The familiar scent of lemon oil and frankincense calmed Nan’s soul. The rituals, the expected, the same old same were a comfort. She slid into a pew as quietly as she could, found an abandoned rosary, and picked it up.
She gulped when the confessional opened and Finn’s mother limped out, taking no notice of Nan. The withered, slumped-over woman staggered to a pew at the front of the sanctuary. Her rosary beads draped around her knotted fingers, and she sank to her knees in prayer.
Guilt washed over Nan. It had never been her intention to hurt Finn’s mother. How would the old woman get on without her son? Even such as he was, he did take care of his mother. And the pigs. Dirty animals, but they were God’s creatures and deserved to be cared for as well. Nan let out a sigh and headed to the confession booth.
She kneeled inside, the way she’d done since before her first Holy Communion. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Father Albert listened without comment until the end, when Nan stopped short of the one that might stop the priest’s heart.
“Is that all, my child?” His tone indicated he had a lot of material to work with.
“No, Father. I have to confess something else. Something altogether terrible. Something about Teddy.”
“And what might that be?”
Nan squeezed the rosary beads she’d laced between her fingers. “It’s like this, Father. Three years ago, when Teddy died . . .”
“Yes. Go on.”
“He didn’t just die. He killed himself.”
Nan heard the priest suck in a breath. “Go on.”
She continued, telling him the entire story. At the end, she said, “I’m sorry that I wasn’t completely honest with you. And that I didn’t seek your help. We’ve had our differences, but you deserved the truth.”
“Are you done?” he asked when she’d finished.
“Yes, Father. What will you do? Will you remove Teddy from the church graveyard now that you know?”
“We’ll let the dead be,” he answered. “Tell me, Nan. How are your knees?”
“They’re fine, Father. Why do you ask?”
“Because you’ll be down on them, doing penance, for a very long time.”
CHAPTER 28
Nan trudged through the graveyard, her knees aching, but her soul healing. There was one last step. She had to confront Teddy and tell him she’d no longer allow her heart and soul to be his. She stood at his grave. The Celtic cross, once the color of Irish sea salt, was now gloomy gray. Moss and lichen and mold were winning the battle to claim it as their own.
“Teddy,” she said, touching the cold gravestone. “I gave you my love. Only our heavenly Father understands the why and what of your actions. I harbor no bitterness toward you. I forgive you. I pray your soul finds peace.”
With that, she turned away. The sun broke through the clouds and washed the church steeple in gold. The beams stretched down to dance over her. Closing her eyes, she opened her hands, invited the Holy Ghost to seep in, to fill her with His amazing grace. She basked in His radiance, which made her feel so light, she thought her feet might lift and carry her up to meet Him.
She was free from her bond of shame, regret, darkness, and sorrow. Free of Teddy. Truly forgiven.
“Thank you, Lord.” She opened her eyes. For a brief second, a rainbow spread across the sky. Then it disappeared as though she’d imagined it. Or perhaps it was the Holy Ghost winking at her.
Her steps were light until she neared the church gates. She’d put Teddy to rest, but her longing for Dutch pulled her down again. Trust in the Lord. The thought rose up from down deep. Yet, she couldn’t see how to be with Dutch until after the war.
She stood on the cobbled street, looking up the hill at the row of attached buildings. The sound of laughter and music drifted toward her on the wind, along with a whiff of burning turf. She was supposed to join everyone at the pub, but her heart ached for Dutch, and she’d only cry if she had to retell the agony of the past few hours. No. She’d walk home now. Try to make sense of what had happened between them. And what hadn’t happened.
They could have been across the border by this time. Safe. Married. Instead, she was alone, wondering if her man was injured and rotting in a dirty POW cell. Dear God, no. Please take care of him.
Nan had crossed the bridge when Dr. Mann’s Ford Model A pulled up alongside her.
“Hey, kid,” Dr. Mann shouted through the open window. “Climb in.”
“Thanks, Doc. Thanks for all you did. I can’t talk right now. I prefer to walk.”
“Not a request.” Juliet swung the door open. “Get in.” Her eyes had the hard precision of a cold military officer, rather than the softness of a kind country doctor.
Nan owed the woman. She could hardly justify refusing this order. “If you insist.” Nan climbed into the warmth of the sedan. She had a feeling she was about to give the doctor a debriefing.
Dr. Mann’s expression could freeze tea leaves. “Holy cow dung, O’Neil,” Juliet said. “What happened? How the heck did you end up in Cliffside?”
“We had to take a detour.”
“Why?” Juliet barely slowed down enough to make the hairpin bend on the road. The car’s back wheels hit a patch of mud. The sedan slid right, left, right. The doc calmly regained control of the vehicle.
“One of the roads was washed out. We couldn’t pass. It put us off the route—”
“What happened to the map I gave you?”
They sped down the lane, toward Nan’s house. The sunset painted the sky with orange, gold, crimson, and pink hues. The big, puffy clouds were cheerful. So unlike Nan’s mood. Or the mood of the gal next to her. “We followed it, but once we—”
“I know that. What happened to the actual map?”
Nan frowned, tried to recall the craziness of the morning. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Did the Irish Army get it?” The doc seemed to have aged since the last time Nan had seen her. Lines darted down from her lips to her chin. Dark under-eye circles stood out against her pale skin.
Nan shrugged. “They found the guns. I’m sorry. I don’t know if they nabbed the map.”
“I don’t give a fig about the guns. What did you do with the map? Where was it the last time you saw it?”
“On the floor of the lorry.”
Juliet wiped a hand over her mouth, smearing her lipstick onto her white glove. “They probably found it.” She smacked her hand on the steering wheel. She swung the car around a corner.
“Look out,” Nan shouted.
Juliet careened out of the path of a wayward cow, barely missing the animal. The car rode up an embankment, and for a second Nan thought they’d capsize, but the doc righted the vehicle as though this happened every day.
“Wowza. Steak tartare, anyone?” She zoomed back into the middle of the lane. “How about the fake ID?”
“We lost that somewhere. Along with the ration book.”
“Where?”
“Probably outside the Gilmour House gates. When Lady Margot almost ran us over.”
“So you never used it?”
“Never.”
“Okay, good. I’ll head over there and try to find it.”
“Was the map important? The ID? I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to lose them.”
Juliet shook her head, and the serene expression returned to her face. It was as though she’d turned a switch and the glib doctor was back. “Don’t be. I’m the one who’s sorry. Too bad you didn’t get your flyboy across the border.”
“Without your help, Dutch would be dead. And thanks for paying for the damage to the lorry.”
“You’re not supposed to know about that. Who told you?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Mrs. Norman.” Juliet downshifted, grinding the gears. “That woman and her big ears and even bigger mouth, she’s going to get me killed.”
Nan grinned until she saw the tension in Juliet’s face. The doctor wasn’t kidding. Dutch w
as right. She must be with American intelligence. “Doc, are you a spy?”
“Spy? Me? What a hoot.”
“Are you?”
She glanced at Nan. “I could tell ya, but then I’d have to shoot ya. Listen, kid, I am sorry about the loused-up escape. Paying for the Guinness Company’s damages was the least I could do. I hear the Tinkers did a number on your house. What’s next for you?”
“Carry on, I suppose.” The old Nan would have gone back and sorted through her damaged home and attempted to reconstruct her former life. Hide away from adventure. But that life was over.
They approached Nan’s house. Dark. Silent. Abandoned. There were neat piles of debris lined up outside. A tarp covered the hole in the roof. This empty shell didn’t feel like her home anymore. Especially now that Dutch wouldn’t be there. Or Mr. Dee.
There was nothing inside she cared about except for a few books, her rosary beads, the portrait of Jesus, and the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary her mother had given her at confirmation. She hoped the Tinkers had the decency to leave those items alone, but she wasn’t hopeful.
“Wow, kid. Your house. It’s in shambles.” The doctor pulled into the courtyard and parked the car, engine still running. “You want me to go in with you?”
Nan shook her head. “No.”
Juliet reached into her boxy leather purse and pulled out a tube. She ringed her lips with the Tangee lipstick. “Okay. You getting out?”
Nan didn’t move, mulling over what to do next.
The doctor stopped applying the lipstick. “What? You need money? Just ask.”
“Thanks. I don’t. I need to put my life back together. Ah, I can’t believe I’m back.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Beats jail.”
“That’s true. This could have turned very ugly.” Nan let out a groan. “I thought I’d be back. But . . .” Nan glanced at Juliet, trying to decide if she ought to confide in the doctor. “I was going to flee across the border with Dutch. Get married on base. See him off to England. Then I’d return home. We’d see each other when we could.”
“I thought from the second I saw you together that it was the real deal. You two make a great couple.”
“Did you? Now we’ll have to wait until after the war to get married.” The uncertainty of how long it’d be before she held Dutch in her arms again stabbed through her gut. The memory of his lips, his scent, his gaze turned her heart upside down.
“Invite me to the wedding. If I’m around.” Juliet huffed. “And I probably will be because I’m not getting assigned to London anytime soon. Say, you okay, kid?”
Nan hadn’t noticed she’d been wringing her hands. She stopped, folded them in her lap. “Other than feeling as though I just lost the love of my life—”
“He’s not lost. He’s interned. At least you know he won’t get shot down again. And you know where he is.”
“What do you know about the internment camp? Is it horrid? The Irish Army yanked him from my arms and beat him before they threw him in their lorry.”
“Did they? The cretins. The K-Lines is thirty miles southwest of Dublin. One side of the camp houses the Allies. The other, the Axis. That’s about all I could ferret out.”
“I hate to think of him locked away in a cell. His injuries not being cared for.”
“I want to help you, but I’m not exactly in a position to do that right now.”
Nan squeezed her left finger, longing to wear Dutch’s wedding ring. “If I were married to him, I’d have legal rights.” Nan shifted, tapping her feet. “I have a good mind to go up to that camp and bang on the manager’s door. Demand to see if Dutch is being treated right.”
“The camp commandant, not the manager. What’s stopping you? You don’t strike me as timid. Maybe use your charm instead of brute force, though.”
A bead of hope sprang up in Nan. Yes. That’s right. Why not?
“They must have medical staff. Maybe I could worm my way in. Maybe I could sweet-talk myself into a position. Or volunteer. Not much call for a midwife, though.”
“You’re a top-notch nurse. I’ve seen your stitches.”
Nan looked at the empty house. It would mean leaving her friends and patients, though. But Dutch. Dutch. She had to be with him.
Nan grabbed Juliet’s arm. “I’m going to the K-Lines. But you have to promise me you’ll stay here. Look after the women of Ballyhaven.”
Juliet put her hand on top of Nan’s. “I can’t promise that. But if I leave, I promise there’ll be a doctor and a midwife here. I can do that with a snap of my fingers.”
“What time is it?”
Juliet looked at her watch. “Four forty-five.”
“Will you wait for me for a few minutes? I’ll throw whatever’s left into a suitcase. If I hurry, I’ll make the night train.”
“Sure, I’ll drive you. Don’t you want to stop by the pub and say good-bye to Tuda and the girls?”
“I think I best just be on my way. If I go by there now, I may never leave. Tuda and the girls will understand. They can visit me.”
“Okay. Get a move on.” Juliet closed the lipstick. “Here, take it,” she said. “You’ll want your lips to be silky smooth when you finally get to the Curragh, then you can kiss your man silly.”
After an agonizingly slow train ride to Dublin and an even slower bus ride to Newbridge, a town near the Curragh where Nan found a room at an inn, more than twenty-four hours had passed. It was already afternoon. She stood outside the K-Lines, closer to Dutch, but not close enough.
Nan gripped her medical bag and entered the POW camp. A rectangular perimeter fence made of barbed wire enclosed the compound. Inside, a vast collection of barracks seemed deserted. Only a fierce wind howled between the rows of buildings. The area was divided into two compounds by a corrugated-iron fence. The barbed wire ran the length of the separation.
Ironic, she thought. Until yesterday, her heart had been surrounded by barbed wire. Dutch had clipped the wires, released her heart to love again. He’d freed her. Now Dutch was behind barbed wire. And God help her, Nan was going to cut him free.
She swallowed against the knot in her throat. Elevated gun posts marked each of the four corners of the perimeter. Armed guards, stationed in the towers, pointed their weapons into the yard. There were two pedestrian gates to enter the camp. Nan figured the sign marked “B” must be the British side, and “G” indicated the German side.
She sucked in a breath, reminded herself of the doctor’s instructions. Use your gorgeous eyes and smile to disarm the guard and get past him to see the commandant.
Nan walked through the British pedestrian gate with her lips pouty—and hopefully alluring with the many layers of Tangee—plus enhanced eyebrows, eyelashes, and cheeks, all provided by the magic of Dr. Mann’s makeup, a last-minute gift from the doctor at the train station.
A young Irish Army soldier battling acne gaped. “Good day, miss,” he said.
“Ah, how you keeping?” Nan spread a slow smile, and the soldier responded exactly the way she wanted him to.
“Ah. Fine, miss. What can I do to you?” He shook his head. “For you.”
“I’m here about the nursing position. I have an interview with the commandant.”
He looked at his papers, shuffled them around. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any interviews listed.”
“Must be some mix-up. Can you please see if the commandant is ready for me now?” She leaned toward him, making sure he got a glimpse of her cleavage, where she’d intentionally left open a button.
Lord, I’m going to hell. Or at least spending a few centuries in purgatory.
But it worked. The soldier’s gaze stayed on her chest. He picked up the phone. He said something into the receiver, then lifted his gaze to hers. “What’s your name, miss?”
“Nurse Nan O’Neil.”
He repeated it into the phone. “And where might you be from?”
“Ballyhaven.” Nan’s pulse pounded, drumming
in her ears. That might have been daft, to give her real name and town. The doctor hadn’t instructed her on that part. She should have asked Juliet. Well, too late now.
The soldier put down the receiver. “Commandant McGann will see you. Please wait a tick while someone from his office comes to fetch ya.”
A few minutes later, Nan sat at a long table in a conference room. She was given an application to fill out, which took her less than five minutes. She pushed the fountain pen back and forth between her hands and took in the room. A potbellied stove warmed the space. Maps of Ireland hung on the walls. Bookcases, crowded with binders, stood under a row of windows.
Outside, the camp was still and vacant. Tan. Dull. Monotonous. Inside and out. Where were the prisoners? She hated to think of them locked away in cold cells, especially Dutch. How could men be so cruel?
The door opened, and a middle-aged man walked in, wearing a khaki-colored uniform. He reminded Nan so much of Paul Halpin, she decided the commandant would immediately see through her lies and half-truths.
He nodded to her, his dark eyes evaluating her. “They tell me you’re here about the nursing post.” He pulled out a chair and sat across from her.
“I am.” She straightened and slid the application toward him. What luck. There apparently was an opening.
“The one that doesn’t exist?”
Or maybe not. Nan folded her arms, crossed her legs, managed a thin smile. “Please don’t tell me I’ve come all this way on a false promise.”
“Now, who might be promising you such a thing?”
It was evident to Nan her physical charms would be useless with this man. “My parish priest. Father Albert.” Another lie. Oh dear, oh dear. Oh dear.
“From Ballyhaven?” He wrote the priest’s name across the top of her application.
“Yes.” Her answer came out high-pitched, sharp. More like a yip.
“Ah well, but I don’t know where he’d get that notion.” The commandant studied her application. “Tell me so, Nurse Nan. Why are you leaving your last post?”
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