The Ballroom Café (29 page)

‘He will stay for dinner?’

‘It is not a social call. Your office will do fine. What His Grace has to say shall not take long.’

Assumpta asked for fresh flowers to be placed by the window. A good cushion was plumped up and put on the high-backed chair in front of mother’s desk.

Assumpta waited, doodling on a sheet of paper, which she hid in a drawer when she heard the doorbell.

Bishop Ciaran Lucey, a wide man with a fat chin, burst into the room all smiles, his voice jovial and light. Assumpta was not fooled by his demeanour, which she knew was put on for the benefit of the other sisters. He waited until the door was closed to scowl, his wide eyebrows dancing, disturbing the furrows on his brow.

‘Mother, you could have handled this sorry situation better, don’t you think?’ He sat down, spiking his fingers in to a church spire.

‘It is a very difficult situation, Your Grace.’ Assumpta attempted to sound calm, all the time clenching her fists where he could not see them.

Bishop Lucey leaned his ample chin on his spire of fingers. ‘The problem is, Mother Assumpta, you have started a forest fire, and because you did not rush to stamp out the first sparks in a proper and firm manner, others have erupted. We will soon be in a situation where we cannot contain these raging fires, and what do we do then?’

‘It is surely not my fault, or the fault of this order, if other women are coming forward because their babies were taken illegally.’

Bishop Lucey put his hand up to quieten Assumpta. She felt a stab of pain run across her chest and she fell silent. The bishop stood up.

‘We have to prepare ourselves for the worst; it is an intolerable situation. I am not the only one disappointed with such a slack attitude. No doubt your own superiors will also express their dissatisfaction. It has been decided to shut down this convent.’

Assumpta felt an anger rise inside her. ‘What will become of us?’

‘That is hardly my concern, Mother.’

‘We are being blamed for the appalling practices of the past.’

‘I would advise you to watch your tongue, Mother Assumpta.’

She straightened on her seat. ‘What was I to do, Your Grace, refuse to let them dig up the Little Angels cemetery?’

Bishop Lucey stood up and stared out the window into the blackness of the night. ‘Of course not, but to provide so many files – truckloads, I hear – without first contacting the Bishop’s Palace; now that was foolish.’ He turned to Assumpta. ‘Unfortunately, the matter has escalated too far and is now beyond my remit.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The matter is now in the hands of the State authorities, and all we can do is what we are asked: cooperate as much as we can. When they put back the cemetery, these lands will be put on the market. I doubt if anybody will want this convent to remain here anyway.’

‘But where will we go?’

‘I hear there is plenty of room in Moyasta. It might be good for you; you can live a prayerful life without the added responsibility and burden you have had to carry these last months.’

‘I have done nothing wrong.’

Bishop Lucey, with a whip on him, marched to her desk. ‘Bar opening up the door for legal suits and wayward women to make money out of the church, when all we did was take them in when nobody else would. I will bid you goodnight.’

He swiftly walked from the room.

Assumpta sat in her comfortable armchair at the window and watched Bishop Lucey, highlighted by the light spillage from the open front door, get into the back of a Rolls Royce. She fingered the band of silver on her left hand, revolving it over and over. She prayed fervently that God would give her the strength to accept with grace the decision made by others and that she may be able to keep her vow of obedience.

*

Unable to sleep, Mother Assumpta remained in prayer until first light, when she went to the first landing and watched the meander of the river. The water flowed, the daffodils were beginning to tinge brown and the grass would soon need cutting. It was a familiar scene that at a time of anxiety calmed her heart, bringing her peace, reminding her of the changing seasons and yet the constancy of nature. Today she looked out on it because it was the only place in all the acres that surrounded this beautiful building which had not been taken over in some way by the band of outsiders and hangers-on. This pastoral scene she would soon have to consign to memory. More than likely, the money raised from the sale of these lands would be used for the compensation claims that were surely going to flow in from women who had lost their babies to forced adoptions.

That her name would be linked with this unsavoury episode in the order’s history wrenched her heart and made her intensely angry. Crowds of people, press and various onlookers, had descended on the convent since it had first been made public a week ago that the Little Angels graveyard was to be dug up.

No longer could she risk walking and praying along the garden paths, lest she meet someone who wanted answers she could not give.

The plot, down the far corner of the gardens and behind a bank of cypress trees, was cordoned off, a massive tent over the patch of ground, as if an archaeological dig was taking place. She did not dare think of all the lives not lived, or those lived but begun under a cloud. It was unbearable to think of what had happened and what would become of all of them.

She had done her best. Once informed the investigation was widening, with the potential for a criminal element, she had gathered the sisters together. It was, she thought, probably one of her hardest and saddest moments since becoming a nun.

‘It will appear as if we are under siege; in a way, we are, for the possible sins of the past. I want each of you to be as cooperative as possible to the police and state officers charged with this most gruesome task. However, I urge each one of you to be on your guard; loose talk at this time could be very damaging indeed.’

The sisters did not ask any questions, sensing the anger bubbling at the edge of her voice, but she knew they would have plenty to say behind her back. That Consuelo had been sent away was also, she knew, a major worry to the other sisters, but she chose not to address that thorny subject.

Just hours before, Consuelo had been informed that she should get ready for a return to Moyasta.

‘Mother, I only ever had the intention of finding good homes for those children; God knows that.’

‘It is not for me to decide, Consuelo, the rights and wrongs; my job now is to try to salvage as much of our reputation as possible.’

‘And you blame me for this.’

‘I don’t blame anybody, but I do say that taking babies without the permission of the mothers and forging signatures on permission forms is wrong. What does it matter who came up with the idea?’

‘Mother, they were different times; without me, those children would have had no life at all.’

‘What makes you so sure of that, Consuelo, what makes you so sure?’

Consuelo huffed loudly. ‘That Deborah Kading has a lot to answer for. Before she came on the scene, everybody was happy.’

‘You mean nobody knew.’

Consuelo shifted uncomfortably on her seat. ‘And wasn’t that the best way to have it.’

Assumpta dropped her pen and slapped her desk hard. ‘You can’t honestly believe that, Consuelo, even now.’

‘I know I am being judged by the norms of today. What unmarried mother could keep her child then? Tell me that.’

‘That is not the point, Consuelo, and well you know it.’

Consuelo leapt from her chair.

‘But it is the point. What family wanted that great shame brought down on top of them? The ones I sent to America were the goddamned lucky ones. God knows how many were born in the corners of fields in the dark of the night and buried straight away.’

Assumpta felt tears of anger well up inside her. ‘You don’t see you did wrong.’

‘You don’t see the good I did every day of the week.’

‘There is far higher than me making decisions now, Consuelo. I am just following orders.’ Assumpta tried to keep her voice firm, but she could not help the shake welling up from her throat.

‘What is to become of this little band of women, Mother?’

Assumpta snorted loudly, as she tried to hold back the tears. ‘I am afraid I do not know.

‘Tell me, Mother. I need to know what I have done.’

‘This order, by its work and uncaring attitude in the past and its refusal to recognise it now, has done it to itself.’

Mother Assumpta shook her head fiercely to shake away the harsh memories of a shameful time she had not lived through but which would forever follow her on life’s path. She turned away from the window, tears flowing down her face.

Roscarbury Hall,

Rathsorney,

Co. Wicklow,

Ireland.

May 9, 2008

My dearest James,

I am not sure what I should say in this letter, only that I am overwhelmed with joy to think you are alive, and overwhelmed with sadness to think I lost you for so long. I know from everything I have been told you are a fine man and were lucky to have Mr and Mrs Spring as your parents. Please tell them I bear them no ill will and, instead, I thank them for raising you and giving you the childhood you deserved.

The investigator told me you were brought up in a lovely apartment in Manhattan, and I thank God that even though you were taken from me it did not mean a dilution of love in your early years. You must know your mother and father had no reason to suspect they were being told anything but the truth when they were told I had died in childbirth.

That you had a mother to love you is a source of huge comfort to me and that you had a father too is a great joy. I understand you do not have brothers and sisters, so there was no competition for the love of your parents.

James, what is to become of you and me? I gave birth to you. They told me you died. I had so many plans for us. But these plans must be left in the past and we must find a way forward that allows us to become friends.

Do you think you would like to visit? You could stay here or there is a fancy hotel a few miles away? James is such a strong name; I get the impression that your mother, Mrs Spring, was a strong and loving woman: firm, too, I imagine. You are a very lucky man.

I know all of this has caused upset and upheaval in your life, not least the angst and pain it has caused your parents. I would dearly love to meet you, but in your own time. I understand if you need time to think things over; I pray and pray that you will want to meet me as much as I long to meet you.

All my love,

Ella O’Callaghan.

She did not sign it for a whole day, wondering if her full name was a little too formal. Ella did not want either to appear too friendly or to be frostily formal, which could put off the son she did not know.

Her arms were open wide; it was up to him to take a step towards her. She phoned Gerry O’Hare and he drove her into Gorey to post the letter.

‘Muriel is a lovely woman, but the less she knows about my affairs the better,’ Ella said to Gerry.

He nodded and continued to watch the road, lest Ella O’Callaghan think he was too interested in her business.

‘How long does a letter take to get to the States these days?’ she asked him, because she was so excited she could not stop thinking about James, and as a result she could not stop initiating conversations that would let her luxuriate in the fact that her son was a successful man in New York.

‘These days? I don’t know. Who posts letters any more? Why don’t you send an email?’

Ella laughed out loud. ‘What I had to say ran from the heart to the pen. There isn’t a computer I know of that can loop the J in James, to show the flourish of love I feel for the child and the man.’

‘Right so,’ said Gerry, and he lit up a cigarette, blowing a cloud onto the windscreen. So caught up in her own thoughts, Ella forgot to give out or cough extravagantly to show her disapproval.

*

It was several weeks before Ella got a reply. From the day she posted the letter, she had taken to loitering at the front café tables when the postman was due.

Roberta noticed the expectation in her sister’s gait and sat at the library window each morning, watching Ella clean down the tables, fix the chairs and rearrange the candle holders and flower centrepieces.

Once, when a young woman came down the stairs and asked to be served upstairs, Ella sighed loudly and abandoned her post reluctantly. If an upstairs table was free, she sat waiting to see the post van before it pulled into the drive.

Roberta watched the spectacle each day. Sometimes, in her agitation, she poured out a sherry but forgot to sip it, letting it go dry in the glass. Once, she left a note on the kitchen table for her sister.

I have a right to know when you get word. He is my nephew. He needs to know about his father. R.

Ella ignored it, screwing it into a tight ball and batting it into a wastepaper basket. She left her reply in its place.

His father left me and him high and dry. This is none of your business. E.

When the letter came, it was in a business envelope: his name, James Spring, and an address on Long Island bounded by flowers. She was afraid to open it and stuffed it into her pocket as she saw Muriel pushing up the avenue.