Wild Wood (39 page)

“That’s a lovely way to put it.” She hesitates. “I really do want to thank you for giving me a lift, Mack.”

He grins. “Again? Not such a hardship, I promise.”

And, just when you need to be witty . . .
“I know I have, but still . . .”

“Waters run deep?”

“Oh, very funny.” But she’s laughing. And blushing. She can feel it.
Look out the window!
“She’s very nice, apparently, Sister Mary Joseph. Fred told me that. And even if she doesn’t remember my mother, maybe she’ll know someone who does.”

Remember my mother.
The words set up an echo in Jesse’s head. A terrified almost-child. Alone. Lost. “Do you think she was forced to give me up?”

His glance is compassionate. “A powerful force, family shame. Especially then.”

Jesse’s says quietly, “She could have come from anywhere, couldn’t she?”

“But most likely the country.”

“Why do you say that?” Jesse blows her nose. She
will not
give in.

“Well, there’s always been a high number of unmarried mothers on both sides of the borders. Especially in the southeast. It’s a well-noted anomaly.”

She turns to stare at Mack’s profile. “How do you know?”

“This has always been a turbulent place, and the wars here forced a certain degree of intermingling. Putting it nicely. Still going on. The intermingling, not the wars, obviously.”

Jesse watches the benign, green country flowing past. “History—such a litany of horrors.”

“And every inch, every foot, of these pretty fields fought over and sodden with blood.”

“Cheerful! Is that what they taught you?”

Mack nods. His eyes brood into the distance.

“Did you go to school at Newton Prior?”

“No fancy gentlemen’s boarding academy for this little black duck.” Said lightly.

“Did you mind?”

He flashes her a glance. “I am who I am—don’t need that toffee glaze so favored by my dear brother, the doctor. My dad is a decent man, but pay in the navy only stretches so far, and we didn’t have the pub then. Still, he’s been a good father to both of us, though I think I’ve had the better of it. A dad I can truly claim as mine, I mean. Rory never had that.”

The words touch Jesse.
A dad I can truly claim as mine . . .

“And what about you?”

“School, do you mean?”

He nods. “Australia. So hot and bright and exotic compared with Britain.”

“Exotic? Really?” Jesse laughs. “It was just home. Funny.”

“What?”

“
Was
home. That’s the past tense.” She’s silent as she thinks about that.

“And?”

“Oh, there’s plenty of
and
s, and a fair few
but
s in my upbringing. ‘A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.’ I didn’t understand any of it at the time. My parents in Sydney didn’t tell me, you see.”

“About?”

“This.”

Checking for traffic, Mack’s slowed down for a crossroads. The black-and-white metal sign says
JEDBURGH, 11 MILES
. “That you were adopted?”

“In one. Anyway, you asked about school. I went to a small Catholic convent. All girls. They made us write ‘Mary, Mother of God, save us’ on the top of every page.”

“You needed saving?”

“I didn’t think so. Then. Got me into lots of trouble.”

“And now?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

Jesse stares through the windscreen as the drowned countryside
slides past. Soon they’ll be in Jedburgh. And then what?

Her stomach grips. What does she say, what does she
ask
?

“Sister?”

The wheelchair is placed in a pool of sun, and the old lady seems peacefully asleep. Pale, soft skin; short, silver hair; nothing says she’s a nun except the chain with the cross around her neck.

Julie, the care assistant, nods apologetically. “She likes her nap after lunch, Sister Mary Jo. Most of them do.” Julie leans closer, speaks directly into an ear. “Sister, you have visitors.”

“I’m not deaf, Julie.” One eye opens, then the other. “You know you don’t have to shout.”

That faded blue gaze is mild, and the words spoken with amusement, but as Sister Mary inspects each of her visitors in turn,
No pushover
floats through Jesse’s head.

“Please. Make yourselves comfortable. I’m delighted you’ve come.” The nun waves to a line of armchairs that line the wall of the common room, and Mack helps Jesse drag two of them closer.

Jesse notices details. The nun’s fingers are long and square-ended, the nails cut short—they speak of a woman who’s worked hard all her life. Jesse leans forward. “It’s very nice of you to see us at such short notice.”

“My diary is rarely full these days.” Said with a twinkle. “Julie, I’m sure my guests will enjoy a cup of tea.”

The girl, who is kind if hearty, says loudly, “Certainly, Sister.” She winks at Mack as she leaves and murmurs, “Bright as a button. One of our oldest residents too.”

Sister Mary sees the wink, and Jesse feels the warmth of a blush. Why does she feel it’s her fault the nun was patronized?

“She means well, of course. A lovely girl. Now, I am to understand you are Miss Marley?” The glance from those steady blue eyes probes her visitor with some attention.

“Yes.”
Technically, that is.
“And this is my friend.”

“Just call me Mack, Sister.”

“You’re Helen Brandon’s son, aren’t you? No mistaking that streak in your hair. Please do give your mother my best regards. I remember her well.”

“You know her?” Mack looks surprised. Self-conscious, he runs fingers across his scalp.

“Yes, indeed. We met, but many, many years ago.” Sister Mary’s eyes drift back to Jesse. “How pretty you are, Miss Marley. I have always delighted in beauty. I never listened to that nonsense about partiality being a sin.”

Mack grins. “You know, I flat-out didn’t notice.”

Jesse’s not sure what to say. Or where to look.

The nun smiles. “Oh, age has some privileges. I can say what I like now. Evidence of senility, some would say, but I prefer to believe I speak God’s truth—wherever it seems safe to do so, and don’t try this at home.” Her voice has a whimsical lilt.

“What’s this about senility?” Julie’s back and clanks down a tray. “You, Sister Mary?” That wink again. “We can’t have talk like that. Defeatist, I call it.” She’s shouting again.

The nun’s wry expression slips a little, and the blue eyes sharpen considerably. “Just pour the tea, Julie.”

Jesse bites her lip and stares out the window as Julie, oblivious, does as she’s asked, chattering all the while. “
Such
a lovely day outside, Sister. When your visitors have gone I can take you out for walkies?”

Between an astonished giggle and a flinch, Jesse doesn’t dare look at Mack, or he at her.

As the girl finally leaves, Sister Mary exhales. “So very determined to help. Now, where were we, Miss Marley?”

“I met the Reverend Stewart in Newton Prior yesterday, Sister. I was doing some family research and he was so helpful. He suggested I should get in touch with you. And Mack was kind enough to give me a lift.”

“Dear Fred. Someone else I haven’t seen for years and years. Time just slips away, doesn’t it?” Those old eyes are far away.

Mack catches Jesse’s attention and smiles.

How much she would like to lean over and hold his hand. Just for strength. “One of the things Fred mentioned was that you worked at Holly House in the fifties?”

“Yes. The order paid for me to train as a nurse, and I specialized, after a time, in midwifery. I was at Holly House for many years.”

Jesse lowers her eyes as she’s inspected again.

“Did you bring your birth certificate, Miss Marley?”

“Please do call me Jesse. Yes. I thought you might want to see it.” With her good hand, the girl fumbles in her shoulder bag, then leans forward with the envelope.

“Perhaps you’d give me my glasses?”

A leather case is on a side table, and when Jesse takes it to Sister Mary, the old lady touches Jesse’s fingers.

“I am glad indeed to meet you, Jesse. Did I say that? I often think of the babies, even now. And here you are.” Another pat. “Now, what have we here?” The old hand takes the piece of paper—that bland statement of facts that has changed Jesse’s life so completely—and smoothes it on her lap.

Jesse wants to speak, wants to say
something
, but the words will not form.

Mack mouths,
Okay?

She shakes her head. And nods.

Sister Mary looks up sharply. “Eva Green. Eva
Green
.” She peers at Jesse’s face.

Jesse dives in. “Do you remember her?”

The old woman considers what she holds. “It was such a long time ago. . . .” She stops speaking, and her expression changes; pale becomes white.

Mack gets up quickly. “Sister? Can I get you something?” He looks for a bell.

“I’ll find the nurse.” Jesse is already at the door.

Sister Mary grasps Mack’s sleeve. “No. Please do not.” Her eyes return to Jesse. “I am perfectly well.”

This time, the girl meets the old woman’s gaze as she kneels beside the chair. “Anything, anything at all.”

The nun strokes Jesse’s hair, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. “After the wedding, it will be your birthday. We’re all so looking forward to seeing them get married. Prince and princess. What a lovely present that will be for you.”

It seems an oddly inconsequential remark, but Jesse ducks her head. “I always thought my birthday was in October.”

“So many necessary lies.” Sister Mary’s hand drops from the girl’s head. “Sometimes, in those days, a child was informally adopted.”

“ ‘Informally adopted’? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Among family, for instance. A grandmother would say she was the child’s mother. Or an aunt, perhaps. Very often details were changed for the best of reasons. For the child’s sake as well as the mother’s, so she could start a new life without shame.”

“Was that what happened to me, Sister?” Jesse leans forward.

The old lady sighs. “Child, I would like to help you, but . . .” For the first time, Sister Mary Joseph avoids Jesse’s eyes.

Jesse swallows. “
But
you do remember her. I can tell.”

The old woman’s face works. “I . . .”

“Please.” It’s a whisper.

Mack stretches out a hand and Jesse grips it.

Very deliberately the nun crosses herself, picks up the little crucifix that lies on her chest. “Of all the girls at Holly House I could not have forgotten your mother. Or you.” She gathers herself. “Eva came to us very late in her pregnancy.” She picks up the cup of tea. Her hand is shaking.

Mack goes to take it from her. “Sister, you’re upset and—”

“Sit down, young man.” The voice might be faint but the expression is straight down the line.

Mack does as he’s told.

The nun sips, puts the cup down. “I did not see who brought her to us that night, Jesse. She was dropped off at our gate and the car drove away. I remember, though, that there was a summer storm and the poor child was drenched after she’d walked up the drive. We took her in, of course. In those days, we turned no one away. We were so convinced that we were doing God’s work.” Her voice ebbs as her eyes close.

There’s silence.

Mack mimes falling asleep.

Sister Mary coughs, and her eyes snap open. “Your mother could not tell us her due date—never unusual with young girls, of course—but we assessed there was little time before the baby—you—would arrive. But Eva was too frail to work in the laundry, and too close to her time, so the doctor advised rest and a room to herself. We agreed to that, though it did cause some resentment; we were always crowded, for we cared for so many girls in those days. Your mother was remarkable, Jesse. Yes. That is the only word.” The nun swallows. “So young, but so very pretty. You look like her. Did I say that?”

“I really do?” Jesse’s eyes are huge and shining with tears.

The old woman nods. “I was midwife on duty the night you were born. It was a difficult birth for you both, and very long.” Remembering, she takes another sip of tea, then another.

Jesse prompts, “You were there, Sister?”

With an effort, the cup is placed neatly back on the saucer. “Oh, yes. I was there. We had a new honorary that night—honorary doctor, that is. Most often we managed without, since babies were our business, but your mother . . .” Sister Mary puts a hand to her eyes. “Please excuse me, child. It is easier to remember the past than the present, and yet sometimes . . .” The troubled voice fades again.

Jesse scrabbles in her bag for a pen and something to write on. “Do you remember the doctor’s name?”

There’s a hesitation.

“You can’t recall?” Jesse sits closer to the chair.

“Some things are best left to rest in peace.”

Jesse’s eyes widen.

The nun sits straighter and grips Jesse’s two hands in her own. “Your mother died, Jesse. Not an hour after you were born.”