Lovers in Enemy Territory

by Rebecca Winters

  Catherine was not fully aware of the impact of her words on Miguel. She had no doubt that what she’d told him had damaged her character in his eyes. She’d been a nun, and now she’d given all that up to do something very ordinary in the eyes of the world. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes.

  Miguel started talking. "It won't be safe for you to remain here. You may not know anything about the whereabouts of Commander Norwood, or the details of his missions, but the Gestapo thinks you do. Perhaps he has been trying to contact you. I have no way of knowing. Somehow they have information about the two of you and are looking for you, Sister.

  “You’re going to have to leave here. My friends will arrange for you to get back to England along with the injured flyer. It’s your only chance to get out of Spain alive."

  "Surely not?" she cried.

  “They’ll come to the convent for you. Now that you have told me this, I have no doubts whatsoever. Even if you had nothing to tell them, and it is obvious that you don’t, you would not be safe. Forgive me for being so blunt, Sister, but you are much too beautiful."

  He realized he still called her sister. That was a habit that would be difficult if not impossible to break despite everything he knew. "They would use you in any manner they desired, and believe me, you would pray for death when they finished with you. Besides, they might make reprisals against the other sisters for giving you refuge. It’s not only your well being that’s at stake. Think of the others."

  Catherine hung her head, wracked with guilt.

  "The Gestapo will have to move carefully where a nun is concerned, but mark my words, it’s just a matter of time till they come to the priory for you. God is with you. We’ve been warned in time, and the arrival of the sisters from Italy has come just in time.

  “On the way back from the village this morning, I’d decided that I would take you to Ortega's hut. That’s exactly what I intend to do, but we will leave now instead of waiting until tomorrow."

  "But I can't just leave, Miguel. The Holy Mother wouldn’t understand."

  "Leave that to me. I will speak to her and explain everything. You’re no longer a nun. You’re free to leave. When I tell her everything, she will wish for you to escape. Don’t worry. There’s is much to do and we have to be away from here within the hour. I want you to listen carefully to what I have to say."

  She looked up, alert to his business-like tone. "I want you to change out of your habit immediately. Don't be so shocked. The Gestapo is looking for a nun in white, not a peasant girl. By the way, is your hair dark?" She nodded in a daze. "Good, that will help. Later, we will stain your skin with wild berries. Your coloring is much too fair for a Basque. While you are changing, I’ll pack food and supplies to take to the hut. Go out to the cart in back when you are ready"

  "Miguel, I’ll do as you say, but are you certain the sisters will be in no danger? What if the Germans should retaliate and do something terrible to them?"

  "Don’t worry. You’ve received your dispensation. Leave the paper with your habit so that the Holy Mother has proof that you’ve left the sisterhood. They’ll recognize the official seal of the Papacy. The Holy Mother can honestly tell them that you have gone away, and she knows nothing. They will have to believe her. "

  "I hope you're right. But what about you? The Germans know we’ve worked together. They will be watching you."

  "Possibly. That’why I’m going to stay at the hut for a time, completely out of sight with you. It will be like a vacation. We deserve one, don't you think?" He smiled for the first time.

  "Yes. You are a very godly man, Miguel. I do not deserve such help and kindness."

  "Enough of that talk. Now hurry, and remember, Sister. Change everything you have on!"

  Heat swamped her when she realized what he meant. They exchanged glances and she left the classroom, heading for the dormitory. There was a closet full of old clothes which had been washed and put away for those patients who were in rags.

  For the first time in years, it occurred to her she had no clothes of her own, no worldly possessions of any kind. Nothing except the habit which she was about to discard. It was a new feeling to know that in a few minutes she would walk away from these walls in ordinary clothes, never to return.

  She almost ran to the dormitory, her mind in turmoil, and then cold fear took over. Her hands shook as she rummaged through the folded clothing. She pulled out some dresses, but most were too small. At the bottom of the pile was a faded blue dress, longer than most of the others. Perhaps it would fit. She reached for the largest pair of shoes she could find, work shoes with thick soles. She gathered up a petticoat and stockings, and went to her room to undress.

  Her fingers wouldn’t stop shaking as she removed the wimple from her head. She unfastened the scapular, then the habit. They dropped to her feet. She removed the heavy black boots and stockings, finally her undergarments. It didn't seem possible that this was really happening.

  She quickly dressed in the borrowed clothes. The dress had a square cut neck and puffy sleeves which reached to her elbows. The bodice hugged her rib cage and revealed the outline of her firm breasts. She felt as naked as a new born babe, but there was nothing to be done. There were no other clothes.

  Catherine trembled as she sat on the edge of the straw mattress and pulled on the stockings. The shoes were too small. She had to work to get them on. Still, they were better than no shoes at all.

  When she was ready, she folded everything neatly, placing the crucifix and dispensation on top of the habit and headed for the chapel. It was early afternoon. The sisters would be about their duties. She hoped that no one was in the chapel. She tiptoed inside and went to the rail. Her eyes fastened on the altar. Catherine sank slowly to her knees and laid the clothes at the feet of the Mother of God. Her hand rested briefly on the crucifix, and suddenly she found herself dissolved in tears.

  She poured out her heart, thanking God for this blessing at this trying period of her life, and asked that He be with her during these times of danger. and peril. She prayed for Jeffrey and Michael, for Miguel and the sisters.

  As she continued, she was aware someone had entered the chapel and was kneeling at her side. Catherine finished her prayer and looked around. It was the Mother General and the Holy Mother. Their eyes shone with love and kindness. The Mother General made the sign of the cross over Catherine's head, then bowed her head in prayer.

  The Holy Mother did likewise. Catherine stood up, slipped the ring from her finger, placed it at the feet of the Mother General and hurried out of the chapel.

  Another wagon, much like the one that had been burned, was sitting beneath a tree. The mule turned to look at her. She climbed numbly into the seat and sat there in a daze, pulling her skimpy skirt over her knees. The sun was shining overhead. Never had there been a more beautiful day in the mountains, but she was not thinking of the weather. Her emotions were in turmoil ... everything had happened too fast. She wasn’t prepared to be catapulted back into the world like this.

  Miguel appeared with a basket heaped with supplies and they were off. Neither of them spoke for over an hour. He sensed Catherine was distressed and could only imagine her feelings at such a moment. It wouldn’t be easy to walk away from her former life, even if she’d requested her freedom. He chanced a look at her from time to time.

  Often he’d wondered what she would look like without her habit, but he wasn't prepared for what he saw now. Her hair was black as night and hugged her head in soft, short curls which framed her beautiful face. Her arms were long and tapered. She looked even taller without the billowing habit. Her body was voluptuous and ripe as a peach. He stared at her, unable to pull his eyes away.

  "Holy Mother of the Sepulchre," he muttered beneath his breath and crossed himself. "Ai, ai, ai!" he sighed. There was no woman anywhere in the Pyrenees who looked like that.

  Catherine felt his eyes on her. It was hard enough discarding the habit without feeling his disturbing gaze. She wrapped
her arms around her in an effort to hide her exposed flesh but it was no use.

  "You are very, very beautiful," he spoke boldly. Catherine crimsoned. She looked down at herself. She'd never given any thought to her body, but now she blushed. She looked up at the sky and then closed her eyes. This was what it meant to be out in the world. To be constantly aware of one's self, the way one looked, the way one fixed one's hair, the clothes one wore. It was an experience for which she wasn’t prepared. She felt like an unveiled statue on display for the first time. Miguel's eyes didn’t leave her.

  "Miguel," she finally whispered. "Must you stare?"

  "I'm sorry, Sister," he blurted and fixed his eyes on the road ahead. It was difficult to concentrate on anything else. Seeing her this way made him think many forbidden thoughts, yet there was an inner purity which still radiated from her. She was still untouchable. The mixture of saint and woman was tantalizing.

  Catherine returned to her thoughts. She truly was being watched over, her path was prepared before her. Though she was frightened, she had the deep seated assurance that God had her in his care. Strange that her faith seemed suddenly even stronger.

  Her mind wandered to the injured flyer. What must his thoughts be, alone in a shepherd's hut with no one to talk to? She'd almost forgotten about him. “Miguel, you never did tell me about your talk with the Englishman. Am I a good English teacher or not?"

  "You are, but I'm a poor student. I think I made myself understood. Of course it was all very basic. He’s an intelligent man and very grateful for our help."

  "I can imagine how thankful he must be, for I feel the same way now. Is he young?"

  "I think he’s in his mid to late thirties. There’s a maturity about him. He’s no boy."

  "The poor man, probably has a family somewhere and no one knows if he’s dead or alive."

  "I would like to see the look on his face when you appear on the doorstep speaking English no less. That should help him to recover in a great hurry.”

  Catherine averted her eyes. "And if he is normal, he will fall in love with you right away. Forgive me, Sister, I shouldn’t say such things."

  "Miguel, I’m no longer a nun. Don’t ask my forgiveness any more. There’s nothing to forgive. You can say what you think in front of me. I must get used to such talk. You have no idea how strange it is for me to be re-entering society after eleven years among the sisters. I have to readjust my thinking. It will take time, but it’s a fact of life and I’ll need your help.” She smiled.

  "You can depend on that Sis-" He stopped. "May I call you Catherine?"

  "Please do from now on."

  “I might forget. In a way, you will always be Sister Catherine to me."

  "I shall never forget that once I was Sister Catherine," she said quietly, and they rode on in silence, their bodies swaying as the cart bumped roughly over the mountain road. Evening came on and the pines cast long shadows over the landscape.

  Miguel broke the long silence. "It’s getting chilly now that the sun has slipped below the horizon. There’s a blanket in the back. I'll get it for you."

  "Thank you.”

  Once she was wrapped in the covering, he began thinking out loud. "If you and the airman were to pose as a farm couple from Northern Spain, my friends and I could outfit you with a mule and wagon, and you could travel the back roads to Portugal, hiding out at night in the huts of trusted friends.

  “Eventually you would reach the coast and we could get you out of the country on a fishing trawler. Some of our boats have radios and you could be picked up by one of your English ships. I think it’s a good plan. If you travel as a married couple with forged identification papers, there should be no trouble.

  “I’ve brought black dye with me to disguise the hair of the flyer. But he will not be ready to travel for several weeks. He must not go anywhere till I can remove the splint. A broken leg would be a dead giveaway to the pigs."

  Catherine listened to his ideas, but she couldn't imagine how any of it would work out. She shook her head in amazement, then sadness. If she had to wait several more weeks before they could leave the Pyrenees, it would make the separation from Jeffrey that much harder to bear. She didn't think she could stand it. Always she’d pictured herself discarding her habit and driving back to London, seated at Jeffrey's side with Michael on her lap. She was helpless now, dependent on the goodness and generosity of Miguel. He was her only hope. Jeffrey would suffer when she didn’t return to England at the expected time. And Michael. It could upset him all over again.

  *****

  The stars were twinkling in the heavens as the cart drew closer. Jeffrey had been gazing out the window of the loft, studying the constellations and breathing deeply of the invigorating mountain air. For over a week now, he'd been confined to the hut. He was more than grateful for the food and shelter provided by Luis and Miguel, but he was not used to such inactivity. He'd done some sketching until he'd run out of old newspaper.

  He didn't dare venture outside for fear of being spotted and had to remain patient and wait for Miguel's return. The idea that Catherine was only ten kilometers away haunted him endlessly. There was no way to get in touch with her until he could maneuver better, and that wouldn't be for some time.

  And there was always the possibility that she’d returned to England. His leg was still far from being healed enough to withstand the long walk to the priory. The last few nights a restlessness had come upon him so disturbing he couldn’t sleep. He ached for Catherine and his son. Suddenly he caught sight of the mule-drawn cart slowly making its way up to the doorway of the hut.

  He strained to make out faces. It was Miguel, and there was someone seated at his side, but the figure was huddled under a covering. It was impossible to distinguish details from this distance.

  "Thank heaven he has come back," he murmured aloud and hurriedly reached for his crutches. He hobbled over to the ladder and edged down to the ground floor.

  Luis was sitting in a chair before the fire, deep in concentration. He was worried because it had been a week now and Miguel hadn’t yet come back. He heard the crutches and looked up to see the Englishman's happy face looking down at him.

  "Miguel!" Jeffrey pointed to the door. Luis stood up and cocked his head to listen. Sure enough there was the unmistakable sound of hooves outside. Luis smiled back and flung wide the door before Miguel could knock. The surprised young Basque stepped inside to hug the old man affectionately. Jeffrey extended his hand in greeting. Miguel grabbed hold of it and shook it vigorously, noticing with satisfaction that the flyer seemed healthy and fit. Then the two Basques began a lengthy conversation, much to Jeffrey's consternation, for he had many questions to ask.

  For a moment Jeffrey's eyes strayed outside. He saw the other figure descending from the cart, still enveloped in a blanket.

  Catherine gathered up the basket in her arms and slid off the seat on to the ground. She worked her way around to the end of the cart. For a brief moment Jeffrey caught a glimpse of the lower half of her face. It was only the merest glance, but the proud thrust of chin, the fullness of the wide mouth were unmistakable even from this distance.

  There was a hammering in his ears. He pushed past the two men and hurried out into the darkness. Catherine was just coming around the other side of the cart, her head lowered. Had he been mistaken? Was his mind playing tricks on him? That had to be it! He wanted her so badly, his mind had conjured her up.

  Still, the figure moved closer. He called her name. She stopped where she was, frozen to the spot.

  Her eyes traveled from the work boots, the bandaged leg, up the lean body clad in Basque clothing, and came to rest on the handsome bronzed face, the golden hair.

  "Jeffrey," she whispered in disbelief. Suddenly the basket was on the ground, the contents spilling out in all directions. The blanket slid from her head down

  her shoulders and fell to the earth in a heap. The light from the doorway illuminated her exquisite face turned momentarily w
hite from the shock of seeing him.

  He was instantly reminded of a description from an old fairy tale: "Lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow, hair as black as ebony." That described his fair Catherine. His eyes took in the curves of her magnificent body. He could scarcely breathe.

  Suddenly the crutches went crashing to the ground and he drew her into his arms, repeating her name over and over again, burying his face in the warmth of her neck and hair. Nothing existed but their closeness. She wrapped hungry arms around his body and he hugged her until her ribs ached. His neck was wet with her tears. She clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably in the warmth of his arms.

  "Jeffrey," she gasped over and over again. He couldn't speak, the thickness in his throat was too great. He ran trembling fingers through her short, glossy black hair, and finally his mouth found hers. He kissed her until they were caught up in a dizzying vortex of ecstasy.

  "Catherine," he moaned her name, and the thrill of each other's nearness consumed them both. Her fragrant, soft body was intoxicating. "I don't believe it," he murmured into the silky hair he’d never seen before, much less touched.

  She had no words, only love to give him, and her eager lips sought his again as if she could never get her fill. Time passed, and they were oblivious to everything except each other. He gently forced her head back and looked quietly into her shining eyes. He shook his head as if she were a heavenly apparition.

  "Dear Lord you're beautiful!"

  "So are you," she replied in a husky voice. She said it in all seriousness. For the second time since she'd known him, he blushed.

  "Catherine, men aren't beautiful."

  "You are. I've always thought so."

  His mouth fell on hers and he kissed her with an aching tenderness that left her limp. "I love you. There’ve been times when I thought I'd never see you again," he cried out softly.

  "I know. I love you too, Jeffrey.” Her fingers gripped his arms. "I had no idea it was you up here. I didn't know! Thank heaven you're alive!" She looked up at him, stroking his curls with her hand. "You've been here all this time alone, in pain. And I've been at the priory thinking you were back in England or in Africa. Oh, my love," she closed her eyes tightly. He hugged her to him.