Lovers in Enemy Territory
Page 10
"You're not going to leave us, are you, Sister." He'd said it more like a demand and she groaned inside. What was it going to be like when she really had to say goodbye?
Catherine sank down on the edge of the bed. Maybe in a few days, when Michael had adjusted to life at home with his father, she could begin to talk about leaving, but her relationship with him had undergone a change. He’d seemed like a stranger to her just now. It confused her because he’d always been so gentle, almost painfully tender. She'd seen inside the man during those crucial hours in the hospital. Possibly it was a side no one else had ever seen, nor
would again.
She knew he was an active man with tremendous responsibilities in the Coastal Command. He'd faced many dangers. His whole life was an adventure. For the first time she could see the cool aloofness which probably manifested itself when he was out in the world.
Yet it didn't seem like him to be so cold. Was he still insecure about the boy? Michael seemed so normal and happy, she couldn’t imagine that his world would ever crumble again. He worshipped his father. But could she really be sure he was emotionally well? There didn't seem to be any answers.
Things could not go on much longer this way. She was losing her perspective. Was she losing her vocation as well? Michael was more a part of her life than ever, as was his father. Should she call the Holy Mother? But it was something she could not discuss over the telephone. She prayed again, but as she knelt, she trembled. The words wouldn’t come.
She cried out and sobbed aloud as she realized that the reason she could not ask God for help in weaning Michael and his father away from her was because there was a part of her which didn’t want to let them go. "Blessed Savior," she wept and lay prostrate on the bed, finally giving in to welcome sleep.
At that very moment, many kilometers away, the Holy Mother was kneeling in prayer before the altar of her private chapel petitioning God on Sister Catherine's behalf. She prayed the girl was finding peace and direction, but a dark, heavy sensation weighed the old woman down and she grew alarmed. Catherine was in trouble. She could feel it.
"Sister?" Michael called out, rapping on the door. "Are you ready?"
Catherine had barely had time to freshen herself after her sleep. It was time to go look at the horses. Elinore was chatting with Jeffrey as Michael led Catherine out the front doors. She was wearing a brown riding habit and it suited her. Jeffrey had also changed into sport clothes.
"I've brought Sister," Michael shouted. "Now we can go." Elinore glanced fleetingly at Catherine, without warmth, before linking her arm through Jeffrey's. The two of them walked with their heads close together as they discussed matters which had nothing to do with Catherine. She watched the casual way Elinore looked up at Michael's father, the ease with which she hung on his arm, almost possessively, Catherine thought. But these matters were none of her affair. Still, for the first time she felt like an outsider and chastised herself for such an unworthy reaction.
The grounds were extensive. They walked across the lawn, past the west wing of the house and followed a path down to the stables at the bottom of a hill. The familiar odor of horses, hay and manure wafted past her nostrils, conjuring up memories of her early childhood in Belgium when she visited her grandparents.
She hadn't grown up doing the things little girls were supposed to do like playing with tea sets and dolls. Her interests had always paralleled those of her brothers and she was generally in competition with them when they went riding. Now the smell filled her with nostalgia.
Michael ran ahead and opened the stable door. She could hear him running about. After a moment, a gelding and a pony trotted out into the paddock, Michael following after. "Guess which one is mine, Sister?"
Jeffrey broke into a hearty laugh which was contagious. Catherine couldn't refrain from smiling broadly.
"Toby," the boy called out, "have you missed me?" The pony stood still, but swished his tail back and forth. His eyes blinked in acknowledgement. "Daddy, I think he knows me!"
"I wouldn't be at all surprised, son." Jeffrey walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll have the horses saddled. We can ride as far as Longview. That shouldn't tire you." Jeffrey went into the barn.
Michael turned to Catherine. "Will you ride with us, please?"
"I can't Michael, I'm sorry. But I’d like to watch you. If I were on a horse, then I wouldn't be able to see you to best advantage would I?"
He frowned. "I guess not.”
"Come on, Michael," Elinore interjected. "Sister will be here when you get back. Come inside with me. I have a surprise for you.” She took his hand firmly, leading him into the stable.
Jeffrey emerged, throwing a saddle on the gelding's back as if it were weightless. He worked quickly, tightening the girth, adjusting the stirrups. He was watching Catherine out of the corner of his eye. She looked wistful. It occurred to him this must be hard for her, constantly being exposed to the world she had given up in preference for the religious life.
He sensed her unrest and was savagely glad. He knew she loved Michael
more than life itself. He was counting on that love to make it difficult, if not impossible, for her to go back to the convent. If he had to, he would exert even more pressure to force her to stay on.
Elinore reappeared with Michael at her side. They were carrying a new leather saddle which gleamed in the sun. Jeffrey saddled the pony, picked up Michael and seated him. Elinore mounted her horse and the two started to move away. Elinore was an expert equestrian.
Catherine’s gaze strayed to Jeffrey. He stood there eyeing his son with fatherly pride, his hands on his hips. There was something about his stance, his natural male grace. Michael was calling to her, but she was oblivious to all except the man before her. Jeffrey turned and caught her staring at him.
“Look at me!” Michael shouted. Catherine focused her gaze on the boy.
“You never told me you could ride so well. I’m very impressed.”
Elinore pulled in the reins. “Jeff, Michael and I will walk the horses until you catch up.” Michael waved to Catherine and they were off.
“I’ll be right with you,” Jeff called out, his eyes still fastened on Catherine before he went back in the barn.
Catherine chose this moment to go back to the house, but Jefrey called to her. “There are things I must do, Commander.”
This was one time when he couldn’t ask her to join him, much as he wanted to. What else could he expect? “Of course,” he muttered, then mounted. He walked his horse for a moment, then pressed him into a gallop. They moved like lightning the horse and rider one.
For a moment Catherine couldn’t catch her breath, for she saw herself suddenly at his side, racing her mount madly up that grassy hill, the wind in her long hair, riding harder and faster till horse and rider were spent. She groaned and turned abruptly from the scene.
Jeffrey raced to catch up with the others, but the outing had lost its appeal because Catherine wasn’t there. It didn't seem right without her. He'd grown accustomed to her company.
Elinore and Michael were waiting as he reined in near the top of the hill. He couldn't resist the urge to turn around for one last glimpse, but she wasn't in sight. A terrible emptiness stole through him. He spurred his horse on to the summit, his thoughts in turmoil.
Catherine went back to her room and remained for the afternoon. She wanted to meditate, but her soul was anything but peaceful. She heard the telephone ring. A moment later there was a knock on the door. Jens, the man servant, wanted to know if Sister Catherine would take a call from Castle Combe.
She reached eagerly for the receiver in her room. "Yes?"
"Sister, it's Mother Angela. I called the hospital and they gave me this number. I felt you might be in some trouble. How are you, my child?"
Catherine wondered how she knew. "Holy Mother,” her voice caught. “I’m well."
"Something’s wrong. Is there anything I can do?"
"Pray for me, Mothe
r. For all of us.”
"Isn't the child improving?"
"Oh, yes! He's wonderful. I think another week, possibly two, and he will be completely recovered."
"Sister, will it be difficult for you to leave Norwood and the child?"
Catherine was shaking violently. "I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know."
"Perhaps you have been there long enough, Sister."
"Michael just left hospital this morning, Holy Mother. I’d planned to leave for Castle Combe today, but his father insisted that I stay another week. Michael isn't completely well. I too question the wisdom of a separation just yet, . but it is very complicated.”
"Yes, I understand." The Mother Superior could read between the lines. "I’ve given this matter serious thought. Under the circumstances, you might propose to Commander Norwood that Michael be allowed to make occasional visits to the convent during this year, to help him to adjust gradually to the separation. In that way, he would know you were not lost to him completely."
As always her words brought light out of the darkness. "Your wisdom is inspired, Holy Mother. I’ll discuss it with Michael's father. It sounds the perfect solution."
"I'm relieved then, my child. You’re sorely missed. I trust you’ll come back to us soon."
"I’ll telephone when I know the date of my return."
"Sister? Don't stay away too long. The Mother General from Rome has just paid the convent an unprecedented visit. She has come on orders from the Holy Father himself. There is other work for you to do upon completion of your mission at Norwood."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Other work?
"Very well, Holy Mother."
“Bless you, Sister.”
Catherine replaced the receiver, wondering what her mentor meant. Why had the Mother General come to England in the first place with a war on? Catherine paced the floor. Under ordinary circumstances she would be eager for an assignment, but she was no longer the same Sister from before.
After her prayers she left the room and went downstairs. The house was spacious and tastefully furnished. She wandered from room to room, until she came to the drawing room. The piano drew her attention. Michael and his father had not yet returned and she needed an outlet for her emotions so she sat down at the keyboard.
Catherine’s mother had taught her to play. From the first days of her arrival at the convent, she’d practiced a lot since with Sister Anna who was a beautiful organist. Under her tutelage Catherine had learned to play well and her technique had improved. As she played a Chopin nocturne, Philip walked through the front door. He’d come fresh from a momentous day at the House. Lloyd George and the Prime Minister had met in debate.
Philip was still mulling over Churchill's stirring address when his ears picked up the strains of music. He walked over to the door and peered in. No one had ever played the piano like that before. Whoever it was, was good, very good. He stepped inside and saw Catherine. Her back was toward him. She had no idea he was standing there and he had no intention of letting
her know.
He sat down in a chair near the door. A few minutes later Michael came in the house, but went straight upstairs. Then Elinore and Jeffrey were in the hall and came immediately to the drawing room to discover the source of the music. Philip watched them approach and put a finger to his lips. He had a feeling
she would stop if she knew an audience had gathered. She was much too modest to flaunt such talent.
Jeffrey, hot and exhilarated from the ride, leaned against the door jamb and closed his eyes. She was playing Chopin. He’d never liked practicing the piano, though he and Phil had been forced to take lessons when they were young. But he loved classical music and she was playing with great depth of feeling. There was fire in her. A whole new dimension of her personality was revealed in her playing.
Elinore could scarcely believe her ears. It didn't seem possible that an obscure convent in Wiltshire could produce such talent. Was there anything Sister Catherine couldn't do? She turned on her heel and marched up the stairs to change. The music followed her to her room, even after she’d slammed the door.
Catherine finished the piece and stopped. She sat before the piano with her head bowed for a few minutes, then closed the lid and moved off the bench.
"That was beautiful, Sister."
She gasped and turned around, shocked to hear a voice. Philip was standing by his chair smiling. Then she saw Jeffrey leaning against the door.
"I'm sorry," she searched for words. "I thought it might be all right if I played the piano. No one was here."
"Sister," Philip rushed to reassure her. "I've never heard lovelier music."
"Thank you.”
"Michael never told me about your extraordinary talent," Jeffrey said.
"Maybe that’s because it’s not very extraordinary and because he has never heard me play anything but simple tunes for the children. I practice in a room above the chapel and the children are not allowed in that part of the convent."
"Do the sisters get to hear you play?" Jeffrey questioned further.
"Sister Anna and I take turns accompanying the mass."
"Did you learn to play like that early in life?" Jeffrey had forgotten Philip was in the room with them.
“Yes. My mother had exceptional talent and taught me.” The way he looked at her only made further explanations more difficult. "Music feeds my soul."
"Perhaps after dinner you would feed the rest of us," Philip broke in.
"I think not.”
"Please, Sister," Jeffrey pressed. "After all those years of practice, and Phil and I know a little about that," he smiled at his brother, "it would be wrong if you didn't share your gift with the rest of us. I for one could listen to you play indefinitely." He paused. "God has been especially kind to you, Sister, in many ways." He turned and left the room before she had a chance to answer.
"Jeff is right. You are special," Philip said before leaving to freshen up before dinner.
Catherine hurried out of the room. Where could she go? If she stayed in this house much longer, she would lose her perspective altogether. Without a conscious thought she went outside and started walking. The evening breeze was rustling the leaves of the trees. There was magic in the air, and perfume from the blossoming fruit trees. Her body felt a wonderful pain, even to the palms of her hands.
"Sister," Michael was madly waving to her from the threshold. "We are going to have dinner!" he shouted loudly.
"I'll be along later, Michael. Go ahead without me." She couldn't go in just yet. There were things to be sorted out. She walked aimlessly about the grounds. After a while she went back to the house. Tonight she must begin to build up her spiritual strength. Abstinence from food was the first step.
Jens saw her in the hall. He escorted her to the dining room at the back of the house. The family was seated around a rectangular table eating dessert. Catherine was glad to see that dinner was almost over.
"Why didn't you come in, Sister? Millie cooked steak and kidney pie." Jens pulled a chair out from the table so she could be seated. All eyes were upon her.
"I needed to be alone, Michael."
Jeffrey sensed an aloofness about her, but it was Philip who spoke his mind. "Is something wrong?"
Catherine's head was bowed. "In the scriptures, the Lord says, ‘my ways are not your ways." Her head came up. "Forgive me if my ways seem strange to you."
Philip didn't know what to say. Jeffrey swallowed hard. Something was wrong. Catherine was removed from him tonight and it hurt, yet it endeared her to him more.
"I don't think you're strange, Sister.” Michael's cheerful
comment broke the silence. He had a way, she smiled sadly to herself.
Elinore resented the fact that everyone was so involved in the Sister's display of whatever, and her entrance had been very ill timed. The conversation was just getting interesting, if not informative. "Finish telling us about the debate, Philip. You've left me hanging."
“Today he put his critics down royally. By Jove, it was a good show," Philip grinned. "Only three votes against him. The lot of us cheered him to the rafters. I say, let him run the whole damn business. The man is a genius. I'd march into hell with him, cheering."
Catherine smiled at Philip. He expressed her sentiments exactly. She’d followed Churchill's career with total admiration and couldn't refrain from comment. "He’s a prophet in tailored clothing. Every Englishman and woman should pledge him undying homage!"
Jeffrey's spoon dropped to his plate and he stared at her, wondering
where that remark had come from. He too felt the head of England was an
inspired man.
Elinore looked shocked. “Do you follow the war so closely at the
convent, Sister? I thought your allegiance to God precluded all else."
Catherine didn’t miss the note of sarcasm, nor did the two brothers. "Christianity has always been at war with evil, Mrs. Norwood," Catherine stated, staring Elinore down. "As Mr. Churchill has so aptly pointed out, Hitler is the devil incarnate."
Jeffrey sat straighter in his chair, intrigued with her tone of superiority and righteous indignation. Her remarks seemed to jolt Elinore.
"Aren't those words a little strong for a bride of Christ?" Both Jeffrey and Philip raised questioning glances at Elinore.
"They're not strong enough," Catherine replied with ice in her usually mellow voice. Her eyes narrowed. "My order has priories all over the continent, even in South America. Some of our sisters in Poland, France and Belgium were paraded through the streets with their heads shaved when the Nazis invaded their helpless lands, sacking and pillaging even the holy sanctuaries.