Phyllis McKenna

Oswald Dupree was born of wealthy parents in the Deep South of Tennessee, a much wanted and loved child. That is until teenage years approached. He started to take an interest in the garments his mother wore, making suggestions for subtle alterations or differing colours – a bow here, a slash there, maybe lift the hem a little.

His parents became confused. Oswald was going to study medicine , become a distinquished doctor, find a cure for something or other and make them proud. But he was telling them he wanted to design frocks!! This just wouldn’t do. They would be the laughing stock of the Country Club. People would talk, which, of course they did.

They labelled Oswald strange, even gay and ridiculed his parents who refused to stand by him.Oswald, reeling under the insults began to doubt himself, began to believe the viscious rumours.

He ran away from home, unable to bear it any longer and to try to discover in which direction his future lay.

He seriously doubted his homosexuality but incessant taunts and comparisons with his elders had turned his world upside down. His family had provided no support for his plans, his love for fashion design, considering it an occupation beneath contempt. His self confidence took a nose dive, until he met like-minded people on his travels and labouriously step-by-step limbed the ladder of the garment world.

His face was in every magazine cover, his story in every newspaper. He was famous and recognised wherever he went. His family tried to contact him, fame winning them over. Two-faced hypocrites.

To escape the media frenzy, Oswald took himself to Ireland – to a little West Coast village named Ballymadoughtery. There to meet his fate and to resolve the conflict within him.

 

Fidelma and Oswald were destined to meet and not only because of their love of the written word. Opposites attract and these two couldn’t be more opposite.

Fidelma was the only child of Frank and Deirdre O’Loan, born in an Irish farming hamlet where sons were gold dust to the families. Growing up strong and sturdy to help around the yard, sons were revered, so Fidelma’s father was bitterly disappointed when presented with a daughter.

He showed his disapproval continuously over the years, ignoring his offspring and daily haranguing his long suffering wife for her barrenness. Fidelma was a difficult birth and left her mother no longer able to conceive.

Eventually, the misery, stress and constant beatings wore down the young mother and she succumbed at a very early age to sickness and death. No strength or will to go on.

Fidelma was inconsolable and at fourteen years of age needed her mother. Her father had no interest in her and used her as an unpaid skivvy.

She had no time for the opposite sex if they all turned out to be like her father and at sixteen she entered the convent of the Little Sisters of Prague. She didn’t see her father alive again.

She took the name Sister Nuala, and as the years passed, through her kindness, goodness and sheer hard work she became the Mother Superior of the establishment.

 

 

But, on numerous occasions Sister Nuala wondered if she had made the right decision to bury herself away from humanity, in isolation, with only her fellow novices for company. The guilt built within her as she realised she was not completely happy, did not feel the uplifting joy she should when in prayer. Serenity was not part of her makeup at the moment. She was restless and craved excitement, provided immediately by an obsession for books by Stephen King. She avidly read the mysterious goings on in his world and relished the anticipation of his next novel.

Gradually her unhappiness deepened, the bright flame of faith wavered and she came to realise that the celibate life was not for her.

Obstacles blocking her freedom were her adherence to Christian values, her love for her sisters and the little spark of faith she had left. But she knew she must go, for her good and the good of the convent life.

She lifted her arms to the sky, screamed out her frustration, ran towards the high gates, through them and into the little village of Ballymadougherty.

She halted in confusion, her senses returning, little knowing that in the next half hour her fate would be sealed.

TO BE CONTINUED….