The Magdalen (2 page)

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Authors: Marita Conlon-McKenna

BOOK: The Magdalen
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Mrs. Murphy bundled up the soiled bedlinen. There was not much else she could do here for the moment. Majella Doyle was deep in an exhausted sleep. She'd away home. Esther touched the older woman's arm.
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Murphy. I don't know what my mammy would have done without you. We are very grateful.”
“Say nothing, child. You were the one here with her when she needed it most, but you know, we are still not out of the woods, yet, so don't be getting your hopes up too high. I think I'd better walk down to McEvoy's Bar and ask to use the phone; I'm thinking that Dr. Lawless might have a look at your mother and the baby. I'll pop back up later to see how they're doing.”
Esther watched as their neighbour walked back down the path. After all the excitement she was strangely tired herself, but couldn't resist another look at her new baby sister, lifting her up carefully. Imagine if the baby hadn't moved those tiny fingers, given a sign that she was alive, taken that one shuddering breath and clung on to life!
It didn't bear thinking about. She pressed her face against the soft baby skin, inhaling that newborn smell as her small sister yawned and moved against her. Already she felt an instinctive bond and sense of responsibility for this new sister. She loved all her five brothers dearly, but this little baby was different. She'd helped her to come into
the world and saved her life—she wasn't prepared to let anything bad happen to her.
“I'm your big sister Esther, d'ye hear! I prayed and prayed every day for God to send me a sister and now he's sent you! You've got to get bigger and stronger, for you're the only sister I've got. I promise to look after you and mind you!”
The baby shut her eyes firmly and murmured softly as Esther kissed her forehead before lowering her back down gently on to the folded blanket. As long as she lived she'd never let anything harm her baby sister.
“W
here's your mother, child?” demanded her father the very minute he stepped through the door of the cottage.
“She's asleep in bed, Daddy,” grinned Esther, all excited and dying to tell him the news. “She had the baby this afternoon. It's a little girl and I helped Mam to deliver her.”
“Good girl yourself!” he said, ruffling her long brown hair with his hand. “I thought the baby wasn't due for more than another month!”
Dermot Doyle pushed his way past her and into the bedroom. Majella looked like a corpse—her lank fair hair spread across the pillow and not a drop of colour in her face—and the child
was the smallest he'd ever seen. They both were unaware of his presence. Esther followed behind him.
“It's a little girl, Daddy. You wanted a little girl didn't you!” she suggested. Dermot nodded, letting his finger touch the baby's soft cheek. “She's got dark hair like you, Daddy,” said Esther, trying to please him. Her dad was known for his thick black curly hair and handsome good looks.
“She's a scrap of a thing!” he muttered. “Not a bit like any of ye, and that's the truth.”
Esther knew it was a worry for her father to have another mouth to feed, what with rationing and all, but it was nice for her to have a sister. God knows, she had more than enough brothers already.
He followed her out to the kitchen. Tom and Liam were busy telling their older brothers Gerard and Donal about the baby, and how they'd lifted the bed and fetched Mrs. Murphy. Dermot sat at the table listening to their excitement, Paddy curled up on his lap. The day's fishing had been bad and they'd only managed to catch a few mackerel, but at least there was food to put on the table and he'd sold the rest of the catch.
“Is Mammy all right?” asked Donal. “She looks right bad.”
“She lost a lot of blood. Mrs. Murphy said she'd come back later to check on her, and that she'd phone Dr. Lawless.”
“Speak of the devil,” murmured Gerard. “The doctor's car is coming along the road.”
 
 
Dr. Bernard Lawless slowed his black Ford to a crawl as the car bumped and jolted over the dirt track that led to the Doyles' cottage. Why in God's name didn't Dermot Doyle get out his shovel and fill some of those holes with sand before someone did themselves an injury? It was wrecking his suspension. Two of the young lads ran out to greet him, confirming that their father and the rest of the family were inside. He grabbed his bag off the front seat. There had been a garbled phone message to his home from Maureen Murphy about Majella Doyle, and his wife had insisted that he visit the poor patient before she served him his tea.
There was a magnificent view from the cottage as it overlooked the whole of Carraig Beag and the bay below, though like most of the houses in this distant part of Connemara it was in sore need of a lick of paint and a bit of reroofing. Dermot Doyle opened the door to him, welcoming him in, the older boys barely civil enough to look at him and the daughter jumping up politely. They could do with opening a window and letting a bit of air in the place, and why a good fire had so often to be blocked off by a wooden horse covered with steaming clothes laid out to dry was beyond him.
Awkward and embarrassed, Dermot led him to the bedroom. Two years ago, after Majella's last miscarriage, he'd advised the both of them to have no more children and yet here he was again, welcoming another Doyle to the brood. Dermot Doyle was a big strong sort of fellah, handsome in a stocky, weatherbeaten way, but looked sheepish now as he opened the door.
“Majella, how are you? I believe you have a second daughter!”
The woman looked absolutely ghastly pale. Maureen Murphy had done the right thing in getting him to call.
“Could I have a bowl of warm water and some soap and a clean towel,” he requested, “as I need to examine your wife.”
Glad of the excuse, Dermot slipped back outside, sending Esther in with the bowl.
“I hear you did a great job today, Esther!” praised the middle-aged doctor, easing off his check sports jacket, rolling up his sleeves, and washing his hands and forearms. “You always have to be careful of germs.” Esther blushed. She was a pretty little thing, a mixture of both parents.
Majella's blood pressure was low and she seemed to have lost a huge amount of blood. He'd prefer to have her in the hospital in Galway than a remote place like Carraig Beag. “Majella, what about the hospital in Galway? It would only be for a few days, I promise. You need a blood transfusion.”
The forty-year-old patient shook her head vehemently. “I'll not go and leave Dermot and the children. I'll be right as rain in a few days when I get my strength back.”
“You need to be in hospital, woman!”
“No!” replied Majella firmly. “I don't want to go and I'm not going, Dr. Lawless. I birthed the rest of my children here in the house and got over it fine, and this time it'll be the same.” Esther had never seen such a fiercely determined look in her mother's eyes, which seemed to jump out of her white face.
“I'm not intending to upset you, Majella, it's just that
I want to do what's best for you; the blood would pick you up.”
Esther could tell by the stubborn set of her mother's face that the doctor was wasting his time. “Maureen and Esther here will look after me, Dr. Lawless, I'll be fine,” she said, her mind made up.
Bernard Lawless rummaged in the depths of his brown leather medical bag, producing two bottles of tablets which he instructed Esther to give Majella twice a day. “And you're to make sure your mother gets plenty of rest, Esther.” He then set about examining the baby, lying her on the bed and unwrapping her.
“Is she all right?” begged Majella, leaning forward. “She's only skin and bone, the poor mite.”
Dr. Lawless said nothing, listening to the baby's chest and moving her arms and legs. “What was she like when she was born, Majella?”
A look of anguish flitted across her mother's eyes. “Blue and floppy.” She said it so softly, Esther wondered if the doctor had heard her.
“The cord was wrapped round her neck,” mumbled Esther herself, trying to calm and soothe the baby, whose chin trembled at the doctor's touch.
“Esther, would you be so kind as to go out and tell your father I'd like a word with him.”
Bernard Lawless rewrapped the child, passing her into Majella's arms. Sighing to himself, he braced himself for the bad news that he had to give the baby's parents. Years of medicine could never prepare you for such occasions; each couple reacted differently.
“Your baby is damaged,” he tried to explain gently,
believing that Dermot and Majella deserved the truth, and knowing how hard it was to accept a handicapped child.
Majella was heartbroken, crying, “She's just like my other babies! I'm telling you, Dr. Lawless, she's no different!” ranting on and on trying to convince herself, whereas Dermot just sat quiet by the bed, with the look of a prizefighter recovering from a knockout punch.
It was too soon for them to take in words about lack of oxygen and pre-term births; they needed time to think. Putting away his instruments and closing his bag, the doctor got ready to leave.
“I'm sorry, Majella,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Look, I'd best be getting home, for Yvonne'll have my tea ready. I'll look back in on you tomorrow and in a few weeks we can organize to get some tests done in Galway, to see what's what, and the extent of the damage.”
Dermot Doyle walked him to the car, and this time Bernard made it quite clear that, but for the swift action of Maureen Murphy and his young daughter, he would have lost his wife, and that there should be no question of any more pregnancies. What his wife and child needed now was good nursing care. Perhaps Maureen could help?
Dermot Doyle watched as the doctor sat into his shiny new car and drove away. Business that fellah had telling him what to do about his own wife and children, and he living a soft life in a big house beyond Carraroe!
 
 
Dermot sat with the paper held up in front of him, a grim expression on his face, as Esther and Donal cooked the tea.
Donal showed Esther how to gut a fish, and Tom was set to washing the potatoes. They could tell Father was annoyed after the doctor's visit, for he hated anyone criticizing him, and he didn't want to face back into Majella.
Gerard sat near the fire, complaining about being hungry and how late the tea was while Tom played with Liam and Paddy, distracting them while Esther set the table.
After tea they fetched in the crib, and Mother woke. Esther had made her a cup of tea and called Donal to help her to sit up in bed.
“I'm feeling right giddy. My head is light,” murmured Majella.
Esther stroked her arm. “It's all right, Mammy, you just got to rest, that's what Dr. Lawless and Mrs. Murphy said.”
“I must get up to the baby!”
“Don't be so daft! I'll get her for you.” The baby lay dozing in the wooden cot, barely stirring when Esther lifted her. “Isn't she beautiful, Mammy!” she enthused.
Esther passed the baby into her mother's arms, watching as her mother nuzzled the baby's face and hair. “Another month would have made all the difference. I wonder would she feed?”
Esther watched as her mother opened the nightdress that Mrs. Murphy had put on her earlier. The baby refused to suckle, her tiny eyes and mouth shut firm against her mother's breast. Paddy used to love the comfort of the breast, but the baby seemed too tired and weak to even bother to suck.
Majella tried to rouse and tease the child, but she would not stir. In the end Esther caught at the bare
scrawny feet, running her finger along the soles and tickling the baby's toes. A slight shudder seemed to ripple through the child and she began to open her mouth and ever so slowly to suck. But the baby would only feed for a short time before closing her delicate lips. Anyway, her mam looked exhausted, and was glad to let her take the baby.
Esther wrapped her again and carried her outside to show her off to her brothers. They all crowded around the kitchen, trying to have a good look at their new baby sister.
“She's very small,” said Donal, taking a gentle hold of the tiny hand. Donal was the softest of all her brothers and loved small children and animals. She could see how concerned he was as he bent his fair head over the baby, studying her intently. “All babies are small in the beginning,” replied Esther knowledgeably. “Anyways, girls are always a bit smaller than boys.”
Esther wouldn't let any of the others hold her, the baby was too poorly for that. Their father seemed to have little interest and had gone back in to sit with his wife for a while. Later on, she watched as he grabbed his hat and coat from the hook behind the door.
“I'm off to McEvoy's!” he called. “I'll be back in a while.”
“Daddy, you shouldn't go!” pleaded Esther, standing in front of him, almost blocking his path. “Not tonight of all nights, with Mam and the baby poorly.”
Dermot shrugged his shoulders, ignoring her, pulling on his jacket as he went out into the night air. He had to get out of the cramped cottage, and away from them all!
Esther was fed up. She didn't know how her mother stuck it. Night after night her daddy disappeared down to McEvoy's small public house, about a mile away. It would be hours before he returned, smelling of that strange sour porter he seemed to crave so much. Mammy and the rest of them, and now the new baby, were no match for the place.
 
 
He was only just gone when Maureen Murphy arrived. She made Esther fetch more bedlinen and gave Majella a bit of a wash.
“Where's Dermot, Majella? I didn't see him outside.”
Majella looked across at Esther. Esther could see the hurt and disappointment in her mother's eyes. Daddy shouldn't have done this to her, gone and left her here. “He had to go out for a while,” said Majella softly.
“I suppose down to John Joe's bar, is it!” Maureen sniffed disdainfully, folding an old towel.
Esther fumed inwardly, trying not to be disloyal, for even the neighbours knew what her daddy was like and how much he loved the drink.
“He's just gone down to McEvoy's to wet the baby's head,” lied Esther, knowing Maureen wasn't one bit taken in.
“Well, isn't it well for some!” she replied sarcastically as she fussed over Majella, making her more comfortable. Mrs. Murphy stood over her mother, making her drink a big glass of milk and giving her the tablets that the doctor had left. “Majella, you'll have to drink more if you want your milk to come in.”
Turning her attention to the baby, Maureen examined her then said, “She's looking a bit better already, Majella, see, her colour is pinking up a bit.”

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