“I have relations nearby.”
“I see. I see. Tell me. Have you ever been convicted of a crime?”
“No, sir.” She hoped her voice hadn’t sounded too wobbly.
“Arrested?”
Her knees began to shake. It took all her effort to stop the quaking. “Why is that important? I thought only convictions counted.”
“Ah no. You’re right. Your name just seems familiar.”
“Does it? It’s a common-enough name. If you don’t have a post right now, I could volunteer until one comes open.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Of course. I want to do my part for the Allies.”
“How about the Axis troopers?”
“If they’re injured, ’tis my duty to heal them.”
“I see, I see.” He picked up her application and stood. “Let me check on a couple of things. And you look like . . .” He paused. Nan bit her lip. She fully expected him to say she looked like a liar. “A lady who could use a cup of tea.”
“Thanks. That’d be lovely.”
“You wait here. Be back soon.”
Nan got up, started pacing. This had been a bad idea. He was probably calling Father Albert right now to verify her story. She’d be thrown out on her rear end. Or worse. Arrested on some charge that would land her in prison.
The door swung open and Nan pivoted.
Commandant McGann nodded to her, blocking the exit. “I’ve some bad news for you.”
Nan’s eyes darted left and right. She felt as though she were a fox, the hunters had cornered her, and she was about to be set upon. “Do you?”
“Yes. I’m afraid there’s no open post for a nurse. There never was one a’tall. That, I suspect, you already know.”
She gulped.
“But I’ve good news for you, too. Tea will be here in due course. In the meantime, perhaps you can give this young pilot officer an exam.” He stepped aside from the door.
“Dutch?” Nan thought she was seeing an apparition. “Dutch. Is that really yourself?”
Dutch didn’t talk. He didn’t hesitate. He rushed to her, took her in his arms, and swung her around and around and around. Their kisses sent an earthquake through her from head to toe and back again. Electric currents were sparking up and down her spine, circling her brain. Toasting her cheeks.
They finally sat at the table, holding hands. Then the situation sank in.
“It was awfully nice of your commandant to let me see you,” she said. “Ah, that’s a nasty bruise on your handsome face.” She touched the back of her hand to his discolored cheek. “Have you a salve for the scrapes along your jaw?”
“Don’t worry about me. How did you get in?”
“Ah, I bluffed my way. Said I was applying for the nurse post.” She hadn’t even noticed who had brought in a tray with tea and biscuits. She poured two cups of tea from a Brown Betty teapot.
“You’re a woman with guts of steel, Nan O’Neil.”
“Early training.”
“What happened in Ballyhaven? I’ve been worried sick about you. And the ladies. I couldn’t get a straight answer from anyone.”
“All charges were dropped. Dr. Mann paid for the damage to the Guinness truck. And best of all, Finn was run out of town by a rotten-tomato parade.”
“Good. Good. And?” He squeezed her hands. He didn’t need to expand the question.
“I reconciled with Father Albert. And Teddy.”
“Thank heaven.”
“Yes, we can get on with our lives.” In a low tone, she said, “How can I help you escape?”
“That’s a bit tricky. But now that you’re here, I don’t think it’s necessary.”
She straightened. “Why? Are they going to let you go? That’s altogether grand.”
He let out a gentle laugh that warmed her. “Not quite. You see, this internment thing here, it’s very strange.”
“Ah, Dutch. Are they beating you?”
“No. Not at all. Let me explain the situation. First, I can get a parole to leave the camp as long as I agree to not try and escape.”
“You can?” She shook her head, the words not making a lick of sense. “They let you out of here?”
“Yes. A day pass. All of us. The Germans, too. We all promised to patronize different eating and drinking establishments. It’s the Irish attempt to keep the conflict at bay. They see us as ‘guests of the state’ rather than ‘prisoners of war.’” He sipped his tea. “I get full pay plus a clothing allowance.”
“If you can leave the camp, why don’t you escape over the border?”
“Not allowed. When I accept parole, I give my word as an officer of the RAF to honor the terms of my conditional release. I must return to camp. Of course, once I’m back at camp, it’s my duty to try to escape. But while on the outside, the official word is”—he paused, sipped his tea, then continued—“I shall not talk about or enlist any help from the locals for an escape.”
Nan could swear she was Alice down the rabbit hole. “And if you do escape while on parole?”
“It’s against the RAF code,” Dutch said flatly. “I’ll be returned promptly. And deemed an insubordinate troublemaker.”
“Are you joking?”
“Nope. The RAF will court-martial me.” He took her hand, kissed each finger. “You look confused.”
“A wee bit.”
“They tell me life’s not too bad here.” Dutch planted a kiss on her palm, sending a shiver through her. “The golf is supposed to be great. We’re sort of celebrities around town. Lots of excellent horseback riding, too, they say.”
Nan slapped a hand on the table, rattling the teacups. “I don’t understand my country. The Irish Army combed the countryside to find you, beat you up, drag you to this POW camp, and now they’ll let you roam around free in town?”
“Temporarily free. I know. It’s crazy. But listen. I can be with you.”
She gazed into his eyes. “You’re interned but you can leave camp? I don’t understand.”
“That’s the Irish government for you.” He shrugged one shoulder and grinned. “I do understand one thing.”
“What’s that, Dutch?”
“I never want to be separated from you ever again for as long as we live. Do you still feel the same?”
“Why would I be here if I didn’t?”
“Then let’s get married. As soon as possible. In town.”
“Oh yes, Dutch. Yes.”
A fortnight later, Nan wore a wedding dress made of delicate lace and satin. Juliet fluffed the long veil that flowed to the floor of the Newbridge church. The parish priest was the kindest man Nan had ever met. The father had welcomed her and had knitted her immediately into his flock and the church activities. At the priest’s recommendation, she already had several patients.
“You look like a million bucks, kid,” Juliet said, adjusting the veil’s crown. “Don’t you agree, Tuda?”
“Ah, she does. She does. Where did you get such an altogether gorgeous dress, Juliet?”
“We probably don’t want to know,” Nan said, taking a bouquet of white roses from Margaret.
Margaret nodded. “And wasn’t it nice of the lovely Commandant McGann to allow Dutch to get married in the church?”
“He’s been very kind.”
“I’ll say.” Juliet poked Tuda with her elbow. “McGann gave Dutch parole for two nights to be with his new bride.”
Nan felt her cheeks grow hot. “Dutch calls our little cottage on the river our ‘sugar shack.’ But I call it ‘heaven on earth.’”
The ladies giggled. Margaret gave Nan a hug. “Aren’t you the cheeky one?”
Dutch’s entire crew and a few other interned RAF officers were waiting in the pews for her to walk down the aisle. Along with Paul and Kelly Halpin. She could hear their baby wailing.
The organ music started. “That’s the cue to take your places,” Nan said. “And thank you. Thank you all for coming to my wedding. And for
all you did for Dutch and me.”
Margaret opened the heavy church door. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Nan was glad Tuda had agreed to walk her down the aisle. She needed Tuda to lean on. When Nan spotted Dutch standing at the altar, her breath caught in her throat. He wore a dark-gray suit, and his smile nearly caused her to swoon.
“Don’t faint now, love,” Tuda said. “Wait until you see what’s in store for ya tonight.”
Nan was completely ready for this man to be beside her. This man who fell from the sky and into the bog. This man she nursed to health. This man who turned her life upside down and her heart right side up.
This man was hers forever and evermore.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you, Sheryl Zajechowski, Faith Black Ross, and the team at Waterfall Press for all your expert insights and for bringing this book to life. I’m thankful to my agent, Victoria Skurnick, who never gave up on sending out this book. For encouragement along the way, thank you, author friends Judy Duarte, Susan Meissner, Linda Thomas-Sundstrom, and Carlene Dater. Thanks also to Romance Writers of America for providing a place to learn and to find like-minded authors, and to American Christian Fiction Writers for providing a place for Christian writers to gather.
Thank you, Scott. Your patience is astounding. And to Hayley and Hannah for just being there.
Many thanks, hugs, and kisses to my dad. His stories of neutral Ireland during World War II, and of what his generation endured, provided the seeds for this book.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © Holly Ireland
Jeanne M. Dickson was born into an Irish American family, the only girl surrounded by four brothers. Her grandmother lived with them and was a constant source of stories about life in Ireland and about saints and ancestors long gone from this earth. Jeanne credits her mother, her aunts, and her grandmother for her love of storytelling.
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