by Mark Seaman
She smiled again. “I do hope everything works out for you, but I’m afraid there is nothing further we can do for you here. Certainly not without more of the detail you appear unable to provide at this time. I’m sure the nuns will be able to help.” I felt she understood both my discomfiture and my pain, and in her smile I recognised she was also asking me to accept that her hands were tied as far as her ability to do anymore for me was concerned.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, forcing the piece of paper deep into my coat pocket.
“Take care of yourself dear.”
I walked quickly to the door, not daring to look back but fully aware of the many sets of disapproving eyes that were now focused on me. As I opened the door the word “slut” reached my ears, proffered by one self-righteous and unsympathetic individual and no doubt on behalf of a number of others sitting with her. I stood outside for a moment allowing the tears to flow as I stared up at the cloudless sky above me. Even though it was late winter I could still feel the sun’s rays envelope me as they had done outside Doctor Anderson’s surgery on the day I first discovered I was pregnant, and as before it was only my outer body that benefited from the warmth not my heart. Once again that felt cold and broken and I despaired that I would ever feel whole again.
I rang the number I had been given for the Sisters of Mercy the next morning, feeling my hands shake as I held the phone to my ear. A woman, presumably one of the Nun’s, on hearing my story told me to come and see them.
“You’re not the first girl to seek help in this way child, but with the Lord’s blessing and forgiveness for your sins we will do our best to put you on the right road again.”
I wasn’t sure I understood exactly what she was alluding to when she talked about the forgiveness of my sins, or that I liked being portrayed as a fallen woman, but I also knew that I was fast running out of both money and options and so decided to bite my tongue and take up the offer of help she was suggesting.
I took the bus to the home that afternoon and walked nervously up the long gravel drive to the front door. The building itself was large and foreboding and had a dark, almost satanical, ambiance about it rather than the warm and welcoming feel I had expected. I knocked using one of the two heavy bronze rings attached to the imposing front doors and stepped back in surprise as the sound reverberated throughout what I was soon to discover was an enormous open hallway with large grey flagstones covering the floor. A small and diminutive nun opened the door and gestured me to enter.
“You must be Ruth Cahn, we’ve been expecting you.”
As I walked through the doorway the air and atmosphere felt even colder than it had outside. I presumed this additional chill came from the solid grey stone flooring beneath my feet. As I entered I noticed a young girl on her knees scrubbing the flagstones. She was wearing a grey ill fitting smock style dress and her lank unkempt hair fell across her face as she glanced up at me offering little or no expression by way of a welcome.
“I’ll take you up to meet Sister Claire,” said the nun as we walked passed the girl who had by now lost all interest in me and had turned her attention back to her duties with the scrubbing brush and bucket.
“All the girls here are expected to work for their keep,” the nun continued as we climbed a flight of wooden stairs that were wide and polished but with no covering or carpet on them. As our shoes connected with each stair the sound echoed throughout the large hallway below us.
When we finally reached the top she paused for a moment to catch her breath. “Work is good for the soul and focuses the mind on higher plains rather than the sins and mistakes of our past.” She smiled at me and put her hand to her chest. “I’m sure those stairs grow in number each time I climb them.” Then turning away she strode forward again. “Come along, child, this way.”
I stared briefly at the back of her habit as we walked towards a large wooden door that stood imposingly at the end of the corridor. I was beginning to feel unsure as to whether I had done the right thing in coming to the home.
“I’m not sure I understand what you meant,” I said becoming a little short of breath myself as her pace quickened and I attempted to keep up.
“About what?”
“About work helping with our sinful past?”
“Sister Claire will explain everything to you in good time,” she replied as we arrived outside the door. “Now here we are.” She knocked and cast me another brief smile as we waited for a reply.
“Come in.” The nun opened the door and ushered me into a large room where another nun sat behind a big dark wooden desk. The room was not dissimilar to Mr Taylor’s study, the walls being lined with books and a fading red patterned carpet covering the floor, although I recalled that Mr Taylor’s carpet had been blue and in much better repair. The room was well lit by two big windows set either side of the same outside wall at the front of the building. I glanced briefly out of them as I walked towards the desk, noticing the extensive grounds below and the long drive that made its way to the entrance of the home and the world beyond. The nun who had greeted me stood almost to attention and spoke in an equally reverential tone.
“This is Miss Cahn, Sister Claire.” She looked at me, her eyes raised above a set of half moon glasses. Maintaining her steely gaze towards me she addressed the other nun.
“Thank you, Sister Margaret, I’ll ring for you when we’ve finished.” Sister Margaret offered me another brief and polite smile before backing out of the room and closing the door behind her.
“Come and sit down, child.” Sister Claire indicated another chair set opposite her own on the other side of the desk. I sat nervously waiting for whatever she was going to say next and wishing I’d never phoned the Sisters of Mercy in the first place. As I sat waiting for her to speak I reminded myself that I did need help and that these were nun’s for goodness sake; surely they would offer me the care and support I had been denied to date by just about everyone else and certainly by the landlord of The Red Lion and Mr Taylor. Sister Claire stared at me in silence for a moment as if assessing me and deciding how best to address me. She leant forward in her chair.
“Well now, I’m led to believe you’ve got yourself into trouble and would like the Sisters of Mercy to stand alongside you in this time of need and uncertainty is that right?”
I felt my mouth turn dry as I struggled to speak. “Well yes, I suppose. I mean I am pregnant but it wasn’t my fault and…”
Sister Claire raised her hand to interrupt me.
“Please, child, don’t try and apportion blame for your own failings onto the shoulders of others. God is aware of everything we do and looks deep into our hearts at the sinful intentions behind those deeds and actions we try to deny as our own. He is all seeing and all knowing, and to attempt to present a different picture to him other than the truth will only damn your soul the greater.” She stared hard at me with an arrogant look of self-importance and pompous authority.
“If you have sinned, child, as you clearly have, then confession and repentance are the first steps towards forgiveness, absolution and ultimately rehabilitation under God’s love and care.” Maintaining her gaze she spoke almost without pause as if reciting some well rehearsed mantra that was being delivered without any consideration of its content or as to its impact on the listener.
“God may love the sinner but he abhors the sin, never forget that. How much more will he detest that self same sinner if they fail to fall upon their knees and cry out to him admitting their wicked ways and declare their intention never to walk that same evil path again?”
I sat utterly speechless, not knowing how to respond to such a tirade of personal invective. With my mind searching for hope in all that was being thrown at me I reminded myself that if God was indeed all seeing and all knowing then he was more than aware of the truth of my circumstances. He would know all that had been unfairly exacted upon me, not only by Mr Taylor but a
lso during my time in Birkenau, and was seemingly about to be repeated here in the one place, above everywhere else, that should have been offering me the very help and succour I was so clearly in need of.
I decided, as was being suggested, to indeed put my hope and trust into God’s hand but not the vindictive grip of this so called woman of faith who sat before me now. I had come across far worse bullies than she was demonstrating herself to be and survived. I resolved that if the cost of my gaining food and shelter during the next few months until my baby arrived was in having to put up with the perverse and twisted opinions of this sad and frustrated woman in a habit then so be it.
Sister Claire leant forward placing her hands flat on her desk. “Maybe we should start again. Now, let us agree on the facts at least shall we?” She smiled, but it wasn’t a smile of comfort more of smug superiority.
“You are clearly pregnant of that there is no doubt, and I assume you are seeking refuge here with us until your child is born. Am I right in my thinking so far?” I nodded.
“Well, we here at the Holy Order do indeed offer shelter and sustenance to wayward girls similar to yourself; to those who have allowed their bodies to be used by a man and have reaped God’s punishment on themselves in becoming pregnant. As I have intimated we don’t judge you personally, hard though that is when the evidence of your sin is so obviously displayed before us each day.” She paused as if sensing her obvious delight in vilifying me might appear as being overly personal and so reverted to a more considered yet still overtly moral tone.
“We accept that only God has the right to judge us individually as surely he will do come the day. But what we do offer here is an opportunity for you to beg his forgiveness and atone for your transgressions through hard work and dedication to the rules by which we live here at the Sisters of Mercy. And of course in all of this, there is the child to consider. God is aware of its existence and although it will be born into sin as we all are, it cannot be held responsible for your wrongdoing and so no judgement will be held against it while it remains in your belly.”
I sat in silence hardly daring to believe what I was hearing.
“You will be fed three times a day and given a bed in which to sleep. In return you will be given a list of duties that are to be carried out without recourse or question, is all of that clear?”
I nodded again. “May I ask a question, Sister?” I tried to remain polite even though every fibre of my being wanted to scream out and tell her in no uncertain terms what she could do with her duties and regulations.
“I’m listening.”
“What happens when my baby is born?”
She paused momentarily as if considering how best to answer.
“When the child arrives you will nurse it for a short while until a suitable family and proper home can be found for it. Clearly you will not be in a position to provide for it having no permanent address of your own nor credible means by which to support either yourself or the baby.”
I felt a sense of anger and frustration building inside me. “But it will be my baby. Shouldn’t I have a say in its future?”
Sister Claire dropped her head and, clearly unhappy at her authority being questioned in such a way, stared over her glasses at me with a steely and unforgiving gaze.
“It will be your child by birth but not by design. If you were married with a loving and supportive husband by your side then of course all options for its future would quite rightly rest with the two of you. Indeed, the law expects honest and responsible parents to care for their offspring. You and others like you however have, by the very act of becoming pregnant outside of the Holy Order of matrimony, given up all rights to make any such decisions about the future of the precious life you have so recklessly decided to bring into the world. As for the baby itself it will belong, as we all do, to God himself and as such he expects those of us of sound mind and strong faith to do the best we can for it. Surely you would agree with that?” Without waiting for a reply she continued.
“That certainly doesn’t mean leaving it in the care of a slip of a girl like you, one who has allowed herself to be used in such a way before she is married. All sexual relations entered into outside of marriage are a terrible sin, and even then are only truly intended for the procreation of the human race. It is certainly not to be seen as some form of pleasure seeking distraction between unmarried and reckless individuals as you appear to have viewed it.” She moved slightly in her seat but continued to stare at me demonstrating that she hadn’t yet finished speaking. “Now, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” I muttered, fearing the worst.
“Do you know who the father is? And if you do then why is he not standing beside you supporting you as any worthwhile man would surely seek to do?”
How I wanted to tell the truth, if only to shock her and wipe that self satisfied grin off her face but I knew she wouldn’t believe me if I did.
“I do know who the father is but I’m afraid I can’t tell you. He has threatened that if I do say anything he will make things worse for me.”
“You mean he’s married? I presume that’s what you’re intimating?” The look on my face told her all she needed to know. She rose from her chair and walked towards a bell rope hanging from the ceiling to the right of her desk.
“It isn’t what you’re thinking, Sister.”
“I don’t think anything, Miss Cahn, as I say I leave all thought and judgement to God. Ultimately you will answer to him, as will the man in question and, if as you suggest he is married, then an even greater burden of sin will way heavy upon your shoulders for coming between a man and his wife.”
“But you don’t understand.”
“Sadly I think I do, and only too well. I’ve heard stories like yours many times and, on each occasion, like you, the girl in question claimed her innocence.” She pulled the bell rope as she spoke. “Sister Margaret will be here again in a moment. She will show you where you are to sleep and appraise you of your duties over the next few days while we work out a longer term plan for your being here. We can arrange for the collection of your other clothing and belongings at a later date, not that you will be in need them here as you will wear the same simple smock as the other girls. Now, if all of that is clear there is only one other question I need to ask of you.”
I held my breath fearing what she might say next.
Taking off her glasses and placing them on her desk she looked directly at me again, the same smirk of derision ingrained across her face.
“Following our discussion am I to assume that you do still want to take sanctuary here at our Holy Order, or do you have somewhere else to go? Accommodation provided by the father of the child perhaps?”
I sat rooted to my chair unable to respond, the fight drained from me as I recognised, at least for the moment, that the bully had won the first round in this early battle of wills between us. I felt totally lost and downcast. She clearly wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to remind me as to who exactly was in charge of my fate, certainly for the immediate future at least.
She smiled broadly. “I thought not.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come.” I heard the door creak open behind me.
“Ah Sister Margaret, Miss Cahn has decided to join us. Perhaps you can sort out the arrangements to fetch whatever few belongings she has elsewhere and assign her to a dormitory?”
I rose from my chair and turned to witness Sister Margaret bowing almost reverentially towards her superior. “Of course, Sister.”
“And she’ll need to be placed on the rota to help with Mass, morning prayers and Compline each evening, along with her duties in the kitchen, laundry room and so on.”
Sister Margaret nodded in compliance as she moved to open the door. I didn’t feel the need or desire to say thank you to Sister Claire as we left the room, I was sure we would
cross swords again soon and that next time I would be better prepared to defend my corner.
As we made our way back down the corridor Sister Margaret explained the house rules for the Sisters of Mercy to me.
“We place great store in our prayer life here, Ruth, and in the confession of our sins. I suggest you take both very seriously, not only for the good of your soul but also your own well being. Sister Claire doesn’t brook any excuses for missing those allotted times when we are to bring ourselves before God and no quarter is given to those who don’t appear at the services or are late. The punishments for non attendance or not adhering to the home’s regulations are both swift and severe. Sister Claire says that our Father is a jealous God and so won’t tolerate either wanton sin nor those who find reason not comply with our bounded duty to praise and serve him at those fixed and sacred times of the day laid aside for worship. This includes not only you girls but also those of us appointed to his full time service and eternal glory.”
I smiled inwardly and thought of others in the past who had insisted on total obedience to their equally unreasonable demands and who were now facing God themselves along with their own time of judgement. Sister Claire may not have been wearing a swastika but she bore all the hallmarks of other tyrannical dictators I had suffered under. I decided once I had regained my confidence and appetite for life that in future when we differed she would fare no better in her efforts to beat me into submission than they had.
