She stopped him with a hand to his chest, her eyes searching his face. “I’ll go with you. Cross the border. Be happy to marry you. But . . .”
“What?”
There seemed to be a battle raging behind her eyes. “But I must return to Ballyhaven.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
He let out a sigh. “Father Albert.”
“And I can’t abandon my friends to deal with the mess we’ve made. When all this gets sorted out, I’ll find a way to join you. Dutch? Please?”
Her loyalty astonished him, though it shouldn’t have. This was why he loved her so. “But I want you with me.” He must have sounded like a whining child.
“Once we’re legally married, can’t I travel to Belfast and meet you on base? Or go to England for a visit?”
He shrugged. There was logic to her reasoning. “I suppose that’s possible. How will we manage that? How—”
She glided her hand up his throat to cover his lips. “We’ll pray. Put our trust in God. Figure out the details tomorrow. And like all war brides, I’ll be waiting for the war to end so we can be together for all time.”
If he pushed her too hard, she might back away. He couldn’t bear losing her over his stubbornness. “I . . . it’s not ideal.”
“Nor is you getting back into a bomber. But this is war.”
“You have a point. If that’s the way it has to be, okay.”
“’Tis. And I love you.” She fell into his waiting arms.
“I love you, too.” The wind rocked the truck, or maybe it was only the dizziness he felt for being with her. Now more than ever, he prayed he’d be spared in combat.
“Your cheek. It’s bruised. Did I do that when I pushed you to the seat?”
“I must look a fright.” Her fingers trembled over the dark patch.
“You look incredibly beautiful.”
“Go on with ya. Me? An old mud hen?”
He touched her cheek, her skin silky under his palm. With shaking fingers, her hand covered his. They locked gazes as their lips found each other’s. The kiss began tentatively, then deepened. They were connected by touch and spirit. A forever kiss in a wrecked Guinness truck. A story for their children’s children.
He had no doubts now, he realized. This was the woman God had chosen for him.
“Close your eyes,” she said, her voice soothing. “We’ve got to rest. It’s a treacherous journey in the morning.”
Dutch closed his eyes and drifted into slumber, holding on to Nan and to the hope that by this time tomorrow, they’d be married. Yes, he’d head back to England, but he’d see her soon. And she would be waiting for him when the war was over.
Lord, he prayed, thank you for this precious woman. Please make a way for us to be together sooner rather than later.
CHAPTER 27
Dutch’s mechanic tapped on the wing of his Wellington bomber. The steaming afternoon sun, more like a hot day in Toronto than a typical day in England, burned, blurring Dutch’s vision.
He stared at the pristine bomber. “I thought this old gal went down in Ireland.”
“Yep, but it’ll fly again.” The kid’s smile sent wrinkles around his eyes. “Take us right out of here, sir. Take us home. Say, didn’t you go down with your crew last month?”
The kid tapped the wing again. And again. Dutch woke, this time turning his head toward the tapping sound.
His stomach lurched. Outside the truck, a line of soldiers had their rifles set on Dutch and Nan. A man wearing a green uniform grinned. “Ah, did we wake you, then? Top of the morning to ya, Flight Officer Whitney.”
Dutch jolted upright, rousing Nan. The doors swung open. From either side, uniformed men grabbed the couple.
“No, no.” She kicked the soldier climbing in, but the trooper managed to seize her legs. “Get off.”
She held on to Dutch, but they were yanked out. They stumbled, struggled to stay together, found their footing. Her eyes, so wild and afraid, tore at his soul.
The Irish Army officers wrenched Nan from his arms, and a soldier grabbed her around the waist. Nan reached for Dutch with arms and legs as they were dragged away from each other.
“No, no. Let him go. He’s a hero.”
“He’s a combatant,” the man with a too-tight uniform said. “He’s off to internment.”
“She’s not involved,” Dutch protested. “Leave her be. You’re hurting her.” He struggled to free himself from their grip, and one of the officers struck Dutch in the stomach while another punched his face.
“Stop. You’re killing him.” Nan’s struggles were met with tighter holds.
“We’re doing no such thing. Hands on your head, miss,” a soldier instructed. He patted her down with a smirk.
“Don’t you touch her!” Dutch yelled.
“Shut up, you.” The butt of a rifle struck his ribs.
Pain from the hit stabbed through him, and he grasped for breath.
“Ah, would ya look at this. Not one gun, but two.” A trooper with missing front buttons on his uniform climbed out of the truck, holding the weapons.
“That’s evidence. Take it along.”
Handcuffed and thrown into the back of an army vehicle, Dutch fell against the dirty floor. He tried to stand, but a booted foot slammed him back down. “She’s innocent. I made her do everything at gunpoint. Let her go.”
“We can’t do that. The Garda will determine her fate.”
Soldiers yanked him up to the bench and wedged him in on either side, their bulk restraining his movements. All he could do was crane his neck to gaze out the back window.
“What are they doing to her?”
“Ah, don’t ya worry.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
“What do you think, lad? You’re off to the K-Lines. Curragh Internment Camp. Where the Brits used to imprison the IRA. Ironic, isn’t it?”
Dutch didn’t care about internment anymore. All he cared about was what would happen to Nan. He’d failed to protect her. Failed to keep her from being arrested. In the distance, she grew smaller and smaller as troopers walked her out of the abbey and onto the tree-lined lane.
Hands on her head, Nan no longer fought the urge to cry as two Irish Army soldiers escorted her down a muddy road.
One of the men handed her a handkerchief. “If you promise not to run, you can put your arms down.”
“Thank you,” she said, wiping her tears.
“Not a’tall.” The young man kept his gaze ahead.
Where would she run? Only back to Dutch. There was no fleeing from what she’d done, from the sins she’d racked up. But this was serious. It was God’s will, or their plan would have worked. He must have something else in mind. Trust in the Lord, a still, quiet voice rose from deep down within her. She did, but He wasn’t making it easy.
They continued down the lane about a half mile until they came to a Garda van, its back doors open. Inside, a man with sloped shoulders and drooping eyes sat on a bench. He flung down an Irish Times newspaper.
“Ah, there ya are. Thanks, fellas. We’ll take her from here.”
The two soldiers nodded and strolled back toward the abbey.
The Garda from the van hopped out. “I’m Officer Dunn. And this here . . .” He looked from side to side. “Johnny, where are ya?”
A man with a red nose slunk around the side of the van. “Hello, miss. I bet you’re famished. Fancy a cup of tea and some breakfast?”
“I dunno, Johnny. Don’t you think we ought to pat her down first? For weapons?”
“Brilliant, Dunn. Brilliant.”
“They did that to me already.” A blush spread over her cheeks. She thought the army officers might have enjoyed their task. Hands everywhere, touching her. Making her skin crawl.
“It’s procedure.” Johnny closed the distance between them. His breath could kill a cow. “Do you have a gun, miss?”
“I don’t.”
“Okay.” H
e stepped back.
“Ah, but that’s not procedure, Johnny. She might be a dangerous criminal.”
Nan stomped her foot, although in the mud, the only sound it mustered was a squish. “I am not. I’m just a midwife. The Irish Army pawed me already.”
“Ah, the brutes.”
Officer Dunn folded his arms, looked her up and down. “Ya see, miss. You might look as innocent as a lamb at Easter, but someone tied up Officer Finn. Someone stole a Guinness lorry. Used false papers to get petrol. Mowed down an LDF checkpoint. Last time I checked, all that was against the law, and you and the RAF pilot are the prime suspects.”
“He kidnapped me.”
Both men laughed.
Her face flushed. “I’m innocent until proven guilty in a court of law.” Nan focused on the ground. She was so guilty, it wouldn’t be worth hiring a lawyer to plead her case. She’d spend the rest of the year, maybe the rest of the decade, in jail. She might never see Dutch again, she thought with dread. How could they have hit him? How could they have harmed him?
And what would the women of Ballyhaven do without their midwife? Dr. Mann, while brilliant in every way, didn’t seem committed to her physician duties.
“Go on then, Johnny. Pat down the missus.”
“I don’t have any weapons.”
Officer Dunn perched on the edge of the open van, poured tea into a cup, and crossed his legs at the ankles. Steam looped upward from the beverage. “How will we know unless we pat you down?”
“Maybe she can pull her sweater tight? Give us a bit of a turn around?”
“Brilliant! Do ya mind, miss? ’Cause we really don’t want to put our hands on ya.”
“Oh, fine.” She took off her jacket, tossed it to Dunn, and then pulled her sweater tight in every direction, revealing her curves. After a slow turn, she lifted her eyebrows. “Once enough?” From their gaping mouths, it seemed her figure was weapon enough to leave the men stunned.
Dunn licked his lips and offered a lopsided smile. “All right. You remind me of my daughter. Take ya coat, miss. It’s powerfully cold this morning.”
“Really, Dunn? She reminds me of a Hollywood star. Climb inside. Have a cup of tea. Sit down. There’s a bit of paperwork; then we’ll be on our way.”
“To where?”
“Ballyhaven. Our orders are to deliver you to the Garda. He’s waiting for you.”
Her hand covered her mouth. She was doomed. A bolt of panic soared through her as she pictured Finn. What if Halpin, God forbid, was mourning his dead wife? Finn would be in charge. Oh, what would he do to her now? She remembered him on top of her, pawing her, trying to get her belt open.
She straightened her shoulders. She’d gladly go to jail if it saved her from the likes of Shamus Finn. “What about Dutch? Officer Whitney?”
“Himself? Off to internment camp.”
“They should let him go,” Nan said. “He’s on the right side. He’s so close, just a walk away from freedom.”
“We can’t very well pick and choose which belligerents we intern if we have any hopes of staying a neutral nation.”
Nan sighed with defeat. The image of Dutch, doubled over from the punch to his gut, blood trickling from his nose, turned her stomach. For the first time in her life, she was ashamed of her country. They needn’t have roughed him up, all the while pointing their rifles at the couple.
Nan settled on the wooden bench inside the van. Dunn poured her a cup of tea, gave her a slice of soda bread smeared with butter, and then closed the door. The sound of the lock clicking shut vibrated in her ear. So final a sound, it made her cry.
Through the back window, gray light illuminated the interior of her prison. She stared into her cup, the contents of her stomach turning to acid.
I have faith, but where are You in this, Lord? Please, dear heavenly Father, protect and save Dutch.
A few hours later, the landscape grew familiar. Ballyhaven, with its lopsided church steeple and gray, tile-roofed buildings, came into view. They rode on the narrow path beside the graveyard. This wouldn’t be home for long, though. She’d be off to prison, to some dark, lonesome place where she’d rot away and pine for Dutch.
“What do ya make of that, Dunn? All those women following that lad down the lane, poking him with their brooms?” The van came to a screeching halt outside the churchyard.
“Ah now. Are they throwing vegetables at that poor bloke? Where would they get them tomatoes this time of year?”
“I dunno, but we’ll have to wait. They’re blocking the road.”
Nan went to the barred window, shaking the van from side to side. With a sharp gasp, she watched Finn hurry across the street, holding a suitcase. A crowd of womenfolk, her friends, marched after him. Two gals snarled and shouted at him, prodding him with the ends of their brooms. Tomatoes flew through the air from the crowd, some hitting Finn, others splatting on the road, leaving bright-red marks on the gray pavement.
Nan threaded her fingers through the open bars. She recognized the walking ball of yarn. “Margaret,” she called. “Margaret.”
Her friend looked in her direction.
“Margaret. In here.” Nan stuck her fingers through the grate.
“Nan! It’s Nan!” Margaret broke from the mob and ran to the van. “Ah, what have they done to you?”
“Arrested me.”
Tuda appeared next. “Are you all right, aside from being locked up?”
“Yes, but my heart is mashed potatoes. They took Dutch away. Ripped him from my arms. Beat him.”
“The blaggards.” Margaret pressed her hands together. “But isn’t that romantic?”
“Are you daft? It was horrible. He’s on his way to internment camp, and I’m on my way to prison.” Nan felt hot tears run down her cheeks.
“Ah now, we’ll see about that.” Tuda handed Nan a handkerchief. “Did ya see the doings with Finn? He’s getting run out of town. And about time.”
Nan took the linen tissue and wiped it over her wet cheeks. “Why?”
“On account of slapping Lady Margot.”
Nan placed her hand over her mouth. “What?”
“’Tis true. After Finn got free—”
“How?” Nan asked.
“The Tinkers. Ah, I’m sorry, Nan. They helped themselves to your stuff before they untied Finn.”
“I don’t care about my stuff. What happened next to Finn?”
“He must have heard us talking about the Silver Ghost, because he went to the manor house and confronted Lady Margot as she stepped out of her lovely car,” Margaret said.
“She was holding a cake,” Tuda said. “When she told him she had no idea who or what he was talking about, he grabbed her arm and shook it.”
“No!”
Margaret nodded. “She flung the cake at him and hit him in the face. Then he slapped her. Lord Harry saw the whole thing, the whole thing. They got into quite the shoving match. His lordship had him arrested and stripped of his uniform, and then his lordship said he’d drop the charges if Finn would leave town. Immediately. That was a bit of God fighting our battle, don’t ya think?”
“I do,” Nan said. “I’m glad to see the back of that man.”
“Ah sure, we all are.” Margaret adjusted a stray hair from her messy bun. “All us women, anyway.”
The last of the ladies crossed the street, and the Garda wagon shook into gear. “We’ll see you at the station. Come on, Margaret. I still have a basket of rotten hothouse tomatoes, and the target has a backside the size of a barn.”
“Throw one for me,” Nan shouted, glad that Finn would no longer wander the streets of Ballyhaven in pursuit of mischief.
The vehicle rumbled over the cobbled street. Still standing at the window, Nan peeked over the stone fence at the graveyard. Wind parted the mist long enough for her to see her husband’s grave, covered in moss and wet from the morning shower.
Her heart sank, as her biggest sin seemed to stare back at her. She had to confess to F
ather Albert, make her slate clean. He would need to know. She wondered if Teddy would be dug up, removed from the graveyard. The church was firm on this issue—suicide was a mortal sin.
She slumped onto the bench. Soon, she’d be formally charged. Sent to prison. Set apart from a life she’d so carefully built. But at least Finn would no longer torment the women in town. Something good had come from all this.
“What the heaven is going on here? Why are all those men standing outside the pub?” Nan heard Johnny exclaim.
“Looks closed. What do ya think of that, Dunn?”
“I think there must be something powerfully wrong to close down a grand pub like that.”
She returned to the window. Sure enough, the town’s men milled outside Mrs. Odin’s pub, their facial expressions ranging from confused to lost. The pub door was closed, and the window shutters were latched shut. It was strange; Mrs. Odin always opened the pub by this time in the afternoon. Dread raced through Nan. Maybe Mrs. Odin had been arrested, too.
But that didn’t make any sense. Tuda and Margaret were free, but perhaps Halpin hadn’t caught up with them yet.
A few minutes later, the van pulled to the curb. So this was it. The end of the line. The end of freedom. Nan let out a sigh as the Garda opened the wagon’s door. They led her into the station, down the hall, and presented her to Officer Halpin, who sat in his office, behind his desk.
Thank you, Lord, that it’s not Finn, she thought.
“Ah, Nan. You’ve been a naughty girl.”
“I have.” Heat surged through her. “Kelly. How is she?”
“Still in hospital. Resting. Dr. Mann insists your quick thinking saved her life. For the most part, she will fully recover.”
“I’m so glad.” Nan crossed her hands over her chest. At least she had done something right over the past few days. “The baby?”
“Growing like a weed. We’ll love her even more dearly now, if that’s a’tall possible. You see, we won’t have any more children.”
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