Dutch gave Nan a lingering look before he followed Tuda out into the rain. His mission to save the world paled. How could he leave her here to face Finn?
Dutch and Tuda worked together on the car, and he was impressed by her technical knowledge. They reached across the engine from opposite sides of the open hood. “You ever think of joining the RAF as a mechanic?”
“I’ve my boys in the service. That’s enough. Have you met them? Aidan and Barry Quinn?”
“Wish I did. Are they pilots?”
“Mechanics. Taught them everything they know.” She grinned. “Except about airplanes, of course. They wanted to fly, but they’re grounded. Too valuable to lose, their commanding officer told them.”
“He’s right. We flyboys are a dime a dozen. Good mechanics, they’re worth their weight in gold.”
Tuda got misty-eyed. “They are to me.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for them. They must be special if they’re your sons.”
“They are.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“About what?”
“Nan.”
“You can ask, but I probably won’t answer.”
He nodded. “About Teddy. He didn’t really fall off the cliff, did he?”
Tuda stopped tightening a bolt and stared across at him. “All I know is that he washed up on the beach. Dead.”
“All you know?”
“Pretty much.” She returned to her bolt.
“It’s just that, well . . . I don’t know.” He searched for the right words. “I know about losing someone you love. I lost my dad ten years ago and my fiancée three years ago. It hurts. Deeply. But with time, I got over my grief. It seems so fresh for her. Why can’t she move on?”
Tuda set the wrench on the bumper and took a long drink from a bottle of water. Wiping her hand across the gleaming drips on her chin, she shrugged. “Because you’re applying logic to a heart problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“When she’s ready, she’ll talk about that day. Now, what do you think is wanting with this spark plug?”
Nan fell asleep on her bed. When she woke, she breathed in his scent again, sending her insides into a spin.
Had he really asked her to go to England with him? That was completely out of the question. He only asked because he was sorry for what he’d done. There was no way she could justify leaving Ballyhaven. The women of this town needed her. And she needed them. Besides, like her family before her, she was not a runner.
A hider, yes. But not a runner.
She glanced at the clock. “Good gracious,” she muttered, slipping out of bed. She’d better get a move on or she’d lose the light.
After a conversation with Tuda and Dutch, Nan headed to town to check on Kelly Halpin and her baby.
She found mother and child recuperating well. The set of lungs on that baby would be the envy of the banshees. Assured all was on the right path, Nan left them to rest, although as she watched Siobhan hover around Kelly, Nan realized that might be near impossible.
Nan leaned her bicycle against Mikie’s shop, grabbed her basket, and went inside. The usual group of men sat around the smoldering fireplace, a cloud of cigarette smoke floating above their heads. Mikie was holding his pipe in one hand, resting his elbow on the mantel.
“’Lo, Nan. How are ya this soft Irish day?” he called.
“Grand. Yourself?”
“I could complain, but I won’t.”
“That’ll be a first,” Margaret muttered. She strolled in from the private room, the beads clicking as she passed. She sat behind the glass counter, the Irish Times open in front of her. Her reading glasses slid to the tip of her rounded nose. She pushed them up and said, “How’s yaself?”
“Grand.”
Old Liam lifted a mug of tea. “Ah, it’s yourself, then, Nan. I hear Officer Halpin had a wee one. A girl or boy?”
“A lovely little girl,” Mikie said. “Where has ya mind been? We’ve been talking about it all morning.”
“Is that a fact, now? Me hearing is none too good these days. A girl?”
Mikie shook his head. “Ya ought to have the doc take a look at them ears.”
“Dr. Mann? No way. I’ll not give that woman doctor the chance to look at me nasty bits.” Liam grinned. “But Nan can.”
Margaret huffed. “In ya dreams, ya old goat! She’s got the pick of any man in town. Why would she bother with the likes of you?”
Liam shoved tobacco into a cigarette paper. “Finn. That’s the man for Nan.”
Mikie nodded. “Ah yeah. He’ll be a Garda after the war if he plays his cards right. Wouldn’t that be grand, Nan? Be a Garda’s wife?”
Placing her basket on the counter, Nan let out a sigh.
Margaret flipped the paper to the next page. “She’d sooner marry a potato. She’d have more intelligent conversations and a much better love life.”
Nan blushed but laughed. “Ah, Margaret. What a thing to say.”
Mikie pointed his crooked finger at his wife. “Ya a nasty bit of work, woman. Add that to the sins you’re gonna confess this week to Father Albert.”
“Go stuff ya pipe, Mikie.” Margaret winked at Nan. “Tea?” She didn’t wait for a reply, pouring the liquid into a white mug. “Wish I had news about them jam jars. Alas, I don’t, but I hope to see them next shipment from Limerick.”
“Okay.” Making apple jam was the last task on Nan’s mind. She splashed some milk into her cup. “Thanks, this is just what I need.” She sipped the familiar tea as though it were a passage from earth to heaven.
“So tell me, Mikie,” Liam said. “Why aren’t we celebrating the birth of the lovely babe born to our most revered Sergeant Halpin?”
“’Cause the back room doesn’t open until . . .” Mikie glanced at his watch. “Now, lads.”
“What are we waiting for?” Liam tucked a cigarette behind his ear and pushed down his flat cap. “Let’s go.”
A stampede of booted men bolted toward the keg of Guinness in the back room.
“Mind you don’t make a mess,” Margaret bellowed after them.
“Ya bet, missus,” someone replied. “We’ll have Mikie clean it up.”
“It’ll be a dry winter in Ireland when that happens,” Margaret said, folding the paper.
Nan finished her tea. “They make a good case for spinsterhood.”
“A good case for the rhythm method, too. Don’t mind the eejits, Nan. Aren’t you a sight?”
“Am I?” Did it show how nerve-racking the last few days had been? “I’m tired.”
“You’re a hero, a hero,” Margaret whispered, even though no one was in the shop. “We’re all behind ya and your RAF pilot.”
Nan’s heart pounded against her rib cage. “I’m only a midwife. I know nothing about an RAF pilot.”
“Not from what I hear.” Margaret winked so many times, Nan thought she might have something irritating her eye.
“What are you hearing? From whom?” The blood rushed so fast through Nan’s veins, she was sure she’d start bleeding through her nose.
“I just hear things.”
Nan mustered a breathy whisper. “Who’s saying what?” That nosy Mrs. Norman, no doubt. A sieve could hold water longer than that old woman could keep a secret.
“Not a thing. Not a word. Not a thing. And from no one.” Margaret set the paper into Nan’s basket. “Some entertainment for himself.” She added a package of Woodbine cigarettes. “That, too. Now, what can I do for you?”
From the back room, a roar of laughter penetrated the shop. Nan glanced over her shoulder. “Have the men been spreading rumors about me?”
With pudgy hands on her hips, Margaret lifted her chin. “Are you daft? That lot? They’re the last ones to figure anything out.” She grinned. “Tell me, Nan. Is he as altogether gorgeous as I hear he is?”
Nan placed a supply list on the counter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She longed for escape. “
Here are the things I’ll be wanting.”
Margaret grinned. “Now, what’s on your list for today besides denial?”
Nan wasn’t sure her legs would keep her standing. “Who else knows?”
“Only the Shamrocks.”
“All of them?” The vast network of women who named themselves the Shamrock Sisters stretched across the surrounding area. They bartered their goods and services, most of the time aboveboard, yet sometimes stretched the legality of things, especially now, during the government’s “Emergency.”
“Don’t worry, Nan. On our mother’s graves, we’ll keep ya bomber boy a secret. And if ya needing any help, you can count on us.”
Nan considered the woman. She probably wanted to help, but Margaret was making Nan regret her deepening involvement. “Yes, I know. Thank you.”
A few minutes later, the wheels of Nan’s bicycle bumped along the wet cobbled street. The buildings, turned dark gray by the rain, seemed to close in on her. Smoke from the chimneys added to the fog. The rain had slowed to a drizzle.
She nodded to several villagers as they went about their activities. A band of teenage girls loitered on the steps of a walk-up flat, smoking, cursing, and talking loudly until the arrival of Father Albert sent them scurrying away like giggling mice.
“Ah, Nan. How are you?” he called as she passed by.
“Grand, Father. Grand.”
“Will I see you at confession this Wednesday?”
She glanced over her shoulder without stopping. “Ah, you will, if there isn’t a baby being born.” She set her eyes on the road. Too many sins were piling up.
Turning the corner, she slowed. She was nearing the Guinness lorry parked outside of Mrs. Odin’s pub. The woman herself was leaning against the multipaned window under an awning, chatting with the short truck driver, Brian Monaghan. A Dublin man, he was a bachelor, and from the sparkle in his brown eyes, his status might be changing. Or maybe he had a barkeep in every town.
He didn’t seem to mind being soaked while he was getting a bit of conversation with Mrs. Odin. From the sly grin on her face, Nan thought he’d probably gotten a bit more from her besides.
“Ah, Nan,” Mrs. Odin called with a wave. “Might I have a word?”
Nan slowed to a stop. “Of course.”
“Good-bye, Brian.” Mrs. Odin smiled, swaying her hips from side to side.
Brian took a long drag on a cigarette and nodded. “Next time, then?”
“Oh yeah. I’ll have some lovely blood sausages. Do stop by for a bit of a fry on your way back into town.”
“See you soon.” He slanted a look at Nan.
Nan slanted one back.
Mrs. Odin squeezed Nan’s hand so hard, it smarted. “I was hoping I’d find you.”
“What’s wanting?”
“Get off ya bike and come inside.”
“I really don’t have time. Is there something you need me to attend to?” Nan couldn’t help but sweep a glance below Mrs. Odin’s belt.
“Don’t be making assumptions,” she said. “No worries a’tall. That boat sailed a long time ago.”
“There are other things.”
“Ah, go on. He wears a French letter.”
Nan’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to hear about Mrs. Odin’s love life.
“Inside. Quickly, before that buffoon Finn shows his ugly mug. He’s been prowling the streets. I’ve something to give ya for you know who.”
Of course Mrs. Odin knew, too. Why wouldn’t she? Wasn’t she Mrs. Norman’s sidekick? The two of them always discussing the comings and goings of the townsfolk.
Inside the pub, the air smelled of lemon oil, bacon, and the stale scent of beer, an aged smell that proved impossible to scrub clean, even for Mrs. Odin, who knew how to do just about anything.
The woman went behind the bar and then carried a wrapped bottle to Nan.
“What’s this? You know I don’t drink.”
“It’s only to warm the belly. Maybe there’s a certain someone who might need it on a cold Irish night. Unless, of course, you’re keeping him warm.”
It was impossible to keep a secret in this town. She and Dutch were doomed.
The sound of the back door opening made Nan jump.
“Don’t worry; it’s just Mrs. Norman.”
The woman came plodding toward them, her Wellies flapping on the wood floor. The scarf over her gray hair sat on her head like a wilted piece of lettuce.
“How did ya get here, Mrs. Norman?” Mrs. Odin asked. “Through the fields? You’re leaving a trail of mud on my freshly scrubbed floor.”
“I spotted Finn hanging outside the doctor’s house. He’d only be asking me questions, so I took the path down by the river and went under the bridge.”
“Have yourself a glass of water,” Mrs. Odin said, pouring a tumbler from an earthenware pitcher.
Mrs. Norman gulped down the water. “Here you are, Nan. Am glad I ran into ya and didn’t have to make the trip out to your house.” She held a pot with a snap top.
“What’s this?” Nan frowned.
“My special chicken soup.”
“Why might you be giving me that?”
“Ah, go on with ya. You know why. Remember? Dr. Mann told me to make a pot.”
Nan stared at the two women. “Does everyone know?”
“Only them that’s important.” Mrs. Odin handed her the bottle. “Me. Mrs. Norman here. Margaret. Tuda. Kelly—”
“No, not Kelly. She’s the Garda’s wife.”
“That’s to your advantage.”
Nan couldn’t imagine how. But it appeared that Kelly had been welcomed into the Shamrock Sisters club. Not everyone made the cut.
“That’s right.” Mrs. Norman placed the pot of soup on the bar counter. “Did ya see the baby yet, Mrs. Odin?”
“I did. A beauty. Her cries could fill an opera house.” She pushed the wrapped bottle into Nan’s chest. “Ya don’t need to look so alarmed, you poor blessed girl. We can keep a secret. If you only knew what we knew about this town.”
“So true,” Mrs. Norman agreed. “Make your red, curly hair white and straight.”
Did they suspect about Teddy? How he shouldn’t be buried on hallowed ground? No.
“Don’t frown, dear, or those lines across ya brow will be etched there, and how will ya get another man then?” Mrs. Odin threw a towel onto the floor and, with her foot, wiped the wet spots.
Mrs. Norman smiled at Nan. “We know how to keep our pieholes shut. What you’re doing is the most noble and romantic thing we’ve ever heard of. Isn’t that so, Mrs. Odin?”
“’Tis. Ah, to have a man such as yours.”
“He’s not mine. He belongs to the RAF.” The truth hurt. He’d never be hers even if she dreamed of it some lonely night after he was gone.
“Not his heart. That’s yours.”
Nan was about to argue the point when Mrs. Norman said, “And his soul belongs to Jesus.”
The women crossed themselves as though they were joined at the hip. For good measure, Nan made the sign of the cross as well.
Mrs. Norman held out the soup. “And, dear, if you need any help, you just come asking. There’s nothing we wouldn’t do for you and that man of yours.”
That man of mine.
There wasn’t even any point in trying to set them straight. The ladies herded Nan to the pub entrance. Mrs. Odin held the door open. The rain splashed on the sidewalk and dripped down the sides of the buildings.
Nan positioned the gifts in her bicycle basket. “Thanks,” she said.
“Now, be on your way. Feed him my soup. Pour him a whiskey. You’ll make him a proper Irishman before he hops the fence to the border.”
“And kiss him like it’s the last kiss he’ll ever get on earth, ’cause it just might be.” Mrs. Odin let out a sigh.
“I’m not kissing him.”
“You’re a fool if you don’t,” Mrs. Odin said.
“Ah, I agree,” Mrs. Norman added.
“You’re only young once. And sins can be confessed and forgiven when you’re white on top and the smoke has gone out below.”
Nan heard the ladies cackle as they returned inside the pub. Part of Nan wanted to take their advice.
She winced at the thought of the Shamrocks discovering Dutch. They had the goods on everyone in town, and now this included Nan.
But how could it have been the most “romantic thing” they’d ever heard of? Hiding a flyboy in her house? Playing cat and mouse with Finn?
Lord, if you’re listening, please bring a peaceful end to this dangerous situation.
She pedaled home, repeating her prayers over and over again.
The rain stopped after a few minutes. Sunlight streamed over the emerald landscape, double rainbows stretching across the water.
A sign from the Lord that He was with her. He was watching over the situation. All she had to do was have faith. He would do the rest.
This notion was tested the moment she pulled into the courtyard. Finn skulked around the side of the house, keeping his chubby hand on his gun.
“Officer Finn. What are you doing here?” Nan leaned the bike against the whitewashed wall. To hide her trembling hands, she shoved them into her pockets, then plastered on the charming smile that Dutch had warned her about.
Finn came toward her. His heavy breathing echoed around the courtyard.
“Well, cat got your tongue?”
“Your cat seems to have a lot to do with the goings around here, but no. The cat hasn’t been successful in getting my tongue.”
Not yet. “Why do I have the pleasure of another visit so soon? What do you want?”
His gaze flicked from her chest to her eyes. “To make sure you’re safe.”
“Thanks. You have done your duty today. Twice. Now, be on your way. There’s nothing here that needs your attention.”
He closed the distance between them, smelling like last night’s cabbage. And whiskey. “You need a man around the house.”
She stepped back, her foot slipping on the wet cobblestone. “I don’t. Be off with ya. Have you been drinking?”
“Nan,” he said, his hand reaching for her shoulder. “You’re making a mistake, not trusting me.”
“Be on your way, Finn, before I send word to your ma that you’ve been drinking on the job.”
Grounded Hearts Page 18