Rory's Promise

by Michaela MacColl

  Rory was peering over Sister Kathleen's shoulder. She reached in and rubbed the unsoiled diaper between her fingers. “Sister, look.” Rory held out her fingers covered with fine white powder.

  Sister Kathleen's mournful face brightened. “Have you tried a new soap?”

  “That I did!” Mrs. O'Flanagan said. “I ran out and my neighbor gave me some of that Ivory soap. It smelled ever so nice.”

  Sister Kathleen's head bobbed, certain of her diagnosis. “The baby—”

  “Danny,” prompted Rory.

  “Danny's skin is reacting to the new soap,” Sister Kathleen went on. “Try your old soap and see if the rash goes away. If it doesn't, then be sure you come back. Don't wait until next month.” She gave Danny back to Mrs. O'Flanagan, made an entry in her ledger, and handed over ten one-dollar bills.

  “I will,” Mrs. O'Flanagan promised, clutching her money. The Foundling had discovered long ago that a decent wage ensured that the wet nurses took good care of the babies.

  Rory continued her watchful patrol of the line. The last woman didn't collect her money for several more hours. By the time the bells began to toll for the afternoon Mass, Rory was dead on her feet in her too-small boots. She groaned; she'd never get any rest in the chapel. The priest was sure to have them jumping up and down with every prayer. She glanced to the side of the imposing entrance at Sister Kathleen's cozy nook. Rory imagined herself napping comfortably in that quiet place. She smiled to herself and sidled up to Sister Kathleen. “Sister, did you hear that the Archbishop of New York is saying Mass today?”

  “I had heard that,” Sister Kathleen said wistfully. “I would love to hear him but I'm scheduled to sit at the intake desk this afternoon.”

  “You shouldn't miss it, Sister,” Rory said earnestly. “I'd be happy to mind the desk for you.”

  “Would you?” Sister Kathleen's solemn face looked hopeful. “I couldn't ask …”

  “Go, Sister,” Rory insisted. “I'll wait here until after Mass.”

  “Bless you, child.” Sister Kathleen hurried away just as the bells fell silent.

  The formerly busy entry hall was deserted; everyone except Rory was at Mass. Rory sat at Sister Kathleen's desk and watched the dust motes drift in the light from the tall windows. It wasn't long before she put her head on her forearms and dozed.

  A touch on her arm startled her awake.

  “Miss,” asked a timid voice. “Is this where I leave my baby?”

  CHAPTER Four

  RORY LIFTED HER HEAD. BLINKING, SHE REMEMBERED WHERE she was. A young woman stood in front of the desk, a baby in her arms. Down-and-out by the look of her with much-mended clothes and a pinched face with sunken cheeks. With a sinking heart, Rory realized the woman was here to abandon a baby.

  “You're in the right place,” Rory said.

  “Why, you're just a child yourself,” the woman exclaimed. She peered around the empty hall. “Who's in charge here?”

  “I am, but if you wait a little time the nuns will be back,” Rory said, hoping she would stay. Rory had never had to deal with a mother giving up her baby. Usually she only saw the babies after the mothers were gone.

  “I can't wait,” the woman said. “If I do I might lose my nerve.”

  Rory gave her a searching glance: the mother wasn't very old, maybe eighteen or nineteen.

  “You can leave him in the cradle and the Sisters will take care of him.” She gestured toward the white wicker cradle by the door. A representative of the Foundling was always at the desk to receive a baby, day or night. Until Mass was over, that representative was Rory.

  The mother stared down at the baby, who was carefully swaddled in a blanket cleaner than her skirt. She glanced up and met Rory's eyes. “What's your name?” she asked.

  “I'm Rory.”

  “My name's Patricia, but everyone calls me Patty. Are you a foundling?”

  Rory shook her head hard. “I'm an orphan. Foundlings are abandoned,” Rory explained. “My Ma and Da are dead. I may not have any parents but I know where I came from.”

  “So if I leave my baby here, he's a foundling …” Patty's voice caught.

  Rory's heart sank. She hadn't meant to make Patty feel even worse; she just hated being mistaken for a foundling. The distinction might not matter, but to her it was the difference between being loved, even for a short time, or being discarded, handed over to strangers.

  “Tell me, Rory, are they kind in this place? Will they take care of my baby boy? Raise him up in the Church?” She held her baby under Rory's nose. His eyes were tightly shut and he had a tuft of black hair that sprang from his head like a patch of grass.

  “The Sisters are very kind,” Rory answered. “You know how Jesus said suffer the little children to come unto him? The Sisters practice that here. He'll be safe. They'll give him clothes, food, church, everything he needs.”

  Patty's eyes devoured Rory, taking in every detail, from her red braids to the worn boots that peeked out from under the desk. “You don't look as though you've missed any meals lately.”

  Rory winced at the hunger in Patty's voice. “Your boy will get fed three times a day. And real food too. Even meat sometimes,” Rory assured her.

  Patty's lips started to quiver. “I don't want to leave him, but I can't care for him.” She began to cry, silent sobs that racked her body. Clutching the baby to her chest, she leaned against the desk. “I have a cousin in Utica who says she can get me a job. But I can't bring him. I've been at my wits’ end.” Rory stood, uncertain what to do. Finally she imitated the kindness of the Sisters and came from behind the desk to put her arms around Patty and the baby. She held both of them until Patty stopped sobbing. “You can trust the Sisters to take good care of him,” Rory said.

  The woman touched the babe's mouth with her fingertip. Even fast asleep, his tiny lips sucked as though he was hungry. “Joseph's not weaned yet. How will he eat?”

  “They'll bring in a wet nurse.”

  Patty's face asked the question.

  “Another woman who's just had a baby,” Rory explained. “So he'll get good milk.” Rory put her hand to her heart. “I promise.”

  “As soon as I'm on my feet again, I'll come back and get him,” Patty said, a resolute tilt to her jaw. “They'll give him to me, won't they?”

  “You have three years from today to claim him,” Rory assured her. “But after that, they'll place him with a family.”

  “I'll be back before then,” Patty vowed.

  Rory said nothing. She knew only too well how few mothers returned. She straightened up and helped Patty back to her feet. “Do you want to leave a note?”

  “A note?” Patty shook her head.

  “Write down your name and anything you want the Sisters to know about the baby.” Rory reached into her pocket and pulled out a notebook and sharpened pencil.

  In a hoarse voice, she said, “I can't write nor read.”

  “All right,” Rory said as kindly as she could. “I'll write what you tell me.” A moment later the note was written.

  My boy, Joseph, was born on March 1, 1904. Do not be afraid of the sore on his stomach. It is nothing but ringworm. He has been baptized by Father Reilly at Our Lady of the Holy Rosary Church. I would like his name to stay the same. Please take care of him until I can come back.

  Patricia O'Halloran

  Patty watched Rory's hand moving across the paper with admiration. “Can you read too?”

  Rory bit her lip to keep from smiling; the last thing she wanted to do was embarrass Patty. “Yes,” she said. “And do arithmetic too. The Sisters think education, cleanliness, and godliness are the path out of poverty.” She paused. “Not in that order.”

  “Will my Joseph learn all that too?”

  Rory nodded. “Well, once the babies are old enough, they receive some schooling until they are placed with a family. The older kids go to school to learn a trade.”

  Patty started to protest but Rory interrupted. “They don't make us
go to work—but they teach us skills so we can get a job. If I weren't needed to help with the babies, I'd probably learn how to typewrite. Or sew. But I'm a rotten seamstress.”

  Patty took a deep breath. “Then I'm doing the right thing for Joseph,” she said. She gently placed the baby in the wicker cradle, smoothing the blanket across his small body. The baby didn't peep. Rory wondered if Patty might have given Joseph a dose of spirits to keep him quiet but she didn't want to ask.

  As Patty kissed the baby on his forehead, Rory got a lump in her throat. Carefully not looking at the cradle, Patty said, “Can you watch over him? I know it's asking a lot, but …”

  “I will,” Rory promised. “As long as I can.”

  Patty grabbed Rory's right hand and brought it to her lips. “Thank you.” Without another word, Patty ran out the door.

  The Sisters always said it was wrong to judge, but Rory couldn't help comparing Patty to her own mother. Even when they didn't have enough to eat, those last days when Ma was dying, she never once thought of getting rid of her and Vi. A real mother never gave up her children. It was that simple. On the other hand, that parting had cost Patty dearly.

  Rory rocked baby Joseph. She rubbed her fingers across his wrist, frowning at its thinness. But otherwise he seemed in good health. He opened his eyes and stared up at Rory, his slate-blue eyes unfocused. Joseph's fist opened and he grabbed her finger.

  “Hello, little one,” she said. “If you were my little brother, I'd never let you go.”

  The baby gurgled as if to defend his ma.

  “Maybe she'll come back, Joe,” Rory agreed. “But even if she doesn't, we'll take good care of you.”

  Suddenly Rory had an urgent need to see her sister and give her a big hug. Children were abandoned here all the time—but not Rory and Violet. As long as they were together, they were a family. Rory had known her Ma and even had a few memories of her Da before he fell to his death from the elevated train track he was building. She knew where she had come from and she'd make sure Violet knew too. It was just one more reason she and Vi had to stay together.

  CHAPTER Five

  RORY WAITED WITH JOSEPH UNTIL SISTER KATHLEEN RETURNED from Mass. The Sister stopped short when she saw the baby.

  “Another one?” Sister Kathleen said with a tsk-tsking noise on her tongue.

  Rory nodded.

  “At least this one came in during the day.” Sister Kathleen picked up the baby and inspected him, especially examining his shock of black hair for lice eggs. “I always feel sorry for the mothers who are so desperate they leave the babies in the middle of the night.”

  “They're all desperate,” Rory said, the haunted expression of Joseph's mother still fresh in her mind. She felt guilty for judging Patty so harshly.

  Whirling around to avoid the Sister's eyes, Rory fetched the ledger. She watched as Sister Kathleen recorded all the details they knew about little Joseph. In the final column Sister Kathleen entered a date three years from the day. That was the date his mother would lose all her rights to Joseph and the Foundling Sisters could do with him what they wished.

  “Poor little one,” Rory whispered, kissing him on the forehead. “But you will be looked after here.”

  “Of course he will,” Sister Kathleen said, gathering up the baby in her arms to take him to the nursery.

  As Rory watched them go, she remembered when she had first arrived, on a cold, rainy September night, carrying two-year-old Violet on one hip and a small satchel with their few clothes on the other. Those last days that Ma had been dying, she'd made Rory promise to go to Sister Anna. The burial arrangements were all made with their neighbor, Mrs. O'Malley. She had helped nurse Ma and she had kept Ma's things, “as payment,” she said. The only thing Rory had been able to salvage was Ma's necklace. Her hand went to the saint's medal hanging around her neck. The Virgin Mary. Ma's patron saint. Fat lot of good the saint had done for Ma, Rory thought. Immediately she felt guilty. Ma would be so angry at Rory for thinking such a thing, not to mention what Sister Anna would say.

  Relieved of her responsibilities for the moment, Rory didn't want to go to class. She made her way to the chapel, carefully avoiding any nuns who might ask where she was going or, more specifically, why she wasn't going where she was supposed to be. Funny how she hated having to go to chapel for services every day but it was her first choice whenever she wanted to be alone. Every room in the huge Foundling complex of buildings, schools, and hospitals was plain and serviceable, except for the chapel. It was beautiful, not huge, each side of the square room perhaps sixty feet long. The decorations in the chapel were gifts from the powerful and wealthy donors who supported the Foundling.

  A large circular window over the entrance faced south and the afternoon sun streamed in. The domed ceiling made Rory feel as though she was in heaven. Best of all, the room was empty. Here she could think. But first she had to pay her respects to her favorite statue. The Virgin Mary, dressed all in blue and white with gold trim, stood in her own alcove.

  First she said her own Hail Mary. That was only proper. Then Rory settled in for a nice chat. “Hi, Lady Mary,” she said, craning her neck to see the beautiful face. “We've got a new baby. You should keep an eye on him. His name is Joseph—like your husband—so you won't forget. I know there are a lot of us to look after.” She described how Violet was still up to her old tricks in the middle of the night. And about the wet nurses in line with the babies. “Please, Lady Mary, take care of them, especially the babies.”

  Rory made the sign of the cross and turned away. The pulpit to one side of the white marble altar beckoned to her. Making sure she was unobserved, she climbed up to where Father Robert usually stood to deliver his homily. Rory put her shoulders back, took a deep breath, and pronounced, “And on the eighth day God decided that all the children get to go to the park and play.” The words rolled off her tongue and filled the corners of the chapel. Emboldened, Rory added, “And they should have ice cream every night. And no more strengthening gruel. Ever. Amen.”

  “Rory!”

  Rory stepped back, startled. She fell off the pulpit platform and skinned her knee.

  Sister Anna glided down the aisle, her expression stern. “Rory Fitzpatrick! This is the house of Our Lord, not a theatrical stage!”

  Rory scrambled to her feet, trying not to wince at the sharp pain in her knee. “Sister, I was just … just wondering how Father Robert manages to be heard in every corner of the chapel.”

  Cheeks flaming with color, Sister Anna said, “The excellent acoustics in the chapel are no excuse for your disrespectful behavior. And I take offense at your suggestion that you aren't fed properly.”

  “I'm sorry, ma'am.” Rory bobbed a short curtsy and started to make her exit. That could have been worse, she thought.

  “Wait,” Sister Anna said.

  Rory stopped and slowly turned around. “Yes, Sister?”

  “I need to talk to you.” Sister Anna glanced around the ornate chapel. “But not here. In my office.” Without waiting for Rory's response, Sister Anna led the way out a side door.

  Rory reluctantly followed. No good news was ever delivered in Sister Anna's office.

  CHAPTER Six

  “YOU LIED TO ME!” THE WORDS FLEW OUT OF RORY’S MOUTH. She clapped her hands over her mouth; after three years at the Foundling she knew there are certain things you never say to a nun.

  Sister Anna stared at Rory, her gray eyes flinty and hard. “That is quite enough, young lady.” She was seated at her desk. Sister Anna and the desk suited each other: square and imposing. There were two wooden armchairs in front of Sister Anna's desk and a small leather-covered sofa against the wall under the high windows. There were cracks in the leather but the room was spotlessly clean.

  “But you promised that Violet and I would stay together. You promised!” Rory's body shook with anger, and she had to clasp her hands tight to keep from trembling. She had declined Sister Anna's invitation to sit down, preferring to fa
ce trouble on her feet.

  “You and she have been sheltered at the Foundling for three years,” Sister Anna said. “You know our mission, to find our foundlings a suitable family. We have found a good family for Violet.”

  “Violet has a family. Me! Ma sent us here so we wouldn't be separated.” Rory began to pace around the room, remem-bering her first night at the Foundling. The Sisters had tried to separate Rory from her sister. Rory had screamed and held on to Violet as though their lives depended on staying together. Finally Sister Anna had agreed that Rory could stay with Violet for the time being. Rory had stretched that brief reprieve into three years.

  Sister Anna glanced down at a piece of paper on the desk. Rory recognized it as the form for every new orphan at the Foundling Hospital. The ink on little Joseph's paper was still wet. But it was the first time Rory had ever seen Violet's or her own.

  “We need to make room for new orphans,” Sister Anna said. “Violet will have a very good home.”

  “But where are you sending her, Sister?” Rory asked, stunned. She had just explained the rules to Joseph's mother but somehow she had never dreamed they would affect her and Violet. How could she have been so shortsighted? Her mother had expected more of her.

  “It doesn't matter. Just know that it is a good home,” Sister Anna replied.

  “It's the only thing that matters. Where are you sending her?”

  “Watch your tone, young lady.” Sister Anna's voice was icy. “I'm trying to make allowances because I know you are upset, but I won't tolerate rudeness.”

  It took an effort—the habit of obeying Sister Anna was bone-deep—but Rory put her hands on the back of the chair in front of the desk and looked her squarely in the eyes. “Will she be close? Will I still be able to see her?”

  Sister Anna's gaze dropped.

  “Where is Violet going?” Rory could be as stubborn as she needed to be.

  “Out west.”