“Don’t thank me yet.” She opened her medical bag and reached in. “What are you two waiting for? Isn’t the kettle whistling?”
Nan and Tuda stepped out of the bedroom. Nan reached for the kettle, steaming away on the cooker.
“Nan? Ya look flushed. Are you all right?”
“I’m not sure if I called the doctor soon enough. What if he takes a turn for the worse? What if he dies in my bed? Ah, it’ll be my fault.” Again. Like with Teddy. “How will I explain it? I can’t dig a grave for him. Bury him behind the apple trees. He’d have no rest. Nor would I.”
“You mustn’t worry. Juliet will fix him up.”
“It’ll be on my head if he dies.”
“You’re wrong. You’ve done your best. You have only so much control over his recovery. Without you, he’d already be dead.”
Dead. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. No time for thoughts like these. She poured steaming water into a steel bowl. “I want things to be the way they used to be.” More boiling water was sloshed into the next bowl, smarting as it splashed over the back of Nan’s hand.
“And how far back do you want to go? Three years? You think you could have changed what happened on that day?”
Nan’s heart was aching. “Please, don’t.”
“Or maybe twenty years? To that day in Cork when your life and your ma’s changed forever.”
“You’re tormenting me!”
“Teddy’s death was not your fault any more than it was your ma’s fault what happened to your da. If this young man dies in your bed, that’ll be tragic. That’s all. Not your fault.”
“It’ll be my burden. My cross to bear.”
“Only if you take it up like you have for Teddy.”
Nan turned her back on her best friend. Right then, she wished she’d never confided a single, blessed thing to Tuda. Nan set the kettle back on the burner; it hissed from the lack of water. Empty. Like herself.
Tuda stood close enough that Nan could smell the faint scent of petrol and motor oil from her friend’s overalls. “The past cannot be reclaimed. There are no do-overs. Why don’t you accept it? Stop torturing yourself. What happened with Teddy can’t be changed.”
“In my mind, I know. In my heart, that’s another situation.”
“Nan, love.” Tuda hugged her.
Nan let tears roll down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. This whole situation has me frayed.”
“Of course it does. Give it over to the Lord. He has a plan.”
“Yes. I suppose He does.” But had He a plan when Teddy went over the cliff? What kind of a plan was that?
“Hey, sorority sisters out there,” they heard Juliet call. “How about some hot water and empty bowls?”
CHAPTER 14
After Dr. Mann left, Nan spent the rest of the day and evening at Dutch’s side, doing as the doctor had instructed.
The sight of his skin no longer jolted Nan when she gave him a shot. At least not too much. He was a patient needing her services. That was all. She was only his nurse. And she made sure to pull down only enough of the underwear to expose his bottom. Nothing more. Nothing more or she’d be wondering and thinking and dreaming.
Ah, but a practically naked man was sleeping in her bed.
She looked skyward. Did He really have this in mind when He sent him to my door?
Nan fed the fire in the fireplace, turned down the lamps, and then sat in the chair beside the bed. He was asleep, twitching occasionally, his feet kicking as though he were walking. She snuggled into a blanket. Dutch opened his eyes, blinking at her a couple of times, then slipped in and out of sleep. She slipped in and out of prayer, snoozing beside him.
Thank you, Lord, that the good doctor happened upon the penicillin, and if she had to sin to get it, please have mercy on her soul.
The sound of the gate opening and closing woke her early; the morning sun barely peeked in between the burlap curtains. She stood, rubbed her aching back, and hurried to the window, adrenaline waking every fiber of her being.
Please don’t let it be Finn, she thought. Her breath rattled in her throat with relief as she parted the curtain and saw the doctor, carrying her medical bag and a box. Nan rushed to the front door and swung it open before Juliet could land a knock.
“Hey, kid.” She shoved the box into Nan’s arms. “How’s the flyboy?”
“Resting.”
“I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d take a gander.” She nodded toward the box. “Actually, that’s a lie. I wanted to see how he’s doing. Here are some of my uncle’s clothes. They should fit your pilot. He’s what? About six foot? Slender like my uncle, too. I hope the shoes fit. He can’t go around wearing RAF-issued boots. It’s a dead giveaway.”
“My pilot? Hardly. Well, perhaps for a few more hours. Thank you.” Nan placed the box under the table. “It was very thoughtful of you. The clothes. Won’t Dr. Glennon miss these fine things?” Juliet’s uncle always had the best clothes. His heiress wife had them custom made in London, or so Mrs. Norman claimed.
“Nope. He’s got more where that came from.” Juliet hooked her wet raincoat onto a peg beside the door. “Listen, don’t ask how I got any of this, but in the envelope, there’s a detailed map to the border, a fake ID card, and a ration book for gas along the way. Follow the map. It’s a good escape route. It leads to a ruined abbey where he can ditch the car, then walk across the border. It’s all in here, but seriously: Warn him not to attempt crossing at night. The cliffs are treacherous.”
Nan was taken aback. Who was this woman? How did she get this? “Detailed map?”
“Yeah, as in where the LDF and Irish Army have their roadblocks. Like I said, no questions.”
Nan held the box. “There’s more to you than just being a doctor, isn’t there?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. Whitney still sleeping?”
“Yes.” Nan ached to ask more questions but figured Juliet wouldn’t or couldn’t answer them. Whatever the good doctor was up to, she was on the right side of things. Hopefully not too-dangerous things.
“Let’s wake him up, shall we?” Juliet’s hips swayed as she paced toward the bedroom. She looked crisp and attractive in an expensive tan-colored ensemble, stockings with seams running down the back, and high-heel shoes that somehow resisted the Irish mud. They weren’t even wet.
“Morning, sunshine.” Juliet knuckled Dutch’s shoulder with a tap-tap-tap.
His eyes opened, and he blinked several times, adjusting to being awake. “Ireland is full of angels.”
“And you’re full of something, all right. How are you feeling?”
“Groggy.”
“That’s the morphine. Let’s take a look-see at your arm.”
Nan stood near, watching the doctor unwind the gauze.
“Much better,” Juliet declared. “How’s your pain level, on a scale of one to ten, ten being—”
“I’m forced to have dinner with Hitler?”
Juliet smiled. “Sense of humor back; I’m glad.” She opened her bag. “Number?”
“Why? You wanna call me after the war?”
“I don’t date children. Pain level, lover boy?”
He gave her a lopsided grin, and Nan felt a stir of jealousy. He wanted to date Dr. Mann.
And why in-all-that’s-holy not? She was a beautiful woman. Educated. Sophisticated. Wore couture clothes. Dr. Juliet Mann looked like a movie star.
Nan caught a glimpse of herself in the wardrobe mirror. The very opposite. Where had she even gotten the mud-colored sweater she was wearing? She tugged the rough brown garment down and frowned at the row of crooked green stripes at the bottom.
Homemade. Free. From Mrs. Norman.
It had belonged to the daughter Mrs. Norman was so proud of, the middle one with the missing front tooth. The girl had become a nun and left her clothes behind. Mrs. Norman had bundled them up for Nan, saying, “Ya can leave your nursing outfit at home. What you need is good, honest country clothes f
or stomping around Ballyhaven.”
They all fit Nan, more or less. And they’d been free. With a quick glance at herself, she decided she’d paid too much.
Juliet put on a pair of glasses, the lenses so square and tiny, they looked like a pair of child’s spectacles. “I’m pleased,” she said, holding Dutch’s arm and inspecting the wound. “Much improved. No fever?”
“Just when I look at Nan.”
Nan’s insides sizzled like water in a hot tail pipe, until Juliet laughed. Nan stared down into her lace-up boots. They were making fun of her. Yeah, she was a good Irish joke.
She looked back at Dutch. The way he was staring at her, his eyes so relaxed and dark—perhaps he wasn’t making fun of her a’tall.
“I’m still waiting for your pain-level number, kid.”
Dutch moved his arm. The skin seemed to be healing, and the pus had vanished. “Oh, I don’t know.”
“If you don’t, no one does.”
“Okay. A weak four,” he said.
“Excellent.” She glanced at Nan. “After I’m gone, wrap his arm again. One more shot, kid.” Juliet tore off the covers. “Okay, flyboy. You know where I’m headed. Onto your hip.”
Nan bit her lip. There he was, clad only in his underwear. Unlike herself, the good doctor left nothing to the imagination. Juliet pulled down his underwear. His bottom was bruised from where Dr. Mann had already stuck him with the needle.
“Like what you see, Doc?” he asked.
“You’re just another boy who needs my expertise. Only a patient. Right, Nan?” Juliet prepared a shot.
Nan took him in from head to toe. “What else would he be?”
She returned to the fireplace, poked the turf and wood, added a few bricks, and turned the flames into an inferno. She probably ought to get used to infernos, considering where she might be headed if she didn’t get to confession soon.
Juliet continued her examination of Dutch. “Even through the bandage, I can tell your knee is swollen like an orange. Oh, how I miss oranges.”
“What else do you miss?” Dutch asked.
“The list is as long as the night. There’s not much I can do for your knee. Keep it tightly wrapped, take some aspirin, and try to stay off your leg as much as possible.”
“Can’t do that. So I’ll ignore the pain.”
The doctor nodded. “Okay, tough guy. When you get back to your base in England, be sure you have the doctors check your knee. How’s your appetite? You hungry? I want you to eat.”
“Yeah. Actually, I am.”
“A good Irish fry coming right up,” Nan said. “You’ll be right as rain in no time a’tall.”
The doctor touched Dutch’s forehead. “Nice work, even if I say so myself. Penicillin is a twentieth-century miracle.”
“Thank the Lord you got your hands on the drug,” Nan replied.
“I had to get my hands on more than the drug.” Juliet hooked her hair behind her ear; a grin spread across her lips, and a sparkle lit her eyes. “And I’d do it all again in a second.”
There was something so lascivious about the response, Nan found herself blushing.
Juliet turned to her, all business again. “Keep the wound clean and covered with gauze. It’ll heal without any more intervention from us. Make sure he finishes the medication. No need for more morphine. Let the wound air for a couple of minutes, and then bandage it up loosely.” She snapped her bag closed.
“Can you stay for breakfast?”
“Very kind of you, but no. I best get a move on before someone bangs on your door and wonders why I’m here. I’ll leave him in your expert hands.” Juliet gave Dutch’s shoulder a mock punch. “I’ll be seeing you, kid. Dip a wing over Ballyhaven for us next time you pass by.”
“Once I’m outta here, I won’t be coming back.”
The comment shouldn’t have caused Nan’s stomach to twist, but her insides knotted like a Celtic cross. He couldn’t wait to get out of Ireland. She understood. She was nothing, after all. Just a country midwife. A means to his escape.
She followed Juliet to the door. “Thank you. For everything.”
“A pleasure.” Juliet buttoned her raincoat. “Doing my part for the war effort. Like you. See ya around, kid.”
Nan stood in the doorway. There goes a patriot, a saint, and a sinner, she thought.
The cat jumped onto the table and nudged his head against her hand. “But aren’t we all sinners, Mr. Dee? By God’s amazing grace, aren’t we also forgiven?”
She closed the door and held on to the cold latch, the metal warming in her hand. Lingering there, she thought about her sins. She had to admit, she still hadn’t forgiven herself for a marriage that had ended on a cloudy day over an argument. So how could God?
CHAPTER 15
Nan sat on the chair beside Dutch, opening a fresh package of gauze. His face had a peachy glow, a hue she hadn’t actually seen before. Made him look even more handsome. Now his blue eyes stood out and complemented his skin tone.
She wondered why Juliet had told Dutch she didn’t date children. This was no child in her bed. What did the good doctor prefer? Middle-aged men? Men old enough to be her father?
“Let me ask you something,” Dutch said, adjusting his position.
Nan wrapped his wound with clean gauze. The angry red lines around the gash had subsided. Healthy new skin filled in the gaps. “What might that be?”
“Did you like being in bed with me the other night?”
She stopped encasing his arm for a second, just long enough for her face to grow hot. “The cheek on ya. Why do you ask? Do you think I did?”
“I don’t know. I was wondering.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I liked it. A lot.”
“I bet you did.” Her fingers trembled over the soft gauze. His question stirred needs in her.
Yes. She’d liked it, but she would never admit this, not in a million years.
She kept dressing the wound. “I needed to get you warm, nothing more. As innocent as it was, don’t you go telling anyone. Stories can harm a girl, even if told from afar. Please. You promise? You’ll ruin me, you will.” Her voice squeaked out the last sentence.
“Relax. It’s a joke.”
She was a joke to him. This man brought out her insecurities. “Yes. Joke. Just.”
“I promise. Our secret. Forever.”
He smiled at her, his gaze roaming over her face. It was an intimate look, one that alarmed her. They’d been in bed together. Ah, but that sounded so much worse than it actually was.
Hussy. Sinner. A decent man had to be half-dead to get into bed with the likes of you.
She flinched. Shook her head. Dismissed the charges, knowing it was only the devil stealing her resolve. Nothing to confess. Not a thing. A healer’s business.
Healer? But you failed with Teddy, didn’t you? Let him die. And lied. If the doctor hadn’t stepped in, your flyboy would be dead. Was this any different from Teddy?
“Satan get behind me,” she muttered.
“What?” Dutch turned his head.
“Nothing.”
After she reconciled with Father Albert in the hot, stuffy confessional booth, and he heard her sack of sins, her knees would ache from the penance he would dish out. But that was fine. Do the sin. Do the atonement. The correct order of things.
Looking at Dutch, the correct order of things had been turned upside down. Had the Lord led him to her? Was this His will? A test?
Nan positioned the final layer of gauze around his arm, ripped the end, and tied the bandage into place. “How’s that feel? Not too tight?”
“Rotten.”
“Does it hurt? I can reposition the bandage—”
“It’s fine, really.”
“How about we put your pajama top back on?”
She reached for the garment at the foot of the bed, then helped him into the shirt. “That’s better.” For both of them.
“Your family must be worried sick a
bout you,” she said.
“Probably.”
“Tell me about your home. Have you a large family?”
“Not really. We live in Toronto. My father’s long gone, but my mom is still rattling after her cause of the month. Since the war, it’s been victory gardens and collecting metal for the war effort. My older brother runs the newspaper. It’s our family business. He’s married with two great little boys.”
“Have you a girl back home? Sure now, a good-looking fella like you, you must have one. Or more.”
He shrugged his shoulder. “I had a fiancée. We were going to get married, but . . . ,” he hesitated, “she died of pneumonia about three years ago.”
“Ah, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you still heartbroken?”
He looked shocked by the question. “No. We had our time together. In the end, she got called home. I got called to war.”
So matter-of-fact. Nan had been absolutely gutted when she’d lost Teddy. Dutch didn’t seem torn up a bit. Perhaps, being a man, he found moving on easy. Or perhaps he hadn’t loved his fiancée deeply enough.
Or maybe there was a coldhearted man behind those smoldering eyes. A womanizer. She could not stem her curiosity. “What was her name?”
“Beatrice. Bea.” He teased a thread that hung from his pajama top. “Truth is, she turned out to be someone I didn’t know. Our relationship ended before she passed on.”
“How so?”
“We were very young when we got engaged,” he answered. “I met her at university. We’d shared football games and dances. Everything was fun.” He shook his head. “Seems like such a long time ago.”
“So, you two grew apart?”
The button thread he toyed with unraveled. “Yes. In a way we couldn’t repair. She went to Germany for the summer, to visit relatives, and came back a different person. Buying into the whole Nazi nonsense of a master race. Made me so mad. My dad fought in the Great War. Lost the use of his left hand.” He hesitated for a few seconds, then went on, “We had a huge fight. I told my mom that we were over, but not why, and she invited Bea to dinner, thinking we could patch things up. Halfway through the meal, Bea started in with her Nazi garbage. Clearly, she had forgotten that my sister-in-law was born Jewish.”
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