Daughter of Mine (31 page)

That’s when Lizzie knew she would die. Die like Cora, and the child with her. Tom and Niamh would be motherless and Celia would stay in the convent forever, but her troubles would be over. She didn’t fear death any more, she longed for it. She’d embrace anything to make this unbearable pain stop.

She was semi-conscious when the doctor came, and seeing the state of her he berated the nuns.

‘We called you,’ Sister Benedict said in defence.

‘Not in time you didn’t. Almighty Christ, she didn’t get into this state in an hour or two. Get me water quickly, I must see what the problem is.’

He thought he was too late, that this one too would slip through his fingers, and he knew if she did he’d expose this place, even if by doing so he jeopardised his own position.

A swift examination revealed the problem. ‘The baby is breach,’ he said. ‘Too late to turn it and both mother
and child are totally exhausted. She’s too narrow to give birth, I’ll have to make a cut.’

He poured chloroform that he’d got from his bag onto a cloth he put over Lizzie’s face, and she drifted blissfully to sleep while the doctor went to work.

There was a sudden silence in the room and Sister Benedict and Sister Maria, who’d been sent to assist, were looking with ill-concealed contempt at the child that the doctor had removed from Lizzie.

And he was regarding it with pity. The poor, bloody little scrap. Yet another cross to load on the narrow shoulders of Lizzie Gillespie. Almighty Christ! Maybe it would be better to let the child drift away. She’d get over it in time, know in the end it was for the best; and she’d never know the truth, she hadn’t come around yet. The child had let out no cry and he knew, could see, her nostrils and mouth were coated with mucus. All he had to do was nothing.

He watched the arms and legs twitching desperately, and beside him he heard Sister Benedict give a sigh of satisfaction as she said, ‘Blessed relief!’ He was suddenly engulfed with shame. He was a doctor, for God’s sake, committed to saving life, and he was proposing to let a small and vulnerable baby die for no better reason than he thought it would be kinder that way.

‘Get me some water and quickly,’ he commanded as he bent over the child and began to softly massage the baby’s chest. When the water came he dampened a soft muslin cloth and began to wipe away the mucus that had begun to crust under the child’s nostrils and around the lips. The child gave a gasp and the limbs
threshed more vigorously as newborn wails filled the room. The doctor wrapped the baby in a blanket and lifted her into his arms and smiled, a smile that wasn’t returned by the scowling and obviously disapproving nuns.

He was suddenly aware that Lizzie was haemorrhaging, the blood pumping from her in a scarlet stream. ‘Take the child,’ he said to Sister Benedict, holding her out. ‘I must see to the mother, for we’re not out of the woods yet.’

‘I’ll not touch that,’ Sister Benedict said. ‘None of us will. Put it in the crib beside the bed.’

There was no time to argue. Lizzie was in distress, and if he was to save her then speed was essential. And so the doctor tenderly laid the child in the crib and bent over the bed again.

Later that same morning, Johnnie was chopping wood in the barn when he saw the car stop at the head of the lane and he peered through the rain-laden gloom to see who it was.

The car was a taxi, he realised, and when the nun alighted from it, he recognised her as the head nun at the Godawful place Lizzie was at. He knew only something of mammoth proportions would have brought her here and the blood turned to ice in his veins. Had something happened to his sister and without one of her own beside her? Ah Jesus! He left the axe stuck into the chopping block and went into the kitchen to prepare his mother.

It smelt sweet and hot inside, for Catherine had been having a big bake and the things were cooling on trays on the table. ‘Mammy,’ he said. ‘There’s a nun coming down the lane.’

‘A nun!’

‘From that place, you know, where Lizzie…’

‘Oh Holy Mother of God.’ Catherine turned anguished eyes to her son and he put his arm around
her. ‘Let’s see what she has to say,’ he said, though his own heart was filled with dread.

And that’s how they were when Seamus brought Sister Jude inside. Catherine continued to stand and stare at her. It was as if she had turned to stone. ‘You don’t know me,’ the nun said to Catherine, ‘though I’ve met your son,’ and at this she inclined her head to Johnnie. ‘My name is Sister Jude and I am in charge of St Agnes’s Convent, where your daughter is. I have something of importance to say to you and something that could not wait.’

Catherine’s insides had turned to water. ‘Is Lizzie all right, Sister?’ she cried. ‘Has anything happened to her?’

‘Your daughter is perfectly well,’ the nun said with a curl of her lip. ‘In the early hours of this morning she gave birth to a baby girl. Pansy had to undergo an operation and she is still a little weak, for the birth was a difficult one, but she is out of danger now, the doctor said.’

‘Oh, thank God,’ Catherine said, and Johnnie let out the breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding.

Seamus said, ‘Beg your pardon, Sister, but just who the Hell is Pansy?’

‘I told you, Daddy,’ Johnnie said. ‘They give them all different names. Sister Jude means Lizzie.’

‘Then I don’t understand at all,’ Seamus said. ‘I thought when you put a girl in one of those places you didn’t hear from them again till it was over, and the child was never mentioned, given up for adoption. I don’t wish to be rude, Sister, but I have no wish to know anything of the child. It will have nothing to do with us, after all.’

‘If the situation was normal, it wouldn’t, you may be assured,’ Sister Jude said.

Catherine, now assured by the visitor that her daughter was all right, busied herself at the hearth as Seamus began, ‘Then what…?’

‘Let the good woman make herself comfortable, Seamus, and I’m sure she’ll tell us all,’ Catherine said. ‘Will you come up to the fire, Sister, for it’s a raw day outside and I’ll brew tea in a jiffy to have with barn brack and scones.’

Sister Jude sat down before the fire with Seamus opposite her before answering. ‘I wish to know what arrangements you have for your daughter and the child?’

‘Johnnie here will fetch her when it’s time for her to leave and take her to the boat to return to Birmingham,’ Seamus said.

‘And the child?’

‘But that’s…I understood you dealt with the babies?’ Catherine said, handing the nun a cup of tea, which she accepted thankfully.

‘We do in the majority of cases.’

‘Well, why is this different?’

‘Mrs Clooney, our babies are adopted by childless Catholic couples, but no one will want Pansy’s baby.’

‘Why? Is it deformed, handicapped in some way?’

‘Deformed, no. Handicapped, certainly.’ The nun took a sip of the tea before saying, ‘Your daughter, Mrs Clooney, has given birth to a black baby.’

The shock was almost tangible. Every eye was on the nun, but no one could speak. They seemed incapable of uttering a word. ‘I see you are as stupefied
as we all were and are. We have never had such a thing happen in all my years at the convent. It is an abomination. No one will want it.

‘I think you will agree there will be no nice, loving home for Pansy’s baby, and the child will probably reside in one of the country’s orphanages, if you are agreeable. Dublin is probably the best place to try. They have all sorts of oddities in some of their homes.’

Johnnie was incensed. ‘Don’t call the child an oddity. Whatever her colour, she’s still a baby, an innocent baby.’

‘Aye, well, her mother’s no innocent,’ Seamus growled. ‘Opening her legs for a bleeding nigger, begging your pardon, Sister.’

‘She was attacked.’

‘Aye, so she said.’

‘Why don’t you believe her?’

‘Why don’t you grow up, son? You can’t let yourself see anything bad in her, because you always thought the sun shone out of her arse.’

‘I’ve never known Lizzie lie. It was the blackout. She wouldn’t know who attacked her, or what colour or creed he was.’

‘There was no bloody attack.’

‘Of course there was.’

‘Does it matter?’ Catherine said wearily. ‘Whatever way our Lizzie got pregnant, she was, and has given birth to a child not wanted nor welcomed anywhere.’

‘You’re right there,’ Seamus said. ‘And don’t call her ‘Our Lizzie’, she’s no daughter of mine. I doubt I’ll ever want to clap eyes on her again.’

‘Don’t say that, Daddy,’ Johnnie protested. ‘We are looking after her children.’

‘Aye, and a fine example she is for them,’ Seamus said. ‘She’ll not see them for some long while, if at all.’

‘Daddy…’

‘I agree totally,’ Sister Jude said, cutting across Johnnie. ‘She is in the infirmary now and will have no contact with the other girls. As for the child, she couldn’t be taken into the nursery. That is where the parents come to collect their babies and we have two more girls due any day now. What if the prospective parents came in and saw a black baby? Anyway, the nuns can barely bring themselves to touch it.’

She didn’t tell the family that the baby had been born dead. Sister Benedict had told her that. ‘It was still, Sister,’ she said. ‘It just lay there, not crying or moving much. It was the doctor revived it and then it began to cry. God forgive me, Sister, but I did wonder why he bothered. I mean, what sort of life will it ever hope to have?’

‘I expect Pansy to be taken from the place when the doctor deems her fit to leave,’ she said now. ‘Do I take it you want me to find an orphanage to take the child?’

‘Aye. It’s the only thing to do.’

‘How does Lizzie feel about it?’ Johnnie asked.

‘Lizzie!’ Seamus bawled. ‘She has nothing to say in this. God Almighty, if this got out.’

Johnnie knew the time for any more talking was past and decisions were being made over Lizzie’s head. Never mind, he thought, he’d see her for himself the following afternoon. Suddenly, the whole thing sickened him.

‘Where are you off to?’ Seamus demanded as Johnnie
snatched his jacket from the hook behind the door.

‘Out!’ Johnnie said. ‘For the air in here stinks.’

When Lizzie came round, the first thing she asked about was the baby. The doctor, weary though he was, had waited for her to wake, because he’d seen the revulsion the nuns had for the wee child and wanted to explain to Lizzie when she came to.

‘You have a wee daughter,’ he told her.

‘Is she all right?’ Lizzie asked in alarm, for the doctor was sitting on the side of the bed, holding her hand and talking to her in the kind of voice people use when they have bad news to impart.

‘She is absolutely fine,’ the doctor said. ‘But you have to prepare yourself for a shock, my dear, for the child is coloured.’

‘Coloured?’

‘Half-caste.’

‘Half-caste! Oh Jesus Christ.’ Lizzie sank back on the pillows as she assimilated what the doctor had said. So, it was a black man that had attacked her. If she had known that, the police would have soon hunted him down, she imagined, though little good that would do her now. She didn’t know how she felt about the child at all. She’d geared herself to feel as little as possible so that she could give it up hoping it would have a good and happy life, but now…

‘Can I see her? Is she in the nursery?’

‘No,’ the doctor said grimly, and then, because Lizzie needed to know the score, he went on, ‘The nuns refused to have her in the nursery. In fact, they refuse to touch her at all. Your baby is in the crib.’

When the baby was laid in her arms, Lizzie was entranced. She pulled back the shawl and marvelled at the child’s dusky skin, her tiny feet and toes and flexing fingers and the black downy hair on her head. The baby opened large eyes ringed with thick, dark eyelashes. There was a little frown on her brow as she tried to focus and Lizzie was engulfed suddenly by a fierce and protective love for the wee mite.

She knew in that moment she could never leave the child behind when she left this place, for it would be condemning it to purgatory. How could she plot and plan Celia’s escape and leave an innocent and unprotected baby to these vile nuns.

Exhaustion and the sick feeling in her throat left her, and she wriggled to sit more upright on the bed, her arms tightening around her child. Then she unbuttoned the bodice of her nightdress and put the baby to the breast where she soon settled on the nipple and sucked contentedly.

Sister Jude, coming in at that moment, remembered seeing the beam of approval on the doctor’s face. Stupid man! What did he know? But at least if Pansy took to the infant it would solve the problem for now anyway, until something could be sorted.

There was a veil of secrecy drawn over Lizzie, and Celia was worried to death about it. Too anxious to sleep the day Lizzie went into labour, she’d seen the doctor’s car arrive just after midnight and the next morning she glimpsed the taxi pulling up at the front door and Sister Jude getting into it.

None of the other girls had seen that, for Celia had
only spotted it when she popped upstairs for the clean rag that did as a hanky after Mass. The nuns seemed more than usually edgy that morning and Celia saw a cluster of them on her way to the laundry, talking in agitated but low voices. She wondered if the doctor had been called for Sister Jude and not Lizzie at all.

‘Huh, she’s too full of badness to get sick,’ one said under the cover of folding sheets when Celia mentioned what she had seen.

‘Well, if she is, and very sick, I’d know then God answers prayers,’ Celia hissed back.

‘Is there someone talking?’ Sister Carmel said. ‘Let’s start the rosary.’

But what’s happened to Lizzie, Celia thought, as she recited the familiar litany. She must have had the baby by now, and yet no one has said a word. Even when Cora had died they were told, she thought, with a cold little shudder.

Sister Jude returned from her jaunt and looked far too healthy to be sick, and so it had to be Lizzie the doctor had come to see, but still the girls were told nothing. By Saturday, Celia was frantic and had been daring enough to ask Sister Carmel directly that morning, knowing it was of little use. The nun looked at her coldly and said it was not her concern and that she’d be better employing her energies at the wash tub.

However, later that day, Celia was hanging clothes in the garden. She thought it a pointless exercise to hang out anything on a day so dank and cold, but they were there to do as they were told, not question authority. How many times had that been said to her?
Then she heard the car crunch on the gravel drive and, leaving the basket on the grass, she stole down the side of the convent to the front, where she hid behind one of the privet hedges that bordered either side of the path and watched. It was Lizzie’s brother Johnnie.

‘Pst, pst, over here.’

He bent to see who spoke and Celia said, ‘Don’t bend towards me. Stand straight, or if anyone’s looking they’ll guess that someone is here.’

Johnnie obediently straightened up, but not before he’d glimpsed the most beautiful girl he’d ever encountered. She had enormous eyes, almost green in colour, encircled by the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen. Even in the awful clothes and with the cap rammed on her head, she was exquisite, and when she said, ‘My name is Celia,’ he knew this was the girl Lizzie wanted to help escape from this place. He knew too that he would do all he could to ensure she did.

But Celia wasn’t thinking of her escape just then and had no idea of the effect her appearance had had on Johnnie, for her mind was filled with worry about Lizzie.

‘She’s all right, I believe,’ Johnnie said when asked. ‘I mean, I’ve not seen her, but Sister Jude said she’s a bit weak but she’s okay.’

‘Sister Jude went to your house?’

‘Aye.’

‘Why?’

‘I suppose they’re trying to keep it from you,’ Johnnie said, ‘but I don’t know why. It was hardly Lizzie’s fault. She had a wee girl, but the child is black—well, halfcaste.’

‘Half-caste! Oh God.’ Celia was shocked, certainly, but there was no disgust in her voice, only sympathy. ‘The poor cow. Oh Christ. What’s she going to do?’

‘Well, she’s to get to the boat as arranged, as soon as the doctor says she is fit enough, and you too if you’re still up for it?’

‘You bet.’

‘The child will be taken to an orphanage.’

Celia made a face. ‘Not much of a life, but then what else can she do?’

Later, Johnnie was to face his sister across the room and say, ‘Lizzie, you can’t take her back with you.’

‘I can’t not.’

‘She’ll ruin your life.’

‘I know that. I will write to Steve, not that I expect him to accept another’s bastard and half-caste into the bargain. I will get rooms or something as soon as I can, but he has to know about her. I am his wife and he has rights. But, Johnnie, you don’t know what nuns are capable of, these nuns at any rate, and to be honest I couldn’t live with myself if I committed her to a life like that.’

Johnnie wondered if Lizzie was thinking rationally. She looked so incredibly frail, it was as if her skin was almost translucent. It made her eyes seem bigger than ever and she had large blue smudges beneath each one. He picked up one of the hands that was as white as the coverlet it rested on and saw the blue veins prominent under the skin. He wished he could take her back to the farm and let her rest, and have good, wholesome food and breathe fresh air and stay until she was completely better.