Lovers in Enemy Territory (34 page)

Miguel started talking. "It won't be safe for you to remain here. You may not know anything about the whereabouts of Commander Norwood, or the details of his missions, but the Gestapo thinks you do. Perhaps he has been trying to contact you. I have no way of knowing. Somehow they have information about the two of you and are looking for you, Sister.

“You’re going to have to leave here. My friends will arrange for you to get back to England along with the injured flyer. It’s your only chance to get out of Spain alive."

"Surely not?" she cried.

“They’ll come to the convent for you. Now that you have told me this, I have no doubts whatsoever. Even if you had nothing to tell them, and it is obvious that you don’t, you would not be safe. Forgive me for being so blunt, Sister, but you are much too beautiful."

He realized he still called her sister. That was a habit that would be difficult if not impossible to break despite everything he knew. "They would use you in any manner they desired, and believe me, you would pray for death when they finished with you. Besides, they might make reprisals against the other sisters for giving you refuge. It’s not only your well being that’s at stake. Think of the others."

Catherine hung her head, wracked with guilt.

"The Gestapo will have to move carefully where a nun is concerned, but mark my words, it’s just a matter of time till they come to the priory for you. God is with you. We’ve been warned in time, and the arrival of the sisters from Italy has come just in time.

“On the way back from the village this morning, I’d decided that I would take you to Ortega's hut. That’s exactly what I intend to do, but we will leave now instead of waiting until tomorrow."

"But I can't just leave, Miguel. The Holy Mother wouldn’t understand."

"Leave that to me. I will speak to her and explain everything. You’re no longer a nun. You’re free to leave. When I tell her everything, she will wish for you to escape. Don’t worry. There’s is much to do and we have to be away from here within the hour. I want you to listen carefully to what I have to say."

She looked up, alert to his business-like tone. "I want you to change out of your habit immediately. Don't be so shocked. The Gestapo is looking for a nun in white, not a peasant girl. By the way, is your hair dark?" She nodded in a daze. "Good, that will help. Later, we will stain your skin with wild berries. Your coloring is much too fair for a Basque. While you are changing, I’ll pack food and supplies to take to the hut. Go out to the cart in back when you are ready"

"Miguel, I’ll do as you say, but are you certain the sisters will be in no danger? What if the Germans should retaliate and do something terrible to them?"

"Don’t worry. You’ve received your dispensation. Leave the paper with your habit so that the Holy Mother has proof that you’ve left the sisterhood. They’ll recognize the official seal of the Papacy. The Holy Mother can honestly tell them that you have gone away, and she knows nothing. They will have to believe her. "

"I hope you're right. But what about you? The Germans know we’ve worked together. They will be watching you."

"Possibly. That’why I’m going to stay at the hut for a time, completely out of sight with you. It will be like a vacation. We deserve one, don't you think?" He smiled for the first time.

"Yes. You are a very godly man, Miguel. I do not deserve such help and kindness."

"Enough of that talk. Now hurry, and remember, Sister. Change everything you have on!"

Heat swamped her when she realized what he meant. They exchanged glances and she left the classroom, heading for the dormitory. There was a closet full of old clothes which had been washed and put away for those patients who were in rags.

For the first time in years, it occurred to her she had no clothes of her own, no worldly possessions of any kind. Nothing except the habit which she was about to discard. It was a new feeling to know that in a few minutes she would walk away from these walls in ordinary clothes, never to return.

She almost ran to the dormitory, her mind in turmoil, and then cold fear took over. Her hands shook as she rummaged through the folded clothing. She pulled out some dresses, but most were too small. At the bottom of the pile was a faded blue dress, longer than most of the others. Perhaps it would fit. She reached for the largest pair of shoes she could find, work shoes with thick soles. She gathered up a petticoat and stockings, and went to her room to undress.

Her fingers wouldn’t stop shaking as she removed the wimple from her head. She unfastened the scapular, then the habit. They dropped to her feet. She removed the heavy black boots and stockings, finally her undergarments. It didn't seem possible that this was really happening.

She quickly dressed in the borrowed clothes. The dress had a square cut neck and puffy sleeves which reached to her elbows. The bodice hugged her rib cage and revealed the outline of her firm breasts. She felt as naked as a new born babe, but there was nothing to be done. There were no other clothes.

Catherine trembled as she sat on the edge of the straw mattress and pulled on the stockings. The shoes were too small. She had to work to get them on. Still, they were better than no shoes at all.

When she was ready, she folded everything neatly, placing the crucifix and dispensation on top of the habit and headed for the chapel. It was early afternoon. The sisters would be about their duties. She hoped that no one was in the chapel. She tiptoed inside and went to the rail. Her eyes fastened on the altar. Catherine sank slowly to her knees and laid the clothes at the feet of the Mother of God. Her hand rested briefly on the crucifix, and suddenly she found herself dissolved in tears.

She poured out her heart, thanking God for this blessing at this trying period of her life, and asked that He be with her during these times of danger. and peril. She prayed for Jeffrey and Michael, for Miguel and the sisters.

As she continued, she was aware someone had entered the chapel and was kneeling at her side. Catherine finished her prayer and looked around. It was the Mother General and the Holy Mother. Their eyes shone with love and kindness. The Mother General made the sign of the cross over Catherine's head, then bowed her head in prayer.

The Holy Mother did likewise. Catherine stood up, slipped the ring from her finger, placed it at the feet of the Mother General and hurried out of the chapel.

Another wagon, much like the one that had been burned, was sitting beneath a tree. The mule turned to look at her. She climbed numbly into the seat and sat there in a daze, pulling her skimpy skirt over her knees. The sun was shining overhead. Never had there been a more beautiful day in the mountains, but she was not thinking of the weather. Her emotions were in turmoil ... everything had happened too fast. She wasn’t prepared to be catapulted back into the world like this.

Miguel appeared with a basket heaped with supplies and they were off. Neither of them spoke for over an hour. He sensed Catherine was distressed and could only imagine her feelings at such a moment. It wouldn’t be easy to walk away from her former life, even if she’d requested her freedom. He chanced a look at her from time to time.

Often he’d wondered what she would look like without her habit, but he wasn't prepared for what he saw now. Her hair was black as night and hugged her head in soft, short curls which framed her beautiful face. Her arms were long and tapered. She looked even taller without the billowing habit. Her body was voluptuous and ripe as a peach. He stared at her, unable to pull his eyes away.

"Holy Mother of the Sepulchre," he muttered beneath his breath and crossed himself. "Ai, ai, ai!" he sighed. There was no woman anywhere in the Pyrenees who looked like that.

Catherine felt his eyes on her. It was hard enough discarding the habit without feeling his disturbing gaze. She wrapped her arms around her in an effort to hide her exposed flesh but it was no use.

"You are very, very beautiful," he spoke boldly. Catherine crimsoned. She looked down at herself. She'd never given any thought to her body, but now she blushed. She looked up at the sky and then closed her eyes. This was what it meant to be out in the world. To be constantly aware of one's self, the way one looked, the way one fixed one's hair, the clothes one wore. It was an experience for which she wasn’t prepared. She felt like an unveiled statue on display for the first time. Miguel's eyes didn’t leave her.

"Miguel," she finally whispered. "Must you stare?"

"I'm sorry, Sister," he blurted and fixed his eyes on the road ahead. It was difficult to concentrate on anything else. Seeing her this way made him think many forbidden thoughts, yet there was an inner purity which still radiated from her. She was still untouchable. The mixture of saint and woman was tantalizing.

Catherine returned to her thoughts. She truly was being watched over, her path was prepared before her. Though she was frightened, she had the deep seated assurance that God had her in his care. Strange that her faith seemed suddenly even stronger.

Her mind wandered to the injured flyer. What must his thoughts be, alone in a shepherd's hut with no one to talk to? She'd almost forgotten about him. “Miguel, you never did tell me about your talk with the Englishman. Am I a good English teacher or not?"

"You are, but I'm a poor student. I think I made myself understood. Of course it was all very basic. He’s an intelligent man and very grateful for our help."

"I can imagine how thankful he must be, for I feel the same way now. Is he young?"

"I think he’s in his mid to late thirties. There’s a maturity about him. He’s no boy."

"The poor man, probably has a family somewhere and no one knows if he’s dead or alive."

"I would like to see the look on his face when you appear on the doorstep speaking English no less. That should help him to recover in a great hurry.”

Catherine averted her eyes. "And if he is normal, he will fall in love with you right away. Forgive me, Sister, I shouldn’t say such things."

"Miguel, I’m no longer a nun. Don’t ask my forgiveness any more. There’s nothing to forgive. You can say what you think in front of me. I must get used to such talk. You have no idea how strange it is for me to be re-entering society after eleven years among the sisters. I have to readjust my thinking. It will take time, but it’s a fact of life and I’ll need your help.” She smiled.

"You can depend on that Sis-" He stopped. "May I call you Catherine?"

"Please do from now on."

“I might forget. In a way, you will always be Sister Catherine to me."

"I shall never forget that once I was Sister Catherine," she said quietly, and they rode on in silence, their bodies swaying as the cart bumped roughly over the mountain road. Evening came on and the pines cast long shadows over the landscape.

Miguel broke the long silence. "It’s getting chilly now that the sun has slipped below the horizon. There’s a blanket in the back. I'll get it for you."

"Thank you.”

Once she was wrapped in the covering, he began thinking out loud. "If you and the airman were to pose as a farm couple from Northern Spain, my friends and I could outfit you with a mule and wagon, and you could travel the back roads to Portugal, hiding out at night in the huts of trusted friends.

“Eventually you would reach the coast and we could get you out of the country on a fishing trawler. Some of our boats have radios and you could be picked up by one of your English ships. I think it’s a good plan. If you travel as a married couple with forged identification papers, there should be no trouble.

“I’ve brought black dye with me to disguise the hair of the flyer. But he will not be ready to travel for several weeks. He must not go anywhere till I can remove the splint. A broken leg would be a dead giveaway to the pigs."

Catherine listened to his ideas, but she couldn't imagine how any of it would work out. She shook her head in amazement, then sadness. If she had to wait several more weeks before they could leave the Pyrenees, it would make the separation from Jeffrey that much harder to bear. She didn't think she could stand it. Always she’d pictured herself discarding her habit and driving back to London, seated at Jeffrey's side with Michael on her lap. She was helpless now, dependent on the goodness and generosity of Miguel. He was her only hope. Jeffrey would suffer when she didn’t return to England at the expected time. And Michael. It could upset him all over again.

*****

The stars were twinkling in the heavens as the cart drew closer. Jeffrey had been gazing out the window of the loft, studying the constellations and breathing deeply of the invigorating mountain air. For over a week now, he'd been confined to the hut. He was more than grateful for the food and shelter provided by Luis and Miguel, but he was not used to such inactivity. He'd done some sketching until he'd run out of old newspaper.

He didn't dare venture outside for fear of being spotted and had to remain patient and wait for Miguel's return. The idea that Catherine was only ten kilometers away haunted him endlessly. There was no way to get in touch with her until he could maneuver better, and that wouldn't be for some time.

And there was always the possibility that she’d returned to England. His leg was still far from being healed enough to withstand the long walk to the priory. The last few nights a restlessness had come upon him so disturbing he couldn’t sleep. He ached for Catherine and his son. Suddenly he caught sight of the mule-drawn cart slowly making its way up to the doorway of the hut.