Grounded Hearts

by Jeanne M. Dickson

  “Will you?”

  She lifted her face to his. “And what would the women in town do without their midwife?”

  He inhaled her scent of rosemary and lilac. “They have a female doctor.”

  “One who never seems available? I’m sorry, Dutch. I can’t.”

  Her answer drained the hope from his heart. He cupped his hand under her chin. Studying those strong blue eyes, he lowered his lips to hers. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  “Both, I’m afraid. Come on. No time for this now.”

  “We’re almost out of time, Nan.” The kiss was near, but she stepped away.

  “I can’t leave my home,” she said, her voice husky. “What’s left of it.”

  “Or maybe you can’t leave your husband’s grave.” As the words came out, he wished he could take them back, but that was impossible.

  “No,” she repeated, “my home. I can’t leave my home.”

  “You won’t leave your home. And there’s a cost to you staying, even if it’s my fault. Come with me. Start a new life with me.”

  “It’ll cost more to leave,” she whispered.

  “Will it? Why?”

  She wouldn’t answer him, wouldn’t look at him.

  “Are we interrupting something?” Tuda wheeled the bike out of the calf house, Margaret on her heels.

  “Yes.”

  “No,” Nan replied at the same time, grasping her bike’s handlebars. “We’re done here.”

  “Ya sound like a married couple already.” Margaret mounted her bike.

  Dutch punched his hand into his pocket. Fat chance of that happening. He felt sudden sympathy for Finn. Rebuffed, they both were.

  “Stop mooning, you two. Let’s get a move on.” Tuda got on her bike and glided toward the gate with Margaret behind her.

  Nan buttoned her coat and pulled on her beret. “Go on. Take Finn’s bike.”

  Dutch went over to Finn’s bicycle. It was a fine machine, apparently well maintained. A glint of steel from inside a leather saddlebag caught his eye. He reached in and found Finn’s gun. Bonus. Running his hand over the cold metal, he hoped he wouldn’t need to use it.

  Tuda and Margaret were riding ahead of Dutch and Nan. The arching trees formed a leafy tunnel, with drops of water splashing him as the leaves grew too heavy with mist. The Irish air smelled of earth and musk.

  With every pump of the bike pedals, his knee ached. He was struggling to keep up with the three women. He realized that Nan was hanging back with him, the haze curling her red hair, her cheeks a sunset pink.

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “How’s your knee holding up?”

  “Peachy.”

  “We’re almost there. Just around the corner.” Her smile filled his heart.

  The shriek of brakes and the roar of an engine came around a twisting bend in the road. A silver Rolls-Royce was bearing down on them.

  Dutch’s heart stopped.

  He was going to die here after all.

  Dutch exchanged glances with the wild-eyed woman behind the wheel.

  “Hit the ditch!” he screamed.

  Inches from striking him, the driver turned the wheel. As though in slow motion, the four bikers moved into the bushy hedge and the car roared past them, scraping against the stone wall on the other side of the lane.

  Dutch felt as if his legs would not support him, and his heart was threatening to explode. He dropped the bike and sank to the side of the road, gasping for air, trying to lower his blood pressure. The knapsack had opened, and the contents had spread across the lane. “Is everyone all right?”

  The women, stunned, only nodded. Their bikes lay in the lane, half in the hedge. The three ladies joined him on the ground, each holding her chest and trying to catch her breath.

  Margaret picked up the whiskey bottle, which was rolling away from the bag. She pulled off the top, took a swig, and then handed the Jameson to Tuda.

  “Ah now, what do ya think was so important that Lady Margot would almost run us over?”

  Tuda lifted the bottle to her lips. “I dunno, but I’m glad she had the sense to miss us. By an inch. Isn’t she expecting, Nan?”

  Nan refused the bottle. “She probably had a craving for pastry.”

  Still holding the bottle, Tuda sloshed the liquid around. “She’s gonna have to do a wee bit of explaining to Lord Harry about his car.”

  Dutch understood the significance of her words right away. “Was that the Silver Ghost?”

  “’Twas the Silver Ghost that almost made a ghost of us all,” Margaret said.

  “Ah, for the love of Mary,” Nan said. “There goes your ride to the border.”

  “Great.” Dutch rubbed his throbbing knee. “There’s a train, right? Coming into town? Didn’t you say that, Tuda?”

  Tuda shrugged. “Seven o’clock. We could hide you.”

  Nan stood and picked up her muddy bike. “How will that work? Dress him in ladies’ garments and sneak him on the train?”

  “I’m not wearing a dress,” he said, beginning to retrieve the contents of the knapsack.

  Nan stared at Finn’s gun as Dutch stuffed it into the bag. “How are we going to get you across the border now?”

  He crammed the map back inside the bag and shrugged. “I’ll ride the bike.”

  As if any of them thought that was a feasible option.

  Tuda shook her head. “The crows will stop picking at the rubbish heap behind the pub before that happens.”

  Margaret’s eyes opened wide, and she elbowed Tuda. “The pub. Mrs. Odin. Of course.”

  Tuda’s mouth opened into a smile. “Yes. I like where you’re going with this.”

  “Where are we going?” Dutch asked.

  “What about Mrs. Odin?” Nan poked a finger into her ripped pant leg.

  “I happen to know Mrs. Odin is entertaining a certain man who has a Guinness lorry full of lovely petrol,” Margaret explained. “He’s there right now, like he always is, two times a week. He’s in the kitchen, eating another one of Mrs. Odin’s fine Irish breakfasts.”

  “And after, if all goes as it usually does,” Tuda chimed in, “he’ll be heading up the stairs for a wee bit of dessert.”

  “Ah, the cheek on ya,” Nan huffed. “What would Father Albert say?”

  “Get on your knees and give me five Hail Marys,” Tuda laughed. “Nothing Mrs. Odin doesn’t hear after every confession. If she bothers to confess about Brian.”

  “I dunno. That’s a brazen plan.” Nan wiped a splatter of mud from her face.

  “’Tis. What do you say, Dutch?” Tuda asked.

  “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” He lifted Nan’s bike. Their hands brushed together as Nan took it.

  She let her fingers linger there. “What they’re trying to say is that the driver won’t have his mind on the business of delivering the Guinness. His lorry might just slip away.”

  “Are you suggesting I steal a truck?”

  Margaret’s mouth pursed. “Steal? Never. Who said anything about ‘stealing’?”

  “No, that’d be a sin,” Tuda said. “Let’s say you borrow it for a few miles.”

  Nan grasped his hand, sending shivers up his arm. “Dutch, can you think of a better option?”

  He pondered the idea. “I’ll take the risk, but I don’t want you ladies to be burdened with the crime. If I steal—”

  “Borrow,” Margaret corrected.

  “If I take the truck without permission,” he continued, “it’s not ‘borrowing.’ And I can’t control what the Irish authorities will do to all of you.”

  “They won’t do a thing. After all, you held us at gunpoint, didn’t ya?” Tuda reminded him.

  “That’s right, isn’t it, Nan?” Margaret pushed the cork back into the whiskey bottle. “And what will it matter when the Garda discovers the abandoned lorry still full of its cargo? You will be safely in England, after all.”

  Dutch could hardly believe what he was hearing. These women w
ere sacrificing their safety and freedom for him. “I can’t ask you to do this.”

  “Listen.” Tuda flipped a wayward curl from her forehead. “If my boys were behind enemy lines, I’d hope some brave women would do the same for them. So yes, we can.”

  “And we will.” Nan’s voice was strong and clear, as firm as that of any RAF crew member before a mission.

  A couple seconds of silence passed before Dutch said, “Excellent plan. Carry on.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Nan stood arm in arm, chest to chest with Dutch in the alley behind the pub. They watched Tuda and Margaret approach Mrs. Odin’s back door, sidestepping the piles of discarded boxes and overstuffed rubbish cans.

  “What if she doesn’t answer the door?” Nan asked, leaning into Dutch’s chest.

  “We’ll think of something else,” he said, holding her closer.

  She felt the heat of his body and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force down the longing, the desperation for him. But the ache was undeniable. She wanted to tell him what had happened on the cliff. But what if he withdrew his tenderness when he saw the darkness and deceit inside her?

  Mrs. Odin, dressed in her flowered bathrobe, opened the door and greeted Margaret and Tuda. They talked for a minute; then Margaret glanced over her shoulder and gave a nod.

  “My two best friends in the world,” Nan said. “They’ve proven their loyalty beyond what I’d ever ask.”

  “I suppose I’m your worst nightmare.”

  “Not a’tall.” She had to tell him how she felt. “You’ve awakened me, and I’ll not forget you.”

  That connection to him, that yearning for him, overwhelmed her. Dutch held her more tightly, then led her to the moss-covered stone wall beyond the gate. In this private place, he kissed her with such a gentle touch, it could have been a whispering breeze. Then she met his intent look, and he unleashed what they’d been holding back. The wildness of their souls. Everywhere he touched left a burning trail. His kisses deepened, and she grew dizzy.

  “Come with me,” he whispered.

  Her body turned to liquid gold at the mere thought. She shook her head. “I told you. I can’t.”

  “You can.” He brushed his thumb along her cheek. “Come with me.”

  She fell into his blue-eyed gaze, and all the reasons not to leave with him tumbled through her mind. Her home. Her practice. Her friends. Her country. Her insides looped and swayed and pitched in every direction. “I can’t.”

  He rested his forehead against hers. “All right. I’ll pray for you every day.”

  She cupped his jaw and kissed him again, wishing with her whole heart that they could stay together.

  “Look what I have,” they heard Margaret call out. “Where are ya two?”

  Dutch released a deep breath and stepped back. Nan felt cold, empty air filling the space between them.

  Margaret came through the gate, holding the key in front of her. “I’ve got the lorry’s key, and he has no idea it’s been pinched from his pocket.” Tuda followed.

  “Well done, Margaret,” Dutch said. “Bravo.”

  “’Twas Mrs. Odin’s doing, not mine.” Margaret placed the key into his palm. “She knows his pants inside and out. I’m sure Father Albert has told her she’s got a one-way ticket to hell. Of course, she’ll be grinning the whole way.”

  “And Brian beside her,” Tuda added.

  Nan felt her face grow hot. “Such boldness, you two.”

  “When ya our age, you’ve earned it,” Margaret said. “Okay, here’s the deal. We’re to wait until Mrs. Odin closes the upstairs curtain. That’s our signal. Then we have five minutes while they rumple the sheets and you get the lorry out of town.”

  “Only five?” Dutch said.

  “That’s all we get. He’s no spring rooster like yourself.”

  “Five is probably optimistic.” Nan cooled her cheeks with her cold fingers. “We better plan on three.”

  “Two,” Tuda muttered.

  “If he’s anything like my Mikie, one.”

  The upstairs curtain closed. Nan lifted the knapsack from Finn’s bicycle basket. She hesitated. The side pocket gapped open, and she could see Finn’s gun inside.

  “Come on,” Dutch said. “We have to go.”

  “Do you really need a second gun? This is Ireland, not occupied France or Nazi Germany.”

  “Just a spare. For intimidation only.”

  Tuda led the foursome down a narrow alley between the pub and a tailor shop. At the edge of a building, they pressed their backs against the wall, the bricks cold and rough against Nan’s hands. Something snagged her trouser. She yanked her leg away and heard a rip.

  “There it is,” Dutch whispered.

  Peeking into the fog-cloaked street, Nan saw the Guinness lorry parked in its usual place. They were about to step out of the alley when they heard horse hooves and squeaking cart wheels.

  “Get back,” he said.

  A horse-drawn cart filled with vegetables was coming down the street. The driver sang above the sound of the wheels.

  “I was grateful last night for the clear, moonlit sky, and today I’m thankful for the fog.” Nan’s voice, a notch above a whisper, seemed to disappear into the mist. They listened to the clumping and clapping of the hooves on the cobblestone street.

  She gazed at Dutch’s profile, at the determined set of his eyes and jaw. Nothing would stop him from crossing the border.

  This is it, she thought. The last time she’d see him. Dutch was leaving Ireland. Forever. The realization made her question her decision; could she stand to watch him disappear toward his escape and back into the war?

  She’d have to. That was all there was to it. She’d manage, she would.

  When the cart turned the corner, Dutch said, “Okay. Now’s my chance.”

  “Mind you don’t take the lanes too fast or the turns too hard,” Tuda warned. “You’ll tip the thing over.”

  Margaret paced to the back of the lorry. “And if you lose a barrel, let it be. The fairies will soon roll it away and have it for their tea.”

  With the door wide open, he looked at Nan. “Pray for me.” He reached for the knapsack she held. His lips touched hers. Electricity sparked between them, hot as burning turf.

  Dear Lord. How can I let this man go? After he opened his heart to me?

  Deep inside her, a quiet voice answered. I can’t. Not yet, anyway. Nan climbed into the lorry, pushing the knapsack to the other side of the seat and sliding across to the passenger door. She tried to smile but couldn’t quite pull it off. “What are you waiting for? Get in. We haven’t got all day.”

  His mouth parted, yet no words fell from his tongue.

  “Don’t look so surprised. Didn’t ya just invite me to come along?”

  What if he made her get out? How would she ever carry on?

  The smile he gave her confirmed his desire for her.

  “Are you mad?” Tuda said. “You’re going with him?”

  “Only to the border.”

  Dutch frowned. “You’re not going to England with me?”

  Tuda glared at him. “Are ya daft? She’s not going to England.” Her expression turned motherly as she faced Nan. “Don’t ya think you’ve done enough for your secret flyboy? It’s your freedom we’re talking about now.”

  A stab in her gut confirmed that Nan had the same fears, but the pull toward Dutch overrode the urge to run home to the safety of her hearth. “I’ll get him to the border. Just look at him. He still needs my help. Have you heard his brogue? As soon as he opens his yap, it’ll be over for him. Besides, if I stay here, I may still end up in jail.”

  Tuda shook her head. “Are you sure about this, Nan?”

  “Of course she is. Where’s ya sense of romance, Tuda?” Margaret grinned. “If ya get caught, we’ll say Dutch took ya at gunpoint. Isn’t that so, Tuda?” She elbowed Tuda, who did not look convinced.

  “We’re good at lying,” Margaret continued. “Haven’t we had e
ight hundred years of practice from British oppression to keep our stories straight? Finn has no idea what he’s up against.”

  “We’ll keep the fib afloat,” Tuda allowed, “but you’re absolutely mad, Nan O’Neil.”

  “She’s mad in love. The two of them.” Margaret winked. “Don’t you remember what that felt like, Tuda?”

  Tuda’s face softened. “I do. May the Lord be with you.”

  “Also with you,” Nan said, glad to get the blessing.

  “Thank you, both.” Dutch gave the two women quick hugs before he climbed into the lorry.

  Tuda shut the door. “Mind you take good care of her, or we’ll find ya and tie you up like we did Finn.”

  “I will, with my life.” Dutch inserted the key, and the engine thundered into operation. He ground the gears a couple of times before the lorry lurched forward. Soon they were going over the bridge, out of Ballyhaven, and into their future.

  Nan picked up a flat cap—Brian’s, no doubt. With trembling fingers, she passed the hat to Dutch. “Here, put this on. Try to look Irish.”

  “That’s easy. I’ll sit on my hands and pretend to care about what happens to the Allies.”

  “I ought to slap your piehole for that comment.”

  He swung the cap on, pushed it down over his forehead, and grinned. “I’d prefer if you kiss it.”

  She’d prefer that, too. “If we’re stopped, promise me you’ll let me do all the talking. None of your Irish brogue. Did I ever tell you that you sounded ridiculous?”

  “Ah sure now, ya didn’t have ta, lass.”

  “It hasn’t improved,” she observed.

  “But my health has, thanks to you.” He reached over and ran his hand along her thigh.

  “Look out!”

  Two barking dogs ran out into the lane in front of them. Dutch gripped the steering wheel and swerved to miss the mutts. The lorry scraped the stone wall, bounced back.

  “Slow down. You’re driving like Lady Margot.” She glanced behind at the barrels knocking and bouncing. The dogs scooted away, unharmed. “I hope you fly better than you drive.”

  His cheeks bloomed with color. “You’re a major distraction.”

  “Oh sure. Blame it on me.”

  “Get out the map. Where’s our first turn?”