The Whipping Club (15 page)

             
Marian crouched down so that she could gaze into his eyes. She desperately wanted him to feel her love for him. She wanted him to know that she was sorry, wanted to tell him that she hoped they could make up for lost time.
All this time.
Still, she could have never found him. How many times had she secretly daydreamed about him since he was ripped from her life? How her da would have wanted him, too! She must remain calm in front of the fat Sister. He was a big boy, a beautiful boy. He had the map of a McKeever on his face. She reached toward him and brought him into her arms. She felt her body shaking, the heat of shame scouring her.

             
Ben ushered the others into the living room and she wiped her eyes. A timid smile passed over Adrian’s hesitant, perfect face; freckles like wet sand reached across his wide bridge and cheeks.

             
“Go in, go in,” she said to Nurse who stood there gawking at them.

             
“Leave us for a minute,” Marian insisted.

             
Alone with him in the entryway, she felt his scrawny shoulders underneath an itchy brown jumper, then ran her hand over his blond head, his hair trimmed nearly to the scalp. She could no longer contain her emotions and let out a sob. She hugged him again, and he put his arms around her, too. She wanted to stay there with him, their arms growing tighter around each other. She smelled nit cream and whispered to him that she had never stopped thinking about him. Not for a moment had she had a day’s happiness without him. He began to cry now, and she moved them closer to the front door, out of view of everyone’s peering eyes.

             
Ben came back into the hall looking helpless, turned on the teardrop fanlight and retreated to the living room.

             
“Remarkable your resemblance to your granda,” Marian whispered to Adrian, and then she softly wiped his cheeks. A shadow of fright crossed his face.
Why?
Adrian didn’t budge from the arched doorway.
He’s feeling out of place.

             
“You can trust me, Adrian. I love you. I never wanted to give you up, and I never will again,” she whispered in his ear. “I’ll protect you from those grownups in there,” she said, slanting her head toward the living room. She took his hand and smiled broadly at him. He smiled back, breathed deeply and took a step. He couldn’t seem to take the smile off his miraculous face now. He kept breathing in deeply and grinning, too. He could smell something delicious roasting in the oven, cinnamon and apples. He could smell the love in their home. He could literally smell it. He glanced around the foyer and up the wood stairs. He was in the home that he’d seen in adverts pasted on storefront windows. Ben came toward them. Adrian wished his da would kiss him, but Ben just reached for his hand to shake it, and then suddenly sneezed. He stood smiling down at his son, one hand in his trouser pocket, and then wiped his nose, trying too hard to appear casual and familiar. Finally, Marian led Adrian into the living room. She noticed Johanna holding the doorknob, twirling her ebony braid, her mischievous smirk masking her momentary bashfulness.

             
Adrian’s eyes seemed awash with the scene before him, and Marian was thrilled by his young boy’s hand in hers. The adults observed as he concentrated on various objects around the room. Marian followed his gaze, realizing anew the luxury of her living room: the acanthus leaves plasterwork molding, the Siena yellow marble mantelpiece with the gold-plated mirror atop, a gilded clock, their wedding present to themselves, the statue of Justice on the stand in the far corner of the room holding her scales and sword.

             
She led him through the swinging door into the cinnamon smells of the kitchen. Johanna followed behind them, cream crackers in her hands. They walked out through the back door and through the white painted trellis. Several camellias were waking after a cold spring; the purple flowers of clematis had sprouted. Marian pointed to the spot where cucumbers would grow gigantic later that summer.
             
“Why don’t you two have something to eat in the other room while I check on the meal?”

             
Adrian and Johanna left together, and Marian sneaked back into the kitchen where she put a wet rag to the nape of her neck and took a minute to collect herself. If the summer went well, Sister Agnes said she would consider releasing him, and the courts would stamp the transition complete. Marian peeked through the swing door.

             
Nurse looked almost normal sitting on the sofa with Sister Agnes. Johanna and Adrian cut pieces of cheddar, their eyes darting around the room every few moments, the way fawns do in open fields. The week before, standing in Judge Moran’s private chambers, Ben had agreed with Sister Agnes that an institutionalized child would need an adjustment period. Seeing firsthand this intimate liaison between the Church and the State burned Marian up inside. She ranted at Ben tha
t John McGahern’s second book,
The Dark,
was banned and the author sacked from his teaching position because he addressed emerging adolescent sexuality as well as sexual abuse. The whole world was changing but Ireland was still in the Dark Ages. That day in front of Judge Moran, fed up and frustrated, she had spoken harshly to Ben and had felt the judge become as thick as a stone slab before her. Now she watched Father Brennan with Ben and was astonished at how close the two were becoming. Father’s growing respect for Ben revealed a congenial side to him. Still, he seemed to be a conflicted man. Any attempt at relaxation caused him worry and he would retreat back to his old rulebook style.

             
If anyone was to blame for Adrian’s misery it was Father Brennan. After they met last week with Sister Agnes, Ben mentioned he’d gone to talk with Father Brennan, who had admonished Ben for not fully considering the affect Adrian’s presence would have on his family. Marian glanced at Father Brennan now. Whatever progress had been made, he seemed as tight as ever today. Her uncle seemed to be watching Adrian and Jo like a hawk now. She opened her high lace collar, pushed the back kitchen door open a bit more with her foot and let the fresh air cool her.

             
Marian was still flushed when she returned to the living room. Things were going well. Adrian and Johanna were chatting and she could tell by Johanna’s natural ease and her attempts to make Adrian comfortable, that the children could sense the ties that bound them. Marian knew intuitively, too, that it would be a mistake to fuss over Adrian, that she shouldn’t hover, but rather tread lightly, even though she wanted to scream with madness that her children were both here. Finally, in the same room. For all their different upbringing, both were needy, she thought, in the same way, funny enough. They just wanted their parents. They just wanted to be loved.

             
As the children moved toward the stairs, Sister Agnes called to them. Johanna ran to her and Adrian followed slowly behind. Marian wanted to stop him, pick him up, hide him, and she moved closer but held herself in check, pretended to be busy by the dining table slicing some currant cakes.

             
“Pray for your brother, that he gets on with the family,” Sister Agnes said. She had told Marian about Adrian’s misconduct, that he undermined her, called her as sick as a small hospital, and had once encouraged the other boys to climb over the orphanage wall and run like hairymen. She stated that there were other incidents, though nothing serious, and Marian shrugged them off immediately. 

             
“Of course he will get on, Sister Agnes,” Johanna said, loud and clear. This time, Marian was grateful Jo talked so much. “We’re going to play with all the toys my parents bought that are in the attic. Wait now, ’til you see the holsters and silver guns. We can play cowboys and Indians,” Johanna said.

             
Our
parents, she should have said. Adrian listened but seemed to be eyeing the soda bread and cheese.
He was hungry. He’s starved, for Heaven sake, Sister Agnes
.

             
“Let’s hear a prayer, Johanna,” Sister Agnes said. “Did you learn any new ones at Mass today?”

             
“Gran would like you, Sister Agnes. She’s always teaching me lots of prayers and saying I should go to Mass all the time.”

             
Oh, for Christ sake, Jo,
Marian thought. Johanna laughed. Marian watched the look on Sister Agnes’ blowfish face.

             
Jo quickly bowed her head. “Pray our family gets on, Sister. Pray that the turmoil in the North goes away. And for all the turmoil and fighting to end,” she said, peeking over her folded hands at Sister Agnes for signs of her approval.

             
Violence begets violence,
Marian thought. Sister Agnes must think Jo had heard the word
turmoil
about the house, no doubt.
Don’t talk anymore,
Jo, Marian begged silently.

             
“A nice prayer. And we all need the church. Our Adrian needs as much religion as he can get,” Sister Agnes said but Adrian wasn’t

listening to her. Sister looked at Marian slicing a raspberry tart.

             
Marian looked back, directly at her. Sister Agnes’ dimples were slyly emerging, her face a beacon of light to the devil.

             
Sister glanced at Ben engaging Father Brennan in a game of table tennis and commented that she’d never seen a family so engaged in sport. “Right here in the house!” A present for Adrian, Marian explained. “And, Mr. Ellis,” Sister continued. “You’re quite good.” Ben blushed, no doubt agreeing with Sister Agnes.

             
Sister looked back at Marian, and Marian could feel her face was hot and all but perspiring.
Evil wears many faces, ah, but so does goodness, remember that Agnes.
There is no denying that we love Adrian. One couldn’t hide a thing such as love. That was clear from their every movement and Sister Agnes should be moved. Apart from all the hopeful energy in the house, Marian worried that Sister Agnes was on the fence. It troubled Marian that she might think Adrian would spend the summer without his prayers, and perhaps without prayer for good.
I will pray more, and we will all say daily prayers, Sister Agnes, if this helps you.
Marian grappled with God now and what He wanted her to do and found mixed thoughts clouding her mind rather than the prayer itself.

By the end of June, Sister Agnes had consented to Adrian’s release to the Ellises for “a trial run” during the summer. Marian was not grateful. She was irate that Sister Agnes claimed she needed to see how they all fared for at least one summer before taking the next step. The nun would make her final decision after the holidays. “No need to rush these things,” she said when she dropped Adrian off.

             
Rising above Sister Agnes’ ever-present shadow, Marian worked to create a happy scenario for them. “We have to change Sister’s pathetic mind,” she said to Ben. “But I’m keeping the peace. I’m learning from you, Ben,” she added.

             
Ben smiled, impressed. “You’re rising above,” he told her.

             
She spent the first month of June bringing Adrian and Johanna to play by the sea at Dollymount. On the weekends, Ben joined them on their walks to Herbert Park. They sat by the lovely artificial lake, fed the geese and swans stale bread and sang “Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer.” Then there was the weeding to do in late afternoons, and in the evening they went twice to the Gaiety Cinema to see James Bond at Jo’s request. Rainy days, and there were many that summer, they lingered over their rashers and eggs before Jo and Adrian retired to their attic playroom.

             
The attic,
Ben thought, as he drove home for his dinner at two o’clock this cloudy afternoon. Jo and Adrian were outside with Anna and Rona and a couple of the other kids on their street.

             
He walked into the garden. Marian looked happy, her overalls covered in dirt. “Roast beef drippings and fried potatoes,” she said. “Our own hothouse lettuce and beefsteak tomatoes.”

             
“Any horseradish?”

             
“On the table,” she indicated, then added, “Adrian’s filling out,
eating us out of house and home,” as she washed up. She urged the kids inside.

             
In the evening, the family played cards and had their tea: a boiled egg for everyone, sliced ham or cold roast beef, and something extra, a side of garlic mash for Ben, who worked hard all day, Marian reminded the children. After tea, Ben tried to write in the library with a small whiskey.

             
Tonight, he got a little done and then drifted off, though it wasn’t long before the kids raced each other down the stairs for their late night snack of cocoa and sliced bread. Better than most nights, he thought. Their play-acting in the attic, the noise up there, and the content of their plays, often disturbed his sleep. He hated to admit it, but a lot about Adrian did not set right with him, though he could barely talk with Marian about this. She would turn blue in the face. Her da’s notorious temper must have been something, because she inherited it. Adrian seemed to have a bad temper also, or his bad upbringing was showing. Ben worried that Jo was suffering because of it but that she, too, would never admit this to anyone. Marian was not protecting her. Even some of the looks Adrian gave to
him!
He wondered what he’d been taught in school about the Jewish people. He had given the boy
The Joys of Yiddish
to glance through. Adrian had grimaced and told him that Hebrew letters reminded him of Chinese Takeaway.
Ridiculous.
And his reading skills were appalling. Ben knew that ol’ Darby would probably not allow him to continue his research about the poor math and reading levels in the national schools, knowing that Archbishop McQuaid would not approve of the embarrassing facts circulating, nor would the
Times
. Incestuous bedfellows. Marian was right about that. The church had the whole country in a headlock.