‘Stop it! Stop it this instant!’
Neither girl obeyed, or even seemed to hear her. Glass from a shattered photograph frame crunched ominously beneath the flailing bodies. Jessie’s face was smeared with blood, Daisy’s contorted in rage and hate.
Sister Dominica stepped forward, grasping Daisy’s shoulders and hauling her with surprising strength away from her struggling victim. With authority in evidence the other girls moved forward, helping an hysterical Jessie to her feet.
‘How dare you… desecrate… this convent in this way!’ Sister Dominica panted at Daisy. ‘You are a wicked, degenerate, ungodly, ungrateful…’
‘Let go of me!’ Daisy swung round with such force that she nearly knocked Sister Dominica off balance. Her chest hurt as she gasped for air. ‘It is you who are wicked, Sister Dominica! Lying about me to Jessie Sullivan! Telling her that I was born in sin! That my mother didn’t want me!’
The blood drained from Sister Dominica’s face. Jessie lay in a crumpled heap on her bed, crying piteously, surrounded by sympathizers.
‘You will go immediately to the chapel,’ Sister Dominica said, clasping her hands together as they began to tremble. ‘You will say the rosary twelve times. You will…’
Daisy’s eyes flashed. ‘I will do no such thing. I am going to the Reverend Mother. I’m going to tell her of your lies… your wickedness.’
‘You will do as you are told, Daisy Ford, or your punishment will be one you will never forget as long as you live.’
Daisy’s breathing had steadied. She held Sister Dominica’s eyes implacably. ‘I am going to the Reverend Mother,’ she repeated, and turned on her heel, watched by a dozen horrified, and admiring, pairs of eyes.
Sister Dominica felt sweat break out on the palms of her hands. Reverend Mother’s wrath was rarely vented, but when it was, it was awesome. And on this occasion it would be vented on her. Swiftly she began to march after Daisy.
‘You will only make things worse for yourself,’ she said, trying to make her voice conciliatory. ‘There was damage done to personal property. Jessie is obviously in need of medical attention. To bring the incident to the attention of Reverend Mother is merely foolish.’
Daisy continued to walk along the white-plastered corridor, Sister Dominica half-running in her attempt to keep pace with her.
‘Jessie was a naughty girl to fill your head with such stories and I will see to it that it never happens again.’
Daisy continued undeterred. The Reverend Mother’s door was only yards away.
‘Daisy Ford, I forbid you to disturb Reverend Mother over such a triviality!’
Daisy paused and turned. ‘My parentage is no trivial matter, Sister Dominica,’ she said tightly, and for the first time in her life Sister Dominica was aware that she was facing a child she could not intimidate.
She sucked in her breath, restraining the urge to slap Daisy’s face, knowing it was too late to exert force as Daisy knocked on the pinewood door and the Reverend Mother’s voice bade her enter.
The Reverend Mother had been in consultation with Sister Françesca. From behind her large oak desk she stared in surprise as Daisy walked purposefully into the centre of the room: girls only entered her office when specifically requested to do so. Her eyes widened even further at the sight of the vicious scratchmarks on Daisy’s face, and the bruises fast colouring on her forehead and cheeks.
‘Yes, Daisy?’ The Reverend Mother laid down the sheaf of papers in her hand. ‘Can I help you?’
Daisy took in a deep, steadying breath. ‘Jessie Sullivan has told me that I am not an orphan. That my mother brought me to the convent and that I am illegitimate. She told me in front of the whole dormitory and now everyone believes her, and I would like you to tell them that she is lying.’
Sister Françesca gave a little gasp, and the letter she had been holding fluttered from her grasp, falling gently on to a brilliantly coloured hooked rug.
The Reverend Mother’s eyes moved from Daisy’s white, drawn face to Sister Dominica standing apprehensively in the doorway. Fear flickered in Sister Dominica’s eyes and was quickly suppressed.
‘You may leave us, Sister Dominica,’ the Reverend Mother said authoritatively.
‘I… But…’
The Reverend Mother’s glance froze her. Unhappily Sister Dominica obeyed. The door closed behind her. The room remained silent.
There was no need for the Reverend Mother to ask where Jessie Sullivan had received her information. There was only one possible source and she would deal with Sister Dominica later. She smiled gently at Daisy.
‘Please sit down, Daisy.’
‘No thank you, Reverend Mother.’ Daisy’s lips felt dry. ‘I only need you to tell the girls that Jessie lied.’
The Reverend Mother picked up a paperweight and replaced it. Daisy could feel a pulse begin to beat wildly in her throat. Why wasn’t the Reverend Mother angry? Why wasn’t she escorting her back to the dormitory to refute Jessie’s allegations? Her eyes flew to Sister Françesca, and at the expression of pity in Sister Françesca’s eyes fear seized her, crippling in its intensity.
‘Jessie did lie, didn’t she, Reverend Mother?’
The Reverend Mother stood up and slowly moved around the enormous desk, laying her hands lightly on Daisy’s shoulders.
‘No, Daisy,’ she said quietly. ‘Jessie did not lie. You did not come to the orphanage as other children come. It is something that I would have told you myself at the right and proper time.’
‘But I am an orphan! My mother wouldn’t have left me! It isn’t possible…’ The huge eyes in the small face burned with anguish, desperate for affirmation.
‘Your mother was very young, little more than a child herself. No doubt she thought that placing you in our care was the best thing she could do for you.’
Daisy felt as if she were falling into a vortex of brilliant colours and black rushing winds. She looked desperately from the Reverend Mother to Sister Françesca.
‘Then I shouldn’t be here! Not if my mother’s alive! There’s been a dreadful, terrible mistake!’
‘Your mother left you and did not return for you,’ the Reverend Mother was saying firmly. ‘Therefore you are as much an orphan as the other children in our care.’
‘No!’ Daisy backed away from her like an animal at bay, her hands splayed behind her, seeking the door, the wall. ‘No!’ She gave a small, inarticulate cry that sounded as if it had been torn from her heart. ‘She thinks you’ve had me adopted! She’s looking for me. I know she is. I want to find her. I’m not an orphan. I’m not!’
Daisy was vaguely aware of Sister Francesca moving towards her, and then the spiralling colours sucked her down and down until only blackness remained.
Her eyes were bleak as she watched the swallows return. She had been removed from Sister Dominica’s care and was no longer obliged to obey the sound of the imperiously ringing handbell. Sister Françesca knew that St Joseph’s day was special to her and she was tolerant and understanding.
Daisy leant her back against an archway, her knees drawn up to her chin, her arms encircling them, her head resting against the warmth of the golden stone. It was nearing midday and for hours she had watched the birds on their annual migration. This time no joy filled her heart. Only bitterness and envy.
Jessie Sullivan had long since departed. The other girls in her dormitory never referred to Jessie’s allegations, but from that day she had become an outsider.
The other girls were orphans. She was not. Somewhere, beyond the high white walls, her mother lived and worked and waited for her. She picked up a pebble and skimmed it across the sun-filled courtyard. But she did not come for her.
Her companions relied upon the Sisters for all the indiscriminate affection they received, but they had already known love in their lives before entering the convent. She had known only routine and regimentation and Sister Dominica’s harsh discipline.
A swallow swooped low and circled her hea
d as if enticing her to follow it. Before Jessie’s outburst she had believed herself to be happy. Now, knowing that she was different from all those around her, she knew only long, neverending misery.
Sister Françesca stepped quietly from the shadows and stood at her side.
‘We should have been studying Latin an hour ago, Daisy.’
‘I know.’ Daisy was truly repentant. Sister Françesca was kind and good and beautiful. She did not deserve disappointment, especially from a child it was not truly her duty to instruct.
Sister Françesca gazed upwards. ‘They are very beautiful, aren’t they?’
Daisy nodded, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. Sister Françesca slid down into a sitting position beside Daisy in a manner which would have startled the Reverend Mother and appalled Sister Dominica.
‘Does it hurt so much, Daisy? It’s been nearly a year now.’
Daisy dare not meet Sister Françesca’s compassionate gaze. If she did, the tears so bravely held in check would fall unrestrainedly. ‘Yes,’ she answered, her voice muffled as she pressed her face against her drawn up knees.
Sister Françesca remained silent. Ever since that dreadful day in Reverend Mother’s study, Daisy had withdrawn into a world that even she could not enter. There had been no more questions. No hysterics. From the moment she had recovered consciousness she had been a changed girl: silent and intense, spurning all friendship, remaining constantly alone.
Wave after wave of swallows flew in from the sea and they watched them together in silence. At last the moment Sister Françesca had both prayed for and feared arrived.
Daisy traced a pattern in the dust on the ground and said hesitantly, ‘Did you ever meet my mother, Sister Françesca?’
A swallow broke free of its companions and darted low over the convent walls, landing on the moss-covered lip of the fountain.
‘It was to me that your mother gave you.’
Daisy gasped, the blood draining from her face. Aware of her distress, Sister Françesca took her hand.
‘I was going for eggs when a couple in a T Ford halted some yards ahead of me.’
Sister Françesca was aware of the sudden jerk of Daisy’s head. She continued, undeterred. ‘… a young … lady … stepped from the Ford. She was carrying you in her arms.’ Sister Françesca hesitated, remembering the hard, pretty, overpainted face; the harsh words as she thrust Daisy from her. ‘She gave you to me and asked that you be cared for in the convent.’
‘What was she like?’ Daisy asked urgently. ‘Was her hair dark, like mine?’
Reluctantly Sister Françesca shook her head. ‘No, Daisy. Her hair was blonde.’
Daisy stared at her incredulously. Over the years she had conjured up many images of her mother, but they had always been blurred. Now, incredibly, the image became cleared. The breath was so tight in her chest that she could hardly breathe as she asked, ‘Was she crying?’
‘No, Daisy, she wasn’t crying.’ She tightened her hold on Daisy’s hand as she fought to come to terms with the fact that her mother had said goodbye to her without even shedding a tear.
‘Was she pretty?’ Her voice was low, buried once more against her knees.
‘Yes.’ She did not add that the prettiness had had to be sought beneath mask-like make-up, and that the sulky, petulant mouth had made it nearly indiscernible.
Sister Françesca could sense that Daisy was steeling herself for an even more important question. She waited patiently. It was too late for Latin now, but Latin was not as important as the peace of mind of a twelve-year-old child.
‘You said there was someone else with my mother in the Ford…’
Sister Françesca hesitated fractionally and then said, ‘A young man was driving.’
‘My father?’ The words were little more than a whisper.
‘I don’t know,’ Sister Françesca replied truthfully.
‘It must have been!’ Daisy’s eyes were fevered. ‘They were poor and they wanted the best for me. They brought me here and then when they came back for me they were told I had been adopted!’ She sprang to her feet. ‘Don’t you see, Sister Françesca? All I have to do is find them and we’ll be a family again!’
‘Daisy…’ Sister Françesca rose and caught hold of her hand once again, remorse engulfing her. She had told Daisy as much of the truth as was palatable because she believed it was in Daisy’s best interests that she did so. Now she was not so sure.
‘What was my father’s name?’
‘I don’t know. Daisy…’
‘My mother’s? What was my mother’s Christian name?’
‘The young man called her Lou, but Daisy…’
Daisy broke free of her hold, her face radiant. ‘Lou! That must be short for Louise or Louella. Oh, Sister Françesca, surely we can find her now? Louise or Louella Ford. My birth must have been registered. There must be some place that keeps birth certificates. If you could go there for me… find it. Perhaps even find my parents’ marriage certificate! There’ll be an address on it. They must have lived near here. Perhaps even in Capistrano!’
She whirled round ecstatically on the tip of one toe and Sister Françesca watched her in despair, knowing she had made a terrible error in believing she could tell only part of the truth.
The whirling figure steadied, stretched out her arms and ran lovingly towards her. Sister Françesca held her close, doubting if ever again there would be such a joyful expression of affection between them.
‘Daisy…’ Gently she held Daisy away from her. ‘Daisy, you will never be able to find your mother.’
‘Why not?’ Bewilderment flooded her eyes.
‘I do not believe your mother was married, Daisy,’ she said as gently as possible. ‘She wore no wedding ring.’
Daisy stood so still it seemed to Sister Françesca that she had ceased to breathe. Then she rallied with a courage that tore at Sister Francesca’s heart.
‘That doesn’t mean I can’t find her. Not now that I know her name.’
Sister Françesca was suddenly aware that the last swallow had flown over Capistrano. The air was silent. The heat hung closely in the high-walled courtyard. Sister Françesca felt beads of sweat break out on her palms. She could not allow Daisy to cling to a hope that was futile. To waste her life looking for a woman she would never find.
‘We never knew your mother’s surname, Daisy,’ she said quietly. ‘She refused to give it. We knew only that her companion referred to her as Lou. And that your name was Daisy.’
Daisy stared up at her, puzzled. ‘But my name is Daisy Ford. It’s always been Daisy Ford. My mother’s name must have been Ford too.’
Sister Françesca strove to keep her voice calm. ‘Sometimes when children enter a home without a name, the staff give them one. A little girl was left on the steps of the Los Angeles Mission on Christmas Day and the nuns gave her the name Holly.‘
Slowly Daisy began to back away from her, the blood draining from her face.
‘Is that what happened to me? Did you call me Daisy? Did Reverend Mother?’ Her voice began to rise hysterically. ‘Did Sister Dominica?’
‘No, Daisy. Your mother gave you your name.’
Momentarily Daisy halted, her breath coming in short, harsh gasps. ‘And Ford? Who gave me the name of Ford?’
‘The choice of your surname was a… unanimous … decision,’ Sister Françesca said with difficulty.
‘But why…?’ She choked, suddenly understanding, her eyes black with horror. ‘You named me Ford because of the motor car they brought me in!’
Sister Françesca reached out for her hand to hold and comfort her, but Daisy brushed her away sightlessly, stumbling backwards, a fist pressed to her mouth to stifle a rising scream. ‘You named me after a motor car!’ She began to shake, her eyes huge in her white face. ‘I hate you! I hate you all! I won’t be named after a motor car! I won’t! I won’t be known as Daisy Ford ever again!’
She hurled herself against the giant gates, her fing
ers curling round the cold iron.
It was four hours before a weeping Sister Françesca, helped by the Reverend Mother, managed to prise Daisy’s numbed fingers from their grip on the flamboyant, baroque swirls of the gates and carry her indoors and it was six years before Daisy was able to fulfil her vow.
She did so on the day she left the Sacred Heart Convent. Her belongings were in her cardboard valise. The name and address of the lady the Reverend Mother had arranged would employ her as a household help was in her hand. Mrs Ernestine Frank, Chalcedony Street, San Diego. On the Santa Anna freeway, waiting for the southbound bus, she tore up her letter of introduction and the card with Mrs Dease’s address on it. Daisy Ford would not be going to San Diego. She no longer existed. She would not be known by the name a woman who had abandoned her had given her. She would not be known by the name the nuns had so unimaginatively allotted to her. And she would never, never be a household help to anyone.
She crossed the highway and began to walk north, a delicate, fragile figure, graceful despite the clumsy convent shoes and the shabby valise.
Bob Kelly was not in the habit of giving lifts but there was something vulnerable about the slender figure ahead of him. He took his foot off the gas and slowed down, halting in a cloud of petrol fumes at her side.
‘Want a lift?’ he asked.
Daisy gazed up into a pleasing face with blue eyes that crinkled at the corners and a mouth etched with deep laughter lines.
‘Yes, please,’ she said gratefully.
‘Where are you heading?’
She hesitated uncertainly. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Hollywood.’ He nodded to the sign on the side of the truck. ‘Worldwide Pictures, Hollywood.’
‘Are you a movie star?’ she asked curiously as he hauled her into the seat beside him. He laughed, letting out the clutch, picking up speed. His hair was thick and fair, bleached blond by the sun. His hands on the wheel were strong and capable and any nervousness she had at first felt fast disappeared. She knew instinctively that with the man at her side she was safe.
‘No,’ he said with amusement. ‘I ferry things around. Scenery, lights… Yesterday we shot a scene down at Del Coronado. Today I have to tote it all back again.’
Silver Shadows, Golden Dreams Page 2
