Delaney. Part XXI

“You look lovely, my dear.” Julien gushes as Magdalene steps into the convent entryway.

“And, Adrienne I can’t believe how grown up you look!” she adds as Ash, Jackson, Shelly and Adrienne file in behind her.

“Let me fetch Sister Shannon. She’ll be so pleased to see you.”

“And, if we might,” Ash inserts, “We’d love to see Sister Mary Eunice if you think she could manage some visitors.”

“Oh, Sister Mary Eunice loves visitors. You can see it in her eyes when people come calling. But I’m afraid she’s not here.”

The arriving visitors await further explanation at the oddity of her absence. Then Sister Julien says, “Let me go collect Sister Shannon. She’ll be finishing up the girls’ morning lessons about now.” And looking to Shelly, “And I will also fetch little miss Fiona.”

Jackson suppresses his curiosity and the group moves into the waiting area to plant themselves.

“Ten years ago,” Ash says, picking up Magdalene’s hand and squeezing, “we sat in these very chairs as I informed you of our plans to hire a boat and return to England.”

“I’ve not forgotten,” Magdalene replies. “And I told you about my family in London. It’s where you learned that my father worked at corporate headquarters and that he and your mother knew one another.”

“A receptionist knows everyone working in their building.” He says.

“Yes, but not all who work there know the receptionist. Father had mentioned Mrs. Rourk to us as a kindly woman at the front desk and made certain we greeted her whenever we came to visit him.”

“And was it that connection, my love, that finally warmed you to my affections? After all, my drafting a forged marriage certificate to get you out of Ireland was not completely innocent.”

“Let’s just say that my recalling your mother’s kindness didn’t hurt your cause.”

Sister Shannon breezes into the waiting area, all heaviness now banished from her glowing face.

“My dear, dear Magdalene,” she says. “I hardly recognized you without your habit and tunic.” Magdalene stands and finds herself in Shannon’s embrace.

Shelly raises an eyebrow at the reference and Sister Shannon clarifies, “It was the best we could do to throw the Care Home guards off her trail as they nosed about.”

“You may be surprised to know,” Shelly says, “that to this day Magdalene and Adrienne are the only residents to have successfully left the Murder Factory without permission.”

“Delaney hasn’t breathed a word of it to her Father,” Adrienne confirms. “Far as he knows, I’m just some girl she met when living at the convent who’s come for a visit. Did you know she works there now, Delaney does. But I’m not keen to go visit her at work.”

“Nor I,” Admits Magdalene. But then Sister Shannon tries to put a positive spin upon the care home.

“I understand that the home has improved since those days. Conditions improving and people receiving better treatment.” And she almost sounds as if she’s trying to convince herself. Shelly chooses not to challenge the nun.  

A girl of about five or six springs into the room at full speed.

“Mummy!” She cries, racing over to Shelly and jumping into her waiting arms.

****

“Sister Orla.” Delaney says. “What a surprise to see you here.” Delaney is wearing blue scrubs with Drogheda Care Home stitched just above the breast pocket where a City of London Corporation logo is emblazoned. She carries a clipboard in her hand and comes from around a desk to greet the Sister in the entrance to the facility with a sign that reads “Receiving” on the wall above them.

 “It’s been too long, girl.” Sister Orla scolds pulling Delaney in for a peck on the cheek. “You should come more often. The little ones like it when you show up.”

“I suppose it gives them a bit of hope to see those of us who came through the place and landed on our feet.”

“I’m here for official reasons, I’m afraid. To admit someone.” An orderly in identical blue scrubs wheels in Sister Mary Eunice. There is a spark in the old nun’s eyes upon seeing Delaney, and Delaney kneels next to her wheelchair and looks tenderly at her.

“Sister! I’m sorry I haven’t come to visit. I’ve been occupied in the gardens and then working here part-time.”

The Sister’s eyes lock upon the Drogheda Care Home insignia upon Delaney’s shirt. The look on her face changes from warm recognition to distress, as if the realization of Delaney’s connection to the facility has dawned afresh upon her. Delaney looks down at the place the Sister is staring at.

“I can’t seem to keep myself as neat as you used to, Sister,” Delaney says, scratching at a little stain on her shirt. “I’ve never been a very tidy one.”

But Sister Mary Eunice is trying to move her mouth, attempting to speak, but only a little stuttering moan is released. She looks to be in agony.

“What is it Sister,” Orla says, as Delaney stands up.

Now Mary Eunice’s eyes have fixed upon Delaney’s right arm. Upon the tattoo, and Delaney peers down at it. She bends down and kisses the Sister’s forehead.

“Don’t worry about it, Sister.” Delaney says quietly. “It’s alright now that I’m grown. People just think it’s a frivolous tattoo.” Then putting her lips right to Mary Eunice’s ear, “No more druids Sister. I’m safe now.”

“I think you have guessed why we’re here.” Sister Orla says, but this is giving too much credit to Delaney’s powers of deduction. “We’re here to admit the Sister to the Care Home.”

In truth, Delaney never would have guessed that the Sisters would choose to send Mary Eunice here. She’d fancied that the Sisters of the Immaculate Conception were the sort who would forever care for Mary Eunice at the convent.

“It’s simply gotten too … too overwhelming, what with 23 girls now under our charge and just the three of us nuns to manage. We didn’t feel we could give the kind of care Sister Mary Eunice deserves. Isn’t that right Sister?” She says this last sentence loudly annunciating carefully. She pats Mary Eunice on the shoulder, though there is nothing wrong with the woman’s hearing, nor her cognition.

“Well then,” Says Delaney, looking down at her clipboard. “I think we can find a nice room in the invalid wing for her.”

“We knew you’d take extra care of her, Delaney. Thank you. We’re prepared to pay the first year’s fee up front.”

“Don’t even think about it, Sister.” Delaney is insistent. “This is the person who brought me into this world. Raised me. Taking care of her fees is the least I can do. And if I can’t convince Papa to accept her for free, then I shall pay her fees myself, from my own wages.”

“Oh Delaney, you’re such a good girl.” And Sister Orla pulls her in for another kiss. “Such a fine girl.

“Perhaps one day,” And Orla trails off. but the words have left her mouth, and she can’t recall them.

“One day what, Sister?”

“Never mind.” Orla says. To suggest Delaney might one day join their order runs counter to their practice. Women who join do not do so because they were invited or cajoled. They must request admittance out of conviction. In fact, the head nun is expected to place obstacles in the way of candidates. If they are unwilling to push past things as simple as a lengthy waiting period, or a term of difficult service in the community, then how will they pledge a lifelong commitment to poverty, chastity and obedience?

Delaney would like to know what the Sister intended to say, but she does not press further. She guesses at what it was. Beg Delaney to one day soon visit the convent? Or one day to see the sister restored to her old self? Perhaps Orla was going to ask her to appeal to her Father for a contribution to the convent. Delaney is left with the nagging suspicion that she’s neglecting something important. But the girl is a guilt magnet, obsessing over her shortcomings and always assuming she’s not measuring up. It’s a malady so many of her orphan mates find themselves suffering well into adulthood.

“I think we shall put you in a room with Mrs. Orlanbury.” Delaney concludes. “The woman will talk your ear off, but you’ll never feel unattended to.”

****

“She’s cute,” Jackson quips sitting next to Shelly on the ride back to Drogheda. “Fiona.”

“Yeah,” says Shelly. “Smart too. But I suppose all parents think their kid is exceptional.”

The carriage rumbles along and Jackson does not ask how she has come to have a child. He’s grown at peace with what secrets a person may choose to keep. Or perhaps as a white, English, corporate executive living in the Bengali Autonomous Region he’s just gotten used to there always being an elephant in the room.

Ash and Magdalene are leaning on one another, her head on his shoulder and his head upon hers. If they’re not asleep they are at least in a state where they’ve lost all interest in any conversation happening around them. Adrienne sits outside the carriage on the bench with the driver, blathering away to him in her carefree manner.

“When I came back to work that next day after the escape,” Shelly finally begins, “they had turned the place upside down looking for clues. After a couple of days everything seemed to blow over. Things went back to normal and I thought the matter had been buried. But a week after you left, Murphey called me in to his office. Started asking specific questions about the escape, questions that made it clear that he knew. I played dumb; it was no use. Turns out someone gave a description of the passengers aboard the ship you hired. He knew you and Ash were involved and Cosgrove and Murphey knew I was connected to you.

“So, Murphey gave me two choices. Either be fired and turned over to the authorities for aiding two residents in their unauthorized departure, or I could service him. As in his own private assistant – whether in his office or in his bedroom.”

Jackson lets the weighty consequences of his and Ash’s actions sit on his conscience for a moment.

“Then, Murphey is Fiona’s father?”

“No.” Shelly spits with a look of disgust and surprise. “God, no.

“I told him that if he turned me over to the authorities my ‘corporate cousins’ who worked at headquarters could mess with their numbers; increase quotas, decrease allowances. Murphey and Cosgrove knew by then that you weren’t inspectors. But they figured you were close enough to the corporation to make life difficult for them. Of course, they knew any complaints from Magdalene or Adrienne, or their families would fall on deaf ears. The corporation knows what goes on at the Murder Factories. They simply have too much to gain by the arrangement. So, we struck a deal. I accept a demotion with my hours and pay cut in half, and they’d drop the matter forever.

“But shortly after that my brother Conor got sick. Tuberculosis. The drugs were expensive, made and shipped from some lab in England. This was back when travel was still restricted. Getting stuff from England required lots of money.”

“I wish you would have said something.” Jackson says trying to keep this from sounding like a scolding and more as it’s intended – one friend wishing he’d have had opportunity to help another.

Shelly shrugs. “It is what it is.” Then she pauses. “I ended up working weekends at the brothel in Dunleer. My folks didn’t like it, but it was the best of bad options. I think I know who Fiona’s father is. Was something of a regular back then, but he’s moved somewhere else. Now that Conor’s recovered and gotten married, moved out, we can manage. I haven’t worked the brothel in over a year.” Then she looks up counting quietly. “Wait. No, two years. It’s been twenty-five months since I worked there.”

Jackson takes her hand and grips it tightly. She lets him but doesn’t squeeze his in return. It’s like her insides have been reamed out. Seems fitting that her parents and siblings call her “Shell.”

“Goat Milk Stout?” Jackson asks, lifting his eyebrows. “Just for old times.”

“For old times.” She says, and finally cracks a small smile.