by Mark Seaman
One day, a few weeks after Rebecca was born, Sister Margaret came to speak to me while I was feeding her.
“Sister Claire is concerned you are becoming too attached to the child, Ruth. You know she will soon be going to a new home, don’t you?
“Her name is Rebecca.”
“That’s another thing, giving her a name is forbidden, you know that only too well sadly from past experience. It will be left to the family she eventually lives with to name her and to bring her up as their own. That was made very clear to you on the day you first arrived at the Holy Order and has been repeated on a number of occasions since, as it has been to all of you girls.” She paused as if considering how best to proceed without crushing me entirely.
“Surely, if as you say you are truly fond of the child you would want only the best for it? Try and be sensible about this, Ruth, you couldn’t possibly bring her up as your own. What would people think when they saw the two of you together? An unmarried young girl who got herself pregnant by goodness knows who and a baby she can’t support; what would any decent law-abiding citizen make of that? If you really want to do what’s best for the child then you’ll think long and hard about what I’ve said and see the sense in letting her go to a proper loving family who can offer her the opportunities in life that you have so apparently wasted and certainly cannot hope to provide for her yourself.
I looked down at Rebecca who had fallen contentedly asleep in my arms. “Can’t you see that she loves me?”
“What I see is a baby asleep who has obviously had enough to eat.” She reached towards me. “Give me the child and I’ll put her back in the cot while you think about what I’ve said.”
I looked up, my frustration clearly visible as I pulled her little body tight into me. “I’ll put her down in a moment, and her name is still Rebecca.”
Sister Margaret turned to leave. “It will only be yourself you’re hurting in the long run by continuing in your obstinacy, Ruth. In a few months time the child will be happy and settled in its new home and you’ll be what, pining for a baby that didn’t even ask to be brought into the world and all because you couldn’t keep your drawers on. Oh yes, a fine mother you would make setting her an example like that.”
I watched as she walked away, the metal heels on her black leather shoes clipping the bare wooden flooring with every step. I waited until she reached the door and glanced back towards me as I knew she would. I gave an exaggerated smile and called across the room. “Rebecca says goodbye.”
My smile became more relaxed and genuine as I looked down at my beautiful daughter. She jumped a little in my arms as Sister Margaret slammed the door shut behind her. I bent down and kissed her. “That wasn’t very nice of the naughty nun, was it?” I whispered.
Over the next few days I did everything I could to make obvious my affection for Rebecca, and at every turn the nuns tried to persuade me otherwise. Even Sister Rosemary appeared to be toeing the party line as we sat together one afternoon.
“Ruth, I don’t doubt that you care for your baby, Rebecca as you like to call her, but eventually you will have to say goodbye to her; you simply can’t keep her.”
I stared down at the floor, unable to look her in the eye. “I thought you would support me at least, you even call her Rebecca.”
“I do that for you although I know I shouldn’t, and nor should you.” She leant forward in her chair. “The truth is, Ruth, that you have no hope of making provision for this little one. Even if you managed to find work to support the two of you ask yourself this. Who would be willing to look after the child of an unmarried young mother while she goes out to work? Even if you did find someone prepared to overlook the stigma surrounding your circumstances, then presumably you would have to pay them for their time as well? So then what? You would have to find other work to pay them on top of meeting your own needs, and so it would go on.”
I looked up to meet her gaze. “I told you what happened and how I got pregnant, you said you believed me. So why can’t you believe me now and help me to at least try and keep Rebecca.”
“I know I said I believed you about the man who got you pregnant and I do, although if I’m honest I still struggle a little with the actual circumstances, but that is not the point. The truth, and it is one that sadly you are going to have to face, is that you cannot look after this baby no matter how well intentioned your resolve and determination to do so might be. The authorities won’t let you either. Even if I and the other nuns here chose to support your appeal they would still say no. Once you leave here you will be on your own, and it would be a dereliction of our sworn duty and commitment to achieving the best outcome for each baby if we ignored that obligation and advised otherwise.”
She took my hand in hers. “I’m truly sorry, Ruth, but sooner or later you are going to have to accept that this little one cannot and will not be staying with you, and the quicker you recognise that fact then the better it will be for the both of you.”
I looked deep into her eyes searching for any last vestige of hope that she might change her mind and offer to assist in my attempt to keep Rebecca but none was forthcoming.
“I really am sorry, Ruth, truly I am, but you have got to let her go.”
Although I knew everything she said made sense and that Rebecca would have a far better start in life if I did allow her to go and flourish within the warmth and safety of real family home, it still did nothing to ease the pain that was tearing at my heart. How could I countenance the thought of losing the one precious thing I had left after everything and everybody I had ever cared for in the past had already been ripped from my life? I fell to my knees and wept in Sister Rosemary’s arms. I wept once more for my parents, my brother, for Sarah and all the others I had watched slaughtered so brutally in that awful death camp at Birkenau. I wept for the violence Mr Taylor had shown towards me when raping me, not only physically but also emotionally following the lies he told about the circumstances of what had happened between us and of the actions he had so cruelly inflicted on me. I wept for my friend Susan and all of the other girls at the home who had died either in childbirth or by taking their own lives. I also wept for those who had looked on in horror as their babies were dragged from their arms and handed to another to bring up as their own. And I wept for Sister Rosemary and all of the other nuns who were trapped in this dark and foreboding edifice that purported to offer hope and sanctuary to all who entered its doors, especially us young girls. In reality of course it did little more than to confirm what the so called civilised society outside already thought of us; that we were nothing more than a group of self-seeking and sinful teenagers reaping the rewards of our improper and antisocial behaviour. Further, that we should be eternally grateful for even the small crumb of so called comfort and charity provided by institutions like the Sisters of Mercy. I wept openly and uncontrollably for a long time, unable to stop the flow of tears and rage burning inside of me that regaled against the injustice of it all. I, like so many others was a victim serving a life sentence for a crime I had not willingly committed. My corresponding punishment would be to wear the badge of shame and dishonour awarded my transgression for the rest of my time on earth. Even worse was the fact the real transgressor was able to continue walking the streets boasting inwardly of his wrongdoing yet retaining both respect and standing in the community as a valued and influential member of society.
Sister Rosemary held me gently and patiently in her arms until my sobbing eased. “God loves it when we cry out to him, Ruth, your tears won’t have been wasted. I’ll continue to pray for you.”
I looked up at her, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. “I wouldn’t bother if I were you, Sister; I don’t think God cares very much about the likes of me.”
“You mustn’t talk like that, Ruth, God certainly does care about you. He knows every hair on your head and hears every cry of your heart.”
I got up to leave,
frustrated that even now after our speaking so openly this woman who I had come to think of as a friend, and both liked and respected, still couldn’t truly comprehend the reasoning behind my deep torment and distress. How could she know or even begin to understand that the loss of Rebecca would prove to be, for me, the final act in the play that had been my life to date, and one that would break my heart forever.
“Well he must be busy counting the hairs on my head then, Sister, because he certainly hasn’t been responding to the cry of my heart of late.” I looked down at her and saw genuine sadness reflected in her eyes as to what I’d said.
“You’re a good lady, Sister, and I like you, but we’re so far apart in our experiences and ideas about religion that I don’t think we’ll ever find any real common ground. You talk about life and how in God’s perfect world it should be lived, but the life I’ve lived bears no resemblance to those ideals and much of it has nothing to do with God, certainly not the loving God you talk about or that I would like to believe in. If it does then either he hasn’t done a very good job at it or I’m missing something.”
I placed my hand lightly on her shoulder as she sat in front of me. “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, Sister, but that’s just how I’m feeling at the moment and I don’t really want to talk about it anymore if that’s alright with you, not to you or to anyone?”
“Of course I understand, but I’ll still pray for you.” She smiled. “Don’t give up on God, Ruth, I know he won’t give up on you.”
“I don’t think it’s me God has a problem with, Sister, he already knows what it took to break my heart, it’s everyone else’s he needs to sort out.”
Sister Rosemary looked at me quizzically.
“Since I’ve been here I’ve spent a lot of my time working in the laundry room and one of the things I’ve discovered is that if you put too much starch into the wash things come up shiny and white but stiff and difficult to bend. I think maybe God has placed a bit too much starch in some people and so while they appear all nice and shiny on the outside, inside they’re just rigid and not willing to listen or bend.”
She looked at me and smiled, tapping the wimple around her face. “I’ll try and remember that next time I’m washing this.”
I moved to walk away. “Like I said, Sister, it’s not the outer garment that’s the problem; it’s the stiff heart beating inside that wants softening.”
I didn’t see Sister Rosemary the next day and was worried she might have taken my comments personally and was avoiding me. I still felt what I had said to be true, but I also knew that in Sister Rosemary we girls had at least one friend we could turn to when things got tough. I needn’t have worried though as a day later whilst eating breakfast she approached me with her usual smile and cheery demeanour.
“Good morning, Ruth, I hope you are feeling brighter today? I enjoyed talking with you the other day, and have thought long and hard about the things you said.”
“I’m sorry if I upset you, Sister, I didn’t mean anything personally by it. In fact you’re probably the one person who…”
Sister Rosemary raised her hand. “No need to apologise, it is good to air our true feelings at times even if they can be a bit harsh.” She smiled. “Or should I say stiff?”
I laughed, feeling relieved that I hadn’t hurt her feelings, or at least not that she was prepared to make public.
“Sister Claire wants to see you at eleven o’clock in her study, she asked me to come and tell you.”
“Am I in trouble again? I’m not sure what I might have done to upset her? I’ve tried to be on my best behaviour these past few days.”
“I’m sure there isn’t a problem. I think you worry too much at times about what others think of you, Ruth. She has just asked to speak with you, eleven o’clock sharp. I’ll see you later, enjoy your breakfast.”
I spent the next couple of hours exorcising my concerns in the laundry room and wondering what I might have done to demand this call from on high. I prayed it had nothing to do with Rebecca and that if it did it would prove to be no more than another reminder for me not to get too close to her. That was a criticism she had levelled at me on numerous occasions in the past already and one that I had both learned to live with and ignore. She could say what she liked I was going to fight to hang onto Rebecca for as long as I had her with me and would do so with every last fibre of my being, even if I did recognise that in the end I might still lose her. While we shared the same roof she was still mine and there was nothing Sister Claire could say that would change that.
I stood outside Sister Claire’s study as the big clock at the end of the hallway struck eleven. It emitted a loud gong like sound on each beat which reverberated all the way down the passageway towards me. As the last chord struck I knocked nervously on the door.
Even through the thick wood separating us there was no mistaking Sister Claire’s confident tone. “Come.”
I entered smiling, hoping to exude a similar confidence to my inquisitor. “You wanted to see me, Sister?”
“Yes, come in, Ruth.” She gestured towards the chair opposite her own as a form of invitation for me to sit. As I did so she stood up placing me below her and leaving me feeling immediately vulnerable in her presence. She walked towards one of the large windows overlooking the front of the home. The sun was shining and the light streamed into the room. It bathed the study in a bright and appealing glow; the sun’s rays making it feel warm and almost welcoming. I knew better though than to trust the outward appearance of this particular room as it had also born witness to some of our most challenging and damning encounters in the past. I had only ever looked out of the windows myself once in the past but remembered its panoramic view of the grounds and of the long driveway that wound its way from the road outside to the main entrance of the home. I sat still, my hands resting in my lap watching as Sister Claire stared straight ahead as if steeling herself for whatever it was she was to say next. I feared the worst.
“I’m afraid it is time to discuss the future of your baby, Ruth.” She maintained her gaze out of the window; I presumed to avoid the potential for confrontation between us by addressing her remarks directly to my face. “I say afraid not with any sense of trepidation or apprehension on my part but, because I know how close you have allowed yourself to come to the child. You will equally know this is something I have repeatedly stated as unwise from the very moment she was born if you remember?”
I moved uneasily in my chair, determined to be firm in my response but knowing also that any attempt to argue outright with Sister Claire would prove, as it had so often in the past, to be a lost cause.
“I do remember that, Sister. But you will also remember I have stated from the very beginning I would like the opportunity, with your permission, to at least attempt to make a life for Rebecca and myself outside of the Holy Order.”
Sister Claire turned on her heel and looked directly at me, no longer concerned with either avoiding my gaze or of upsetting me.
“We could trade these verbal exchanges for the rest of the day, Ruth, and still not achieve a desired result for either of us, so please allow me one final effort in making myself absolutely clear and understood in this matter.” She moved her hands from behind her back to the front of her habit, placing them firmly together. “You will also remember that I have told you on more than one occasion that you would never receive our blessing or permission to attempt such a foolish and irresponsible ambition. Even if we were to consider such a request, which we most certainly would not, then the law itself would step in and take measures to disallow any such arrangement. I understand Sister Rosemary has also taken the opportunity of reminding you of this fact on occasion as well?”
I was stung momentarily by a feeling of betrayal. How could someone I had trusted with my confidences go behind my back and discuss our private conversations with this bully dressed as a nun? I was sure th
is couldn’t be true and so chose rather to believe that she had probably told Sister Claire that particular story in an effort to persuade her not to vilify me yet again, allowing me rather the space and time to come to terms with what I ultimately knew deep down was always likely to be the eventual outcome to my protests.
I sat motionless as Sister Claire took a step towards me, the sun throwing its rays against her back creating the ironic image of a form of halo that enveloped her whole body. I couldn’t see her face as the sun behind her caused it to be held in shadow, but there was no mistaking her tone or intonation.
“I have also advised you, along with the other sisters, not to give the child a name. Again this is something you have chosen to ignore. In calling it Rebecca you have not only made the process of giving up the child harder for yourself, but you have also disobeyed my very clear and explicit directives. I don’t know why I continue to let that bother me as you have never been a girl to accept either advice or instruction since the time you joined us here at the Holy Order.” She turned away and moved back to the window, placing her hands behind her back again.
“I have to be honest about this with you, Ruth, the truth is I won’t be sorry to see you leave our care once your baby has gone and you have had the requisite few days to adjust and prepare yourself for the transfer back into society. Although in your case I struggle to imagine what you and the world at large will make of each other. My only hope is that it won’t include your returning here again at some point in the future carrying the result of yet another selfish and sinful act inside your belly.”
