Rifiuto: Non Miriena

A/N: Written: 2006. - Licia

The car door slammed shut behind her; she could hear footsteps, but didn't turn around. She could smell the sea, even from this far into the city, though she didn't understand why Da didn't allow her to stay in Dublin. Why had he sent her all the way up to Belfast? What had she done that was so wrong, for her to be cast out of the family, exiled to this foreign city, so far from home and her beloved younger siblings?

The fluttering within her belly, the first true signs of movement, jarred her briefly, and she reached up. Oh, right. Her one, scandalous, passionate night at that party with Eamon Phillips, the boy she'd loved since they were mere children, was the reason she had been sent away. If it hadn't been the compromising position they'd been found in, then the thickening of her middle and the growing of her bosom were the true reasons.

Da had been furious when the midwife had informed he and Ma of their oldest daughter's condition. The woman had suggested a hasty marriage between her and the Phillips boy to avoid scandal, before she truly began to show, so as to keep the tongues of the Dublin ton silent, but Da had refused, insisting the only true course of action was to send his firstborn away.

Tears trailed down her cheeks as she looked up at the feel of someone laying a hand on her shoulder. Da stood at her side, her carpetbag in his grasp. A quick glance behind her revealed her siblings huddled together, tears trailing down their cheeks as they stood with Ma. "I don' wan' t', Da. Please, canna I come 'ome?"

James Robert O'Shea, a tall, lanky stockyard businessman with perfectly groomed red hair his children had all inherited in some form, and soft hazel eyes- for his wife possessed the green her children would be born with- turned his gaze to his oldest child. He didn't miss the tears tracing their way down her cheeks, and his heart constricted. No, he had to stay firm. He couldn't allow his beloved Fiona to tarnish the good of the O'Shea name; were she to stay in Dublin, reside at one of the laundries there, it would only be a matter of time before the rest of the city knew of her fall from grace. Yes, it was much better- for her and the family- if she resided in one of the laundries up here in Belfast.

Given time, eventually, she could return home. Once the secret she carried arrived and was taken away, and she'd paid her penance, then he would consider allowing her to return home to Dublin, but until then- and from what the midwife said, she was close to three months, and the babe would arrive sometime in early June of next year, not long after the girl turned fifteen in May- she was to remain here, in Belfast.

"I'ma sorry, Fiona, bu' 'tis f'r th' bes'."

He nodded to the Mother Superior as she made her way towards them. The older woman nodded to James, who gently pushed Fiona forward. "So 'tis young Fiona, aye?"

The girl didn't respond, but glanced at the older woman standing before her. Tenderly almost, the woman reached up, gently lifting the crying girl's chin to study her. She clucked her tongue softly, shaking her head as her gaze moved to rest on the girl's midsection. Despite her not yet showing, it was evident that she was to be expecting, for the small pooch of her belly. The woman slid her hand down to rest against the girl's middle with a sigh. Fiona flinched, but didn't pull away. She sniffled, refusing to meet the woman's eye. "'tis quite th' predicamen' ye've found yerself in, chil'."

"Fiona?"

The others turned as Aileen, pulled away from her siblings and mother, rushing to her older sister. The thirteen-year-old was closest to Fiona not only in age, but in temperament and personality. She threw her arms around the older girl, burying her face in Fiona's shoulder as her own shook with sobs. "Don' go, Fiona. Please!"

The older girl held tight to her younger sister, glancing quickly at her father. She knew that Da hadn't wanted them to come, that he had insisted it be just he and Ma, and that Aileen, quiet, calm Aileen, had had a screaming fit that rivaled and put the bean si to shame. Eventually, after several hours- of Aileen's screaming and crying that ultimately led to an out and out fit- beating her fists upon the ornamental rug and kicking her feet until her shoes flew off her feet and her hair was a right mess- on the parlor room floor, Da had relented, agreeing that Aileen, Timothy Michael and Kit could come. It had been a fit unlike any that Aileen had thrown in years; the last major fit she'd had being when she was two.

Aileen could feel the swell growing beneath her sister's dress; she knew that Fiona and Eamon had been caught in a compromising position at the party, that her sister's virtue and purity had been ruined, and that Da was sending her away because she was in a 'delicate condition' as she remembered overhearing the midwife say as she'd hidden outside her sister's bedroom door that day three months ago. And it had taken Da all this time to get in touch with the laundry here in Belfast; in those two, nearly three short months, Fiona had begun to show- not much, but still.

Fiona slowly pulled away, kissing her younger sister and whispering that she loved her, before turning to her youngest siblings. A moment passed before eleven-year-old Timothy made his way towards her, wrapping his oldest sister in his arms. "Ye will write?" His voice thick with tears, he buried his face in her neck, choking on a sob. She nodded vigorously.

"Aye, Timothy Michael, I will. I promise."

By the time Kit made her way forward, Fiona's tears had all but dried on her cheeks. The nine-year-old studied her sister's midsection, before reaching out and splaying both her hands over the older girl's expanding tummy. Sniffling, Kit whispered, "Will we ev'r ge' t' mee' 'em?"

Fiona, too distraught over having to leave her precious siblings behind, wouldn't register Kit's prophetic words until well after she'd gone into labor, on a hot June day. At that moment, she simply wrapped the nine-year-old in her arms, rocking her gently back and forth before kissing the top of her head. "I love ye, Kit. So much."

But before the child could say anything, Da wrenched the girl from her sister's arms, pushing her towards the car. "That's enough! It's time to go, Sarah Katherine!"

Through her tears, Fiona watched as her siblings were ordered back into the car, watched as it drove off, becoming nothing more than a distant memory. And when she finally did she her beloved siblings again, the pain she would have to share would be so much greater than even the longest hours of labor.

Kathleen slowly shook her head, unable to believe what she was reading. But it was there, plain as day, in black and white. A moment passed, before Tim finally spoke, voice shaky as he read the contents out loud.

"'... we 'ave space in our laund'y t' take in Fiona, Mr. O'Shea. I can assure ye, tha' her sin 'twill be dealt wit' swiftly, and tha' once th' babe 'as been born, tha' 'twill be placed with'n a good, lovin' 'ome..."

"'Her sin'?" Sarah choked out. "I'm sorry, but what sin did Fiona commit that was so bad?"

Kathleen swallowed thickly, glancing up at her oldest, one hand reaching down and ghosting over her midsection. She knew the sin Fiona had committed, for she too had committed the same, though her outcome had been very different than Fiona's. Voice thick with tears, Kathleen replied,

"Fiona had a child out of wedlock."