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A woman with prospects she was until she was raped by her aunt's husband, her uncle, a rich and successful businessman, a man of connections, father to the children in her care. digital photography Such shameful doings were not to be spoken of, and a woman who could not look after her virtue was presumed complicit. Her aunt showed her the door, never wanting this young, pretty nineteen year old with her narrow waist and fine features and wide brown eyes and educated ways and airs in her home in the first place. There were no jobs for a fallen governess, and no Irish teaching credential would serve anywhere but the parochial school.

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A pregnant unmarried girl teaching in a Catholic school? In that day the public schools wouldn't have even taken an married pregnant woman. Sexy-shop on link page So Mary Anne had found Evelyn's father, became a coal miner's wife, better than washerwoman or whore, her primary career options, the best available alternative. digital photography on Top page A man to give a name to her illegitimate, incestspawned son; and to six more children of his own.

digital photography It was a bitter marriage, a loveless aching life for a smart woman who had once had prospects. Her husband for all his rough upbringing was mad in love with her. digital photography Too bad she did not share the feeling. She visited the curse of intelligence upon her children, her youngest Evelyn included, raised them with culture, took them to movies and plays when possible, read to them, sent them to parochial schools, taught them herself. Perhaps it would have been better not to do so, perhaps a life of ignorance is preferable to one knowing and never being able to reach, never to connect, never to achieve. directories What need a coal miner's son or daughter for culture? It was different twentyfive years later when Jack's son John, Jack Junior, Evelyn's father, started; after the unions had gained a measure of control and the laws strengthened; the boys really had to be twelve to start and the worst of the dust was damped and the hours of labor for the boys diminished to thirty in a week until they turned fourteen. Evelyn's father was a sweet man, she would later say, he loved his little garden behind whatever ramshackle house they rented, tended to it with a religious fervor, and as well he was a devout Catholic. He held her in his lap, sitting in the old wicker chair on the porch, softened on Sundays only, with her mother's handembroidered needlepoint cushions, and sang to her in a fine Irish tenor after church.