Rifiuto: Non Miriena
A/N: Written: 2006. - Licia
"Wait, Mams, are ye sayin' that... that Fiona got pregnant out of wedlock? By whom?"
Slowly, Kathleen nodded, setting the letter down. She noticed that the longer they stayed, the more their natural accents returned. "Most likely Eamon Phillips." She pulled out the photograph she'd found, handing it to her daughter. "From wha' I canna figure, they 'ad been chil'hood sweet'earts, intent on marryin' some day-"
"But if he go' her pregnant, couldn't 'e 'ave married her?" Sarah asked, confused. Tim shrugged, taking a seat at the table.
"James Robert wouldn't allow it." Kathleen replied.
"Why not?" Tim asked, turning his gaze from his mother to the entrance of the kitchen. Just slightly peeking around the corner, he could see a young woman, listening intently, though it wasn't Zippi. She was dressed in a plain, long-sleeved muslin dress and white pinafore, her hair pulled back, a white cap on her head. Tears glistened in her eyes, and she sniffled, choking on a sob. Kathleen shook her head.
"Mos' likely, b'cause she 'ad brough' shame ont' th' family."
"But... would that really justify... sending her away?" Tim asked, meeting Kathleen's gaze. His mother sighed. "Ye mus' und'rstan', loves, tha' 'twas a v'ry diff'rent time; 'twas common, for an unmarried, pregnant girl t' be sen' away. Ev'n up t' th' sev'nties." She met her son's gaze, before reaching out to caress his cheek. "'ad I no' me' yer Da, an' 'ad Zippi no' pu' 'er foot down, Fiona's fate woul' 'ave been mine as well."
The siblings shared a glance, unsure of what to say.
It was hot, hard backbreaking work she and the other girls were forced to do, day in and day out, seven days a week. Though as her belly had expanded, she found that her time in the laundries had diminished- she was now regulated to folding the sheets and linens after they had been washed and dried, but now, even that was a task too difficult for her.
She sat upon her bed in the dormitory she shared with eleven other girls, hands reaching down to cradle the great swell before her. When she'd first arrived, she'd found that she was not the only girl in condition- others her age or a little older were also in condition, some close to birth, others midway through; there were women of ill-repute who also called the laundry home, and, like her, had been left to a life of indentured servitude to pay for their sins.
But I 'ave don' noth'n wrong, the familiar words had escaped her lips that first night, when she'd curled up on the hard bed and cried herself to sleep, wrapping her arms around her midsection, wishing for her siblings to come into the room and cuddle with her, like they would often do when she was upset. But no one came. The other girls tried their hardest to ignore the new girl's cries; eventually, one of the older girls- a girl a couple years older named Moira, who was two months away from her time- had gotten up and made her way towards the bed, sitting beside her. She'd stroked her hair and hummed softly, talking to her until her cries had stopped. From that moment on, Moira had taken it upon herself to look after Fiona, for which the younger girl was grateful.
"Fiona?" She looked up, to see Moira come into the dormitory, the dark, long-sleeved dress with the white pinafore on over it hiding the fact that she had given birth to a baby boy a few short months ago. The boy had lived only long enough to give one sickly cry before drawing its last breath, and the sisters had taken it away, leaving Moira distraught. The girl's long red hair was pulled back in a bun, a white cap upon her head. The younger girl bit her lip, tensing. Instantly, Moira knelt before her, taking her hands. "Talk t' me, Fiona. 'ave yer pains begun?"
Tightness grabbed her around the middle and she bit her lip, nodding. A soft, frightened whimper escaped her throat, and she squeezed Moira's hands, hard. The older girl knew the pain Fiona was going through; she had gone through it herself not long ago. Without a word, she stood, helping Fiona to her feet and wrapping an arm around the girl's waist. Without a word, she helped the fifteen-year-old to the doorway of the dorm, before letting go and rushing to the landing of the stairs not far away.
"Please, fetch th' midwife! 'tis Fiona's time!" She turned back as a contraction grabbed the teenager around the waist, stronger than the rest, forcing the girl to her knees, a scream escaping her throat that rang throughout the entire area. "Hurry!"
When she awoke next, she found herself in a bed, surrounded by a couple of the sisters, the Mother Superior and the midwife. Moira was nowhere to be found. In only her shift, she lay among sparse muslin blankets and a couple pillows, soft lantern light reaching the outer edges of her vision. She had no idea as to where she was- though were she to guess, it was the small room where the girls who were in condition went to birth, if the even sparser conditions were anything to go by. Before she could say anything, pain, absolutely horrible, unimaginable pain grabbed her around the middle, and proceeded to twist her insides.
All she could do was scream, fingers digging into the sparse material that constituted for a blanket. The pain was so intense, it felt as though every fiber of her being was about to be torn to pieces. Once the pain subsided, she was able to take a breath, but not for long, as the sudden feel of pressure- deep, pounding pressure within her most secret of places- began to build and throb between her spread legs. She heard the sisters' voices, but couldn't make out what exactly they were saying; the pain she was currently experiencing had her in its grip, and refused to relinquish her.
Suddenly, all the pressure that had built up within released as her waters burst. Pain like she'd never felt before ripped through her, and she snapped her eyes shut in attempt to block out the pain. "Mama! Mama!"
"... ye need t' push, chil'! Push!"
Despite every fiber of her being screaming not to, her body did as she was ordered; it was a slow, agonizing process, giving birth. What began at seven that morning continued on into the early hours of the evening and then into the darkness of the night as the bell of the great church chimed the midnight hour. A burning sensation settled between her legs as something pushed against her opening. Again, Fiona cried for her mother, only to get no response, no soft hand in hers, no gentle kiss to her forehead. The person she missed more than her beloved siblings had turned her back on her, at Da's orders.
At ten minutes before dawn, she gave that final push, and the babe slid out of her in a burst of fluid, strong cries filling the room. She shakily pushed herself onto her elbows in attempt to see the babe that had caused her so much agony. "Wha' is it? Sister?"
The woman looked up at her, the infant crying in her arms. "'tis a boy ye've birth'd, lass." She quickly laid the baby in one of the other sister's arms-
"A b-" But Fiona was cut off by more pressure. She let out a cry, nails digging back into the blanket. "Wha's... 'appening..."
The sisters shared a glance. "Twins."
The fifteen-year-old girl's screams cut through any conversation that would have been had, as she bore down for a second time, midst the pressure building within. "Oh..." She whimpered, reaching down and tangling her fingers in the material of her dress as the pain returned, worse this time. "Mama!" A squeal of pain- similar to the sound of a pig being slaughtered- escaped her throat, and she snapped her eyes shut.
"Push, lass! Push! Harder! Almost! Push harder!"
At twilight, Fiona's screams, brought about by a long, hard, difficult labor, were drowned out by shrill screams as her second child burst out of her in a rush of fluid, sliding into the world with strong cries that matched their mother's. As the girl- for that's what she was, no matter the circumstances that now made her a woman- collapsed back against the pillows, she watched as the sister lifted the squealing infant from between her legs. "... two... bu'... canna be..."
"Aye, 'tis." The sister replied, and after a moment, Fiona reached out.
"Mine. 'tis mine, both o' 'em. Mine an' Eamon's. Give 'em t' me. Please. Give 'em t' me. They are mine." The sisters shared a glance. They knew it was their duty to take the babes away immediately- for law dictated that as soon a babe left the mother's womb, it was to be handed over, to be placed in a home who would care for them. As stated, the mothers were not allowed to see, let alone hold, their babes after birth, thereby to make the separation easier. But this...
Never, in all their years of working here, had a young girl sent to them borne twins, least of all living twins.
"Give 'em t' me." They turned back to Fiona, who had pushed herself onto her elbow, her long hair falling into her eyes and over her shoulders in sweaty tangles. She was pale, shaky, but determined to hold the babes she'd just spent the last several hours struggling to birth. "They are mine. Give me my babes." After a moment, both women moved towards the bed, and Fiona sat up, reaching out for them. She winced as her breasts, swollen, tender and full, brushed against the material of her dress.
The younger woman, Sister Elizabeth, held the baby boy out to her, and she took him, tears beginning to prick the backs of her eyes. Her breath caught as she gazed at her son, newly born, and clearly a full-term babe. A tiny smile tugged at Fiona's lips, as she gazed at her son. "'ello, wee love. If only yer da coul' mee' ye."
She looked up, eyes lighting on the baby in Sister Grace's arms, and after a moment, she shifted, reaching out for her. Sister Grace glanced at the others before slowly handing the baby over, and Fiona swallowed thickly as she adjusted to holding both infants. "Two... I dinna kno'..." She sniffled, voice wavering as she gazed upon the babes in her arms. Gently, she leaned down, brushing a soft kiss to each newborn head. "I love ye, both o' ye, so, so much. An' 'twill d' all I can t' make s're ye grow up lov'd 'ere, wit' me."
The sisters shared a glance, hearing her whisper the names of her babes. How, exactly, could they tell the girl the truth-
Minutes later, the door opened, and Mother Superior strode in, a couple other sisters with her. She was startled to see Fiona cradling two newborns, and turned to Grace and Elizabeth. "What is she- twins?" Both nodded. A moment passed, before Mother Superior sighed resolutely, before nodding to the other women with her. "Take them."
Without warning, the babes were taken from her arms, and Fiona, confused and horrified, struggled to get them back, but she was soon held down. "No! No, wha' are ye doin'? Those are me babes! Mine! Give 'em back t' me! Give 'em back! No!"
Mother Superior turned back to the girl as the others left the room, the babes crying in their arms. "'tis f'r th' bes', Fiona. They are goin' t' good 'omes. An' ye, will serve ou' th' res' o' yer penance, now tha' yer sin is gone." And without another word, she left, the others following.
"... no! Me babes... don't take me... give 'em back..." Left alone in the fading darkness of the dripping candles, the oldest O'Shea daughter curled on her side, one arm around her still protruding belly, the other reaching out for the babes she'd spent hours struggling to expel from her small body, her screams and sobs bouncing off the walls. With the physical pain of childbirth now over, the emotional pain of having her motherhood ripped from her before it could even begin began to sink in.
Despite the O'Shea blood that ran in her veins, in the veins of her newborns so coldly ripped from her arms, she was no longer an O'Shea, because of her babes. Now, and until the church decided to- if ever- release her, she would forever be known as a Magdelene.