Kate Hannigan's Girl

by Catherine Cookson

  At this point, Annie dropped the letter on to her lap. It was impossible that he could lie so. How had she ever let herself love someone who had acted as he had done and referred to it now as the merest incident? She thought back to all the years she had suffered through being ‘a mere incident’ …

  She read on: Talk the matter over with your mother if you like; I know she will understand. You can tell her all that was in the book…He was sure of Kate’s understanding because he knew that when Annie was born Kate wasn’t married. He would not have dared to say that otherwise. And, she supposed, it was because of his knowledge on that subject that he was surprised that she, too, didn’t treat the matter lightly; he was disappointed she wasn’t like Kate…Oh, dear God, what was she saying? Oh, Mam! Mam! I didn’t mean that. She wrung her hands. If only he’d stop writing, if only he’d leave her alone. That was all she wanted, to be left alone. She knew what she was going to do, and she wanted to be left in peace to do it …

  It was a week before half-term when Kate received the telephone call from the principal of the college. The principal said she was a little troubled about Annie, who’d had a cold and been confined to bed for a few days, but wasn’t picking up as she should. Although she was at her studies again, various reports of her tutors were to the effect that she was showing lack of concentration…It was suggested she should return home for a rest.

  Within four hours Annie was home, full of indignation with the principal and with Kate for their unneccessary fuss. She maintained that, apart from a slight cold, she was otherwise perfectly all right. Did they want her to fail her exams? Why couldn’t they all leave her alone?

  To Kate’s dismay, she found it impossible to get near Annie; her reticence was stronger than when she left home at the beginning of term. Several times Kate tried to penetrate the strange coolness and to draw Annie back on to the old footing that had kept them so near to each other through the years. But with each effort the breach between them seemed to widen. At last she left her to Rodney.

  His approach was direct, knowing that she would see through any cautious preliminaries. He put his arm about her and led her into his study. ‘Fairy,’ he said, using an old childish name, ‘there’s something troubling you, and it’s worrying me and your mother…It’s to do with Cathleen Davidson, we know, and I want to tell you now that I have found out quite a lot about Cathleen lately. If I hadn’t missed you the morning you went back to college we’d have had this talk before. I know she was bent on mischief when she last came up here; she did quite a lot of damage that day, some irreparable.’

  For a moment Annie was off her guard. She looked her surprise, then asked, ‘Was it through her that Michael went to Canada?’

  ‘Yes, it was. And you’ll feel better, my dear, if you’ll tell me what she said to you, for whatever it was was prompted by jealousy, and was most likely lies…You know, it was also through her that Steve left. But Kate will tell you all about that. For myself,’ Rodney went on, ‘I think I must have been an utter blind fool.’ He shook his head, still unable to comprehend the extent of Cathleen’s wickedness.

  ‘How did she make Steve go?’ asked Annie, interested in spite of herself.

  ‘Oh, it’s a long story. You must ask Kate. That silly woman kept it to herself all this time. If only she had told me I should have been saved a few headaches, and so would you. But there, that’s over…Now don’t you see, my dear, whatever Cathleen said to upset you may have no foundation of truth in it?’

  Annie turned from him and, leaning her arm on the mantel-piece, lowered her head on to it. ‘It was true, Rodney…I know. And it wasn’t only what she said, there was something else, something quite different.’

  Rodney came and stood beside her and placed his hand gently on her hair. She turned swiftly to him and laid her cheek against his in the old familiar caress.

  ‘Annie, dear …’ He was greatly touched.

  ‘Don’t talk about it any more, Rodney. I can’t tell you. It’s over and done with, anyway. All I want to do is to forget about Cathleen Davidson…and him.’

  ‘Very well, my dear. Very well.’ He kissed her gently. He knew it would be useless to probe further; as Kate had said, it was like unearthing a seam of steel where you expected chalk.

  The following morning Annie made the first decisive step on the road she planned to walk, and went to see Father Bailey. He was a little surprised, but delighted to see her, and it was quite a while before he let her come to the subject of her visit; all his interest and concern seemed to be centred on a canary in its cage by the window. It was a present, he explained, from someone in the parish. ‘And you would never believe it, Annie,’ he said, ‘he sings like a lark…Now listen…Come on, Sandy. Come on, sing for the old man…Aw! come on now,’ he coaxed. But Sandy refused to be drawn. ‘He’s temperamental,’ the priest went on, poking his fingers through the bars; ‘you wouldn’t believe just how temperamental he is. He knows he’s good and he plays on it. He has very human traits, has Sandy…Come on, boy, come on now.’

  ‘Father,’ began Annie from the opposite side of the cage, ‘father, I’ve come to see you about…about entering the Church.’

  Father Bailey continued to poke his fingers through the bars. He lifted a piece of bacon rind from one bar and wound it round another. He stepped back from the cage and intently watched its gentle swinging; then went back again and, putting his finger into the porcelain bath of sand, he stirred it up. Presently he dusted his hands and walked to the table. Sitting down, he motioned Annie to a seat on the opposite side.

  He glanced at her across the broad expanse of the table, then stared down at the brown linoleum, and his eyes followed the dull imprints of his rubber soles on its shining surface, his head nodding as if he were counting each imprint.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘since when have you wanted to be a nun, Annie?’

  ‘Oh, a long time, father,’ said Annie, clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap. ‘Oh, quite a time.’

  When had she first thought of being a nun? Was it that day in the convent chapel when she knelt praying beside Sister Ann and experienced a feeling of peace? Yes, perhaps, though she hadn’t known about it until that day on the Jarrow road…‘Nearly four years, father.’

  ‘Really? And why do you want to be a nun?’

  ‘Because, father, I feel…well…I can’t really explain…because the life will be so peaceful, and …’

  Father Bailey let out a roar of laughter, and Annie’s face became tight. ‘And of course you want to serve God?’ he said, wiping his eyes.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course, father’—her voice was both earnest and indignant—‘and, and I want to teach children.’

  Father Bailey leant back in his chair, tucked in his chin, and began to count the buttons on his waistcoat as if he had just discovered their presence. His expression was that of a surprised child. ‘So you want to feel at peace and you want to teach?’ He did not raise his eyes from the waistcoat.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you think you’ll have more peace and teach better if you are a nun?’

  ‘Well…yes, father, something like that.’

  Father Bailey swung away from the contemplation of his buttons. He leant across the table and thrust a finger at Annie: ‘Now I’m going to tell you something, Annie…You are one of the majority who think along those lines, and one of the majority that’s wrong. Far, far from temptation letting you alone once you become either a priest or a nun, it would seem that God walks out on you entirely, and the Devil has a clear field…Yes, Annie, you are very often starkly alone. It’s as if God says, “Now I’ve brought you this far, get on with it,” and instead of the “peace” you expect what do you get? A soul torn in agony, temptations that seem to come from the pit itself, and you can see no way out. And mark this, you don’t get out!’ Father Bailey moved his fingers slowly up and down. ‘No, you don’t get out unless, in spite of all the Devil can do, you’re sure of your road. You must know dee
p down you’re sure of your road. And it’s not just wanting peace, Annie, that will make you sure…The peace of God that passeth all understanding has to be worked for.’

  He sat back in his chair again, and Annie stared at him in hurt surprise. This reception was totally unexpected; she had thought he would be overjoyed, he of all people.

  His next remark seemed irrelevant: ‘I had a letter from Tim the other day, and it was odd that he should be talking of the grand time he had at Christmas up at your house. A fine lot of people he met there; he had the time of his life…Ah! he likes a bit of fun, does Tim.’

  Annie exclaimed, tersely, ‘If Tim can become a priest, why shouldn’t I become a nun, father?’

  ‘Just this, Annie,’ he said quietly: ‘Tim has a vocation. He has known since he was a very young child just what he wanted to do, and that was to serve God. His laughter, his jokes, his devilment, even that good-looking face of his, are all being used in the service of God…But I never heard him say he wanted to be a priest because he wanted peace…No, I never heard him say that.’

  Father Bailey looked again towards the canary. ‘You see, Annie, God has jobs for us all. Some he picks for priests and nuns, others he picks to be mothers…That’s a great vocation now…Ah yes, to be the mother of a family!’ He turned and smiled broadly at her.

  ‘Father’—Annie rose abruptly—‘I’ve made up my mind. I know what I want to be.’

  ‘All right, all right …’—the priest got up heavily—‘but, as you know, there’s a lot to be done first…What does your mother say about this?’

  ‘I haven’t told her yet,’ said Annie quietly; ‘I was wondering, father, if…if you would tell her.’

  ‘What!’ The word came like a pistol shot. ‘Me tell your mother that you want…?’ He took a deep breath. ‘Why, I wouldn’t take a bucketful of golden sovereigns to do such a thing! I’m surprised at you asking it; you know how dead against the Church she’s been these last years. It always amazed me she let you attend the convent school. I’m sure it was only to prove to herself the pet theory she’s worked up about the spiritual freedom of the individual…Me, tell your mother you want to be a nun? Not on your life, Annie!’

  ‘Oh, father!’

  ‘Now it’s no use, Annie. If you were sure in your own mind of what you want to do you’d not fear telling her.’

  ‘I am sure.’

  ‘Then get on with the job. For it will be a job, and you’ll find that out.’

  ‘Will…will you come up, father, and talk to her after…because…Because I think she’ll be a bit upset?’

  ‘A bit upset! Did you say “a bit”? You’re right there. Saints alive! just how right has got to be seen. Very well’—he nodded heavily—‘I’ll look in tomorrow. When are you going to see the Mother Superior?’

  ‘I’ll go tomorrow, father, tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Then I’ll be up in the morning.’

  Without adding anything further Father Bailey turned back to his canary, and Annie, with a faint ‘Goodbye’, went out.

  It was all so different from what she had pictured. She had imagined Father Bailey, with his hand on her shoulder, expressing his delight and willingly taking on the task of breaking the news to Kate. But now she was alone in facing that task, and the feeling she had at the prospect amounted to terror …

  On arriving back home she was greeted by a Kate full of almost girlish excitement about an afternoon shopping expedition to Newcastle. She was brimming over with it; they must have something new, new hats, new dresses; they would have tea in town and go to a film afterwards. Rodney, too, was all for it. And it was patent to Annie it was being done for her benefit.

  She wanted to say to Kate: ‘It’s no use buying me new clothes, I won’t be able to wear them.’ But at the thought of spoiling Kate’s happiness her courage failed her, for she realised that now their concern for her was the only dark spot on their horizon. So she went to Newcastle, and the day and night passed and she still had to tell Kate.

  Whatever picture she had in her mind of the scene that would follow the telling of her news could not have been in any way comparable to the one which actually took place. And Father Bailey could not have timed his arrival at a worse moment.

  Annie was flying upstairs, away from Kate, away from a wrath whose ferocity staggered her, as he came into the hall.

  Father Bailey was prepared for a scene with Kate, but he wasn’t prepared for the Kate he saw now, a woman who seemed to have grown to twice her size with the turmoil of her feelings. He put his hat and coat on the hall-stand in a silence that vibrated. Then he was forced to meet Kate’s eye as she stood staring at him from the drawing-room doorway with Rodney behind her.

  The words seemed to spit from her mouth as she said, ‘You’ve done this! You and your suggestion—bring her up in a convent! Yes, bring her up in a convent, where they can play on her mind and nerves. Catch them young, that’s the idea, isn’t it?…You’ve had it planned for years! You and that Sister Ann…Sister Ann!’ she screamed.

  Father Bailey’s red face paled and a white line showed around his mouth. He seemed to find great difficulty in speaking. ‘Don’t say any more, Kate, you’ll only be sorry.’

  ‘What have I got to be sorry for?’ she cried.

  Rodney took her by the shoulder and turned her back into the drawing-room, practically pushing her with his body. ‘Come in, father, and close the door,’ he said to the priest. Although he looked white and drawn he was the calmest of the three.

  He tried to press Kate into a chair, but she shrugged away from him and turned again on Father Bailey: ‘I’d rather see her dead!…Do you hear? dead!…Oh my God!’ Some of the tenseness went out of her body, and she put her hand across her eyes. ‘My Annie in a convent!…All her life, never, never to come out. It’s wrong, it’s wrong.’ She dropped her hand and stared at the priest again: ‘She’s as much fitted for a convent as…as …

  ‘As you are,’ put in Father Bailey, quietly.

  ‘Yes! as I am,’ Kate cried defiantly. ‘I know her. I know her, you don’t. It’s because she’s in love…She’s hurt, and you take advantage. I could have understood Father O’Malley doing it, but not you. I trusted you. You’ve done this for spite because I wouldn’t have David and Angela christened in the Church; I’ve kept them free from your influence.’

  ‘Kate! Kate!’ Rodney cried. ‘Don’t! Say no more.’

  This time he succeeded in pressing her into the chair. ‘She’s not herself, father,’ he said, turning to the priest.

  Father Bailey was fumbling in an inner pocket of his coat. He drew out a small tin box which Rodney recognised as a rosary box, for he had just such another upstairs, which Kate had given to him the night he went to France. Father Bailey opened the box and turned out a tiny rosary on to the palm of his hand. The beads had once been coloured, but now they were bare pieces of glass linked by a tin chain. Lifting the rosary reverently, he held it up between finger and thumb and made the sign of the cross over it: ‘In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.

  ‘Look at me, Kate,’ he commanded.

  She raised her head.

  ‘This is my mother’s rosary. It was all she had to leave me. From my early days she set her heart on me being a priest. She died working. She had nothing, she owned nothing, only this. And to me it is as sacred as the Holy Bread…and’—his voice rose to a pitch of anger matching hers—‘I swear on it by her and by the body of Christ that the first time I heard that Annie Hannigan wanted to be a nun was yesterday morning.’

  The rosary held aloft, he looked, not like the easygoing priest of their acquaintance, but some titanic force of right. They stared at him, surprised out of themselves at the strength and personality of this little man.

  As Kate looked at him the stiffness and anger left her, and crying, ‘Oh, father!’ she turned her head into the wing of the chair and began to sob, great, tearing sounds which brought a twisted anguish to Rodney’
s face.

  When Rodney would have put his arm about her, the priest motioned him away, and in a voice that was still harsh and angry addressed Kate again: ‘If you had accused me of conspiring to marry her off to some good Catholic lad it would have been nearer the mark…for what good will she be as a nun? The Church doesn’t want nuns, it wants mothers, mothers of sons and daughters; it wants families, large families, for God alone knows they are becoming almost extinct…Now I ask you, why should I want Annie to be a nun? She’s a good, sound Catholic, and any children of hers would be brought up in the Church. There’s none of your nonsense about her; the education she’s had hasn’t made her think she knows better than her creator.’ Rodney’s brows contracted, and he made to speak, but the priest again silenced him with his hand. ‘Now do you believe me?’

  Kate was crying more quietly now. She made no answer, and Rodney spoke for her: ‘Yes, she believes you, father. This has been such a shock—undreamt of.’

  The priest returned the rosary to its box again, and after a space said, ‘What we’ve got to do is to put our heads together and play for time. I’ll have a word with the Mother Superior. It certainly won’t be my fault if Annie goes into a convent, but I can tell you this, Kate,’ he nodded towards her, ‘if you want to get her in with all speed, go on the way you are doing now.’

  He sat down with a soft plop on a nearby chair, and began to rub his face vigorously with a red and yellow patterned handkerchief. Kate had stopped crying and was lying still, her hands covering her face.

  Rodney limped about restlessly: ‘I should be able to work this out, but I can’t, it’s beyond me. I’ve never felt so inadequate in all my life. If she were anyone else’s child, something would suggest itself, I would do something definite, but as it is …’ He threw out his hand in a gesture of hopelessness.