Page 71 of The Moonlight Healers

Helene’s knees and back ached from the tight quarters as she climbed out of the delivery truck. Their driver, an elderly man with a long, gray beard, reached out a hand to help her down.

“Careful,” he said quietly.

Helene’s legs shook as she stepped forward. They were parked along a narrow dirt road, miles from the nearest town. Vast limestone cliffs lined the shore below, and the channel churned endlessly to the horizon.

“How much time do you need, Sister?” the driver asked as he assisted Cecelia out of the truck. His eyes moved constantly, peering up and down the isolated road.

“Not much.” Cecelia lifted a large canvas bag out of the truck. “Dropping off supplies. Be back in an hour.”

He got back into the truck and it took off with a low rumble, its headlights off as it jostled its way back down the road.

“We need to move quickly, Helene,” Cecelia said, straightening the veil of her habit. “Follow me closely. Watch your steps.”

“Where are we? What is this place?” Helene asked as she gazed out at the wide expanse of sea. She had forgotten what it felt like to not be surrounded by walls and people and voices, to be somewhere so free.

“A way out. For men who need to escape,” Cecelia said simply and began to stride toward a small rocky path that led down the cliffside, clutching her bag closely to her side.

Helene followed behind, grateful for the round moon that shone above them, giving them light as the path veered sharply downward. Cecelia moved confidently, her head bowed. This place was clearly familiar to her.

As they descended, the chalky white stone of the cliffs grew rougher and more weathered, and Helene had to reach out to balance herself.

“Are we near Dieppe?” she asked, her voice low, as Cecelia quickened her pace. It was hard to get her bearings in the dark.

“We could be near Dieppe but I’m not sure,” Cecelia said. “I only know we’re somewhere along the coast. They don’t tell us the exact location, and we don’t ask. It’s safer that way, for everyone.” Cecelia glanced back at Helene. “Follow me now. It’s not much farther.”

Cecelia stepped onto a narrow ledge that ran along the cliffside, barely wide enough to hold one person and with a steep drop below it. She made slow, careful movements up the ledge, her veil swirling as gusts of warm sea air blew up from the channel.

Helene’s foot wobbled, tiny rocks scattering off at least twenty meters beneath. She took a breath and forced herself to keep going.

After a few minutes of climbing, Cecelia finally stopped at awide, circular opening in the limestone. “We only have a few minutes. Before we need to start back. The longer we stay the greater danger we put them in. We can’t be certain our movements aren’t being watched.”

Helene nodded, but she felt her heart accelerate. She had thought only of getting to Thomas, of seeing him, of holding his hand. Everything else, what she would say, how she would say it, had felt too precarious to think about.

Inside, it took Helene a moment to adjust to the darkness. The cave was much larger than she expected, nearly the size of her family’s shop. The walls were smooth, dripping with water from above, and it was cooler than it had been out in the August night.

Several faces stared at them from the back of the cave, a dozen men, the air heavy with the smell of sweat and urine.

Cecelia took a step forward and the air seemed to shift with an audible relief.

“Thank God it’s you, Sister,” came a voice in English.

“Watch it,” came another.

“Sorry,” called the first voice, the tone slightly sheepish. “Didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“It’s the Lord’s name you took in vain. Not mine.”

Many of the men pulled themselves up to stand. A few remained on the ground, their legs stretched out in front of them. As she followed Cecelia deeper into the cave, Helene noticed that one had his arm in a makeshift sling, and that another’s head was propped up on a different man’s lap.

Cecelia handed a bag to one of the soldiers on the ground. “Sulfa. Morphine. Some bandages and tourniquets. Everything you requested.”

“Thank you, Sister.” He was older, close to middle age, with wrinkles around his eyes.

“Helene?”

Helene hadn’t allowed herself to think about what it wouldbe like to hear his voice again, the miracle of its very existence, when she had felt the complete stillness of his heart only days earlier.

“You’re here.” Thomas made his way to her. The lightness of his features was subdued, as though he had aged several years.

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