Intercession of the Holy Virgin and Saint Ite

Ite entered the cool interior of the church, a reverent stillness guiding every step. She dipped her hand in the holy water and crossed herself, invoking the power of the Virgin Mary’s intercession and blessing.

She was tired. Her days were long – up at 5am to ready the breakfast for her Da and brothers before they went to work, the long trudge across town, often in the rain, to the McInerny’s house, where more cleaning, caring, fixing, and polishing awaited.

Ite loved the little McInerny’s, Orla two years old, and Keira now four and ready for more learning than Ite could provide. They were sweet, funny, and quite affectionate – but when they weren’t napping, they were a whirlwind to be contained.

At half four, she had asked Mrs McInerny if it would be all right with her, if she cut some of the Marigolds from the garden so she could take them to the church on her way home, Father Bailey had mentioned the alter needed some brightening up.

Permission granted, she took a little more than was decent, and now in search of vases, she carried the effusion of golden blooms into the vestry.

Genuflecting at the statue of the blessed Virgin, she felt her stomach flutter, as though she had swallowed a goldfish.

Perfectly alone, she filled two of the bronze alter vases with the flowers, focussing on shuffling them around to their best advantage. They were a golden offering, nature’s coins because she had nothing else to give.

As she, moved to the alter she placed the vases each side, bowing at the sight of the suffering Christ.

She returned to the pews and took time to say a prayer.

“Our Father who art in heaven,” but her thoughts went this way….

Jesus, I can’t bear your suffering. Mother Mary how sad, how terrified you must have been to see what became of your son. The little baby boy you played peekaboo with, whose tiny hands you held to clap and sing songs…. betrayed, arrested, beaten, and killed. It is a pot of suffering my mind can’t hold. I try, but I still don’t understand why it had to be that way.

Ite sighed and made the sign of the cross again. She left the Church feeling low, uncomfortable and a little nauseous.

It started to rain, a bleak drizzle. Drawing her cardigan tighter around herself she picked up her pace. Head down, her mind flooded with thoughts of Michael, bringing waves of unwieldy warmth to her body.

He was so handsome and kind. He’d bought her a cup of hot chocolate the night it happened. She had never had hot chocolate before, and her mouth watered recollecting the velvety sweetness of it.

He’d held her hand all the way home. It was warm and firm and felt like belonging, even though she had to scan the street to be sure no-one would see them together.

If her father or brothers had seen her, she would have copped a beating, and worse, they would have done the same to Michael.

Michael was 18 and had a plan to head to Australia. He had thought it all out, he said; he would go to Sydney first and then try to get work in the country somewhere. He was a good carpenter, and he knew a lot about sheep.

He told her there were farms in Australia almost as big as the whole of Ireland. She didn’t believe him, but she loved the way it made his green eyes sparkle when he talked about it, so she didn’t scoff or challenge.

“Is it a long way?” she’d asked.

“Very far,” he whispered kissing her cheek.

And the thought of that distance drew them closer together and into the woods until skin to skin, for a moment, they became a single person, inseparable.

That was six weeks ago, and now Michael had his ticket for Australia. He was leaving in four weeks.

She felt black and dried up inside. She wanted to go with him. Like Ruth from the Bible, she would have followed Michael anywhere.

“Why not,” Michael had smiled, “why don’t you come too?” And she could think of a million reasons, starting with her father saying it would be over his dead body. Then there were the little McInernys, who she loved fiercely, they would be terribly let down.

Sunday after Mass, she busied herself around the house, tidying up, finishing the dishes, and ironing Da’s shirts for the week ahead. She made everyone a light lunch, boiled eggs, bread, cheese, and cold sausage. Her brothers and her father sat waiting to be served. They talked about the working week, about football, and gossiped about old Sean whose excessive drinking had landed him in gaol after a big donnybrook at the pub.

She took her place at the table, but they didn’t notice. She was like a servant in the house, indispensable but invisible.

****

Ite’s brothers pushed their plates aside and headed out, keen to help one of their friends work on a wreck of car they all hoped to get on the road by summer. Da turned on the radio and settled in his armchair with the weekend paper and a glass of beer.

She quickly cleared the table and put on her coat and on the pretext of a walk to clear a headache, she headed down the lane that led to the woods to meet Michael.

Ite had been feeling queasy all week, and when she reached their meeting place, she threw up all of her lunch, just as Michael arrived. She flushed with embarrassment.

He had brought her a little chocolate, but she couldn’t face it without feeling sick again.

Michael looked troubled and she asked him what was bothering him.

“Are you poorly, Ite?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, I must have rushed here too quickly, and I have a headache.”

Michael looked at her questioningly.

“Have you had your monthlies?” he asked stammering with the question.

She flushed a deep crimson. What a question for a boy to ask, why would he want to know such a thing.

“Ite, do you know about having children…I mean sex…and getting in the family way.”

She turned pale. Her mother had no sisters and since her death, Ite had lived without the counsel of caring women and knew very little about her own body. When she turned 14 and her first period arrived, she had been both terrified and mortified.

Despite an antipathy between neighbours, her Da had asked Mrs Bailey next door to “talk to the girl about the women’s business” and she had endured a brief and embarrassing address from Mrs Bailey who taught her how to deal with the “curse” but not much more.

Now she remembered how sick Mrs McInerny had been when she was expecting Orla. It was one of the main reasons Mr McInerny had employed her, to save his wife the effort of looking after Keira while she was pregnant.

And as the word pregnant sat on the edge of her thoughts, the Virgin Mary was there too, a beautiful golden baby Jesus on her hip as she walked to the well to fetch water in the harsh heat of Bethlehem. Where was Mary’s father when she found out she was pregnant? Did he want to beat Joseph to a pulp? That would have been a mistake because Joseph was innocent. It was God’s child, and Mary’s father could have no truck with God.

Michael clasped her hand, breaking her faraway stare.

“We’re too young, Ite, to have a babe, you’re only 16, and I am going to Australia…I have my ticket,” he whispered, almost to himself.

Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she began to shake all over, and Michael held her to his chest and cradled her.

He could feel her pulse racing and saw the panic in her eyes. He knew what happened to girls who conceived out of marriage. He’d seen the laundry girls, full bellied, dressed in grey and beige, hands raw from detergent and hot water, all overseen by sharp-beaked, black-robed nuns, looming like ravens.

Instinctively he rocked her.

“Michael,” she started, “do you like me more than other girls?”

“Ite, I swear there are no other girls,” he said.

“I may be 16 Michael, but I love you and I want to come to Australia with you, I know the Blessed Virgin will keep us safe.”

His throat tightened and as he kissed her cheeks, he prayed that baby would be taken to heaven, an innocent, an unformed soul, on the wings of the angels.

****

Ite owned one valuable thing. A golden cross on a necklace that had been her mother’s. It was wrapped in a handkerchief in a box under her bed.

Now, it was on the counter at the pawnbrokers. He’d looked her up and down suspiciously when she brought it in. She was young, but she didn’t look like a thief, so he turned the cross over, looking for the hallmarks.

He offered her £10. She looked at him and said she really needed £15 but he would only give another 50p.

She took the money, hurrying to the café where Michael was waiting. Together they walked to the ferry office and paid the £5 for her passage to Liverpool, where the big ships left for Australia.

They would leave on Friday at lunchtime – she would tell Mrs McInerny she was feeling poorly and needed to go home early.

****

Mrs McInerny had been sympathetic and kind to her. Ite had just finished giving the girls morning tea and clearing up when she asked her if she could go home.

“I am feeling a little unwell,” she said, her eyes welling with tears at the secret thought of never seeing Orla and Keira again.

It was a convincing display, and she was sent home without a fuss. She left through the garden, picking a handful of Marigolds on her way.

She crept into the church quietly and headed to the vestry. Filling a small vase with the flowers and setting it underneath the statue of Mother Mary, she knelt to pray.

“Hail Mary full of Grace…

Oh Mary, how scared you must have been when God chose you to have his only begotten son. I think you were young just like me and you didn’t know you were going to have a baby. Fancy finding out you were pregnant from an archangel. How strange. Please look after me and help me to be a good mother and to be strong like you no matter what happens.”

She gathered herself up and bowed. The virginal face of the Madonna looked on serenely.

****

At the ferry, Michael looked harried.

He had thought long and hard about Ite, about the baby, about leaving Ireland behind, both with and without her. He was no more ready to be a father than she was to be a mother, but somehow as big and gut-wrenching the whole situation was, he knew Ite was a part of him.

So, he smiled when he saw her. Her auburn hair and hazel eyes glowed in the midday sun. He opened his arms to greet her, and she nestled into his shoulder. They would marry in England before the next leg of their journey.

They climbed the gangplank with nothing but a backpack and a tiny suitcase.

Inside the suitcase, in between a cardigan, a blouse and a skirt, there were two holy picture cards, one of the Mother Mary and baby Jesus and one of Saint Ite, surrounded by Marigolds.

*****

I hope you enjoyed this story - Saint Ite is an Irish saint but is not associated with Marigolds although was one that pregnant women prayed to, to ensure a safe pregnancy.