She glanced over to where a baby bassinet trimmed in blue was set up by an easy chair, reassured to see that Helene didn’t keep Jimmy packed off in a room by himself all the time. “Where is the nursery?” Amelia asked her.
“Second floor.” She pointed to an elegant wooden staircase. “It’s the third door on your left. Nurse Doris is up there with him right now, but she knows you’re coming.”
Amelia thanked her, then headed slowly up the stairs. She could tell that her strength hadn’t returned to her yet, and at the top landing, she felt surprisingly breathless. She paused to catch her breath, grateful that Helene hadn’t insisted on accompanying her. She had probably known this was not going to be easy on Amelia.
Proceeding down the wide hallway, she came to the third door on the left to see that it was slightly ajar. She quietly pushed it open, staring at the sunny yellow bedroom. So cheerful and sweet. With a changing table, padded rocking chair, crib, and several other baby items, it made for a lovely nursery. Just the sort of nursery she had once dreamed of creating . . . when James returned and they found themselves a home.
A hard lump formed in her throat as she entered the nursery. A middle-aged woman with a kind face whispered a greeting, pointing to the crib before she quietly excused herself. With a pounding heart, Amelia approached the white crib. The last time she’d seen her child he’d been flushed and feverish, coughing and crying and frighteningly sick. But now he looked calm and at ease, sleeping peacefully with one tiny fist resting on his little chin. She leaned down to peer more closely at him. His blond curls were just as she remembered and he smelled so sweet that it brought tears to her eyes. He was obviously very well cared for. So much better than what she had to offer.
“I love you, my little darling.” She leaned down to kiss a chubby cheek. “God bless you, my son.” Her tears were coming fast now and she knew they’d be falling on Jimmy if she didn’t finish this up. “I will always love you, James Junior . . . and I’ll pray for you every day . . . but you will be better off here.” She stood, using the back of her hands to wipe her wet cheeks. Then, without waking him, she turned and ran from the room and down the stairs to where the Bradleys were still standing in the front room.
“I’m ready to go,” she announced in a thick, husky voice.
“That was so quick.” Helene tilted her head to one side. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“Are you all right?” Dr. Bradley looked at her with concern. “Do you need a glass of water or anything?”
“No thank you. I just need to go.” She was crying harder now.
“But the paperwork,” Helene pointed to a desk where papers were laid out.
“Just show me where to sign.” Amelia hurried over to the desk, grabbing up the fountain pen lying there.
“Maybe you should sit down.” Dr. Bradley pulled out the chair, easing her into it. “Catch your breath and—”
“Just show me where to sign,” she demanded again.
Helene came over, pointing out the lines awaiting Amelia’s signature, watching and waiting until Amelia signed the last one and laid down the pen. “Jimmy is yours now.” She looked directly at Helene as she stood. “I know you’ll take excellent care of him. Th-thank you!” She hurried for the front door.
“Wait,” Helene called out. “I have something for you.”
Amelia stood by the door, waiting as Helene approached her with a long, thin envelope which obviously contained a check. “Thank you,” Amelia managed to gasp. “I’m sorry I—I just can’t contain my emotions. Forgive me.”
“I’ll take her to the hotel,” Dr. Bradley told his wife.
“Wait,” Helene said again.
Amelia didn’t want to wait one more second, but she knew she had no choice. This time Helene had the mink coat over her arm. “Please, take this. I want you to have it, Amelia. I mean, to keep it.”
Amelia’s eyes grew wide. “But I can’t—”
“Take it,” Helene insisted with tears in her own eyes. “I will not let you say no to it. Take it! It will keep you warm while you’re in town, and on your train trip.” She thrust the coat into Amelia’s arms, then turned and hurried away.
“But I can’t accept—”
“Please, just take it!” Dr. Bradley opened the door. “It will be better for everyone if you do.”
“But I—”
“Come on,” he said brusquely, “let’s get you to the hotel so you can rest. As your doctor, I’m concerned that you’re barely out of the hospital and already you’ve overdone it. Doesn’t reflect well on me.” He hurried her into the car and now, with new snow starting to fall from the sky, he drove the few blocks to town. Neither of them said a word and soon he was parking in front of the fancy hotel.
Amelia’s tears had slowed a bit by the time he helped her out of the car and into the lobby. To her relief, Dr. Bradley simply led her to a chair in the luxurious lobby. The chair was next to a tall Christmas tree. And to distract herself, she stared up at the glittering tree, but her tears made the colored lights blur together.
“Here you go.” Dr. Bradley helped her to her feet, then handed her a brass key. “You’re on the fifth floor and the elevator is over there.” He opened his arms to embrace her, holding her tightly for several long seconds. “You’re going to be okay.”
“I know,” she mumbled as he released her. “It’s just hard—right now.”
“You need to get some rest.” He handed her a small brown bottle. “There are three tranquilizers in there. Take one when you get to your room. And another before bedtime—if you are still very upset and feel you need it. The last one is for tomorrow morning. But I suspect you won’t need it by then.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine by then.” She forced a shaky smile.
“You know you can call me if you need anything, Amelia. Our phone number and other information is in the envelope Helene gave you. Along with a check.”
“Thanks.” She glanced at the bellboy coming toward them.
“And as your doctor, I must insist you stay indoors. Drink plenty of fluids, and order room service from the hotel’s restaurant. Their food is quite good. I expect you’ll be feeling like your old self in a few days.”
She just nodded, mumbling another thank-you as the bellboy reached for her bag.
“Unless you are fit as a fiddle by next week—and I will be checking on you before then—I will insist you remain here longer.” He tipped his hat, then left. The bellboy holding her suitcase grinned at her. “Right this way,” he said politely, leading her to the elevator.
Before long he was setting her suitcase in what looked like a small, lovely living room. “Is there some mistake?” She frowned at the pretty space. There were even fresh flowers on the coffee table.
“This is our best suite.” He pointed to a door to the right. “Bedroom over there. All the comforts of home.” He grinned. “Just what the doctor ordered.” He made a little salute. “And don’t you worry, because the doctor already tipped me too.”
15
SOMEWHERE IN THE PHILIPPINE ISLANDS
James’s handmade calendar system had gotten left behind when the Japanese prison guards rushed to relocate him and the other prisoners about a week ago. Their new home, a little six-by-six insect-infested hut that he and his two buddies dubbed “the palace,” was located deep in the interior of the small tropical island—the same island James and his two surviving crew members had been held captive on for most of this past year.
James’s fighter plane had been shot down just south of the Philippine Islands last February. He and his navigator, Tony, and gunner, JT, had managed to stay afloat on a life raft for nearly a week after James’s beloved Wildcat plunged into the Pacific. Sharing C-rations and what little liquid they could distill from seawater, their goal was to reach the safety of one of the Philippines’ seven thousand islands.
Finally, severely dehydrated, sunburned, and starving, they spied an island. But
just as they began paddling toward it, their lifeboat was spotted and captured by a Japanese U-boat. The three were delivered to a Japanese prison camp on shore—and that was when the real suffering began.
As James lay on the thin grass mat that he’d carried from the previous prison camp, watching the first golden rays of sun shining between the cracks of the bamboo wall, his best guess was that it was mid December now—give or take. Not that it mattered. One day was pretty much the same as the next in a Japanese prison camp. Mostly James tried to avoid any unnecessary beatings by their ill-tempered guards, keep his eyes open for any possible food sources—including beetles and reptiles, and prevent JT and Tony from losing heart . . . or dying.
But lately there had been reason for hope. It started when their guards abruptly rounded up the dozen or so Allied inmates, marching them into the interior of the island. The rush suggested concerns about being discovered by liberating Allied forces, who would not be impressed by the way this POW camp had been managed. Their ruthless prison guards were either ignorant or ignoring the rules of the Geneva Conventions. As a result, a number of prisoners—weakened ones unable to make the trek—had been executed along the way. And if not for James and Tony, JT with his infected foot would’ve been among them.
Shortly after their arrival, they began to hear what sounded like US warplanes nearby. And random explosions to the south of them sounded like an invasion of sorts. At least that was their hope. But instead of reveling in this possibility, James was worried about a whole new threat—one he hadn’t expressed to his buddies, but felt sure they suspected too. The prison guards, fearful about a potential Allied invasion, might simply line up their detested prisoners, shoot them, and make a run for it. That was why, in this early hour, James had been trying to come up with some sort of escape plan. Not just for him and his buddies, but for all the prisoners. And that would not be easy.
He usually daydreamed about Amelia during this time of the morning. It was easier to imagine her beautiful face when all was calm and quiet and relatively cool in the POW camp. Before the day became unbearable. Because at the end of the day, when he was beaten—both physically and mentally—it was hard to think clearly about much of anything. So morning time was his Amelia time, and after asking for God’s blessings on the upcoming day, he would treat himself with thoughts of Amelia.
He felt certain that daydreams about his fiancée had helped him to survive these long months of cruelty and deprivation. She had become his shining light and greatest motivation in surviving what felt like hell on earth. Sure, he loved his family and often thought of them, but it was memories of Amelia Richards that kept him going. She gave him the will to continue living—even at times when dying sounded like a relief.
“You asleep, Jim?” Tony’s voice was hushed.
“Nah.” James rolled over. Even beneath Tony’s thin scruffy beard, James could see his friend’s cheekbones. They were all severely malnourished.
“I feel like this is the end.” Desperation filled his dark eyes. “Like we’re gonna die in this godforsaken place. And no one will ever even know how it happened.”
“Yeah . . . I was just thinking we need to get out of here.”
“But how?”
“Did you hear how close those bombers got last night? Sounded like they were only about ten to fifteen miles away. It got me to thinking that we need to get to the coastline.”
“How’s that even possible?”
“We’ve got to overtake the guards.”
“Yeah, but how?”
“I’m working on a plan. We’ll take them out, and then we need to get down to the beach ASAP.” James glanced over to where JT was still asleep.
“He’ll never make it out on that foot,” Tony whispered.
“I know.” James frowned at JT’s red, swollen limb. A centipede had bit him on the heel during the relocation, but now the infected area was turning black. Not a good sign.
“Even with the crutch you made him, he’s not going to get far.”
James nodded glumly. These were all things he’d already considered.
“What if we leave him here?” Tony whispered. “You and me make a break for it in the middle of the night—we go as fast as we can for the coastline. Then we find help and come back for him and the others?”
“It won’t work,” James told him. “If we leave, the guards will take it out on the other prisoners. We need to get everyone out of here. Anyone left behind won’t have a chance.”
“How?” Tony frowned. “What’s your plan?”
“Remember the machetes we were allowed to use—to build our huts?”
“Yeah, but they’re locked up in that chest.”
James pointed to JT. “Remember what he told us about the jewel thief uncle that taught him to pick a lock?”
“Yeah, but that was just big talk.”
“Maybe not.” James gently poked JT in the shoulder, giving him a moment to wake up. “How you doing, buddy? That foot doesn’t look too good.”
JT sat up with a painful groan.
“We gotta get outta here,” Tony told JT. “Jim’s got a plan.”
“It’ll probably sound crazy, but it might be our only chance.” James explained what he’d been thinking, about how they could get some of the prisoners to create a smoke screen on the opposite side of the camp. “We’ll do it while we’re on forage patrol. The distraction needs to be big enough to get the attention of all three guards, but not dangerous enough to get anyone shot. JT, while the guards are preoccupied, we’ll get you to the storage trunk and you can pick the lock. We’ll grab the machetes and hide them in the brush. Then, later on when the guards are having their midday meal, we’ll sneak in several of the strongest men and, armed with machetes, we’ll ambush the guards.” He grimaced. “I know it’s a long shot, but we need to take it.”
“You mean kill them before they kill us?” JT said in a flat tone.
“You know how it works . . . If they think the Allies are coming, it’s in their best interest to get rid of us.”
“’Cuz dead men don’t talk,” Tony said solemnly. “Neither will the guards when we’re through with ’em.”
“Maybe . . . But if we jump them fast enough, we might not even have to kill them. We’ll just tie them up good and tight and leave them here for the insects to finish off.”
JT almost smiled. “Yeah, I’d like to see that.”
A few hours later, after sharing their strategy amongst the other prisoners, James led the men in his plan. The smoke screen involved several men claiming to have found a wild boar while foraging for food—and then a “fight” ensued over who would keep the prize. Since the guards’ food supplies, though highly superior to the prisoners, were still limited, their interest in confiscating fresh pork was high.
In the meantime, James and Tony transported JT to the storage chest where, armed with several stick tools he’d made earlier, he cleverly managed to pick the lock. James and JT had just removed the machetes and thrown them into the nearby bush by the time the guards discovered there was no pig. The prisoners acted as if the boar had gotten away, which simply aggravated the guards, resulting in a loud scolding and some hard whacks with their rifle butts. But by now the storage chest was closed, James and Tony had helped JT get back to their forage patrolling, and the guards were none the wiser.
As usual, they sat down to eat in the heat of the day—the time when no one had much energy—and that’s when five men, led by James, crawled through the brush to get the machetes. After dividing into two groups, they snuck all the way around the camp into position. James imitated a bird call as a signal, and they all leaped into action.
The three guards were caught so completely off guard that the machete-armed prisoners were able to easily secure their firearms.
“Let’s kill them and get it over with,” a prisoner named Ralph shouted.
“Yeah, they deserve to die,” another agreed.
“No,” James reminded them i
n a tough tone. “We agreed to tie them up if we got their guns without a fight, and that’s just what we’re going to do.” He yelled out to the other prisoners, commanding everyone to help out with the various tasks until the three guards were bound and gagged.
“And now it’s time for lunch,” Tony held up a partially eaten bowl of rice.
“Let’s divide up their food,” James instructed the others. “Everyone, have some nourishment now, and we’ll take the rest of their food for our trek to the coastline. We need to move fast.”
They took turns helping to carry JT on a travois that James and Tony quickly constructed from bamboo and rope, slowly making their way through the jungle toward the coastline. They knew they weren’t too far off when they made camp for the night, and started out at daybreak, arriving at the beach by midday. They could still hear planes flying nearby and occasional bombs being dropped. After using coconuts and vegetation to write a giant message on the beach—POW ALLIES HERE—they waited anxiously, dining on fish and coconuts and rice, until they were eventually spotted by a Navy plane that circled about as they danced around on the beach. The plane dipped its wings to signify that they’d been observed. The following morning, they were rescued by a landing craft, which transported them to an aircraft carrier where they received preliminary medical treatment and food.
“JT lost his foot,” Tony informed James on their second day. Severely dehydrated, James was still in the infirmary, but Tony must’ve been built of sturdier stuff because he was out and about and doing as he pleased.
“Tell JT I’m sorry,” James said solemnly. “Is he going to be okay? I mean, besides the amputation. He was in pretty bad shape when they picked us up.”
“Removing that foot probably saved his life.” Tony lit up a cigarette. “And he has you to thank for making it out alive. We all do.”
“We all did it . . . together.”
“Anyway, JT can’t be transported for a week or so, but it sounds like the rest of us will be stateside soon.” He grinned. “Can you believe it? We’ll be home for Christmas!” And now Tony was doing a little jig around the infirmary. It was hard to believe this was the same guy who’d felt like giving up just days ago.
The Christmas Blessing Page 11