The Girls on Rose Hill (9 page)

"I'm sure he's indispensable," Molly said drily, her finely honed bullshit detector clearly going off.

"I'm sure he'll call you soon, Mom."

"Tell him not to worry about me," Rose said. "He should concentrate on his work."

"Okay, Rose, time for your bath," a big blond nurse's aide announced as she entered the room. "Ladies, if you'll excuse us."

"Sure," I said, "we'll just go outside for a few minutes."

Molly and I walked out of the room and down to the courtyard. Once there, I collapsed onto one of the wooden benches.

"Tough night last night?"

"A little too much wine at dinner last night, that's all," I said, not a little defensively.

"Well, Sarah's going out clubbing tonight with her friends. Perhaps you'd like to tag along?"

"Very funny, Molly. Look, I had a little too much to drink last night, so sue me."

"I don't care if you drink a gallon of vodka every night, so long as you're here during you assigned times and that woman is not left alone. I thought that's what we all agreed was best for Rose, for her not to be left alone."

"Carol was here until two and I got here at 3:30. She was asleep when Carol left."

"And when I got here she was awake and alone, staring out the window," Molly snapped.

"For heaven's sake, give me a break. I took a leave of absence from work, my children are getting themselves ready to go back to college. I'm here day and night doing the best I can."

"Showing up like something the cat dragged in is the best you can do?"

I stood up and fought the nausea from the sudden movement. For a moment I stared at Molly, her thin lips set in a prim, disapproving line. She really was a self righteous bitch, one who would always find fault with me no matter what I did. All my weeks of placating her and playing by her rules had gotten me nowhere. Well, enough was enough. "Molly, I am tired of you and your attitude. We've got a few more weeks together at most and then we never have to see each other again so why don't you keep all your advice and opinions to yourself." I stormed out of the courtyard and walked to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee.

Fifteen minutes later, I returned to my mother's room. She was comfortably dozing. A few moments later, Molly walked into the room.

I said blankly, "Molly, why don't you go home. I'll stay until Paul shows up for the night shift."

Molly sat beside me. "I don't want to keep fighting with you. This is a time when family should stick together."

"I don't want to fight with you either. I know I haven't been the best daughter, but maybe that's because she wasn't the best mother. I know that she's sweet and good, but she didn't give me the one thing I always wanted. A father. But, I suppose that's neither here nor there." I looked at Rose and continued, "I'm just trying to do the right thing by her now, and I can't do that if you point out my every shortcoming."

"You're right. I'm sorry. This is just so hard," her voice broke. "I've spent my life protecting her, and I can't stop now."

"I know, Molly. I know how much you love her."

We sat there for a few moments and looked at my sleeping mother. Then Molly moved closer to me and said in a low voice, "Denis Lenihan was my husband's partner for close to ten years. He retired about five years ago. Last time I saw him was at my Bobby's wake. He and his wife live on Bluebell Lane in Levittown, although they talked about moving to Florida. That's all I know."

I looked at Molly, stunned. My elusive father has lived fifteen miles away from Rose Hill all this time. "Thank you," I managed to say.

Molly nodded.

Chapter 9

Rose

The soft breeze moved the now familiar veil across my face. I bent to pull another weed. Mother Mary Ignatius discovered my green thumb and had assigned me to vegetable garden duty. I was grateful, given my rambunctious friend, Sister Elizabeth, had pulled latrine duty. A car door slammed in the distance. We didn't receive many mid-week visitors. I squinted but without my glasses couldn't see beyond the garden gate. I bent down again and attacked the hard ground with my hoe.

Twenty minutes later my friend Elizabeth walked towards me. "You're wanted in Mother's office." The fact that she spoke at all worried me; Wednesdays were our day of silence.

"What's going on, Lizzie?"

"I don't know. She said to come right away."

I returned my gardening basket to the shed and after I washed my hands in the scullery sink hurried to Mother's office.

"Sister Rose, please come in," Mother said kindly.

"Mama?"

Kitty and Paul sat on the chairs next to Mother's mahogany desk.

Mother Mary Ignatius led me to an empty chair. "Your mother has some very sad news."

I looked at Kitty. She'd refused to even say good-bye to me when I left, and it was Auntie Margaret and Uncle John who drove me the six hours to Our Lady of Angels convent.

"It's Peter. He's had a stroke."

"Is he..."

"No, he's not dead," Kitty said matter-of-factly. "He collapsed last week and was released from the hospital two days ago. Auntie Margaret is staying with him now. He's paralyzed, and can barely speak. The doctors say his mind hasn't been affected, more's the shame for him. There's no hope of recovery."

"I'm sorry, Mama," I said, not feeling the least bit sorry. "But why are you here?"

She looked over at Mother Mary Ignatius, who said, "Your family needs you, Sister."

My stomach clenched. With effort, I choked out, "But, I'm a nun now. I live here."

"You're a postulant, Sister. You know you haven't taken your final vows."

"But I'm a good nun, Mother. I belong here."

"You have done wonderfully these past few months, my child. But, sometimes God has other plans for us. Your place is with your family."

I turned to my mother. "Why do you need me? What do you want me to do about all this?"

Kitty seemed surprised by my truculence. She reached for my hand but I snatched it away. "I have two young children, a business and an invalid husband. My sisters have their own families and their own responsibilities. Rosie, love, I have no one but you."

"No, I won't go." Tears streamed down my cheeks.

"Don't make me beg, Rosie." Mama wiped the tears from my face.

"Your place is with your family, Sister," Mother Mary Ignatius said. "In time, if things settle down with your family, you can return to us."

I looked hard at Kitty. I'd escaped her once. I knew if I left with her now, I'd never return to my beloved convent in the mountains.

"Fine," I said. "Let's go."

With a heavy heart, I climbed the polished marble stairs to the first years dormitory. I fought back tears and I packed my few belongings in the too large empty suitcase Kitty gave me.

"Please tell me you're not leaving," Sister Elizabeth said from the doorway.

"My stepfather's had a stroke."

"Rosie, you can't leave me. I'll never make it here without you."

I looked over at my good friend who had cried every night with homesickness for our first three months, a concept incomprehensible to me. Lizzie, who constantly fought Sister Mary Michael, our dorm supervisor. Poor Lizzie, who's spirit was nearly broken by latrine duty and endless hours spent peeling potatoes.

"I'll send you chocolates," I promised.

"You know those old bats will just eat them themselves. Ah, Rosie, promise me you'll hurry back."

"I'll try," I choked out, knowing that absent a miracle, I'd never be back.

Two weeks later, the house on Rose Hill settled into its new routine. Kitty took over Peter's responsibilities at the hardware store and the boys helped out after school. Kitty, who Peter had forbidden to work at the store early in their marriage after he caught her flirting with the customers, was clearly in her element. Like a woman possessed, she scoured the dusty, neglected store from top to bottom. She straightened the shelves, held a sale to get rid of old, outdated merchandise, and graced every customer who walked in the door with a big County Kerry hello and her undivided attention. Receipts had already increased.

Now I was the prisoner of Rose Hill. Aside from trips to the grocery and the drug stores, I rarely left the house. Day after day I spoon fed the hateful Peter, wiped the spittle from his frozen face, and lifted the dead weight of his body while he relieved himself in a bedpan. "Imagine you are caring for Jesus," Mother Superior had counseled before I left the convent. Giving the old bastard his daily sponge bath, it was hard to imagine Jesus' face in place of the man who'd beaten me senseless more than once.

As weeks turned to months, my revulsion at washing his crepey flesh only increased. Kitty, the trained nurse, never once took a turn. Kitty, who would stick her head into the small room maybe once a day and shout a "How ya love" at him on her way out the door, had blossomed. My mother no longer had that haunted look. Her hair grew in, luscious and thick, and her cheeks became round and rosy. Me, on the other hand, I was as thin as a wraith. I looked like the middle-aged wreck while she looked like the carefree teenager.

"Sorry, Rose," the aide said as she rubbed the rough sponge along my back, "I know this can be uncomfortable. I'm almost done."

"Not at all," I assured her, shaking myself from my thoughts. "I know you haven't an easy job." I knew only too well how washing sick old flesh, day in and day out, could sicken and wither your own soul.

She turned me over and smiled. "All done now. Feel better?"

I returned her smile. "Yes, thank you." Ellen entered the room, her face like thunder, followed by the equally agitated Molly. I feigned sleep. After a while I really did doze, but then I, I heard the name Denis Lenihan. My eyelids fluttered. No, I must have misheard. Molly would never tell Ellen my secret. But my head was foggy and I couldn't help but release myself to the comforting oblivion of sleep.

Chapter 10

Ellen

I circled the block one more time. A young Indian woman wheeling a baby carriage stared at me. Perhaps she thought I was lost. I smiled at her out my car window and made a left on Daisy Lane, a left on Daffodil Way and then another left back onto Bluebell Lane. Number 14 was a tidy cape cod with white aluminum siding and blood red shutters. While the last four times I drove past, its small front yard was empty, this time a tall dark-haired man in his early thirties dragged a dented garbage pail down its short driveway. I pulled in front of the house and rolled down my window.

"Excuse me, do you know Denis Lenihan?"

He looked up, his dark eyes curious. "Yes, I'm Denis Lenihan. Can I help you with something?"

"Oh," I sputtered, "I'm sorry. But, ah, the Denis Lenihan I'm looking for is in his sixties, at least."

"That would be my dad."

"Is he around? I'm Bobby Connelly's niece, you know, his ex-partner?"

His expression warmed. "Sure, I knew Bobby. He was the captain at the Eight-Four when I was a rookie. I'm sorry, but my dad's out in California this week visiting my sister. You wanna leave a message?"

"No, that's okay."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm, uh, doing some research and my Aunt Molly thought he might be able to help me."

"He'll be back next week. Give Molly my regards."

Research? How stupid did that sound? I'd never make a good spy, that's for sure. As I drove past the curious Indian woman one more time, tears slid down my cheek. God, I needed to get hold of myself. I'd waited forty-three years to meet my father, surely another week wouldn't make much difference.

I turned left onto Hempstead Turnpike and drove past endless strip malls. How was it possible that my mysterious father lived among such mundane surroundings? As a child I'd pictured him as a Texan ranch hand, an international spy, even a mountain climber; someone who's exotic profession prevented him from visiting me. Visions of him driving his kids around in a station wagon and stopping at the local supermarket for milk was a bit of let down.

I drove the twenty minutes to Centerport and suppressed the urge to head to the airport; part of me wanted to hop on a plane and track my father down in California. I pulled into my mother's driveway, cranky and annoyed.