Grounded Hearts Page 10

  Nan paced out of the building, shut the calf house door behind her, and called across the courtyard, “Hello, Kelly. How are ya? What brings you to my door on this lovely morning?”

  “I’m grand. Out for a bit of ride in this fine weather. I miss the weather reports, don’t you? As if the RAF and Nazis listen to our weather reports. Doing our part for the Emergency Act, my husband likes to say.”

  Nodding, Nan said, “A bit daft in my opinion. It’s not as though the reports are terribly reliable, anyway.”

  “Now, isn’t that the truth?” Kelly wheeled her bike to the side of the whitewashed cottage. She wiped a stray blonde curl from her forehead.

  “I’m glad to find ya home, Nan. Have ya a few minutes?”

  “Sure, Kelly. I’ve a few before I start my rounds.” Nan frowned. Kelly’s eyes were red and puffy, with dark circles, and creases outlined her mouth. Nan hadn’t seen any of this yesterday.

  She placed her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Are you feeling all right? Are you spotting again?”

  “Not a’tall. I’m grand. The baby is kicking like a football player. I wanted a bit of away time from the doings in town is all. Fresh air.”

  No. There was more going on. Nan glanced at the calf house, where Dutch waited inside the car, and then back at Kelly. Instead of making an excuse and sending Kelly on her way, Nan listened to her gut and invited Kelly in. “Have you time for tea? I’ll put the kettle on.”

  “All right then, Nan. If you insist.” Kelly’s weak smile validated Nan’s suspicion there was something wanting.

  A few minutes later, Kelly picked at a slice of bread and nibbled a bit of sliced apple. She was indeed eating for two, but not today, God love her.

  “I’ve news,” Kelly said, spreading blackberry jam on her bread.

  “What might that be?”

  “Paul thinks they’ve found the last Wellington pilot.”

  Nan’s throat tightened around a chunk of apple. She sipped her hot tea and burned her tongue, but she managed to get the bite down without choking.

  “Is that so?” She forced herself to steady her gaze on Kelly, just as her mother had taught her.

  Kelly lifted a piece of apple to her lips. “Poor lad. His body washed up a few miles away.”

  Nan’s muscles relaxed. “What a shame. I knew I felt the coldness of death the other night. May he rest in peace, and God help the family he left behind.”

  Both women blessed themselves and said in union, “Amen.”

  “They’re sure it’s him?” Nan poured milk into Kelly’s tea.

  “Not completely, no. His dog tags were missing, and the poor fellow’s face was quite destroyed. The Irish Army is working with the RAF to figure out who he is.” Her lip quivered. “Was.”

  Nan closed her eyes, picturing Teddy’s faceless body washing up on the shore three years before. Paul Halpin had been there, had let Nan sob into his shoulder. He’d declared Teddy’s death an accident.

  Nan blinked away a tear, for her husband and for this poor lost soul as well. “How will they identify him?”

  “His jacket insignias and things found in his pockets. They’ll let Paul know when he can officially stop looking.”

  “He’s still looking?” Nan asked. “Why?”

  “Something about it doesn’t feel right to Paul.”

  Nan knew the feeling. “And why is that?”

  “He didn’t go into any details.”

  “I see. Have they called off the search for him or not?”

  “Suspended for the time being.”

  Nan lifted her teacup and relaxed into the cane-back chair. “Then no more midnight visits from Finn.”

  “Ah, ya poor darling. Is he still bothering you?”

  “What do you think? I wish he’d find another woman to pursue, but I wouldn’t put that on anyone.”

  Kelly grew quiet as she stared at the turf blazing in the fireplace. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

  “What is it, Kelly? Something is bothering you.”

  Her friend let out a sob. Nan’s hand went to her throat. “You’re bleeding, aren’t you?”

  “Please don’t tell Paul.”

  Nan slid to the edge of her seat, reached across the table, and placed her hand over Kelly’s. “When did the bleeding start?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not. The baby’s fine, please God.”

  “Then what is it?” A million possibilities ran through Nan’s mind. “Tell me.”

  “I hope . . . I hope I have a daughter. I couldn’t bear my son going off to war. Can you imagine the poor mum when she reads the telegram that her son was lost in battle? Washed up on our shore? I can’t bear it. I can’t.”

  “A terrible, terrible thing.” By now, Dutch’s mother must have received that telegram. Missing in action. The poor woman. Nan wished she could tell his mum Dutch was fine and fit and fixing up his escape route.

  Kelly blotted her eyes with a handkerchief. “Do you think maybe this will be the last war?”

  “That’s about as possible as Ireland turning into a desert. The day men stop fighting is the day we’re finally in heaven.”

  “Ah, but wasn’t there a war in heaven, and that’s how the devil came to earth?” Kelly rested her elbows on the table and held her face in her hands. “I know it’s wrong, but I’ve prayed and prayed and prayed. I’ve asked the Lord for a daughter. Do you think He’ll punish me for my brazen request?”

  “It’s not brazen a’tall. We are the Lord’s children. He likes to hear our wants and needs. Doesn’t mean He’ll grant them, of course. He knows what’s best for us.”

  Kelly nodded, her hand squeezing Nan’s. “Please don’t tell Paul. He so wants a son.”

  “Don’t all Irish men?”

  “I suppose they do. But I don’t.” Kelly dabbed at her mouth with a linen napkin. “I better get back before he worries.”

  She rose, her belly skimming the edge of the table. They strolled outside into the warm sunshine.

  “Thanks for the tea, Nan. And for calming my jumpy fears.” Kelly mounted her bicycle.

  “An expectant mother always has them. You’ll love the baby, no matter what. And if it’s a boy, you’ll raise him to love peace. I’ll check on you next week.”

  Nan stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching Kelly ride away. Why did Irish men think a son was the sun, the moon, and the earth? While the woman was there to fetch him his tea? With a shake of her head, she turned on her heel and ran to the calf house.

  She swung the door open. “Dutch. She’s gone. And I’ve got news.” He sat up as she slid into the backseat beside him. “It’ll buy us a few hours more to get the car going.”

  “What?”

  After she told him about the dead pilot, she expected he’d be relieved, but instead he leaned back against the cracked leather seat and stared ahead.

  “I wonder who he was? If I knew him.”

  She brushed her hand over his knee. “He’s someone else’s heartbreak, unfortunately. Such is war.”

  With a nod, he reached toward the floor. “Hey, I found these.”

  He held up a pair of black suede shoes with rhinestone buckles on the toes. “Yours?”

  “Would you look at that? I wondered what had happened to those.” She held up the shoes, remembering happier times. New Year’s Eve at Gilmour House, where she’d laughed in the massive dining room by candlelight. In the dimness, the dented walls and their peeling paper had receded into the shadows. The house had seemed romantic.

  “They look like dancing shoes.”

  She smiled. “I wore them to a New Year’s Eve dinner two years ago, but it seems like forever ago. I was called to a birthing that night. Had to leave the party before the dancing. I threw these in the backseat and put on my nursing shoes before I went to work.”

  He held a shoe and ran a finger over the rhinestones. “Bet they looked real pretty on you. Bet you had a great dress to go with them, too.”


  “It was a velvet number with a bow in the front and a low back.”

  “Wish I could have seen you, all dressed up. Bet the men in the room couldn’t take their eyes off you.”

  “Or hands after a few bottles of wine.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Nervous laughter spilled from her throat. “In an Irish-peasant sort of way, right?”

  “In a beautiful-woman sort of way. If I took you home to Canada, you’d knock ’em dead.”

  “Ah, go on with ya.” His knee pressed into her thigh, and she returned the gesture with equal power. The energy between them could have started the car.

  No. She scooted away along the crinkled leather seat, to the door. Away from him. He was toying with her.

  “If I don’t go into town, I won’t be getting your parts. Did you write them down?”

  “On the bench.”

  “Let me help you out of there—”

  His gaze went from her outstretched hand to her eyes. It felt like a sword through her heart when he said, “I can do it on my own.” He opened the other side of the car, made his way out. If he was in pain, he didn’t show it.

  She was glad she didn’t need to touch him in that instant. Glad he’d been given this gift of time, even at the expense of some other poor sod. Glad he’d be gone before the next church service in town.

  Lord, please. Look after him. Bring healing to his body. And a grand escape to the border.

  She stood next to him at the bench, and he gave her the list. “You should probably rewrite this in your own hand.”

  “Good idea. Yes. I will.” Their gazes met. She wondered if his heart was beating as fast as hers. Would he take her into his arms? Did he want that? Did she?

  He coughed and smiled, uncovering a dimple in his cheek. “Mind if I take a bath while you’re gone?” he asked.

  “I think you should.” She could use a cold dip herself. “Just mind you stay out of sight this time.”

  CHAPTER 9

  After checking on Mrs. Kennedy and her baby boy, now named Thomas, Nan rode her bike up the long driveway to Gilmour House, Lord Harry’s estate. The Georgian manor appeared majestic from afar. From the portico, though, as she knocked on the faded wood door, it was apparent—in the cracked windows, the crumbling plaster details, the dead plants in the chipped urns that flanked the entrance—that the house’s heyday had passed some fifty years before.

  The door creaked open. The butler, who had been there for at least that long, attempted a smile. “Nurse O’Neil. Lady Margot is waiting in the conservatory.”

  “Thank you, James. How is her ladyship today?”

  With a grimace, a result of age and serving her ladyship, he said, “Same as usual.”

  Nan stepped inside and was met by the dank odor of mildew. If ghosts existed, she could imagine them roaming the cold hallways. Rumor had it the house was home to at least one poor trapped soul, a maid who had fallen to her death on the treacherous back stairs. The apparition reportedly appeared on dark mornings to light the fires in the master’s bedroom.

  Nan would take her warm cottage any day, even with a flyboy hiding in its shadows.

  “I heard you had some excitement here yesterday with the RAF pilots,” Nan said, trying hard not to look at the heads of the unfortunate stags mounted on the foyer’s walls. “And Lord Harry sent them to the Garda.”

  “Indeed we did. It’s the law of the land, and Lord Harry decided it was best to turn the lads in. This way, Nurse.”

  Too bad Dutch hadn’t happened upon Lord Harry’s barn instead of her cabin. She’d be minding her own business right now, instead of turning her life upside down.

  She slowed her pace to match that of the butler. He inched toward the double-paned glass doors leading to the conservatory and then made a grand gesture for her to enter.

  Lady Margot lay on a chaise longue in the corner of the room, under three gigantic ferns. An open tin of biscuits and a pot of tea graced the wicker table beside her. She wore a turban over her dark hair and a long scarlet dress with buttons down the front, left open across her bulging stomach. A glimpse of her satin slip showed beneath.

  “Ah, there you are.” Her face, thick with stage makeup, seemed more pimpled and swollen since Nan had last seen her.

  “How are you today?” Nan placed her bag on the table beside the tin. Empty tin. Only crumbs remained.

  “Horrible. Fat. And I’m desperately mad at Tipper.”

  “Why is that, now?” Had Margot heard rumors about the unfortunate maid Tipper had ruined?

  “He hasn’t written me in a week. I’m going mad with worry.” She placed her arm over her forehead and groaned in a gesture worthy of Swan Lake.

  “You would have heard something from the War Office if there were a problem,” Nan assured her.

  Lady Margot swept her arm over her bosom. “I almost wish he was dead, so he’d have an excuse for not writing. What if he’s carrying on with some beautiful African girl? Leaving me here in this cold climate like a beached whale?”

  “Now, now. Enough of that. Let’s get a look at you.” In fact, Nan wouldn’t be surprised if the woman’s imaginings were the case.

  Lady Margot struggled to sit upright. “Why do men do it?”

  “Do what?” Nan opened her bag for a blood pressure cuff.

  “How can he run off to war like it’s some grand adventure? Leave his unborn child and me in this rotting, old house? Is that fair?”

  “That’s life. ’Tisn’t fair. Don’t give it another thought, Lady Margot. Let’s have a look. Have you felt the baby kick yet?” She slid the pressure cuff around her patient’s arm.

  “Like she’s dancing Sleeping Beauty. Do you think I’ll dance again after having a baby?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “I’ll tell you why. Because my life will be different after the baby.”

  “But that’s a grand thing. A baby is a wonderful joy.” Nan wondered if she’d ever know that joy. Didn’t seem likely. Her chance had passed.

  “What’s so grand about being fat?” Lady Margot huffed. “Did you hear the news? Did you hear we had RAF pilots in our barn?”

  “I did, indeed. I met them yesterday and examined them.”

  “Oh . . . you mean with their clothes off?” She licked her lips, and her eyes sparkled.

  “Wasn’t necessary. They only had a few bumps and scrapes. I understand you gave them a grand dinner?” Nan squeezed the blood pressure bulb for the reading.

  “Yes, chicken and mash, green beans, and cake. It was desperate fun to have them here. We hadn’t had guests . . . young guests . . . young male guests in so long, I was beginning to think only old men and women live in Ireland. Of course, they didn’t pay a bit of attention to me in my horrid state, my belly sticking out like a tugboat. What did you think of the pilots?”

  “They were very lucky.”

  “I mean, what did you think of them?”

  Nan read Lady Margot’s blood pressure and then slid the cuff off. “They are very young and brave. Your blood pressure is a wee high. How much weight have you gained?” Nan took out a measuring tape and laid it across Lady Margot’s belly.

  “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

  “You need to. It’s not good for you or the baby. Unless you’re carrying twins—”

  “Oh, bloody hell! I hope not.”

  “You’re not, but at five months, you’re rather—”

  “Fat? Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “I suggest you lay off the biscuits and eat salads. Take more strolls around the estate gardens. You’re putting on too many pounds, and they’re not easy to lose after the birth.”

  Lady Margot’s upper lip curled. “How dare you! Who do you think you are?”

  “Your midwife.”

  “You’re not telling me what to do. I’ll eat as many biscuits as I want to. James,” she called to the butler who lingered at the doorway. “See the nurse out.”

&nbs
p; “I’m not done with my examination.”

  “Yes, you are. James, escort this woman out. And bring me a cup of hot chocolate and the pie we had for lunch.”

  “Does my lady mean a slice of pie?”

  “Not you, too, you old . . . the whole pie. Now. I’m famished. I’m eating for two.”

  More like twenty-two. There was only so much Nan could do to keep her patient healthy. She placed her instruments back into her bag and snapped it closed. “It’s all right, James. I’ll see myself out.”

  At this rate, there’d be no fitting into tutus after Lady Margot’s child was born, or into anything else in her wardrobe.

  Nan rode her bike toward Quinn’s Garage. Tuda and Paddy Quinn owned the only petrol station in the village. It was Tuda who did everything, from filling up cars to fixing them to keeping the books.

  She was the sort of woman Nan admired. Being a “girl” never stopped Tuda from anything. Why she had married Paddy Quinn could only be left to speculation. Stately and tall, Tuda, even in her midforties, was a raven-haired beauty with eyes as green as castle moss.

  Paddy, well, he’d been a man. Perhaps Tuda had panicked and thought she’d never get married if she let this one go. But once an Irish woman wed, she stayed married. Didn’t matter what her husband turned out to be. In Tuda’s case, at least he was a happy drunk without a mean bone in his flabby body. And he’d been a good da, always doing things with the twins.

  Paddy was so proud the day the boys had joined the RAF. Tuda had cried and cried. Paddy took the boys down to the pub and got them drunk. And Tuda cried some more.

  Nan wondered if Dutch might know the boys, but there were hundreds of young men who had joined the RAF. And many had gone to their graves, may Jesus have mercy on their souls.

  Nan’s bicycle wheels bounced across the humpbacked bridge. The water below raged, sloshing over the boulders on either side of the banks. Beyond the bridge, several men sat on the banks, their fishing lines swaying in the stream.

  Quinn’s white garage with red trim came into view. She thought back two years, when Tuda had discovered she was with child again. Seemed a miracle since she’d only been able to have the twins, who were by that time nineteen.