Isa pushed the blanket away and stood up beside the bed. “I don’t want my kid to be anything like me. I hope he grows up patient and understanding just like you. The nuns are right about me. I only think about myself—only my problems matter to me. You never complain, but I know you’re hurting too.”
“It’s no use whining, Isa. Nobody listens.” She reached under her pillow and took out a small piece of paper. “Here, I copied this for you. Don’t lose this address. One of the girls told me they’ve always got plenty of rooms to rent there. Come see me when you get out. Now lie back down and tell me more about your family. I’d like to meet them all one day.”
Nadine closed her eyes and listened to Isa give a rundown of her family back in her village north of Montreal. Their likes and dislikes, their happy times together, as well as their frequent quarrels, were familiar to Nadine. She never tired of hearing Isa talk about them. No one argued where Nadine was from. No one spoke out of turn and disagreements were rare. Talking about her family helped Isa reunite in spirit with her loved ones. Nadine imagined the family she had always dreamed of—loud, stormy and loving. She held Isa’s hand till darkness had faded enough to distinguish the shapes of the other beds in the dormitory and then nudged her away.
It was greyish dawn when Nadine threw her blanket off and swung her legs off the bed. A few of the women were already up tucking their blankets under their thin mattresses. A bell sounded announcing the 6:30 morning prayers. Whoever still lingered in bed bolted up and made a grab for their clothes.
No rushing to the chapel with the other penitents today—her first and only act of disobedience. With her debt paid off and her release papers signed, the nuns didn’t have the power to inflict any punishment. She’d be off after the morning bread and tea—the only meal she’d have today. The thought of not getting hired at one of the garment factories on St-Hubert Street made her stomach clench. Restaurant work, her second option, didn’t always offer full-time. She needed a steady paycheque and a job that kept her too busy to think about the emptiness in her heart.
She snapped her valise closed and glanced up at the Prayer of the Unworthy posted on the wall above her metal bed frame. This had become an automatic gesture since the first day of her stay here. She clenched her fist and looked down, wishing she had the courage to tear it down. Isa hadn’t hesitated.
Dear Lord, I am not worthy of being a mother. I have blasphemed against the sanctity of marriage. I have transgressed your commandments. I have gone against all your divine inspiration and guidance, and because of my folly, you have imposed the heavy yolk of maternity on me.
She’d never have to read it again, although the words had grown deep roots in her mind. The nuns welcomed every occasion to remind them how they had disgraced themselves and their families. Their lives now ruined, they had to make amends. Hard work and religious dedication were the only ways to make them fit for marriage and prepare them to reintegrate into society. The rate of infanticide had dropped, the nuns often pointed out, because of their devotion to finding respectable parents for the poor children born of unwed mothers. Because of them, infants were no longer found floating down the St. Lawrence River, frozen in back alleys, or abandoned in garbage bins.
Dear Lord, I am unworthy, without means and support, abandoned by the father of my child. My dishonour finally opens my eyes.
What would I do without your pity? Please have pity on this unworthy mother, but more so for the small child within me. In the name of Mary, your Holy Mother, please disregard the sins of this child’s parents. Let him be beautiful, healthy, intelligent, docile and brave. Let him love you and make him a faithful follower so that he may never offend you as his parents have sinned and offended you.
I pray for my unborn child. I pray that charitable parents welcome my child into their home.
I beg you to give this child the gift of the new life of baptism and welcome him into the Holy Church. I beg you to find him charitable adoptive parents. Most of all, I beg you to show him mercy. Take his young life from this earth if he must carry within him the sad inheritance of the passions that have made his parents sinners.
Reading the prayer three times a day was part of their daily chores. Isa refused to even look at the poster and had ripped it off the wall by her bed on her first day. Sister Bélanger forced her to copy it out again. It took a good part of the morning to erase her errors and start over. When she posted it back up, the sister ordered her to read it out loud in the dormitory for everyone to hear. Isa paused and stumbled on every single word. The girls complained they’d miss the morning prayers if they had to wait for her to finish. The sister shook her head and marched out. Further attempts to have her read it aloud each day for the next week made Isa stammer even more. The nuns declared her not only an unrepentant sinner but a stupid one as well.
Nadine felt a tightening in her chest and she stepped back to scan the third-floor windows again. Isa might be waiting for the right moment to sneak up to one between chores. That defiant wave—that show of solidarity—was needed to boost her courage to face what she had to do. She planned to get an early start to find lodging and drop off her valise before looking for a job. She’d also need more time to find her way around these streets and alleyways. Besides taking the streetcar to visit Grandma Stella, at no time had she ventured outside of her neighbourhood on her own. Montreal’s east-end array of nightclubs, restaurants, shops and factories was both foreign and scary to her.
Come on, Isa. I need to get going.
If she lingered too long in front of the building, Sister Blain was sure to notice her from the office and come out to scold her. The thought of finding a place to stay gave her stomach cramps. What if everyone refused to rent to her? She remembered the cozy bedroom she had left back home. She and Aunt Jan had fashioned her light blue curtains and a matching quilt by canvassing everyone they knew for their discarded dresses, blouses and shirts with blue designs. Chances were her aunt was flipping through her favourite book, The Joy of Cooking, at this very moment. Uncle Denis loved it when she cooked something special just for him. He’ll eat fried rat on a stick if he thinks I made it special for him, Aunt Jan often joked with the local butcher.
Aunt Jan had insisted she go back and finish high school after the birth was over. But to face the other girls at Saint Mary’s Academy was out of the question. They had never given her a moment’s thought. The gossip must’ve started as soon as they heard she wasn’t finishing the school year. Facing the girls at Saint Mary’s was one thing, but having to live with the Pritcharts’ eternal disapproval would be purgatory. Uncle Denis had never wanted her around in the first place. He only tolerated her because of Aunt Jan. Now that Nadine had brought shame to the family, he was sure to hold it against her and make her life miserable. The Pritcharts’ claim that she took after her mother’s French side was now confirmed in their eyes. Going back to live with them was out of the question.
She checked the windows of the third floor one last time. No sign of Isa. She sighed and turned around. Time to get on with her new life. She reached into her pocket, pulled out the note with the address, bit her lip and looked towards St. Timothy Street. It was a long uphill trek to the rooming house.
Just then a woman clutching a baby wrapped in a green hospital blanket appeared from the St-Hubert Street side of the building. Two nuns, their black robes ballooning around them, ran behind, screaming at her to stop. Nadine froze when she recognized Isa, her wool coat unbuttoned over her blue hospital dress.
Isa glanced back over her shoulder, a frantic look on her face. The nuns were gaining on her. She pressed the child to her chest and bolted.
Nadine cried out her name. Isa shot her head around to grin at Nadine and continued running. What had possessed her to take the child? Where was she going? She must’ve sneaked into the crèche while most of the staff were at breakfast. Nadine’s heart skipped a beat when she saw her stumble off the sidewalk and
dodge an oncoming car.
She had almost reached the middle of the boulevard when a milk truck made a sudden turn off Woodyard Street onto Dorchester. The sound of brakes came too late to avoid Isa. Traffic came to a full stop in each direction. The truck driver jumped out of the cab, yelling for help.
The two nuns, hunched over Isa’s body, were doing the sign of the cross when Nadine reached them. Isa lay flat on her belly against the pavement. The baby’s white wool sweater and matching mittens, bloodied and tangled in his mother’s hair. His tiny arm poked out from beneath Isa’s broken body, reminding Nadine of the universal white flag hoisted in battle. Her heart lurched. Isa’s fight was over. The nuns continued their litany, the hems of their long dark skirts darkened with the blood from the unwed mother and her child. Nadine leaned down to smooth Isa’s hair away from her face and tucked the baby’s arm into the folds of the stained hospital blanket. Their souls were to forever travel together as one. No one had the power to separate them now.
Sister Blain touched Nadine’s shoulder. “Don’t linger here, my child. They’re in God’s hands now. There’s nothing you can do but pray for them.”
Nadine refused to budge until the gurney had wheeled the bodies away and the nuns had trudged back across the street. Praying for Isa didn’t make any sense to her. She had departed on her journey to a place where no one would judge her ever again. They had been soul sisters for a short period on this earth but were now linked till the end of time. Nadine blinked back her tears and made a silent promise to her friend.
Watch, dear Isa.
Watch my baby girl come back to me.
Chapter 16
The door to the café lurched open. A young woman wearing a green canvas hooded poncho and loose jeans entered clutching a knapsack in one hand. She scanned the room, hesitating when her eyes landed on Nadine. She remained staring a long moment, then crossed the café, her face expressionless.
Nadine stood up and clutched the back of her chair, her heart pounding. It had to be her. The same full lips and high cheekbones she saw in the mirror every day. She had the urge to run and throw her arms around her, but the intensity in the girl’s eyes made her hold back.
What do I do? Wait. Smile.
She’s… so beautiful.
What if she turns back?
Social Services had advised her to choose a neutral meeting place and not to expect too much. She had only been waiting thirty minutes this time. Better than last time, with a no-show after two hours of endless waiting. The girl had called back last night mumbling some kind of excuse, which Nadine didn’t remember or care about. She was here. Walking straight in her direction. Right back into her life.
The young woman came to a stop beside her table. “Nadine Pritchart?”
She shook her head, biting down on her lip. “Brochet. My name is Nadine Brochet. I go by my mother’s maiden name now.”
Lisette stood tall and strong, raindrops dripping off her green poncho onto the ceramic floor. “That’s why you were so hard to find. I went through all the Pritcharts listed in the telephone book. Stella Pritchart was the only one I found who knew you. That led me to a seniors home in NDG, but that’s where the trail ended.”
Nadine sat down again and gestured for the girl to do the same, her words blocked by a burning ball in her throat. If she opened her mouth to say anything else, tears were sure to fall. She remained frozen, mesmerized in front of this beautiful girl—this long-lost daughter. “There’s… two Pritchart uncles still living,” she managed to slip out. “But I don’t think they’d have been any help to you. Was Grandma Stella shocked to hear from you?”
Lisette leaned forward to shrug off her wet poncho, spraying the tabletop between them. “More happy than shocked. She thought I was your mother Claire when I first visited last Friday. Later, she seemed to think I was you.”
Heat rose to Nadine’s cheeks. She had avoided seeing Grandma Stella for twenty long years, and here was her daughter going to visit her as soon as she found out about her. Why did she let this happen? How heartless she must appear to Grandma… and to Aunt Jan, who must’ve heard by now.
“Grandma’s not far off. My Aunt Jan always said my mother had a lot of pizzazz, something I never had, but you seem to. I remember her being delicate, with hands no bigger than a child’s.”
Lisette spread a hand out in front of her. “Can’t say that about me. I must take after my father.”
Nadine averted her eyes. If the girl only knew how close she was to the truth. But now wasn’t the time. “Did… she ask about me?” She swallowed the tepid mouthful of coffee left in her mug and braced herself for the answer. Why did she expect Grandma to care about her after she had neglected her for so long?
The girl straightened, holding the poncho in front of her. “Ask about you? Not really, I had to interrupt her a few times to remind her who I was. But I heard all about Grandpa Pritchart, and how your mother was killed by her husband. Nice lady, but she sure loves to talk.”
Nadine’s shoulders stiffened at such a casual mention of her mother’s death. The subject had been taboo while she was growing up and she had never once talked about it to anyone.
Lisette hung her poncho on the back of her seat, dropped her knapsack on the floor, and lowered herself into the chair. Her black and white sweatshirt outlined her swollen abdomen.
Nadine’s eyes widened at the sight of her round belly. She swallowed hard and clutched the seat of her chair. “How… far are you?”
“Eight months done.” She leaned back in her seat and placed both hands on her stomach. “It feels more like eight years. I don’t know how elephants manage, but I’ll sure be glad when the kid pops out.”
Nadine was at a loss for words. That Lisette would be pregnant had never crossed her mind. She had planned to warn her about Grandpa’s genetic disorder—the girl had to be told about the risks involved. But not now. Not when the girl was about to give birth. Better to have Lisette resent her later for not having said anything rather than worry her in her last month. She stared at the girl’s wide hands and wrists—big-boned like the Pritcharts. “How’s it going with you?”
“OK I guess, if you’re talking about the pregnancy.” She pressed her hands on her hips and arched her back. “Not so sure about everything else.”
“There’s someone?” The girl was gorgeous. Dark glowing eyes, smooth skin, and the outline of her mountainous belly bursting like a proud monument through her shirt. Her daughter’s show of pride in carrying her child triggered a pain in the back of Nadine’s throat. She had felt such shame while pregnant with her.
Lisette wiped the raindrops off the table with the sleeve of her shirt and looked up at the waitress. “Coffee, please. Two creams, no sugar.” She turned back to Nadine. “Serge—he’s the one who nagged me to call you back after I didn’t show up yesterday—he’s the baby’s father. So, yes there’s someone. I know who the father is, if that’s what you’re asking. Didn’t you?”
“Black for me, please.” Nadine ordered her coffee and waited for the waitress to be out of earshot. That Lisette was so willing to discuss personal matters in front of strangers meant she expected the same honesty from her. She swallowed hard to stop the bile rising up her throat. “Yes, Lisette… I did… know. I only asked because I wondered if someone was helping you out. Sorry if that offended you.”
The girl’s gaze locked into hers. “I assumed if I have… a Mommy”—she tilted her head sideways, a look of defiance in her eyes—“I’d have a Daddy to match. Looks to me like you’re the one who took offence.”
The waitress returned with the coffee and creamers and headed towards her other customers.
“It’s not something I thought we’d talk about... not here, in any case.” Nadine forced a smile. “All I can say right now is that… he’s dead. Your father died a long time ago.”
Lisette stirred two c
reams into her coffee. “You make it sound like it’s a good thing. Was he some kind of creep or something? Is that why you pawned me off?”
Nadine took in a long breath to try to ease the knots in her gut and pushed her shoulders back. This wasn’t how she’d imagined the meeting to be. No flash of recognition. No weeping and throwing their arms around each other. She had felt the urge to run to her the moment she entered the café, but the dark look on Lisette’s face had stopped her. It was too soon. They were strangers, after all. They had to give themselves time to get to know each other. “It wasn’t… like that—” She faltered and looked down at her hands. “They, uh… took you away before I set eyes on you… I’ve waited so long for this moment. I—” Her words stopped dead in her throat.
Lisette pulled her glasses off and cleaned them with her napkin. “Here we go. The Harlequin moment when mother and child meet for the first time in twenty years. Spare me the drama, please. I had enough of that in the foster homes they dumped me in.”
Nadine stared at her, perplexed. “Foster homes? I was under the impression that a young couple adopted you.”
“Right.” She crunched the napkin and tossed it on the table. “The model couple got divorced one week after my fifth birthday. First they told me I was adopted, and then they announced they couldn’t keep me anymore. Seven screwed-up families later, here I am, survivor of abuse and neglect in the commendable foster care system. But hey—” She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “None of that is your fault, is it? All you did was give birth to me and go on with your life.”
“I—” Nadine started to protest, but a hardness in the girl’s eyes stopped her. She was blaming her for whatever rejection she had suffered as a child. The girl was right. She had kept her safe inside the walls of her womb for nine months and then let her go into the unknown. They had promised a better life for her, better parents. The girl didn’t know how much she had wanted to keep her, or imagine the shame it was at the time to be an unwed mother. She’d come round. She had waited and dreamed too long for this moment to lose her again. “I guess you must hate me right now. I—”
The Daughters' Story Page 14
