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The Letters (Prelude)
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 Created on 12-7-07
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The Letters
Prelude
Aberdeen Reynolds waited in the Dublin social worker’s office. The woman behind the desk had stiff red pleats, a powdered face, and an iron jaw. She looked down over her spectacles at the late-middle aged man. The nervous sweat on his neck glinted in the fluorescent light before the woman.
‘So the test results came back?’ His voice shook with nerves.
‘Yes, and you are her biological father, therefore, now everything should be in order for you to take her back to Liverpool.’ She pulled out a stack of forms from her desk. ‘ If you’ll sign here, you can go pick her up.’ She held a pen out to him. ‘One thing, she only speaks Irish.’ He took the pen from her, ‘ How do you plan to educate her?’
‘Catholic Boarding School, it’s one of the best in Scotland. They do not teach Gaelic; she will learn English.’ He signed the papers.
‘Pity.’ The social worker straightened her suit. ‘I could call the orphanage and have her brought here.’ She looked at the fat balding grey haired man awaiting a reply.
‘Of course, that would be wonderful.’ He smiled, watching the social worker pick-up the phone. ‘ Her name is Teresa?’
The woman closed her blue eyes and sighed, ‘Now, she is Teresa Reynolds.’
~
The small auburn haired girl sat beside Aberdeen Reynolds on the way to the house from the port. He looked at her ever so often, her unmoving stare and expression.
‘I’m letting you know that a week from now you will be sent away. You will only return from summer holiday, which you will spend with me or a nanny.’ He glanced at her freckled cheeks and petite pale features. ‘You look like your mother; what a whore she was. As your father I’m obligated to do this for you, not for her.’
‘Gabhaibh. . .’ She spoke softly.
‘I will have none of that!’ He shouted. ‘ I realize you can’t understand me, but at least don’t speak.’
‘Am fosgail mi an uinneag?’ she looked at him almost crying, pointing at the car window.
He looked at her and nodded, shaking his hand at her as he would a defendant in court. She rolled down the window, took a breath, and then held her nose.
‘Tha i fluich.’ She took short inhalations of the air.
‘You are a strange little girl.’ He turned into a complex of upper class town houses. ‘This is my business home. I live here when not in Glasgow or Edinburgh.’
She held a gold locket she had around her neck tightly as she looked at the forbidding place. ‘A theil clann agaibh?’
He shook his head, ‘I don’t understand you.’ He got her single suitcase and lead her up the steps to his abode. As he swung the door open, it was obvious he was upper-class, and not modest about it. ‘Don’t touch anything; follow me.’
‘Dúin andoras?’ She pointed to the open front door.
‘Close it.’ He said as she did, the doorknob at least half ahead taller than her.
He led her up the stairs to a study with a pullout at one wall. ‘This is where you will sleep.’ He set her suitcase on the floor. ‘Tomorrow I must take you supply shopping. Well, good night, see you in the morning.’
‘Biadh?’ She whined with her hands holding her noisy stomach.
‘Oh, I almost forgot you needed to have dinner, well, come along.’ He motioned for the child to follow.
He looked in the frigid air and found some peanut butter to go on bread. Hastily he fixed her a sandwich. ‘There, then brush teeth before bed.’
‘Tapodh leibh.’ She looked at him smiling. She clasped her hands silently before gobbling the sandwich.
The next morning he walked into find the tiny girl sprawled on the couch dead asleep. It was a quarter ‘til six o’clock and he had hoped to get an early start.
‘How can a five year old take up all that room?’ He squatted next to the changeling and smiled. ‘You’re so pretty. You’re going to be better than that tramp of a mother you had.’ He brushed her bangs from her face. ‘I don’t see any of myself in you, only your mother. She’s in hell now though, so she can’t poison you anymore.’
‘Da . . . cáit’ a bheil thu?’ She mumbled in her sleep.
‘Terra Reynolds, you will be the most perfect girl. You will never wed, for you will be mine forever.’ He kissed her forehead causing her to squirm in her sleep.
He stood up. ‘How am I going to do this?’ He sighed closing the door until later as he left. ‘With a lot of love’
~
The shopping trip was long and strenuous. While in the bookstore Dr. Reynolds left her to play in the children’s section. There she saw a small boy with large honey eyes, bright curly red hair, and freckles. She smiled at him, ‘A bheil sibh á fuireachann an Sasainn?’
He looked at her blinking and answered in cockney English, ‘I don live ‘ere! I’m Nor-Irish!’
She cocked her head to one side, ‘Dè an t-ainm a th’ort?’
He smiled, ‘You don know English! Is mise David Flynn. Tha miag ionnsachadh Gàidhlig.’
She nodded and hugged the boy, ‘ Tha Gàidhlig agad!’
Shocked, he looked down at her curiously, ‘seadh?’
She stared up at him sniffing and told him of her mother’s death, and then a creepy old man taking her to England. Though not in full comprehension, the small boy understood the main events; mainly he missed the colorful adjectives.
He looked at her very confused on why she told him this. ‘Ciamar a tha thu?’ He wanted to be sure she was all right.
‘Mi gu fuar . . .’ She stated optimistically.
‘Seadh.’ He sighed then looked to his mother who came to retrieve him.
Terra, thankful for someone to speak, gave the boy a peck on the lips. ‘Tapadh leat!’
His mother laughed at him as she took his hand, ‘ Seven years old and you’re already winning lasses’ hearts.’
He looked back to say good-bye, but Dr. Reynolds had already retrieved her.
The old man looked down at the precocious girl. She was going to be trouble. ‘Off to get your uniform.’ He smiled falsely.
At the store’s window she stopped and looked up at him. ‘Aodach?’ She asked pointing to the neat display.
‘Uniform.’ He corrected to English. Aberdeen picked her up and carried her into the store.
The lady behind the counter’s earrings jingled as she chewed on bubble gum. A ‘How may I help you?’ Was their entrance chime.
‘We need a set of your black jumpers, coats, and shoes. We will need knee socks, blouses, and aprons.’ He looked to his little child.
‘Ah! Another wee one off to School?’ She smiled. ‘You the grandfather she’ll stay with during term.’
‘She’s my daughter, and she’s boarding at the school.’ He puffed stiffly out of his flustered face.
The woman, a little offended by his manner, went to get the measuring tape. She returned with it and asked Terra to stand on the platform, motioning.
Terra giggled as the woman measured her, then put a winter coat on her. ‘Côta?’
‘The wee one speaks Irish!’ the lady exclaimed. ‘How wonderful!’
‘Not really, she doesn’t know English.’ He coughed into his handkerchief.
Dr. Reynolds left the store, vowing to find another next year, and carried the large bag of uniforms.
~
On the way home he glanced at her little hands, so thin for a child’s, and her tiny body. She seemed malnourished, though she was normal enough for a child. Her skinny legs with knobby knees stuck out from her skirt and swung back and forth unable to touch the floor. Her hands darted to her locket as she noticed his constant glanced. He stopped the car in front of his townhouse before she knew it.
In daylight the grand upper class assortment shimmered with polished doorknockers, knobs, and handrails. She thought perhaps they were somewhere different from the damp townhouse of yesterday.
‘Let’s get you packed, perhaps it would be a good idea to go early for your speech problem.’ He looked down at her as she curiously looked about the street. He led her inside and picked up the phone to call the school. Dialing the number, he placed the bag on the counter.
On the other end a stiff female voice picked up, ‘`Ello, you have reached St. Mary Magdalen’s main office, may I help you?’
‘Yes, my daughter is set to attend, but she doesn’t speak English. . .’
‘Aye!’ She interrupted. ‘What she speak? French? We have a wonderful French program.’
‘No, she doesn’t. It’s Gaelic.’ She nervously rushed.
‘Well, the priest is Irish, and a few of the nuns, ‘haps they help you? You wantin’ to take her in early?’ The woman’s accent started to grow stronger with her excitement about the situation.
‘Why, yes. Would tomorrow be good?’ he nervously glanced at the girl who span about his kitchen until she fell, then got up to do it again.
‘I’ll tell the priest. Anytime will be good tomorrow, we don’t have much other than religious bore.’ She smiled and hurried to write something down. ‘Expect you tomorrow, buh bye!’ She hung up.
He looked at the girl sprawled on his kitchen floor making odd sounds resembling a cat. In a notion he picked her up and threw her on the counter. ‘I’m Daddy.’ He pointed to himself. She paid him no mind as she fiddled with her fingers. He grabbed her head, forced her to look at him, and yelled, ‘Daddy!’
She shrieked. Her eyes widened with horror as tears swelled into her eyes. She squirmed and slipped away as he tried to catch her. She ran to the door, pulling it open and running as fast as she could from him. She closed her eyes for a moment.
CRACK!
She fell to the ground, unconscious, with a bleeding forehead. He caught up with her little body to find it covered with yesterday’s mud and blood from her forehead. He picked her up, and carried her inside. ‘I’m too old and crotchety to be a father.’
~
The school was an archaic type place of religious devotion. Callous in appearance, it lacked love, but was overcome with age and mildew. As the taxi pulled up to it, little Terra’s eyes seemed to take up her entire face in fear. Aberdeen put his hand on her shoulder smiling, ‘What a lovely place!’
As they exited the taxi and headed to the office, she looked about the old abbey. Off in a field stood a desolate stone structure. Aberdeen pushed her along with her suitcase. ‘Come now, best not to keep him waiting.’
She entered the priest’s office nervously and looked about. She had never been to church beyond her christening because her mother had grown ill and placed her in foster care with a non-religious group where she could still visit from time to time. Because of this, she didn’t understand who this person was or why she had to see him.
‘This is the darling girl who doesn’t speak English?’ He looked into her large eyes. ‘Why, she’s a wonderfully beautiful child, isn’t she?’ He smiled at her and spoke in her language, ‘Ciamar a tha mo chreach?’
She opened her eyes a little more smiling at the old man with green eyes. ‘Tha mi gu math . . .’ She poked herself as though testing the idea and made him laugh.
‘Còàs a tha thu?’ He smiled rying to make conversation while Aberdeen sat on a chair reading a magazine.
She smiled and looked at Aberdeen glaring at her from over his magazine, so she thought very hard to remember a word sometimes used for it. ‘Ireland!’ She smiled triumphantly.
The priest looked at Aberdeen, ‘She at least know one English word.’ He smiled and looked at her, ‘Dè spòrs as fheàrr leat?’
‘Ball-coise!’ She laughed.
‘It’s good that she likes football, we play it as a main sport.’ He stood up and strolled over to his desk, digging in a deep drawer. ‘An Là na Sabaid, bidh thugad trang a-màireach.’
‘Dè?’ She looked confused.
‘Eaglais.’ He triumphantly pulled out a little wooden box with a rose carved into it. ‘Am bi thu anns an eaglais?’
She came down with a severely confuzzled look.
‘Has she ever been to church?’ He asked.
‘Not beyond christening that I’m aware of.’ Aberdeen sighed.
He looked at the girl and handed her the box, ‘This, Dr. Reynolds, is when I aske you to trust us, leave her in our care, and pray for her.’ He took the little girl’s hand and her suitcase. ‘See you next summer Dr. Reynolds.’ The priest led her out the door and into the girl’s dormitory.
Comments
Please Login to post comments| On December 7th 2007 tece26 Said : | |
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WOW! Yoy are so good! PLEASE keep me posted. I love this! |
| On December 7th 2007 amalie777 Said : | |
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wow this is good, keep me posted!! what does all that irish mean, anyway? |
