Lovers in Enemy Territory (27 page)

"It's amazing," he spoke with awe, and wiped his forehead, sweltering in the intense heat. "Did you know it got up to 130 degrees out there yesterday?"

Jeffrey squinted from the sun's rays as the last Hudson touched ground. "I thought as much. Quite a change from Iceland, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir.” He slapped the bugs from his face. There were so many mosquitoes and other insects infesting the area, it drove the men to distraction.

A plane taxied in and Jeffrey walked over to speak to the pilot. His eyes fastened on the Hudson. By tonight, they would be going on regular patrols.

"Commander," the pilot saluted as he jumped down.

"Captain, how does she handle?"

"The landing speed is a little high and it's rough coming in on that swamp. Had to use all the flaps."

"Right, but you'll be glad you're in this when you've got a Dornier on your tail."

"Yes, sir.” He grinned. .

"What's it like out there? Any news from Gibraltar?"

"The carrier saw no action this trip. I know because I have a buddy who was working flight deck duty. He said it was a peaceful crossing."

"No U-boats?" Jeffrey's eyes narrowed. He couldn't help thinking about Catherine and the possible danger to her. He didn't know where she was, or if she'd even left England for that matter. It tore him apart.

"Not a one, sir. Too much bad weather. Even the Jerries wouldn't venture out in it."

"That's unusual," he muttered.

"It was fortunate since they had an unusual group of VIP's on board."

"Oh?" Jeffrey answered abstractly, his thoughts far away.

"Yes, a group of sisters. You know, nuns!"

"What in the hell were nuns doing on board a carrier?" Dudley blurted.

“I don't know."

"Are you absolutely sure?" Jeffrey questioned.

"I'm certain, Commander. Reggie, that's my buddy, got acquainted with one of the sisters. Apparently she was a looker. He said she was the only one who wasn't sick, and he also said she knew more about airplanes than he did. Couldn't figure it out. Just when he was getting to know her, the nuns left the ship at Lisbon. He said it was the damndest sight you ever saw. Never did know why they were there, or where they were going."

So, thought Jeffrey. Catherine had arrived in Portugal. Thank God! That was three days ago. Possibly she was installed at the priory by now. In less than two months they'd be together, but the waiting was unbearable. He looked up and shook the man’s hand fervently. “Thank you, Captain.”

"Sure, Commander.”

Later in the day Jeffrey made stops at the other bases located further south to be sure things were getting on. At the third camp he discovered that one of the Sunderlands on routine patrol had spotted a torpedoed ship and picked up twenty-three survivors suffering from burns received during the explosion.

They were all but dead. Twelve others had perished in the explosion, and a team of medics was busy setting up a hospital when Jeffrey flew in. He assessed the situation and radioed Gibraltar for special supplies. The word was out that things were getting hot in the South Atlantic as he’d predicted at his meeting with the Air Command.

What if the Sunderland hadn't been out cruising? Every day there were more Luftwaffe crowding the sky from here to Sicily, and more and more U-boats appearing as if by magic. They were in for it. From here on out, it was going to get sticky. The place was a hot box in more ways than one, he muttered, cursing the blazing sun which mercilessly scorched everything as soon as the rains stopped.

In another week he'd begin vital reconnaissance work over Spain. They'd go out in a Hudson. There'd be Dudley, Doherty and Friedling, the best navigator in the business. He could find anything blindfolded. Sometime soon they'd fly over the Pyrenees and take a good look. He had every intention of including Saint Theresa's in his flight plan.

*****

The first morning after the arrival of the sisters from England, Catherine was summoned along with the other nuns to the office of the Mother Superior, After Matins, she was surprised to see a dark, handsome young man of about her own age seated near the Holy Mother's desk. His eyes were black as obsidian and his hair was long and straight with skin the color of coffee.

When Catherine came into the room, he stood up. They were the same height, she and this dark eyed Basque. Most of the men she'd met on the journey were shorter than those of Anglo-Saxon background. The Mother General was not present. She’d probably left the convent after a much needed night's sleep to be about her business on her way to Rome.

Catherine's eyes strayed about the small room and she noticed the absence of pictures and statuary. Only one niche in the wall held a Madonna and child. Like the office at Our Lord of the Lamb, the room was somber, owing to just two small windows placed high up in the wall. Little light could filter through.

Sister Angelina gave Catherine a timid smile. They all felt uncomfortable in these foreign surroundings. Finally the Mother Superior made her appearance in her flowing black robes. The head nun was an attractive, fresh-faced woman of about sixty with eyes the color of rich loam.

She was graceful in her movements as she took small, unhurried steps to her desk, bestowing a warm smile on each sister. Catherine liked her immediately. Last night she'd been too tired to notice much of anything.

"Sisters, I hope you’ve been refreshed with your night's sleep and I hope the food was not too unpalatable. I don't have to tell you we’re in the middle of a famine which has grown worse over the last month. Bless you for making this sacrifice, for leaving your motherhouses to come to the aid of a war-torn land. Whatever our nationality, we’re all one family beneath this roof. This is a house of God, and all are welcome who work here, or find refuge here.

"I don't know how much the Mother General has explained to you. This country has been in the throes of a violent civil war for many years. The casualties have reached the one million mark." The sisters eyed one another in disbelief. "There isn't a family which hasn't lost a relative or a loved one. Death has touched everyone one way or another.

“Our country continues to be pulled apart by political factions and it grows worse day by day, threatening our very civilization. We not only look after the French refugees who are sick and wounded and come to us for aid and sanctuary, but we care for our own people in the low lying villages and in the mountains for typhus and dysentery are running rampant and there’s no help from any other source.

“We also open our doors to the Basque and Catalan men who would otherwise be imprisoned by the Franco regime in the larger cities. There were at last count approximately 300,000 men who fled the country last year to escape prison or death."

Catherine felt the blood drain from her face. "These men are political outcasts and have a difficult time finding work. Many come to our doorstep daily seeking refuge, food and comfort. They stay a few days, then must move on. You can't possibly comprehend what this country has been going through, nor what it has yet to face. Franco intends to be a Gauleiter to Hitler, and there are eighty thousand Germans or more within our boundaries at the present time.

“I fear civil war has only been a prelude to what is going to happen. We must depend on God for courage and strength. He is our only salvation," she said fervently.

I’m saddened to report that many of our own sisters have fallen ill from exhaustion and are unable, themselves, to be of assistance.

“That’s why the Mother General brought you here. The sisters from priories on the continent would have a much more difficult time than you from Great

Britain in obtaining traveling papers. The borders are so heavily guarded that even the Mother General has difficulty passing through. We’re thankful you’ve

arrived here safely without incident.

“We’re not a large convent. We house forty sisters, but at the present time, only half that number are carrying the load. The majority of our sisters are elderly and too weak in body for the work here. We simply cannot handle all that needs to be done on our own. Those who can help have been running the hospital we've set up in the back of the convent. The children need constant supervision. That’s the area where most of you are needed.

"But our duties extend beyond these walls, as I’ve pointed out. There are many more refugees who’ve been given temporary shelter by the Basque people up in the mountains, some of whom are too ill or wounded to come down to the convent. We must go to them. I've asked you to meet this morning so I can introduce you to Dr. Ortzi. He will decide which of you will work with him."

Catherine looked at the dark young man and blinked. He seemed so young to have such heavy responsibilities. She admired him instantly for being willing to sacrifice everything for the good of mankind. Then she remembered that Jeffrey had told her the same thing when she explained about her life's work, and she smiled in understanding. "Dr. Ortzi lives here at the convent and divides his work between the priory and outside our walls. He makes daily trips into the villages and mountains.

“Recently Sister Nina who assisted him, passed away. Now he needs another helper. There’s one problem. He doesn’t speak English; therefore, he needs an assistant who is fluent in both Spanish and French. He assumes that all of you have had some medical training, but he's particularly concerned about the language problem.

“The people here do not look kindly on foreigners at this point, and since you come from across the Channel, I fear your presence will only add to their suspicions. Some of our people trust no one. Which one of you feels most qualified to help him?"

Catherine looked at the other five sisters, but it was apparent that none of them felt equal to the task, and certainly Catherine wasn’t qualified. Not only was she untrained in medical matters, but her Spanish was limited to book study alone.

The Holy Mother spoke in Basque to the doctor. Their conversation was lengthy. He seemed to have a great deal to say. Finally she turned to the sisters. "How many of you are trained nurses?"

Sister Maria raised her hand. "I’ve worked in a hospital this last year, Holy Mother."

"Do you speak French or Spanish?"

"No, Holy Mother. Not a word."

She looked perplexed. "Sister Margareta, you have no nursing experience?"

"No, Holy Mother. When the Mother General came to the convent, I was the only one who volunteered. The others were concerned about coming to Spain at this time.”

"I see. Is that true of the rest of you? Were you all chosen because you, alone were unafraid? If that’s true, it’s very commendable."

The sisters said nothing, but their eyes betrayed their thoughts. She turned to the doctor and said something else. Finally she looked at Catherine. "I see from the Mother General's report that French is your native tongue, Sister Catherine."

"Yes, Holy Mother, but I've had no medical training. My work has been in history and literature in preparation for becoming a teacher. I would be of no value to the doctor," she said and avoided his eyes.

"The doctor says you can learn, Sister." Catherine looked up, startled.

"But Holy Mother, he needs a trained nurse.” It was the first time in Catherine's life that she had actually taken exception to anything said by a superior.

"The doctor will help you. Your record indicates you've studied Spanish extensively as well."

"But I have no speaking knowledge, Mother."

Catherine could see that her arguments were going nowhere. She didn't like hospital work, and worse, she didn't feel comfortable with the young man watching her so intently.

“Sister—“ There was warning in the Holy Mother's voice.

She bowed her head submissively. "Yes, Mother."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The doctor spoke in French. It had been a long time since anyone had conversed with Catherine in her native tongue. He spoke with a charming Basque accent. "Sister, I’ll teach you.” He smiled, his black eyes alive. "Sister Nina wasn’t a nurse, either, but she could communicate with the people. Sometimes that is more important. The war broadens your education amazingly fast."

Catherine had no more arguments and nodded.

"Good," he turned to the Holy Mother. "We’ll go down into the village now. We should be back at noon. Sister?" he turned to Catherine. She rose reluctantly and glanced at Sister Angelina, whose face was still peaked. Then she followed him out the door with some misgivings.

This was going to be a hard test. Medical work had never appealed to her. She wondered if she had the strength. The Holy Mother smiled encouragingly at her once more and the door shut behind them.

Dr. Ortzi walked quickly out the front doors of the convent. She had to almost run to keep up with him. They soon came upon a mule-drawn cart, piled high with straw.

"When we get back tonight," he began, "we’ll fashion that straw into mattresses. We do not have enough beds at present for the sick children and babies." Catherine nodded. He climbed into the cart and indicated she was to sit at his side.

"We haven’t been properly introduced.” He smiled broadly. His white teeth were a surprise. Generally the men she'd seen in this country were minus a few, and the ones remaining were stained by years of tobacco. "I'm Miguel de Lorca Ortzi.”