The Letter (27 page)

William frowned. ‘Come back to your house? Why would I want to do that?’

‘Because you need to tell me everything you know if I am to help you find your mammy.’

Grace Quinn had been a midwife at the convent for as long as she could remember – thirty six years to be exact – and had delivered countless babies. As William sat beside her on her lumpy floral sofa, he was mesmerised by her soft, barely audible voice and her deep set grey eyes, which she frequently cast towards the ceiling as she told her tale.

‘I suppose you must be thinking how it is that I can work in such a miserable place?’

William gave a huff of agreement and blew out his cheeks.

‘It didn’t look a barrel of laughs I must admit. And that nun. She really was something else.’

Grace clasped her hands and rested them on her lap. ‘I know some of their methods may seem a little unorthodox. To an outsider, they may seem downright cruel, but these girls would have nowhere to go otherwise. The shame they have brought on their families is mortifying. What kind of a life would you have had if your mother had been allowed to keep you?’

William shrugged. ‘I have no idea but you’ve just hit the nail on the head - if she’d been “allowed”. She didn’t have a choice, did she? I stayed with her for the first three years of my life and then I was torn away and sent to America. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom and dad but that just seems wicked to me.’

Grace bowed her head and whispered, ‘I know. That is why I am going to help you.’ She stood up and shuffled over to the bureau, returning with a pen and paper. ‘Now, tell me everything you know.’

William cleared his throat. ‘My mother’s name was Bronagh Skinner and I was born on 10
^th
April 1940.’

Grace looked up from her pad, her pen still poised for more. ‘Is that it?’

‘Oh and she was twenty years old.’

Grace frowned. ‘Not much to go on.’

William suddenly remembered the slim brown file he had seen tucked under Sister Benedicta’s arm.

‘Her file number is 40/65.’

Grace looked startled at this information. ‘Quite the detective, aren’t you? That means you were the 65
^th
baby born in 1940.’ She made a note of this and drew some heavy black lines underneath as if this made the information all the more important. ‘Alright, is there anything you can remember about your time at the convent? Anything at all that may jog my memory.’

William stood up and paced the room. ‘I can remember the smell of the soap and the lumpy mash we were served, “
pandy,
” I believe you call it.’

‘Anything about your mother? I have delivered hundreds of babies since 1938, but I had only been at the convent for two years when you were born. Nuns were not allowed to train as midwives prior to 1950, so I would almost certainly have delivered you.’

William closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘There is something else.’

Grace shuffled forward expectantly. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, she used to sing to me.’ William began to hum a tune. ‘I can’t remember the words, it’s so frustrating. I can almost hear her now, but there was something different about her…’

‘Different?’

‘The way she spoke. She didn’t sound like anybody else.’

William slumped back onto the sofa and held his head in his hands. He then began to rock gently back and forth as he sang. ‘
Sleep my child and peace attend thee…’

Grace looked up from her notes.

‘
All through the Night.’

William raised his head and smiled. ‘
Guardian Angels God will send thee.’

Grace and William sang in unison.

‘
All through the Night.’

Grace covered William’s hand with her own. ‘I am kind to the girls, you know. I mean I try to make it as comfortable as I can for them. I have dedicated my whole life to that place. Never had a husband or children of my own.’

‘I just can’t understand why Sister Benedicta is so obstructive. What difference does it make to her whether I trace my mother or not?’

‘Penance, William. Your mother had a baby out of wedlock and in the eyes of the Lord that is a sin, but through the hard work she endured at the laundry, the stain on her soul has been cleansed and her passage to heaven assured.’

William looked doubtful. ‘You believe that?’

Grace nodded. ‘I believe God has the capacity to forgive any sin. Your mother is assured of her place in heaven. Anyway, you say your mother sounded different to the others. What do you mean by that?’

‘Some words… I don’t know… she said them differently. Her vowels were flatter and…’

Grace suddenly covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Sweet Jesus! I remember her now. She was English!’

William’s eyes widened. ‘You remember her? You mean I’m half-English.’

‘If it’s the girl I’m thinking of, then you’re all English, William. And her name wasn’t Bronagh. It was Christina.’

Chapter 30

‘You’re a lucky boy, so you are,’ began Grace, her eyes shining with excitement. ‘I have to be honest with you, the chances of me remembering your mother were pretty slim, but Bronagh was difficult to forget.’

‘You said her name was Christina,’ William interjected.

‘When girls enter the convent they are given a new name, chosen by the nuns, a more holy name if you like. St. Bronagh was a 6
^th
Century abbess and I wouldn’t mind betting that the day your mother arrived at the convent was her Saint’s day. That was often how the girls’ new names were decided.’

Grace put her notebook down and wandered over to her bookcase. After leafing through the pages of a heavy, antiquated volume she finally found the page she was looking for and ran her finger slowly down the list of names.

‘Ah ha!’ she declared. ‘St Bronagh – 2
^nd
April. That would fit in nicely. Your mother entered the convent on 2
^nd
April, 1940 and you were born eight days later.’

‘Another piece of the jigsaw then.’ William felt quite excited as he pressed Grace for more information. ‘You said Bronagh was difficult to forget.’

Grace took up her place next to William again on the sofa and took his hand. ‘That poor girl. All the girls that enter the convent have sad stories to tell, but hers really tugged at my heartstrings, you know. I only remember her so well because she was English, from Manchester, I think. We hadn’t had an English girl before, or since for that matter. She wasn’t Catholic either.’ Grace attempted a smile, but it was more like a grimace. ‘I kept that bit to myself though. Anyway, her own mother was a midwife too so she knew more than most about childbirth. She used to accompany her mother on house visits and had attended several deliveries. She even helped me in the years following your birth. She was always so kind to the other girls and they could relate to her, you know.’

William shook his head. ‘How did she end up in there if she was from England?’

‘Ah,’ Grace began. ‘That’s the sad part. A combination of a draconian father and a capitulating mother. She had a very sheltered upbringing, from what I could gather. She was forbidden from seeing unsuitable boys, or any boys for that matter, but then one night after sneaking out she met a wonderful boy. His name was Billy. Oh, she never stopped talking about him. It was Billy this and Billy that. She wept all the way through your birth, calling out his name and glancing at the door as if expecting him to walk through it any minute, begging for her forgiveness.’

William sat with a rapt look on his face. At last his mother was emerging as a person to him and not just a name.

‘What did she have to forgive him for?’

‘That was the strange thing. After what he had done to her I couldn’t believe she still held a candle for him, but she said true love could endure anything. Apparently, when he found out about the pregnancy.’ She gestured towards William. ‘About you, well he just panicked. They hadn’t been courting for that long and, of course, her father was apoplectic. She says Billy came to see her later, but her father would not let him in and then he got fed up of waiting and told her father he didn’t want to see her anymore. She was literally stunned, you know, physically sick and the next thing she knows, she’s being despatched to Ireland to live with her aunt because her father cannot bear the shame. He was a doctor, you know, a well-respected man and his reputation and that of his family was everything to him. But incredibly, she never stopped loving Billy. It’s why you were given the same name.’

William’s eyes widened at this information. ‘Of course, Billy, you say. So his name was William too?’

Grace nodded.

‘So she loved him, but it sounds as though he didn’t feel the same way. Did they ever get in contact again?’

Grace shrugged. ‘I couldn’t say. Bronagh left the convent after three years. That’s the rule, you see. You look after your babby for three years and then you are free to go. But not with your babby of course. No girl is ever allowed to leave with their little one. If you want to leave before that, you have to be claimed by a relative and pay a vast sum for your freedom. It’s a sum of money completely out of reach for the majority of girls and of course their families have disowned them anyway.’

William shuddered at the thought of this callous regime and wondered what kind of religion allowed this sort of thing to happen. His parents were both God-fearing people and he had been brought up to respect the Bible, but surely this kind of treatment was unacceptable? He was sure his mother had had no idea of the extent of this cruelty.

‘Where did she go after she left?’ asked William.

‘Well, that’s the part I do not know, I’m afraid. I know her aunt’s farm was not that far from the convent. It was in a very rural area with no running water, I remember that.’ Grace sighed. ‘All this information will be in that file, but getting my hands on it will be difficult, if not impossible.’

‘Please,’ implored William. ‘I have come all this way and I feel so close to her now. I can’t give up.’

He struggled to keep the impatience out of his voice. After all, Grace did not need to help him.

Grace chewed on her bottom lip and a silence descended between them as she tried to remember the past. ‘It was thirty-four years ago, William,’ she said helplessly. She closed her eyes in concentration and tilted her face towards the ceiling. Suddenly, the old grandfather clock struck six and they both jumped.

‘The bus!’ cried William jumping up. ‘I’m going to miss my bus!’

‘Oh my,’ cried Grace. ‘Where has the time gone? Look, take my bike to the bus stop. Just leave it in the hedge and I’ll collect it tomorrow.’ William picked up his rucksack and threw it over his shoulder.

‘I can’t thank you enough, Grace.’

‘Oh, be off with you now,’ she laughed. ‘Thank me when you’ve found your mother. It’s my day off tomorrow, but why don’t you come for tea the day after and I’ll tell you what I’ve managed to find out, if anything. Don’t get your hopes up too much, William. You’ve seen how stubborn Sister Benedicta can be.’

When William arrived back at Mrs Flanagan’s, he was greeted by the salty aroma of a boiled ham and his stomach suddenly complained of a hunger he had long forgotten.

‘Oh, you’re back then. Any good?’ greeted Mrs Flanagan.

‘You were right about the nuns,’ he sighed. ‘No help at all.’ He slumped down on the sofa in Mrs Flanagan’s kitchen and closed his eyes.

‘You look worn out, so you do. Will you have a wee nap before supper? I can keep it warm for you.’

‘You are very kind, Mrs Flanagan, but I feel if I go to sleep now I shall be eating that meal for breakfast.’

‘Very well, you go and wash up now and I’ll put it out. It’ll be ready in five minutes.’

After his meal of the boiled ham, accompanied by mashed potato with bits of cabbage mixed through it, William felt sated, but the emotions of the day had left him utterly drained. He thanked Mrs Flanagan and made his way upstairs to bed. He knew it was a mistake to lie down before he had even undressed or cleaned his teeth. He had only meant to close his eyes for five minutes, but the jet lag exerted its grip and by the time he opened his eyes again the sun was filtering through the red velvet curtains and dust particles were dancing in its rays. He rubbed his eyes and tried to open his furred-up mouth as he staggered to the bathroom in a desperate search for his toothbrush.

*

Arriving at Grace’s house the following day, he was filled with hope and expectation. But Grace had been right to warn him not to get his hopes up. It had been impossible for her to retrieve the file without the key, the one that was guarded so closely by Sister Benedicta’s bosom. They sat at the little wooden table in Grace’s kitchen. Her washing hung on a line by the stove and the aroma of the apple pie that was baking in the oven suddenly reminded him of home and of his mother’s wonderful cooking. He felt the guilt rising again and struggled to fight against it.

‘What’s the matter, William?’ enquired Grace.

‘I was just thinking about Mom, you know, Mom in the US.’

Grace patted his hand. ‘You know you have her blessing, don’t you? Just because you want to know where you came from doesn’t mean you love her any less. She sounds like a dear, selfless woman to me and in that regard Sister Benedicta was right. You do you have the most wonderful parents, don’t you?’

William nodded his head in agreement, not trusting his voice.

‘Well then,’ continued Grace. ‘Will you have another cup of tea, while we wait for that pie?’

William smiled. ‘That would be grand, Grace, thank you.’

She busied herself with filling up the kettle and dropped two tea bags into the old stained pot. ‘It’s frustrating, so it is. I mean to actually find the safe that contains the file, but not being able to open it, I feel so helpless.’

‘Please don’t worry, Grace. It was good of you to try. I’m grateful, I really am.’

Grace filled the teapot and returned it to the table. She popped on the knitted tea cosy with its blue and pink stripes and bobble on the top and William smiled to himself at the thought of the tea pot wearing a hat. His parents would never believe it!