The Little Orphan Girl

by Sandy Taylor

  ‘You’re happy enough with your mammy and granddaddy, aren’t you? They’re not mean to you, are they?’

  ‘No, they’re not mean to me, they’re kind to me, even the granddaddy. I didn’t think he liked me at first but I think he likes me better now.’

  ‘We’ll come again. We’ll come every day if you want to.’

  We linked arms and walked back into town. Past all the little cottages whose doors opened straight onto the lane. ‘Thanks, Mary,’ I said.

  It was nearly Christmas and we were sitting at our desks all snug and warm, listening to Sister Bridgette telling us the story of the Nativity. It was cold and windy outside. A branch from a big old tree was banging on the window as if it was asking to be let in. Sister had just got to the bit about the Wise Men travelling from the East when Maureen Hurley put up her hand.

  ‘Yes, Maureen?’ said Sister Bridgette.

  ‘How did the Wise Men know which way to go?’

  ‘They followed the star. Sure, you know that, Maureen.’

  ‘But how did they know which star to follow?’

  ‘Because it was the biggest and the brightest.’

  ‘But wouldn’t that same star be over the top of loads of stables? How did they know which was the right one?’

  Sister Bridgette was going red in the face and pulling at her wimple.

  ‘Maureen Hurley, why are you interrupting our lovely story with questions you already know the answers to?’

  ‘My father told me to always question things, Sister.’

  ‘Well, you can tell your father that good Catholics don't question the Holy Bible.’

  ‘I’ll tell him that, Sister.’

  ‘You do that, Maureen. Now where was I?’

  ‘You were telling us about the three kings who travelled to Bethlehem on their camels,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you, Cissy,’ she said, smiling at me. I loved it when Sister Bridgette smiled at me, it made me feel all warm inside.

  Maureen Hurley had her hand up again.

  ‘What is it this time?’ said Sister. ‘And it better be a sensible question.’

  ‘What’s a virgin, Sister?’

  I thought Sister Bridgette was about to explode. ‘Go and stand in the corridor this instant, you little barbarian,’ she snapped.

  Sister Bridgette looked around the classroom. Her face looked like Mammy’s when she was cross. ‘Does anyone else want to join Maureen in the corridor?’ she said.

  ‘No, Sister,’ we all chorused.

  ‘Right then, let us continue with our story.’

  Just then I had a dig in the ribs from Breda Coyne, who sat on the other side of me.

  ‘What?’ I mouthed.

  ‘I know what a virgin is,’ she whispered. ‘It’s someone who has a liking for the hard stuff.’

  I put my hand up.

  Sister Bridgette sighed. ‘What is it, Cissy?’

  ‘Did the Virgin Mary have a liking for the hard stuff, Sister?’ I asked.

  Sister Bridgette slammed the book down on the desk. ‘Blasphemy,’ she shouted. ‘Go and join Maureen in the corridor and say ten Hail Marys while you’re out there. I’m surprised at you, Cissy Ryan.’

  I got up from my seat and went out into the corridor, hot tears scalding the backs of my eyes. Sister Bridgette had never been angry with me before. I hated Breda Coyne. I hoped she’d die a martyr’s death on a big wheel and I hoped she’d die roaring.

  ‘What did you do?’ asked Maureen.

  I wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my cardigan and sniffed. ‘I asked Sister if the Virgin Mary had a liking for the hard stuff.’

  ‘Jesus, Cissy!’

  ‘I have to say ten Hail Marys.’

  ‘You’re lucky you weren’t excommunicated. Who in the name of God put that thought into your head?’

  ‘Breda Coyne.’

  Maureen raised her eyes up to the ceiling. ‘And you were daft enough to believe her?’

  I nodded.

  ‘My advice to you, Cissy, is don’t believe everything you’re told and only half of what you see.’

  ‘I’ll remember that, Maureen, and thank you for the advice.’

  ‘You’re very welcome, Cissy Ryan.’

  I had to stay in the corridor all afternoon and so I missed the end of the lovely story and I didn’t get a sweetie.

  I was very quiet on the way home. I was angry at Breda and cross with myself for being daft enough to believe her.

  ‘Breda Coyne’s an eejit,’ said Mary, linking her arm through mine.

  ‘But Sister Bridgette is cross with me.’

  ‘Ah sure, she’ll get over it.’

  I wasn’t convinced and continued to dwell on it.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Mary. ‘Do you want to go to Mr Collins’s farm and see the new puppies?’

  ‘Puppies?’

  She nodded. ‘There’s piles of ’em. Mr Collins’s dog borned them a few weeks ago. We can go and see them if you like.’

  ‘That would be grand, Mary, but I’d be awful sad to leave them there.’

  ‘Maybe we shouldn’t go then,’ said Mary. ‘I wouldn’t like to see you sad, Cissy.’

  ‘Sometimes you just have to be sad,’ I said. ‘I was sad when I left the workhouse but it turned out fine because then I got to have a mammy and a granddaddy and I got to meet Colm and Blue.’ I smiled at her: ‘And you,’ I added.

  ‘We’ll go, then,’ said Mary. ‘And trust in Jesus to make it a happy occasion.’

  Collins’s farm was out by the old bridge that crossed over the River Blackwater.

  ‘Will he not mind us visiting?’ I said, as we trudged along in the rain.

  ‘Ah sure, no,’ said Mary. ‘He’s an old slob and he likes visitors. I think he’s lonely since Mrs Collins was taken up to heaven in the arms of the angels. My mammy said that she was only a child herself when she died and Mr Collins lost his faith for a while but he got it back, thanks be to God.’

  ‘Then I’m glad he has a pile of puppies to keep him company, even if they have no conversation,’ I said. ‘The Granddaddy doesn’t have much conversation but he’s great company.’

  We were both soaked to the skin by the time we got to the farm and my boots were all muddy. I hoped the mammy wouldn’t be cross when she saw the state of them.

  We walked into the yard just as a man walked out of the barn.

  ‘Hello, Mary,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Mr Collins,’ said Mary.

  ‘And who’s your little friend?’ he said, smiling at me.

  ‘This is Cissy Ryan, Mr Collins.’

  He stared at me. ‘Is your mother Moira Ryan, child?’ he said.

  ‘She is, Sir.’

  ‘The prettiest girl in town she was,’ said Mr Collins. ‘It was a terrible thing that devil of a father did to her, he’ll have a lot of explaining to do when he reaches the Pearly Gates.’

  ‘If he gets that far,’ I said. ‘But he’s not the Devil, Mr Collins. I made the same mistake meself. You see, he hasn'’ got a tail, because I looked.’

  ‘The Devil comes in all shapes and forms, Cissy.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘He does.’

  ‘We’ve come to see the pile of puppies, Mr Collins,’ said Mary.

  ‘They’re in the barn. Go in, go in! They’ll be mighty glad to see you both.’

  We walked into the barn. It was pitch-black in there and me and Mary hung onto each other until our eyes grew used to it and then we saw the little animals shuffling around in the hay.

  There was a big black dog in there with a load of little puppies climbing all over her. She raised her head as we looked down at her. I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my whole life. Mr Collins walked into the barn and stood behind us.

  ‘And which one do you like, Cissy?’ he said.

  My eyes landed on the smallest one. He was the only brown one and he had a white patch over one eye.

  ‘I like that feller, Mr Collins,’ I said, point
ing to the little dog.

  ‘Sure, he’s the runt of the litter, Cissy. You wouldn’t be wanting him, he might not even survive. His mammy will probably ignore him and he’ll just die.’

  My eyes filled with tears as I looked at the poor little dog. ‘Please don’t let him die, Mr Collins,’ I said. ‘Oh, please don’t let him die. He’s done no harm to anyone and he’s one of God’s creatures after all.’

  ‘Well, Cissy, as your mother is Moira Ryan, I’ll take the little dog into the house and I’ll rear him meself. Will that make you happy?’

  ‘Oh, it will, Mr Collins, and thank you. I’ll remember you in me prayers.’

  Mr Collins lifted the little dog out of the hay and smiled at me. ‘Do you have a name for him?’

  ‘Buddy,’ I said.

  ‘Buddy it is then, Cissy, and you must come and visit him again.’

  ‘Oh, I will, Mr Collins,’ I said. ‘And I’ll be glad to do it.’

  ‘Remember me to your mother,’ he said.

  ‘I will, Mr Collins.’

  When I got home I told the granddaddy all about the poor little dog and then I burst out crying because he would never be mine.

  Chapter Seven

  It was almost Christmas when Father Kelly paid us a visit. I liked Father Kelly; he was gentle and kind and he had fine white hair and pale blue eyes and he was a cheerful man.

  ‘If you’re wanting me to go to Mass, you’re wasting your time, Father,’ said the mammy, ushering him into the room.

  ‘Sure, now why would I be wanting that, Moira? Haven’t I just found myself passing the end of Paradise Alley and thinking I’d call in for a cup of tea to help me on my way?’

  ‘You’re very welcome to a cup of tea, Father, as long as the tea doesn’t entail having to listen to a sermon about what a terrible Catholic I am.’

  ‘You have a very suspicious mind, Moira Ryan.’

  ‘You're right, I have,’ said the mammy.

  ‘And how are you, Malachi?’ said the priest, looking across at the granddaddy.

  I didn't know that the granddaddy’s name was Malachi, I thought it was a grand name altogether.

  ‘Oh, you know, Father,’ said the granddaddy. ‘I try to be patient with what God has given me to bear.’

  ‘And what has He given you?’

  ‘The curse of old age, Father. I’m not the man I was.’

  ‘But sure, you have plenty to thank the Lord for. Hasn’t He sent your daughter and your granddaughter back home to look after you?’

  ‘He has, Father.’

  ‘Do you take sugar, Father?’ said the mammy.

  ‘I do for my sins, Moira. I have a desperate sweet tooth.’

  ‘Like meself,’ said the granddaddy, licking his old lips.

  ‘As I’m here, Moira, I was wondering why little Cissy doesn’t come to Mass. Me and the Lord would love to see her there.’

  I really wanted to go to Mass because the folk from the workhouse went and so did Nora and I might get to see her there.

  ‘If the child has a mind to go, I’ll not be stopping her,’ said the mammy.

  ‘Oh, thank you, Mammy,’ I said. ‘I do have a mind to go.’

  ‘That's settled then,’ said the priest, ‘and perhaps you might accompany her to the Christmas Mass?’

  ‘God wasn’t there when I needed him, Father Kelly, and now I need no one.’

  ‘Sure, don’t we all need someone, Moira? Even Jesus Himself needed friends.’

  ‘And where were they when he was hanging on the cross? I’ll tell you where they were, Father, they were running for their lives.’

  ‘We are only human, Moira, and we all have frailties.’

  ‘I know what I know, Father – and I know I won’t be darkening the doors of the church in this lifetime.’

  ‘I won’t give up on you, Moira,’ he said gently.

  ‘Cissy can go, Father, but she’ll be going on her own.’

  ‘And what about you, Malachi?’ said the priest.

  ‘I would,’ said the granddaddy, ‘but I’m a martyr to me legs.’

  ‘So we won’t be seeing you down at Murphey’s pub, then?’

  ‘I have good days and bad days, Father.’

  ‘And isn’t it a mystery that the good days never seem to fall on a Sunday?’

  The granddaddy shook his old head as if it was a mystery to him as well. ‘It’s a terrible curse, Father.’

  On Christmas Eve, me and Colm walked out to the woods and gathered armfuls of holly to decorate the cottage. I loved being with Colm. I never grew tired of looking at him. I wondered if maybe one day me and Colm would get married and live in the nice house at the top of Paradise Alley with his daddy and old Blue.

  ‘How old do you have to be to get married, Colm?’ I said as we walked back home.

  ‘Why do you want to know that?’

  I shrugged my shoulders. ‘I was just interested,’ I replied.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to grow up first, Cissy. How old are you now?’

  ‘I think I’m nearly eight; I’ll ask the mammy.’

  ‘Well, you have a long way to go then before you can think about getting married.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘I’d say a good few years.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘I’m only thirteen, Cissy, and I have no mind to be getting married just yet.’

  We’d reached the cottage. ‘Will you wait for me, Colm?’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Will you wait ten years until I’ve grown up?’

  He smiled and ruffled my hair. ‘You come out with the strangest things, Cissy.’

  ‘But will you?’

  ‘If it makes you happy, Cissy, I will.’

  ‘Good,’ I said, grinning.

  On Christmas morning, I walked up the back streets to St Peter’s church. On the way, I called for Mary. There was a baby sitting on the front step and two of her sisters were playing ball up against the wall. The door was open so I walked in.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Cissy,’ said Mary’s mammy.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Mrs Butler,’ I said. ‘And may the Lord look kindly on you this blessed day,’ I added for good measure.

  ‘You have lovely manners, Cissy,’ said Mrs Butler. ‘It wouldn’t do you any harm to take a leaf out of Cissy’s book, Mary.’

  Me and Mary leaned against the wall of the church, waiting for the workhouse folk to come down the hill.

  ‘They might already be in there,’ said Mary.

  ‘No, we were always late on account of the poor demented souls playing up.’

  ‘Weren’t you afraid of them, Cissy?’

  ‘Not at all, sure they’re harmless enough as long as you keep your distance.’

  ‘Do you think they’re happy?’

  ‘Mrs Foley says that they are.’

  ‘Well, as long as they’re happy.’

  We sat on the wall and watched all the people going into the church.

  ‘Here they come now,’ said Mary.

  A long line of people were walking down the hill, two by two towards the church. At first, I thought Nora wasn’t among them and then I saw her limping along at the back, holding onto Mrs Foley’s hand. I ran up the hill and put my arms around her.

  ‘Oh, Martha,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I thought you had forgotten me.’

  ‘I’ll never forget you, Nora, because you’re my best friend in the whole world and I love you.’

  ‘I love you too, Martha,’ she said through her tears.

  ‘My name is Cissy now, Nora.’

  ‘Cissy,’ she said trying it out. ‘Oh, that’s a lovely name.’

  ‘Can Nora sit with me and Mary, Mrs Foley?’

  ‘She can of course, Cissy.’

  Me and Mary each held one of Nora’s hands as we walked across to the side altar. The Baby Jesus was lying in the manger with Mary and Joseph gazing down at Him. The angels and shepherds were grouped around them an
d the Three Wise Men were kneeling in front of them.

  I looked at Nora, kneeling beside me. The light from the candles lit up her sweet face. I was filled with joy, because it was Christmas morning and I was with my friend again.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Nora,’ I whispered.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Cissy.’

  Father Kelly told us the story of Jesus’s birth. He told us how Mary and Joseph had been turned away from all the inns and how they had to sleep in a stable, where the Baby Jesus was born. He told us of the star that had guided the Three Wise Men through that Christmas night to the manger where the Baby Jesus lay. Then we sang carols and I thought this was the happiest day of my life, with Nora on one side of me and Mary on the other; my two good friends. I joined my hands together and thanked Jesus for all His blessings and then I said a prayer for the mammy, the granddaddy, Colm and Blue. And then I added a special prayer for Mr Collins, who was looking after the little dog because I was the child of Moira Ryan.

  Chapter Eight

  When we came out of the church I was surprised to see the mammy waiting for me.

  ‘That’s my mammy,’ I said to Nora.

  ‘She’s very beautiful, Cissy.’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘Oh yes, she’s like a film star.’

  I felt so proud that Nora thought my mammy was beautiful.

  ‘Thank you, Nora,’ I said.

  ‘You’re very welcome, Cissy.’

  I watched the folk from the workhouse lining up and the nurses trying to encourage the poor demented souls to hold hands with the person next to them. Nora was still standing next to me. ‘Shouldn’t you be lining up, Nora?’ I said.

  Nora smiled at me. ‘Not today,’ she said.

  Just then the mammy and Mrs Foley came walking towards us.

  ‘Now be a good girl, Nora, and I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, I will, Mrs Foley,’ said Nora.

  ‘Thank you for having her, Moira. It’s very good of you.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Kate,’ said the mammy.