Sister Benedict’s Blessings Part 1 of our new serial

Part One: The midwife nun is a confidante for many in the small community, and she may have the solution to a new dilemma

In days LONG GONE, she hoped, she might have been CONSIDERED A WITCH

Mayo, Ireland, 1870

Ababy,Mary?Didyou consider the shame you’ re bringing on the family? A baby out of wedlock?” Col m Burke attempts to suppress his fury. How was it he hasn’ t noticed? His daughter has concealed her condition well; from everyone it appears. Now he curses his blindness.

“Yes, D a. A baby. Wasn’ t it so that you and Ma weren’ t strangers to one another before you wed ?”

Mary’ s boldness isn’ t diminished by the state she’ s in. Her colour is high. She is standing up to him, herd a. Them an of the household.

“Just go, will you. You’ re neither use nor ornament tome in that condition. Take yourself and your shame off elsewhere. To that nun of yours, maybe .”

His voice is raised this time. He means her to leave. She can’ t stay here.

Mary stands her ground for a moment or two. Colmholdsh is breath. Is she going to defy him?

“I’ m gone, D a. Don’ t you worry. I’ m sorry you don’ t want me. That I can’ t call this home anymore .”

She leaves the parlour. Col ms its by the fire side and waits. What seems like moments later he hears the latch on the half door click. She has left.

Sister Benedict pushed her skirts to one side and bent to pick the plant. Chamomile today. And cramp bark. She would make infusions. They would not rid the girl of the pain entirely, but they would ease her suffering.

Sun broke through the clouds momentarily. Sister Benedict raised her face to it, closing her eyes and being still for a moment or two, determined to feel no guilt. It was where she felt most calm, here, in her herb garden. Not in the chapel during Evensong where her fellow sisters appeared most at one with their God. Her God found her here, in this place of peace, surrounded by more shades of green than anyone could imagine existed.

The wonder of God’s creation, in Sister Benedict’s eyes. Their beautiful green island. Soon, though, the peace would be shattered.

Mary Burke would be along this morning, Sister Benedict was sure. The herbs were for her. To ease her pain in the hours ahead as she brought her child into the world. Sister Benedict made no judgment on the girls and women who sought her out to help with childbirth. Married or not she attended them, wiping their brows, telling them that now, so, you’re ready to push.

Mary’s was one that would be born fatherless. Who the father was Sister Benedict had no idea. But she knew Mary to be a good girl, not one to bestow her favours lightly. There must be reasons she and the babe’s father could not wed.

Yet her concern was Mary and her baby – and she’d had a thought about that, an idea. She would need to discuss it with Ellen Stephens. She doubted Ellen, her confidante, would be here today. She wasn’t expected.

How did she know Mary was ready for confinement? Experience? Maybe. When Mary was sweeping the chapel yesterday Sister Benedict noticed her rest, ease her back, wince in pain. Mary was a good worker, reliable and diligent, leaving the convent each day after hours of labour to work with her father on the farm, bringing the cows home from the field. She was a strong woman and it had held her in good stead throughout her pregnancy.

Sister Benedict, well used to watching women conceal their pregnancies, hoping that their growing bellies did not contain a child, had observed her unpick and loosen her waistband, drape her clothing artfully. Mary’s mother, a deft seamstress, had taught her daughter well. Gossip had been kept to the bare minimum, until recently.

“I think Mrs Quinn knows my secret,” Mary had whispered to Sister Benedict a couple of weeks ago. “I saw her whisper to Da at the end of Mass last week.”

“Far from judgment should Saoirse Quinn be,” Sister Benedict replied as tartly as she could muster. “When do you think her twins were conceived? Hold your head high. There will be time enough to show humility. And there will be enough nay-sayers to help fill you with shame.”

Sister Benedict had lost count of the number of infants she’d welcomed into the world. Too many were silent when

born, but the majority released a healthy cry. Sister Benedict released her breath too, delighted to have brought precious life into the world, but often wondering what hardships these lives would face.

She had told no one that she was expecting Mary today. In days long gone now, she hoped, she might have been considered a witch and punished for it. Now she was a wise woman, a nun, a bride of Christ, and she loved her life.

She opened her eyes, spotting a figure approaching, framed by the doorway to the walled garden. Mary Burke. “Sister Benedict, the baby’s coming.” Mary stopped, breathing deeply. Sister Benedict picked up her basket of herbs.

“Follow me,” she said, disappearing into the confines of the convent.

Ellen Stephens gazed at her husband across the breakfast table. Until moments ago sun had been streaming through the window, a shaft of light highlighting his face. That had disappeared and he was now in shadow.

Colonel James Stephens had been uncommunicative this morning, as he had every morning since his return from England last week. His visits to Mayo were becoming less frequent, and his stays in London longer, and Ellen was left to wonder why.

“Good morning, dearest,” she’d said when he first came into the room, attempting to sound bright and cheerful, although this far from reflected her mood. She had spooned a small amount of scrambled egg onto her plate, and pushed it around with her fork, until it was cold and inedible.

Bridget, their maid, would be disappointed and concerned that she had not eaten again, but she couldn’t eat now. She would try later, at dinner.

He had replied with no more than a grunt and had raised The Irish Times, creating a barrier between them.

Their marriage had been a happy one in the early days, unlike many marriages she knew. They would walk around the Manor House grounds, her arm linked in his, and discuss their future. A future with children in it; the whole family playing croquet with Ellen and James dutifully losing, as all good parents should when their children are tiny.

However the Stephens had never been blessed with children, and Ellen was conscious that her childbearing years were drawing to a close. They never spoke of it; not these days. She had to contain her sadness and sense of loss. Not that many couples would speak of such matters, but theirs had been an open and frank relationship in the early days, discussing concerns often considered too delicate within a marriage such as theirs. “I’m leaving shortly, Ellen.” Her chest tightened. “Again? So soon?”

“Not for England. I didn’t explain well. I have business with Colm Burke.”

He didn’t expand on the nature of the business with his tenant farmer, and his tone discouraged further enquiry.

“I have business too,” she said instead. “With Sister Benedict.”

“Hmm.” His newspaper was folded on the table now, but he was still reading it, despite the fact she was attempting to hold a conversation with him. Ellen decided to continue. “Yes, we are to talk of our plans for the Industrial School.”

She felt excited about the prospect of the new school the Parish was in the process of planning. The building was almost completed, and they would soon be welcoming their first pupils. Places were to go to the poor of the Parish, to children who, if they weren’t kept occupied with tables and writing, may well resort to begging and worse.

Joe Murphy was such a boy. A bright lad, with a spark Ellen admired. “To be sure I can already count, Miss,” he’d said when she’d visited the household following his mother’s passing in childbirth. “Look, there’s the eight of us, now, isn’t there?” He proceeded to count his siblings who were huddled around the meagre fire in their tiny cottage. “And I can read their names too, so.” He fetched the family Bible from a shelf and read out eight names. “Should I add the baby?” he asked. “I’m sorry Joe, the baby didn’t survive.” Joe’s face remained impassive. “I’m leaving Ma’s name in, though. Else the little ones, they wouldn’t like it,” he whispered, his face turning to the fire.

Ellen wanted to reach out to the boy, to comfort him, but his back was stiff. She knew that wouldn’t be welcome. She feared for the family’s future, suspecting that all eight children and their father would soon be entering the workhouse.

“Think how much more you could learn at Industrial School, Joe. Think of where that may take you.”

And where it may prevent you from going, she thought but did not say.

“Proper reading, Miss Ellen. A whole book?” His voice was wistful, and she could just make out his words. “A whole book, Joe, yes.” “Joe Murphy may be our first pupil,” Ellen told her husband as he spooned a second serving of kippers onto his plate. “If Father Maguire is in agreement.”

“Hmm.” It was all he had said to her this morning thus far, except informing her of his visit to the Burkes.

Ellen felt confused, frustrated and sad at her husband’s apparent complete lack of interest in her affairs. Had he always been this way, she may have accepted things as they were. Many women in her situation would have lived this way from the day of the wedding henceforth.

It was the change in him that worried her. When the idea of her helping with the Industrial School had first been suggested by Sister Benedict, James had been enthusiastic about her becoming involved in the project. Not only would it be good work to undertake in the Parish, and as the wife of a major landowner in the area, this would be expected of Ellen, but it would also keep her occupied. Both James and Ellen knew, in the absence of children of their own, that helping Sister Benedict would be a fulfilling activity. She and the nun had forged a close friendship in the years the Stephens had lived in Mayo. James consulted his pocket watch. “I must leave,” he said, standing, hesitating, turning to her.

Is he going to say more? she wondered. If he had thought of doing so he changed his mind, and strode from the room.

Ellen resisted the urge to pick up his newspaper and tear it into tiny pieces. Instead she stood at the window and watched him disappear on his horse. “Ma’am, may I clear the table?” Bridget had entered the room. “Of course, Bridget. Thank you.” “Ma’am, may I take the morning off? I will pay back the time, I promise. I have family business to attend to.”

Bridget was Colm Burke’s elder daughter. Ellen wondered if the business had anything to do with James’s visit to her father. Surely the girl wasn’t involved with the financial side of the farm?

Too distracted by her husband’s demeanour this morning to give her musings much thought, she nodded. “You may, Bridget, of course.” “Thank you, ma’am.” James was on the horizon now. He rode well, his back straight. She knew he had utmost respect for his horse. James was a good man. Something was troubling him, she was sure.

If only he would speak to her of those troubles, share them with her, they may find a way back to one another, before it was too late and they were doomed to live as they were now.

Ellen dropped the newspaper onto the arm of the chaise, knocking her embroidery to the floor. She, too, then left the room in search of her cloak and hat.

She needed to see Sister Benedict.

It’s almost time to push, now, Mary.” Sister Benedict applied a cold compress to the girl’s forehead. The labour had been a speedy one. Three hours until now, and the baby would soon be with them.

Bridget, Mary’s sister, was also in attendance.

“You’re doing so well, Mary, Ma would have been proud of ya.” Mary had smiled through the pain. “Proud of me, would she? For getting myself into this situation in the first place? It was what she warned us against, Bridget, remember?”

Sister Benedict had watched the girl bear the intense pain with bravery and stoicism. She cried out rarely, instead squeezing Sister Benedict or her sister’s hand tightly when the pain was at its worst. She’ d make a good nun, Sister Benedict thought, idly.

Mary and Bridget were strong girls, both physically and in their characters.

James was a GOOD MAN. If only he would SPEAK TO HER of his TROUBLES

Determined and hard-working. The kind of women they welcomed in the convent. She doubted either had a vocation, although where Sister Benedict was concerned, doubt also crept in on occasion. When it did, all she could do was pray to a God who may or may not answer her prayers.

Sister Benedict heard voices in the corridor. The door of the cell was ajar, just slightly. The room was warm. “I wish to speak with Sister Benedict.” Ellen, sounding imperious. Sister Benedict smiled. This was the tone Ellen used with Mother Superior when she wished to get her own way.

“Sister Benedict is unable to see you. She is assisting a confinement.”

“I’m no stranger to the birthing room,” Sister Benedict heard Ellen’s reply just before she swept into the room, and just as Mary gave a final push and the baby was with them.

A moment of silence. Everyone held their breath, and then the baby pierced the oppressively warm air with its cry.

“A girl, Mary,” Sister Benedict said. She handed the baby to her mother.

Mary held the baby to her breast, encouraging suckling. Sister Benedict knew this was the right thing to do. That what she was producing to nourish her baby would give it the best possible start in life. But was the situation sustainable? Every woman in the room knew that Mary was unlikely to stay united with her baby.

“Take the baby, would you now, Bridget,” Mary whispered.

The infant began crying again as soon as it was removed from Mary’s breast.

“Mary, now that Mrs Stephens is here, I have a proposal for you.”

This wasn’t how she had expected to present her idea, but sometimes one must seize the moment.

Sister Benedict’s voice was gentle, but still Mary turned her face to the wall, picking at loose plaster with her fingers.

She knows what I am to say, Sister Benedict thought, looking across to Ellen, who was twisting her bonnet in her hands, still in the doorway, gazing at Mary, and then the baby, and then back to Mary.

“I’m wondering if it would be the best for all parties if Colonel and Mrs Stephens adopted your baby, Mary.”

Sister Bridget glanced at Ellen, whose eyes opened widely and briefly, showing her surprise. Sister Benedict glanced back to Mary, still gazing at the wall. It had been no surprise to her. Sister Benedict held her hand. “It would be for the best, Mary.” Mary turned and gazed across the room towards Ellen Stephens, apparently appraising her. She turned her gaze towards her baby, then Sister Benedict.

She nodded her assent, tears welling in her eyes, before turning to the wall again.

“Mrs Stephens?” Ellen looked uncertain. “I cannot agree without speaking to my husband,” she said, pulling on her hat and gloves as though preparing to leave.

Sister Benedict, knowing of Ellen’s pain at remaining childless, understood such a decision could not be made without consultation, but she felt sure the adoption would go ahead. And that it would be for the best for all concerned.

Once Ellen had left, Sister Benedict realised she had not told her of the purpose of her visit. There would be another time.

Ellen found James in the library, a measure of an amber liquid in a glass in his hands, papers strewn on his desk. He rarely drank at this time of the day.

“I have something to tell you – to ask you, I mean.”

Her excitement at the thought of adopting Mary’s baby had grown on her walk home. It was entangled too with feelings of trepidation; feelings she tried to deny, and an increasing sense of unease.

“Go ahead.” His voice was weary. He laid down the papers he was holding. “Why not sit?” He proffered a chair.

“I would prefer to stand,” Ellen told him. “Mary Burke has given birth to a girl.”

Ellen looked for emotion on his face, but it remained impassive, maybe the hint of a raised eyebrow, but that was all.

“Sister Benedict has suggested that we adopt her. It would save her from a future in the workhouse.”

The expression on her husband’s face had shifted. Uncertainty?

“We do not need to give an instant answer, my love. The baby may stay with her mother for now.” “In the workhouse?” the Colonel asked. Mary nodded. He sighed. “It is impossible, Ellen. I am sorry.” “But why?” she asked. “It would be a good thing to do, a kind thing.”

“The last thing we need at this moment is another mouth to feed, Ellen. I have financial troubles.”

Financial troubles? Was that his reason for visiting the Burkes?

Was that also his reason for the conversations she had witnessed between her husband and Mary Burke on more than one occasion on his last visit home? Him touching her arm, offering comfort?

Yet why would Mary be involved in money discussions? Surely that was just between tenant and landlord?

“Is there more I should know?” she whispered, instantly regretting her words.

His eyes flickering with anger, Ellen moved from his path as he strode to the door, slamming it behind him.

She fell into the chair he had provided and began sobbing. How she wished Sister Benedict was here with her now.

Ellen’s EYES had opened WIDELY and briefly, showing her SURPRISE