The Skye in June (5 page)

THE WEATHER SHIFTED to damp gray in the days following Helen’s death. The fog rose off the River Clyde and lay like a wet blanket over the MacDonalds’ building. Inside the flat, Cathy and her mother sat in the cold parlor, waiting to leave for the Funeral Mass.

The grieving young mother
’s face was stark white against her high-collared black dress. She didn’t want to go to the funeral.

Granny B had combed back her daughter
’s hair, securing it from falling across her eyes, and put a chain with a golden cross around her neck to show that they were a proud Catholic clan. She spoke gently to Cathy as they prepared to leave. “You know, hen, I have also suffered the great loss of children,” her mother said. “It’s the worst thing a parent ever has to face. But you must be brave for your living children. They are what counts now.”

Cathy eyed her
and silently wished she could return to bed and not have to be so brave.

The wide stone steps of the church were dotted with family, friends, and neighbors chatting in hushed voices. The talking ceased when the motorcar arrived with the grieving family. Somberly, Jimmy walked in front with the older girls close around him. He had decided that June was too young to go. Mrs. MacSwan offered to care for the youngster and Cathy agreed, knowing June would be too distraught at seeing her sister in a coffin. The little girl’s repeated questions, “Where’s Helen?” and “When is she coming back?” had hardly stopped since that fateful day. Only Annie’s cuddling could console her.

Granda B held firmly onto Cathy
’s arm as they walked down the aisle of St. Michael’s Church toward the small wooden coffin in front of the altar. Granny B had to talk her husband into walking with his daughter. At first he said he was too ill to go to the funeral. His stomach had been paining him terribly all morning. She knew what was paining him the most: He was reliving the deaths of Francis and Stevie, their eldest son, who died serving in World War II.

The packed church soon became hot and stuffy. Cathy sat crammed between her father and husband. She didn
’t hear what the priest was saying. To her it seemed as though his voice droned on about God’s will and how Helen was now happily in Heaven with the angels. Her arms ached to hold her daughter one more time; she knew that time would never come again in her life.

Later, back at the MacDonald
s’ flat, the low hum of people paying their respects filled the sorrowful home. Mourners wandered around with drinks and cigarettes in hand. Long stretches of smoke hovered close to the ceiling, making the gloomy day seem even darker.

Cathy sat motionless in the parlor with her hands fol
ded in her lap. Over the past few days, her petite frame seemed to have shrunk in size, as though drawing away from the confusion surrounding her. She stared into the small fireplace, which gave off little heat. Her lips moved but no words were spoken aloud.

After a few hours Peter, one of Cathy
’s three remaining brothers, began to gently usher the guests out of the door.

Granny B put her arm around her daughter
’s trembling shoulders. “Hen, come on in the kitchen. It’s warmer there.”

When they entered
, they were met with Peter’s loud voice talking to the other men in the family.

Granny B took charge of the noisy kitchen and told her son to lower his voice and for Janet, Peter
’s wife, to take the children out to play. Flicking her cigarette ash into the sink, Janet hesitated. “Mum, I’m so very tired,” she said pouting with her bright red lips. “Been up all night with Wee Gordy’s coughing and aft’r what happened to Helen. Ye know?”

Granny B caught
a glimpse of Wee Gordy, her grandson, running past the kitchen, chasing Mary and Maggie. He was the picture of health with is round green eyes and apple red cheeks. “Och, away with you, silly woman. Can you no think of anyone but yourself?” 

Patsy, another daughter-in-law, quickly stepped in to soothe the brewing
argument and offered a solution, “Don’t worry. Ned and me will take the bairns outside.” She took charge of the situation by herding the MacDonald girls out of the kitchen and calling out to their many cousins from around the flat. Granny B was glad her shy son, Ned, had found such a responsible wife.

Bernie, Granny and Granda B
’s eldest living son, hung back, hoping not to be asked to help with his children. He had brought his five bairns to the funeral by himself because his wife was about to deliver, yet another child. Granny didn’t miss her absence as the two women didn’t get along and were prone to quarreling.

Under Patsy
’s supervision the children quietly walked out of the flat in single file. June broke free from the line and ran zigzag past her aunt into the kitchen, ducking anyone who put out a hand to restrain her. She ran straight to her mother and stood solemnly in front of her. With vibrant blue eyes boring directly into her mother’s swollen eyes, she said demandingly, “Don’t go away, Mammy.”

Aunt Patsy swooped up the little girl.
“Think you can get away from me, eh?” she said as she carried her out of the room.

In a low, encouraging voice, Granda B said to his daughter,
“Drink a wee bit, hen. It’ll help you relax.” He picked up a glass of whiskey and moved it toward Cathy’s mouth. Smelling the whiskey, she turned her head away and wrapped her arms around her middle.

A sudden angry voice jolted everyone.
“My wee girl would be here if I could just have gotten her to the hospital,” Jimmy shouted. “She’d be here with us, where she belongs. No in some damn grave.”

“
It’s no your fault, man, it’s them. Can you believe some of them Orangemen having the nerve to come by today?” Bernie said, dourly.

“
Aye, I could hardly stomach it,” complained Peter, tossing back his drink. “We’re second-class citizens right in our own hometown.”

“
Och, you lads don’t know how bad it used to be in Glasgow,” Granda B chimed in. The men’s voices became louder and angrier at each disparaging comment made against the Protestants.

Cathy
’s loud sobs surprised the men. Jimmy went to his wife’s side. Uncertain how to comfort her, he dropped to his knees in front of her and said, “I’m sorry. I never realized how sick Helen was. I let you down, didn’t I? Oh, Cathy, please.”

Laying a hand on Jimmy
’s shoulder, Granda B said gently, “Son, maybe God had a different plan from what you know. He knows what’s best.”

In a surprisingly strong retort, Cathy challenged her father.
“Daddy, how can you say that? If God knew what was best He never should have taken another one of my weans. Have I no suffered enough?”

No one answered her. Peter finally broke the silence,
“Jimmy, I think you and Cathy should think of leaving. Start over. Maybe go to Canada or Australia. Me and Janet have been talking about it ourselves. You can get a good job in the building trades there.”

“
How can they go, eh?” Granny B asked, shaking her head in disagreement, “They’ve no money to leave. No son, they’ll no be going, especially at a time like this.”

Bernie struck a match to light a cigarette.
“Aye, Glasgow’s a tough town for us Catholics. If it hadn’t been for that parade your wee…”

Suddenly, a chilling high-pitched wail filled the kitchen, causing everyone to jump.

“No more! I can’t take it!” Cathy cried out. “My weans, one by one, gone! I’m cursed. Oh Mother of God! I’ve sinned, Mammy! God is punishing me.” She rocked back and forth so violently that Jimmy fell backward onto the floor, stunned by his wife’s hysteria.

Bewildered, Bernie sputtered,
“What’s she blethering about? Who cursed her?”

Patsy appeared in the doorway.
“Wheesht! All of you. My heid’s a loupin’ with you men goin’ on,” she said as she went to Cathy’s side.

Granny B, shocked by her daughter
’s outburst, recovered quickly. Like Patsy, she too was developing a splitting headache. “Aye, she’s right. All this talk about leaving Glasgow. Willie, take the boys down to the pub,” she said nodding in the direction of the front door. “Go!”

Granda B extended his hand to Jimmy to help him up off the floor.
“Right, you are. Let’s go boys,” he said as he moved the men along. He was glad to get out of the stuffy kitchen filled with sadness and anger.

The door had just closed when Cathy, arms clenched across her abdomen, moaned deeper and louder than she had when giving birth to her children. A pain so intense seared through her that it pitched her off the chair and she fell onto the floor. There she lay curled in a fetal position gasping in pain. Blood pooled around her. Granny B quickly bent down to her daughter.

Patsy grabbed some dishtowels and lifted Cathy’s dress to soak up some of the flowing blood. “There, there, Cathy. Lay still now,” she said. To Granny B she whispered, “I think she’s losing another one. Don’t let her move. I’ll go call for an ambulance.”

She bumped into the MacDonald sisters at the front door.

“Can’t go in there now,” Patsy said, pushing the girls back.

Annie cried,
“June said Mammy was going with Helen to Heaven. Is she dying, too?”

The children swarmed around Patsy with frightened questioning eyes. Patsy fidgeted with a button on her cardigan while she tried to think of what to say to keep the children calm.

Just then, Mrs. MacSwan popped out of her door. “Hullo! I’m looking for children to eat the sweets I’ve just baked. Anyone interested?” she asked, winking at Patsy.

Patsy gulped in relief when the children
’s heads turned toward Mrs. MacSwan. Happy for the offer, Margaret and Mary ran over to her flat. Annie and June stayed behind staring at their aunt.

“
I want my Mammy,” June said, lips quivering.

“
She’s sleeping. You don’t want to bother her,” Patsy replied back.

“
She’s no sleeping,” said June defiantly.

“
The truth is your Mammy’s very sick and I’m going to get the doctor. So, you go, pet, with your big sister to Mrs. MacSwan’s.”

The two MacDonald girls stood looking somber-eyed at their aunt, trying to figure out if she was fibbing.

Finally, Annie took hold of June’s hand and tugged her toward Mrs. MacSwan’s flat. She said, “The picture in your head wasn’t right. Mammy’s no dying.”

The men knew something was very wrong when Patsy came banging into the pub. She quickly explained the bad news to Jimmy and the others. They tossed back the remains of their drinks and rushed out of the pub and back to the flat.

Jimmy and Peter followed the ambulance to the hospital in a taxi. A hospital clerk led the men to a waiting room. Moments later Dr. MacFadden rushed past them, not noticing the two waiting men smoking nervously.

After a while Dr. MacFadden and a clerk entered the room. The doctor explained the complications surrounding the miscarriage and said that Cathy needed immediate surgery. It took only a moment for the doctor to realize that the two men weren’t coherent enough to understand the gravity of the situation. They reeked of alcoholic fumes and had blurred speech. Further explanation was useless. The doctor indicated to the clerk that Mr. MacDonald should sign the appropriate form for surgery. He then turned away and went back to work. 

The waiting room had two large
, curtained windows, a few uncomfortable chairs and a low wooden table scarred with cigarette burns. The men propped their feet up on the table and waited. The room became cold and drafty as the night wore on, which made things worse for the two grieving men.

It wasn
’t until early the next morning when Dr. MacFadden entered the room looking for Jimmy. He found both men slouched in chairs, asleep. Shaking Jimmy’s shoulder, he said, “Did you not listen to me when I told you that if you got your wife pregnant again, it could be the death of her?”

In a stupor of sleep, Jimmy mumbled,
“My wife’s dead?”

The doctor towered over Jimmy who sat slumped in his chair. His furious tone made Jimmy feel small.

“I told you about condoms, did I not?” the doctor said angrily. “Are you that selfish you can’t think of anything but your own pleasures?”

Jimmy was suddenly jolted wide-awake.
“It’s no my fault she lost it. And never you mind about what me and my wife do in our bedroom. You dirty minded…”

Enraged, he jumped up too quickly and bumped right into the doctor.
“I can see your no faithful to your religion,” he said accusingly.

Dr. MacFadden shook his head wearily, sighing as he rubbed his tired eyes.
“I had to perform a hysterectomy on your wife, Mr. MacDonald. You’ll never have to worry about her getting pregnant again.”

The news sank slowly into Jimmy
’s consciousness. As he watched MacFadden stride off, it occurred to him that he’d never have a son.

* * * *
*

Chapter 6

LEAVING FOR A NEW LIFE

MARCH
16, 1954