Child on the Doorstep

‘Well it isn’t done, is it?’ Angela said. ‘I mean, if you want a child or a baby, you go to an orphanage, but no one adopts a foundling from the workhouse. I’ve something to tell you, Mary. A few years ago, the pain and the anguish of not knowing what happened to my little girl was so immense, I couldn’t bear it. I was so wracked with the thought that she had died or was being cruelly treated, I was tearing my hair out with the worry of it all.’

‘So what did you do?’ asked Mary. She could see that Angela had a burden to unload and waited patiently for the woman she considered her daughter to speak.

‘It was so bad that I went to the workhouse and asked about a young child who had been left there some years before. I pretended that I was making enquiries for a friend.’

‘What did they tell you?’ asked Mary, who couldn’t believe that Angela had taken such a step. Though she realised that such a loving person as her daughter would leave no stone unturned once her heart was decided on such a course of action.

Angela’s face took on a distressed aspect as she told Mary what had occurred.

‘A hard-faced woman opened the door and wouldn’t let me over the threshold. I tried to explain about the child and the locket but she refused to listen to me. Just said that once the children had come into the workhouse any family left had handed over control and they belonged to the workhouse now. Oh Mary, it was awful, she told me to forget about the child, it was no concern of my friend’s now, and then slammed the door in my face. I felt sick, knowing that my child could be behind those walls. I’ll never know what happened to her now – if she is safe, if she lived or died or if a friendly hand ever held hers when she was sad or lonely.’

Angela was in tears again now and Mary reached out to comfort her. ‘She is in God’s hands, Angela, and we must pray that He is her comfort as He must be ours.’

‘Perhaps it is just as well as it would have opened a can of worms, wouldn’t it? Eventually they would have tumbled to it that I was the child’s mother and then everyone would know and the child’s life could be blighted even further by the taint of sin. And how would Connie cope then, knowing the truth of it all?’

Mary didn’t answer. She was now in tears too, knowing Connie would never be able to cope with such a distressing revelation. ‘There is nothing to be done about it then.’

Angela nodded. ‘That’s the way of it. And my heart will break with each passing year as we approach Christmas. The pain never diminishes, because as the child grows she will know what she is and how alone she is in the world. She will likely experience no kind word or deed in the whole of her life and I should suffer for putting her through that.’

Mary’s heart hurt also for she knew there were no words to say to ease Angela’s conscience. A priest might but if she wouldn’t go to see one then that avenue was closed too. She could no longer look on Angela’s sorrowful eyes and her own were stinging with tiredness as she gave a sigh and lay back on the bed. Angela watched Mary’s eyes flutter shut and she tucked her in and tiptoed from the room.

SIX (#ulink_c23712b8-ec69-53ef-b9c5-c44e8985c550)

A few days later, Angela had returned to work. Mary insisted as she said Christmas was coming and they couldn’t live on fresh air. Angela was glad to be going back and Paddy Larkin’s wife in particular was delighted with Angela’s return.

‘They’ve all been asking for you and, to be honest, I wasn’t sure we’d see you this side of Christmas. Is Mary much recovered?’

Angela shook her head. ‘She’s over the flu, which is a blessing, but she’ll not recover much now I don’t think. But she insisted I go back to work because she hates to think she is being a burden and Connie and I can manage her between us.’

‘You have a good daughter there, Angela,’ Breda said. ‘She’s a credit to you.’

‘Thank you,’ Angela said. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d keep your ear to the ground for a single bed going begging. Mary won’t stay in the bedroom, says there’s no need and we have enough to do without fetching and carrying for her all day long. I can see her point, for the bedroom is cold and probably lonely. She insists on being downstairs during the day as she likes to be in the middle of things. But she does sleep a lot now, and she’s hardly well rested in the chair.’

‘I don’t have to look far,’ Breda said. ‘I have one going spare myself. You can have it and welcome.’

‘Oh, thank you.’

‘No problem,’ Breda said. ‘As it’s a dry day I’ll get Paddy to bring it round later after closing time about half three. Any of his regulars will give him a hand, especially if they know who it’s for.’

And so by four o’clock that same day Paddy and two of the customers carried in the bed. Angela already had firebricks heating up to be wrapped in flannel and laid on the mattress in case it should be damp, and she warmed the sheets and blankets at the fire before she would let Mary into the bed.

Mary would never have complained, but she was very glad to have the opportunity to lie down when she was tired during the day. She never found she had any kind of a refreshing sleep when she dropped off in the chair and she often woke with a crick in her neck. She said how grateful she was and continued, ‘Now, Angela, I want you to go to your own bed each night. I don’t want you sleeping in the chair next to me as you have done the last few nights. I will be as right as rain on my own.’

‘We’ll see.’

‘Angela, I mean it. No one can sleep well in a chair.’

‘And I said I’d see,’ Angela said firmly. ‘I’m having the doctor call to have a look at you and then we’ll decide where I will sleep.’

She was concerned about her mother because, since the long conversation about the abandoned child, she had said virtually nothing of any consequence. Sometimes a day would pass and Mary wouldn’t speak a word, or she would start a sentence and forget the end and look confused and bewildered. Or she would be overcome by tiredness and fall asleep in the middle of talking. The times when she was clear and lucid were getting fewer. Added to this, Angela could get her to eat only sparingly; tucking her into the bed earlier, she noticed that her mother had lost so much weight that the bones could be felt beneath the skin.

‘Don’t want the doctor,’ Mary said mutinously. ‘Can’t do nothing for me.’

Angela knew her mother was probably right, but wanted assurance from the doctor that she was doing all she could and she said, ‘Humour me, Mammy?’

Mary gave a brief nod and added, ‘Now do something for me.’

‘What?’

‘See the priest in confession.’

‘Mammy …’

‘For my sake,’ Mary cried. ‘How can I die happy knowing you are carrying that huge load of guilt on your shoulders?’

Angela didn’t insult Mary’s intelligence by saying she wasn’t going to die any time soon for she was very much afraid she well might. As for Mary herself, in her lucid moments, when her mind was clear and not all jumbled up, she knew she was dying and it was just a toss-up whether her mind or body would give up first. She didn’t much mind, for she was often so weary and full of aches and pains and she didn’t fear death. Maybe it would have been nice to have lasted a little longer to see Connie as a young woman, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen and when she died she would see Matt again and her two beloved sons. She could almost look forward to that.

Neither mentioned their concerns and Mary said, ‘Will you do this one thing for me?’

Angela swallowed the lump in her throat and said huskily, ‘I’ll see.’

Mary lay back on the pillows and said nothing more. Angela pulled the blankets round and saw Mary’s eyelids flutter shut and she gave a sigh as she reached for her coat.

The doctor listened to Angela’s concerns about Mary and agreed to see her, though he suspected he could do little for her because basically what she was suffering from was old age. To give him his due though, he gave her a thorough examination. He felt her limbs all over, asked her to put out her tongue and looked down her throat, then felt her neck, listened to her heartbeat, sounded her chest, checked her pulse and asked her plenty of questions about any aches and pains she might have and her general health. He was surprised she had survived the flu, for he hadn’t been sure she would, but he knew it would make little difference for she was still a very sick woman.

Using the guise of washing his hands, he went to the cubby hole at the top of the cellar steps and Angela poured the warm water into the bowl she had ready.

‘What d’you think, Doctor?’ she said. She spoke softly, though Mary was out of earshot, for the bed was against the window on the other side of the room.

‘Her heart is very tired,’ the doctor said in the same soft tones. ‘You were warned this day would come and you have looked after your mother well for her to last this long, but that last bout of flu has knocked her for six. Don’t worry about her not eating much. Her stomach is distended and her throat is inflamed. She’ll probably not feel like eating much and it isn’t as if she’s using a lot of energy. Just make sure she has plenty to drink.’

Angela nodded. ‘I will, Doctor. D’you know how her illness will progress?’

‘Her organs will gradually start closing down,’ the doctor said. ‘It will be very peaceful and pain-free, I will see to that, but you have to come to terms with the fact that you must say goodbye to your mother sooner rather than later.’

Tears filled Angela’s eyes. It wasn’t that she was surprised, but death was so final.

‘H-How long has she got?’

‘It’s impossible to say exactly.’

‘You must have some idea?’

The doctor gave a shrug. ‘These things are very difficult to predict but it could even be before Christmas.’

Angela gasped. ‘You are talking of weeks, just weeks,’ she said.

The doctor gave a brief nod and Angela knew, whatever her mother said, she would be sleeping in the chair from now on.