Chapter 13

When the sedation wore off, Captain Theodore Blake, U.S. Army, woke up with a groan. He glanced around the dim room, no longer remembering where he was, and saw the young nun sitting in a chair a short distance from him. Then it all came back to him. She was on her feet and at his side in seconds, gently reached for his wrist and took his pulse.

"How are you feeling, Captain?" she asked him in her slightly British English, which was how they learned English in Europe.

"All right, I guess. Better than the alternative." He lifted his head and looked around the room, and then back at her. "I remember the tree and then seeing you. How did I get here and where am I?"

"We brought you here in a truck. A boy from one of the farms cut you out of the tree. He won't talk. You're in a convent in Ahnsbeck in Lower Saxony. The doctor gave you something to sleep to set your ankle." He nodded, remembering a little more of it now. "How does it feel?"

"Like someone ran over it with a truck."

"I'm not surprised. You have a compound fracture. You were lucky. It could have been a lot worse." He knew it too, and was grateful to her and the people who had saved him. She had provided what he needed to relieve himself, handed it to him, and turned around. "I'm a nurse," she said with her back turned, and then took it from him. She was efficient and professional even in the cellar safe room. She helped him take a sip of water then from a pitcher Mother Paul had left for them, and then covered him with another blanket.

"You look too young to be a nun," he commented, as she supported him while he took another sip of water. His lips were parched, and he was grateful for the drink and her gentle ministering to him.

"I'm not too young," she assured him, "I'm a trained nurse. My order is in Berlin, but I'm staying here now. The nuns here are very kind. It's a teaching order normally. They have a house full of orphans." She smiled at him. "The war has turned the convent into an orphanage."

"And you're a very efficient nurse," he complimented her. He was taking in every detail of his surroundings, as he'd been trained to do. She was young and pretty despite her simple nun's habit. Her eyes were green, and he wondered what color her hair was. Every inch of her was covered, except her hands and face. She had gentle, graceful hands, which cared for him efficiently, and her eyes were wise and kind for someone so young. "I'm sorry if I'm putting your convent in danger by being here," he apologized. "You were all brave to take me in." And he'd been bombing the hell out of their country.

"You do what you can in a war. It's the people who suffer, and the children. The rest doesn't matter."

"It matters to us," he said firmly. "You can't let a man like Hitler take over the world." Hitler already controlled most of Europe and wanted the rest, especially England. That was the prize he wanted now, and the English were determined not to let that happen, and the Americans, and so were Germans like Sophia and the nuns at St. Blaise.

"My country is starving," Sophia said, as she smoothed his blankets, put a pillow under his head, and tried to make him as comfortable as she could. He didn't appear to be in great pain, despite the severity of the wound, now that the bone was back in place. "Thousands are dying, not just soldiers. The country is broken, and Hitler has to be stopped. Thank you for helping us," she said sincerely as he watched her. He was surprised that she viewed bombing their cities as help.

"It'll get worse before it gets better," he warned her. "We want to stop him too. You hear terrible things about what he's doing in every country he takes over, and what he's doing to the Jews." She nodded. She had seen it firsthand.

"You should rest. Don't think about all that now."

"At least it must be easier here, if you're in the country, away from the air strikes."

"It's not easy anywhere. People are suffering here, and in the cities, and in the camps."

"Is that why you're here, and not in Berlin?" he asked, curious about her. She shook her head and didn't explain. But her eyes told him she had suffered.

Mother Paul arrived a few minutes later with food from the children's lunch for Sophia and the captain. There was chicken from a neighboring farm, barley soup that had a rich flavor, and a slice of bread. There would be vegetables for dinner, soup, and eggs. They tried to give the children nourishing meals. Sophia was still getting used to eating normally again. She had been at the convent for seven months and was shocked every day by how delicious everything tasted.

"Do you have rationing in the States now that you're at war too?" Sophia asked him, curious about it, and he nodded.

"It's not as severe as in Europe. It's meat, cheese, sugar, and canned goods. We came into the war late." Europe had been at war for three and a half years by then, America only for a year, since Pearl Harbor. "Do a lot of people feel the way you do?" he asked her. It was interesting talking to her. He had expected Germans to feel very differently than she did, and the nuns who had taken him in. They were risking themselves for the enemy.

"Many do. Most people are afraid. We're helpless to stop him. Everyone is terrified. It will take a country like America to end it. The punishments here are severe. He doesn't care how many of his own people he kills. It's a kind of madness." She said it very seriously.

"It seems like it when you hear what he's doing to the Jews." She nodded, and reached across him to pull his blanket up higher, and as she did, her sleeve slid slightly further up her arm and he was startled to see the scars of several vicious beatings, which shocked him. Her sleeve covered them again, when she moved, but he could imagine what she had endured to get them. He had heard of people who had escaped the concentration camps, but very few. He didn't mention it, but wondered if she was Jewish and had converted to seek safety in a convent and escape the camps, although he had been told that that didn't always work either, and that the Germans were putting converts in the camps now. But he didn't want to ask her about it. He didn't know her well enough, but seeing the scars on her arm had moved him. It explained why she felt as she did about Hitler.

She helped him sit up to eat his lunch after Mother Paul left it for him, and he said it was delicious. He was ravenous. After he ate, he slept again. It was evening when he woke, and one of the other nuns had replaced Sophia so she could go to Vespers.

"Where's Sister Anne?" he asked, like a child looking for its mother.

"She's at prayers with the other sisters. She'll be back soon with your dinner. We're lucky we have a nurse here to take care of you." The older nun smiled at him. "The rest of us are teachers."

"Has she been here since war was declared?" he asked, fishing for information about Sophia. The scars he had glimpsed intrigued him, and pained him for her at the same time.

"No. She's only been here for six or seven months, since last summer. She came to us from..." she hesitated and caught herself quickly, "from Berlin. We're lucky she decided to stay here, and not go back to the city. It's more peaceful here, and she's wonderful with the children. Her order is different from ours. They're Catholic. Our order is Protestant, but we all do the same work and serve our Lord as best we can. It really doesn't make any difference."

"Where do the orphans come from?" he asked. The nun was very chatty, and happy to answer his questions, although careful with her answers. They didn't often get adult visitors, and never Americans, obviously. The whole convent was whispering about him. "Do the children come from the cities?"

"They come from all over Germany, and even some from France and Holland," she said. "People concerned about them bring them to us. Most of them have lost their whole families." He found that interesting too, wondering how a single child could survive and lose all their relatives, and why there were so many of them. The simple answer were the air strikes that were happening all over Europe and in England too, but he wondered if there was another reason for the orphans coming from all over to them. In spite of the acute pain in his ankle, his mind was sharp, and he was astute.

Sophia traded places with the other nun an hour later. She had eaten with the nuns and the children, and brought the captain his food, a tasty omelet with herbs, and a small piece of pork sausage, some of the leftover soup from lunch, and another slice of bread. Considering that they were rationed, it was a hearty meal. And as it had been at lunch, it was delicious.

"Your fellow nuns must be good cooks," he said as he ate. "I hope I'm not depriving anyone with what I'm eating." He looked worried for a minute.

"The sisters are very good at stretching what we have so there's enough for everyone. The children don't eat a lot, and the farmers are generous with us. Some things are impossible to get, but what they have on the farms fills in for us. You'll be seeing a lot of chicken," she said with an easy laugh. He liked talking to her and wanted to know more about her. He sensed a story there.

After he ate, she dealt with his bathroom needs again, smoothed his blankets, and watched him as he fell asleep. He had slept for most of the day. He felt comfortable now, knowing that she was in the room. Every time he opened his eyes, she was there, watching him. And whatever need he had, she took care of it. She really was like his own personal angel, sent to earth to minister to him.

He said that to her the next day, and she laughed at the idea. She was getting comfortable with him too, spending every hour with him, while he slept or they chatted. He said the pain was a little less on the second day, and they were already getting into a routine of care and sleep. She had given him a sponge bath that morning and he felt almost human. The doctor came to check on him and was pleased at the wound. Sophia had changed the dressing and there was no sign of infection.

It surprised the captain, but there was something about her nun's habit and the professional way she nursed him that kept him from feeling embarrassed with her, and she seemed at ease with him, although she was less so than he thought. She told herself that he was just another patient, and this was her job. But he was still a young, very handsome man, no matter what she said to herself. He had short blond hair, moss green eyes, and strong features. They were existing in isolation from everyone, just the two of them in the small airless cellar room. It was always a breath of fresh air for an instant when one of the nuns opened the trapdoor, and came down the stairs to bring them something, or to relieve Sophia when she went to eat a meal with the other nuns.

"Tell me why you wanted to be a nun," he asked as he ate his lunch. She ate a hard-boiled egg one of the nuns had prepared for her, which was easier to eat sitting on a chair than his meals, which needed to be more substantial while he recovered, and he was a man, and ate more. His lunch was pork sausage from one of the farms.

"I always knew it was what I wanted, ever since I was a young girl. It was kind of a dream. But I became sure of it when my mother was sick. My mother had tuberculosis and was in a sanatorium for a year before she died. I tried to visit her every day. The hospital was outside Berlin. I learned to drive so I could see her on my own."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen when she got sick, and seventeen when she went to the sanatorium. I was eighteen when she died," she said seriously.

"So, you're telling me that you decided at sixteen or seventeen to be a nun? Isn't that too early to make a lifetime decision?"

"Not really, if you have a calling. I wasn't completely sure until after she died. But then I knew."

"Maybe you just thought you had a calling, and felt guilty because you couldn't save her, and you wanted to atone for it by becoming a nun and punishing yourself." It was a more complicated way of looking at it, but possible. Sophia insisted that wasn't the case.

"I didn't feel guilty, I felt sad. And that's when I decided to be a nurse too, to help other sick people, like my father with his patients."

"Two very big decisions for a young girl to make at a very emotional time. I can understand your wanting to be a nurse and help others. But depriving oneself of a normal life to be a nun has never made sense to me."

"It's a wonderful way of life and I love it," she said firmly.

"What did your father say?" He liked hearing about her life, and it distracted him from the pain he was in.

"My father was very upset. He didn't believe in God, and he thought it would be a terrible life for me. But it isn't. It's exactly what I wanted. I went in after nursing school. It's been almost three years."

"And you've taken all your vows?" he asked her.

"I took my vows for the novitiate two years ago. I should have taken my final vows a year ago, but I couldn't because of where I was then, and I can't do that now until I get back to my order, maybe at the end of the war. It's all a bit different at a Protestant convent, and I want to take my vows with my order. The war has disrupted everything," she explained to him.

"Do you have siblings?" he inquired as he finished the sausage, which was delicious.

"I have a sister. We're entirely different, and always have been. She wouldn't last five minutes in a convent. And she's married now, with two children."

"Where is she? Here in Germany?"

He was so open and easy about the way he asked her questions, but she hesitated to tell him such personal information. She had a feeling that it was just very American and the way they viewed things, so she answered him after all. There was no malice to it, nor criticism, just genuine interest, and compassion, she could tell. "No, she's in Switzerland. After war was declared, they discovered that her husband had a Jewish grandparent they didn't know about, which made him a quarter Jewish, so they had to leave. It was very distressing. But now she and her family are safe in Zurich."

"And you don't want to be with them instead of Germany, where there are heavy risks?" Not only from the Nazis, but the Allies who bombed Germany almost every day.

Sophia shook her head. "I'd rather be useful here than playing bridge with my sister and her friends in Zurich. I would feel much too guilty."

"Does she feel guilty?" he asked her.

"Not for a minute." They both laughed then. "Theresa leads a very comfortable, pampered life and she loves it."

"While you take a vow of poverty and chastity and live simply as a nun. It's amazing how different siblings can be. I'm very different from my brother and sister too."

"You have brothers and sisters?"

"One of each. My older sister is a country doctor in Vermont, and she loves it. She's a general practitioner, and treats everyone in the county. My younger brother is a banker in New York, married to an Irish Catholic woman, and they have six children. She was a nurse like you. They have two sets of twins. They're adorable, but six kids would drive me crazy. They're all a year apart. They have six kids under five and he loves it. They're great parents. Thank God he makes a decent living. My sister hasn't married yet. She says she doesn't have time and her patients are her children. And any time you call her, she's visiting one of her patients."

"And you?" She was curious about him too.

"I went to law school, I'm a lawyer. I thought I wanted to go into criminal law, but I didn't like it. I don't want to defend a bunch of people you know committed some heinous crime. I love to fly planes, I've been flying since college, so I enlisted right after Pearl Harbor. And ever since I've heard what's been going on in Europe, I've been thinking about defending human rights when I go back to New York. I'm passionate about it. My brother says I'll be poor for the rest of my life. He thinks I should do business law or tax law or divorce law, all of which would bore me to death. We'll see what happens when I get out. I think the world will be a different place after this war," he said, and she agreed. "Mr. Hitler is going to leave a lot of damage and crimes against humanity in his wake. And what about you after the war? Still a nun and still a nurse?" He made it sound like it wasn't enough and she didn't think so either.

"I'll go back to my order in Berlin. There will be a lot of homeless displaced people who have lost everything, not just in Germany but all over Europe. Everyone will be poor here. Women who've lost their husbands and their children, men who've lost everything. Thousands, maybe millions of orphans. I want to help take care of them, and get them on their feet again, if I can. I want to ask my order to take in as many people as we can, and maybe run a center for orphans and adults while they try to find what's left of their families and build their lives again. Germany will be in chaos for years," she predicted, accurately, he thought. And what she wanted to do was similar to what he wanted, but on a smaller, more personal scale, which suited her. He had broader ideas, dealing with the crimes against humans and human rights that were at the root of the war, and would have to be dealt with so it didn't happen again.

"If there are war crimes trials after the war, I want to be in on them. That would really be interesting and worthwhile. I'm not sure if I'd have to stay in the army to do it, or if I could do it as a civilian. I'll have to find out, if I can get out from behind enemy lines, back to my base in England. I may spend the rest of the war in a German prisoner-of-war camp, and that wouldn't be pleasant, from everything I hear. Hitler and his men are not respecters of persons, especially the enemy." Three months ago, Hitler had ordered the execution of all British commandos the Germans were holding captive, which had shocked the world. "I've been trying to figure out how to get out of Germany, ever since I was hanging from that tree. I have a contact to reach out to, but it's not going to be easy getting out of here. No one is going to send a plane to fly me out."

She had thought of it too, and she wondered if any of their contacts would help him, if Max could. "You don't need to worry about that now. You'll be here for at least another six or eight weeks until your ankle is healed. Hopefully your army will help you. And there's a strong underground here of people who don't agree with what the Nazis are doing. You'll figure out a way. Now you have to rest and get strong again in the meantime." She sounded like a nurse as she said it, and he smiled. He wondered if these would be his last days of freedom, hidden in a convent, and he'd end up in a German prisoner-of-war camp after that. It seemed almost inevitable as he lay there. He wondered how the other pilots had fared and how many there were on the ground, like him, either injured or not, who had to find a way out of Germany from behind enemy lines, or end up prisoners, or dead. It made him even more grateful for the refuge and care provided by the convent, and this very unusual young woman, who was so bright, compassionate, and kind. He had never met anyone like her.

Their conversations were lengthy and candid. They talked about important things, and he thoroughly enjoyed every moment he spent with her.

Sophia was intelligent and they had similar ideas about many things. Her points of view were often colored by religion, but she was also practical and open to new ideas. Mother Paul and the other nuns took turns taking care of Ted, to give Sophia time to spend with the children and do her chores. And he was always happy to see her get back so they could pick up the thread of their last conversation. Sometimes she brought cards to play with him, to distract him. The days in the cellar safe room were long and boring, and he had cabin fever as he started to feel better. His ankle was healing well, and the doctor was pleased that with Sophia's diligent care, infection had not set in. But Ted was very hampered by his ankle and couldn't put weight on it, so he had no choice but to stay until he could.

Every few days, once he could use the crutches and keep the weight off his bad foot, Mother Paul would approve a brief walk late at night, just to get some air and a change of scene. She would agree to let him walk around once the children were asleep, so they didn't see him, and slip and tell someone about him. Only the other nuns and the doctor knew he was there, and the two farm boys.

Everything looked beautiful even in the dark, once he got out to take a walk. He missed his freedom and being able to fly and fight the Germans, but talking to Sophia was enormous compensation. She went on his nightly walks with him. They talked about everything from German literature to religion. The only thing that frustrated him was how determined she was to remain a nun and take her final vows when she returned to her order. She firmly believed, without a single doubt, that it was the right path for her, and nothing he said could dissuade her. It also meant that he couldn't express his growing feelings for her, which she remained unaware of. But expressing them to her seemed inappropriate and disrespectful to him, if she truly wanted to remain a nun, and she said she did.

"Do you believe in God?" she asked him bluntly one day, and he was surprised by the question.

"I do, very definitely. I grew up Catholic, but I don't practice my religion anymore. I believe in God, I'm just not so crazy about the people who represent him. I had a lot of mean teachers who were nuns when I was a kid. And priests who weren't nice to us either. Every now and then you'd get a jolly one who bought everyone ice cream or gave them candy, but a lot of the time I thought they were hypocritical and didn't believe what they were preaching. I never liked the idea that Catholics thought they were the only ones who got it right. Who said? And a lot of the Catholics I grew up with seemed smug to me. They think they're better than everyone else. Maybe I should have become a Protestant instead of giving up on religion completely. I think you're the closest I've ever come to someone who actually lives their religion and doesn't preach about it. You're genuinely humble and I think your faith is real. But I've never met anyone else like you. And the way things stand now, going to church on Sundays bores me, and I'd rather go to a football game. But you'd better believe that when I was hanging in that tree when I landed here, I was praying like crazy. I think you were the answer to my prayers, and you've actually got me believing in religion again, in living it, not talking it. But in spite of that, you still haven't convinced me that you should be a nun. You're too young and too pretty, and I think it will be a terrible waste if you take your final vows one day. You should have a husband who's crazy about you, and some kids—not as many as my brother, but one or two or three. Don't cheat yourself of that for a lonely life as a nun, giving all of you to everyone else, while no one gives anything to you."

"God gives me all I need," she said, and smiled at him. Nothing he said shook her faith in the path she had chosen, and he was beginning to believe that he couldn't either, so he never told her he was falling in love with her. Mother Paul had seen it, and one or two of the other nuns suspected it, but Sophia remained oblivious to it as she nursed him back to health and tried not to think about the fact that once she accomplished that, he would leave. She liked talking to him and their exchange of ideas. And she liked the ease with which they could say anything to each other. He reminded her a little of Claus, except that she knew Ted even better, because they spent so much time together. She'd never been as close to any man as she was to him.