The Girls on Rose Hill (21 page)

"Molly's not due here until seven. I don't know if my uncles are coming so I'd like to stick around. My son and daughter are back at the house and they're pretty shook up about all of this. I don't think I have any food in the house. Would you mind dropping them off a pizza or something."

"Of course." Billy sounded grateful to be able to do something for me. "But, uh, who should I say I am?"

"A neighbor? A friend?" I ran my hand through his hair. "We can explain our, uh, relationship after..."

"It's okay, Ellen. We can take it slow. You don't have to make any decisions now."

I tried to smile. "Billy, you have been amazing. I don't know how I could've gotten through these past few weeks without you. I don't want this, us, to end. I don't."

He kissed me gently. "Neither do I."

"I need time to sort this out and I don't want to get my children involved right now. You understand, don't you?"

"I understand. Don't worry about any of this. Concentrate on getting through the next few days."

"Thank you, Billy."

When I returned to my mother's room, she was asleep, her breath a jagged rattle. Sister Elizabeth sat by the window, in full view of the courtyard.

"How is she?" I hoped Sister Elizabeth had somehow missed mine and Billy's kiss.

"The same, poor thing. She sees them, so it won't be long now."

"Them?" I sat in the chair across from Sister Elizabeth.

"Them. The spirits. The angels."

"Aw surely, Sister, you're an intelligent woman. You can't believe that."

She looked at me a moment, her wrinkled face solemn yet kind. "I am serious. I've been around death long enough to know what happens."

"With all due respect, Sister, I'm not sure I believe you."

"With all due respect, Ellen," she said tartly, "I don't need you to believe me. God and His messengers don't need your acknowledgement in order to exist and do their work."

I took Sister Elizabeth's hand and I said in a more conciliatory tone, "Sister, you've been so good to my mother, so good to me these past few weeks. I don't want to argue with you. And if my mother believes she's being visited by angels or whoever, so long as she's happy I guess I'm fine with it."

Sister gave me a hard look. "I didn't say she was happy. I said that she hasn't long now. She's fighting it. She's fighting them."

"Fighting?"

"Yes, fighting to stay alive."

"No, Sister, I think you're wrong. My mother has accepted her death."

"You're right, of course. She knows she's going to die. But yet, she's still holding on."

"To what? Holding on to what?" I asked.

"To you. I think she's holding on to her unfinished business with you."

"We have no more unfinished business, Sister. I told her I'd be with her to the end. She seemed happy with that."

"But have you told her that you love her?" Sister Elizabeth asked gently. "That you forgive her?"

"Our family's never been one for expressing our feelings. She knows that I'm here."

"Look, Ellen, I can't look into her head any better than I can look into yours but I believe that if you tell your mother these things, it will release her."

There was a moan from the bed as my mother continued to sleep fitfully.

"And end her suffering." I looked at my mother.

"Yes, end her suffering." Sister Elizabeth squeezed my hand. "And yours."

Sister Elizabeth walked over to my mother, whispered a prayer and then bent to kiss my mother on the forehead. Without another word, she left the room.

I sat alone with my mother. The weak afternoon sun barely penetrated through the room's small window. I walked to my mother and sat on her bed. I laid my hands on her poor battered body, shrunken and punctured with the tubes that brought her relief.

For some reason, I thought of the only time I could remember her smacking me. It was summertime. Me, the Conroy boys and the Griffins from down the street were playing hide and seek. I think I was around eight, maybe nine at the most. Billy Conroy, who I considered a baby at age six, kept following me wherever I hid. The two of us were huddled behind a bag of mulch in the shed. I poked Billy hard in the stomach because he kept sneezing.

"Stop sneezing," I whispered.

"Ow, stop hitting me. I can't help it."

"You're such a baby. Why don't you find your own hiding spot?"

The shed door flew open. I threw an old burlap bag over us. I was sick of being it. Someone lifted the bag. It was my mother. She roughly grabbed my arm and dragged me from the shed. She didn't seem to notice Billy.

"How many times? How many times have I told you not to go in that shed?"

My eyes squinted in the bright sun. "But, Mom, we were only..."

I looked up and her arm was lifted up in the air. With an almighty whack, she struck me across the backside. I could feel the sting through my thin terrycloth shorts. My eyes teared, not from the pain, because it didn't really hurt that much, but from the shock. My Granny gave me a smack every now and then, but never my mother. Never Rose.

She collapsed onto the lawn, her head in her hands. "Stay away from the shed. Never go in the shed."

Billy peeked out the door of the shed and when he saw Rose wasn't looking, he climbed the fence to his own front yard. My own eyes now dry, I stared at my mother.

She rocked back and forth. My quiet self contained mother who never cried, never yelled. Never spoke in anything but a calm clear voice. She moaned like a wounded animal.

I touched her shoulder and she flinched and gave a little shout that brought my grandmother to the front door.

"For goodness sake, what's going on?" Kitty climbed down the stairs and looked around to make sure none of the neighbors could see her hair in curlers. "Jesus, Rose, get hold of yourself." She looked at me. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I was playing in the shed and then Mom started yelling at me."

Kitty's face fell, her well rouged cheeks almost collapsed into themselves. "Get now, Ellie. Go play with your friends. I'll take care of your mother. She just had a bad turn. Too much sun."

I hesitated for a moment, but then walked down the stone steps to the children gathered in front of the Griffins' house. I could hear Granny say to my mother, "It's all right, Rosie. He's gone now. He's gone."

I looked down at my unconscious mother. What had those two put her through? What had I put her through? I stroked her hair. "Mom, it's Ellen," I said somewhat self-consciously. "I'm not sure if you can hear me or understand me, but I want you to know that I'm here. I'm here with you."

Her features remained still and didn't indicate whether she could hear me or not. Undeterred, I continued, "Mom, I know that things weren't easy for you. I don't know exactly what happened in that house, between you and Kitty and Peter. I do know that they hurt you, and for that I'm very sorry. I wish I'd known about all of this when I was growing up. I'd like to think that I would've been kinder to you. At least I hope I would've been."

My mother moved slightly in the bed.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry for being so hard on you. I don't even know myself exactly why I acted that way. It was as if I couldn't help myself. I just wanted to badly to fit in, be like the other girls in their perfect houses, their perfect families. It's stupid, I know, and I'm too old to use that excuse. I forgive you, Mom, for not being who I wanted you to be. I hope you can forgive me for failing you as a daughter. Please forgive me, Mom."

Tears streamed down my face as I moved closer to her. I whispered in her ear, "I love you Mom. I love you and I forgive you. Now please, please go find your peace."

I was crying and holding her hand when Molly and Auntie Maura entered the room about a half hour later. They said nothing to me as they surrounded the bed.

Chapter 24

Rose

"Rose."

I looked to the corner of the room, the corner that had been glowing for the past few days. People would call to me from that corner, but I would turn my head, close my ears. I wasn't ready to talk to any of them. And I wasn't ready now.

"Rose, love, can you hear me?"

Despite myself, I looked into the corner. There stood my Auntie Margaret, her hair a black curtain against the golden light. Her eyes, while a watery blue in life, were now a bright, brilliant aquamarine. They were mesmerizing.

"I can," I said as petulantly as a spoiled child, "but I'm not ready to listen to you. I'm not ready to listen to any of you."

"Then listen to her, Rosie. Listen to Ellen."

As if I was underwater, I could hear the faint sounds of my daughter's voice. "...I'm sorry I was so hard on you... forgive me..."

"It's okay now, Rosie. You can come to me."

"No," I said to my aunt. I felt so alone, so hollow. Ellen's words washed over me. The words of a guilty and stressed woman. A duty bound woman. Ah, yes, my daughter had done her duty by me. No one, not even I, could fault her for that.

I thought about my life and wondered why the two most important people in it, my mother and my daughter, found it so hard to love me. To protect me. To accept me for who I was. What was so wrong with me that despite my best efforts they couldn't love me?

"I love you... I forgive you."

I looked at Auntie Margaret. "Does she really mean it, do you think? She's not just saying that, is she?"

"She really means it, Rosie. She loves you. She's always loved you. She allowed other concerns to block that, but in her heart, deep down, she always loved you."

I felt Ellen's soft hand on my own bony one. It was warm, hot almost, as if her love for me burned through it.

"She loves me."

"Yes, Rosie, she does. They all love you. All the people you touched here on earth."

"I was loved?"

"Of course, Rosie. You've always been loved." The light behind Auntie Margaret began to burn even brighter. "Rosie, there are others who want to tell you how much they love you. Your mother. Your father."

I looked at her, entranced by the colors in the light. Gold, purple, red.

Auntie Margaret stepped forward and reached for my hand. "We have the most beautiful flowers here, Rosie. So beautiful."

I felt light and for the first time in weeks, the dull throbbing in my head was gone. I took her hand.

* * *

Ellen

My mother's breath quickened. She gasped, open mouthed, as if she were one of Paul's fishes, fighting for its life. Maura and Molly laid their hands on her bedcovers and prayed while I stared at my mother transfixed.

"Go, Mom," I whispered. "Go."

She lifted her hand from the bed, fingers outreached as if grabbing for something. Or someone.

She gave one more rattling gasp and then her hand fell back to the bed.

"Molly!" Auntie Maura shouted. "Quick, open the window. So that her spirit can get out."

Molly struggled to open the small window. I ran over to help her and together we lifted the reluctant window wide open, wide enough for my poor mother's tortured soul to escape us.

Chapter 25

Ellen

My mother was laid out in the navy blue dress she wore to Molly's son's wedding last year. With her hair pulled back in a chic knot and her lips painted an uncharacteristic crimson, she looked more like an executive secretary than my meek mother. Her chin jutted out, stubbornly, not unlike my own. Funny how I never noticed this similarity when she was alive.

The afternoon viewing was well attended by the parishioners of St. Ann's and our various neighbors. I was surprised that my mother had had so many friends and admirers. There was even a young Hispanic day worker who came to pay his respects. He proudly handed me a bouquet of flowers and told me how my mother had treated him with respect when he was out of work and homeless. He assured me that things were better for him now, but that he never forgot Rose's kindness.

The evening viewing was for family and close friends only. My children were there of course; my son Michael still upset that he hadn't seen my mother before she passed. Veronica chatted with Sarah, Molly's daughter. Timmy was surrounded by Paul's two sons, one of whom would be joining him at Duke in the Fall. I circulated among the various relatives. My nose twitched from the overwhelming flower arrangements.