Pinned against the chair by his bulk, she fought to get free, but his weight wedged her into the cushions. He yanked the top of her pants.
“No!” She kicked at him, screaming. He was so heavy, she could barely move. “Get off,” she screamed once more, pushing him away.
Then he was off, flung backward.
“I knew you were here,” Finn cried in triumph. “I knew it. You’re under arrest.”
“Says who?” Dutch punched Finn’s thick stomach. They began to wrestle, knocking over chairs and sending dishes to smash against the floor. They overturned the bookcase, hundreds of poetry books crashing to the floor.
“Stop!” Nan cried, uselessly. She stepped out of their way to avoid being trampled, then tripped on an upside-down chair and fell to the ground.
She scrambled to her feet and picked up a volume of Yeats’s poems, circling around the men until she could land a hit on Finn’s head. The blow did nothing to stop him.
Dutch caught her eye. “Poetry? Are you kidding? Get my gun.”
“And do what with it?”
“Shoot him.”
Dutch shoved Finn flat against the table, and Finn kicked back at Dutch, both grunting, groaning, growling.
She couldn’t do it, shoot a gun. But she couldn’t let Finn kill Dutch. She had to stop this. The gun.
She dropped the book and sprinted to the bedroom, to the secret cubby in the fireplace where she’d hidden the weapon. Counting down, she found the stone and yanked it away from the wall. She slid the gun into her hands and stared at it. It was heavy and cold, but it warmed in her grasp. Guns. She hated guns. What was she doing?
The crashing sound coming from the other room jolted her. Saving the man I love, that’s what I’m doing. She had seen the look in Finn’s eyes. He’d kill Dutch the same way he’d killed her cat.
Dutch was not going to die. Not today. She held the gun with both hands and hooked her finger around the trigger, then marched into the main cabin. The men were grunting between jabs, and something whizzed past her head.
Margaret stood at the door. She’d flung a jam jar at the men. It hit Finn’s shoulder, then splintered against the floor. The next one she threw missed them and smashed through the window above Nan’s sink.
“Stop, Margaret. You might hit the wrong man.”
Margaret’s scarf hung askew over her gray hair. “What about yourself with that gun?”
“Pray I don’t.” Nan pointed the weapon at the brawl.
The men were struggling, rolling over the glass. Finn was lying on top of Dutch, and she aimed. Then Dutch rolled on top. The two men kept switching positions.
Margaret was clutching another jam jar. “Ah, for the love of Mary, do something, Nan. Shoot.”
Nan aimed at the ceiling, shut her eyes, and squeezed the trigger.
She stumbled backward from the force of the shot. Chunks of ceiling plaster fell, and the scent of gun smoke lingered in the aftermath. The men paused long enough to stare up at her. No matter how much she tried to steady the weapon with both hands, she couldn’t keep the gun from shaking. Her ears were ringing, and she wondered if she’d busted an eardrum.
She pointed the weapon at Finn. “Stop. Both of you. On your knees. Hands on your head. I’ll use it again, I swear on all that’s holy, I will.”
Both men climbed to their knees, hands on their heads.
“Not you, Dutch. Get up and take your gun.”
Dutch rose, muttered something to Finn.
Finn gaped. Blood dripped from his nose onto his ripped jacket. “You’re choosing England over Ireland? Shame on you, Nan O’Neil. Your ma and pa are spinning in their graves.”
“I’m choosing the Allies over the Axis, you filthy article. You try any dirty Irish tricks and I’ll shoot you. I mean it, I will.”
Dutch took the gun from Nan and aimed it at Finn. “Well done, Nan. Guns trump poetry books.”
“Only in this situation. Your lip—you’re bleeding.”
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, leaving a trail of red. “I bet he looks worse.”
“Even in the best light.”
Dutch kept the gun pointed at Finn but addressed Nan. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Sort of. Nan straightened her sweater, brushed off her pants. Noticed a rip across the thigh. She was shaking so hard, she thought for a second she’d faint. She forced herself to make sense of what was happening.
“You’ll not get away with this,” Finn snarled. “I’ll see you rot in jail. You, too, Margaret, you old biddy.”
“Shut your trap,” Margaret shouted. She threw a jar at him. It hit his chest, bounced off, crashed on the floor.
“You tried to blackmail me into marrying you,” Nan said. “I believe that’s against the law.”
“My word against yours.”
Margaret cradled Mr. Dee against her ample bosom. “I saw the whole thing. The whole thing. And look what ya did to the wee kitty. There’s a special place in hell for blaggards that hurt animals. And the devil is making a bed for ya. Out of burning nails.”
“Oh, Mr. Dee.” Nan’s heart nearly broke at the sight of her brave kitten. His eyes were closed, and blood oozed from his mouth. Nan wanted to kick Finn.
“Is he dead?” Dutch asked.
Nan pressed her hand against Mr. Dee’s chest and felt a heartbeat. “Not yet.”
“Let me make Mr. Dee more comfortable. Clean him up,” Margaret said. “You and your flyboy figure out your next move.”
Dutch kept the gun pointed on Finn and glanced at Margaret. “Who are you?”
She dipped a curtsy. “I’m Margaret. Nice to finally meet ya.” She started toward the bathroom, cooing to the cat.
“God bless you, Margaret,” Nan said. “But why are ya here?”
“’Twas the Lord’s timing. Your jam jars came in.” She looked at the broken jars, scattered around the room. “I’ll have to order ya some more.”
“She won’t be needing them,” Finn said. “She’ll be in prison for betraying her government.”
Margaret’s expression tightened. “She won’t. I’ll testify against ya. You’re the one who won’t get away with it, Finn. Blackmailing the lovely Nan O’Neil into marrying you. Attacking her. Trying to have ya way with her. Trying to kill her cat. Your sainted mother will be so disappointed.”
“I did it for her. My ma.”
Margaret shook her head. “For ya ma? That makes about as much sense as going to Mass naked.”
“My ma needs a nurse. I need a wife, and Nan needs a husband. I had it all planned. It was perfect. Until this English bomber boy showed up and ruined everything.”
“He’s Canadian.” Nan placed her hand on the small of Dutch’s back. “And you’ve made a perfectly ridiculous assumption.” As repulsed as she was, she felt a wee bit of sympathy for the eejit. He loved his mother.
“I’m glad I discovered ya true colors,” Finn said. “You’re nothing but a tart. Giving me signals that you cared about me. Wanted me. I’ve always suspected you drove your husband over that cliff. You’re nothing but a witch.”
Sympathy gone.
Nan’s stomach kinked. She had misled him, but only to protect Dutch. Dutch had been right; she’d underestimated Finn.
“Shut up, Finn.” Dutch raised the gun and aimed.
“Go on, shoot me, then, ya coward. Hiding under Nan’s skirts. I’ll see y’all in jail. And you, bomber boy, to internment camp. And the rest of you old biddies who helped this combatant, you’ll get yours. I’ve made a list of all who helped.”
“That’d be half the women in town.” Tuda stomped into the house, her boots crunching over broken glass.
Finn let rip a string of curses so loathsome, Margaret winced—this from a woman who ran a pub in the back of her store.
Dutch raised the gun. He had that focus, that harshness about his eyes that made Nan shiver. “Dutch, don’t shoot him, ya hear me?” She cupped her hand over Dutch’s elbow. “Please.”
&n
bsp; “It’s tempting.” His arm relaxed beneath her grip. “Let’s tie him up. Do you have any rope?”
Nan looked out the broken kitchen window. “My clothesline.”
“I’ll get it.” Margaret handed Mr. Dee, now wrapped in a towel, to Nan. “I think he needs some nursing,” she said, going toward the back door.
Nan’s heart tore into pieces. “Ah, you poor wee thing.”
“You’re some piece of work, Finn,” Dutch said. Keeping a steady aim, he glanced at Tuda. “Did you get the part?”
“Maybe.” She pulled a hose out of the back pocket of her overalls. “I got this from your car, Finn. What do you think of that?”
“I think you’re a disgrace to your husband.”
The corner of Tuda’s mouth lifted. “You would,” she said, striding over to Dutch. “The real part we need won’t get here until the evening train, but this might work.”
Dutch nodded. “Get the car started, Tuda. The sooner I’m on my way, the better.”
“I’ll do my best.” With a nod, she turned and disappeared into the misty morning.
“You shouldn’t have come out of hiding.” Nan rocked the cat in her arms. His eyes opened, and he looked up at her.
“And let this scum touch you? Never.”
“But now you have to leave, ready or not.”
“I’d do it again,” he said.
Her insides sparked. He’d jeopardized his mission. He’d chosen her over the war. It hadn’t been wise, but she loved him for his rashness.
“And I’d go to jail for you, I would, Dutch.” They exchanged a gaze so binding, it brought tears to her eyes.
“Glad to hear it.” Finn sat on the heels of his boots. “’Cause that’s where you’re headed. You’ll not get away with this. Any of ya. I’ll see to it. I’ll see that you get your just rewards, Nan O’Neil.”
“I’ll give you some just rewards.” Dutch aimed the gun at Finn’s head.
Nan’s heart grew heavy. Gone was the lover; the warrior had returned.
CHAPTER 22
Gun tucked inside the waistband of his pants, Dutch limped in front of the fireplace, his knee aching from Finn’s kick.
“Don’t ya look lovely in pink?” Margaret laughed, and then continued sweeping the wreckage around Finn’s feet. He rocked back and forth, yelling into his gag.
The ladies had bound Finn to the cane-back chair. After he’d tried to bite Nan as she bandaged a cut on his face, Tuda had stuffed a napkin in his mouth and secured it with a pink scarf.
“Ah, Dutch, be a dear and boot that bit of cup toward me,” Margaret said as she swept.
He kicked the dish toward her. He’d been considering the options. Finn wasn’t going anywhere for a while. Eventually, though, he’d get free, but by then, Dutch hoped to be over the border and on his way back to base.
But what would happen to these brave women? He’d turned them into outlaws.
He remembered his advice to Nan and raised his eyes heavenward.
Lord, You say all things are possible in Your strength. If ever there were a time I needed Your help, it’s now. Please, do not forsake me in my hour of need. And please, Lord, protect these brave women who have come to my aid, especially Nan.
Nan came in from the bedroom, cradling the cat. A bandage covered his back leg.
Dutch stroked the cat’s head. “How are you?”
Mr. Dee seemed to wink at him.
“I think he spent another of his nine lives, but he’ll be grand. Shook up and a few cuts is all.” She added in a whisper, as though the cat might hear, “I’m a bit worried about internal injuries. We’ll have to wait and see about them.”
“Ah, ya poor wee thing. Come have a sip of milk.” Margaret placed a bowl on the hearth. She accidentally on purpose stepped on Finn’s foot as she returned to the kitchen sink. Finn rocked from side to side, tipping the legs of the chair.
“If ya fall onto ya side, I’m leaving ya there,” Margaret said.
Letting Mr. Dee down, Nan gave him a long stroke along the back. “You’re a good cat. Better than any dog.”
Dutch grinned. No truer words had been spoken.
Nan surveyed the room, frowning. She looked up at the hole in her ceiling, then shut her eyes.
“I’m sorry about this,” came Dutch’s weak response.
“Ah, ’tis only stuff.” Nan noticed the bulging knapsack on the counter. “Margaret, what are you packing for Dutch? It’s a six-hour drive to the border, not a four-day journey.”
“Well now,” Margaret grinned, “the bottle of whiskey might come in handy should he need to soften a Garda. And bread is the staff of life. And since ya won’t be getting new jars anytime soon to make your famous apple butter, I think these apples will do him.”
Tuda opened the door, letting the cold mist inside. She gave Dutch a thumbs-down. “The thing won’t turn over. I need that part from Limerick. Even if I had it, there’s not a drop of petrol in town until late this afternoon. That makes the car about as useful as a chocolate teapot.”
She walked over and picked up the broken picture of Saint Patrick. “When you chased all the snakes out of Ireland, you missed one, Saint Pat,” she said, glowering at Finn.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Dutch said. He rubbed his forehead and paced in a circle.
“We’ll think of something.” Nan went to him with determined steps, an anxious expression on her face. He opened his arms for her. Why wouldn’t she come with him? Even in front of her friends, Nan seemed to submerge herself into him, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her head against his shoulder. He wanted to keep her from harm.
Yeah, right. ’Cause I’ve been so good at that.
“I can take Finn’s bike to the border.”
Nan looked up at him. “Are you mad? It’s six to eight hours by auto. You’ll never make it with your knee. You need a car or a van or a lorry.”
“Does someone have a car I can borrow? The doctor?”
“She’s at hospital with the Halpins,” Nan explained.
His cheek rested on the top of her head. These were the last minutes they’d have, unless she left with him. Her life here was in ruins, and it was his fault. He wished he knew how to make things right, for all of them.
“There has to be someone with a car. Let me think.” A sudden smile lit Tuda’s face. “Lord Harry. I finished restoring his Silver Ghost. He still owes me money on the bill.”
“Then that’s the ticket.” Nan held her hand over Dutch’s heart. He wondered if she could feel how hard it was beating as he closed his hand over hers.
With eyes as blue and clear as the horizon on a sunny day, she said, “I’ll take you over to Gilmour House.”
“Will ya?” Tuda straightened her back. “And say what to Lord Harry?”
“Ah . . .”
“Exactly. Nope. I’m coming along with ya to twist his arm. I told him I’d repossess the car if he didn’t pay me. And six weeks later, not a penny toward his bill. You wait at the gate, and I’ll get the car.”
Dutch nodded. “Yeah, okay, but it’s dangerous. If you get caught, you tell the Garda I made you do this at gunpoint. Understand? This has to be the story each of you must tell. Don’t stray from it.”
“We won’t get caught. Not now, anyway. Count me in.” Tuda opened the door. “Shall we?”
“Yes.” Nan released her hold on Dutch and ran to the counter for the knapsack. Finn was struggling as she passed him, but she ignored his grunted pleas.
“Margaret, you best be going. Don’t say a word about any of this to anyone. Promise?”
“Promise, but count me in, too.” Margaret swept the last bit of broken plate into a pile. She set the broom beside the cooker. “You’ll not have all the excitement without me.” She swung her coat over her shoulders, looking as if she were about to board a ship.
The Titanic, Dutch thought.
He held Margaret back by the shoulder. She reminded him so much of his great-aunt Mi
llie, a suffragette who had chained herself to the courthouse during a protest. “Margaret, I don’t want you involved. It’s too risky.”
“Not involved?” She pointed with her chin to Finn. “Wasn’t it myself who gagged that one over there? Threw jars at him? I’m already involved. And what do ya think Lord Harry will do if things go awry? Throw a hothouse tomato at me? I’m going with you all.”
Just like his grandaunt; no one could stop her, either.
Nan asked, “What about Finn?”
Dutch found the map from under the table. “You ladies will have to release him at some point, or someone will eventually come along. Get your stories straight. I mean it. I made you all do this at gunpoint.”
Margaret nodded. “Okay, but I gotta tell ya. Sergeant Halpin will sooner believe the Tinkers sold us a pooka.”
“Regardless.” He studied each of them. “If you stick to the same story, it’ll fly.” He stuffed the map into the knapsack along with everything else the doctor had brought.
“Don’t worry, Dutch.” Nan handed him the tweed jacket. “We’ll make Halpin believe us.”
He and Nan were facing each other. He was overcome with regret for knocking on her door, bringing the war inside her home. He had ruined her life here. But there was a stronger feeling fighting his fears. He’d never want to change the fact that he’d found her. Sighing, he thought how it might be if the circumstances were different.
Tuda nudged Margaret. “Come on, Margaret. Let’s get Nan’s bike from the garage.”
“Hey, Mr. Dee,” Margaret called. The cat was on his pillow beside the hearth. “You watch over Finn. Scratch his eyes out if he tries anything.”
Finn’s face turned red. He rocked the chair back and forth. The cat hissed at Finn’s muffled shouts.
Dutch followed Nan outside, dropping the knapsack into a basket on the back of Finn’s bicycle. As Nan was closing the door, he heard Finn’s continuing muted rant.
“You going to lock it?” he asked.
“No. As much as I hate him, it’s better if someone finds him. I prefer he’s gone when I get back.”
Dutch pulled her into his arms. “I’ve ruined your life here. Will you come with me?”
“To England?” Her breath warmed his neck.
Grounded Hearts Page 23