After confession I found another priest and paid him to say Nora’s mass. Back out in the May sunshine, I felt light and cleansed for the first time since arriving in New York. A great weight had been lifted from me. My guilt, if not entirely erased, had been folded away like an out-of-style garment which had served its purpose but was not quite ready to be thrown out.
After that day, my mood grew lighter, and I was suddenly eager to explore more of New York; I wanted to swallow the city whole. On my days off, I ventured farther and farther away from the O’Hanlon house on swanky Fifth Avenue and into the areas where the Chinese lived, and Italians, and Jews. I inhaled the aroma of exotic foods and spices. I marvelled at the black and brown people I saw, some in foreign dress and speaking languages I had never heard. I thought about my village back in Ireland and realized, for the first time, that everyone there looked alike. Not so here. At times I must have stared too much because every now and then a stranger would wave a threatening hand at me, and more than one spat at me. Still, my delight in such new and heady moments knew no bounds.
But one day, when I wandered to the area known as ‘Hell’s Kitchen’ where many Irish immigrants lived, I no longer marvelled. Instead, my heart sank at the sight of ragged children and scarred, sooty buildings crammed together row after row. Children in tattered clothes ran after me, chanting insults while their mothers looked on with faces of stone.
Where were the streets paved with gold that the Irish sang about? The people in these ‘tenements’, as I learned they were called, were under no such illusions. What a disappointment America must have been for them after a long, arduous sea journey filled with hope.
That evening Aidan O’Hanlon came into Lily’s bedroom where I sat reading to her. He stood for a moment watching us, a faint smile on his face. Lily looked up from the book and put her arms out to greet him. I got up from the bed, allowing him to sit in my place, and made for the door.
‘I thought this was your day off, Miss Sweeney,’ he said.
I did my best to hide my nerves at finding Aidan O’Hanlon in such an intimate place. But my stutter betrayed me. ‘Y-Yes, but I still like to read to Lily at bedtime, especially when y-you’re not home.’
He lowered his head. ‘And I am not often home. But tonight, I decided to escape from a business meeting early.’ He looked at Lily. ‘I miss you, Lily, when I’m not here.’
Lily cuddled up to him.
‘Perhaps it’s impertinent of me to ask, Miss Sweeney, but I’m curious as to what you do on your days off. You don’t have to tell me, of course.’
His question prevented my quick escape, and his direct gaze increased my discomfort. I realized my hands were shaking and hid them behind my back as I leaned against the bedroom door.
‘N-No, I don’t mind. I walk around the city. I love seeing people from all over the world mixing together. ‘You’d never see the likes of it in Donegal.’
‘I suppose not. I take it you find New York exciting?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but . . .’
‘But what?’
‘Today I went to Hell’s Kitchen. I could hardly believe the conditions I saw. I’d heard of such slums in Dublin, but I never expected to see such a thing here.’
After I spoke, I realized my nervousness had disappeared.
His face clouded. ‘So much for New York being paved with gold. I agree with you, Miss Sweeney, it is an awful thing to see, but I doubt that much will change. Even the prosperous Irishmen in this city turn a blind eye to their plight.’ His lips tightened in a thin line.
Lily watched him intently as he spoke. She put her small hand in his as if to comfort him.
‘I should go,’ I said. ‘Goodnight, Mr O’Hanlon, goodnight, Lily.’
As I turned to leave, he rose and came towards me. He took my hands in his and looked into my eyes, his face inches from mine. For a wild moment I thought he was about to kiss me.
Miss Sweeney. I am moved by your compassion for the suffering of your countrymen.’
He backed away from me and turned to Lily again.
Unlike Aidan O’Hanlon, Mrs Donahue was horrified when I told her where I had been and what I had seen.
‘Ye’ve no business going all them places on your own,’ she said. ‘Who knows what kind of diseases ye could catch there. Ye need to stick with your own kind. There’re plenty of respectable young Irish lads and lassies about, dying for each other’s company. There’s Irish priests do run dances for them on Friday or Saturday nights at some of the churches nearby or over in Brooklyn. Kathleen does go to them. I’ll tell her to take you with her next time she goes.’
I wanted to say to Mrs Donahue that if I wanted to mix with my own kind, I would have stayed in Donegal. But I knew she meant well, and I agreed to go with Kathleen next time she went.
The following Saturday evening we left the O’Hanlon house and boarded a subway train to Brooklyn. I had never seen the likes of a train like this that ran above and below the ground. When we were in a tunnel, Kathleen said that we were under the East River. I nearly died of fright remembering the frigid waters beneath the Titanic. I turned to Kathleen.
‘Are you not destroyed with fear? What if the river swallows us up, the way the sea swallowed the Titanic?’
Kathleen shrugged. ‘Don’t be talking so loud,’ she said. ‘People will think we’re greenhorns.’
I blushed to the tips of my ears.
My anxiety vanished as soon as we stepped off the train. The air was mild, and a cool breeze wafted in from the river. Kathleen led me down a street past terraces each three storeys high and with a dozen or so steps leading up to the front door. They stood at attention, shoulder to shoulder, along the tree-lined street, their brick faÇades the deep hue of chocolate which glinted in the setting sun. I paused to admire them. They were nothing like the large, elegant houses on Aidan O’Hanlon’s street, nor were they like the tenements of Hell’s Kitchen. They exuded a quiet dignity that I found calming.
St Anthony’s church, where the dance was being held, lay at the end of the street. Kathleen stopped before we got there and took out a compact and lipstick from her bag. Grinning at me, she slicked on red lipstick and patted powder on her face. She wore a dress with a tight bodice and flared skirt which showed off her trim figure. It was bright crimson, and the lipstick matched it perfectly. I smiled to myself, imagining Nora in the same dress and lipstick. She would have been delighted. I looked down at myself. Kathleen had suggested I wear the bright yellow dress that I wore for mass. It was the fanciest of the three she had bought for me when I first arrived. Still, it paled in the face of the vibrant crimson.
Kathleen put the lipstick and compact back in her bag. ‘Mrs Donahue doesn’t approve of make-up,’ she said, ‘so don’t you be telling her.’
‘I thought only rich people used that stuff,’ I said. I didn’t add that prostitutes were known to use it as well.
Kathleen shrugged. ‘You have to catch up with the times, Nora.’
Even though she could be sharp-tongued at times, I had to admire Kathleen. She was a farmer’s daughter, the same as me, and grew up the oldest of six children in an Irish village not much bigger than Kilcross. She’d lived in New York for only two years, but she had embraced this new adventure with gusto. She seemed to enjoy taking me under her wing and teaching me all she had learned, and I appreciated it even though there were times when I felt she was talking down to me.
As we approached the parish hall next to the church, I heard strains of Irish music. Someone was playing the accordion. For a moment I was transported back to the third-class deck on the Titanic and the crowd of young lads playing the familiar airs of home. I wondered how many of them had survived. For a moment I was overcome with sadness and homesickness.
Inside, the hall was crowded with young people dancing and laughing. Warm, stale air and the smell of spilled beer wrapped around me, making me feel vaguely sick, and I longed to be back outside in the cool breeze. I tried to sm
ile as Kathleen dragged me over to a group of girls she knew and introduced me.
‘Girls, meet Nora Sweeney,’ she announced. ‘She’s the new governess in the house. I was afraid she might be a pain in the arse and get above herself, but I’ve taken her down a peg or two. I’ve made sure she knows she’s just a greenhorn like the rest of us are when we first arrive. Haven’t I, Nora?’
The girls laughed and I hid my sudden annoyance. They introduced themselves one by one. Some were very pretty, others plainer, some shy and others outgoing, but every one of them had an Irish brogue which comforted me and made me homesick at the same time.
‘I love your dress, Kathleen,’ a girl who bore a strong resemblance to Nora, said.
Kathleen patted her skirt and beamed.
‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘Let’s get out on the dance floor so I can show it off. You too, Nora.’
Images of the village dances back in Kilcross arose in my mind and I was overcome with shyness. ‘I-I’ll just watch for now,’ I said to Kathleen. ‘You go on and dance. I’ll be all right.’ I watched with relief as they all ran to join in the dancing, and I was left alone at the table.
‘Can I get you a lemonade?’
I’d been sitting there for a few minutes when a familiar-sounding male voice startled me, and I looked up into Dom Donnelly’s smiling face. I put my hand over my heart to calm the shock of seeing him.
‘Dom! Sure, I thought you were dead!’ I blurted out.
Dom grinned. ‘Now is that any way to greet an old friend?’
‘And Maeve? Where is she?’
His grin faded, replaced by a haunted look.
‘She drowned, Delia,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘I held on to her as we jumped into the water, but I lost my hold. I heard her screaming and I tried to find her but . . .’ He roughly wiped away tears and took a deep breath. ‘White Star sent ships from Canada to collect what bodies they could find and thank God they found hers. They identified her by the St Christopher medal Ma had given her. It had her name engraved on it.’ He blessed himself. ‘At least they had a name to give her, not like the other poor craturs with no names on them, or them that sank so far into the sea they’ll never be found.’
He stopped talking and I could say nothing to comfort him. A lump formed in my throat and I fought away tears. I leaned forward and put my hand on his. At length I managed to speak.
‘Where did the Canadians take her?’ I said gently.
‘To Halifax up in Nova Scotia. There’s a whole graveyard full of them there.’
‘I wonder if Nora is buried there as well?’ I whispered, forgetting for a moment that Dom was there.
He squeezed my hand. ‘I saw her name on the list of missing,’ he said. ‘Maybe one day, please God, you’ll find her.’
He fetched two lemonades and we sat in silence at the table. The music that had so enchanted me earlier was now a din that drummed in my ears. The dancers had formed circles, arms aloft locking hands, their feet moving with precision as they spun faster and faster. Soon they were a blur and I closed my eyes to avoid getting dizzy.
I felt Dom’s hand on my arm.
‘Are you all right, Delia?’
I started. ‘Yes. I’d like to leave but I’ll have to wait for Kathleen. I wouldn’t know how to get back without her.’
Dom smiled. ‘Aye, and you’ll be waiting a long time for herself to be ready to go home. I’ve known Kathleen for a while, and she’d dance till the sun came up if she could. She’s a quare one for the craic.’
I nodded.
‘I could see you home if you want,’ he said, suddenly shy. ‘I can go and tell Kathleen you’re leaving with me. I’ve seen Kathleen home on occasion, so I won’t get you lost.’
‘That would be grand, Dom,’ I said, and then in a sudden panic I added, ‘Dom, Kathleen keeps calling me Nora, she hasn’t caught on yet that my name is Delia.’
Dom gave me a curious look but said nothing. I held my breath and watched as he went on to the dance floor and took Kathleen aside. As he spoke to her, I noticed her face turning red. She glared over at me and then shoved Dom away and went back to the dancing. She seemed very annoyed with either Dom or me, I didn’t know which. I passed no remarks to him.
When we arrived outside the O’Hanlon house, Dom shuffled his feet, as if weighing what he wanted to say. I waited.
‘Will you come to the dance with me next week, Delia?’ he said. ‘I promise we’ll dance our feet off. We need to enjoy ourselves after what we’ve lived through.’
‘But what about Kathleen?’ I blurted out.
‘What about her?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know, she just seemed very annoyed when you told her you were leaving with me.’
‘Ah, sure, pay her no mind,’ he said. ‘Kathleen always wants everything her way.’
I didn’t press him further.
‘So will you come with me next week?’ he said again.
‘I will,’ I said.
By July, the heat was beginning to take its toll on me. The pavement almost singed my feet and, by the time I got home, my damp clothes were stuck to me. I found myself longing for the green hills of Donegal where the sun shone gently, and rain showers refreshed the soul.
After three months in New York, I believed I should have got over my homesickness. But then an image would enter my mind, or a smell waft around me, and I would be back in Donegal working on the farm with Da in companionable silence. What I missed most though was the sanctuary of the ring of white stones where I often went to find peace, sitting among them while a fresh breeze played with my hair.
When I thought of young Lily, though, my homesickness faded. She had become very attached to me. She followed me everywhere. If I disappeared up to my room for a few minutes, she would burst in, panic on her tiny face. I suppose she was afraid I had left her. In those moments I would reach out to her and give her a hug. ‘I’m not going anywhere, love,’ I would say, and she would clutch me hard.
Often, she sat at the kitchen table drawing pictures. Over and over she would draw a log cabin, or a man with a hat riding a horse under a blazing sun, or odd-looking plants with pointy leaves. When I asked her about them, she would bow her head, put down her crayons, and leave the table.
‘I think she’s pining for Texas, poor wee mite,’ Mrs Donahue said. ‘It was where she was born, ye know.’ She sighed. ‘Sure, we all feel a tug back to the place we were born. ’Tis our real home, after all.’
Mrs Donahue explained that Aidan O’Hanlon and his wife, Mary, had lived in Texas for a while and that Lily had spent a few years there.
For the rest of that summer Lily and I spent many happy days together – walking in the park under the shade of giant oak trees, sitting by the pond feeding the ducks, or wandering through a museum admiring the paintings. Lily seemed to love the museums, often pulling me by the hand up the steps if we were passing one. Inside, she would sometimes linger in front of a picture, her eyes wide, and a hint of smile on her face.
‘I’m very pleased to hear from Mrs Donahue you’ve been taking Lily to museums and galleries to look at paintings. I think that art contributes greatly to a child’s education.’
I was in the library late one evening when I heard Aidan O’Hanlon’s voice behind me. I turned around, nervous but excited at the thought of seeing him again.
‘S-She seems to enjoy it,’ I murmured.
As I looked at him, my face grew hot and I hoped he could not see me blushing. I hadn’t seen him in a while, and I was once again aware of his good looks. He looked particularly well tonight, dressed in evening clothes, with a dark jacket, a shimmering white shirt and white bow tie. He wrestled the bow tie from his collar and threw it on a nearby table.
‘Gosh awful things,’ he said. ‘They’d be after strangling the life out of you.’
This was the first time I had heard even a hint of an Irish accent from him. I knew he had been born in New York, but that his late wife was from Irel
and. Perhaps some of her brogue had rubbed off on him. He took off his jacket, removed his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves. I tried hard not to stare at the sprinkling of black hairs on his forearms.
‘I-I’ll be going now, sir. Can I have Kathleen bring you anything?’
While I hated to leave, I was anxious to get out of the room before I made a fool of myself.
‘I’ll ring for her,’ he said, as he sat down on a chair beside the empty fireplace and put his feet up on the fender.
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I-I’ll be away then.’
‘No, stay.’ It was not a command, more of a polite invitation. I hesitated, not knowing what to do. Just then, Kathleen came in.
‘Ah, Kathleen, bring me a whiskey.’ He paused. ‘And for you, Miss Sweeney?’
Both he and Kathleen stared at me expectantly.
‘I . . . er . . . just a soda water would be grand.’
Kathleen glared at me as she disappeared out the door.
He gestured to a chair across from his. ‘Sit down, Miss Sweeney,’ he said. ‘I think it’s time we got to know each other better.’
He began by asking me questions about how Lily was getting on. It was easy for me to answer because I was so excited about what Lily was learning. I leaned forward, smiling.
‘Even though she doesn’t speak, she devours every book I give her and writes lovely wee compositions about them,’ I said, ‘and she shows a flair for mathematics.’
My mouth was dry after talking, and I took a gulp of soda water. Then his questions turned to me.
‘I don’t know much about you, Miss Sweeney,’ he said, his eyes fixed on my face. ‘Why don’t you tell me about your family? Do you have brothers and sisters? Did you live on a farm or in the town? What were you like in school? And, why did you want to come to America?’
My mind raced. What was I to say? I didn’t dare mention Nora.
‘T-There’s not much to tell,’ I said, trying not to look at him, ‘I had a twin brother who died, but no sisters.’
The Titanic Sisters Page 9
