The Magdalen by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Read Free Book Online Page B

Gaelic football or hurley with a few of the local lads whenever he had a chance. He was well over six foot, his fair hair bleached by the sun and wind and, she supposed, handsome, judging by all the girls that were mad about him. Even Fidelma and Anna had taken to flirting with him every time they saw him. He had a way with women and
was the only one in the house that could put their mother in a good humour, coax a smile back into her eyes.
    Esther herself was closest to Thomas; they had always been best friends. He was one of the brightest boys that had ever stood in the small parish school, for ever stuck in books and reading, trying to discover more about the world. Mr. Brennan said that he was one of the best pupils that he had ever had the privilege to teach, and had given him a hearty recommendation for a scholarship place in the Christian Brothers school outside Galway. He’d won it no problem. Majella was fierce proud of him too, and at night would clear a spot for him at the kitchen table so that he could get all his homework done.
    Esther would often stay up late, keeping him company, helping him study for his exams, asking him questions, reading his essays. She envied him his education and would often find he’d left her a book or a piece of poetry or a short story he had enjoyed on the small side table in her room.
    Liam and Paddy were as wild as March hares and their mother was worn out with scolding and chastising them. They never stopped fighting and bickering and kicking footballs, and galloping around the place pretending to be cowboys and Indians. “They’ll get sense when they’re a bit older!” Majella would declare hopefully, though Esther doubted it.
    Nonie had become a sturdy child. Deep blue eyes were topped with a wavy mass of black curls that tumbled around her wide, open face. She lived in an imaginary world, rambling around the fields and ditches, playing games in her head, not caring if she was wet or that splodges of dung or
dirt clung to her clothes. Mixer, the old dog, followed her around devotedly, trying to guide her away from brambles and briars like a mother hen with a chick. Esther loved her with all her heart, but knew just how difficult it was for her mother having to cope with such a “special child.” They all knew how awkward it was for Mr. Brennan to manage Nonie in the small school which Mammy had insisted on sending her to, saying, “She needs to be with other children.” Liam and Paddy told them how hard it was to get Nonie to stay sitting in her seat, or to listen to the lesson. The child could make no head, arse, or tail of the simple alphabet and numbers that all the other children were learning.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter, pet!” Mother would say, hugging her close, but heartbroken at the bewildered face of little Nora Pat, who only wanted to be out and about with that yoke of a dog. Esther was the one who would sit for hours with Nonie, endlessly patient, trying to explain things to her: using a spoon, buttoning her cardigan, tying her laces. It was Esther who had got her three-year-old sister walking, by refusing to lift her.
    â€œNora Pat! You are far too heavy for me to carry any more!” she had insisted, watching proudly as, screaming angrily, Nonie had tried to follow her outside to the garden. Ever since she had mastered those first steps her little sister had become her constant shadow, always in her way, trying to copy her making bread, washing the clothes, demanding attention. She knew that Nonie adored her, but often wished for some peace away from her and the demands of the family.
    Her mother had sought consolation in the arms of the
Church, and was a daily mass-goer, praying constantly for her retarded daughter and for the soul of her husband. Her life had become a round of novenas and the rosary and benediction and special intentions. She looked forward to the annual retreat and the pilgrimage to Lough Derg.