Pack Up Your Troubles

Maeve always thought Father Trelawney was Brendan’s partner in crime, for whether it was beating her and Kevin black and blue, or spending every penny in the house on drink, leaving them cold and hungry, Father Trelawney wiped it out in confession. Brendan would return from church smug and certain that his soul was as white as the driven snow and begin his nefarious practices all over again. Well, as far as she was concerned they could all jump in the river. She was not going back to that life.

She swallowed hard and spoke firmly in an effort to explain to the priest. ‘Father, I—’

‘If you do not go back, Maeve,’ the priest said, cutting off Maeve’s attempt at explanation before she’d even begun, ‘I can give you no absolution from your sins. You are committing a mortal sin and if you have no intention of returning to your rightful place beside your husband, God cannot forgive you. You will have to live in a state of sin.’

Maeve stumbled from the box, shocked to the core. She needed confession to feel cleansed from all her wrongdoings in order to be in a state of grace to receive Communion. Now she wouldn’t dare to go up to the altar. For one thing, her conscience wouldn’t let her and for another she’d be terrified Father O’Brien would refuse her the Sacraments and make a show of her.

At home she hid her distress until the children had gone to bed and then sobbed in her mother’s arms. For twenty-seven years she’d been a good Catholic girl, attending Mass on Sundays and going to Devotions and Benediction often, and always going regularly to the Mission when priests travelled around Ireland preaching in the churches. She went to confession every fortnight and took Communion every Sunday and prayed as often as she remembered. The Church and its rituals were part of her life and now she’d been refused absolution because she wouldn’t return to a violent sadistic man who terrorised her and her children and didn’t give them enough money to live on. Yet she felt as if she’d lost a limb, as if she’d been cast adrift, and though she was glad of her mother’s comforting arms, they could not solve the problem. She knew that she’d not heard the end of it.

After Maeve’s experience, none of the rest of the family went to confession either, and for the first time ever, Annie didn’t attend the Stations of the Cross on Good Friday. And though they all went to Mass on Easter Sunday morning, no one went to Communion. Most of the congregation took Communion and they looked askance at Annie sitting with her daughters and grandchildren – Thomas and Colin had gone to early Mass – and wondered why they were not going to the altar.

Kevin and Grace were blissfully unaware of any dissension in the family, for nothing was discussed in front of them. By Easter Sunday they’d had a wonderful week with their Uncle Colin and Aunt Nuala, who spent a lot of time with their young relations whenever their chores on the farm enabled them to.

That Sunday Maeve’s children didn’t notice that the family scurried from the church without talking to any friends as they normally did, and they certainly didn’t care. Their grandma had killed two chickens as it was a special day and a good dinner awaited them with pudding, as Lent was now over, and then they had the bar of chocolate each that Rosemarie had bought from the town for them to eat. They’d just discovered chocolate, which they’d never tasted before – not that they’d had much of it now either, for neither their grandma nor their mother approved of their eating too many sweet things, but both Kevin and Grace loved chocolate. They liked it to melt in their mouths and run down their throats, and to have a whole bar each was sheer luxury.

The Wednesday after Easter, Maeve was by the window when she spotted Father O’Brien striding purposefully down the lane and she felt her insides contract with fear. Annie was stirring a pot hung over the fire and hadn’t seen him approach and she was glad they were alone, her father having taken the children, together with Nuala and Colin, in the cart to the peat bogs to cut turf.

‘Mammy,’ Maeve said, ‘the priest’s here.’

Annie straightened up, and her eyes met those of her daughter. The priest gave a tentative knock and lifted the latch as Annie cried, ‘Come away in, Father.’

The priest seemed to fill the room. ‘Will I take your coat?’ Annie said. ‘And will you be having a cup of tea?’

Father O’Brien didn’t take his eyes from Maeve and she met them boldly, but he divested himself of his coat and said, ‘A cup of tea would be very nice, so it would. Shall we sit down, Maeve?’

Maeve’s legs were shaking and the top of her mouth was suddenly dry. She told herself she was a grown woman and this man before her couldn’t make her do anything; he could hardly pick her up bodily and take her back to Birmingham. And yet she knew it was a mistake to underestimate a priest’s power.

He waited till Maeve was sitting opposite him, the kettle singing over the glowing peat and Annie busy at the dresser sorting out the best cup and saucer for the priest, and then he looked Maeve full in the face.

‘Well, Maeve,’ he said.

‘Well what, Father?’

‘Have you no idea why I felt it necessary to come out here and visit you?’

‘Suppose you tell me?’ Dear God, Maeve thought. What was the matter with her, answering the priest like that?

He didn’t like it; she saw a frown furrow his brow and his eyebrows jerked up in surprise. ‘Now, Maeve,’ he said, ‘there is no need for you to be like this. I told you of the letter I received from your parish priest. Last night I had a most disturbing call from the man.’

Maeve didn’t reply and so the priest went on, ‘Maeve, surely I do not have to remind you of your marriage vows?’

‘No, Father. You have to remind me of nothing.’

‘Father Trelawney said your husband is distraught, and with good reason, I’d say by your attitude.’

‘My attitude!’ Maeve cried. ‘I’m sorry, Father, but you know nothing about it. It’s Brendan’s attitude needs to be sorted out.’

Annie came bustling towards them then for the kettle was boiling noisily. She made a cup of tea for all of them, while Father O’Brien shook his head as he said, ‘Father Trelawney tells me there were a few problems in your marriage, but that your husband is willing to meet you halfway.’

‘A few problems! Is that what they call it these days?’ Maeve said with a sneer. ‘My husband, Father, drinks nearly every penny he earns, keeping me and the children short, and apart from that he is a vicious bully, both to me and my son.’

‘Father Trelawney mentioned that you make trouble whenever your husband has seen fit to discipline the boy.’

‘Discipline him? Using his belt on a wee boy, who even now is only just seven years old.’

‘Boys, even wee boys, can be very bold. We both know that, Maeve,’ Father O’Brien said. ‘And, you know, it is a father’s duty to chastise his children.’

Maeve shook her head in disbelief. What Brendan had done was not mere chastisement, but how could she make the man before her believe how it really was? ‘All right then, Father. Let’s leave Kevin for the moment. Is it a husband’s duty to chastise his wife too?’

‘It’s a husband’s duty to demand obedience from his wife. You promised to love, honour and obey him, you know.’

‘I know what I said,’ Maeve barked. ‘And I was a fool, for the man is brutal. I have been bruised head to toe by my husband and my face has been such a mess, I’ve had to hide from my neighbours till the swelling has gone down and the black eye’s not so noticeable. As for my son, he still has the stripes across his back from his father’s attempts at disciplining him.’

‘Your husband told Father Trelawney you are argumentative and undermine his treatment of the children. In other words, you provoke him.’

‘Oh, so now it’s my fault?’

‘Not at all,’ Father O’Brien said. ‘Don’t be so hasty, Maeve.’

Annie had remained in the other chair during this time, completely silent. She saw her daughter become agitated and though she knew she had a point in everything she said, she was shocked to see Maeve attacking the parish priest in such a fashion. In order to give Maeve time to compose herself, she said, ‘Would you like another cup of tea, Father?’

The priest handed the cup across to Annie. ‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ he said, and then he directed himself again to Maeve. ‘Perhaps that is one of the problems here.’

‘What is?’

‘Your hot-headedness,’ Father O’Brien said.

‘My hot-headedness, Father, is because you want me to return to a brutal bully and I won’t. You don’t seem to have listened to a word I’ve said as to why I won’t go back to him.’

‘I have listened, Maeve,’ Father O’Brien chided. ‘I have also said your husband is so upset by your flight over here he has promised to change.’

‘Oh yes,’ Maeve said sarcastically. ‘I bet.’

‘Maeve, you’re not being very helpful.’

‘No, Father, I’m not, am I? That will probably be another black mark against me, won’t it?’

Father O’Brien tutted in impatience. Maeve saw he was controlling his anger with difficulty. Without another word, he drained the cup of tea Annie had handed him and got to his feet before he looked at Maeve again. ‘Is that your last word on the subject?’

‘It is, Father.’

‘Then, child, I’ll pray for you.’

‘Thank you. I’m probably in need of prayer.’

‘Don’t mock, Maeve. It doesn’t become you,’ Father O’Brien said sternly.

‘Who’s mocking, Father?’ Maeve asked innocently. ‘I don’t know one soul in the land who would not value prayer.’

Again he tutted in annoyance. Annie had run before him to retrieve his coat and as he took it from her he said, ‘And what is your view on this, Annie? Are you prepared to harbour Maeve and her children, although she is a married woman?’

Annie shrugged. ‘She’s my daughter, Father,’ she said.

A little later they stood at the window and watched the priest stride angrily up the path.

Annie said, ‘This won’t be the end of it, lass. It’s just the beginning.’

‘I know, Mammy,’ Maeve said with a sigh.

There was talk in the village when Maeve went to enrol her children in the village school after the Easter holidays. The headmaster, Mr Monahan, expressed surprise, and Maeve admitted that there were some problems at home that she needed time alone to sort out and she thought it better the children missed as little schooling as possible. Mr Monahan was impressed with the young woman before him, softly spoken but with a decided lift to her chin. He remembered the cowed skinny children she’d arrived with and now saw them sitting each side of their mother definitely much improved even after a few short weeks.

He wondered what the problem was at home and hoped it wasn’t serious, but taking the children into school could only benefit them even if it were for just a short time. He’d had to mention it to Father O’Brien, but he couldn’t foresee any opposition there and he smiled at the children and welcomed them to the school.

They’d been there about ten days when Maeve received a letter from Father Trelawney. In it he expressed Brendan’s regret for the way things had turned out. Father Trelawney said he was truly sorry and he promised things would be different if she returned. Maeve passed it over to her mother to read and when Annie gave it back to her she screwed it into a ball and threw it on the fire.

‘You don’t think he might change?’ Annie said. ‘You’ve given him a shock, leaving him – mightn’t that bring him to his senses?’

Maeve shook her head. ‘He was always sorry when he hit me at first,’ she said. ‘That didn’t last, though. No, Mammy. I can’t risk it. Not for me and the child I’m carrying, nor for Kevin and Grace. Do you want me to go? Are you worried that I’ve broken my marriage vows?’

‘All I want is for you to be happy, child,’ Annie said. ‘And I’ll abide by your decision.’

‘I wonder what the priest would feel if he’d seen the mess Brendan has left me in after a particularly bad beating,’ Maeve said bitterly. ‘Or caught sight of the weals on Kevin’s back. God, Mammy, I can’t go back to that.’

‘Calm yourself, child. Sure, no one’s forcing you to.’

‘Father O’Brien is having a damn good try and now the priest from St Catherine’s has joined in.’

‘Sure, isn’t that their job?’ Annie said placatingly. ‘Are you going to write back to the man?’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Is that wise, pet?’ Annie said. ‘Tell him how brutal Brendan is to you. Tell your side of the story.’

‘It’s too late for that, Mammy,’ Maeve said resignedly. ‘He and Brendan are great friends. Sure Brendan has got in with his excuses and he’ll never believe different. I never went to him for help while I was there. Why should he believe anything I say now?’

Annie wasn’t sure whether ignoring the letter was a wise course of action or not. But the decision had to be Maeve’s and she said nothing more on the subject.

Just over a week later Maeve got a letter asking her to call at the school to discuss Kevin’s progress.

‘What have you done?’ she asked her son that evening.

‘Me? Nothing,’ Kevin said. ‘Why?’

‘The headmaster wants to see me and whatever it is, it’s about you.’

But Kevin couldn’t enlighten her and Maeve saw no expression of guilt on his face as he said, ‘I don’t know, Mammy.’

Despite that, Maeve was sure Kevin was lying. She was sure Mr Monahan would tell Maeve about his misbehaviour in the classroom, his pranks in the playground, or his lack of progress in his studies. As she sat in the headmaster’s stuffy little room, two days later, she was totally unprepared for what he did say.

‘Remove him from the Communion classes?’ she repeated. ‘But why? I know he’s not been here long, but he’d been doing the classes at St Catherine’s in Birmingham since January. He knows most of the catechism. We test him on it in the evenings.’

The headmaster coughed nervously. He hated saying what he had to say and Maeve could see he did. She’d sensed his sympathy for her and Kevin too, but knew it would be Father O’Brien’s doing. She saw it as clearly as if he were standing before her pontificating. He’d say the sins of the fathers are visited on the children as the Good Book said, even to the third and fourth generation. He’d remind Mr Monahan where his duty lay, and that wasn’t welcoming to the Communion rails for the first time the son of a wife who’d upped and left her husband. He’d be sure Mr Monahan could explain that adequately to Maeve Hogan. That was, of course, if he wanted to keep his job.

Mr Monahan faced Mrs Hogan and coughed nervously. ‘Mrs Hogan, it’s more to do with influence in the home. Father O’Brien thinks that Kevin might not be picking up the right example. Maybe it would be better to wait for a year or so, when his future is more settled.’

Maeve felt her face burning with embarrassment at the same time as furious anger filled her being. She stared at the middle-aged man before her and knew he was just Father O’Brien’s lackey. ‘Do I have a choice in this?’ she asked in clipped precise tones. ‘Or has Father O’Brien already decided and his decision is final?’

‘I . . . I could ask him for you,’ the headmaster said.

‘Don’t worry,’ Maeve said. ‘I’ll ask him myself.’

She swung out of the headmaster’s office, her blue eyes smouldering and her cheeks red, and out into the church, where she found Father O’Brien in one of the pews reading his Office – the prayer book priests had to read every day. Even in her rage, she noted thankfully that the church was deserted. Early Mass was over, and no one was doing the flowers for the altar, or cleaning the place. The priest turned at her arrival and laid the book down in the pew beside him, and Maeve glared at him across the expanse of the church as she strode angrily towards him.

‘How low can you sink?’ she demanded.

The priest’s brown eyes looked puzzled, but his mouth had a sardonic smile playing around it as he said, ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You know full well what I’m talking about. I’ve just come from the school.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Father O’Brien said.

‘What right had you to take out your spite against my son? It’s me you’re angry with, not him.’

‘I assure you, I did not take the decision over spite against anyone,’ Father O’Brien said. ‘I am not angry with you either, more disappointed. You were always headstrong, Maeve, even as a wee girl, but I never expected you to do anything like this.’

Maeve ignored the things the priest said about her. In her opinion she was here to discuss just one issue. ‘Mr Monahan said Kevin is to be removed from the First Communion class and it was at your suggestion.’

‘He is correct.’

‘What right have you?’

‘I have all manner of rights, Maeve,’ the priest said. ‘But what right had you to uproot your children from their home and their father and bring them over here to Ireland, and once here, you refuse to either discuss it or consider returning? You are damaging your children.’

‘I am not,’ Maeve protested. ‘I’m their mother and I’m doing what I think is best for them.’

‘Ah, yes. I’m glad we’ve got to that point,’ the priest said. ‘Where is their father in all this?’

‘Their father is—’

‘Does he have no rights?’

‘No. No, he bloody well doesn’t,’ Maeve cried. Her rage had reached boiling point and she could see sparks in front of her eyes. ‘He has thrown them away. Do you know, you arrogant sod, that the bastard you want me to return to has killed, by his own brutality, a child I had carried for six months and one of the reasons I left this time was to protect the one I’m carrying now?’

‘I know that is what you would like people to believe,’ the priest said.

‘What the hell do you mean?’

‘I mean, your husband told Father Trelawney all about it. It appeared to be a tragic accident,’ the priest said. ‘Your husband admits he pushed you. He was administering punishment to young Kevin for not coming in when he was called, and what father wouldn’t? He said you were like a wild animal, screaming and trying to rake his face with your nails and kick his legs. He pushed you and you fell against the fireguard. Next minute, you were on the floor groaning.’

Maeve stared at him open-mouthed. That wasn’t how it was, but it was what the priest believed and from what he said, Father Trelawney did too. Whatever she said now, they wouldn’t believe her.

Father O’Brien went on, ‘And you must understand, I have no desire to punish your children, either of them, but the consequences of your actions will have to have far-reaching effects on your family – all of your family.’

It was uttered like a threat and Maeve shivered. She was filled with loathing for the plump self-satisfied priest with eyes full of condemnation and the pinched-in nostrils and hard cruel mouth. She wanted to put her hands over her head and scream in frustration, and her voice indeed rose in a scream as she cried out, ‘You sadistic bastard, you’re bloody well enjoying all this.’

The door of the church swung closed with a dull thud and the two combatants turned. Cissie O’Brien was the priest’s sister. She looked after his house for him and had come to tell him his dinner was nearly ready. She glared at Maeve malevolently and Maeve knew she thought her circumstances of arriving at her mother’s house with two children and no husband was very suspicious. Maeve had played into her hands for she knew she’d have heard clearly the abuse and swearwords she’d hurled at the priest even before she’d opened the door because Maeve’s voice had bordered on hysterical.

Maeve looked at the older woman’s eyes glittering with malicious dislike and knew she’d blown it. The rumours about them all had begun when she started the children at school and now she knew what she screamed at the priest would be all over the neighbourhood in twenty-four hours. Everyone would know that she hadn’t brought the children for a wee holiday because they’d been ill at all, but that she’d actually left her husband. Cissie O’Brien would say her brother, the priest, had taken her to task about it, which after all was his job, and what a reaction he got. Maeve knew Cissie O’Brien would let people know what type of woman Maeve Hogan was and would take pleasure in doing it.

SEVEN

The following day, Kevin came home from school in tears. He’d held them in all day at school and most of the way home, but when he turned in the lane home, he broke down.

‘Miss Kerrigan says I’m not to go into instruction for Holy Communion any more,’ he explained between sobs to his mother. ‘She says maybe I’ll take it next year instead, but Declan and Martin are my age and taking it in July. Now everyone laughs at me in the playground and says I’m dumb and don’t know my catechism, but I do.’

Maeve held her small angry son and could find no words to comfort him. At Mass the following Sunday, the Brannigans were all snubbed by friends and neighbours they’d known for years. Added to that, the brothers at Colin’s school had made a few snide remarks about his family, and the lads had jeered at him a bit, and Nuala claimed she was almost ignored in the school yard.

Rosemarie said the bakery was busier than ever, but people didn’t buy much, they just wanted to stand in groups and talk loudly, so that she would hear, about the Brannigan family they said had always thought themselves better than anyone else. Her future mother-in-law, a cow of the first order anyway, had expressed doubts about her Greg getting mixed up with such a family after the eldest of them had just upped and left her husband in that shocking way, and had Greg heard what she’d said to the priest?

Maeve felt sick. She had brought all this on her family.

‘Never mind, child,’ Thomas told his daughter. ‘They’re ignorant. It’ll blow over.’

But for Kevin and Grace, it didn’t blow over. Grace said nothing about the girls who’d once been her friends, who now refused to play with her and who stood with others in clusters and taunted her, but she became quieter than ever.

Kevin, on the other hand, could not hide his skirmishes – like the time he came home with his knuckles skinned and a split lip, nor the time he had a bloody nose and a torn shirt, nor the marks of the cane across his hand.

‘What did you get the cane for?’ Maeve asked him.

‘Fighting.’

‘What’s the matter with you?’ she cried. ‘All this fighting. You never used to fight.’

Kevin looked at the floor and said nothing.

‘Well? What did you fight about?’

Kevin shrugged and Maeve had the urge to shake him till his teeth rattled. ‘Kevin?’ she said threateningly.

‘It’s because they say he hasn’t got a daddy,’ Grace said.

The look Kevin threw her was one of hate. ‘Big mouth Grace,’ he said.

‘That will do,’ Maeve said automatically. ‘What do you mean, you haven’t got a daddy?’

‘That’s what they said,’ Kevin sighed, because now Grace had told their mother what it was all about there was no point in not explaining it all. ‘They said if we had a daddy, he’d be here, someone would have seen him and no one has. That’s why I fought. Then today they started again in the playground. I punched one boy in the face and told them we didn’t want our daddy to live with us because he’s a miserable old bugger, that’s why I got the cane.’

Maeve glanced across the room to see her father and Colin trying to hide their smiles behind their hands, but Maeve didn’t feel like laughing. She’d been living nine weeks at her parents’ farm and had missed her third period, the morning sickness had almost stopped and although physically she felt well, mentally she was a wreck.

And how should she deal with it? Eventually she said crisply, ‘Of course you have a daddy – everyone has a daddy somewhere and daddies don’t have to live with their wives and children.’

‘Ours won’t, will he?’ Grace asked fearfully.

‘No,’ Maeve said firmly. ‘But that isn’t the point. He still is and always will be your father, whether he lives with us or not. And, as for you, Kevin,’ she added, turning back to her son, ‘there’s to be no more fighting about it and no bad language, or you’ll feel my hand across your bottom.’