The Completeness of Celia Flynn

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Three years later...

Sinner or not, Celia wanted her lads back. She stared out the window, fingering the gold heart on the delicate chain they’d given her before she’d so horribly pushed them away. She’d never removed it, even during the year before they’d gone down into the trenches, even while she’d been going with Donal.

Celia tortured herself with memories of that horrible day in which she’d pushed the men she loved from her life. After they’d come to see her the evening she refused to come down, she’d seen them only once, and she’d fought them, pushing until they were forced to turn away and go back to their homes, leaving Celia’s life with a black hole that had once been filled with love and sweetness. It was shortly after that that Celia took up with Donal, intending to marry him and live a conventional life that would not arouse anyone’s ire, especially her mother’s. But then the war had broken out and all the young men were gone.

Celia had given Donal her virginity in the backseat of his father’s motorcar two days before Donal left. But even before that, they had spent many hours together, stealing deep, sensuous kisses, exploring each other’s body with their hands and mouths. Donal had loved to go down on Celia, and had spent much time pleasuring her, caressing her sweet spot with his tongue until her back arched with the release of her climax. Her memories of the erotic pleasure they had given each other had carried her through his absence, and though she had not been madly in love with him, she had waited faithfully for his return. But Donal wasn’t going to return. The Gerrys had seen to that.

Celia’s hand went to the necklace she wore, her gold heart on its delicate chain.

Gingerly she fingered the smooth charm, remembering the lads who had given it her.

Freddie, Patrick and Robert also had gone for soldiers, all three. It was they whom Celia loved and missed the most, even when she wouldn’t admit it to herself. She had spent the last two years knitting them socks, which she sent in care packages, with tins of chocolates, when she could get them, along with letters of profuse apologies for what she’d done to them, pleas for forgiveness, and declarations of love.

Celia always regretted what she did and never stopped missing her three men.

Donal, though handsome and considerate, hadn’t had the same mysterious and deep connection to her heart as Robert, Freddie and Patrick. She learned from great heartache how special they were and what a horrible mistake she’d made.

As far as she knew, all three were still alive, but she didn’t know where they were or what had happened to them. Now, however, she clung to the hope they’d be coming back.

In the summer of 1917, the government commissioned the Flynn home, which was the largest in Ballykillmarrick, to be used as a temporary, makeshift hospital for returning soldiers whose wounds were minor. There were bedrooms to spare, for Tom Flynn, Celia’s father, had died nine years before when Celia was only twelve, and her two older brothers, Sean and Liam, had been killed in the trenches. The government offered Celia and her mother a small income for the use of their home and for their help. They had agreed, and in a matter of days, the Flynn home had been transformed into a war hospital of sorts to aid soldiers with their transition to normal life.

Celia moved into her mother’s room so that hers could house the nurse from the Voluntary Aid Detachment, while Sean and Liam’s old rooms could accommodate the patients. Extra cots were placed in each room, and Celia changed the linens, opened the windows to let in fresh air, and put flowers in vases on the bedside tables to bring some softness and cheer to the men who would be staying there.

The night before the soldiers were to arrive, Celia lay wide awake, her mind alive with hopeful fantasies of living in a house full of the men she’d loved. She prayed that if they came back, they’d forgive her and give her another chance. The prospect made Celia’s body fill with heat, a warm, pulsing fire that ignited in the secret fold between her legs and spread through her body, filling her breasts, making her n*****s tingle and ache to be touched. She hadn’t been with a man since Donal had left for the front with all the others. And after all that time, the mere thought of a male presence, that masculine energy and strength close to her made her breathing grow heavier and her heartbeat quicken.

For the first time since her father died, Celia began to pray again. She had been angry with God for taking her father, and had refused to pray after that. But the three years of intense loneliness and suffering had wrought a change in her. God had not told her to push the lads out of her life. It was He who had given them to her in the first place.

No. She had come to understand that her own fears and her mother’s angry voice inside her had caused her actions, not God’s love. Every night before bed, she dropped to her knees, praying for their safe return. She gave God her vow that if they did come back and still loved her, she would not break their hearts the way she had three years ago.

She often thought back to that day in the barn, cringing with shame and pain when she reached the part of the memory where she’d run away.

But tonight, with her blood pulsing and her body aroused, Celia dared to imagine what might have happened had she allowed herself to surrender completely. Perhaps Freddie would have undone her garters so he could slip off her panties and caress her bare slit with his fingertips. Perhaps he would have rubbed and teased the slick pinkness of her swollen clit, sliding his fingers in and out of her opening while she moaned.

Perhaps Patrick or Robert might have unbuttoned her blouse, taking down the straps of her brassiere so they could fondle and suckle her bare breasts. Then, one by one, they’d open their trousers and mount her, nesting their hardness deep between her legs. They would have been gentle as they took her virginity, sliding slowly and carefully in and out. She probably would already have had an orgasm from having her breasts and her s*x pleasured at the same time with three pairs of hands and three mouths. But Celia knew she would have enjoyed feeling them inside of her, having their pleasure too, feeling their bodies tremble when they came, feeling the warm pulsing of their seed spilling into her womb ...

Celia rose from her mother’s bed, unable to lie still any longer. She put her wrap on over her nightgown and went into the living room. In the quiet darkness, she lay down on the sofa and spread her legs, letting her wrap fall open. Celia pulled her nightgown up to her waist and put her hand to her slit, catching her breath softly when her fingertips first touched the swollen pink lips. Celia slid her fingers further in and began rubbing lightly over the moist nubbin of flesh. She closed her eyes, biting down on her lip to stifle her moans of pleasure. She rubbed and kneaded the slick flesh until a climax began to build, mounting stronger each time she pictured Robert or Freddie or Patrick inside of her, each one at his turn, thrusting feverishly while the others watched, delighting in the sight of her naked body, the sounds of her moans and the sweaty scent of her musk pervading the air ...

Celia arched her pelvis upward as the spasms of pleasure began their release. She kept up the light fast rubbing on her clit until the last tremor passed and she lay limp against the cushions. She pushed her nightgown back down and covered herself with her wrap, then relaxed, staring into the shadows.

Soon, she was too sleepy to get up and go back into her mother’s room. Celia pulled a small crocheted afghan from the back of the sofa and spread it over herself. Her mind and body were quieter after her release, but her heart still ached for her lads. If they were here with her now, she would have curled up with them, kissing and stroking them before falling asleep.

Celia closed her eyes and prayed. “Please, God,” she whispered, her eyelids growing heavy. “Let it be Your will that they come home to me safe and alive, all three of them. Let them be restored to me. Please…”

* * * * *

“Celia!”

Celia blinked her eyes when she heard her name. The tone was harsh, jolting her from sleep. Celia looked up at her mother’s pinched face. Mum’s brown eyes held a reproachful glare, and the lines around her frowning lips creased angrily. She wore an apron over her blouse and skirt, showing she’d already begun her day in the kitchen.

Celia felt immediately guilty and sat up, holding the afghan to her front. “I’m sorry, Mum.” She reached up to rub the sleep from her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I couldn’t sleep. I missed my room.”

Mum’s face softened a bit. “We’ve a lot to do before they come. Get dressed now.”

She turned and left the room.

Hearing her mother go back into the kitchen, Celia rose slowly from the sofa and folded the afghan. She thought of her father as she set the little pink and green blanket back in its place, remembering how she used to curl up in it next to him while he read.

She had always run to him when her mother was harsh with her, letting him stroke her hair and soothe her. “It’s not your fault, Ceil,” he always said. “Your mum, she’s bitter.

She gave up her dream of being an artist to marry me and have you and the lads.” He always sounded terribly sad when he told her that, and Celia had once asked him if he’d ever tried to encourage her to pursue her art. Da nodded, a mournful expression on his face. “I did try,” he answered. “I told her many times, ‘Go to Dublin, Maggie, and study. Go to France, even, if you wish. I’ll pay your way.’ But she wouldn’t.”

Celia started for her mother’s room to dress.

“There’s a pot of tea in the kitchen!” she heard her mother call out from the kitchen.

Celia sighed. That was her mother’s way of saying good morning in a nicer way than she had moments before.

“Thanks!” Celia called back before going in and closing the door.

* * * * *

At half past ten, a motorcar pulled up in front of the house. Celia heard it and hastily checked her appearance in the hall mirror, patting her large bun into place and pinching some color into her clear, pale cheeks. Then she joined her mother on the front stoop.

The driver’s door opened and a man in army dress got out as the back doors opened. Two young men in officers’ uniforms and a VAD in her nun-like uniform emerged. Celia didn’t recognize the first lad as she watched him sling his pack over his shoulder and start toward the house. She studied him to see what was wrong, but he seemed fine. The other officer’s back was to her. He was having more difficulty and leaned heavily on a cane as he pulled his pack off the seat.

Celia knew who it was. Though she hadn’t yet seen his face, Celia’s heart quickened when she saw his dark hair and broad shoulders. He put his weight on the cane as he slung on his pack, refusing the driver’s offer of help just before turning around.

When he did, Celia let out a small cry and flew down the front walk. Hot tears came to her eyes, but she fought them back as she approached. As they drew closer, Celia felt a jolt of emotional pain in her heart at how Robert limped, and how haunted his once-mischievous dark eyes now looked.

Robert came to a stop in front of Celia, and they stared at each other. “Robert!”

Celia whispered, unable to restrain a joyful smile. The tears she had fought a moment before now gathered with such force of her emotions that she could no longer hold them back.

She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

“Celia,” she heard him say gently. She felt his familiar touch on her arm. Celia uncovered her face and looked at him. His eyes were sad, but he smiled at her and took her hand.

“I suppose that introductions aren’t necessary,” the man who’d been driving the motorcar said cheerfully. He spoke with an English accent.

Robert looked him. “We’re ... old friends, Lieutenant Graves.”

At this, Celia cried some more at the sound of forgiveness in his voice. “We grew up together,” she added.

Mum, who’d been hovering in the background, now stepped forward. “Why don’t we all go in? We can have some tea and get acquainted. I expect Robert’s family will be here any moment as well.”

No sooner had she spoken the words than another motorcar pulled up in front of the house. Robert’s parents and two sisters got out of the car. His other two brothers were still in France.

Between the family reunion and helping her mother prepare meals for the household, Celia had no time that day to speak privately with Robert. She divided her time between seeing to him and the other lad, whose name was Kenneth Neary.

Kenneth’s damages of war, though not physical, became obvious to Celia within the first hour. The young man sat quietly alone on a lawn chair in the backyard, speaking to no one, smoking one cigarette after the other. When Celia went outside to offer him tea, he jumped up at her approach, his eyes looking wildly about him. The VAD, a kindly woman about her mother’s age, told Celia that Mr. Neary had shell shock, a condition that could be serious enough to have a man discharged from service. Kenneth, she explained, had spent time in a special hospital in Edinburgh, Scotland that treated officers with his condition. He wasn’t stable enough to go back down to the front and the military had discharged him.

Celia tried to engage Kenneth in friendly conversation, but to no avail. The lad could only answer her in short sentences before his mouth began to twitch so horribly he couldn’t speak.

Finally, in the evening before bed, after Robert’s family had left and the supper things were cleaned and put away, Celia went to Liam’s old room where Robert was staying. Robert was there, sitting in a chair by the window, staring out. In his hand he held an unlit cigarette. “Robert?”

He turned around. He smiled when their eyes met and put out his cane to stand up.

Celia came over and stood in front of him, her stomach jumping wildly around inside. “You can sit.”

But Robert shook his head and moved away from the chair, leaning on the windowsill. “You sit down, Ceil,” he told her. “I’ve done enough sitting these days.

And you’ve been working all day to take care of us.” He gestured to the chair. “Go ahead.”

Celia reluctantly sat, looking up at Robert. “Are you settled in all right?”

Robert gazed at her, twiddling the unlit cigarette around in his fingers. “Aye, I’m fine.” He looked down at the cigarette. “I wasn’t sure if I should light it.”

Celia looked at him. Robert had never smoked a cigarette in his life before now.

“Go ahead,” she answered. “Liam smoked in here all the time.” She reached out and handed him a bowl from the table beside the chair. Her mother had wiped the bowl clean, but Liam had always used it for his ashes. Celia watched Robert pull a book of matches from his pocket and strike one, cupping his hands over the cigarette as he lit it.

He opened the window and blew the smoke outside into the summer air.

“Robert.”

He turned to look at her, softness coming into his dark eyes. “I know what you’re going to say, Ceil,” he told her gently. “You don’t have to.” He took a deep drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke outside before turning back to her. “We were babes then.

Another lifetime. I see things differently now.”

Celia nodded as her eyes filled with tears. She thought of her prayer the night before. It seemed God had answered it. “So do I,” she whispered. She reached up and wiped at her tears, then stood up and went to Robert. “Robert? Do you still ...” She trailed off and looked down, afraid of what he might answer.

“Love you?”

Celia glanced at him and looked down again, embarrassed and afraid. “Aye.”

Robert mashed his cigarette into the bowl and set it down on the windowsill. He reached out and touched Celia’s cheek. “I do. I never stopped. Neither have Patrick and Freddie.” He brushed his thumb lightly across her skin. “We’ve missed you something fierce.”

Celia began to cry harder and Robert pulled her to him, caressing her hair. She wrapped her arms around him. Through the smell of cigarettes, he still had the same earthy scent she had loved. “I’m so sorry!” she cried into his shirt.

But Robert stroked her hair. “Shhh. It’s going to be all right. I’m back. God willing, we’ll all be together again.”

Celia lifted her head and looked up at him. He leaned down and kissed her, gently slipping his tongue between her lips. Celia forgot her tears as she surrendered to the deep kiss.

Robert danced his tongue against hers, tasting her and loving her with his gentle kiss for several moments before lifting his face away to look at her again. He smiled.

“You’ve stopped your crying.”

Celia smiled back and wiped at her eyes. “I’m being selfish. After what you’ve been through, and here I am crying on your shoulder.”

“I don’t mind.” Robert leaned on his cane and reached out his hand to smooth back Celia’s hair. “Before you go thinking how awful you are, let me tell you something.

Those trenches are hell on Earth. You can’t imagine it, Ceil. You see your mates get blown up in your face and the like. Day after day in the mud with rats and death, you begin to think that’s all there is, and you don’t want to live anymore. But today, when we pulled up in front of your house and I saw you standing there, looking at me so happy, I felt hope for the first time.”

Celia took Robert’s hand and held it to her cheek. “I’ve missed you so. I never want to be separated from you again. Not for a minute.” She pressed her lips into the palm of his hand and closed her eyes. She heard Robert’s breathing grow a bit ragged.

“Will you come to me tonight?” he whispered.

Celia opened her eyes and looked at him. Her pulse quickened. “Aye, Robert, I will.

After my mum falls asleep.”

Robert looked down and Celia felt him tense. “You’re afraid of her.”

Celia sighed. “I don’t want her to try and stop me.”

Robert squeezed Celia’s hand. “You’re a grown woman now. You’ve got to have your own life.”

Celia nodded. “I know. I feel guilty.”

“For what?”

“For having my heart’s desire when she didn’t have hers.”

“And what was her heart’s desire?” Robert asked.

“She wanted to be an artist.”

“So what happened?”

“She didn’t study because she had her family. My da tried to get her to go, but she wouldn’t.”

Robert brought Celia’s hand to his lips and kissed it, causing a warm thrill up her arm. “That’s not your fault, Ceil.”

Celia closed her eyes, enjoying the warm tremors of arousal pulsing in her body.

“You’re right, Robert,” she whispered. “The last two and a half years have been a hard teacher.”

Robert kissed Celia’s hand again. “I’m glad I’m here,” he said softly.

Celia smiled at him. “Me, too.”

Robert released her hand. “Go on, then. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Celia paused and gazed at him one moment before she left to take her bath and help her mother prepare the house for the next day.