“In Poland, a contingent of Nazis raided a monastery and shot the brethren as they chanted the Holy Office." Catherine paused to allow the words to
sink in. "We must always stay informed, Mrs. Norwood. The same thing could have happened in England," Her voice grew bolder, "But by the grace of God, and Mr. Churchill, so far it has not! Let us all be thankful for that."
For a minute there was total silence.
"Amen," Jeffrey affirmed, shaking his head at this remarkable woman. Her eyes were filled with violet fire, and her face radiated a glow which came from her very soul. She would make a formidable adversary. He'd never seen her more beautiful than she was just now. The candle light flickered on her face, showing to advantage the proud tilt of her chin, her exquisite facial structure.
And her eyes... he couldn’t get enough of them. She was more than a woman at times, he muttered to himself.
Philip nodded his approbation. "Well said, Sister. Bravo. No one has ever put it better. We could use someone like you on our ticket, and I mean that as a supreme compliment."
Catherine expelled a sigh which seemed to change her back into the submissive, sweet Sister she always appeared to be. "I'm afraid my habit wouldn't get me very far, Mr. Norwood.”
"On the contrary, Sister," Jeffrey broke in. "It might be just the thing to shake up a few old fogies, eh Phil? How could they possibly argue about your sources of inspiration?"
Catherine eyed him. “Is there anyone on this island who doesn't recognize from Whom the Prime Minister receives his?" Jeffrey nodded and the two of them communicated in silence.
"Well, if they could hear you talking, they'd be believers soon enough I should imagine," Philip reiterated with a voice full of emotion. He had eyes only for
Catherine. Jeffrey realized his brother was fascinated by her too. Jeff was feeling possessive of her and couldn't help himself.
Elinore grimaced. "You sound as if you have a personal interest in the war, Sister. May I ask why?" Philip glanced at his wife. She was unusually persistent tonight.
"Yes. When my oldest brother died in the war, I was bitter and my father never got over it. I’d supposed his death was in vain. Now I know better. The bitterness is gone. It’s our duty to check tyranny. Throughout all of history beginning with the death of Abel, the Devil has wreaked havoc upon humanity, yet there has never been anything more devastating than the Blitzkrieg in my opinion."
Her eyes flashed with an intensity which held them all spellbound. "Hitler would wage war upon the entire world, Mrs. Norwood. I firmly believe he’ll destroy civilization if given the chance. We mustn't let that happen," she almost whispered, but her voice still held an awesome power.
Jeffrey felt a lump in his throat. "I agree, Sister. The man is a lunatic. Last month they marched on Greece. There's no predicting what he’ll do next."
For once Elinore had no retort. Never in her life had she felt such animosity for another human being. She would have to be careful that her dislike for Sister Catherine didn’t become apparent to all. She would have to deal with Sister Catherine in her own way and in her own time.
In the midst of the silence, Millie came into the room. "Michael, let's go up to bed now. The adults want to talk and you must get your sleep." The little boy raised his head from the table top where he'd been dozing. Millie's entrance brought them all back to reality. Michael looked at Catherine
beseechingly. "Will you read me a story before I go to sleep?"
“Of course.”
"I want to hear some more about Goupil and Chanticleer." He disappeared with Millie, his chatter lost as they went up the stairs.
"Who’s Goopy?" Jeffrey demanded in a laughing voice, his eyes fixed on her.
"Goupil," she corrected him. "A very clever fox! It's a story of French origin. The events and characters are taken from the little town of Senlis. The children love it.”
“I believe you could make them love anything,” Philip murmured.
Elinore was the first one up from the table. It was all too much. Philip and Jeffrey were both acting like schoolboys. The sister’s innocent display didn’t fool her. That nun knew exactly the effect she was having on them. “Let’s go into the drawing room and see if there’s something on the wireless, Philip.”
Philip followed her out. Jeffrey helped Catherine from her chair and held the door open for her. As she passed him, she smiled. It was when her lips turned up that it happened. He suddenly knew that he loved her more than life. He wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted in his whole life. The desire to take her in his arms was so intense, he had to look away.
Elinore had switched on the wireless and picked up some music. She turned up the volume. Catherine hadn't heard music like that for a decade. It sounded as foreign to her as if it were being piped in from another planet. It was the kind of music her parents used to dance to. Catherine had never danced with a man.
Jeffrey had seated himself on the sofa to read the newspaper. She looked in his direction wondering what it would be like to dance with him. At the thought, she felt shame.
Philip picked up a candy dish from the table and passed it around. "Sister, try these mints. They’re very good."
"No, thank you."
"You didn't eat dinner, either," Jeffrey commented, alert to her every move.
"No.”
"You're not ill are you? Do you need a doctor?" Philip asked with a worried expression. Jeffrey put the paper down and stared at her. Was she sick?
"I hope not," she smiled. "Fasting is supposed to strengthen the spirit, Mr. Norwood."
Philip pressed his lips. "I'm sorry.”
"It's perfectly all right." She was seated on a chair near the fireplace. Jeffrey watched her over the newspaper. He found himself wishing for the intimacy they’d enjoyed in the hospital room. He didn't want to share her with anyone else. There was a great gap, both physically and mentally between them here at the house. Tonight she was more like the Holy Mother, somehow removed from the rest of them.
Another song floated over the air. This time it was sung by a female vocalist. "Who’s that singer?" Philip asked, putting down a magazine. "I've heard her before."
"It's a new Edith Piaf recording," Elinore called over her shoulder. "It's all the rage right now. She's that singer from Paris."
"That's right. She's good. I wish I understood French. “Sister? What is she saying?"
"She's telling a very sad story about a boy who was killed in the war. All his friends had come back to the home town, but he wasn’t among them. The girl who loved him searched the crowds, but he was not there. She asked each one if he had seen her man, but no one knew of his whereabouts. Then the last soldier she met told her that her lover was dead on the field of battle. She went home to cry for the man who would never hold her again."
When she’d finished, she stood up. "I'll say goodnight. I promised Michael a story before retiring."
"We were hoping you would play for us. Just one piece before you go up," Philip asked.
"Please," Jeffrey added.
"I'm sorry, but it’s been a long day. Good night."
"I'll come up with you," Jeffrey said and fairly leaped out of his chair. She turned and walked slowly up the stairs with Jeffrey in quiet pursuit. It was all he could do not to reach out and touch her. Catherine walked into Michael's bedroom and found him tucked in bed, looking at a large book. He looked up.
"Sister ... Daddy ... Look what Millie found for me! My picture album."
They went over to the side of the bed. Catherine sat down and Jeffrey went around to the other side, placing an arm around his son as he sat back. "See, Sister. That's the plane Daddy used to fly when he was little." Catherine smiled at the remark. By "little" he meant when Jeffrey was about her age now.
He was dressed as an aviator, the grin on his face was all encompassing. Even in the faded photo, his eyes sparkled with life. She wished she’d known him then. Michael turned the page. "And that's a picture of t
he Sunderland and the crew."
Jeffrey peered closer. "See that fellow in the back?" Catherine nodded.
"Yes. He looks just like his little red haired boy." The page turned again. This time she saw a somewhat older Jeffrey around thirty, in an officer's uniform, his arm around his wife. She was blond like Jeffrey and Michael and was just a toddler.
"Look, Sister! That's me when I was really little, and that's my mum."
"Yes, darling." Catherine's eyes smarted. "She's very lovely." How painful this must be for Jeffrey. Michael turned the page again to her great relief. There were pictures of Michael in every conceivable pose and more of Jeffrey. "Now, Sister. This is my favorite picture," and he turned the next page.
It was Jeffrey being hoisted on the shoulders of the men of his crew, probably the rescue group. He was fighting to get down and the men wouldn't let him. The looks on their faces needed no translation. Someone had signed it, "In remembrance of one great moment in time. We'd do it again, Commander. The forty-second squadron. Speed, Conway, Trucker, Barry, Al and Deuce."
Jeffrey reached out and closed the book. Catherine had never seen him blush before. "That's enough, Michael. We don't want to bore Sister." Catherine knew there were still more pictures to be seen, probably one of him receiving the Flying Cross. She'd peek later, when he wasn't in the room. She looked at him and their eyes held.
"It couldn't bore me. I've wondered what you looked like in uniform. Her face went hot, "I-I mean, Michael has told me so many things about your life in the coastal command. Now I have a better picture.” She lowered her head, embarrassed.
A strange smile suffused Jeffrey's face. He rubbed his hand in Michael's curly hair. "Come on, son. It's time to go to sleep."
"One story, first?"
Catherine looked at Jeffrey for his permission. How could he refuse? "All right. . . one story, and after that, to bed!" Catherine recounted another exciting episode in the life of the naughty fox, Goupil. Jeffrey could have listened to her tell a hundred tales, but it finally ended and Michael was asleep. She bent over to bestow a kiss while he turned out the light. The door was slightly ajar and there was just enough light for him to distinguish her silhouette in the darkness.
She walked slowly toward him. He didn't want the evening to end. He didn't want any of it to end. She aroused desires in him he never thought possible.
"Goodnight," she murmured as she brushed past him and hurried down the corridor.
"Goodnight," he whispered.
*****
The morning after her arrival at the Norwood house, Catherine stayed close to her room, her religious observances keeping her occupied. Last night she’d felt things for Jeffrey she refused to acknowledge. It was best to avoid him, however Michael wouldn’t let her hide from them all day.
Jeffrey was taking him to a puppet show in the afternoon, and then to dinner in London. As Michael wouldn't go without her, she acquiesced in order to keep him happy. The show was very entertaining and the dinner a gourmet treat the like of which she had never before experienced. Catherine did not know what to choose and left the decisions up to Jeffrey.
"Two chateaubriands, and a wine you would recommend with the dish," he spoke to the waiter. "My son will have the chicken."
"Very good, sir," and the waiter went off. Catherine felt conspicuous in the dining room among crowds of people all elegantly dressed or in uniform. She felt many eyes on her, but nothing was as unsettling as the way Jeffrey would smile whenever she chanced a look at him.
Her attraction to him had become too much for her to handle. She knew in her heart of hearts she should not be out alone with him like this, but she couldn't help herself. She enjoyed being with him more and more.
"Sister?" Michael piped up. "Why don't you tell the Holy Mother that you’re going to stay with us all summer? Daddy said it would be all right." She stared at his father, then looked away. Michael's question had come from out of the blue.
"What would Peter and Brock and Marty and all the others think if I didn't go back? Who would teach them their sums?"
"Sister Margaret."
"But Sister Margaret has to help in the infirmary. We each have our duties, you know that, Michael."
"Would God be angry if you didn't go back?" He was totally serious. She shifted in her chair, disconcerted by his questions. His father was doing nothing to stop him.
"No, darling. He wouldn't be angry, but He would be disappointed. I've promised Him that I would do His work. You wouldn't want me to break a promise, would you?"
He thought about it and then shook his head. "But do you love your work more than me?"
"No, darling," she choked, unable to look at his father. "But you have your daddy and the rest of the family. The children at the convent don't have anyone except the sisters."
"But I want you," he cried and tears gushed forth. Michael suddenly slid out of his chair and crawled up on her lap, hugging her tightly. She bit her lip and looked in Jeffrey's direction for help but his tender expression only added to her consternation. She wiped Michael's tears and pulled his chair right next to hers so the boy would consent to be seated.
The waiter brought the main course and they ate in silence. When it was over, and no one could force down another bite of the delectable food, Jeffrey rose from the table. "I think we should see a bit of London before going home. How about it, Michael? Shall we go past Buckingham Palace on our way?"
"Can we?" he jumped up and down and ran ahead of them out of the restaurant. Catherine hurried after him while Jeffrey took care of the check.
They drove around the buildings and monuments which Michael was anxious for Catherine to see, then started back to Norwood. Michael fell asleep on her lap. His body was completely relaxed. She studied the precious face, the soft round cheeks which had started to fill out again.
The golden curls swirled about his head once more. She couldn't keep herself from bending down to kiss him. She traced the outline of his nose and
lips with her finger. How could she leave him? Catherine sighed aloud. "I want to talk to you about Michael," she began in a low voice. "I think it would be best if you and he were to spend more time together without me, so he can have a normal life.
“He ought to be put in school when your vacation is over. He needs to occupy his mind and find other children to play with. The adult world has made him much too serious."
Jeffrey listened attentively. "I agree, and when I return to London, I'll look into it. However there are only five days of my vacation left and Michael wants us all to spend them together. He and I will have a lifetime together after you leave," he whispered. She heard the tremor in his voice and felt his emptiness for she was suffering the same torment.
Jeffrey was obsessed with thoughts of her. She was an extremely intelligent woman, and she was talented in so many areas. He understood the attachment Michael had formed for her at the convent. The lucky chap had been in her presence for nine whole months. He'd only been privileged to have a little over two weeks with her.
There was a growing ache inside of him. Life would never be the same without her. When he took Michael back to London with him, Millie would help him raise the boy. There were schools in Mayfair where he could enroll Michael. Then he could be with his son in the evenings. But the two of them without Catherine was unthinkable.
He glanced over and saw her face. Her eyes were closed and her head was resting against the window. He needed her tonight. He wanted to tell her how he felt. He wanted to make love to her. A woman so lovely was made for love.
He drew the car into the drive and turned off the motor, then gently lifted Michael from her lap and carried him into the house. Millie was waiting to put him to bed. Catherine paused on the stairway before going up.
"Thank you for a lovely evening. It was sheer luxury," she said and turned to go.
"Don't go yet," he blurted. Her eyes opened wide. He took a step closer to her, one hand resting on the banister. "It's still early.
We could take a walk outside."
"I think not. Goodnight."
"I don't want to say goodnight, Catherine."
She stood perfectly still. He'd just addressed her by her given name. He shouldn't have done that.
“C-Commander,” she stammered, "Have you forgotten I'm here on a holy mission?"
"No," he answered, undaunted. "That still doesn't prevent me from wanting to be with you tonight."
He wasn't easily put off. She didn't know what to say. "But it prevents me," she said, her jaw set.
Jeffrey stared into her half-veiled eyes. She wanted to go with him, he knew it. No matter that her soul belonged to God, her heart and her body told me other things. If he could just break down that will of iron.
"It's a beautiful night, Catherine. You and I don't have many left. Please. I beg you. There’s something I have to say to you."
A dizziness came over her, and she thought she would faint. "Goodnight," she managed to say at last and hurried up the stairs to her room, locking the door behind her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
She fell back against it, completely out of breath. Blessed Mother, she didn't want to do that. He'd never treated her with anything but the greatest respect, but now he was asking something of her that was impossible. If she went with him, heaven help her. She flung herself across the bed and sobbed till she sank into oblivion.
In the middle of the night when woke up feeling nauseated. She went to the bathroom and lost her dinner. Then she lay on her bed weak and listless, staring at the ceiling unable to think or to pray. The ticking of the clock on the wall caused her head to ache. She could feel the presence of the Adversary and fell to her knees. She waited for the comfort of the Holy Spirit to enter her ravaged soul, but no help came. She couldn’t pray.
She was still on her knees when morning came and her aching heart was still torn in two. She had not been comforted. There was no peace to be found in this place. The answer lay in returning to the convent. Another night like last night and she would not have the strength to resist him. Every vow she had made was in danger of being broken. Her mind and heart were so far removed from the Bridegroom she shuddered in abject terror.
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