One Sunday, Mrs Donahue insisted I must take the day off.
‘But what will I do?’ I said, suddenly nervous.
She looked at me in confusion, then nodded her head.
‘Ah, sure, I wasn’t thinking, Nora. You’re a stranger to the city. Ye have been no farther than the end of the street and back.’ She reached for her coat. ‘No matter. I’m on me way to mass at St Patrick’s. I’ll be taking ye with me. Then I can show ye a few places and next time ye can go by yourself.’
Before I knew it, Mrs Donahue was marching me down the avenue, her arm linked in mine, prattling away in the early May sunshine. I was too busy looking all around to reply to her. I stared at the people on the street – families with children dressed up as adults and jaunty young men in a hurry. There were gentlewomen in coats with fur collars on the arm of men with top hats and walking sticks. They nodded at us without smiles. They reminded me of the first-class passengers on the Titanic, and I brushed the memory away. It was bad enough I had constant nightmares about the sinking, I didn’t want such memories ruining my days as well.
When we arrived at St Patrick’s Cathedral, a crowd of people were rushing up the steps as the bells pealed. I stopped and stared up at the enormous, beautiful stone building with its stained-glass windows. I had never seen the likes of it. Mrs Donahue smiled at me. ‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ she said.
We followed the crowd in, blessed ourselves with holy water and knelt in a pew near the back of the church. I didn’t know where to look first. The main altar was covered in red carpet and gold candlesticks gleamed among vases of beautiful white flowers. There were side altars too, each one honouring a saint with a statue and flickering candles. The smell of flowers and candle wax and polished wood filled my senses, along with the sounds of feet clattering on the stone floor. I said a quick prayer and stood up just as a blast of organ music filled the building.
As the mass progressed, I held back tears. Amidst everything that was new and strange to me, the familiar rituals gave me comfort, but they also stirred loneliness inside me that was never far away. I thought of the small village church at home, where I knelt surrounded by our neighbours, and listened to Father McGinty. This American priest, however, spoke with little of the fiery passion Father McGinty summoned up every Sunday to scare the devil out of us.
Mrs Donahue nudged me, and I started. She nodded towards the altar and I realized it was time for communion. A row of priests stood at the foot of the altar, chalices in hand and communion hosts held aloft. As it happened, I’d had nothing to eat since midnight as was the rule, and so without thinking I stepped out of the pew and joined the line of people moving toward the altar. It was a practice I had followed since I was seven years old, and as natural as my own breathing. I was halfway up to the altar when I froze. What was I doing? I was in a state of mortal sin. I had broken one of the ten commandments and I had not been to confession. How could I take communion? My panic rose as I looked around me, and then at Mrs Donahue.
‘I-I don’t feel well,’ I whispered. ‘I think I’m going to faint.’
She looked at me in alarm. ‘Go on outside, love,’ she said, ‘and get some fresh air.’
I nodded and pushed my way through the crowd to the huge front doors of the cathedral. Once outside, I stood on the top step, my breathing ragged. I had not lied to Mrs Donahue, I literally felt sick.
I walked to a corner of the steps and sat down. In all the years I had put up with Ma’s abuse, I had never felt so empty and so worthless. It was only a small lie, I told myself. After all, it didn’t hurt Nora; she was already dead. And I’m doing it for Lily.
‘But a lie is still a lie!’ roared Father McGinty, his image crowding close to my face.
Part of me wanted to roar back at him: It’s all your fault. If the likes of you hadn’t filled my head since I was a child with threats of the fires of Hell for even the smallest sin, I wouldn’t be suffering the way I am now! But my courage failed me. Guilt, once it’s imprinted deeply on your soul, is almost impossible to get rid of. It becomes as much a part of you as your heart or your reason and you realize if you let go of it you will lose a part of yourself along with it.
NORA
When I woke up and opened my eyes, I had no notion of where I was. I stared around me at the walls and ceilings. The glaring lights above nearly blinded me. Where was I at all? An awful fear came over me. I had a far-away memory of floating in water. Was I still there? I patted my body with my hands. No, I was dry enough. Mother of God, had I drowned and was this what Heaven was like? Well, if it was, it had hardly been worth giving up sin so that we’d be let into it.
A woman in a nurse’s uniform peered down at me. She put her nose so close to my face I thought she was going to kiss me. Suddenly she pulled back as if she’d seen a ghost. The next thing, she went racing out the door screaming like a banshee.
‘Dr Taylor!’ she called, ‘Dr Taylor, she’s awake! It’s a miracle!’
I wondered: was she astray in the head?
I began to think I must be in a hospital. Nurses and doctors, walls the colour of piss and bright, bare light bulbs – surely that’s where I was. I sniffed. The smell of disinfectant nearly choked me. How had I landed here? I sat halfway up in bed and glanced down at myself in horror. I was half-naked under a sheet. Where were my clothes? And my shoes? I had a sudden notion I might be in prison. But what had I done? My head began to throb, and I lay back down and closed my eyes.
‘Can you hear me, miss?’
A man’s voice roused me, although he was almost whispering. I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was an older man with silver hair and wore a white coat. He smiled down at me.
‘Just nod your head if you can hear me.’
‘Why are you talking to me as if I’m a fecking eejit?’
He stared at me. Then he began to laugh – a hearty, fullthroated guffaw. I decided he must be the eejit, not me.
He looked over at the nurse who stood on the other side of the bed. ‘Yes, I’d say she’s definitely awake, Nurse Mason.’
He turned serious as he took my hand. ‘Can you remember your name?’
I decided they were both eejits – himself and the nurse. I sighed and rolled my eyes. Of course I knew my name! I opened my mouth to tell him what it was but stopped. Why could I not remember something as simple as that? In panic I wracked my brain, but no answer came.
Dr Taylor glanced over at the nurse, nodding his head. He turned back to me. ‘It’s all right,’ he said gently. ‘You’ve been unconscious for a while, and you’ve suffered a terrible trauma. Your memory will come back in time.’
My head began to throb. All the annoyance slipped away from me. I tried to squeeze a memory out of my brain, but it wouldn’t come. Tears of frustration stung my eyes. I looked up at Dr Taylor, all my earlier confidence gone.
‘I – I remember being in the water,’ I said. ‘’Twas freezing. People were crying. But it might have all been a dream.’
A spike of fear cut through my body. Why couldn’t I remember? Had I lost my mind? Oh, sweet Jesus, had something awful happened to me? Had my mind been destroyed entirely? I stared up at the doctor, pleading in silence for him to tell me everything was all right. He squeezed my hand gently.
‘Rest now,’ he said. ‘The mind has a way of hiding bad memories away until you’re ready to cope with them.’ He smiled, suddenly cheerful. ‘The fact that you’ve woken up at all is a miracle. You’ve been unconscious ever since you arrived here, probably caused by the nasty blow on your head. You were also suffering from hypothermia. Don’t worry about anything else just now. Just sleep.’
After he left, I lay thinking. The room was darkened, and I could see the nurse sitting in the shadows in the corner. Dr Taylor had told me not to worry. But how could I not? I knew that what had happened had something to do with water – water had been filling my dreams. But what? And how had I arrived at this place? How long had I been here? How long had I been asleep?
And who was I at all?
The questions swirled in my head. But no answers came. Would the answers ever come? My eyelids felt heavy and a drowsy feeling came over me. There was not a sound to be heard except for Nurse Mason’s quiet breathing. I wondered had she fallen asleep and I envied her. I fought back the sleep that was claiming me. How could I sleep with so many questions still to be answered, and so many worries to be eased?
The image of a woman’s face appeared in front of me. She knelt, crying, beside an empty bed, lit candles placed all around it. ‘Don’t cry,’ I called out to her. ‘Don’t be worrying your head about me. I’m still here. I didn’t die.’
Over the next week I began to get my strength back. Nurse Mason had me walking down the corridor and back several times a day. In the beginning I felt an awful weakness in my legs, and a dizziness would come over me. I’d limp back to bed, leaning on the nurse. But in time I was able to walk without her help. My new-found freedom, such as it was, raised my spirits. Surely everything would be sorted out soon.
I expected the answers would flow easily out of my memory. But I was wrong. The answers came one day from an older, well-dressed woman who came into my room and sat down beside my bed.
‘Ah, there you are. Thank God for His miracle.’
I stared at her. She was very tall – tall as a man. Even sitting down, she towered over me. Her hair was bright red, a colour far too young for her age. Her eyes were clear blue and seemed to look straight through me. Her stare made me jittery.
‘Who are you?’ I blurted out.
She paid my question no heed. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought she was smiling at me.
‘My name is Felicity Barrett Shaw,’ she said, her accent an odd mixture of Irish brogue, marble-mouthed English toff, and drawling American.
I stared at her. She patted my hand, and I noticed her long, slender fingers and a ring with a diamond the size of my fist. My mouth fell open.
‘It’s perfectly all right,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to remember me.’
I swallowed hard. ‘What is my name?’ I whispered.
‘Oh you poor dear. You must be so confused. Dr Taylor told me you have no memory of who you are or what happened to you.’ She paused and took a deep breath. ‘None of us knows your name.’
She must have seen the eyes popping out of my head, for she stopped talking for a minute. Then she went on, ‘I know this must all be such a shock to you, my dear, but you may as well hear the whole story now. No sense dragging things out, I always say.’
I waited, holding my breath.
‘Your name is undoubtedly on the list of the missing, but there are almost fifteen hundred names on it, and you could be any one of them.’
‘Missing?’ I said. What in the name of God was this woman on about?
She seemed confused. ‘Missing as in drowned. The Titanic!’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, what’s wrong with me? You don’t remember a thing about it, do you? The Titanic was a new ship that sailed from England to Ireland and then on to New York four weeks ago. It was said to be the greatest ship ever built.’ She paused and sighed. ‘There I go again, slipping away from the main subject. You were one of over two thousand passengers and crew. The night before it was due to arrive in New York, it was hit by an iceberg and sank. Some seven hundred souls were saved, but the rest drowned.’
Mrs Shaw took my hand in hers. ‘You were one of the lucky ones, my dear. A sailor carried you on board the rescue ship, the Carpathia. Apparently, you had fallen out of the lifeboat and were in the water for some time, but eventually two seamen managed to pull you back into the boat. I was a passenger on the Carpathia and when I first saw you, I thought you were dead. Then I looked closely at your face and realized you were still breathing. I ordered the sailor to bring you to my stateroom and when a ship’s officer came to my cabin checking for survivors, I told him there was no identification on you. He marked you down as an unidentified survivor and most likely your name, whatever it was on the manifest, appears on the list of missing. I watched over you until we docked in New York. It was then I called Dr Taylor, an old friend of mine, and arranged for you to be brought here. As soon as you are well enough, I intend to bring you home with me so that you can convalesce.’
I let out a whimper. Nurse Mason, who I hadn’t noticed in the room, came over to the bed. ‘I think that’s enough for now, Mrs Shaw,’ she said, her tone making clear she would stand for no argument. ‘This girl has been through a great deal. I don’t think it’s advisable to relate all these details in one fell swoop. Perhaps you can return later in the week?’
Mrs Shaw nodded and stood up. ‘You are quite right, of course, Nurse Mason. I don’t know what I was thinking. I shall give her a few days to absorb what I have told her.’ She turned to me and patted my arm. ‘Goodbye, my dear, I can’t wait to take you home.’
When she had gone, I lay back down on the pillow and closed my eyes. I felt sick. I wondered if I had dreamed the whole thing. My imagination had been running wild ever since I’d woken up, and so had my dreams. I wasn’t sure what was real and what was not. Bits and pieces of her story flitted about in my mind. Who was that woman, and why did she want to take me home? Where was home? The only thing I believed was the story about the ship – the Titanic. It made sense of all the dreams I’d been having about drowning. But I hadn’t drowned. I was here lying in this bed in a hospital. Or was this just a dream too?
The thoughts exhausted me, and I longed for sleep. As I drifted off, the image of the crying woman kneeling beside the empty bed came back to me. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. I began to weep quietly. What’s happening to me? I thought. What have I done to deserve this?
A week later, I was sitting in a red open motor car tearing along like the hammers of hell away from New York City. The scenery rolled by faster than I could take it in. I didn’t know how fast we were going, but it scared the wits out of me. At the wheel was Mrs Shaw, a scarf tied around her brilliant red hair. I was grateful that the roar of the wind whistling by prevented any conversation. I had a thousand questions but wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answers. Instead, I decided to let things stand for a while.
Every now and then she would look over and smile at me and pat my arm. I smiled back and then looked away, as much to force her to keep her eyes on the road as anything else. She was driving like a bloody eejit. The car seemed to be flying half the time as it bounced over the rough surface of the roads. I’d never been in a car before that I knew of, and my knuckles were white from gripping the leather seat.
Eventually we came to a small village and, mercifully, she slowed down. With its narrow streets and pretty shop windows, the village looked vaguely familiar, and my heart leaped at the thought I might be remembering something. But no memory came. Herself blew the car horn and waved to the shopkeepers out brushing the pavement, and shoppers carrying loaded baskets.
‘She’s home,’ she yelled to whoever would listen. ‘The dear girl is home.’
They nodded and smiled in reply. I slid as far as I could down in the seat, my cheeks burning. This woman, whoever she was, was astray in the head. No normal person acted like that.
We left the village behind us and she sped up again. I was beginning to feel sick. Wherever we’re going, I prayed, may we get there soon before she bloody kills both of us. Just then the car screeched as she swerved left onto a narrow lane. I closed my eyes as I was thrown forward and held on for dear life. Jesus, I was at the mercy of a madwoman.
Eventually the car shuddered to a stop. I was afraid to open my eyes.
‘Come on, dear,’ Mrs Shaw said cheerfully. ‘Come and see your new home.’
Slowly I opened my eyes. In front of me was a massive three-storey house made of red brick and covered with ivy. I sat looking up at it, unable to move.
‘Do you like it?’ Mrs Shaw said as she climbed out of the car and adjusted her scarf. ‘My dear late husband had it built for me. It i
s identical to the house where I grew up in County Longford. He thought it would cure my homesickness and it did.’ She looked down at me. ‘And when your memory returns, I hope it will do the same for you, since I can tell by your brogue that Ireland is where you grew up as well.’ She stretched out her hand. ‘Come along now, dear.’
My legs trembled like jelly as I climbed out and I put my hand on the car to steady myself. I thought I might faint. I must have turned pale because Mrs Shaw put her arms around me. ‘Sit back down in the car, dear. I will have Beatrice bring you some water.’
She disappeared into the house and I leaned back against the car seat, breathing heavily. A few minutes later I squinted at a figure coming towards me. It was a woman carrying a tray with a glass of water with lemon in it. As she came closer, I saw she was wearing a black dress with a white apron and was flashing a big smile. I sat upright. I must be seeing a ghost, I thought. The woman’s skin was black as tar. I was sure I’d never seen the likes of it. If I had, it was buried with all my other memories. My mouth fell wide open and I gaped at her like an eejit. If she realized I was in shock, she never let on. She just kept smiling that big smile.
‘Here you are, miss,’ she said, handing me the glass of water. ‘You like some more lemon?’
I shook my head no, unable to speak.
‘Cat got your tongue, chile?’ she said, laughing. ‘Ain’t no need to be afraid of old Miss Beatrice. I ain’t never done nobody no harm.’ She slid the tray under her arm all the while peering into my face. ‘I ’spect you never saw the likes of me where you come from, did you?’
Again, I shook my head no.
‘Mrs Shaw, she was the same way when she first laid eyes on me. Young bride she was, just over from Ireland, and when she caught sight of me she let out a cry would scare the hants out of their graves. She tried to run away till Mr Shaw grabbed hold of her. He was laughing up a storm. Been here forty years now, and she ain’t never tried to run since.’
The Titanic Sisters Page 7
