The Tears of God

By Lise O'Farrell

The book is about secrets, and the tragedies they cause. The story is woven from three strands: the Fuchsia plant, an old diary, and autism. Teresa explores an abandoned cottage and finds the diary. She moves the beautiful Fuchsia to her own garden. Her son Eoin, who has Asberger's Syndrome, fixates on it. Little by little, the full story behind the diary comes out, and at the same time another devastating secret appears, closer to home. (The Irish language name for the Fuchsia means "Tears of God".)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716561306

Book preview

Chapter 1

The walls of the cottage had probably been whitewashed at one time but they were now mud-coloured and in some places the plaster had crumbled. Tiles were missing from the roof, the windows had no glass, and flakes of red paint dangled from the rotting front door. Nearby, an old bird-cage lay on its side. Unrestrained blackberry shoots bearing dainty white flowers and green, red and purple blackberries rambled along the front wall of the cottage and up to the roof, covering a gaping window with a scant bramble curtain. Orangey-red rose hips from a dog-rose framed another window. Bright red crab-apples adorned the branches of a nearby tree. Saliva flowed as Teresa remembered her Great-aunt Sheila's crab-apple jelly. She would never forget the kitchen chairs turned upside down, with white muslin tied to their legs and what she used to call apple goo slowly dripping into the saucepans underneath. She was allowed to squeeze the goo to help it along, as Great-aunt Sheila used to put it. Nobody made apple jelly like her.

The door creaked when she pushed it open. A damp musty smell greeted her. The occupants of the house must have left in a hurry, and nobody seemed to have cared enough to salvage the contents. In the meantime, intruders had ransacked it. The table and chairs in the kitchen were in bits. A stone sink by the window overflowed with broken bottles and rusty tins. Smashed delph was all over the floor. Blackened dented saucepans lay on their sides around the room. Faded mildewed wallpaper hung off the walls in strips. A pair of wellies, standing in the ashes in the fireplace, reminded her of Santa Claus coming down the chimney. From the chimney-breast the Sacred Heart surveyed the room with a compassionate gaze, his eyes following her. She was surprised to see it still hanging there. It was as if those responsible for taking the room apart had been afraid to touch the holy picture, in case God would be offended. Something was tucked in the corner of the wooden frame. It was yellow and curled. She reached up and tried to ease it out without tearing it. The pressure of her hand dislodged the holy picture from the nail holding it. It slid down the wall, bounced off the mantlepiece and landed on its back on the ground, shattering the glass. Teresa jumped away with a scream. When she looked down she was surprised to see the shards of glass were still held in by the frame but the object of her curiosity was no longer there. Maybe the impact of the picture on the mantlepiece had freed it from the frame causing it to fall to the floor? Her eyes scanned the floor. It was littered with ancient yellowed scraps of paper. She sighed. Even if she were to examine every single one of them, she wouldn't know which one had been in the frame. Could it be under the holy picture? She knelt down and slowly and carefully lifted it with both hands and moved it sideways. She scrutinised every piece of paper hiding underneath it. All she found were bits of newspapers and what appeared to be torn pages from an old copy, illegible due to water damage.  Disappointed, she stood up and placed her hand on the mantlepiece to steady herself and as she did so, she noticed an old copybook on top of the mantlepiece. Its cover was mottled and faded. Where had it come from? She was sure it had not been there earlier. It must have fallen from its hiding-place behind the picture of the Sacred Heart when it was dislodged from the chimney-breast. Intrigued, she grabbed the copybook. Then she spied something else. Yes! she cried with excitement. It had to be what she was looking for! It was probably ejected from the frame when the picture tumbled down and the copybook landed on top of it, concealing it. Her heart beat faster, pumping inside her chest. She pounced. It was a faded photograph!

I can't believe this! Teresa cried. She darted over to the window to get a better look at the photo, but the blackberry brambles snaking up the window blocked the light. She dashed to the open door and shook the dust off the photo, but it still looked blurry. Teresa took the end of her tee-shirt and carefully wiped away the dust. A baby with a bow in her hair smiled up at her! The baby must have been about three months old when the photograph was taken. She stared at it for a while, wondering who she was, before placing it with great care in the back pocket of her jeans. She almost tripped over an old saucepan as she rushed back to the mantlepiece where she had left the copybook. She looked up at the space on the wall previously occupied by the picture. A rectangle of wallpaper covered in psychedelic pink, red and purple roses was now exposed. She could not imagine somebody spending any period of time in a room with such garish colours, let alone living in it. She picked up the faded blue copy with shaking hands.

Peg Farrell, English Composition, was written on the cover in writing almost like calligraphy. Who was Peg? Teresa wondered. Was it the child whose photograph she had just found or was it somebody else? A quick glance through the yellowed and stained pages was enough to intrigue her. It seemed to be some form of personal journal. Her curiosity was aroused. She wanted to read it there and then, but there was nowhere to sit. With the copy clutched in her hand she rushed out of the cottage and ran most of the way to the gate-lodge of Beechwood Estate, her new home. She and her husband, Michael, had only moved there a week earlier.

Chapter 2

Teresa gulped down a glass of water and removed the photograph from the pocket of her jeans. She studied it once more before placing it on the kitchen table and threw herself on the window seat, her favourite place in the house. She opened the copy carefully, almost reverently and began to read Peg's diary.

The 12th of May, 1926.

I am demented, so I am. So I have decided to write about what happened to me the other night. I found an old school copy at the top of the press when Ma died and since there is nothing else around the house I will use it. I heard Mrs. Parker say to her husband one day that it was a good idea to write about bad things that happen to you, it helps you get over them, but I will never get over what happened to me. It was shocking, shocking. I hope writing about it will help me. Sometimes talking to people helps, Ma used to say. I wish I could talk to somebody about it but I cannot tell anybody about this. It was the middle of the night and I was asleep in my bed when a noise woke me up. I knew there was somebody in the room. I could tell it was a man. I couldn’t see what he looked like because of the darkness. My heart was beating so fast when I saw him walk to my bed. I tried to shout but nothing came out. Who would have heard me anyway? There’s nobody living near me. I could smell tobacco smoke off him, not the cheap stuff that Da used to get, but expensive tobacco like the kind that Mr. Parker used. May God bless his soul. He threw the blankets off me, pulled up my shift and had his way with me. It hurt a lot. Then he patted me on the head and left. He didn’t even have the decency to pull down my shift. I was so shocked I just let him go. Thank God my parents are dead. God forgive me for saying that. I never thought I would see the day when I would say that. I hope nobody ever finds out. He has taken my innocence away and also my peace of mind. I will never sleep peacefully in my bed again. Never. I couldn’t sleep any more so I got up to make myself a cup of tea. Then I saw that there was blood on the sheet. I put it to soak in a basin of water and watched the stain spread. It reminded me of the blood coughed up by Ma and Da when they were dying of the TB. God have mercy on them. And I cried for them and for what happened to me.

Oh my God!, Teresa said, out loud. I can't believe this!

The 13th of May 1926.

Mrs Parker told me that I looked a bit under the weather this morning and I told her I had a headache. What else could I say?

The 15th of May 1926.

I used to sleep like a log but now I don't get a proper night's sleep anymore. I'm terrified and I'm worried that the man will come back again. I now bolt my door every night. I never used to do that before and I also have a big bar on it. It will be impossible for him to get in but I still worry.

The 5th of June 1926.

I wish I could forget about what happened to me the other night but I keep thinking about it all the time and it's driving me crazy. I have nighmares about it. I wake up screaming, and covered in sweat.

The 1st of July 1926. Something is wrong with me. I don't feel well. I'm always tired. I get sick every morning. Could it be TB? Mrs. Parker wants me to see Dr. O'Brien. But I don't want to. I'll wait. Ma and Da never trusted doctors. I come from strong stock. I'll get over whatever is wrong with me without the doctor. I don't have much time for doctors. I'll gather some nettle leaves in the fields and make myself some nettle tea every morning. Ma used to swear by it whenever she needed building up.

The 30th of August 1926.

I was right. I'm alright now but it took some time. I didn't need the doctor and when I told Mrs. Parker, she laughed and agreed with me and said she wished she had my constitution. I am very proud of that word. I had to look it up in the dictionary in the library in the big house to spell it properly. It took me a long time because I had to look up all the words that start with cons. I don't seem to be getting the curse anymore. I wonder why. Maybe that's the way it happens. Maybe I've finished getting it. If that's the case it's a good thing. I hate it.

The 10th of September 1926.

I'm getting fat. My tummy is big and I can't fasten my skirt anymore. I don't like being fat. Not that I was ever too thin. People are looking at me. Yesterday when I went to the shops some women were staring and whispering to each other. I even caught Mrs. Parker looking at me in a funny way this morning.

The 10th of October 1926.

Doctor O'Brien came to the house this afternoon and Mrs Parker had all of us working for her examined. I had to go along since she went to the trouble of getting him. He felt my tummy and my chest. He asked me if I was still having the monthlies. I was embarassed when he asked that question. My face got very hot and I looked down at the floor and told him that I had finished with them a while ago. Then he had the gall to ask me if I was keeping company with a man. I was angry and I told him that I did no such thing, When he left, he said he would be talking to Mrs. Parker.

The 11th of October 1926.

This afternoon Mrs. Parker came to my cottage. She didn't look like herself. She said that Dr. O'Brien told her that I'm going to have a baby. I almost fell off the chair with the laughter. It must be a miracle I told her, I'm not married you can only have children if you are married. She shook her head and said you didn't have to be married to have children then she asked me if I had been with a man I told her I hadn't been anywhere with a man and she said that's not what she meant and had I let a man have his way with me. I didn't know what to say and I didn't know where to look. How did she find out? I said nothing. She asked me the same question again. I started to cry and she must have guessed and her face went as white as a sheet and she said nothing for a while. Then she asked me if I knew who did it. All I could do was to shake my head. I wish Ma was alive. She would have known what to do. Mrs. Parker said she was sorry, then she explained how the baby started to grow in me after that horrible man visited me that night. I couldn't really take in what she was saying. I was in shock. It's such a big shock. It's hard to get my head around it it. I don't know what to do. I don't want to have this man's baby whoever he is, he would be the last person I would choose to be anybody's father. But what can I do? It's the will of God. God help me.

The 15th of November 1926.

My life is not the same anymore. I can no longer do the things that I like because of the way the people in the village are treating me. They just ignore me, they don’t talk to me at all. Every Saturday morning when I went to the village to buy my bits and pieces they used to talk to me, they’ve known me since I was a little girl, but that doesn’t happen any more. They cross to the other side of the road when they see me coming. Even Mrs. Corrigan, Ma’s best friend doesn’t want to see me any more. She said that I am a harlot and a disgrace to my parents and thank God they were dead and never to dirty her house again.. I did not ask this man to do what he did to me. Don’t they realise this? They are treating me like dirt and not like a human being, even the dogs are treated better than this. The other people who work in the Manor house don’t go out of their way to talk to me either.

That's dreadful, Teresa cried, as she wiped her tears with a tea towel that was on the window seat. Didn't they realise that she wasn't responsible for this?

Mrs. Parker is such a good woman. She said that she would look after me and that I would want for nothing. She is a very decent lady, so she is. She's not going to give me the sack and she's not going to throw me out of the cottage. She says what happened was not my fault. She brought over some wool for me to knit cardinans for the baby. I threw the lot into an old cardboard box. I don't want anything to do with this man's child.

Little Miss Sally is my only friend. She's such a nice wee thing. She comes over every afternoon I look forward to her visits. We get on well together. Mrs. Parker doesn’t mind her coming over to me. She just runs across the fields. No harm will come to her. Mrs. Parker became a bit worried after what happened to me but there’s nobody around here during the day, sure don’t I spend a lot of my time roaming in the fields and I don’t see a soul? I can’t stand to be shut in the house for too long even in the winter. She must be lonely in that big house with her parents and the servants for company and nobody of her own age to play with. She’s a lively little thing. We have a tea-party every afternoon. A tea-party for the fairies. She loves it. So do I. I’m still a child at heart. I believe in fairies and I often go to the fairy fort that’s in the far field. Ma was afraid of the fairy fort and she didn’t like me going there but I went anyway. She didn’t know I did it. Even the farmers who have a fairy fort in their fields never have anything to do with it. They’ll plough around it but they take great care not to disturb it. It looks out of place standing there. I think of it as an island that went exploring one day and lost its way. I don’t believe all those stories that you hear about the fairies putting a curse on people who try to destroy their home.

Ma never liked the fairies. She said they were bad and she was always afraid of finding herself on the wrong side of them and offending them. She even shouted at the top of her voice whenever she threw the bath water out of the door on Saturday nights in case she drowned any fairy that might be passing by. She said they are vicious. But I never believed her. The fairies that are in the books in the nursery are dainty creatures who wouldn’t hurt a fly. There are beautiful pictures of them in those books. I couldn’t understand why Ma went on so much about them but I never told her that I thought she was wrong. I couldn’t tell my mother that I thought she was wrong. It wouldn’t have been be right. She used to think that I was different because I like to read and sometimes she would say that I was a changelin. (I don’t know how to spell this word I must look it up in the dictionary in the big house) She said I speak like I’m educated and she said I shouldn’t be getting ideas into my head, that I should remember that I’m only a labourer’s daughter who would get nowhere. But she liked me to read to her all the same. I love to read and I borrow books from the big house. I don't ask anybody, I just take them and I bring them back when I’m finished reading them. Nobody misses them. I’ve read all the books in the nursery but the books in the library are more interesting. I like the books by Annie M P Smithson and I used to read them to Ma. They are so sad and we both used to cry at the sad bits. I miss Ma, I wish she was here now, I would love to have somebody to talk to. I miss Da too, had they still been alive this man wouldn’t have come into my house that night. He knew I was on my own. He must be somebody local, but I’ll never know.

Unfortunately a lot of the following pages had been destroyed by water at some point. Teresa flipped through them until she came to a page where only a few lines were legible.

The 27th of December 1927.

I’ve stopped going to Mass. On Christmas day Mary Buckley caught up with me just as I was walking into the church. She called me a slut and asked how I had the gall to parade myself around the place and to sully the house of God in the state I was in, that I should be ashamed of myself and she hoped that Father McCarthy would refuse to give me communion. I ignored her and went in anyway and stood in the back of the church. I was afraid to go to communion and I left before Mass was over. I never even got to see baby Jesus in the crib. I will never set foot in the church again.

Jesus! It wasn't the poor woman's fault. Didn't they know that? Teresa cried.

I say my own prayers at home in front of Ma’s crucifix. But I do miss the Mass. I loved to listen to the priest saying the Mass in Latin and the choir singing. I love the way Latin sounds. So now I sing the Mass to myself. I know the words off by heart and if I forget anything I can look it up in my missal. But it’s not the same. I miss the organ, I love the sound of it. It’s so rich and wonderful and and booming. I’d give anything to be able to play it. But that’s not for the likes of me. Mrs. Parker has never asked me why I no longer go to Mass. She is such a lady.

The 31st of December1926.

The last day of the year and a very bad year it has been for me. My reputation has been ruined. I feel so low. What will the new year be like? I will become a mother. I still cannot take it in. In February I will have a baby. It's hard to believe. Will I be able to love and care for that baby? I'm not sure what my feelings will be. God help me. I'm afraid, so afraid. Maybe l'll die during childbirth. That would be the best thing. Ma had two friends who died that way. Dear God I don't know what to do. My life will never be the same again. Thank God for Mrs. Parker. She's so good to me unlike the rest of the people in Ballymacash.

The 6th of January 1927

Today is the Epiphany, Women's Christmas when the women are supposed to have a rest and let their hair down. Ma used to love that day. She used to take off to Dublin with the other women who worked for Mrs. Parker and the fathers had to look after the children.The fathers had the day off as well because the children needed minding. Ma made griddle bread the night before and Da boiled a few eggs for the dinner the next day that's the only thing he knew how to do. Ma always looked forward to the Epiphany she said it was the best day of the year. When I was old enough she took me along with her and we always had a great day. As far as I know Mrs. Parker is the only employer who gives the women the day off on Women's Christmas. Since my baby is due in about 6 weeks she won't hear of me doing any work in the house. She said I should rest.

The 17th of January 1927.

I've overheard the other women who work here saying that Mrs. Parker should send me to a mother and baby home and that since I made my bed I should lie on it now and that she would regret being so nice to me and they hoped that Father McCarthy would come to see her and force her to throw me out because I am a slut who was giving such a bad example to the parish. They are so horrible and I thought they were my friends. I didn't do anything wrong. I'm not responsible for what happened to me.

I'm not used to doing nothing. I would rather work, that way I won't have to think about having the baby. I'm so scared. I don't want that baby. God knows who the father is. Please God help me.

The 31st of January 1927.

The baby is due in two weeks. I hope it's dead when its born. God forgive me. Then I won't have to bring up that dreadful man's child. I am scared, very scared. How will I cope? God please help me. Miss Sally is the only one who is looking forward to this unwanted baby, this bastard. She is so excited. Maybe somebody will adopt it. That would be the best thing. I don't want to bring up this child. I don't want it. I don't want it. I don't even want to see it. God HELP ME. HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD PLEASE HELP ME. HELP.

The 25th of February 1927.

My Daisy was born a week ago on the 18th of February. She's a healthy baby and is thriving. She weighed 7 lbs at birth. She's so beautiful. She looks like a doll. She has a great head of black hair. I told the midwife to take her away when she was born that I didn't want to see her but she insisted that I look at her and as soon as I lay my eyes on her I knew that I would do anything for her. I forgot everything else. I love her. God works in strange ways.

She was baptized before I left the hospital. One of the nuns in the hospital took her to the church nearby because she said I was a fallen woman and I couldn't be trusted to do the right thing. God forgive me, I wanted to hit her when she said that. Poor little mite, she’s not responsible for what happened. The nuns treated me like dirt. When it was time for me to leave the hospital Mrs. Parker came to collect me and the nuns told her that she shouldn't have anything to do with me any more and that the only place for me was one of those places where dirty girls like me are kept. Mrs. Parker said that she would do no such thing and it was none of their business because she didn't belong to their church. They told her that Father McCarthy would be paying her a visit. Mrs Parker just laughed and said they