Grounded Hearts

by Jeanne M. Dickson

  “Oh my.”

  “Rachel converted to Christianity. My brother met her at church. She’s a living doll. Their kids, my nephews, are the best. They’re eight and ten now.” He shifted in the bed, a pained expression overtaking his face when he moved his leg. “Rachel’s relatives started showing up at the door. They’d escaped from Nazi Germany. Mom took them in. Found them apartments. Work. Then, they stopped showing up. It’s why I joined the RAF. Hitler and his death machine had to be stopped. I promised my dad, if the Germans came to power again, as he predicted, I wouldn’t sit on the sidelines and let them run us over.”

  Now she knew why the war was so personal to him. “What happened after Bea put her foot in her mouth?”

  “My sister-in-law is a class act. She asked to be excused from the table. Took the boys with her.”

  “What did Bea say when you told her what an eejit she’d been?”

  “She declared that my sister-in-law would not be welcomed in our future home.”

  “Oh, Dutch. What a terrible, awful thing.”

  “I broke off our engagement for good. A couple of days later, she caught the cold that led to pneumonia, and she was gone within a week.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The curve of his cheek glowed in the golden light. “People make their own decisions. We can’t always agree. I grieved for the person she used to be.”

  “It’s so sad.”

  “You Irish aren’t the only ones with tales of woe. You have your own sad story, don’t you, Nan?”

  “My marriage was happy.” The words shamed her heart. What a lie. “Teddy’s life ended too soon, of course.” Truth there.

  “How about you now? You have a boyfriend?”

  “Don’t be daft. I’m a widow.”

  “I didn’t realize you were still in mourning. You lost him recently?”

  “Three years ago.”

  He frowned. “The Irish mourning period is long.”

  “I’m not in the mourning period.” Not technically, anyway. “Last week was the anniversary of his death.”

  “It must have brought up painful memories.”

  The memories are as raw as the day it happened. “Yes. Teddy was my love. He was enough to last a lifetime.” Of course, it was the guilt she carried for failing to help him that would last a lifetime.

  He took the glass of water she offered, drank half of it, then peered at her over the top of the glass. “Won’t you marry again? There must be a hundred guys out there wanting to court you.”

  “Go on with ya. I’m no tart.” She took the glass from him and set it on the nightstand.

  “That’s not what I meant. I think you’d be quite the catch. That’s all.”

  She snorted a laugh. “I prefer not to be caught by anything that might be roaming around this town.”

  His grin sent a dimple to his cheek. “Best ones taken?”

  She folded her arms against the wisp of loneliness she felt. “More like gone. The men left in town are too young, too old, or too odd.”

  The cat jumped onto the bed and dropped down beside Dutch.

  “Hey, buddy.” Dutch ran his hand over the cat’s orange body.

  “Besides,” she said. “I have Mr. Dee to keep me company.”

  Both Dutch and the cat stared at her. “Oh no,” Dutch responded. “Pets are great, but they’re not people. Don’t you want family around you?”

  She twisted her wedding ring around her finger. “I have family galore. Babies everywhere I turn.”

  “But not yours.”

  His words tore at her. “Sometimes the Lord uses us in ways we don’t plan. My role is to bring other women’s babies into the world. It’s enough for me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Really.” It was time to redirect the conversation. “Tuda worked on the Ford yesterday. Said she nearly got it started.”

  “Did the engine crank over?”

  “She got a couple of moans out of it, but no, she couldn’t coax it into life. She wasn’t sure why.”

  “Figures. Too much for her.”

  “Meaning what? A girl can’t be a good mechanic?”

  “Don’t get your Irish up. I’m sure she missed something that I can figure out.”

  “Confident, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Besides, two heads are better than one at reviving something dead.”

  The words sliced through her. A dozen people couldn’t revive her heart.

  “Is she coming back today?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow. She’s getting more parts. I’m sure the two of you will get the old thing started. We’ll send you on your way tomorrow night. You rest, now. You’ll need your wits about you for the journey across the border.”

  She looked at him before going to the door and closing it behind her.

  The cheek of him, she thought, asking if I enjoyed being in bed with him. The sensation of lying beside him flooded her senses, and her pulse sped.

  With a sigh, she dismissed the thought. Once he was back in England, he’d forget her in the flicker of a smile. Men couldn’t help themselves, God love ’em.

  The morning proceeded with a thankful respite from visitors. Nan went outside to greet the rare sunny day, climbing halfway up the hill to see the ocean in the distance. The air smelled clean with a hint of sea breeze. She felt invigorated. On days like this, she wondered why people lived anywhere else.

  Later, she fed lunch to Dutch, insisting that he rest afterward. Amazingly, he made no protest, drifting off before she’d even removed the tray. The cat jumped onto the bed and settled at the man’s feet.

  Her cat had jilted her. She wondered if her feline would wander about the cottage looking for Dutch, once he was gone. She might, too, she realized.

  After a nap in the chair beside the fireplace, marred by a nightmare about Finn, she woke with a start, relieved to find herself safe in her comfy chair. The day had drifted into twilight, and the lanterns needed to be lit.

  After lighting the cabin, she headed to the pantry. She would make a loaf of bread for their evening tea. Their evening tea. They would share one more evening meal. She poured the milk into the well of brown flour, thankful for a normal activity that would ground her back into reality.

  Lord, thank you for Dutch’s continual healing, she prayed, working the dough on the floured board.

  The cat trotted into the room. “Ah, Mr. Dee,” she said. “About time you were up and about.”

  “So am I.” Dutch appeared in the doorway. His clinging pajamas showed the definition of his chest muscles. “May I sit by the fire?”

  “Of course. Let me help you.”

  “No need. I feel so much better.”

  “You look . . .” Amazing. “Better.”

  His smile warmed her as he wobbled to the big chair. The cat hopped onto Dutch’s lap, and Dutch patted the animal with tender strokes. “Hey, Mr. Dee. Thanks for keeping my toes warm.”

  Her heart softened. Hadn’t Teddy always sat there to stare into the fire, the dog at his feet, a cup of tea within reach? Why did it seem so natural to have Dutch there now? She never thought another man would occupy the chair, conversing with her. Sharing a pet.

  Their gazes met, and the room grew hot and small around them. She wasn’t aware she’d stopped working the dough until he asked, “What are you making?”

  A mess of things, she thought, especially my heart. “Soda bread.”

  “Like the night when I first arrived?”

  “The same.” She patted the spongy dough into a round cake, then cut a cross into the top.

  “Why are you doing that?”

  “It’s tradition. Supposed to excise any devils hanging around the house.” She glanced at her roof. She was sure there were a few still dancing up there.

  She set the bread on a greased pan and shoved the loaf into the oven.

  “Nan, I want to ask you something.”

  “Yes?”

  “Will I see you again, after the w
ar?”

  “I hope so. I’ll pray for you every day.”

  The image of a bomber in flames, spinning down to the sea, sent stabs of worry plunging through her. His next mission might be his last. She couldn’t bear the thought, but only the Lord knew if he’d survive. Please, God, protect him.

  She sat across from him just as she used to do with Teddy. His foot, in her late husband’s sock, slid across the slate floor toward hers. She expected him to say he wanted to see her again, too. To say anything kind.

  She sank against the back of her chair.

  “When the war’s over,” he said, “will you visit me in Canada?”

  “That’d be lovely.”

  She slid her foot in the direction of his, until their feet almost touched. Instinct demanded she recoil. It was too intimate. Too bold. Instead, she turned her foot to the side, exposing the curve of her instep. His big toe touched her arch and meandered up to her ankle, making her melt like butter left too close to the hearth.

  “What will you do when peace returns?” She shifted forward, bringing her knee near his. The heat from his body radiated to hers. Or was it merely the turf fire? Perhaps she was reading too much into this.

  “Besides celebrate, I’ll continue flying. I love airplanes. Maybe I’ll be a test pilot or run an airport.”

  “What do you like about flying?”

  “Sailing up in the clouds feels so free.”

  She smiled. “Free? How can that be? Stuffed in a steel cage, enough petrol in your tanks to take out a city, and whirling propellers the only thing keeping you up in the clouds?”

  He sat up. “When you put it that way, it doesn’t seem so great.”

  She’d offended him, and he removed his touch. For the best, she thought. “But you love flying.”

  “I do.”

  “How about being at war? Dropping bombs?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them.

  He winced. “Do you hate me for what I do in the war?”

  “Not a’tall. I hate war is all.”

  “That’s a sane position. I hate war, too, but I can’t think about the destruction we render. It’s them or us. Freedom or oppression.”

  Instead of spinning into an anti-war tirade, she said, “Then you’re doing what God intended. Does your family support your career choice?”

  “Not really. I’m supposed to follow in the family business, but I’d be miserable working at a newspaper.”

  “When you get back, don’t let them bully you into doing something you don’t want to do. My ma tried to do that.” She stopped. “Out of love,” she quickly added.

  “How?”

  Nan focused on her hand, on Teddy’s ring. She looked at Dutch’s left hand. His ring fingernail was black. She wondered how he’d bruised it. When he hit the bog, perhaps, or before.

  “Ma didn’t want me to marry Teddy.” She felt a sharp pain in her heart.

  “Why not?”

  She gazed up at the shadows flickering on the ceiling. “Irish mothers never think their daughters marry boys who are good enough for them. But I married Teddy anyway,” she said, skipping the full story, folding her hands onto her lap. “Once I married him, she wanted me to quit my job, because a good Irish wife stays home and has beautiful Irish babies. That wasn’t in the cards for me. Or for Ma to be a grandmother.”

  “How did your husband . . . ah . . . ?”

  “Die?”

  “If you don’t mind telling me.”

  A lump formed in her throat. No one knew the whole truth of that day, not even Tuda. How she’d run after him, chasing him to the cliffs. Pleading with him to put the gun and the bottle down. He’d cursed her with such vile language. To this day, she blushed when the words came to her in the dead of the night.

  She’d failed Teddy. She should have done something besides scream like a helpless eejit.

  “You don’t have to tell me.” His hand brushed across her knee, leaving a dazzling awareness.

  She willed the scene back into the depths of her soul. “There was an accident. Teddy fell off the cliff into the sea.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She shrugged. “The good Lord doesn’t take anyone a minute before his time, or a second after.” Those were the empty words she used when babies passed. And it was true. But what about the people who took the decision out of the Lord’s hands?

  Their conversation dwindled. Wind bucked the windows and stirred the ashes, sending the turf fire into a fierce blaze. Rain pelted the windows, loud as pebbles; then came the sound of water draining from the roof into the rain barrel outside the back door.

  “Storm’s returned,” she said.

  “Big one.” His gaze traveled over her body to rest on her eyes. She felt as though he were touching her, but of course that was completely daft. “How did you end up here?”

  “The property was left to my mother, and I inherited the place. Teddy and I decided to live here.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Three years. The town needed a midwife, and Teddy thought this would be a wonderful place to write. Much better than Dublin.”

  “He was a writer?”

  “A poet.”

  “I could have guessed.” He glanced at the honeymoon picture on the mantel. “He looks like a poet.”

  “And how might that be?”

  “Sensitive.”

  Beyond sensitive, she thought. She longed to tell Dutch the whole story, but she held back. She didn’t want to talk about Teddy or that day or what had happened.

  His knee touched hers. She inhaled his scent, woodsy and manly, and she knew she’d never forget him.

  “Were you there when the accident happened?”

  “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “You can tell me.” He placed a hand on her knee and gazed into her eyes with perfect kindness.

  She couldn’t tell him. It was none of his business, how Teddy had gone from being a lover to a hater.

  At the sound of the gate opening, he straightened, moved back into his chair. “You expecting someone?”

  “Never expecting. Always receiving.” The sound of car wheels and a motor filled the cottage. Car headlights shone through the burlap curtains. She sprinted to the window and cracked open the heavy covering.

  “Lord have mercy. It’s the Garda. Sergeant Halpin.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Dutch stood and his knee locked. The pain momentarily paralyzed him.

  “You need to get in the closet.”

  “You think?” He dragged his leg along, biting down the burning torture of each step. His knee hurt more than his arm. Progress, he supposed.

  Letting go of the curtain, she bit her bottom lip. “It’s probably about Kelly. It’s a wee soon for the baby, but they have a way of being born on their own schedules.”

  Halpin knocked. Nan waved her hand at Dutch and whispered, “Don’t just gape at me. Go on with ya.”

  “I’m moving as fast as I can,” he said. Every step brought a sharp stab to his leg, but he had no choice.

  The knock at the door grew louder. “I’m coming,” Dutch heard her call as he closed the closet door behind him.

  His heart threatened to explode out of his chest, and he gulped for air. He ran his hand up the wall until he found the panel that slid open. From this vantage point, he could see Halpin.

  “Come in out of the rain, Sergeant Halpin.”

  “Ah, Nan. I was about to give up on you.” Halpin’s wet raincoat glistened in the soft cabin light.

  “Sorry. I was in the, you know.” She gestured toward the bathroom. “What’s wanting?”

  “Kelly. It’s her time.”

  “Ah, is it? Grand. A wee early, but not to be alarmed. I was just saying—”

  “To whom?” he asked, peering around the room.

  “My cat, of course. Babies have their own timetable. Wait in the car while I get my things.”

  Dutch grinned. She was quick with the tongue.<
br />
  After Halpin stepped back outside, she gathered her medical bag.

  “It’s Kelly’s time,” she said out loud. “I probably won’t be back until morning. Be careful. Please eat and get some rest. Wait a few minutes before you come out. When the timer goes off, take the bread out of the oven. Oh. And there’s a box of clothes and things for you under the table, from the doctor.”

  With that, she grabbed her coat and left.

  He leaned his back against the cold stone, his hand touching his throbbing knee. It was hot, puffy. Doggone it. He’d done it again, injuring his knee. He had to get that car running and himself out of Nan’s life before their luck burned out.

  And while she was gone, he was going to hunt for his gun. Ridiculous. How was he supposed to protect himself? He pressed the door open and sucked in clean air as he limped to the table by the door.

  He reached under the table for the box and set it on top. This is better, he thought as he dug through the contents. There was a complete outfit, shoes even. Nice ones, lace-up Italian leather. Seemed more his size, not like Teddy’s tiny nightshirt.

  Nan had been on the verge of telling him what had happened. Maybe later she would. But he wouldn’t push her, lest he send her deeper into her funk.

  At the bottom of the box, he found a nine-by-twelve envelope.

  Wow, he thought while opening it. He found phony Irish identification papers—with a picture so blurry it could be anyone—money, and a ration book for petrol. How had Dr. Mann done it?

  The same way she got the penicillin, he thought with a grin. Good woman.

  Then he unfolded the map. “Astonishing,” he whispered. Roads with LDF and Irish Army checkpoints were flagged. Dr. Mann had to be MI6 or the American equivalent. So what on earth was she doing in this Irish bog of a town? What was there to spy on?

  He shrugged. Her business. Yet the good doctor had not only taken him from the brink of death but had figured out an escape route that would make the journey a piece of cake, provided that hunk of metal in the garage was operational.

  Seemed odd to him, though, why Nan hadn’t mentioned the map and papers—rather important items. The cat jumped onto the table and stuck his nose in the map.