‘The Things They Couldn’t Know’ by Mary McCullagh
As Helena bid farewell to the last of the mourners at her mother’s funeral she stood a lonely sight, the December air chilling her to the bone. The cacophony of ravens in the graveyard contrasted with the silence inside the church, where she returned to light a candle for her mother. She needed to be alone with her thoughts.
Helena had always known that the day would come when she would have to come back to her homeplace in County Tyrone.
Memories of that dark, dismal December day in 1952 would be etched on her memory for eternity. The dreary atmosphere of desolation descended like a dark cloud as she and her parents arrived at the austere brick building in Derry that they called a “home”. Helena recalled her mother’s attempt to maintain a dignified composure, but the quivering lip and tear-filled eyes told the truth. Her father’s sad eyes and gaunt face spoke silently of his deep pain and disappointment. Helena had glided her silver cross along its chain to lull her feelings of fear and despair as the door closed, cutting her off like a weed from life as she knew it. She had anticipated anger as the first reaction when she told her parents about her predicament. She felt as if she was floating above her body, watching a silent film unfold. Revealing her “indiscretion” to her parents when marriage was not an option was excruciating .1950’s Ireland was pious yet cruel, and she didn’t need to be reminded of her status as a harlot, a disgrace, a social outcast. A cruel whispering campaign would devastate her family. These were the things that they could not know. There was not a day that she did not think about Maeve or wonder what her life was like. She didn’t even get the chance to speak with Maeve’s father; she dare not tell a soul. It would be acceptable, of course to tell them how well Helena is doing in London.
The church door slammed shut bringing her back to the present and causing her candle to quiver perilously. She wondered if Maeve still had the little silver Celtic cross and chain she had left with her.
Maeve, such a beautiful name meaning “She who rules”. Helena wondered what had become of her. Fifty years had passed since she gave birth to her beautiful baby girl. She could still smell the fresh baby powder and see the tiny oval beauty spot on her left forearm. The mark of a little warrior, she thought to herself.
A couple of weeks later, she saw the family solicitor about the estate and discovered that her mother left a letter for her to be read after her passing.
“Dear Helena,
I truly wish you were here. I understand why you couldn’t make your father’s funeral. I wish things had been different all those years ago. I want you to know I am so proud of what you have achieved in London, working as a midwife. We both loved you so much and I know we hurt you. I need you to know we just wanted to protect you, our beautiful baby girl and give you the chance of a better life.
I cannot begin to imagine the pain you suffered when you were no more than a child yourself. I need to tell you something which I should have told you before. In my heart it feels like the right thing to do. Aunt Cecila, bless her, had connections and made arrangements at the home for Maeve to be placed with a good family. She was adopted by Mr and Mrs Murphy from the Hill Road. Naturally they gave her a different name, Alice. I have seen her from a distance, and she has your dark curly hair and infectious smile.
I feel you have the right to know. If it was me, I would want to know. Please know I have always loved you Helena and will always be by your side even when I am long gone. Please forgive me.
Yours truly
Mam.”
Helena clutched the letter. It exuded the scent of her mother’s apple blossom perfume. The tears she had stoically held back for years came tumbling down her cheeks. So much pain, hurt and shame had coloured her thinking over the years. She would shed no more tears for the lost love, the lost child, the pain her family suffered in losing a daughter and a grandchild. Her tears would end the cycle of pain. As much as she wanted to meet Maeve and embrace her and confess all, she didn’t wish to be the hurricane that would turn Maeve’s life upside down. She would take solace from the knowledge that Maeve was nearby and keep the things they couldn’t know deep inside.
Mary McCullagh wrote this story in response to the prompt The Things They Couldn’t Know, as part of September’s Just Write! short story competition.
