The Convent (40 page)

‘Marriage is hard, Sister,' she whispered. It was as much as she could say, but oh she needed to say it and this nun was safe. It didn't do to blather to anyone else about it.

‘It's been ever thus,' the nun smiled down at her, ‘but remember that God is with you always, Ellen. No burden is so great that God will not share it with you.'

Suddenly and without warning that didn't seem enough any more. Ellen's life rolled out in front of her like a dry, rutted track leading nowhere. Where was the lightness? Where was the joy? Desperation welled up in her like vomit
. Oh dearest God! Oh Blessed
Virgin Mary, help me!
She reached for the nun's hand.

‘Pray I'm not here again next year.' She kept her voice as low as she could because she knew what she was asking was a terrible sin. ‘God will listen to you!'

‘Ellen!' The nun was genuinely shocked. ‘I can't pray for
that
! God has a plan for each and every one of us. We all must accept the burdens that we are given.'

‘But it is too hard,' Ellen gasped. ‘It is just too … hard.'

‘It just seems that way sometimes, dear!'

‘No … it is … too hard.'

‘I will pray for you,' the nun said gently, ‘and I'll ask all the other sisters to keep you in their prayers too.'

‘No more children …' Ellen groaned, closing her eyes. ‘Please pray I have no more children.'

‘Now, come on, Ellen,' the nun said sternly, ‘you don't know what you're saying. Concentrate on what you're doing here now. Remember Our Blessed Lord never sends us a burden that we can't carry. And you know better than I do that a dear little child is not burden but a blessing. There is always a way.'

Ellen turned her face to the wall and began to sob quietly to herself. The labour pains were strong, but they weren't registering. The
core
of her wasn't even present. The pains simply went on without her.

‘Pray, Ellen,' the nun whispered kindly.

‘For what?' She grabbed hold of the cool, small, soft hand with her own rough one. ‘What do I pray for?'

‘For grace, dear,' Sister Patrice said softly, ‘to accept the things we cannot change.'

Ellen let the tears run down her cheeks. She thought of Dominic, the eldest and her darling, and consequently the one Kev picked on most. His lively young face pulled so often into a frown now, his shoulders getting more hunched every day. He was becoming a little old man before he'd even begun to grow up. Oh … she knew she had to hang on for him!

Ellen gasped as a flood of water streamed out of her.

‘It's coming! The waters have broken.'

‘Good,' Sister Patrice said calmly, ‘I'll call Doctor.' She squeezed Ellen's hand.‘And we'll have a lovely new babe here before too long.'

Oh this was the worst part! The pain didn't let up at all. And that poor girl still screaming and groaning opposite. Ellen could hear Patrice's soothing voice over there helping her use the gas.
Breathe deeply now, dear. That's right.

Think of something else! Something good and nice! Feast days in the big hall back at the convent. The special food; how they loved the lollies and cordial. She'd won the elocution prize three years in a row and still had two of the little gold medallions with her name inscribed on the back. How proud she'd felt heading up in front of all the girls and the nuns. There were so many feast days and concerts and special Masses and so much beautiful music to look back on.

She hardly ever even heard music anymore, much less played any, and the worst thing was that she was so busy that she barely missed it. But sometimes, after feeding a baby in the dead of night or in those precious few minutes with her morning cuppa, she'd become aware of the empty space inside herself, a space that used to be filled with notes, rhythm and songs.

By the time Sister Patrice was back with the doctor the second stage was over and Ellen had the familiar urge to push. Relief set in. It was downhill from here. The waves of pain and the need to push out the child became one and she felt well able to do it. She imagined herself in a ship on the ocean, roiling about in stormy seas. How frightening it would be and yet she wished she were there on that ship and not where she was, on her back with her legs up in stirrups.

‘Only a few more and we'll be finished,' the doctor murmured, one cool hand on her stomach.

We'll be finished?
An intense stab of hatred for him and for all men filled her. There she was naked from the waist down, grunting like a farm animal, her body bursting with all she had to expel, blood, muck, water and a child. There was no dignity in it. None whatsoever. Why hadn't someone told her? If she'd known she would have become a nun herself. She longed suddenly to be the one standing coolly by watching someone else suffer!

‘I think we have another big one here, Mrs Madden!'

Ellen was suddenly too exhausted to care. The next urge came and she simply lay back and looked at the three of them, the doctor, the nun and the nurse, standing by waiting for her.

‘Ellen?'

‘I'm too tired,' she whispered.

‘Come on now, Mrs Madden,' the doctor said sternly. ‘This is the easy bit now.'

‘So why don't you do it,' Ellen yelled, ‘if it's so bloody easy?'

‘Ellen.' Sister Patrice was leaning low, whispering into her ear. ‘Come on now, dear. This little one is ready to be born.'

‘But I don't
want
another baby!' Ellen shouted. ‘I don't! I can hardly deal with the poor mites that I have already!'

‘Come on now, dear,' Sister said soothingly. ‘One push now.'

But how could she tell them how afraid she was of going back to the farm, of being lost there, smothered under the blanket of work. No friends. No time. No music. Of being subject to Kevin's sour tempers and hot needs. No rest. No rest even in bed! To the waves of terrible exhaustion that had her going to bed each night wishing she wouldn't wake up.

‘Ellen! Concentrate!' the nun said severely, taking her hand.

‘I don't want to!'

‘But you must!'

Ellen sighed and gathered up her energy and pushed with all her might.

‘Yes yes yes.' The nurse bent down and smiled into her face. ‘It's crowned now. Good girl. Good girl! You're doing well. Just one or two more.'

‘But I can't.'

‘You can! You must!'

And she did. She pushed the little body out into the hands of the doctor. All she saw was the top of the bloodied head before she fell back and closed her eyes.

‘There you are!' the nun chortled, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘See, you did it.'

‘Yes indeed,' the doctor mumbled approvingly, ‘and a good weight too.'

Leave me alone.

Then she heard a shrill, hard, newborn baby's cry. It was hers, she supposed, but she still didn't open her eyes.
Let someone else deal
with it.
They were whispering together, cooing over the baby, but Ellen didn't really care. It was over. She vaguely knew she should be thanking God for the healthy child, but all she could feel was a profound and bitter relief. It was over …
over, over, over.

Until next time.

‘Aren't you going to look at your baby?' Sister Patrice asked gently.

Ellen shook her head. Someone else came in and there were whispers and the clink of instruments on steel dishes. She supposed they were cutting and tying the cord. She felt the doctor's hands on her stomach again and felt him push down firmly and then there were a couple of tugs as the afterbirth was pulled from her.

‘Mrs Madden?'

‘What?' Ellen moaned.

‘Ellen, dear.'

‘Leave me be, please.'

‘Ellen, there is a surprise for you,' Sister said. ‘Come on now, dear. Open your eyes.'

It was the word
surprise
that did it. Slowly, slowly she opened her eyes. The nun was holding the baby right up next to her. Its little face had been washed of the blood and gunk and she could see the jaw working, the eyes tight shut and one tiny hand poking out of the blanket.

‘See.' Sister Patrice opened up the little flannelette blanket, and Ellen's mouth fell open. ‘See!' Sister Patrice laughed. But Ellen didn't laugh. She sat up a little on the pillows and simply stared at the child.

‘You have a girl,' the nun whispered softly. ‘A lovely healthy little girl.'

‘But is it … Is she mine?' Ellen croaked. She thought they might be playing some kind of trick on her. Either that or maybe she was dreaming.

But the nun and the doctor were both smiling. ‘Yes,' they said in unison.

‘Mine?'

Ellen saw the tears in the nun's eyes and it touched her. This old woman had told her once that although she'd presided over hundreds of births she always considered it a privilege and a joy.

‘Your first girl, Ellen,' Sister Patrice said joyfully.

‘Oh!' Ellen held out her arms for the baby.

‘What will you call her?'

But Ellen couldn't speak.

A girl!
The child's eyes were closed tight and her little fist clutched the blanket. She held the baby close, noting the hair and the prettiness of her features and wishing suddenly that all her boys, especially Dominic, were there to see their new sister. Ah well, they'd see her soon enough. She'd be home soon enough.

Could there be any better place than resting in a quiet ward of new mothers? Could there be a better feeling than being put into a bed that someone else had made with clean, fresh sheets? Could there be anything more welcome than that first cup of hot, sweet tea?

Edna sipped her tea and returned the smile of the woman in the bed alongside hers.

‘What did you have?' the woman asked.

‘A girl. A girl after six boys.'

The woman laughed. ‘Well done!'

Edna lay and watched the light change through the three long windows at the end of the ward. And when the nurse brought the baby back for nursing, she felt a fresh spurt of joy as she held out her arms for the pink-blanketed bundle.

It was while she sat there with the babe in her arms that the music began to play. She looked around. Where was it coming from? Oh, but Ellen knew this music so well. It was Bach's
St Matthew
Passion
and she hadn't heard it in years. The woman in the bed next to her had a little radio.

‘Not bothering you?' she asked.

‘Oh no no.' Ellen smiled. ‘No, not at all.'

Just at that moment the child's eyes opened and Ellen laughed with delight. The little girl had lovely blue eyes like her brothers, and she seemed to be listening to the music too.

Ellen closed her eyes and tried to conjure up the mother she'd never known. She imagined her coming in through the door of the ward to see her granddaughter. How would they greet each other? What would they say?

Oh, St Cecilia
, she prayed,
patron saint of music, let goodness flow
through this little girl like the sweetest song! Let her voice rise up to the
heavens every single day! Keep her away from men and marriage and
babies and manual work. Take her into a life of holiness with you and all
the other saints.

When Sister Patrice dropped by later that night with a pair of booties knitted by one of the old nuns, she found Ellen lying quite still staring into space.

‘So do we have a name yet?' the nun asked.

‘Cecilia,' Ellen said with a tired smile.

The nun nodded approvingly. ‘Let's hope she will sing.'

Ellen put the biro down. Even if that granddaughter of hers never found out about the circumstances of her own birth, at least she'd know how much her own mother was wanted that first day on earth.

Cecilia
1972

It was her last night in Paris, and they walked back to the convent together along a winding narrow street. People stood respectfully aside for them to pass. After all, she was a nun in the full habit and he was a priest and they were in one of the most Catholic countries in the world.

Cecilia was very aware of being alive, of walking through that soft dark evening in the most beautiful of cities.

‘I believe you have eight brothers, no less?'

‘Yes,' she laughed.

‘I'm an only child,' he told her.

‘Then we'll never see eye to eye,' Cecilia said quickly, and then wanted to bite out her tongue. Why had she said such a stupid thing?

He was silent for a while. Then he turned to her with a soft smile. ‘I think we see eye to eye, Sister.'

‘Yes.' Cecilia felt her face grow hot.

‘After the seminar the other day, I noticed when someone came up to you and said something, and you started laughing, and you bent from the middle like you really meant it. You were really laughing and I thought … Well, after that, I was unconsciously looking around for the Sister who knew how to laugh.'