The Girls on Rose Hill (6 page)

Chapter 6

Ellen

"Laurie, you're a miracle worker."

"You like it? I wasn't sure you were in the right frame of mind for something so radical."

I ran my fingers along my now naked neck. Long strands of blonde hair carpeting the salon's bleached oak floor. Laurie, wearing the same quizzical expression she'd always had in algebra class, stood behind me.

I looked at Laurie in the mirror. "I love it. Honestly, I do. Especially the color."

"Yeah, you needed to tone it down. It was getting a little brassy."

I laughed. "I'll be sure to tell that to my overpriced salon in D.C. But really Laurie, thanks. I feel like a new woman."

"Who says Centerport doesn't have style." My old high school pal's hands swept the small yet sleek salon she'd opened after her painful divorce. "Hey, you wanna grab some lunch? My next appointment's not 'til one."

"I would love to, but I need to get over to St. Francis. My mother had a rough night last night."

"Of course, sweetie. But listen, keep me updated. Don't just sneak off to D.C. without letting me know, okay?"

"I will. I promise."

I crossed the parking lot to Frohller's Hardware. Danny had recently painted the clapboard siding a dull green, but other than that, not much had changed from the days Kitty sold her homemade soda bread alongside hammers and nails. The ancient floorboards creaked as I made my way up the cluttered aisle. Carol, Danny's wife, sat beside the cash register, and patiently explained the difference between two screwdrivers to an elderly woman. I hung back until she was finished.

"Oh my God, Ellen. I almost didn't recognize you!"

"I needed a change. Laurie Nolan did it. Do you like it?"

"I love it! Maybe I should have her do something with this." Carol grabbed a handful of her over permed hair. Like a lot of women, especially women on Long Island, Carol was very attached to her big hair.

"Sure," I said diplomatically, although I doubted Carol would ever update her '80s do, despite the fact that she was fast approaching fifty. "Danny around?"

"He's in the back, doing inventory. Listen, Ellie, I'm glad you're here. Could I ask you a favor?"

"Of course."

"It's our fifth wedding anniversary tomorrow and I made reservations at Pablo's for dinner. I know Danny is supposed to sit with your mother tonight, but would you mind switching with him? I can go stay with your mother this afternoon if you could go this evening."

I couldn't remember the last time Brendan even acknowledged our anniversary. I looked at Carol with her big hair and big smile and tried not to be jealous of the obviously close bond she had with my uncle. We were all surprised when Danny, never much of a lady killer, announced at age fifty-three that he was getting married. We were even more surprised when he showed up with the bubbly Carol. But shy Danny simply adored her and it looked like five years in, they were still going strong.

"If you could go this afternoon that would be great. Doing the day and evening shift can be a bit much," I said. "Plus, I should probably do something about the front lawn before Lisa has a fit."

"Don't let Lisa get to you. I never do. You should go home and relax."

I took Carol's advice and passed by the overgrown grass without too much guilt. I went into the kitchen and made myself a chicken salad sandwich. While I ate at the small kitchen table, I opened my laptop and scrolled through emails. There were a few emails from work, although fewer than I'd expected. It appeared that the U.S. government was able to roll along without my presence. My son Timmy sent a funny email updating me on the latest scandal at the Virginia country club where he was a lifeguard for the summer. Veronica checked in with an airy email that conveyed absolutely no information—she could have spent the week shopping in the local mall for all I could tell from her missive. I hoped that for $40,000 a year, NYU improves her writing style.

I swallowed the last of my iced tea and then walked to the dryer in the corner and pulled out a pair of sheets. I hadn't heard from Brendan since our call yesterday, so I'd assumed that he would make an appearance tomorrow. If he knew what was good for him, he would. Since I was sleeping in my old bedroom, the boys' bedroom was filled to the ceiling with boxes and it didn't seem right to put him in my mother's bedroom, I needed to prepare Kitty's room for my wayward husband.

I climbed the stairs with the freshly laundered sheets. Dust had settled in the grooves of the banister. Maybe I'd have time to run the vacuum around in the morning before Brendan arrived; he hated a messy house. The door to Kitty's room opened with a slow squeak. The room was hot. I opened the windows and allowed the rank air of low tide to fill the room. I pulled the heavy down comforter off the sheet-less bed with a vigorous tug and replaced it with clean sheets and a light lace quilt I'd found in the hall closet.

That done, I gathered the various remnants of the room's prior occupant: hairpins, a pair of glasses, a sticky half empty bottle of cough medicine. After I tossed the detritus in a half filled wastepaper basket, I approached the old chest of drawers. The top drawer held only a few lace handkerchiefs and a ripped pair of stocking, so I threw them in the basket as well. Now at least Brendan would have someplace to put his underwear and socks. I opened the closet to find it still empty after my purge five years earlier. Good. Now he would have somewhere to hang his expensive suits.

I went downstairs for another glass of iced tea, furniture polish and a handful of rags. I rubbed the polish along the bed's headboard and the side tables. The strong smell of lemon masked the bedroom's stale air.

When I was done, I sat down on the bed and sipped iced tea. I scanned the room. Brendan wouldn't like sleeping here, but it'll only be for a few days, and hopefully he'll be smart enough not to complain.

I looked around the room one last time to see if anything else was out of order. The two bottom drawers of the old chest were still ajar from my digging expedition the previous week. I walked over to the chest and crouched down to push the drawers closed, but both were stuck. I opened the bottom drawer and arranged the stack of envelopes so they laid flat, but the drawer still wouldn't close. In exasperation, I pulled open the drawer and dumped the contents onto the floor.

I sorted through the old letters. Curious, I opened a few. Most were from my great-grandmother, Eileen O'Connor, and included reports to Kitty of the activities of the farm: the birth of a new calf, how much hay was cut, and hopes that the rain would hold off until it had been brought in. It seems nine times out of ten, the weather didn't hold. They were in rainy Ireland, I thought, how could they have been surprised? Eileen also kept Kitty up to date on her younger siblings' activities and the local gossip. I'd obviously never met my namesake, but through these simple notes I got a sense of her strength and her pious nature.

What must it have been like for her to give birth to nine children, see two die and four others be lost to her through immigration? She wrote often to her eldest daughter, at a time when she likely could spare neither the time nor the few pennies for paper and postage. Eileen must have wanted to keep Kitty close to her, tied to Templeglantin, in spirit if not in body.

It appeared that she was successful, at least initially, because Kitty wrote back cheery letters to her family in Templeglantin, and always asked detailed questions about each member. In one of her early letters, she was excited to hear that her sister Margaret would be joining her, although she warned her not to expect America to be the paradise that their neighbors, the Sheehans, had portrayed it to be.

It was only after Margaret arrived in New York that the tone of Eileen's letters changed. Apparently Kitty had been selective in what she told her mother. Eileen believed that Kitty worked in a parish rectory, which was the job that Bridie Sheehan's daughter had arranged for her. The truth was, as Margaret must have told her mother, Kitty didn't last two weeks scrubbing for the cranky old pastor and his exacting young assistant. Instead, she found a job at Flannery's on Second Avenue in Manhattan, making sandwiches and serving drinks when the pub was busy.
"I make twice what Father Healy paid me, for half the effort,"
Kitty wrote in her schoolgirl scrawl.
"Now I can send you more money to pay for Maura's passage,"
Maura was next in line for the immigrant ship. Eileen may have accepted Kitty's ill gotten gains, but that didn't mean that she didn't lecture her about looking for a
"more suitable position."

The letters took on a more cheerful tone a few months later as they discussed Margaret's upcoming wedding.
"My heart is pure broke that I have to miss Margaret's big day, but I know, dear girl, that you will do the family proud and stand in for us."
She went on to comfort Kitty, who being three years older than Margaret, was still unmarried.
"Pray to God daughter, that he may send you as fine as man as He found for your sister. Do not lose heart, dear child, for God is good."

A few months later, Eileen's heart was truly broken when she heard of Kitty's betrayal of her sister.
"I have walked the house these three nights, unable to sleep after hearing your sorry news from Bridie Sheehan. All of Kilvarren village and all of Brooklyn must know your shameful story. I cannot show my face in town, and your poor father is destroyed. But I will not talk of your sins, daughter, for the time to talk has passed. Margaret writes that you are to be wed. Hopefully God in His infinite mercy may bless this union and bless your child. That is what I pray for each and every night. Your good sister has agreed to stand with you. I pray that God gives her the strength to get through what for her will be a hard day. To see you in her dress, and she wearing yours, will be difficult, but I know Our Father will reward her soon, for not shaming her family and for being a good sister to you. A better sister than you deserve. But we will speak of that no more. Be sure to send pictures, so that we can show the Sheehans and our other neighbors. God Bless."

Eileen must have gotten her picture, but there were no more letters in the drawer from her until Tim Murphy's death, although there were many persistently cheerful letters from Kitty addressed to Eileen during that time, letters extolling the beauty of her daughter Rose and the good nature of her handsome husband. She described for Eileen every stick of furniture in her new basement apartment in Park Slope, every dress she knitted for Rose, but apparently received nothing in return. Kitty determinedly continued to write, as if responding to her mother's letters as before. Then the letters from Kitty stopped, and a month after my grandfather's death, Eileen wrote:

"
My dear darling Kitty, My heart is broken writing this letter to you, also your father and your brothers and sisters. I nearly dropped dead myself when I read that your poor loving husband was dead. What a shock it was to us and what it must be to you. May God and His Blessed Mother comfort you and your child. May God rest his poor soul.

Oh Kitty dear, I beg you not to worry yourself to death. You have something to live for, your child. She will need you and she will cheer you. I am not able to write, my head and my heart is paining me so. Kitty, if you want to come home there is a place here for you and your child. Our hearts are open to receive you and comfort you for as long as we live. If you stay in that sad land, I am sure your good sisters will help you and your child. The past is over, dear child, and we must all remember that we are all the one.

Kitty dear, I can write no more. My eyes are blind with tears. Write to me soon. I will be worrying until I hear from you."

My own eyes were blind with tears when I finished that letter, but I couldn't help myself, I continued on and read about how Kitty had to leave her beloved basement apartment to take a nursing job in Manhattan, leaving her small child with her sister. But in time, Kitty did cheer up, perhaps too much to suit her mother for in her letters she scolded Kitty for not sending Margaret enough support money, not visiting Rose often enough and, according to Mrs. Sheehan and her omnipotent relations, consorting with a
"bad element."

She sent Kitty a blistering letter when she learned that she intended to take Rose from Margaret.
"Surely, my bold daughter, you are speaking out of temper and not from sense. If Rose calls your sister mother, it's because she doesn't see enough of you. Your good sister is not to blame. Where would you be without her generous heart? Look where your jealousy and spite got you last time. Apologize to your sister and her fine husband, visit your daughter every week, and stop this nonsense about marrying that quare fellow that Margaret says you brought to the house last week. I will pray that Our Blessed Mother guides you and gives you strength."

The next letter was more conciliatory and almost pleading.
"Margaret tells me that you are to be wed next month. I pray that he is a fine man and that he will take care of you and Rosie. But how do you know this man? Who is his family and why does he live so far from Brooklyn and your sisters? I pray to our Lord in Heaven that you find happiness in this marriage, if you do marry him. But please know that your child is happy and loved in Margaret's home. The thought of losing her is breaking your sister's heart. Maybe it would be best not to move the child. I pray to God that all turns out well."