I glanced at Jack. He was bending over Brock, who had got his fur caught on a bramble bush. No wonder you wanted to leave. The words he’d spoken that first day came back loud and clear. Like my father, the idea of a woman punishing herself for what most people regarded as a normal human urge was repellent to him.
I watched him as he gently disentangled the thorns and set the dog free. There was no longer any compulsion for me to subdue the feelings he’d ignited. I didn’t have to feel guilty for the way my body had responded to his in the bell tower. But the thought of allowing those feelings to develop scared me. I knew so little about him. What if he really did have a secret wife? Or was having an affair with Merle?
The sound of children’s voices cut across my thoughts. I could hear shouts coming from the beach below. Through the trees I caught a glimpse of Merle’s son, Louis, running across the sand. Ned was chasing after him, arms outstretched, as if he were pretending to be a plane.
“Hello, Louis,” I said, when I caught up with them. “Where’s Mummy?”
He cocked his head in the direction of the village. “At Meg Downing’s party. It’s all girls. Mum said we could play outside.”
Ned reached for my hand and tugged it. “Can we go fishing?”
“Yes, if you want to.” I smiled. “Just give me a minute to change out of these clothes.”
I came back in my work dungarees, which were rolled up to the knees. I had the fishing net and a bucket. Ned and Louis didn’t see me at first—they were too busy throwing sticks into the waves for Brock to run after. Jack was crouching down beside Ned, showing him how to throw overarm, so that the stick wouldn’t fly up in the air. He straightened up when he spotted me.
Brock came bounding out of the sea and shook himself, which made the boys jump back, howling with laughter.
“I’d better be getting back.” Jack clipped the leash to the dog’s collar. “Don’t let them run you ragged.” He glanced at Ned, who had waded in up to his knees, his shorts soaking up the seawater. I saw that look again—the same expression that had come over Jack when he’d said he wished he could believe what I believed about God. It was a wistful look, as if he wanted to stay and play with the boys but felt he shouldn’t. I wondered if he was afraid of what people might think, of the gossip that might arise from him spending time with Merle’s children and the little boy she was looking after.
Ned came splashing up to me. He grabbed the pole of the fishing net and pulled me toward the rock pools. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw Jack disappear into the trees.
“Auntie Alice, can we catch a big crab?” Ned was gazing up at me, his eyes touchingly innocent. With one word he’d melted my heart. I’d never been “auntie” to anyone.
“You mustn’t call her that, Ned!” Louis said in a stage whisper. “She’s Miss Alice.”
Ned’s dark lashes fluttered as he glanced from Louis to me and back again. He was too young to grasp the social distinction that Merle must have drummed into the children—that I was Jack’s cousin and must be addressed in a different way than the other women they knew. I had to fight the urge to gather him up in my arms and tell him that he could call me “auntie” if he wanted to. To contradict what Merle had said would be wrong, however much I longed to.
After half an hour of fishing in the rock pools, I told the boys I had to take them back to the village. They didn’t want to go. I had to bribe them with honey sandwiches. Ned held my hand all the way along the beach.
As we neared Cliffside Cottage, where the party was being held, I could hear children singing. The sound transported me back through time and space, to my first week at the mission, when Sister Clare had taken me to see the orphanage. The children had been shy at first, but within days they’d composed a song in my honor. African voices, singing in French, to the tune of an old folk song:
Bienvenue à Soeur Antoine,
Elle est jolie, elle est jolie.
Bienvenue à Soeur Antoine,
Elle est jolie, elle est bonne!
“Welcome to Sister Anthony. She is pretty. She is good.” The words had made me blush. But I couldn’t help being moved. Sister Clare had warned me not to visit too often. I knew the reason behind the seemingly harsh attitude. I could see how easy it would be for a nun to form an attachment to such children. But I couldn’t have foreseen what would happen—years later—to make me do the exact opposite of what she’d advised.