by yellow oak leaves. No one would ever know what rested under the ground. Except the nuns.
She stared out the window, hoping to fall asleep, but rest did not come easy. A few stars shone brightly enough to be seen. How far away were they? Did the planets that circled them hold beings who suffered as much as earthlings? Speculating on such thoughts was foolish. She closed her eyes and imagined a letter she would write to the Pope asking for her release. She hadn’t harmed anyone; she had been sent to the Sisters by a vengeful priest. And if those words did no good, perhaps she would have to describe a plot of ground that held the bodies of many innocent children. Perhaps the Pope would be interested in knowing what horrific events had occurred at the convent of The Sisters of the Holy Redemption. Perhaps he would send someone to investigate.
* * *
Nora learned his name was Sean Barry and he’d been a member of the Guards for two years. She’d found this out when he’d dropped her off at his one-room Ballybough flat after midnight. He still had several hours to go on his shift, and then he would need to go to the station to check in. He told her to take a shower and make herself at home. “Whatever you do,” he said, “don’t go out.” Mrs. Mullen, the landlady, he explained, was a force to be reckoned with and did not take kindly to girls being entertained by single young men. “I worked too feckin’ hard to get this place, and I don’t want to be down and out.”
Nora promised to do as he said.
“Help yourself to whatever’s in the icebox.” He left her alone.
The flat, if you could call it that, was a bit ragged, but it was warm with a comfortable bed in the middle. The blinds were pulled on the lone window that looked out on the road. A shower, sink, and toilet were tucked behind a blue curtain off to one side. A hot plate and tiny refrigerator rested on a counter across the room. A battered old television with a bent silver antenna sat on a cheap metal stand near the window. The only other piece of furniture was an overstuffed armchair with shirts and trousers tossed on it.
Nora took off the clothes she had been given at the shelter and threw them on the bed. She stood in her bra and panties and felt self-conscious about being nearly naked in a man’s flat. But what difference did it make after what she had done to save herself from being sent back to the convent?
She stripped and fled to the shower. Cold air smacked against her skin. The steam heating pipes hissed across the room. Some of the stall tiles were missing, and a ring of black mold circled the drain. Sean’s housekeeping habits were of little concern to her, although her mother would never have let her family live this way. She turned on the hot water and luxuriated in its warmth as it streamed down her body. She took his soap and shampoo and showered thoroughly. Even though it wasn’t as nice as her bath at home, this old shower was much nicer than the one at the convent. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth,” her mother had told her repeatedly. She now understood what that old adage meant.
The hot water ran out. She stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel hanging from the rack. The small oval mirror above the sink was fogged. She rubbed her fingers over it, and before it clouded over again, she caught a quick glimpse of herself—a girl with short black hair and heavy eyes who looked much older than she should.
She slipped back into her bra and panties and crawled into bed.
Sean awakened her several hours later with a kiss on her forehead. He slipped out of his uniform and snuggled his lean body against hers. They had sex twice before they fell into a deep sleep.
In the afternoon, they woke up together. Nora fried potatoes and a cut of beef, and they ate together on the bed, watching television. They didn’t talk much. The situation reminded her of her parents when they would eat out of the kitchen. She and Sean had gotten so intimate, so comfortable, in so short a time, yet she hardly knew him. Was this what growing up, finding a man to marry, was like? The circumstances seemed odd, off-kilter, because the specter of the Sisters hung over her like the Holy Ghost, prodding and poking at her conscience.
After they ate, Sean showered and dressed for work.
She watched him put on his uniform and asked, “What did you tell them at the station?”
“About what?”
Nora shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “About me?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. I said I didn’t find no woman.” He tossed her a pack of cigarettes. “I bought these for yeh. Amuse yerself while I’m gone, but don’t smoke them all. Fags are expensive.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Stay easy. Make yerself pretty for me, so when I come home we can tear up the bed.”
She pulled a cigarette from the pack. “Thanks. How long is this supposed to last before I go crazy, or you decide to toss me out?”
He put on his hat and gathered his coat from the chair. “As long as it lasts—as long as it works. I’m a good man, trying to do a girl a favor.” He put his hand on the doorknob and then stopped. “Yeh can leave anytime, but where would yeh go?” He opened the door and stepped into the dark. She heard the bolt fall into place.
He was right. There was no place to go until she figured out what to do.
* * *
For two nights, she sat on the bed, watching the telly and smoking cigarettes. She finished the Gauloises Lea had given her and part of Sean’s pack. Occasionally, she took a nip from a bottle of Irish whiskey he had tucked under the counter. The sex was okay, but the isolation of another prison was getting on her nerves. She found herself checking the locked door, counting the cracks in the plaster, cleaning the bathroom and the hot plate, hoping for a jaunt in the daylight.
On the third night, she walked to the blinds and peered out. The drizzly weather of the past few days had ended; the sky looked black and clear above. The window glass felt cold on her fingertips. She thought about what she wanted to do. She turned off the lights and quickly raised the blind. No one was out except a black cat who sat licking itself on a trash bin across the road. Sean had good maps of the city and she knew where she was. The flat was only a fifteen-minute walk from Pearse’s.
She tested the window lock, and it opened without any trouble. There was no screen, nothing to get in her way if she decided to leave. She lowered the blind, sat on the bed in the dark pondering her fate. Sean wouldn’t be home for hours. She could leave the window unlocked, go out, come back, and he would never know. At least, that’s what she hoped. She didn’t think he was a violent man, but he had warned her not to leave.
Sitting was driving her mad. Nora put on her blue dress and bundled up in the gabardine coat. In a few minutes, she was walking among the few people on the road. She passed a store with a tall case clock in the window. It was about ten minutes after eight. Most everyone was home eating dinner, or at the pub knocking back a pint. A cold wind from the northwest stung her face. As she got closer to her destination, the shops, the roads themselves took on a familiar look. Still, the neighborhood seemed strange, different. She wondered again if it was she who had changed and not the surroundings.
She came to the whitewashed door with the brass number 17 tacked onto it. She lifted her hand to knock. He heart thumped so hard she could hear it in her ears, feel its frantic beat in her chest. The same sensation had filled her when she had knocked on her parents’ door a few days before. Would Pearse have the same reaction? What if he slammed the door in her face and refused to talk? Why would he have anything to do with her? What would she do, walk away? The whole idea was crazy. Still, if she thought about it, he was the one who had gotten her into this mess by not taking her away. If only she hadn’t thrown herself at him, and instead let things work out naturally. Maybe there was still a chance that Pearse would do what she wanted. Was there no way out of this horror? She would never know unless she tried.
She took a deep breath, tightened the muscles in her face, masking her fear, and knocked on the door.
Someone was at home. A television blared in the background—a British comedian’s jokes and audience laughter echoed in the room. She knocked again, this time louder.
The door opened a crack and a young woman peered around its edge. “Yes?” was all she said.
Nora took a step back.
The woman opened it a bit more. She was pretty, but looked tired with purple half circles under her eyes. Her hair was sandy red, the color of a fall sunset, and fell loosely about her shoulders. She wore blue jeans and a large men’s shirt. When she opened the door fully, Nora saw why she wore the white shirt. The woman was pregnant.
The sight took her breath away. She forced the question out “Is . . . is . . . Pearse here?”
“Who wants to know?” the woman asked.
“I’m . . . an old friend.”
“He’s working late at the garage. I’ll tell him you called. What’s your name?”
She said the first name that came into her head. “Monica.”
“Monica?” The woman, narrowing her gaze, stepped back behind the door. “He’s never mentioned a woman named Monica. I know he had girlfriends before me. I’m his wife.”
Nora stared at the woman, unsure what to say. After a few uncomfortable moments, she backed away. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
The door closed and she was alone on the road again. It figures, she thought. Every door closes in my face. The bastard deserted me and married the woman he met at the pub. She’s the one who took him away! I hope to God he didn’t talk about me so much she recognized me!
She hurried back to Sean’s. The flat was dark. She opened the window, crawled through, and locked it behind her. She fell on the bed, with her clothes on, and cried. She had never felt so alone in her life. Only Sean could keep her away from the Sisters. There was nothing else to do.
* * *
Sean had the night off two days later. Something seemed to be troubling him, but Nora couldn’t tell what it was. She asked, but he shrugged off her questions.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he told her after tea. “It’ll do us both good to get out of the house.”
She agreed—it was the first time he had suggested they go out together. He put on his jacket while she grabbed her coat. She was still wearing the same blue dress she’d gotten from the shelter because she owned nothing else in the world.
They walked to the east, in an area that Nora hadn’t been in before. She tried to start a conversation—about where they were walking—but Sean only shook his head and grunted, “I don’t know.” He was in no mood to talk.
When they rounded a corner, Nora saw a man standing in a derelict doorway about halfway down the road. His right leg was casually bent, his heel propped against a brick wall. He saw them coming and lit a cigarette. The flash lit his face and she recognized Pearse. He looked more grown-up than she remembered. His black hair was slicked back, but his face was harder, his frame heavier than before. He wore a leather jacket over a white T-shirt and jeans.
She turned on her heels, ready to run, but Sean grabbed her arm and dragged her along the footpath toward the door. Pearse smiled as she struggled against him.
“I’ll take over from here, boyo,” Pearse said.
“Thanks,” Sean said, and pushed her toward Pearse.
“Let me go!” Nora thought about calling out for the Guards, but that would achieve nothing. She was already in the custody of a man who could deny everything she said.
“Men have to stick together,” Pearse said, and took hold of her arm. “When you have a woman like this—”
Nora slapped Pearse as hard as she could. His head swiveled from the force of the blow. Pearse lifted a fist, but Sean held him back.
“Remember what we agreed to, boyo,” Sean said. “No rough stuff. She’ll have enough to deal with when she gets back to the Sisters.”
“I’ll make sure of that.” Pearse rubbed his jaw with his free hand.
“She left you with a going-away present,” Sean said. “Four fingerprints on your cheek.”
“I hope you got what you wanted.” Pearse puffed out a little. “She wanted it from me, but didn’t get it.”
“Yeah, fine,” Sean said. “I’m off now. Yeh’ll make sure she gets delivered?”
Pearse nodded.
Sean walked a few steps, but then turned back to Nora. “I can’t believe yeh took advantage of me. Ate me food, drank me whiskey, smoked me fags. Yeh lied about yer age. A man can get in big trouble for that.” He stalked off, leaving her alone with Pearse.
“Want a fag?” Pearse fumbled with his jacket. “Maybe your last?”
“Yes.”
He struggled to hold on to her and take a cigarette from his pocket. “I’ll let you go, if you promise not to run.”
Nora sighed. “I won’t run. Where am I going to go? I don’t even know where we are.”
Pearse offered her the cigarette. “I can outrun you anyway, even if I’ve put on a stone.”
Nora backed up to the door, which led to an abandoned secondhand furniture store. A broken table, a few old chairs still stood in the grimy windows on either side of them. She felt like the furniture—used, discarded, unable to do much of anything except rot.
“So your wife ratted on me.”
Pearse took a drag on his cigarette. “How could you be so stupid? I married her after you left. Did you think I was going to desert my pregnant wife for a brasser, for a rock ’n’ roll, just because you’d come back? I’d have to be off me nut. Your da did me a favor.”
“I thought I loved you,” Nora said. “Now I see who you really are.”
“You only wanted to get out of Ballybough.” Pearse stomped out his cigarette on the footpath and looked at his watch. “They should be along any minute now.”
“Who?”
“The Sisters.”
Nora inhaled and then puffed the smoke in his face. “I’ll get out again, and when I do, I’m not coming back. As far as I’m concerned you’re all dead.” She shoved her back against the door to keep from shaking.
“When me wife told me, I knew it was you. I went straight to the Guards and found out you were missing. My inquiry got back to Sean. He was more than willing to let you go when he found out how old you really are.” He stood in front of her. “My God, Nora, how far will you stoop to have a man?”
“Not as far as you to ruin a woman.”
He spat at her feet. “You’re lucky I paid any attention to you at all.”
Headlights cut through the night. A black Ford pulled over to the curb and settled into idle. Nora could see the driver through the side window. Mr. Roche, the caretaker, leaned over the steering wheel, peering out the glass.
The passenger door opened.
Nora recognized the walk, the tall, erect posture of the nun who climbed out of the car. There was no mistaking the Mother Superior.
“Thank you, Mr. McClure,” Sister Anne said. “I’ll take over now. I assure you this won’t happen again. You’ll never have to worry about this penitent bothering you again. Come along, Monica.”
Pearse looked at Nora, his brows furrowed. “Monica?”
“One of the delightful benefits of living with The Sisters of the Holy Redemption.” She stepped toward Sister Anne. “It’s been a pleasure seeing you, Mr. McClure. Drop by for a visit anytime. I’m sure you’ll be amused.”
The Mother Superior grabbed her arm, but Nora pulled away. “Don’t touch Monica. Monica may get upset and make a big fuss.”
Sister Anne’s lips parted in a thin smile. “I doubt it. Sister Ruth is waiting for you in the backseat.”
Nora shot Pearse a withering look, then walked to the car and got into the backseat. She slid next to a scowling Sister Ruth, as the Mother Superior shut the door.
Sister Ruth held on to Nora with her muscular arms. “You ruined all my plans for the evening.”
“Nice to see you, too,” Nora said and pushed back in the seat. “I’m sure what you had planned wasn’t as important as this.”
“Little—”
“Now, Sister,” the Mother Superior chided from the front. “Be nice to Monica. She’s going to be spending time in the Penitent’s Room.” She turned and smiled at Nora.
Mr. Roche pulled the car away from the curb, and it sped toward the convent. As the houses of Ballybough slipped by, Nora realized she’d given herself to a man and got nothing for it but a return trip to The Sisters of the Holy Redemption. Sean had lost his cigarettes and whiskey, but she had lost something much more important. She could never get it back again.