Chapter 1

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Annie hated the rain. All day, all night, it was raining.

She pressed her face against the window watching the glistening rivulets trail down the glass in ceaseless, hypnotic succession. The window overlooked the street where an occasional car splashed by, disappearing into the abyss of unusually dark, New York City night. Except for a few streetlights, which shed dusky umbrellas of light along the curbs, the only stationary thing that interrupted the darkness was Mrs. Blakemore’s Christmas lights. They had been twinkling in the foggy gloom for hours. Annie tried not to look at them, irritated that their neighbor had elected to travel abroad and leave behind an electric timer to remind them everyday, promptly at dusk, that the holidays had been miserable. She wished it was snowing. Maybe then everything wouldn’t seem so bleak.

Her window perch was situated at the end of the long hallway that dissected the second floor of the large home she shared with her family. If she looked past the rain, she could see a distorted reflection of the corridor stretching out behind her. It was shrouded in somber shadows with faint, intermittent beams of light glowing through the open doorways. It occurred to her that she must have been sitting there for hours. The gray hues of late afternoon had given way to the black shroud of night long ago.

Occasionally the sound of voices intruded upon the solitude, but she did not respond. To speak required thought and interaction. She did not want to do either.

“I still don’t understand how those damned doctors talked Pop into this,” a voice cried. “Mother is too weak!” It was Mack, Annie’s oldest brother. His voice was full of anger and frustration. Typical, she thought.

“That’s why they took the baby early,” a second voice retorted. “For God’s sake, Mack! We’ve been over this a hundred times! It’s like the doctors said--now they can treat the cancer!” That was Andrew, Annie’s twin brother. He rarely expressed much emotion but tonight his voice cracked on that word, cancer.

It was an awful word, a word that no one wanted to use these past few months. And although Andrew had not intended it, the sudden intrusion of that word permeated the restrained silence like a sudden gust of wind that blows out the one remaining candle.

“Anyway,” Annie heard him mutter, “there’s no sense in getting so mad. You’re scaring the other kids. We’ll know more when someone calls, right?”

It was a rhetorical question to which no one responded. Moments later Annie heard her twin escape down the hallway to his own room. She could have given him a smile or a nod to offer him absolution, but she didn’t. There was only the rain.

She wondered why she wasn’t crying. She wept oceans of tears since that day last summer when she was first learned about the cancer. It was discovered when Mother visited her gynecologist to confirm her pregnancy. The overwhelming despair that had filled their lives since then was culminating tonight. Mother was undergoing surgery to terminate the pregnancy seven weeks early. It had not been an easy decision for their father, and Annie knew why. Mother was struggling to stay alive for the sake of the baby and once the birth was accomplished she might...

Annie still could not say the word, even to herself. It was too awful, too final. She forced her mind to turn away from it. There was only the rain.

“Miss Annie?” a voice called. The sound was distorted as if coming from a deep hole. “Miss Annie,” the voice called again, this time accompanied by a timid, hesitant pat. Annie recognized the touch before the voice. It was their nanny, Miss Grace, the elderly woman whose residence had been the bedroom off the nursery since before Annie and Andrew were born. “Do you want me to put the little boys in bed?”

“What time is it?” Annie murmured, still starring out the window.

“It’s late, dear, after ten o’ clock. Joey is asleep on Luke’s lap. The others are just sitting quietly. I didn’t know if I should disturb them or not.”

“I’m sure they will want to stay up until we hear something. Let’s wait a little longer.” She turned away from the window for the first time. “I guess I should go to them.”

They walked arm in arm down the hallway toward her parents’ sitting room, as mother called it, adjacent to the master bedroom. Annie hesitated at the threshold to survey the quiet scene. All eight of her brothers were there, even Andrew who must have rejoined them sometime after his heated exchange with Mack. Just as Grace said, Luke was sitting on the small sofa across from the fireplace with four year old Joey sleeping in his arms. The second youngest, Danny, was curled up close by. He gazed up with red, pained eyes and slid over to make room for her. She drew him near, something she should have done hours ago.

It seemed natural that they were gathered here. The small room, furnished with Mother’s antiquated things brought over from Ireland, was much more informal and intimate than the rest of the modern, sprawling house. The room normally teemed with energy and noisy confusion, but tonight, there was only suffocating silence.

Anxious to turn to her mind away from the agony mirrored in her brothers’ faces, Annie seized upon well-worn and cherished objects that flooded her senses with happy memories. There was the wooden stool, which still stood in the corner near the fireplace. It had been brought up from the kitchen when Annie was three years old so she could stand upon it to brush her mother’s long, beautiful hair. On the small, round table between her parents’ favorite chairs was a stack of familiar children’s books that partially covered the gashes from her brothers’ ice skates and the burn holes from her father’s cigars. Annie inhaled deeply, hoping for a lingering scent of his Havana Specials. That smell was a much a part of this room as the pleasant sounds of the children’s laughter and the somber voices of their parents holding court.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to do it, darlin’,” mother would say, defending the latest transgressor. “He’s sorry and promises to never do it again, right?” She would squeeze the culprit’s hand with a reassuring smile.

“Well, you know how I feel, Kathleen,” Daddy would retort. “You are much too easy on these children.” That was as far as it ever went. The felon was excused, repentant and forgiven, and the incident forgotten. But those echoes of happiness had long since faded away and now this place was a waiting room.

“Jesus! Why doesn’t anyone call?” It was Thomas, Annie’s fourteen year old brother. His face was twisted with agitation and bitterness. He jumped up from his chair and began pacing. “It’s all because of the baby! If Mother had an abortion, they could have started the treatments months ago.”

“Thomas!” Andrew hissed. “An abortion? Mother?”

Annie, as well as everyone else in the room, knew what he was saying. Their mother’s faith, her rigid Catholic beliefs, would never permit her to abort this baby even if it meant saving or prolonging her own life. Daddy had tried to talk to her about it, but he should have known she would never consider it, under any circumstances.

“Why don’t you just shut up.” Mack fired toward Thomas. “This is not the time to be saying shit like that!”

Once again there was silence. Why were anger and guilt such a part of this, Annie wondered? It began when she came home from college last summer and suspected that Mother was pregnant again. The mere thought that her parents would consider having another child at this stage of their lives enraged her. Full of selfish indignation, she confronted her mother. “For God’s sake, how could you?” she exploded one afternoon when they were alone in this very room. It was then that she noticed the pained expression on her mother’s face.

“Annie,” Mother began, “I don’t want you to be frightened, but Dr. Prichett found something else, too. He says there’s a growth – here.” Her hand touched her left breast.

The flood of fear and self-loathing that engulfed Annie at that moment became her constant companion. She stood by helplessly as the cancer spread to Mother’s bones and lungs so that even breathing was difficult. Her hospitalizations became longer and more frequent.

And now tonight, her father or one of the nurses will call soon with news about the baby. The doctors said it should survive, but Annie was afraid for this baby, too. What if something was wrong with it? Mother’s health had deteriorated badly as the pregnancy progressed. Annie knew enough about basic anatomy and physiology to know that anomalies in these situations were possible.

She stared across the room at little Joey. As usual, he was oblivious to the turmoil surrounding him. His cherub-like face gave no clues to his body’s imperfections. He was born with twisted legs and a mind that developed slowly. No one dared to use the word “retarded” around Mother. It was Daddy who seemed unable to cope, as though he felt guilty or ashamed. Mother never criticized him. It only served to make her devotion to the child stronger.

And now that responsibility would fall upon Annie’s shoulders. Would she be able to love and care for him as well as Mother? What about the rest of them? Danny was six and Peter was ten. They would be looking for her to fill the void. A wave of recurring panic swept over her as it always did when she allowed herself to feel afraid. There were only questions with no answers and the rain.



Like a shrill explosion invading the quiet, the phone rang.

Andrew, Annie, and the others crept close to it but no one touched it until Mack reached over and picked it up. “Hello,” he murmured. “Yes, Dad? . . . Well, that’s certainly good news…A girl. Yes, Annie will be pleased…She’s right here…I’ll tell her…Of course…Sure…Bye, now.”

He hung up the receiver slowly and then cleared his throat before he turned to face the throng pressing against him. “Pop says the baby is doing fairly well. It’s a girl.” His voice failed him then as he struggled to keep his composure. “She’s almost four pounds, but that’s pretty good, don’t ya’ think?” He managed a grin. “Mama must have come through it pretty well ‘cause she’s awake. She’s asking to see you, Annie.”

All eyes turned toward her. A brief instant of panic crossed her face, but then she visibly squared her shoulders and set about the tasks at hand. “Would you call William to bring the car around, John? And Luke, you’d better tell Miss Grace about the baby and help her put Joey to bed. Peter, Danny--you boys brush your teeth and go to bed, too.” She was walking as she talked, leading them down the stairway into the foyer. It was easy to see how frightened they were, but there was no time to go into all that now. “Don’t forget your prayers,” she added as she reached into the closet for her coat and umbrella.

“But, Annie,” her twin pleaded. “Shouldn’t one of us go with you? I could go.”

“No, Andrew,” she said, giving him a quick hug. “The other boys need you. And Daddy would have said if he wanted you to come. It’s late. I’m sure you can see her tomorrow. I’ll call you later if I can, but don’t wait up, okay?”

She was trying to sound calm and matter-of-fact but they could see she was trembling as she buttoned her jacket. There were quick kisses all around and by that time, they saw the lights of the car waiting at the curb.

The boys stood huddled together and watched through the open door as she dashed to the car to be driven off into the rain.

Mildred Francis O’ Sullivan was a licensed nurse in three states, parts of Canada, and back home in Ireland. She had the reputation of being a tireless worker and always reliable. And of course, she was also kind and gentle so that many of her patients asked for her by name at the private duty pool through which she worked. But here tonight, with this patient, she was simply, “Cousin Millie”.

It was part of the bargain struck more than twenty years ago when she and her sister, Patricia, were young nursing students, scrimping their way through school in Dublin. Somehow their cousin Kathleen heard of their troubles and started sending them money all the way from America. She had married a rich young man from New York City after the war. However, the O’Hara girls were proud and weren’t about to take charity.

Cousin Kathleen sent a letter, insisting that they take the money as a loan. She told them how much money could be made nursing in the states. There were nurses, she said, who got permits to work only a few months. They made enough money to return home and live nicely the rest of the year. She herself was expecting her first child that summer. The idea of strangers tending to her baby was so worrisome that she wondered if perhaps one of them would be licensed and be able to come by then.

That’s the way it had been ever since. Millie, Patty, and two others took turns coming from Ireland to do a three-month tours of private duty nursing. In return for the generosity shown those many years ago, one of them was always there for Kathleen when she gave birth to another baby or when one of the boys broke an arm or had the flu. Of course, Mr. Winston always insisted on paying generous wages, saying he’d rather pay them than a stranger.

Millie crept around the room, checking the flow of oxygen or the intravenous drip. She drew near when her patient stirred. “Don’t ya’ worry none now, Kathleen,” she whispered, “Cousin Millie’s right here.” She had never minded caring for a dying patient. She wasn’t like this new breed of nurses who seemed so afraid of death that they were obsessed with doing every conceivable measure to prevent it. She had accepted the inevitability of death a long time ago.

During all those years, although she had come to care deeply for many of her patients, she had never once wept. Tonight was different. She whisked her handkerchief form her pocket more than once. Kathleen needed the touch of knowing, loving hands, and Millie would stay at her side until the end.



Annie came down the corridor with slow, cautious steps. She was nervous about seeing her mother and didn’t know how to keep it from showing. She rapped on the door, and Millie came to usher her in.

“She’s been asking for you, darlin’, but she just went back to sleep,” Millie whispered. “Just sit with her for a few minutes. She’ll wake up soon. I’m goin’ to step out to that little lounge around the corner and check on your Da’. Now don’t be frightened.”

Annie stood motionless for a long time after Millie left. She could see in the dim light the pale body silhouetted beneath the ghostly white sheets. Annie was shocked to see how thin and fragile her mother looked. Her colorless cheeks were sunken and her hair was matted and uncombed. There were all manner of tubes invading her body. Annie recognized most of them.

There was the larger, bloody tube that appeared from beneath her sheets at Mother’s mid-section, connected to the calibrated chambered apparatus bubbling at the bedside. Annie knew that was the chest tube, inserted to prevent Kathleen from drowning in her own fluids. There were also the familiar clear plastic tube bringing life-sustaining oxygen. Millie put cotton to cushion the tubing where it crossed Mother’s cheeks, for even that minute amount of pressure could peel open her thin, nearly transparent skin. The repugnant odor of purulent drainage and diseased tissue permeated the room.

Annie was engulfed by a new wave of anger and self-pity. Why was she being forced to look at her mother like this? She envied her brothers back home in their beds. She would rather remember her mother as she was before. She moved with such elegance that most people thought she was royalty rather than Irish peasantry. When she dressed for formal occasions, Kathleen looked like a fairy princess going to the ball. As a little girl, Annie sat on the four-poster bed, chatting away while Mother dressed.

Annie’s responsibilities were to help chose the jewelry and fasten the clasps of the selected pieces. And then, when her father came into their bedroom, he would whisk Mother into his arms and kiss her with such passion and adoration. It always seemed to Annie that they would blend together in such a way that they ceased being separate entities. Theirs was a love that others envied.

Poor Daddy. How he suffered these past months. At first he refused to believe that Mother was so sick and then he began torturing himself because he was powerless to help her. What will happen to him now, Annie wondered. For the first time today, unchecked tears sprang to her eyes.

Just then Mother stirred. “Mama?” Annie whispered. “I’m here.”

“Oh, Annie, I’m so glad to see you,” Kathleen murmured.

“You mustn’t talk now. You should rest so you can get stronger.”

“Did you see the baby?” Kathleen sighed, smiling. “I’m so glad it’s a girl, but I’m worried about her. Love her especially hard,” she pressed, a desperate urgency choking each word. “Help her understand it wasn’t her fault.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll love her especially hard, I promise,” Annie cried. She would have promised anything just so her mother would lie back and rest.

“It won’t be very easy for you, darlin’. You’ll be thinkin’ that it’s all up to you to do the mothering. And maybe that will give you joy for awhile, but --”

“No, Mama, they need you. Sleep now so you can get better. Please!”

“Annie, listen, there’s a whole wonderful world out there. You’ve got to go out and find yourself. Be happy, darlin’. Just be happy.” Her voice became fainter as she struggled to breathe. “My Rosary. I can’t seem to find it.”

Annie’s fingers crept under the pillow and placed the well-worn beads within her mother’s grasp. She sat numb and silent as Kathleen whispered the gentle words until she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 2

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