The Four Streets Saga

by Nadine Dorries

  They had not passed a single car along the way. She felt gripped with terror when she realized that if anything did happen to the car, both she and Kitty would surely freeze to death before they were discovered. She was glad that Kitty was sleeping and unaware of their danger.

  Rosie had no idea that since her baby boy had been born and taken away from her on Christmas morning, Kitty had lain awake, day and night, yearning for Rosie to arrive. She had barely moved her gaze from the window, watching for the car headlights. Kitty was now in the deepest sleep. With her pain controlled by the pethedine, her body had surrendered.

  Although she was cold, Rosie was sweating with fear and praying out loud.

  ‘Thank you, Lord, for bringing me here. Now, could you just take me a little further, please God.’

  Rosie prayed to every saint a day was named after, to every angel whose name she could remember and to the Holy Mother. She barely stopped to draw breath as she did so. She knew that if she stopped to think about their predicament, she might lose her resolve. Rosie was tough, having seen and dealt with most things. Now, however, she was alone. Her ability to reach help was at the mercy of the elements and she had never before felt so out of control, or been so afraid.

  Irish winters were harsh and the locals in Bangornevin still spoke sadly of the two brothers who had been discovered in their farmhouse, snowed in and frozen to death, in 1947, as though it had happened only yesterday.

  Rosie reached over to the back seat to place her hand on Kitty’s forehead. The girl appeared to be more unconscious than asleep. Despite the cold, Rosie knew, with heightened concern, that Kitty was burning up.

  ‘Oh, God in heaven, no. Please, not peritonitis, Lord, please, no,’ Rosie whispered to the heavens, putting her foot down and trying in vain to drive faster and more safely.

  ‘God in heaven, help us,’ she whispered, crossing herself, as she followed the river round to Castlefeale. Tears of fear filled her eyes, as she began to shiver violently with the cold.

  Rosie thought about her husband and their animals on the farm. Maybe he had been right. Maybe she should have listened to him. ‘That would be a first if ever there was one, eh, Kitty,’ she said aloud and laughed nervously. What she wouldn’t give now to have her husband here, giving out to her for not listening to him.

  ‘Ye always think ye knows best, Rosie, but ye don’t, not always!’ How many times had he said that to her and she had scoffed in his face, right back at him.

  Talking out loud to Kitty, albeit it with a trembling voice, helped to calm her fear and made her feel less alone.

  ‘What I wouldn’t give right now for you, Kitty, to sit up on the back seat and tell me you are feeling much better. God in heaven, I would gladly give away everything I owned, if that would happen just now.’

  But there was no response to her frantic gabbling. Not a sound.

  She leant over the steering wheel to scrape away the ice, yet again, from the inside of her windscreen. She could see her breath before her, forming into soft grey clouds. She blew hard on the glass, hoping it would make some difference.

  Never in her life had she known a night as cold as this. Never.

  As she rounded the bend into Castlefeale, turning away from the river, Rosie’s heart sank further. They had lost the moon.

  ‘Well, there goes the moon, so we are on our own now, Kitty. At least it kept us from driving straight into the river, thanks be to God.’

  She was talking faster as her fear mounted.

  The road became dark as the mountains rose up on either side, casting their shadows, obscuring the torch of the moon that had illuminated their route, but then suddenly, as though in answer to her prayers, it slipped out from between the two mountains and illuminated the way ahead.

  ‘Oh, thank you, Lord,’ Rosie now sobbed in relief as once again she scraped furiously at the windscreen.

  After what seemed like hours, they passed through Bellgarett and Rosie gave a huge sigh of relief. They were heading towards civilization, such as it was in this part of the world. As she drove past the post office she noticed that they had been spotted. Her husband would now be telephoned and told she had passed safely through. She wound down the window and waved feebly before quickly drawing her arm back inside.

  ‘We’ve been clocked, Kitty,’ she said. ‘They will be ringing on ahead now so that they will be watching out for us in Bangornevin. By the time we arrive in Ballymara, they will be waiting for us with a smashing dinner. Won’t that be grand?’

  As she reached the doctor’s house she pulled up sharply in front of the gates but her heart sank. The building was in darkness and the gates were firmly locked. Shaking her head, she quickly slipped back behind the wheel and carried on towards Bangornevin, heading through to Ballymara.

  Rosie wondered what reason Maeve and Julia would have given to Mrs Doyle, the nosiest postmistress in all of Ireland, for this visit on the coldest night of the year. She told herself that no one would notice Kitty, lying on the back seat. They would think something was up at the farmhouse for Rosie to be so mad as to drive on a night like this.

  ‘A good meal in your insides is what we need next, eh, Kitty. Sure, we must be the only people in all of Ireland not indoors.’

  Rosie could not hear a sound from the back seat. Not even the faintest breathing.

  But her fear began to subside as she felt the watching eyes of the home villages, following them on their way. At last, they were safe. No harm would come to them now. The hardest part of Rosie’s journey was yet to come: the mile and a half down the bumpy terrain of the Ballymara Road. Although she was used to being in charge during difficult, even life-threatening situations, she felt a huge relief to see Maeve and her sister-in-law Julia running out to meet them when she finally drew up outside the farmhouse.

  Through the doorway, a warm light radiated onto the road. She could see the welcoming flames of the peat fire licking up the chimney; she could smell the freshly baked bread wafting towards her. Rosie felt as though she had driven into heaven.

  The skies were darker over Ballymara and as Rosie opened the back door of the Hillman Hunter, the flakes began to fall thick and heavy.

  ‘God in heaven,’ said Maeve as she saw Kitty asleep on the back seat. ‘Julia, get Liam out here now.’

  Within seconds, Liam was at her side and between them they slipped Kitty out through the car door. Liam carried her into their kitchen and laid her down on the padded settle in front of the fire.

  ‘She hardly looks like the same girl we dropped off at the Abbey,’ he said, with more than a hint of anger in his voice.

  ‘She looks desperate, Rosie,’ said Maeve.

  ‘Well now, I’ll not hide the truth from you in your own home. It is desperate,’ said Rosie. ‘I think she may be developing an infection. I called into the doctor’s house when I passed through Bangornevin, but there were no lights on.’

  ‘They have gone back to her mother’s house in Liverpool for Christmas,’ said Maeve. ‘They won’t be back until after the new year. And even if they were there, no one can know about this. What in God’s name do we do?’

  ‘Well, right now I want to give her a proper clean-up and check the stitches I rushed to put in at the Abbey. Have you any chicken stock to get down her, Maeve? It’s the next best thing to penicillin. The Abbey girls told me the poor kid has lived off next to nothing for months. It’s a wonder she had the strength to give birth to her baby at all. We need to pray hard, ladies. This child is as sick as sick can be. Frankly, if she was on one of my wards I wouldn’t give much for her chances, never mind out here in the country without a doctor or a hospital for miles.’

  Julia crossed herself. ‘I need to drive to the post office and telephone Kathleen in Liverpool so that she can break the news to Maura and Tommy.’

  ‘No,’ Rosie said sharply. ‘There is nothing they can do. They couldn’t even travel here in this weather. Let’s leave it for a day. I need a chance to nurse her back to hea
lth, if I can.’

  ‘Well, ye don’t need to do that alone, Rosie. Mrs McGuffey has the cure for this. Liam, Liam!’ Julia shouted, rushing through the kitchen to the back porch, where she knew Liam would be. ‘Can ye get the van out and get to the McGuffeys’ in Gisala?’

  ‘Aye, I can do me best,’ said Liam.

  Within minutes, they saw the van lights disappearing slowly along Rosie’s fresh tracks in the snow, up the Ballymara Road.

  Maeve, who was forty and childless, was filled with sadness at Kitty’s return to the farmhouse, alone, without her baby. Maeve would have loved to have adopted Kitty’s child, but Liam wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘We still have time for our own yet,’ he had whispered to her in the dark when they were lying in bed. Maeve had used every trick in the book known to woman. If she couldn’t persuade Liam to let them adopt the baby, when he had a belly full of Guinness in the moments just after sex and before sleep, she knew she never would.

  Julia came in to set down a bowl of hot water and a pile of clean, warm towels.

  Rosie said, ‘God, it is better facilities here than it is in the Abbey, I can tell ye, Maeve.’

  Kitty would need to be washed down. Both Maeve and Julia had noticed a smell of stale blood as she entered the warm farmhouse.

  ‘What was the baby?’ Maeve whispered to Rosie as she ladled soup out of the pot into mugs. Maeve was sensitive to the fact that even though Kitty was half unconscious, she might be able to hear.

  ‘The girls from the Abbey told me it was a boy. I spoke to the one who was there, Aideen, her name was. She said it was an awful time, but, she swore, God held her hands as she delivered him. She told me he was beautiful, with dark hair and bright blue eyes. Kitty named him John, although, God knows, his adoptive parents will already have altered that.’

  Maeve handed Rosie the mug of soup. ‘Did she have any time with him?’

  ‘Not long. She was forbidden from leaving the labour room. Apparently the nuns were all of a dither that a beautiful baby boy had been born at the Abbey on Christmas morning, it being a full moon and all. One of the sisters said she had seen an angel rise over the Abbey, when the boy was being born and it sent them all quite senseless. The Reverend Mother had the boy taken straight to the nursery and out of sight at first light, so Kitty had only a couple of hours with him. The girls said she didn’t put him down from the moment he was born at about four o’clock until the Reverend Mother had him taken away.

  ‘She was distraught, the girls said. She has been asking for him constantly since he was taken. God knows, the girls who helped were relieved to see me. The chatty one, Aideen, thought Kitty was killing herself with the grief and looking at her now, she may have been right. Her chances of making it to this time tomorrow aren’t great, I can tell you.’

  ‘Aye, but ye didn’t know about Mrs McGuffey, Rosie,’ said Maeve. ‘We don’t lose many women around here, once they have been given a few doses of Mrs McGuffey’s home brew.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Maeve, I’m a trained midwife and I’m struggling. How can Mrs McGuffey know what to bloody do?’

  Rosie was never one to let her professional demeanour slip. A look of surprise crossed her face as she realized she had sworn for the first time in her life. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she found herself laughing. She was only too well aware that in every country home there existed a potion for every ailment known to man.

  ‘I’m sorry, Maeve, it’s just that out here in the country, between you, every house has it covered from impotency to impetigo. God alone knows what the doctor does.’

  As Rosie and Julia began tenderly to undress Kitty, Rosie didn’t notice a tear slide down Maeve’s cheek.

  The perfect loving wife, the kindest friend and neighbour, Maeve now felt desperately sad. She had never asked her husband, Liam, for anything. She had never needed to but, now, although Liam was a good and loving husband, for the first time in her marriage she felt angry.

  In the only thing she really needed from Liam to ease her deep sadness and make her happy, he had refused her. She could have brought up Kitty’s baby as her own. They would have found a way and then Kitty could have been an auntie to the baby. Sure, how many families did they all know of in Ireland and Liverpool where that happened? There was a family on every street. It was the widely accepted thing to do. Why couldn’t Liam do it too?

  ‘I couldn’t love another man’s child, Maeve, so I couldn’t,’ he had pleaded. ‘If it isn’t ours, how can it be our baby?’

  ‘Because people can and do,’ Maeve had replied. ‘Ye love that mangy dog that goes everywhere with ye as if it were ye son. Am I wrong? Am I?’

  Liam had stormed out of the room. He did indeed love his dog and Maeve’s question was a fair one, but he just couldn’t answer it.

  ‘Maeve, is that you?’

  Kitty had woken as Rosie and Julia began to wash her down, making soothing noises as they did so. Maeve already had nightclothes warming for Kitty by the fire. She had hung them there as soon as she heard Kitty was coming.

  Rosie was removing Kitty’s blood-soaked knickers and they were both trying to sit her on the chamber pot, which Liam had tactfully placed on the floor before he left for Gisala. Maeve held both Kitty’s hands to steady her as she wobbled to one side. Kitty looked as though she would break if she fell off the pot.

  ‘Aye, Kitty. You are back in Ballymara and we are going to look after you here. You will be right soon enough and back in Liverpool before you know it.’

  Kitty wasn’t listening to what Maeve said. She stared straight into her eyes.

  ‘I have to find him. I have to find my baby.’

  Rosie said, ‘Kitty, we need you to concentrate on getting yourself better. We will talk about the baby later. Let’s just think about you. Here, swallow this.’ Maeve held up to her lips a mug of oversweet tea with aspirin dissolved and concealed in the thick, brown liquid.

  While Maeve held Kitty upright on the pot, Rosie poured the jug of soapy water over her wounds to clean her stitches. Then, placing a towel under and across her, they lifted her onto the huge padded settle and laid her down on a feather eiderdown covered with towels.

  Rosie whispered to Maeve, ‘I have to return tomorrow with the rest of the money. Can you believe it? The sisters are charging us to half kill the child. The money from the Americans to buy the baby isn’t enough.’

  ‘That cannot be right,’ Maeve replied.

  ‘It isn’t,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ve already made enquiries but you know the Church, all powerful, more powerful than the government, even. It is all a cosy agreement if you ask me. Everyone knows what is happening but it is all kept secret. They have no such institutions for the boys, mind.’

  Rosie felt Kitty’s pulse; it was weak and thready. Her skin was sallow and hot, her abdomen was distended and hard, and a foul-smelling pus oozed from her perineum. Rosie crossed herself. The pus was as nothing, compared to what might be developing internally.

  Rosie sat down on the end of the settle with a sigh.

  ‘Go to bed, Maeve,’ she said. ‘I will sit with her for the night. She is in my charge. I will need your help in the morning, but for now, you grab what’s left of your sleep.’

  ‘I will not,’ said Maeve. ‘We will have a drink and a ciggie here and wait and see what Liam fetches back from Gisala.’

  Maeve moved over to the press and poured two large glasses of whiskey. She winked at Rosie and said, ‘Get this down ye. It’s amazing how much better ye will feel after and, if ye don’t, I’ll fetch the bottle.’

  Maeve took her rosaries out of her apron pocket, kissed them and wrapped them around Kitty’s unresisting little fingers.

  It seemed as though they had been sitting for only an hour or so when they heard the sound of the van return. Julia bustled into the room with Liam.

  ‘Well, that was difficult, I can tell ye. Maeve, I had to say it was for ye sister. Thank God she had that little girl last week and ye mus
t remember to tell her what I said. ’Tis a tangled web we are weaving here all right.’

  ‘Well, everyone this side of Bellgarett knows Rosie is here,’ said Maeve, ‘so it fits.’

  Rosie wasn’t listening; she was busy removing the straw stopper from the green bottle that Liam had handed her.

  ‘Jesus, what is in this? It smells like pee,’ she said, pulling her nose away sharply.

  Julia shrugged. ‘Aye, well, likely it has a bit in there, but it’s mainly plants and things, usually. Do ye have anything better?’

  ‘It won’t be human pee,’ said Maeve helpfully. ‘Most likely from their goat and, anyway, it’ll be whatever is mixed with it that does all the good. Stop yer complaining now and get it down her.’

  ‘That goat wins the show at Castlefeale every year, so it does,’ said Julia. ‘There’s so many put out around here by it, I’m surprised someone hasn’t slit its throat. It’s well known the McGuffeys make a fortune, so they do, from the magic of its medicine.’

  Lifting Kitty’s head, they managed to pour half of the bottle down her, followed by some soup, painstakingly fed to her by Julia, one teaspoon at a time.

  Julia and Maeve retired to bed, more comforted to have seen Kitty settled.

  ‘Everything you will need is in the press,’ Maeve whispered, giving Rosie a hug. ‘She looks so much better already. The McGuffeys’ medicine has done the trick.’

  Before Rosie could respond, Maeve left the room, knowing she would be required in the morning to help with the more practical things like stacking the fire, preparing food and persuading Rosie to catch some sleep.

  Rosie wrung out a cloth in the fresh warm water Julia had left by her side and began wiping down Kitty’s arms with long strokes, in an attempt to bring her blood to the surface and cool her down. Rosie was desperate to take on the high temperature and conquer it. She was experienced enough to know Kitty was on the way down, not the way up.