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“Are you crying?” Private Griffin says gruffly.
I shake my head vigorously, sending tears flying in every direction. “No.”
“Good, because I wouldn’t do anything about it.”
“I know.”
A few moments pass. “It’s all right if you talk, I guess.”
“I was going to talk anyway.” I rub at my nose with the sleeve of my robe. “Do you have any coins in your pocket?”
“Uh…yes.” His knees dig even deeper into the seat in front of us as he roots around in his pocket. As he does so, I hook a finger in the edge of my hood so I can regard the private. He’s definitely the frowning sort. But I suppose if it weren’t against the rules, I would admit he’s rather angular and handsome. His hair is windswept and deep brown, but the hair darkening his jaw is pitch black. There’s a permanent furrow between his brows and a dimple in the center of his chin.
Somehow I just know he hates that dimple.
Even though the Lord gave it to him.
How long has it been since I thought of the Lord?
It must be a full hour by now.
I worry my bottom lip with my teeth until the handful of change appears above my lap. “There. What do you need the change for?”
“There’s an anniversary edition of a coin I’ve been looking for everywhere, but I don’t think it’s here.” I poke through the offerings in his meaty palm. “Either way, the little clink sounds make me feel better when I’m blue. See, you did do something about my tears!”
He stares at me dumbstruck for a moment, before he shoves the change back in his pocket. “Keep your voice down. It’s…”
“It’s what?”
“It’s almost as distracting as your face.” He seems shocked at having complimented me—I think?—out loud, and clears his throat roughly. “Where does a nun find coins to search through, anyway?”
“The collection plate, of course—” I slap a hand over my mouth, lowering it slowly. “Don’t tell Mother Superior. I always pay it back when I find a coin I’m looking for. Most of the time.” My shoulders slump. “Now you’re really never going to like me.”
The private nearly shouts his reply at me. “Who said I didn’t like you?”
“You haven’t smiled once,” I point out.
“I never smile.”
“So you do like me?”
“Never said that, either.”
“Oh,” I whisper, smoothing out my robe and trying not to have hurt feelings. “This is probably a good time to tell you my father left me at the convent when I was ten and never came back, so I have abandonment issues. At least that’s what Mother Superior tells me. I always think…maybe if I’d been better or more likeable, my father would have come back or not abandoned me at all.”
His tone softens considerably. “Why are you telling me this?”
“So you’ll understand why I want you to like me.” He’s quiet for so long, I start to feel a little defensive, even though surely that must be a sin. Almost everything seems to be a sin. That doesn’t stop me from feeling put out over his indifference, though. “I probably would be doing the same with any soldier on this bus, you know. Trying to make them like me.”
I watch his hand flex into a fist where it rests on his thigh. “You will not associate with a single one of them, are we understood?” His big body shifts toward me on the seat. “Not unless you want their blood on your conscience.”
I put out my hand for a shake. “Say we’re friends and you have a deal, Private.”
He eyes it warily. “I don’t have any use for a friend.”
Trying to appear casual, I wait. But I don’t feel casual, whatsoever. There’s something about this man that makes me think he’ll be important to me. Not in a romantic way. Obviously. I take my vows very seriously. But I think he needs a friend as badly as I need one and since the regiment will remain with us at the new convent for a week, it’s likely we’ll be seeing a lot of one another. I’d like our interactions to be pleasant. And I can’t help wanting to know more about him, this surly male.
Finally, after some obvious deliberation, he takes my hand—and a long shudder wracks him. He pulls his hand away fast.
“Soft,” he mutters under his breath. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep? We have a long ride ahead.”
If his words seem to have a dual meaning, I ignore the possibility and nod off a little while later with my head against the window.
CHAPTER THREE
Sister Mercy
I’m not sure what wakes me up.
Perhaps a bump in the road or a bird calling to our bus as it passes.
But it takes me a few seconds to realize I’m more comfortable than I’ve ever been in my life. My head is snuggled into something that is soft and hard at the same time. I feel so small and protected, very unlike the feeling I used to have in my old bed at the convent. The narrow, lumpy mattress always made me toss and turn, leaving me with grogginess and puffy eyes.
