Authors: Paula Martin
"Sounds like you made two old people very happy."
"Yeah, it was good. Last week, when I met the Sister at the convent, I got the impression she was simply reciting the answer she'd been told to give to anyone making inquiries about mothers or children."
"That's more than likely. The religious orders have been defensive and tight-lipped about what went on in their institutions."
"But before she left on Sunday, she asked for my mother's date of birth, and said she would speak with Sister Augusta, the archivist at the convent. She'll contact me if she can find anything."
"And have you heard from her?"
"Not yet, but it was only three days ago, and I expect there are masses of old records to search through."
He gave a small shrug. "Don't be too disappointed if she can't find anything. I'm sure they've destroyed a lot of stuff."
Kara nodded. "The civil registration records are more reliable anyway. Did you ask your friend to apply for the birth certificates?"
"I did, and I'll tell you more in a minute. We're approaching Oughterard now, so would you like to stop for some tea or coffee? I wrote down everything Declan told me, but he gave me too many names for me to remember them all."
"Excellent idea. I'm ready for coffee."
Ryan found a parking spot in the main street of the small town, not far from a stone house with colourful boxes of violas adorning the small windows on either side of the bright yellow door. The sign across the front said
Gateway to Connemara Café
.
"This is like sitting in someone's living room," Kara said, as she glanced around the small café with pale green walls, a black cast iron fireplace, and flowerpots lining the windowsills.
Ryan grinned. "That's what it would have been in the past."
The warm smile in his blue eyes reminded her of the song
When Irish Eyes Are Smiling
. She couldn't remember the rest of the words, except for something about stealing your heart away, but it was better not to think about that…
After ordering a pot of tea for himself and a cappuccino for her, he pulled his notebook from the pocket of his lightweight navy jacket. "Okay, this is what Declan found in the birth records for the second quarter of 1959. These are the ones where the mother's maiden name is the same surname as the child."
He held out the notebook, and she tried to ignore the frisson of electricity when her fingers grazed his as she took it from him. Forcing herself to study the names on the page, she smiled. "Two Marys, Patricia, Ellen, Bridget, and Aileen. All very Irish names, aren't they?"
"You can discount Mary McCarthy, and Ellen and Bridget."
"Why?"
"Declan checked out the mothers, and found probable marriages where they'd married someone with the same surname. That was quite common in Ireland, you know, especially in small rural communities."
"So we're left with the other three. Mary O'Brien, Patricia Madden, and Aileen Kelly."
"Those are the certificates he's sent for."
"If one of those was born on April 2nd, I'll know my mom's birth name and her mother's name."
"And will you tell your mother?"
Kara hesitated. "I'm not sure."
"Last week you said she'd never tried to find her birth mother. Was that simply because she thought it was impossible?"
"I've wondered about that. I'm assuming she realises she was probably illegitimate, but maybe she thinks her mother could have been a prostitute or some slut who slept around."
"Which is possible, of course, because that's what some of the women and girls in those homes were. But she might have been raped, or her boyfriend abandoned her once she was pregnant, or she was a naïve teenager who knew nothing about the facts of life. Most girls in the fifties didn't, because there was no sex education in the schools at that time." He paused as he sipped his tea. "If you
do
find out who the mother is and where she's living now, what do you intend to do?"
Kara gave a helpless shrug. "I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Even if I learn her name, I've no idea how to find out anything more about her."
"Let's wait and see what the birth certificates show before you give up hope."
The understanding in his eyes sent warmth flooding through her veins, and she gave a wry smile. "I've realised this search isn't going to be as easy as I anticipated. Those nuns have a lot to answer for."
"Don't be too hard on them. Yes, there were some bitter and vindictive old biddies, but others genuinely believed it was their duty to bring the girls who had sinned into a state of grace again."
"By punishing them, you mean? I read some accounts of the strict regime in the homes and in the Magdalene laundries, too, where many of the women were sent after they had their babies."
Ryan nodded. "Those places were prisons in all but name. The girls worked twelve hours a day to pay for their own and their babies' upkeep. They washed and scrubbed hotel and prison bed linen by hand, and they were beaten if they did anything wrong."
"How do you know so much about the homes and the laundries?"
"Most people in Ireland are aware now of what went on. There's been a lot of media coverage in the past few years, particularly when the government apologised a couple of years ago for the state's role in the laundries."
"The state was involved as well as the church?"
"Mainly by turning a blind eye to what was happening, both with the baby adoptions and the laundries. Anyhow, are you ready to go? We're still about ninety kilometres from Ballykane, and maybe you'll find out more there."
Chapter 5
They were held up by a traffic jam on the Galway ring road, but Kara didn't mind the delay. It gave her more opportunity to talk to Ryan, and their conversation ranged from their favourite music, movies, and books to places she'd visited in the USA and Canada, and different countries he had visited in Europe.
He was obviously a well-travelled man but after he mentioned 'we' several times, she ventured the question that came to the forefront of her mind, and hoped it sounded like a casual enquiry. "Who's we? Do you travel with a group of friends, or just one person?"
"I used to go with about half a dozen others to places like Ibiza or Cyprus, but eventually I got tired of clubs and everyone getting drunk every night. During the last four or five years, I've been on guided tours of the First World War battlefields in France and Belgium with a friend who's also interested in military history."
Kara moistened her lips before asking the next question. "Doesn't your wife or girlfriend mind you going off on these history trips?"
He pulled up in another line of cars waiting for the traffic lights to change, and his eyes glinted with amusement. "I always thought Americans were more direct than that, but I'll save you from having to ask the direct question. No wife, no girlfriend, unattached. How about you?"
His light-hearted response saved her from the embarrassment she might have felt, and she grinned. "The same."
"Grand. Glad we've cleared that up, because I was also wondering about you, you know."
When his blue eyes met hers, a warm shiver scooted down Kara's back, until a car horn honked.
"Ryan, the traffic's moving again."
"Oops!" He raised his arm in an apologetic acknowledgement to the car behind, and set off again. "I'd better concentrate until we get clear of all this traffic."
Ten minutes later, they turned off the busy N6 onto a quieter road leading south toward the border of Galway and Tipperary counties. Kara gazed around at the rural landscape with its patchwork of fields, hedges, and trees that displayed their fresh spring leaves.
"I'm sure I could count more than forty shades of green," she said.
Ryan laughed. "Aye, and that phrase was used here for many years before Johnny Cash sang his song, although many people think he invented it. It's said he wrote the song at some place in County Tipperary."
"Are we in Tipperary yet?"
"The border's a couple of miles further on, where we cross the River Shannon at Portumna. That's where I was born."
"I thought you said you came from Dublin?"
"Aye, yes, I do, but my grandparents live at Portumna, and my mother went back home to have me."
"Oh, I see." A tiny doubt flickered in Kara's mind. Hadn't he said he thought all his ancestors came from Dublin like himself? Perhaps she'd misunderstood.
"Do your parents still live in New Jersey?" he asked.
"Yes, in a small township a few miles from Newark, which is where my Dad works."
"What does he do?"
"He's a criminal defence lawyer."
"Ah, and is that how you became interested in forensics?"
"No, Dad doesn't talk much about his work, for obvious reasons. I worked in a forensics lab during college vacations, and once I graduated, I applied to the NYPD, and also did several courses over the next couple of years."
"And you enjoyed it?"
"Loved it, especially visiting crime scenes to search for evidence."
"But you abandoned all that to come and search for your mother's ancestry?"
She hesitated. "If you want the truth, I couldn't continue to work with the NYPD. The thing is, I was in a relationship with someone there last year. A detective."
"What happened?"
"I found out he had a wife and two kids in Philadelphia."
"Oh."
"Exactly. And about the same time, my grandfather died, and I learnt about my mother's adoption, and I knew my cousin Guy was living at Mist Na Mara, so, to cut a long story short, here I am."
"And in about fifteen minutes, you'll be in the Tipperary town where your mother was born."
"That's kind of strange, isn't it? My father was New Jersey born and bred, and I always thought my mother was, too. I know millions of Americans can trace their roots to Ireland, but I never realised I was one of them until a few months ago."
* * * * * *
Ryan could have kicked himself for letting slip the information about Portumna. His Dublin background had been invented to prevent anyone linking him to Detective Ryan O'Neill, born in County Galway and on secondment to the Galway
Gardai
from the Bureau of Criminal Investigation in Dublin. Next he'd be telling Kara he had a degree in history from Trinity College, and then she'd start to wonder why he was working as a taxi driver.
Get a grip, Ryan.
He pulled up in the main street of the small town of Ballykane. It wasn't much bigger than a village, with little to differentiate it from dozens of other Irish towns that the tourists passed through on their way to more interesting places like Limerick or Tipperary.
An assortment of colour-washed stone houses lined both sides of the street, each built adjoining the next, even though some were two storey and others three. Many were still private homes, but the ground floors of several had been converted into the shops that served the local community, ranging from a grocery store to a hair salon, and even a kebab bar in addition to the usual chipper. And, of course, there were the pubs – O'Meara's, Egan's, and Griffin's Bars on one side, and the larger McGarry's Hotel and Restaurant on the other.
"Where was the mother and baby home?" Kara asked as he locked the car and joined her on the pavement.
He pointed to the far end of the main street. "Down there and to the left, but that's only a narrow street, so it's better to park here. We can take a look, and then come back to one of the pubs for some lunch."
It only took them a couple of minutes to walk to the road junction. As they turned into the side street, Kara drew in a deep breath, and he glanced around at her.
"Are you okay?"
She gave him a shaky smile. "Yes, except it feels weird being here where my mom was born, and where my grandmother lived at one time."
He wanted to give her a reassuring hug, but kept his hands in his jacket pockets. Even though he'd breathed an inward sigh of relief when she said she was no longer in a relationship, and even though his instincts told him she was as interested in him as he was in her, he still couldn't risk letting this go any further than a casual friendship. Anyhow, she'd probably tell him to go to hell if she realised he was a detective like the eejit who'd only wanted her as his bit on the side.
The grey stone building was set back from the road in its own grounds, with grass lawns and also a children's playground with a sandpit, swings and climbing frame. A wooden signboard was painted with the words
Ballykane Community Centre
, but the triple lancet window above the arched doorway was an unmistakable indication of its previous use as a chapel.
He stood back while Kara took a couple of photos and then said, "We can get a little closer if you want. It doesn't appear to be open this morning, but I'm sure they won't mind us walking around the place."
Their footsteps crunched the gravel as they approached, and Kara pointed to another building adjoining the back of the chapel, at right angles to it. "Would that have been part of the mother and baby home?"
"Possibly, or it might be where the nuns lived." He surveyed the lawn and playground on their left. "I'm guessing the other buildings were in that area."
She stared across the grass for a minute before exhaling deeply. "It's ironic, isn't it? All the modern play equipment for today's children, but I bet those who were born at the home had nothing. I can't even begin to imagine what my mom's life was like during her first year, let alone how her mother must have felt having to leave her here."
"Is that what happened?"
"Josie at the Adoption Agency said many of the mothers were sent to work in the Galway laundry about six weeks after giving birth, and only saw their babies once a week. Hardly bears thinking about."
Her voice choked, and this time he gave into the urge to put a consoling arm around her. "At least your mother won't remember any of it."
"I know, but now I'm here, I can't help but think about all those mothers who had to give up their babies for adoption. Josie told me the nuns insisted they signed a document giving up all claim to their child, and she said half the mothers didn't understand what they were signing, and the other half were too scared of the nuns to refuse. My heart aches for them."
When she leant tentatively against him, he sensed her inner bleakness and tightened his hand on her arm. "Most of them didn't have any choice, you know. They were usually disowned by their families, and a single mother with a small child would find it impossible to get a job."
She turned to him. "It was still
wrong
. The church had no right to punish those women by taking their children from them."
"I agree, but it was a different age, Kara. Yes, the church was powerful, but so was society at the time. Respectability was all-important, and a pregnant, unmarried daughter disgraced the whole family."
"Only because of the church's disapproval."
"Religion and society were closely interwoven. Less so nowadays, but it's still there, especially with the older generation, and in the rural areas. Anyhow, before we get into all that, would you like me to take some photos of you here?"
"Thanks, but no. I want to get away from this place."
* * * * * *
Ten minutes later, when they sat in the cosy bar at McGarry's, Kara turned to Ryan with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be curt with you, especially as you've brought me here, but I was angry."
"I understand."
She knew he did. After the intimate and comforting few moments when he put his arm around her, he allowed her time with her thoughts as they walked back up to the main street and along to the pub. Her anger subsided a little, but she still couldn't define what had tightened all her nerve endings when they stood in the chapel grounds. As Ryan said, her mother wouldn't remember her first year, so was it anger at the unknown woman for giving away her baby? Or was it because of the way that woman had been treated, including being given no choice but to sign the adoption papers?
"How do I—?" she started, and stopped, still trying to unravel her thoughts.
"How do you what?" he prompted.
She let out her breath. "Even if I find out the name of my mom's mother from one of the birth certificates, how do I find out anything more about her?"
"I don't think the certificates show the mother's age, and of course the chances are her family didn't originate here in Ballykane, so without any information about when or where she was born, it won't be easy, unless she happens to have an unusual first name or surname."
Kara snorted. "And if she's called Mary Murphy or Kathleen Kelly, there's not a hope in hell, is there?"
"Not unless the Sister at the convent can give you any more information."
"But even if she does, which I doubt, I'll still have the problem of finding out where my grandmother lives now."
"Assuming she's still alive, of course."
"That, too." She studied the menu card. "I think I'll have the potato and leek soup, and a BLT sandwich, and it's my treat, because I bet you won't accept anything for today's petrol, so you can have the most expensive item on the menu, if you want."
Ryan grinned. "Thanks, but soup will be grand for me, too, and a cheese toastie."
She handed him some Euro notes and watched him as he crossed to the counter to order their food. He'd taken off his jacket, and his pale grey tee shirt accentuated his broad shoulders and back. The sight of his close-fitting navy jeans clinging to a well-rounded ass sent a shivery tickle down to somewhere in her lower stomach, and attraction flared again, bringing heat to her skin.
Sixth sense told her that her interest in him was reciprocated, unless she was reading more into the friendliness for which the Irish were renowned.
"What else is there to see around here?" she asked when he returned to their corner table.
"Lough Derg is about ten minutes away. It's the third largest lake in Ireland, and I think it's the prettiest. I'll take you there when we've finished our lunch, unless you want to spend more time here in Ballykane."
She shook her head. "I've seen all I need to see, haven't I? All I can hope now is that the birth certificates will give me some clues. Oh, and how much did your friend have to pay for the certificates?"
"I forgot to ask, but I'll find out."
She couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction that the birth certificates gave her a reason to meet with Ryan again. At least that would make up for the fact that they probably wouldn't tell her anything more about her mother's birth family.
After they finished their lunch, Ryan drove the few miles to Lough Derg, stopping at a small bay with a partly enclosed marina where several sailing dinghies and a couple of larger cruisers were moored.