The Titanic Sisters

by Patricia Falvey

  I finished the water and handed her the empty glass. She waited while I got out of the car. My cheeks burned with shame. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I just have never . . .’

  She linked her free arm through mine as we walked towards the house. ‘Don’t you worry none about it, chile. You and me, we’s gonna be the best of friends. Mm-hmm, yes we are.’

  The next morning, I was awakened by a girl drawing the curtains back on the windows. A bright shaft of sun shot over me and I squinted.

  ‘What the feck are you doing?’ I shouted. ‘Could you not see I was sleeping?’

  ‘Aye, well that’s the point. I was sent to wake ye up, ye lazy lump.’

  I couldn’t believe my ears. I opened my eyes wide and glared at her.

  ‘You’ve no right to speak to me that way,’ I said. ‘Draw them back again and leave me alone.’

  ‘No hope of that. Breakfast is waiting for you downstairs and Mrs Shaw is like a spitting divil when people are late.’

  I recognized the Irish brogue at once. ‘You’re from Ireland?’

  ‘Well I suppose it takes one to know one. I’d have said your accent is from Donegal. As for myself, I’m from Kerry, although here’s me thinking that after two years in America I sound like a real Yank.’

  Donegal, I thought, is that where I’m from? It was the first glimpse I’d had into my past, but the place meant nothing to me.

  The girl turned away and pointed to a wardrobe. ‘There’re clothes in there for you,’ she said, her tone still sharp. Mrs Shaw’s after ordering them. She guessed your size. Must be well for ye to have all this finery bought for ye. I don’t know who ye are but don’t go thinking you’re better than the rest of us. Hurry up now or she’ll skin both of us. She has an awful temper when she’s roused.’

  After she’d gone, I lay in bed for a few minutes. Why would I be taking orders from the likes of her? And why had she taken such a dislike to me? What harm had I ever done her? Despair threatened to take hold of me, but I brushed it away. My curiosity about what was in the wardrobe got the better of me and I got up and pulled the door open. Inside were hangers full of dresses of all colours. Rows of shoes were lined up on the bottom shelf and, on the top shelf, half a dozen hats. I gasped. Whether I’d seen such finery before, I didn’t know but, regardless, I was delighted at the sight of it all.

  My delight faded when I reached for one of the dresses and held it up to inspect it. Sure, I’d never fit into the likes of that. I was a large girl with curvy hips and a big bosom. I took off the nightgown that had been laid on the bed the night before and looked at myself in the wardrobe mirror. I let out a cry of surprise. I was thin as a rail. I slumped down on the bed and put my head in my hands. What was happening to me at all? Why had I thought I was supposed to be big? Had I lost the weight in the hospital or was this the body I had all along? If I’d been this way in the hospital, why hadn’t I noticed? I supposed I’d been so preoccupied with other things I hadn’t bothered to look at myself under the hospital shift.

  A sharp knock on the door from the maid roused me into action. I pulled on a bright red dress and matching low-heeled shoes, arranged my hair as best I could, and rushed down the stairs.

  After breakfast, Mrs Shaw suggested to the maid, whose name was Teresa, that she show me around the house and grounds. I glared at Teresa behind Mrs Shaw’s back and she glared back at me.

  ‘I have to go into the village today. But you will be in good hands with Teresa.’

  Little do you know, I thought.

  ‘Are you taking the car again?’ I blurted out, afraid that she might do herself or someone else harm.

  She laughed. ‘No, as a matter of fact I’m taking my horse. He hasn’t had much exercise since I’ve been going in and out of the city to visit you. I will see you for supper.’

  With that, she strode out of the room. I watched her, open-mouthed.

  ‘You’ll get used to Mrs Shaw’s ways soon enough,’ laughed Beatrice. ‘You sure ain’t ever seen the likes of her at home. Hm-mm. No, ma’am.’

  The word ‘home’ sent a cold chill through me. Where was my home? I was satisfied it was Ireland because I had an Irish brogue, but whereabouts? The Teresa one had said I was from Donegal. What was the truth?

  For the rest of the day I distracted myself exploring the house and grounds. Teresa, a sour look on her face, took me to every room on every floor of the house, including the rooms on the third floor where she and Beatrice slept. Those rooms were tiny and made me feel a bit suffocated. I wondered how they could stand them. But the other bedrooms, including the one I slept in, were big and bright and airy, with lovely carved oak furniture, velvet curtains and patterned rugs. I tried not to open my mouth too much and stare, but inside I was trembling. This place was like a palace. Was it possible I grew up like this? If I had, it was hard for me to believe it.

  The house began to bear down on me like a heavy blanket, and I was glad when we went outside. It was a lovely day, with a light breeze and not too warm. Teresa didn’t say much, but when she did, I paid more heed to her brogue than to her words. For some reason I took great comfort in listening to her Irish accent.

  I had seen the tall trees on either side of the lane when we drove in the day before, but I had not been ready for the view at the back of the house. I followed Teresa around the corner and my heart leaped out of my chest. A great expanse of smooth green lawn gave way to woods and, on the far horizon, to hills covered in a lilac haze. Daffodils and peonies and white snapdragons dotted the pathways that crisscrossed the lawn. I had seen these flowers before somewhere and I knew their names. A small thrill of joy lightened my step.

  Teresa pointed her finger into the distance.

  ‘Over there’s a lovely garden,’ she said, ‘like the ones you’d see at home. There’s flowering bushes and benches and a swing. It’s lovely and quiet and a grand place to get away and think.’

  A sudden image of a fair-haired girl sitting on the grass reading a book came into my mind. She was surrounded by a circle of white stones. She was lost in the book, as if nothing else around her mattered. I knew this girl, I was certain. But why couldn’t I remember her name?

  When we got back to the house, Beatrice said Mrs Shaw hadn’t returned yet. I took the chance to complain of a headache.

  ‘I think I need to go and lie down,’ I said. ‘Would that be all right? Will Mrs Shaw mind?’

  Beatrice gave me a huge smile. She came over and put her arms around me. ‘You just get some sleep. Poor chile, you done been through so much trouble already. You bound to be tired. I’ll leave a tray of food outside your door later in case you hungry. Go on now.’

  Gratefully I pulled away from Beatrice and dragged myself up the stairs. I lay down to think. But I was too tired even to do that. I floated straight into my dreams.

  After that first day, I slowly began to get my bearings. Mrs Shaw was like a mad woman, rushing in and out of the house, giving out orders to Beatrice and Teresa. It wasn’t so much that she was bossy, more that she was keen to get on about her business. She moved as if the divil was right behind her. I supposed it explained why she was so firm about everybody being to meals on time. One day I risked asking Teresa what business it was that took herself away all the time. Where was she going at all?

  For once, Teresa laughed. ‘Ah, sure, you’d be hard pressed to keep up with that one. She has a finger in everything – charity work, rescuing animals, not to mention the women’s movement – “suffragettes”, they’re called.’

  ‘What in the name of God are they?’

  ‘They want the right to vote.’

  I shrugged. ‘What’s so important about that?’

  ‘You should ask herself. You’ll get a lecture and a half.’

  I made up my mind to stay away from that subject altogether. Besides, I could never have pronounced the word.

  Teresa turned to go but paused and looked back at me, a sly look on her face. ‘And taking in strays like your
self is another one of her hobbies.’

  I was gobsmacked. What did she mean, ‘strays’?

  Teresa went on her way and I stared after her. Her words had struck me like a blow to my stomach. I almost bent over from the force of them. Stray? Wasn’t that the word you used for lost dogs? Is that how Mrs Shaw saw me – a lost dog?

  I went up to my bedroom and lay down. I forced away tears with balled fists. At first, I was angry – how dare Mrs Shaw think that way, and after all her palaver about wanting to take care of me until I got my memory back. I had a good mind to get up right now and leave. I heaved a sigh. But where was I to go? I had no money and no way of getting away from this godforsaken place by myself. No matter, I would wait for her to come home and demand she drive me back to New York City so I could sail for Ireland. The fact that I had no money for a ticket never occurred to me. And even though I had no idea where in Ireland I belonged, and even though the thought of going back on a ship terrified the life out of me, it was better than staying here, so it was.

  Just before dinner time that night I heard the roar of the car coming up the driveway and I stood up, smoothed out my dress and put on my shoes. My anger was still boiling when I went down the stairs and waited for her in the hall. She blew in, as always, like a gale-force wind, the front door slamming behind her. She stopped in her tracks when she saw me.

  ‘Why hello, my dear girl. Did you have a good day?’

  She took my arm and started leading me towards the dining room. I supposed she couldn’t see the anger on my face in the shadows. I shook her hand off my arm, turned around and lifted my face up to hers. She stared down at me.

  ‘How dare you?’ I shouted. ‘How dare you treat me like a stray animal? If that’s how you think of me, you may take me back to New York this minute and I’ll make me own way from there. And no worries, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding another stray to take my place!’

  The words took all the breath out of me and I stood there, trembling. I could have sworn she smiled at me. My anger exploded.

  ‘How dare you laugh at me, you cruel oul’ bitch!’

  She grabbed both of my arms in a strong grip so that I couldn’t pull away from her.

  ‘My dear girl, I am not laughing at you. I just find your out-burst so preposterous. Who on earth put that idea in your head? Certainly, I take care of stray animals and those I cannot keep I take to a shelter. But never in a million years would I put you in that category. Where on earth did you get this notion?’

  My lips curled up like a child ready to cry.

  ‘Teresa’s after telling me. She said one of your hobbies is taking in strays like myself.’

  She made a tutting sound and sighed.

  ‘An unfortunate choice of words by Miss Teresa. She should know better since she was one of my so-called “strays” herself. I will speak to her about it. But I know she did not mean it the way you took it. It is true in the past I have taken young women, just like you, under my protection until they were strong enough to go back out into the world. It’s part of my philosophy that women should help one another, that’s all. I brought you here because we had no way of finding your family and you would have been all alone.’ She paused and smiled at me. ‘And something about you reminded me of myself at the same age.’ She straightened up, all business again. ‘When your memory returns, we shall sit down and decide what is best for you.’ She reached over and stroked my hair. ‘I’m so sorry you misunderstood my motives,’ she said, her voice gentle. ‘I hope you will give me a chance to prove to you that I care about your welfare.’

  What was I to say to that? I still wasn’t sure I believed her. Words were cheap. I realized though that I had few choices but to stay. I nodded my head and pulled away from her.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now let’s go in for dinner.’

  The stubborn child still ruled me. ‘I’m not hungry,’ I said, although I was famished. ‘I’ll be away upstairs to bed.’

  She nodded. ‘As you wish, dear. A long sleep will do you good. Goodnight.’

  She moved on down the hall, and I stood at the foot of the stairs watching her. Should I believe her? I wanted to, but I still had my doubts. If only my memory would come back to me, I could be free of all this nonsense. In the meantime, I had no choice but to wait.

  ‘I swear to God that one doesn’t know her arse from her elbow. The way she slurps down her tea and licks her knife are disgusting. I can’t imagine the circumstances she was brought up in, but it wasn’t a palace, I can tell ye that!’

  I was passing by the kitchen when I heard Teresa’s voice. She was talking to Beatrice, who seemed to be paying her no heed. Teresa’s attitude towards me had worsened ever since she called me a stray. Now she was like a divil. I didn’t know if it was because Mrs Shaw had chastised her for what she’d said, or if I’d found out she’d been a stray herself, but something had happened for her to make her dislike me even more than before.

  ‘And have ye heard the mouth on her? The vulgar language she comes out with? She belongs with the sailors beyond on the docks.’

  I tried to hide in a corner when Teresa came out of the kitchen, but it was too late.

  ‘I should have known listening in at doors was not above you. Well, you know the old saying: “eavesdroppers rarely hear well of themselves”. She looked shamefaced all the same.

  With that she turned and strutted down the hall. I wanted to run after her and shake her bony shoulders. How dare she talk about me like that? But a small voice told me that what she said was right – although she’d exaggarated, particularly about me licking the knife, my manners were awful compared to Mrs Shaw’s, and ’twas true I had an awful mouth on me. I stuffed down the urge to hammer the living daylights out of her.

  Instead, I walked out into the garden at the back of the house. It had become my favourite place to go in the long afternoons. I would sit on the swing and listen to the birds. One of the house cats had taken a liking to me and came most days to keep me company. I christened her ‘Silver’ on account of the silver streak that ran through the fur on her head and down her back. She gave me comfort as she purred peacefully beside me. I supposed my time would have been better spent reading books, but I had no interest in them. Whenever I thought about books though, the same image I’d had before of a fair-haired girl sitting on a white rock in a green field with her nose in a book came back to me. Again, I wondered who she was.

  Teresa’s words had slit through me like a knife. I had no notion my manners were so bad. And I didn’t know where my swearing came from. It just seemed as natural as day for me to talk like that. It made me wonder about loss of memory. ‘Amnesia’ they’d called it in the hospital. Why could I remember so many things – like the names of flowers and animals or know what a car looked like – but not remember me own name? It struck me then that even so my personality had not changed. I realized I was quick to anger and jealousy. I loved parading in front of the mirror wearing the nice clothes Mrs Shaw had bought for me. Whoever I was, I’d had a bob on myself, that was clear.

  A new thought came to me. I realized that if my memory never came back – or even if it did – I could make up my own story, maybe one where I would pass myself off as a lady. If so, I’d have to start with my manners. I decided that I’d watch and learn. I shot to my feet, causing Silver to jump off the bench with a loud meow, and made my way back towards the house.

  From then on, Teresa and I kept our distance from one another. She passed no more remarks about me – at least none that I could hear. Calling me a stray still stung, no matter how Mrs Shaw had tried to explain it away. But I tried hard to put it out of my head.

  Instead, I put my mind to improving my manners. At mealtimes I watched Mrs Shaw like a hawk, copying how she held her teacup, what knife or fork she used for meat or for fish, and how she dabbed her mouth with a cloth called a ‘serviette’. She always swallowed her food down before she spoke and took wee sips of wine rather than great gulps. I copi
ed how to pour various sauces onto the food, learned that the green stuff wiggling in a bowl was mint jelly for the lamb, and the red stuff was cranberry dressing for turkey. Changing my brogue was harder – my words came out faster than I could catch them, but I was able to tame my bad language most of the time – except the times when my temper got the better of me.

  I had a lot to learn and it was going to take a while, but I was convinced it would stand me well in the future.

  DELIA

  After my outing to mass with Mrs Donahue, I forced myself to venture further away from the house. Sometimes I took Lily, other times I wandered by myself. One day I returned alone to St Patrick’s Cathedral. On this midweek afternoon, when the Sunday crowds were long gone, it was quiet and comforting. I sat in a rear pew staring up at the main altar, letting my thoughts roam. The noises from outside – the deafening roar of motor cars, the rattle of horse-drawn carriages and the clamour of voices – faded away, leaving me wrapped in a peaceful cocoon. In the silence, my other senses were heightened. I smelled candle wax mingled with faint sweet incense. I noticed people dotted about the pews, most of them alone, heads down, hands clasped, and I wondered what stories they had to tell. I became mesmerized with the flickering candles. I felt small in the cavernous space and my concerns shrank to insignificance.

  I had intended to arrange for a ‘Month’s Mind’ mass for Nora. Back in Ireland, relatives arranged for a mass to be said for a loved one who had been dead a month. I stood up, preparing to go and find one of the priests, when a noise startled me. A priest in a black cassock was entering the confessional. The tall wooden door shut with a click and an inner window slid open. I watched a handful of people go one by one into the confessional, then exit making the sign of the cross. I remembered the first Sunday I had come to mass and panicked at the thought of taking communion. I knew I needed to confess my sin and seek forgiveness. As the waiting line dwindled to nothing, I steeled myself and rose from the pew.