“When you think you’re going to die, it makes you question what your life has been, and what it could be if you only had the chance to live,” I murmured, still staring into the fire. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was to please God. I want to do some good in the world, in whatever way I can. But I’ve lost the conviction that doing it as a nun is the only way.”
“But how do you know you’d please God more in the world than if you stayed with the order?”
“Because I don’t believe God approves of hypocrites,” I replied. “And that’s what I’d be if I went back to live under a holy rule I only pretend to obey.” I held his gaze. He had that curious look in his eyes again—the same expression I’d noticed yesterday—as if I were a laboratory specimen he was observing. “I had no idea how bad the war was until I got on the boat,” I went on. “Newspapers were not permitted to us, but passengers sometimes left them on the deck. I began to grasp the scale of what was going on. And then, at Freetown, a new passenger joined the ship. Lieutenant Commander Roland Hill, of the Royal Navy, on his way to a new posting in Gibraltar. He was put at our table, and one evening, when I mentioned what I’d read in the papers, he told me about the death camps in Poland.”
“What did he say?”
“That the Nazis have killed more than a million Jews; that they’re being taken away from their homes to these labor camps, where they work until they drop or are deliberately killed in mass executions. Hundreds of thousands of entirely innocent men, women, and children.”
Jack drew in a breath. “We’ve known about them since the end of last year, but I don’t think most people here can comprehend it. It’s . . . unimaginable evil.”
“I couldn’t sleep the night I heard about it. It made me feel so useless, on my way to be shut up inside the walls of a convent. I couldn’t believe God would want me to do that at a time when there was so much need. So, you see, I’d already decided—before the ship was hit—that I couldn’t carry on as I was.”
“What about the sisters at the convent in Dublin? Are you sure about not letting them know you survived?”
I nodded. “I realize it might sound like a cowardly decision, but there’s a good reason behind it. If they knew I was alive, they’d have to repay the dowry my father gave to the convent when I took my vows.”
“But don’t you want that money?” Jack tilted his head, regarding me in that curious way again. “It would allow you to set yourself up in whatever new life you want.”
I stared at my hands, at the pale band of flesh where my silver ring had been. “I’d rather make my own way. They deserve to keep it. It makes me feel less guilty for quitting.”
“Couldn’t you just refuse to take it?”
“I could, I suppose. But it’s so much simpler this way. If I’m honest, I just don’t want to have to face them, to explain myself. You can’t just leave a convent. You have to be given permission to leave.”
“But what’s to stop you just walking out?”
“Can you imagine what that would be like? Walking out in the middle of Dublin, with no clothes, no money? What would I do? Where would I go?” I shook my head. “I’d have to wait. Stay inside the convent until all the proper procedures had been followed. The Mother Superior would have to petition Rome for letters of release. It would take months. And in the meantime, they’d do everything in their power to convince me to stay—it reflects badly on the order when a nun renounces her vows.” I ran my finger over the ribbed cuff of my cardigan. “I couldn’t bear that. I want to be out in the world, doing something to help end this war, not kicking my heels waiting for endless paperwork.”
“Hmm.” He went over to the door and opened it. Brock, who had been waiting patiently outside, came bounding in and jumped up to lick my chin. “I have to go now.” Jack clipped a leash onto the dog’s collar. “Come on, old boy—leave her alone.” He gave the leash a gentle tug. “Get some rest,” he said. “We’ll see how you are tomorrow. When you’re well enough I’ll take you up to the farm and show you the ropes.” He turned back as he reached the door. “Is there anything else you need? Anything you want to ask?”
“What’s this place called?” I angled my head toward the shelves that held the tide tables. “I know that we’re in south Cornwall, and that we’re near the mouth of the Helford River—but does this little bay have a name?”