Part 15 (1/2)
Dear G.o.d! Drink, and now women. Would he never do anything right, that man? And having landed a job out of the blue like he had. And to jeopardise it by women now !
”Father?”
”Yes, my child?”
”Do you know it's me, Father? Mary Ann Shaughnessy?”
”Yes, I know it's you, Mary Ann.”
Mary Ann sighed. The priest undoubtedly was blind but he wasn't deaf. She said again, ”I'm sorry, Father, I didn't mean to do it. I'm very sorry.”
The sincerity in her voice made Father Owen say, ”Yes, I believe you.are, child. But you committed a grave wrong, and now what's going to happen to you?”
”I don't know, Father.”
”Mr. Lord won't give you a second chance.”
”No, Father.”
It was only a whisper, and Father Owen said, ”No. At least I think we're agreed about that. . . . Well, it'll be back to school for you.”
There was a long silence, and into the silence Father Owen read Mary Ann's reluctance to return to her old school. No matter what had made her run away some part of her had undoubtedly liked the taste of the convent, and now there'd be no more convents for her. Ah, it was a pity, a great pity. He'd had high hopes of her. Well, that was that. Perhaps G.o.d didn't want it that way. His ways were strange, and he himself mustn't be too harsh on her. No, no, he couldn't be too harsh with the child. Who could be harsh with someone that loved so much * . . she loved that great, big, red-headed lump of trouble with a heart that was as big as her body, if not bigger.
When he heard a slight snuffle his voice dropped to a tender tone, and he said, ”Well, now, my child, don't worry any more. The thing is done, we can only look forward. Trust in G.o.d and pray. In the meantime, say a decade of the Rosary each night for a week. . . . On your knees mind, not in bed ! ” ”Yes, Father. . . . Father.”
”Yes, what is it?” > ' : *< ”i've=”” done=”” something=”” else=”” bad,=””>
”And what was that?”
”I hit me grannie yesterday.”
”You what?”
After a heavy silence, Mary Ann repeated, in a voice that was scarcely audible, ”I hit me grannie,
Father.”
”Oh, that was very wicked of you, very wicked-an old woman. How could you, Mary Ann? That's the worst yet. I trust you're heartily sorry.”
He waited, but no words of remorse came through the grid, and he repeated, ”Did you hear what I said?
I trust you are heartily sorry. Are you?”
After an extended pause the priest received the truth. t ”No, Father.”
*** This answer seemed to floor Father Owen and he made fluttering noises, and then demanded sternly
but softly, ”Did I hear aright? You're not sorry you struck your grannie?”
”I've tried to be, Father. I prayed to Our Lady last night that I would be, but I woke up this morning and
I wasn't cos she said I'd always be a sow's ear. You remember, Father, you said you'd been made out of one, an' all, didn't you?” Father Owen did not confirm this kins.h.i.+p, and in the heavy silence Mary Ann proceeded. ”But it was what she said about me da that made me do it. She said ”
”I don't want to hear what she said. Say your act of contrition.”
”O my G.o.d, I am very sorry that I have sinned against Thee, because Thou art so good, and by the help
of Thy Holy Grace I will never sin again. Amen. . . . Good night, Father.”
”Good night, my child, and-and G.o.d bless you. I'll be seeing you.” The voice held no reprimand now, and Mary Ann said, ”Yes, Father. Good night, Father.”
The priest sighed heavily. G.o.d help her, for only He could now. No earthly persuasion that he could see
would make old Lord fork out any more money on her behalf, and if he knew anything of the old m^n, Mike Shaughnessy would likely suffer because his plans for the child had gone awry. He must trip over there some day soon and see how things Were shaping. . . . And she had hit old Mrs. McMullen! He rubbed his hand over his face. The day wasn't so far gone when he'd had the strong desire to do the self-same thing. But now he must pray for her-pray for them all. ...
As Mary Ann said her penance at the side altar and gazed with moist eyes up at the Holy Family, she experienced the first semblance of peace since her arrival home. She did not go over the business of the journey with them-they knew all about it -nor did she mention her attack on her grannie-like Father Owen, she remembered, they did not always see eye to eye with her over her grannie, but she did cover the gamut of her errors over the past few days by saying, softly and contritely, ”I'm sorry.” This they accepted and looked at her kindly, but no word on the incense-laden air came to her, and she knew they would have little to say until she had proved her contrition. They were, she knew, biding their time-but they weren't vexed, and the sight of their beloved faces was a salve on her heart and had a steadying effect on the s.h.i.+vering antic.i.p.ation that was filling every pore of her body, the antic.i.p.ation of even a more serious nature than her being bundled back to Jarrow school, the antic.i.p.ation of her da leaving the farm.
What happened after she had hit her grannie was hazy in her mind. She could remember very little until she found herself in bed and alone with her da. When her ma had left the room he had lifted her from the bed and on to his knee, and pressed her face into his neck, and without him saying a word she knew that everything between them was all right again. At least, that was how she had felt as she went to sleep, her hand in his. But this morning she wasn't sure, not really sure. He had smiled at her at breakfast time and put his hand on her head. But there was something still wrong, and as the endless morning had worn on she came to know what it was. It was the farm-her da's job, it was hanging in the balance. She saw it in the way he walked with his shoulders pushed back; she saw it in the way he talked, his voice over-loud and c.o.c.ksure. In all, she knew he didn't care any more whom he vexed or pleased.
Before leaving the Holy Family she stared hard up at them for a moment, and without her usual preliminary preamble she stated simply, ”Please look after me da, will you? An' don't let him get vexed.”
In this short plea she had said everything, for she felt that if her da kept his temper he'd keep his job.
She genuflected deeply to the altar, turned about and walked slowly up the church, past the grown-up penitents dotting the pews and out into the porch.
She had especially picked Sat.u.r.day night to come to confession, for it wasn't usual for any children to be there, having all been marshalled from school on the Thursday in an unrepentant horde, and so it wouldn't have been a matter of surprise to her to encounter Mrs. Flannagan, but to see Sarah startled her. There they both were on the edge of the pavement, right opposite the church door and, although Mrs. Flannagan had her back towards her and Sarah her profile, instinctively she knew they were waiting for her. A concealed tug by Sarah of her mother's sleeve told Mary Ann's sinking heart that this was a prepared attack.
”Oh!” Mrs. Flannagan turned casually round, and with wellsimulated surprise confronted Mary Ann squarely. ”Well!”
Only two words, but they halted Mary Ann as firmly as a -weighty hand on her shoulder, and she looked, with almost a plea for leniency in her eyes, up at the tall woman. She was trapped in front of her enemy, Sarah, and her mother's enemy, Mrs. Flannagan, and even if she had wanted to fight she would have been unable to do so, for she dare not cheek a grown-up, even such an awful grown-up as Mrs. Flannagan.
”So you're back. Well! well! It's a short career you've had, isn't it? Not sufficiently long enough to turn you into a lady, I would say. You were going to be a lady, weren't you, Mary Ann?”
Mary Ann said not a word, humiliation was sweeping over her. The loud sn.i.g.g.e.r from Sarah did for a moment stiffen her spine; but only for a moment, for Mrs. Flannagan took up the attack again.
”Well, have you lost your tongue? Aren't we going to hear your refined accents ... or wasn't that wonderful convent used to dealing with sows' ears?”
No part of Mary Ann moved-except her eyes. For a second they fell away from the gimlet stare, but were brought back again to her tormentor as Mrs. Flannagan continued, ”But, of course, they hadn't time to curb your craving for sensation. Rome wasn't built in a day, was it? But I doubt if that will ever be curbed. You went to town this time, didn't you . . . got on the wireless . . . nation-wide search. My! my!” Another sn.i.g.g.e.r from Sarah.
”Well, you must always remember, Mary Ann, the higher you climb the farther you fall. But I don't suppose there'll be another opportunity for you like that, will there?” Another pause, during which Sarah changed her balance from one foot to the other, then hung affectionately on to her mother's arm and looked up at her as she continued, ”I saw your grandmother last night. She had a nasty mark on her face-it would take more than a convent to change YOU, wouldn't it?” In her last words Mrs. Flannagan had dropped her bantering tone, and her bitter feeling of enmity was stark as she went on, ”She was telling me she had a long talk with Mrs. Jones on the bus back. You've shot all their bolts, haven't you? Your Fairy G.o.dfather's got fed up, washed his hands of you, so if your da can't hold a farm job down by favour he certainly won't hold it down by experience, for he's had as much experience of a farm as I've had of ballet dancing. And unless you're well in favour with them that matter n.o.body's going to be fool enough to give a handicapped man such a responsible job. It stands to reason, doesn't it?”
The tears that Mary Ann would not allow to run from her eyes were blocking her throat and seemed to be forcing their way out through her pores, for she had broken into a heavy sweat and she stood helpless as Sarah, her voice filled with laughter, spoke for the first time. ”She was going to learn French and German an' all, Ma.”