Pack Up Your Troubles. Anne Bennett
certain that his soul was as white as the driven snow and begin his nefarious practices all over again. Well, as far as she was concerned they could all jump in the river. She was not going back to that life.
She swallowed hard and spoke firmly in an effort to explain to the priest. ‘Father, I—’
‘If you do not go back, Maeve,’ the priest said, cutting off Maeve’s attempt at explanation before she’d even begun, ‘I can give you no absolution from your sins. You are committing a mortal sin and if you have no intention of returning to your rightful place beside your husband, God cannot forgive you. You will have to live in a state of sin.’
Maeve stumbled from the box, shocked to the core. She needed confession to feel cleansed from all her wrongdoings in order to be in a state of grace to receive Communion. Now she wouldn’t dare to go up to the altar. For one thing, her conscience wouldn’t let her and for another she’d be terrified Father O’Brien would refuse her the Sacraments and make a show of her.
At home she hid her distress until the children had gone to bed and then sobbed in her mother’s arms. For twenty-seven years she’d been a good Catholic girl, attending Mass on Sundays and going to Devotions and Benediction often, and always going regularly to the Mission when priests travelled around Ireland preaching in the churches. She went to confession every fortnight and took Communion every Sunday and prayed as often as she remembered. The Church and its rituals were part of her life and now she’d been refused absolution because she wouldn’t return to a violent sadistic man who terrorised her and her children and didn’t give them enough money to live on. Yet she felt as if she’d lost a limb, as if she’d been cast adrift, and though she was glad of her mother’s comforting arms, they could not solve the problem. She knew that she’d not heard the end of it.
After Maeve’s experience, none of the rest of the family went to confession either, and for the first time ever, Annie didn’t attend the Stations of the Cross on Good Friday. And though they all went to Mass on Easter Sunday morning, no one went to Communion. Most of the congregation took Communion and they looked askance at Annie sitting with her daughters and grandchildren – Thomas and Colin had gone to early Mass – and wondered why they were not going to the altar.
Kevin and Grace were blissfully unaware of any dissension in the family, for nothing was discussed in front of them. By Easter Sunday they’d had a wonderful week with their Uncle Colin and Aunt Nuala, who spent a lot of time with their young relations whenever their chores on the farm enabled them to.
That Sunday Maeve’s children didn’t notice that the family scurried from the church without talking to any friends as they normally did, and they certainly didn’t care. Their grandma had killed two chickens as it was a special day and a good dinner awaited them with pudding, as Lent was now over, and then they had the bar of chocolate each that Rosemarie had bought from the town for them to eat. They’d just discovered chocolate, which they’d never tasted before – not that they’d had much of it now either, for neither their grandma nor their mother approved of their eating too many sweet things, but both Kevin and Grace loved chocolate. They liked it to melt in their mouths and run down their throats, and to have a whole bar each was sheer luxury.
The Wednesday after Easter, Maeve was by the window when she spotted Father O’Brien striding purposefully down the lane and she felt her insides contract with fear. Annie was stirring a pot hung over the fire and hadn’t seen him approach and she was glad they were alone, her father having taken the children, together with Nuala and Colin, in the cart to the peat bogs to cut turf.
‘Mammy,’ Maeve said, ‘the priest’s here.’
Annie straightened up, and her eyes met those of her daughter. The priest gave a tentative knock and lifted the latch as Annie cried, ‘Come away in, Father.’
The priest seemed to fill the room. ‘Will I take your coat?’ Annie said. ‘And will you be having a cup of tea?’
Father O’Brien didn’t take his eyes from Maeve and she met them boldly, but he divested himself of his coat and said, ‘A cup of tea would be very nice, so it would. Shall we sit down, Maeve?’
Maeve’s legs were shaking and the top of her mouth was suddenly dry. She told herself she was a grown woman and this man before her couldn’t make her do anything; he could hardly pick her up bodily and take her back to Birmingham. And yet she knew it was a mistake to underestimate a priest’s power.
He waited till Maeve was sitting opposite him, the kettle singing over the glowing peat and Annie busy at the dresser sorting out the best cup and saucer for the priest, and then he looked Maeve full in the face.
‘Well, Maeve,’ he said.
‘Well what, Father?’
‘Have you no idea why I felt it necessary to come out here and visit you?’
‘Suppose you tell me?’ Dear God, Maeve thought. What was the matter with her, answering the priest like that?
He didn’t like it; she saw a frown furrow his brow and his eyebrows jerked up in surprise. ‘Now, Maeve,’ he said, ‘there is no need for you to be like this. I told you of the letter I received from your parish priest. Last night I had a most disturbing call from the man.’
Maeve didn’t reply and so the priest went on, ‘Maeve, surely I do not have to remind you of your marriage vows?’
‘No, Father. You have to remind me of nothing.’
‘Father Trelawney said your husband is distraught, and with good reason, I’d say by your attitude.’
‘My attitude!’ Maeve cried. ‘I’m sorry, Father, but you know nothing about it. It’s Brendan’s attitude needs to be sorted out.’
Annie came bustling towards them then for the kettle was boiling noisily. She made a cup of tea for all of them, while Father O’Brien shook his head as he said, ‘Father Trelawney tells me there were a few problems in your marriage, but that your husband is willing to meet you halfway.’
‘A few problems! Is that what they call it these days?’ Maeve said with a sneer. ‘My husband, Father, drinks nearly every penny he earns, keeping me and the children short, and apart from that he is a vicious bully, both to me and my son.’
‘Father Trelawney mentioned that you make trouble whenever your husband has seen fit to discipline the boy.’
‘Discipline him? Using his belt on a wee boy, who even now is only just seven years old.’
‘Boys, even wee boys, can be very bold. We both know that, Maeve,’ Father O’Brien said. ‘And, you know, it is a father’s duty to chastise his children.’
Maeve shook her head in disbelief. What Brendan had done was not mere chastisement, but how could she make the man before her believe how it really was? ‘All right then, Father. Let’s leave Kevin for the moment. Is it a husband’s duty to chastise his wife too?’
‘It’s a husband’s duty to demand obedience from his wife. You promised to love, honour and obey him, you know.’
‘I know what I said,’ Maeve barked. ‘And I was a fool, for the man is brutal. I have been bruised head to toe by my husband and my face has been such a mess, I’ve had to hide from my neighbours till the swelling has gone down and the black eye’s not so noticeable. As for my son, he still has the stripes across his back from his father’s attempts at disciplining him.’
‘Your husband told Father Trelawney you are argumentative and undermine his treatment of the children. In other words, you provoke him.’
‘Oh, so now it’s my fault?’
‘Not at all,’ Father O’Brien said. ‘Don’t be so hasty, Maeve.’
Annie had remained in the other chair during this time, completely silent. She saw her daughter become agitated and though she knew she had a point in everything she said, she was shocked to see Maeve attacking the parish priest in such a fashion. In order to give Maeve time to compose