Lovers in Enemy Territory (32 page)

If only he could stand up. Lying around in bed would not help him to recover, but when he tried to stand, the pain shot through him like a hot poker. He could not put any weight on his leg.

Luis pushed Jeffrey gently back against the mattress and held out his hands for him to wait. He went downstairs and out of the hut. Jeffrey shook his head, not comprehending, and had to be content to lie there, utterly helpless. If Philip and Michael could see him now.

And Catherine. There was always Catherine to think about. Was she still in Spain? Was it possible the convent was anywhere near where he lay at this moment? To see her face, to hear her voice and feel her lips on his again. He’d give his life for such an opportunity.

He had to find out his location. If Catherine were still at Saint Theresa's, he could get word to her. When the old man came back, he would try to make himself understood. He needed paper and pencil. He could draw a map. He grew more and more excited. It was not beyond the realm of possibility that his darling Catherine was closer to him than he ever dreamed.

His thoughts were flying so hard and fast, he felt feverish. He slept a little and finally heard the hut door open and shut. The old man climbed the rungs of the ladder carrying two long wooden sticks beneath his arm. He stood them on end. Crutches! The Old Basque had actually fashioned him a pair of crutches !

A broad smile stole across Jeffrey's face. Luis held them out. Jeffrey clasped the strong hand. "Thank you, Luis!"

The crutches were awkward to handle, but after ten minutes they served him perfectly well. Jeffrey smiled again at his friend, then sat down on the bed, exhausted. He put the crutches on the floor at the side of the bed.

"Luis? Do you have paper, pencils?" He pretended he was writing in the air. Luis watched and tried to make it out, but he didn’t understand. Jeffrey thought some more. Then an idea leaped out at him. There would be charcoal in the fireplace. He could use that to write with.

He grew more excited and reached for the crutches. In no time he was on his feet and over to the ladder. He indicated to Luis that he wished to go downstairs. With the old man's help, he made it to the ground floor, and Jeffrey, out of breath, worked his way to the fireplace and felt about for a piece of charred wood. When he found a small one he sat down on the floor and began to make marks on the hearth. Luis watched, fascinated.

"Papier," Jeffrey said the word in French, hoping it might ring a bell. The old man scratched his head and finally nodded. He rushed over to the cupboard at the end of the hut and rummaged through a drawer. He came back to the hearth with an old section of newspaper. It was better than nothing.

Jeffrey spread it out over the wood floor and began sketching the outlines of a map of the Pyrenees. He drew the shape of the Basque coast line and filled in the towns of Fuenterrabia and Irun, putting in several mountain ranges that he remembered from the map he saw in the little book.

He drew a plane and a chute. Luis nodded and smiled. Then Jeffrey offered him the charcoal. "Your home," he pointed to the man and Luis looked carefully at the drawing. Finally he put an x near the town of Irun.

Jeffrey's eyes opened wide. If that was so, then the convent was close. He took the charcoal and drew a cross and the word Theresa below it, then gave the charcoal back to Luis. The old man's eyes lit up and he made sounds. He put another x on the paper, right next to the previous one. "Senora Theresa," he called out excitedly.

"How many kilometers?" Jeffrey questioned. "Kilo-me-ters?" he held up his fingers, one at a time. The old man's face beamed with comprehension. He held up ten fingers.

"Good heavens," Jeffrey thought. Saint Theresa's was just ten kilometers from here, if he understood Luis properly. Where was Miguel and when would he be back? If Jeffrey didn't have a broken leg, he'd set out immediately to find Catherine. Was she still there? Was she safe?

It just wasn't possible that she could be so close to him after all this time. It was as if the hand of God had again reached out and gently guided him to the right spot. His emotions were at fever pitch.

Luis too felt frustrated that the language problem prevented them from communicating. Apparently the convent meant something important to the Englishman. Luis would try to find out what it was that caused the man to appear so excited all at once. He patted Jeffrey's arm.

"Miguel," he said the name and then pointed to the convent. "Miguel."

Jeffrey concentrated hard to discover what the old man was trying to convey. Something about Miguel and the convent. Maybe he meant Miguel had gone there for help. He couldn't make any other sense out of it. If that were true ...

The old man put his palms together and laid them against the side of his cheek, closing his eyes in a semblance of going to sleep. "Miguel," he repeated the name.

"He sleeps there?" Jeffrey mimicked the gesture. Luis clapped his hands and nodded. That was it! Miguel slept there. That meant he had to know Catherine! Why did Miguel live there? What would he be doing at a convent?

Then Jeffrey remembered his leg. Miguel wasn't a doctor, that's what he said, but maybe he helped the sisters. Was that the explanation? He took another look at his leg. It was a professional job of splinting and he had little pain now. The medics couldn't have done a better job. Jeffrey's mind was full of questions and ideas.

Again, Luis could see the look of eagerness and frustration cross over the airman's face. In a few days, Miguel would come back. Then the Englishman could get the answers to his questions.

*****

A week passed before Miguel could return to the hut of Luis with the Sister. New cases of typhoid had been reported in Fuenterrabia and the

surrounding area. The sisters were kept busy day and night, looking after the poor families whose members had fallen victim to the dread disease.

Miguel waited on the sick and drove himself mercilessly till the early hours of the morning. Scarcely a word passed between the two of them. During that time, the Holy Mother had received an unprecedented visit from two German soldiers demanding to see every room.

Catherine was in the supply closet when they marched into the infirmary. Miguel was down in the village at the time, much to her relief. She shook like a leaf as they walked about the room, looking over each patient with ruthless scrutiny. The sisters on duty kept their wimpled heads lowered and tended to business as if the soldiers were not there at all. She kept her back to them and continued to fold bandages.

One of the soldiers came to the doorway of the closet. It was obvious to see no one could be hiding in there and he grunted an obscenity. Then they were gone. Ever since Miguel had told her about the plane crash, Catherine had harbored secret fears that the Germans would come to the convent. She’d imagined many horrors, but now they had gone.

She was thankful that Miguel was away at the time and praised his wisdom in not telling anyone about the flyer. There was no curiosity on the sisters' part, no discussion once the soldiers went away for they knew nothing.

Miguel returned from town that evening and she told him in detail about the surprise visit. He broke out in a cold sweat when he realized for whom the search must have been instigated. His mind was on the Englishman once more.

"Sister, I think it’s safe now for us to go up to the mountains. It is set for the day after tomorrow. We’ll leave as we usually do for our afternoon rounds. No one will know our destination. I must see how the man's leg is getting along.

"But even more important, pray that Senor Polila in the village will have some milk for us tomorrow. I plan to take fresh vegetables from the convent garden to bribe him. I think God will forgive me for a little subterfuge.”

Catherine smiled sadly. "I’ve been praying for days now, Miguel. The supply is running low. If the Alba children don’t get more milk, they’ll die as surely as their mother is going to die."

Miguel stared at the lovely face and realized the sister was a changed person from a month before. Her idealism had been replaced by a more down-to-earth approach. In a way it was sad that her foundation of high hopes had been shaken, but it made her a more useful, productive Sister of God, more capable of rendering the kind of service needed in such difficult times.

"I’ll use all the influence I can to get us more milk, believe me, Sister," he responded in great sobriety.

"It isn't just milk, Miguel. It’s everything. We can’t exist much longer without help from the outside."

"I know. Oblivion is not a state one looks forward to.”

She shook her head and plunged into her duties bathing babies and wrapped them in clean linens. All the while she felt the pressure of their burdens more heavily than usual. It was in this state that the Holy Mother came upon her in the infirmary. She was followed by a large congregation of olive skinned, dark eyed, healthy look nuns.

Catherine peered into the eyes of the Holy Mother. The older woman read the joy in the nun's face. She, too, was in a state of bliss that the Lord had seen fit to bless them at this moment.

"Sister Catherine, Our Mother General has arrived from Rome, and these are the new sisters. God be praised!"

"Amen, Holy Mother," Catherine replied. "Welcome, sisters," she beamed. "You are truly welcome.” It was impossible to remain composed under the circumstances. She wanted to hug each of them. They smiled, then began looking about the room. Catherine noticed from their expressions that they were horrified with what they saw. Disbelief and shock registered in many pairs of eyes.

Catherine, too, had experienced just such feelings on the day of her arrival. The memory of the Alba family lying naked in that filthy hole literally starving to death, would haunt her forever. However, the sisters would soon get used to the

conditions. They would have no choice!

"Where is Miguel, Sister? I wish to introduce the sisters to him."

"In town, Holy Mother. He should be back shortly. He was afraid it was futile, but he is making one more attempt to find milk for the children."

Her eyes lit up. "Sister, our prayers have been answered once again. The Mother General has brought many supplies with her, milk included. The Lord has seen our need. Is it not a great testimony of His goodness and power?"

"Indeed it is, Holy Mother," Catherine whispered reverently.

"Sister, I would like you to spend the rest of the morning showing the sisters around. Let them become acquainted with your routine. Miguel will be pleased to find that half of them are trained nurses. This should mean a great deal to him."

"Nurses?" she mouthed the words. When the Lord distributed blessings, there was always an abundance. The Holy Mother drew closer and lowered her voice.

"Before you begin, the Mother General would like to speak to you alone. She’s waiting in my office. Go to her now. I’ll begin the tour of the convent with the new sisters. When you’re through, report back here.”

"Yes, Holy Mother." She left the room and hurried to the office at the front of the convent, filled with conflicting emotions of happiness on one hand, and confusion on the other. Why would the Mother General wish to speak to her? It was very strange and obviously had nothing to do with the other English sisters or they would all have been summoned.

"Holy Mother?" Catherine called softly as she stepped inside, shutting the door. The tiny Mother General looked up. Her dark eyes appraised Catherine for a long time. She didn’t look happy. Something was wrong. Catherine waited hesitantly for her to speak.

"Sister, come closer and sit down."

Catherine bowed and hurried to a chair near the desk. She was totally perplexed by the Mother General's demeanor which was usually sunny and optimistic. Catherine looked upon her spiritual leader as a saint, whose selflessness was the personification of the Father's. She had to speak. "We are so thankful you’ve come, Holy Mother. It’s an answer to many prayers."

"Yes," she spoke as if troubled by a great problem. "We were able to get back to Spain sooner than I had imagined, and the officials in Barcelona were unexpectedly gracious to us, allowing us to bring our supplies instead of confiscating everything. There’s no question that it was God's will.

“But Sister, there’s another matter of which I must speak and it grieves my soul. It overshadows my happiness. In fact, Sister, I confess to you that in all my days in the service of God, I have never sustained so personal a sorrow."

Catherine blanched, totally at a loss for words. What was this terrible thing?

The Holy Mother pursed her lips. "I have here a paper, a document signed by the pope himself, stamped with the sacred seal of the Papacy," her voice shook. "It is your dispensation, Sister."

They stared at each other and neither of them spoke. Catherine's thoughts these past weeks had been so far removed from the matter of the dispensation, the shock of the news reduced her to a state of complete disbelief and wonder.

The Pope had actually granted the dispensation. She was free. The paper was the proof. She was no longer a nun. She stood up and paced the floor to stem the tide of feelings that raced through her. The realization of what the news meant assailed her. She could go back to England ... to Michael and Jeffrey.