"I know, it's a mess. Maybe you can help me weed later."
Veronica made a face. "I thought we were clearing out the master bedroom today."
I patted her crimson curls. "That too. Put the dishes in the sink when you're done and meet me upstairs."
"Mom," she whined, "I need a shower."
I stifled the urge to pinch Veronica on the inside of her arm the way my Granny had always done whenever I was sulky and fresh. I said with more good humor than I felt, "After your shower then," and then walked out of the kitchen, past the remnants of the ficus in the hallway and up the stairs.
I looked at my watch again. Eleven o'clock. My mother should've finished her final dose of chemo by now. Although I'd offered to accompany her, my mother insisted she only wanted her cousin Molly with her. She used Veronica being here as an excuse, and I didn't push. I was relieved, to tell the truth. To assuage my guilt, I decided to search through my mother's belongings and find some photos to hang in her hospice room.
Even after my grandmother died five years ago, my mother continued to sleep in the same narrow bedroom facing the back garden she'd occupied for most of her sixty-five years. Her bedroom was as neat and spare as I imagine her postulant's room at Our Lady of Angels convent was so many years earlier. It's only adornment was a crucifix and a small copy of my wedding portrait.
Across the hall, the master bedroom was the house's largest and brightest bedroom, and the only one with a view of Centerport harbor. About a year after my grandmother died, I made one of my rare trips home and forced my mother to organize Kitty's clothes and donate what was salvageable to St. Ann's. I urged my mother to get rid of the rest of Kitty's things and move into the larger and more comfortable bedroom. My mother nodded and agreed with me while I was here, but clearly hadn't been in the room since, except to store a few boxes. Kitty's ring, watch and hairbrush sat on the nightstand next to the bed and the room still had a slight scent of Kitty's musky perfume.
I opened the bottom drawer of a large cherry armoire stuffed with envelopes. My nose twitched from the musty smell. I opened the first envelope and found a letter from my great grandmother Eileen, my namesake. The rest of the letters were from various members of Granny Kitty's family back in Ireland, although most were from her mother Eileen. I tried the next drawer and came up with a large package. Inside was a letter from my grandmother's brother, Danny, who had inherited Templeglantin, the family farm in County Kerry. After Eileen's death Danny returned to Kitty the letters she had written to her mother over the years.
All of this was interesting, but I didn't think my mother would find these musty old letters particularly uplifting. My mother wasn't one to linger on the past. I was the one who loved to hear my grandmother's stories about Ireland. Behind Granny's back, Mom would roll her eyes. Never to Granny's face, though. My meek mother wasn't that brave. Honestly, I wasn't sure what would cheer my mother up. Her friends from the Rosary Society had plastered her room with enough prayer cards and bloody pictures of the Sacred Heart to cause even the Pope lose his lunch. Her room was already full of flowers. Other than flowers and Jesus, my mother didn't have too many other interests. At least none that I knew of. Still, I had to try and do something to lift her spirits. God knows our stilted conversations hadn't cheered her up. After a half hour in each other's company, she'd stare out the window biting her lip and I'd have a migraine.
I hit pay dirt when I found an old photo album with Margaret O'Connor Sullivan written in faded ink on the inside cover. Margaret died when I was a baby, but I knew how close my mother was to her aunt.
"Find anything?" Veronica asked pleasantly, the shower having improved her mood.
"Mostly old letters. But I did find this album." I flipped through the pages. "Look, here's a picture of my grandfather."
"He was handsome."
"Kitty always said that Tim Murphy from Monaghan was the most beautiful man she ever saw."
Veronica pointed to a picture of Tim with his arms around a petite dark haired woman. "Hey, that's not Granny Kitty, is it?"
"No, that's Auntie Margaret." I turned another page to find Tim and Margaret holding hands at Coney Island.
Veronica idly twisted one of her damp curls around her finger as she lay sprawled across Kitty's bed. "She looks just like Nana. Those two look very chummy, don't they?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you? He used to be engaged to Auntie Margaret."
"Get out!" Veronica sat up. "You never told me that."
"I didn't? Well, that's probably because Kitty didn't like to talk about it, and neither did my mother. I only found out from one of my cousins at a family wedding a few years ago."
"So you've never seen these pictures?" Veronica asked.
"Nope, and I'm surprised Kitty didn't burn them. She never had anything good to say about Margaret. Here's a picture of Kitty and Margaret on Kitty's wedding day."
"Why is Margaret carrying a bouquet? Oh my God, she wasn't the bridesmaid, was she?"
"Apparently."
"This is better than a soap opera." Veronica jumped off the bed to get a better look. "How did Kitty wind up with Tim anyway?"
"That was a bit of a scandal. Kitty used to work in a bar."
"Granny Kitty worked in a bar? Miss 'tanks tops are not appropriate clothing for young ladies'? Miss 'red nail polish looks cheap'? I don't believe you."
Veronica had only known my grandmother when she was ancient; gnarled with arthritis and, near the end, crippled by dementia. The thought of Granny Kitty serving drinks and flirting with brawny Irishman was obviously a bit shocking to my daughter. I ruffled Veronica's hair. "Before she became a practical nurse, Kitty was a bar maid. I believe she was very popular."
"Well, look at her." Veronica pointed to the wedding picture. "Even in those awful clothes, she was pretty hot." The faded black and white photo couldn't hide Kitty's dazzling wide smile and luscious hour glass figure.
Veronica held up a picture of Tim and Kitty kissing next to a Christmas tree. "Can you believe that these two people produced Nana? I know that sounds mean, and you know how much I love Nana, but come on. These two are smoking and Nana, well, she's just not."
"Smoking or not, your grandmother's always been very good to you. And we're supposed to find some happy, uplifting pictures. Pictures of dead people, no matter how hot, are not what your grandmother needs right now. I can't believe you forgot to bring up my photo albums. I promised Molly we'd meet her at St. Francis by two, so let's just do the best we can. You go through those boxes by the window while I try another one of these drawers."
"Okay," Veronica said with a dramatic sigh. She clearly wanted to hear more about her great grandparents' racy love triangle rather than do any work. But, at heart Veronica was a good girl and despite her penchant for heavy sighs and eye rolls, was generally compliant.
I sifted through the old chest's drawers and found another of Margaret's photo albums. This one contained baby photos of her own three children and pictures of Rose from age eighteen months to age five. After my grandfather Tim Murphy was crushed by a collapsed brick wall at a building site, Kitty became a live-in practical nurse and worked for wealthy elderly matrons in Manhattan. Since Kitty couldn't take a baby with her to the sickrooms, she'd left Rose with her sister Margaret, who in the interim had married a widowed police sergeant and was pregnant herself. If Margaret resented being saddled with the child of her former fiancé and her flirty sister, it didn't show in these pictures. There were several faded photos of a very pregnant Margaret holding Rose quite tenderly. Rose shared Margaret's dark straight hair, small narrow face and pointed chin and looked more like Margaret's child than the chubby fair haired Molly who was born soon thereafter. I found a picture of Rose, age five, holding Molly's hand, surrounded by a sea of daffodils. I carefully removed the snapshot from Margaret's album.
"Any luck?" I asked Veronica.
"Here's a photo of Nana dressed up like a nun, but it's weird, it doesn't look like she's at a Halloween
party."
"Let me see. I've never seen a picture of my mother in her veil."
"Her veil?"
"Your grandmother spent six months in a convent when she was seventeen." The photo of a young Rose smiling broadly in her short blue postulant's veil made me smile myself. My mother looked so happy, even joyful, that her normally pinched features were almost beautiful.
"What other family secrets haven't you told me?" Veronica scolded. "Am I adopted? Is Dad secretly an alien?"
I laughed and ruffled her hair again. "Your father is many things, but an alien he is not. Nana didn't really tell me too much about her convent days. Besides it was so long ago, I never thought to tell you. This is such a great photo and I'm sure she hasn't seen it in a while. Let's add it to the pile. Did you find anything else?"
"I found her high school graduation picture, but she looks kind of nervous."
"No, I only want pictures where she's smiling, happy."
Veronica sifted through some more photos and then handed me a small, creased photo. "What about this one, Mom? Nana's smiling and it looks like she's at a party."
In the photo Molly and her husband Bobby, dressed in his police cadet's uniform, stood next to my mother and another young cadet. My mother's normally straight hair was ratted in a sixties bouffant and she had a full face of makeup. Both of the young men held beers. I flipped the picture over and read the faded scrawl: St. Paddy's Day, 1966. Me, Bobby, Rosie and Denis.
"St. Patrick's Day, 1966," I said. I stared at the picture of the young cadet named Denis. He was blond, with high cheek bones. Very wide set eyes.
"Mom, what is it?"
"Nothing, sweetie. Why don't you finish getting dressed and then we'll head over to St. Francis."
After Veronica left the room I sat on Kitty's high four-poster bed. I looked at the photo again, and focused only on the fair, handsome young man. I was born on December 20th, 1966. "Dear God," I said aloud, "I think this man is my father."
Chapter 3
Ellen
I'd placed the last of the newly framed photos on my mother's bedside tables when my mother's cousin, Molly, walked in. Her broad face was pale and her light blue eyes dull with fatigue, but she brightened when she noticed Veronica.
"This can't be Veronica." Molly's meaty arms engulfed my daughter in a bear hug. "Last time I saw you, you were playing with your dollies."
Veronica grinned. "I left them in the car."
"You look fantastic, Veronica. So grown up. Rose tells me you'll be at NYU this fall."
"That's right. I can't wait to get out of boring Washington. I love Manhattan, especially Greenwich Village."
"Now that you're local I expect to see a lot more of you, young lady," Molly mock scolded. "I know Sarah will be happy that you'll be close by." Sarah was Molly's change of life baby and only girl after four boys.
"She still has one more year at Queen of the Rosary Academy, right, Molly?" I asked.
"Yes, she'll be a senior."
"Has she decided on a college yet?" I asked.
"It changes daily." Molly barely glanced in my direction. She then turned back to Veronica and said, "Maybe you could give her some ideas."
"I'd love to, Aunt Molly."
"Those are beautiful roses, Veronica," Molly said. "They should cheer your grandmother right up."
"Thanks. Mom and I wanted to do something to brighten the room. We even brought some photos." Veronica pointed to the two side tables that flanked the high hospital bed.
Molly walked over and picked up a picture of Rose and my three kids taken in front of my house in Georgetown. She smiled and then looked at a picture of Rose and my uncle Paul taken ten years ago on his first sailboat. "My God, I almost forgot that Paul used to have hair." Molly then picked up the photo of Rose in her postulant's habit. "What is this?"
"I found it in Kitty's room. Isn't it a great photo? Mom looks so happy in it."
"I don't think she'll want to see this." Molly snatched the photo off the table. She then looked at the photo of herself and Rose as children in her mother's back yard. "This will have to go as well. Ellen, why on earth did you drag these here? Why were you poking through your mother's things? Couldn't you have the decency to wait until she's dead?"
"Veronica," I said, "please go down to the cafeteria and get us some coffee." For once Veronica didn't object, and scooted out of the room.
I forced myself to remain calm. Molly had a trigger temper, and I'd learned from experience that Molly didn't respond well to confrontation. "What's wrong with these photos, Molly? I think they're nice. They'll cheer Mom up."
"Cheer her up? Good God, Ellen, do you not know your mother at all? Rose was devastated when Kitty dragged her home from the convent. And this picture of us as children? It was taken when Rosie used to live with us. You have to know Rose was traumatized when Kitty ripped her from our family."
"What are you talking about? This is the first I'm hearing this."
"Well, you always were Kitty's girl, weren't you? Never gave your poor mother the time of the day. We've hardly seen you these past five years. If you don't know the most basic facts of your mother's life, you've only yourself to blame." Molly grabbed my arm. "But listen to me, Ellen, and listen good. You can't upset her now. The doctors said this morning they'd be surprised if she makes it past this month. So stick a smile on your face and talk about the weather. But don't bring up the past and, for heaven's sake, leave these moldy old pictures at home."
Despite my good intentions, I opened my purse and pulled out the St. Paddy's Day picture. "You mean pictures like this? If I don't know the most basic facts of my mother's life as you say, it's because she refused to share them. I begged her to tell me who my father was. Of course she wouldn't tell me. Kitty, my uncles, the whole family acted like I was the result of an immaculate conception. But look, here he is."
Molly's fair cheeks flamed. "Show some respect, Ellen. Now is neither the time nor the place."
"It is obvious that this is my father. You know who he is. Don't bother denying it."
"Ellen, I..."
The door swung open. "Now, here we are Miss Murphy." A tall, young male aide pushed a gurney into the room. My mother's eyes were half closed, her face drawn and gray.
Molly rushed to her side, "Rosie, sweetheart, we're here. Myself and Ellen."
The aide settled my frail mother in the bed. A few moments later Veronica entered the room with a tray of coffees. I didn't want to alarm either my mother or my daughter so I forced myself to calm down. I sat next to Veronica and sipped my coffee while Molly and the aide straightened the bedcovers. After the aide left, Molly sat closest to my mother. She gently stroked my mother's thin hair and murmured a string of words. Nothing important really, just something to let my mother know, in her drugged state, that she wasn't alone. That she was loved.
The lines around Molly's eyes seemed to have deepened during these past two weeks, and her normally full face was slack. Ever since I was a teenager, and hell maybe even before that, Molly had made it painfully clear she didn't think much of me. Unlike the rest of the family, she wasn't impressed by my straight As or homecoming queen good looks. But, then again, Molly didn't think much of my grandmother either.
At my grandmother's wake, unlike the rest of the extended O'Connor/Murphy/Frohller clan, Molly's eyes were dry. Near the end of the night, when I was in the ladies' room trying to repair my mascara, she stood behind me and said into the mirror, "Well, Rosie's free of her. Free of her at last."
"What in God's name are you talking about? My mother's destroyed. Absolutely destroyed by this."
"I'll admit she's been destroyed. Destroyed by that selfish woman."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I spat. "Everyone loved Kitty. Most of all my mother."
Molly stared at me in the mirror for a few moments. Her angry face softened and she said in a more conciliatory tone, "Ellen, I know that you're busy with the children." She placed her hand on my arm.
"But, please come home more often. Your mother needs you."
"I just lost my grandmother," I said, my tears flowed again. "I can't talk about this."
The few times I'd seen Molly since, we were nominally polite and kept our distance. But I couldn't deny that Molly had been good to my mother over the years. She included her in family gatherings like Sunday dinners at Molly's large colonial in neighboring Huntington. In recent years, since Molly's husband Bobby died, they even vacationed together. They were closer than most sisters and these past three weeks had taken their toll on the usually unflappable Molly. Despite our differences over the years, even I had to feel sorry for her. Although I should be ashamed to admit it, I suspected she'd feel the loss of my mother more than I would.
"Molly," I said, "you must be exhausted. Why don't you go home and get some sleep? Veronica and I can stay with her until Paul comes in from work."
Molly nodded. She kissed Rose's forehead and left without looking at me. This morning's chemo session and our little altercation had clearly exhausted Molly. I was exhausted as well. I sat beside my mother and stroked her thin hand as she slept.
Chapter 4
Ellen
"Girls, come on," I shouted up the stairs. "You're going to miss your flight." The girls giggled in reply. After my semi-altercation with Molly, Veronica offered to cancel her graduation trip to Italy, but I wouldn't let her. Veronica and her friend Hailey were meeting up with their friend Alison Shanley and her parents. Alison's mother, Nancy, had been a Bunco friend of mine before I went back to work. And before my husband Brendan flirted with her in full view of all my friends. Allison and I still had a very cordial relationship. If I stopped talking to every woman in D.C. Brendan had either slept with or wanted to sleep with, I'd practically be a mute.
The girls were originally scheduled to fly out of Dulles with the Shanleys, but after my mother got sick we changed Veronica's ticket and Veronica convinced Hailey to do the same. I think she could convince Hailey to chug bleach if she wanted to. Well, there are leaders and there are followers in this world and my little red haired daughter was definitely a leader. She wasn't mean spirited about it and generally didn't abuse her power over her band of followers. Veronica was blessed with her father's natural charisma. Fortunately, in her case, that charisma was tempered by a tender heart.
The Girls on Rose Hill Page 2
