Born in Shame
Page 4
“Still we made foolish plans. He would find a way to leave his wife provided for and bring his daughters to me in America where we’d be a family. The man desperately wanted family, as I did. We’d talk together in that room overlooking the river and pretend that it was forever. We had three weeks, and every day was more wonderful than the last, and more wrenching. I had to leave him, and Ireland. He told me he would stand at Loop Head, where we’d met, and look out over the sea to New York, to me.
“His name was Thomas Concannon, a farmer who wanted to be a poet.”
“Did you . . .” Shannon’s voice was rusty and unsteady. “Did you ever see him again?”
“No. I wrote him for a time, and he answered.” Pressing her lips together, Amanda stared into her daughter’s eyes. “Soon after I returned to New York, I learned I was carrying his child.”
Shannon shook her head quickly, the denial instinctive, the fear huge. “Pregnant?” Her heart began to beat thick and fast. She shook her head again and tried to draw her hand away. For she knew, without another word being said, she knew. And refused to know. “No.”
“I was thrilled.” Amanda’s grip tightened, though it cost her. “From the first moment I was sure, I was thrilled. I never thought I would have a child, that I would find someone who loved me enough to give me that gift. Oh, I wanted that child, loved it, thanked God for it. What sadness and grief I had came from knowing I would never be able to share with Tommy the beauty that had come from our loving each other. His letter to me after I’d written him of it was frantic. He would have left his home and come to me. He was afraid for me, and what I was facing alone. I knew he would have come, and it tempted me. But it was wrong, Shannon, as loving him was never wrong. So I wrote him a last time, lied to him for the first time, and told him I wasn’t afraid, nor alone, and that I was going away.”
“You’re tired.” Shannon was desperate to stop the words. Her world was tilting, and she had to fight to right it again. “You’ve talked too long. It’s time for your medicine.”
“He would have loved you,” Amanda said fiercely. “If he’d had the chance. In my heart I know he loved you without ever laying eyes on you.”
“Stop.” She did rise then, pulling away, pushing back. There was a sickness rising inside her, and her skin felt so cold and thin. “I don’t want to hear this. I don’t need to hear this.”
“You do. I’m sorry for the pain it causes you, but you need to know it all. I did leave,” she went on quickly. “My family was shocked, furious when I told them I was pregnant. They wanted me to go away, give you up, quietly, discreetly, so that there would be no scandal and shame. I would have died before giving you up. You were mine, and you were Tommy’s. There were horrible words in that house, threats, utimatums. They disowned me, and my father, being a clever man of business, blocked my bank account so that I had no claim on the money that had been left to me by my grandmother. Money was never a game to him, you see. It was power.
“I left that house with never a regret, with the money I had in my wallet, and a single suitcase.”
Shannon felt as though she were underwater, struggling for air. But the image came clearly through it, of her mother, young, pregnant, nearly penniless, carrying a single suitcase. “There was no one to help you?”
“Kate would have, and I knew she’d suffer for it. This had been my doing. What shame there was, was mine. What joy there was, was mine. I took a train north, and I got a job waiting tables at a resort in the Catskills. And there I met Colin Bodine.”
Amanda waited while Shannon turned away and walked to the dying fire. The room was quiet, with only the hiss of embers and the brisk wind at the windows to stir it. But beneath the quiet, she could feel the storm, the one swirling inside the child she loved more than her own life. Already she suffered, knowing that storm was likely to crash over both of them.
“He was vacationing with his parents. I paid him little mind. He was just one more of the rich and privileged I was serving. He had a joke for me now and again, and I smiled as was expected. My mind was on my work and my pay, and on the child growing inside me. Then one afternoon there was a thunderstorm, a brute of one. A good many of the guests chose to stay indoors, in their rooms and have their lunch brought to them. I was carrying a tray, hurrying to one of the cabins, for there would be trouble if the food got cold and the guest complained of it. And Colin comes barreling around a corner, wet as a dog, and flattens me. How clumsy he was, bless him.”
Tears burned behind Shannon’s eyes as she stared down into the glowing embers. “He said that was how he met you, by knocking you down.”
“So he did. And we always told you what truths we felt we could. He sent me sprawling in the mud, with the tray of food scattering and ruined. He started apologizing, trying to help me up. All I could see was that food, spoiled. And my back aching from carrying those heavy trays, and my legs so tired of holding the rest of me up. I started to cry. Just sat there in the mud and cried and cried and cried. I couldn’t stop. Even when he lifted me up and carried me to his room, I couldn’t stop.
“He was so sweet, sat me down on a chair despite the mud, covered me with a blanket and sat there, patting my hand till the tears ran out. I was so ashamed of myself, and he was so kind. He wouldn’t let me leave until I’d promised to have dinner with him.”
It should have been romantic and sweet, Shannon thought while her breath began to hitch. But it wasn’t. It was hideous. “He didn’t know you were pregnant.”
Amanda winced as much from the accusation in the words as she did from a fresh stab of pain. “No, not then. I was barely showing and careful to hide it or I would have lost my job. Times were different then, and an unmarried pregnant waitress wouldn’t have lasted in a rich man’s playground.”
“You let him fall in love with you.” Shannon’s voice was cold, cold as the ice that seemed slicked over her skin. “When you were carrying another man’s child.”
And the child was me, she thought, wretched.
“I’d grown to a woman,” Amanda said carefully, searching her daughter’s face and weeping inside at what she read there. “And no one had really loved me. With Tommy it was quick, as stunning as a lightning bolt. I was still blinded by it when I met Colin. Still grieving over it, still wrapped in it. Everything I felt for Tommy was turned toward the child we’d made together. I could tell you I thought Colin was only being kind. And in truth, at first I did. But I saw, soon enough, that there was more.”
“His name was Thomas Concannon, a farmer who wanted to be a poet.”
“Did you . . .” Shannon’s voice was rusty and unsteady. “Did you ever see him again?”
“No. I wrote him for a time, and he answered.” Pressing her lips together, Amanda stared into her daughter’s eyes. “Soon after I returned to New York, I learned I was carrying his child.”
Shannon shook her head quickly, the denial instinctive, the fear huge. “Pregnant?” Her heart began to beat thick and fast. She shook her head again and tried to draw her hand away. For she knew, without another word being said, she knew. And refused to know. “No.”
“I was thrilled.” Amanda’s grip tightened, though it cost her. “From the first moment I was sure, I was thrilled. I never thought I would have a child, that I would find someone who loved me enough to give me that gift. Oh, I wanted that child, loved it, thanked God for it. What sadness and grief I had came from knowing I would never be able to share with Tommy the beauty that had come from our loving each other. His letter to me after I’d written him of it was frantic. He would have left his home and come to me. He was afraid for me, and what I was facing alone. I knew he would have come, and it tempted me. But it was wrong, Shannon, as loving him was never wrong. So I wrote him a last time, lied to him for the first time, and told him I wasn’t afraid, nor alone, and that I was going away.”
“You’re tired.” Shannon was desperate to stop the words. Her world was tilting, and she had to fight to right it again. “You’ve talked too long. It’s time for your medicine.”
“He would have loved you,” Amanda said fiercely. “If he’d had the chance. In my heart I know he loved you without ever laying eyes on you.”
“Stop.” She did rise then, pulling away, pushing back. There was a sickness rising inside her, and her skin felt so cold and thin. “I don’t want to hear this. I don’t need to hear this.”
“You do. I’m sorry for the pain it causes you, but you need to know it all. I did leave,” she went on quickly. “My family was shocked, furious when I told them I was pregnant. They wanted me to go away, give you up, quietly, discreetly, so that there would be no scandal and shame. I would have died before giving you up. You were mine, and you were Tommy’s. There were horrible words in that house, threats, utimatums. They disowned me, and my father, being a clever man of business, blocked my bank account so that I had no claim on the money that had been left to me by my grandmother. Money was never a game to him, you see. It was power.
“I left that house with never a regret, with the money I had in my wallet, and a single suitcase.”
Shannon felt as though she were underwater, struggling for air. But the image came clearly through it, of her mother, young, pregnant, nearly penniless, carrying a single suitcase. “There was no one to help you?”
“Kate would have, and I knew she’d suffer for it. This had been my doing. What shame there was, was mine. What joy there was, was mine. I took a train north, and I got a job waiting tables at a resort in the Catskills. And there I met Colin Bodine.”
Amanda waited while Shannon turned away and walked to the dying fire. The room was quiet, with only the hiss of embers and the brisk wind at the windows to stir it. But beneath the quiet, she could feel the storm, the one swirling inside the child she loved more than her own life. Already she suffered, knowing that storm was likely to crash over both of them.
“He was vacationing with his parents. I paid him little mind. He was just one more of the rich and privileged I was serving. He had a joke for me now and again, and I smiled as was expected. My mind was on my work and my pay, and on the child growing inside me. Then one afternoon there was a thunderstorm, a brute of one. A good many of the guests chose to stay indoors, in their rooms and have their lunch brought to them. I was carrying a tray, hurrying to one of the cabins, for there would be trouble if the food got cold and the guest complained of it. And Colin comes barreling around a corner, wet as a dog, and flattens me. How clumsy he was, bless him.”
Tears burned behind Shannon’s eyes as she stared down into the glowing embers. “He said that was how he met you, by knocking you down.”
“So he did. And we always told you what truths we felt we could. He sent me sprawling in the mud, with the tray of food scattering and ruined. He started apologizing, trying to help me up. All I could see was that food, spoiled. And my back aching from carrying those heavy trays, and my legs so tired of holding the rest of me up. I started to cry. Just sat there in the mud and cried and cried and cried. I couldn’t stop. Even when he lifted me up and carried me to his room, I couldn’t stop.
“He was so sweet, sat me down on a chair despite the mud, covered me with a blanket and sat there, patting my hand till the tears ran out. I was so ashamed of myself, and he was so kind. He wouldn’t let me leave until I’d promised to have dinner with him.”
It should have been romantic and sweet, Shannon thought while her breath began to hitch. But it wasn’t. It was hideous. “He didn’t know you were pregnant.”
Amanda winced as much from the accusation in the words as she did from a fresh stab of pain. “No, not then. I was barely showing and careful to hide it or I would have lost my job. Times were different then, and an unmarried pregnant waitress wouldn’t have lasted in a rich man’s playground.”
“You let him fall in love with you.” Shannon’s voice was cold, cold as the ice that seemed slicked over her skin. “When you were carrying another man’s child.”
And the child was me, she thought, wretched.
“I’d grown to a woman,” Amanda said carefully, searching her daughter’s face and weeping inside at what she read there. “And no one had really loved me. With Tommy it was quick, as stunning as a lightning bolt. I was still blinded by it when I met Colin. Still grieving over it, still wrapped in it. Everything I felt for Tommy was turned toward the child we’d made together. I could tell you I thought Colin was only being kind. And in truth, at first I did. But I saw, soon enough, that there was more.”
