3rd Prize - Short Story Competition 2016
"The Stained Glass Window" by Gillian Brown
In the wee small hours of a County Mayo morning, a jet lagged young woman stepped through the shadows towards the entrance to the church. The spire of St Patrick's, wet from an evening shower, glinted in the moonlight.
Megan paid no attention to the mud underfoot, nor did she hear the whisper of the falling leaves. Her thoughts were still with Nana Kate, back home in Boston. She fought back a surge of loneliness and entered the church.
Despite the late hour, a couple of dozen mourners were already seated, sprinkled like crumbs amongst the pews. A respectful silence hung in the air, all minds focused on their eleven fellow parishioners who went down with the Titanic. On this very night. Over a hundred years ago.
Damp rose from the ancient flagstones and seeped into Megan's bones. She shivered and pulled her coat closer, choosing a seat near the back. Alone, with the best view of the stained glass window. The scene depicting ''The Rescue'' celebrated the lives of those saved in the tragedy as well as of those lost. Each time Nana Kate had sat there beside her, she seemed to forget Megan's presence altogether. It was as if she'd climbed inside the picture and become part of the story itself.
Nana Kate's ma had been one of only three Titanic survivors from this parish. Ever since Megan could remember, she and Nana Kate had flown over from Boston together for the annual memorial service. At least, up until now.
'I can't go this year,' Nana Kate had said.
Megan frowned. 'Why not?'
Nana Kate beamed one of her secretive smiles. 'Remember, I'm over a hundred years old!'
But Megan was sure there was more to her decision than that. Despite her advanced years, Nana Kate seemed perfectly healthy. However, Megan knew better than to pry. An invisible thread of understanding existed between them, much stronger than any bond she had with her Anglo-Saxon mother. It was the Irish blood they shared and a common pride in their ancestry.
Megan gazed across the aisle and up to the window. In daylight, the primary colours of the glass were sharp and vibrant. Backlit by the moon, they took on an eerie quality. All that remained of the Titanic above the waterline was the bow, which pointed up at an angle into a midnight-blue sky, scarred by a slice of new moon. An angry sea pounded the hull, amidst a maelstrom of churning ice. The few remaining passengers left alive clung to the ship's rail. Each fearful pair of eyes was fixed on the last lifeboat, which hung on ropes over the side - far too small to accommodate them all. The scene still turned her stomach.
Megan felt her nana's presence as physically as if she were sitting there beside her. She could smell the chalky odour of her face powder and picture the mysterious smile, which always seemed out of keeping with the tragic occasion. Whenever questioned about this, Nana Kate would reply, 'I'm rejoicing in the good luck God gave me.' Nothing more.
The first time her nana had shown her the stained glass window, she'd pointed to a woman in a green hat. 'She could be my ma. You see the look of terror in her eyes? She's afraid there'll be no space left in the lifeboat.'
Megan studied the woman's face now. The intense fear radiating from her eyes sent shivers down Megan's spine. She clutched her seat and gasped for breath.
Every time Nana Kate told the story, she paused at this same place, before rushing on to the end. 'Just in time, a crew member shouted, ''Women and children first.'' The man in front of my ma was forced aside. His wife and daughter refused to leave without him, so your great-grandma took her chance and leapt into the boat.' Her voice wavered. 'Minutes later, that man…along with his wife and daughter…drowned.'
The murmur of prayers pulled Megan back to the present. She lowered her head and joined in the collective 'Amen'.
Some force drew her gaze back to the window. Megan glanced at her watch. It was the exact time the ship had gone down. To the hour. To the minute. To the second. She felt a tensing of her muscles, as the vision of the sinking ship sucked away her breath and made her skin prickle.
But this time the scene came to life. Her jaw dropped as the sea roared, the waves grew fists, and the tip of the iceberg bared its teeth. The passengers' mouths opened in a silent scream.
A cold panic gripped her chest as she watched the woman in the green hat step forward and leap into the lifeboat. Seconds later, the ropes snapped. The woman's hand flew to her stomach as the boat plunged to the ocean. An icy chill ran through Megan. Then, by some miracle, the boat stayed afloat and was rowed to safety.
A barely-audible, creaking sound reached Megan's ears. She looked around, but the sound came from the window. The terror-stricken passengers left stranded on the ship turned into phantoms, and the bow slipped beneath the waves like a minnow into a shark's mouth. High above, the inky sky fragmented. The moon broke in two.
Megan jumped up, banging her knee on the pew in front, and ran from the church, her heart pounding against her chest.
Outside, dark clouds had stolen the moon and a soft rain fell. She sank onto a bench and dropped her head in her hands. People milled around. An arm lay across her shoulder. A woman was asking questions. 'What's wrong, dear? What is it?'
'The window. The window,' Megan said.
She looked up. In the gloom, beneath unfurled umbrellas, the mourners were peering at her, but all she could see were vague shadows, like the phantom figures she'd seen earlier. No-one else had noticed. If only Nana Kate were there. Nothing like this had ever happened before. For a brief second, she felt the squeeze of her nana's hand.
She'd been nervous and distracted before she left. Why hadn't she listened properly to what she'd been told the night before? She pressed her eyes shut and concentrated hard until - by some miracle - Nana Kate's words came back clearly into her head.
'I too was on that ship with your great-grandma. Her family disowned her and paid her passage to New York to avoid the shame.' Megan could still feel the bony hand gripping her forearm. 'My ma was four months' pregnant.'
Nowadays, being a single mother was no big deal, Megan thought, but a century ago things must have been different. All this time, her nana had kept this hidden. The enormity of it began to sink in. Nana Kate had honoured Megan with a secret she'd kept her entire life. That was what was important. The sharing. The trust. Not the secret itself. A warm glow infused her.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Frowning, she pulled it out. The text read: Very sad news. Nana Kate just passed away. Shall call later. Love you. Mom xx.
Megan gasped. Her hand flew to her throat. A high-pitched moan rose from deep within her. People shuffled around the bench, concerned looks on their faces. She thought of the woman jumping, her hand clutching her stomach, and managed a smile as mysterious as her nana's.
The bells of St Patrick tolled their eleven chimes of remembrance. Megan pulled herself up. The sadness she carried in her heart echoed in her footsteps as she walked back into the empty church. The lights from the votive candles flickered across the stained glass window. All life was gone from the picture now; each pane of glass was back in its rightful place.
She lit a candle for Nana Kate and held it up so that its flame illuminated the face of the woman in the green hat.
A sudden draught sent the candles into a frenzy of flame, bathing the window in a shimmering display of blues, golds and aquamarines. The ship's bow remained tipped up towards the sky, motionless. No-one moved. And yet the woman in the green hat's expression appeared less anxious now. Megan quietened her mind. The force that had gripped her earlier had vanished.
A shadow passed overhead, the candles sputtered and died. Nana Kate's soul had gone to Heaven, but her secret would remain their secret, set forever within the stained glass window.
The End