Catherine's Mercy by Nicole Evelina

Author:Nicole Evelina
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical;fiction;Catherine McAuley;Sisters of Mercy;based on true story;Irish;Ireland;Irish reformer;Dublin;Catholic Church
Publisher: Chalice Press
Published: 2023-09-01T18:41:11+00:00

Chapter 22

GRACE

March 1828

House of Mercy

Dublin, Ireland

“Goodnight, Mr. O’Leary,” I called, waving to the drunken man who had mistaken our front door for his—again. I’d pointed him in the direction of his home and watched until he stumbled out of sight before closing and locking the door.

In the distance, the bells of St. Teresa’s tolled twelve times. Exhausted, I rested my head against the wood and immediately my eyes closed; they felt weighted with lead. Being night porter was my least favorite position at the House, but it one of the most important. So many women were only able to come to us under cover of night, and we had to be alert to receive them; but no one, including Catherine, had yet made it a full night without falling asleep at least once.

Sometime later, a gentle tap on the door woke me from a light slumber. I opened the door, still half asleep, and for a moment, I thought I was dreaming. There was Wren, standing in front of me, dripping with rain. It wasn’t until she lifted her right hand to push her sodden hair from her face that I saw the brand on her hand and realized it was really her. It took all I had not to scream her name as I pulled her into a long, hard embrace and tugged her inside, calling to Isa and Jane to join the reunion. At last, all of the doves had come home to roost.

We kept a small store of clothing, towels, diapers, and other necessities in the reception room for just this reason. While Wren dried and changed, I stoked the fire to life, feeding it fresh kindling and wood. Soon it emitted a glorious warmth and should help Wren relax and stave off any chill she may have caught. If not, the tea brewing on the hook above it should help.

Once Wren was settled and seated as close to the fire as safety allowed, I pulled the pocket doors mostly closed to give us privacy, but left them open enough that I could hear if anyone came to the door.

For a long moment we simply stared at one another, marveling that we were together once again. Finally, I broke the silence. “Are you hungry? I can get you some bread and cheese, if you’d like.”

She shook her head. “Not quite yet. I am happy with the tea for now. Thank you.”

Catherine always taught us not to rush the women to tell their stories, but this was Wren, not a stranger. I hadn’t seen her for nearly six months and I was bursting to know where she had been. But it was her story to tell in her own time, just as the others had done.

As soon as Catherine had given permission for the Doves to seek refuge at the House, I had whispered to a handful of people they might turn to that they were welcome here at any time. As they slowly found the House of Mercy, I learned their stories.

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