6
The journey to the castle began on the coldest day of the year so far. Barely into the first week of October and two weeks after Gavin and Sophia’s baby daughter Maggie was born, the little nunnery awoke to frost in the garden that refused to melt as the morning wore on.
Six men, fourteen women and thirteen children—most of them infants—left the convent on foot, pulling a sled of provisions, their backpacks loaded. The nuns had decided not to leave, at least for the time being. Sarah only agreed to go because she knew the nuns would be here if John came back.
As she watched Mike, a toddler in each arm and easily the tallest man in the group, line everyone up in the garden, it occurred to her that he might well have asked the nuns to stay behind knowing it would comfort Sarah.
No, strike that. Knowing it was his only chance to get me to leave.
Terry, Kevin and Declan led the horses while Gavin and Tommy rode. The sled held the harnesses for the horses for when they got to the wagons hidden on the far side of the woods. Their first leg of the trip would be on foot through the thick forest, which was one of the main reasons why nobody easily discovered the nunnery. There was no road that led to it. On foot or horseback were the only ways to the convent’s front gate.
Sarah held Sophia’s newborn. The infant had pale red hair and dimples. She was good-natured and already slept through the night. Mike held Siobhan. He said it was because she was so much heavier but Sarah suspected it was because if Sarah carried her, Siobhan would cry. The fact that Mike and everyone else knew that Sarah’s own baby hated her weighed heavily on her.
How can a child not want its own mother? John was never like this as a baby. Was there something wrong with Siobhan?
Sarah knew it was more likely it was something having to do with her.
Children and dogs, her mother used to tell her. They know good people from bad. They just do.
“Sarah?”
Sarah turned to see Mother Angelina standing beside her, her eyes probing Sarah as if she would have all her secrets. Mac stood behind the nun. Sarah knew Mac felt that Angelina’s personal protection—and indeed the safety of the whole convent—was his life’s job. In part this was because he’d shot and killed the young man Angelina had raised and thought of as a son, but in greater part it was because Mac was a basically good person who’d done some terrible things and was trying to find his way back to redemption.
“I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye,” Sarah said.
“I know,” Angelina said. “And I’ll keep your lad safe until you come for him.”
Tears filled Sarah’s eyes. She glanced at Mac and he nodded solemnly.
“Aye,” he said. “With me life.”
“Thank you.”
Angelina hugged Sarah and caressed the sleeping baby’s cheek. “We’ll see you soon,” she said. “And I’m sure I won’t even recognize this little one when we do.”
“It’s time, Sarah,” Mike called. His words felt like a rope pulling her from all that was good and safe. Her face must have shown her feelings because Angelina kissed her cheek.
“All will be well, Sarah. With God’s help. I know it.”
Sarah nodded and then turned away. She was the last one to leave the garden. An image of John playing ball with Gavin on the north side of the garden wall came to her. It had been a sunny day and their laughter had carried up and over the highest apple trees in the grove.
She couldn’t help but feel that every step she took from this place was the biggest mistake she’d ever made.
Fiona settled her two little girls in the back of the wagon. She and Nuala would take turns driving the horses although before the Crisis Nuala admitted she’d never even ridden a horse. Nuala’s boys played in the back of the wagon with Fiona’s girls and three other children from the camp and one of the young unwed mothers from the rape camp.
“Now play nicely,” Nuala said to the children as she handed out sandwiches they’d packed before they’d left the nunnery.
“When will we get there, Mummy?” Maeve asked, her worried face looking out at the fringe of trees and onto the pasture they would soon cross.
For Fiona, it was still too soon to look at little Maeve and not think of how her brave mother had died—needlessly, in pain and in terror. Fiona knew the other women in the camp had forgiven Mac, the foreman of the rape camp, but she still couldn’t. She was sure that was a serious character flaw on her part and she prayed nightly to overcome the deficit. And then she’d watch Maeve do something new for the first time—a new word or master a simple game—and she’d be reminded that Bridget, the child’s mother, would never see it.
“Soon enough,” Fiona said. “Eat your lunch and then nap if you can.” She turned to Nuala who held her baby in her arms and shook the reins to drive the team forward. After Mike and the other men had harnessed up the horses to the wagons, they’d ridden on ahead to reach the old compound. Fiona had a shotgun at her feet and the other three wagons were right behind her. The day was brisk but sunny, a perfect day for the beginning of a journey, she thought.
“Your sister-in-law’s none too happy about any of this, is she?” Nuala asked as she looked in the direction of Sarah’s wagon.
That was an understatement. Everyone in the group knew how Sarah felt. And when she and Mike were at odds with each other, everyone felt that too. A part of Fiona couldn’t blame Sarah. She herself would hate leaving the nunnery if that was the only place her child knew to return to.
Life was so uncertain these days. It was all very well to say the nuns would tell John where they’d all gone when he arrived back—if he arrived—but a lot could happen between Oxford and the coast of Ireland.
“Sure Sarah is tougher than all of us,” Fiona said. “She’ll sort it out.”
Now that they were free of the woods, Fiona could feel the warmth of the sun shining down on them. It felt good on her back through her jacket. They’d brought all the wool blankets they could carry and the four wagons were full of babies and children tucked warmly within.
“It’s heartbreaking, so it is, to hear that baby cry every time Sarah touches it, and she its own mother,” Nuala said.
“Now Nuala O’Connell, I’ll not have you gossiping about Sarah, so mind your tongue.”
“Whisht, it’s just what everyone’s saying.”
“I don’t care what they’re saying. I don’t have to hear it.” Fiona knew she was being sharper than she needed to be. Nuala’s hurt silence told her that. Of course Fiona knew what people were saying. Hadn’t she seen the very same thing over and over again with her own eyes? Something was wrong with Sarah and even her little lass sensed it.
Fiona clucked to the horses and brought them into a trot. The pastures on both sides of the road were brown and barren as they passed.
But whatever was wrong, Fiona could only pray it wasn’t because Sarah was right about not leaving.