Gone are the Leaves by Anne Donovan

Author:Anne Donovan [Anne Donovan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canongate Books
Published: 2014-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

WHEN SISTER AGNES came tae see me that nicht, I felt different towards her – no as feart as usual.

‘Where are we?’ I asked. ‘And why have we come here?’

I expected her tae say I must be patient, as she aye did, but this time she looked at me and nodded. ‘You are in the house of a very important man. He has sheltered and looked after you because he has taken some interest in your situation. He will want to meet you and see the bairn when you are sufficiently recovered efter your lying-in.’

‘Are we still in France?’

‘We are near to France, but this place has its own special climate.’

‘I want ye tae tell me where this house is. It seems to be built on the rocks.’

‘You will learn in good time.’

I have ne’er had much of a temper, and that I have learned tae keep weel under control, but I began tae feel the birse rise in me. I tried no tae show her but I couldna help but be ramsh when I said, ‘I would like a straight answer.’

‘When the time is richt. But there are mair pressing matters – the child must be baptised.’

‘Is Father Anthony here?’

‘We canna wait till he arrives. Anither priest will perform the sacrament on the morrow. Have you considered a name for the bairn?’

‘I dinna ken.’

I cry him Babbie, or Bairn. The only name in my mind was that of his faither and I didna want tae call him that. Sich a dreich drear name for a babe, sich a wecht of sadness tae pit on his shoulders.

‘This is something to be decided soon.’

Again, she vexed me with her ‘to be decided’, as if it were anyone else’s decision but my ain.

‘I will think on it.’

‘A good Christian name, an apostle’s name perhaps.’

She left the room and I burned inside, though I wouldna show it.

I did think on it that nicht, lying beside him. I was saddened that Father Anthony wouldna christen him; I wanted tae hear his sweet voice say the name the bairn would cairry, his gentle haunds mak the cross with chrism on that white wee foreheid. But I kenned we couldna wait. Though small he seemed lusty and strong, but any bairn could get sick. With the stain of original sin upon him, an unbaptised babe didna go tae Heaven, but languished in Limbo. Ghostly babbies floating in a dreich grey fog.

‘I baptise thee James, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.’

A wee bent mannie, the priest – Monsignor Bertrand, who is chaplain to this hoose. Sister Agnes tellt me he would be leaving when Father Anthony came as he was auld and worn oot, nae longer fit for his duties; his haund shook when he blessed the breid and wine. His een were filmed and his fingers crookit like claws. When he drapped the watter on the bairn’s heid, the babbie never grat, just took a breath in, as if surprised, then gurgled.

James is my faither’s name.

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