They survive on rice balls, radishes and pickled plums, wrapped in seaweed. Some say they are going to attack Dutch Harbor in Alaska, but others know better. Japan would not dare to spark a war with America and Britain. The one on board who does know where they are going has been told that if they are spotted before December 6, return home. Spotted on the sixth, the decision is his. Spotted after the sixth, proceed. He is constantly on edge. A fleet of twenty-eight ships is hard to hide.
A BOLD STATEMENT
November 30
JAPAN MAY STRIKE OVER WEEKEND!
—Headline of the Honolulu Advertiser newspaper, also on the front of Hilo Tribune-Herald.
THE GAME
Overnight, the seas went from crashing and windswept to a flat blue field as far as the eye could see. Eva and Jo stood on deck with the sun at their backs, staring at the new landscape before them. Loads more people were coming out of the woodwork and gawking at the placid water.
“This is the ocean I’ve been imagining all these weeks,” Eva said.
Jo tossed a coin in. “I didn’t get a chance to do this when we left. A toll for Neptune for safe passage,” she said.
Eva tossed one, too. “Storms or submarines, I’m not sure which is worse.”
“I know which is worse. Submarines,” Jo said.
After breakfast, the two went back to their room to dress for sunbathing. Where once Eva’s stomach had been shapely, now it was flat enough to see her hip bones protrude. She didn’t like how she looked. But if Eva felt self-conscious in her bathing suit, Jo looked downright uncomfortable. She filled it out like one of the football players would have and waited until she was sitting on the lounge chair before taking off her dress. Four seconds after they sat down, Bree and Sasha joined them.
“Love your cozzie!” Bree said.
“Cozzie?” Eva asked.
“Your swimming suit, silly.”
Ruby had picked the suit up at a secondhand store. A red-and-white polka-dotted number that Eva felt ridiculous in. She had sent Ruby to a nearby town with a small shopping list, not wanting anyone to get wind of her plans. If people asked how Eva was or where she had gone, Ruby was to tell them, She’s gone south to work at an orphanage. If pressed, Ruby would say, In a town called Clayton. There were no less than twenty Claytons in the country.
Sasha finished her sentence. “You’re cute as a pixie in it.”
One look at the twins’ suits and Eva felt like a real prude. Strapless, bright yellow floral and cut high on the thigh. Nor were they small breasted, in fact they oozed out above the material like fresh-cooked bread. Somehow, they got away with it. Maybe it was the roasting heat and being in the middle of the ocean that caused all modesty to dissolve into the thick air. Both women had golden skin with freckles, and Eva envied their plush figures.
They had come early to secure a spot on the back deck near the pool, which the crew had covered with purple and white flower petals. A ball thwacked on a deck above them, where two couples were playing tennis. A handful of men and women played shuffleboard across the way. The women wore only bathing suits, fortunately all with straps.
Sasha sipped from a pink drink with a miniature umbrella in it. “You were lucky last night at bingo. We were one away every game.”
“And you were sitting next to Lieutenant Spencer, to boot. How did you fix that?” Bree said.
Eva felt herself tense up. “I ran into him and the boys on the way in, and Jo here hadn’t saved me a seat,” she said.
“I wasn’t sure if you were coming or not,” Jo protested.
“We met Clark back home in Oz, when we were just wee things,” Bree said.
That got Eva’s interest. “Oh?”
“He passed through when he was stationed in the Philippines,” Bree informed her. “Our father is the mayor in Sydney, you see. All the Yanks pass through our home when down under. Anyone who is anyone.”
“Ah,” was all Eva could manage to say, itching to inquire about his wife.
“Clark was the one that all the girls were swooning over,” Sasha said.
“He’s married now, though, it appears,” Eva said, trying to sound neutral.
Bree lowered her voice. “We were wondering about that. It’s been years since we’ve seen him and we lost touch. But we noticed the ring.”
“And we are working on gathering intelligence on him,” Sasha said.
Eva laughed.
“Maybe it’s none of our bizzo, but he seemed to be paying you a lot of attention last night,” Bree said, cocking her head sideways and meeting Eva’s gaze squarely.
All these funny Australian words, Eva had to guess at their meaning. Jo was facedown in a book called The Spanish Bride, and offered up no help.
“He was just being a gentleman. I’ve noticed that on the boat, people are more friendly and outgoing. And, anyway, I have a man in Honolulu.”
Bree peered over her sunglasses. “Do tell.”
It was hard to determine whether the twins were feeling her out because of their own interest in Clark, or just being girls.
“His name is Billy. He’s navy, too. Our fathers knew each other from medical school, and we met a year and a half ago, just before he was transferred to Hawaii.”
“Are you engaged?” Bree said.
“He wants to marry, but as a nurse in the army, I have to remain single. And what’s the rush anyway?” Eva said.
“Oh, I like you already!” Bree said, clapping her hands together. “Sasha and I have each been proposed to several times but we aren’t ready to be tied down, plus who knows what will happen when we go overseas.”
Sasha added, “Having a husband at this age would be a real drag.”
Eva laughed. “You two are something else. My sister, Ruby, would love you.”
Just then, Clark and the young quarterback, whose name Eva had learned was Buddy, walked across the deck carrying tennis rackets. Clark looked over and held up his racket to them, but made no move to come say hello. Sasha and Bree wiggled in their seats and waved back. Eva smiled.
Sasha fanned herself with a coaster. “Now, there’s a match I’d like to watch. Wait until you see him without a shirt on, you’re liable to overheat.”
“Clark is one man I might consider packing it up for,” Bree said.
Eva was caught between enjoying the lightness of the conversation and feeling like she was guarding a secret. She shook her head at the absurdity of it because her innocent attraction to Clark was perfectly natural and apparently catching. Having been holed up in the hospital with bedridden patients all day, a reaction like this was bound to happen. But what about that dimple? And the way Clark looked at her as though she was the only woman on the ship.
“Say, why don’t we go watch the match?” Sasha said.
White lines were painted on the slatted wooden deck to make a tennis court. Smaller than customary, it was tucked in next to the smokestack. As they were unable to tear Jo away from her book, the three women moved to a small table nearby. A few minutes later a steward came over.
“I’ll have another strawberry lemonade with a splash of vodka, please,” Sasha said.
Bree raised her hand. “Make that two.”
It wasn’t even noon yet.
“Nothing for me,” Eva said.
“Bring her one of these, too,” Sasha said to the steward.
“But—”
“Live it up, lovey, how often do you get to be aboard a ship like this? And from the sounds of it, once you get to Honolulu, it’ll be all work. When at sea...”
“Do as the seamen do,” Bree said.
They both giggled.
Men around them were dressed in Hawaiian-print shirts bright as lemons and tangerines straight off the tree, and women wore bathing suits of the same fabric. That combined with the salty air and sun-splashed ski
es gave her a real taste of where they were headed. If only she could feel as carefree as all these people around her seemed to be.
Clark was tall enough that he could almost stand midcourt and reach his arm out to hit the ball anywhere it landed without taking a step. Buddy proved a worthy opponent and within the first five minutes, both men were dripping in sweat, their shirts plastered to their backs. Eva was so riveted by the match that she sipped her drink empty before realizing it.
The next thing she knew, Clark was standing in front of the table. “Doubles, anyone?” he asked.
Was he speaking to her? A little fuzzy headed, she turned around to check who he might be addressing. But when she looked back, he was still there, staring straight at her.
Bree sprang up. “I’m in.”
“I am fine just watching, but thank you,” Eva said.
“My wrist has been acting up, it doesn’t like all that cold weather,” Sasha said. Then to Eva, “Go on, get out there.”
Bree slipped on a white skirt and strolled over to the steward in charge, who handed her two more rackets. If table tennis counted as experience, Eva had a chance, if not, she would make a big fool of herself in front of the crowd.
“I can’t play in just my suit,” she said.
Sasha handed her a scrunched-up piece of material. “Wear this.”
The material turned out to be an eyelet skirt that would have been long enough for a toddler, but it was better than nothing.
“The two of us against them two?” Bree said, sidling up to Clark.
“Which one of you has more experience?” he said.
Eva wasn’t sure if she should volunteer that she had never played. “Certainly not me.”
“How about we partner up, then?” he said.
Why did he look even more handsome in his civvies?
“I don’t think you want me,” she said.
The edges of his mouth curled up. “You’re wrong there, ma’am.”
A flush ran from the top of her head to her toes, warm and tingly. She was stuck looking up at him, unable to turn away or respond or even think.
Bree latched onto him anyway. “But I asked first. Come on, Lieutenant.”
Clark let himself be led off, and Buddy stepped closer. “Do you prefer backhand or forehand?” he asked.
“It shouldn’t make much difference.”
She was still stuck on you’re wrong there, ma’am.
Buddy took the left side, and offered a few tips. To warm up, they rallied. Eva’s first ball went clear over the railing, probably to be swallowed by some poor fish. The racket was so springy! The alcohol didn’t help, either, running through her underfed frame.
“Less swing, keep your wrist firm,” Buddy advised.
Too hard, into the net, directly at Bree’s face. This wasn’t going well. “I’m afraid I won’t be much of a partner,” she said.
“Relax and have fun, you’ll get it,” Clark said from across the net.
They lost the first game sorely. Bree and Clark played well together and Eva felt a stab of jealousy. Her accuracy improved slightly during the next game, and what she lacked in experience, she made up for in speed. Smallness had its perks. Buddy seemed to be everywhere at once, too, as though he had springs in his shoes. Pretty soon, they were holding off Bree and Clark.
Bree hit every shot to Eva, while Clark hit every ball to Buddy.
“You can hit to me, too, you know. I won’t break,” she called.
Before the last game, Buddy called a huddle. “Let them make the mistakes, just get it over. We can do this.”
As best she could, Eva followed his orders, concentrating on hitting the ball smack in the middle of the court, not at either Clark or Bree, and not going for a kill. She had to regularly tug her skirt down over her suit, but other than that, her focus was pure. They were neck and neck at game point, a small crowd had gathered and Buddy hit the ball short. She was sure they were going to win, but Clark’s long arms not only got to the ball, he smacked it full force—into her cheek. Flesh, bone and ball. The impact stunned her and she dropped to the ground with her hand over her face. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
She’s bleeding! Are you okay? Nice shot, Lieutenant. Get a towel!
Pinched and nervous faces hovered over her. Bree, Buddy, Sasha. “Looks like her skin split neatly on the bone,” someone said.
Where was Clark? He was the one responsible and he had vanished when it mattered most. A few moments later, he pushed through with Dr. Wallace by his side.
“That must have been some hit. Nothing a few stitches can’t fix, though. Head wounds bleed,” Wallace said.
Eva felt as though someone had held a glowing fire poker to her cheek. Sasha knelt in front of her and dabbed her face with a towel. When it came away scarlet, the first wave of dizziness struck. Her vision narrowed.
“Is she going to faint?” Clark asked, himself looking porcelain.
Why was everyone talking as though she wasn’t there? “I’m not dead, people.”
And that was the last she remembered.
THE TROUBLE WITH TOMMY LEMON
September 21, 1941
The first thing Eva noticed were his shaky hands. Dr. Brown’s breath smelled faintly of alcohol, too, as if he’d decided on a glass of whiskey instead of coffee this morning. It was also time for him to pluck his nose hairs, but that was irrelevant. The fluorescent lights lit up more than just the cold steel table of the operating room.
“There you are, Evelyn.” Dr. Brown glared at her for a moment, then pointed to the boy’s face and right side of his ribs. “He came in last night after wrapping his mother’s car around a lamppost. Lacerations and a swollen abdomen, possible internal bleeding. They wanted to wait until morning to see if the swelling went down.”
The swelling had not gone down, in fact he looked six months pregnant. His blood pressure was elevated and breathing seemed distressed. One look at the boy’s pale face and she could tell he was in bad shape. She felt his hands. Cold and clammy. His pulse was thready.
“Was he conscious?” Evelyn asked.
Brown nodded. “He was frantic, raving on about how his father was going to kill him.”
Wait a minute, the boy looked familiar. “He looks like Tommy Lemon,” she said.
“That’s because he is Tommy Lemon,” Brown huffed.
The mayor’s son. Local football star. Every girl’s dream. One of those people who were too lucky to die.
“Did he complain of pain on the right side or left?” she asked.
“Both.” Brown looked worried. “He was in shock last night, but then stabilized. See those bruises? I’m worried about lacerations to his liver or spleen, he’s possibly bleeding out. I want you to set up the IV for surgery. His folks went out to grab some breakfast, but we can’t wait for their permission.”
Evelyn felt her stomach clench. Making suggestions to Dr. Brown was a losing proposition, and yet she had to say something. An IV meant sodium thiopental, and sodium thiopental meant putting the patient at risk. “Have you considered using ether?” she asked as politely as possible.
He bellowed back, “We’re using sodium thiopental.”
“But—”
Just then, a young new nurse walked in and headed for the closet. “Excuse me, I need to grab a few extra sheets,” she mumbled.
Dr. Brown kept his furious eyes on Evelyn. He had a unique way of wiping away all her confidence with one burning glare and reducing her to a mute and dumb schoolgirl. The way her knees were shaking, you could have heard them knocking together three rooms down the hallway. Her father would have told her to grow some whiskers.
“But, Doctor, he’s still in shock. Look at his color, feel his pulse,” she forced herself to say.
He towered nearly a foot over her and she often felt he use
d his height as an intimidation factor. It worked. “I asked you to set up the IV,” he said, this time with the coolness of ice.
She couldn’t bear to look him in the eye and instead looked at Tommy Lemon’s chalky face when she managed to say in barely a whisper, “I believe that ether is the best choice right now.”
Brown’s nostrils flared. Having worked with him for the past six months, Evelyn recognized the signs. He was about to go into one of his rants. “Are you telling me what to do, Nurse?”
She was telling him. “Of course not, but at the Mayo Clinic, we almost lost several patients that were already in shock. The sodium thiopental sends them into cardiovascular collapse—”
“Does this look like the Mayo Clinic? Get him prepped.”
Tommy Lemon was running out of time and Evelyn was losing the battle with Dr. Brown. Was she missing something? Maybe Brown was right and she should let it go. But a gnawing hunch told her to keep on pressing.
“But—”
His face turned beefsteak tomato red. “Don’t ever suggest that you know better than me. Do you understand?”
Evelyn prepped Tommy Lemon for the IV, rubbing his limp arm with antiseptic and alcohol and feeling for a usable vein. His vital signs were deteriorating rapidly and she didn’t want to delay any longer. A heavy sensation threatened to drag her to the ground. Dr. Brown left the room for a minute and came back in all scrubbed up with another nurse in tow.
“You can be excused, Nurse,” he said.
She froze.
“At least let me help, you certainly could use an extra set of hands,” she pleaded.
He ignored her. “I understand that they need help in the Woods Wing. Tell them I sent you.”
The Woods Wing was Infectious Disease. They didn’t have much use for an anesthetist. Which was precisely why he was sending her there.
Evelyn glanced at the other woman in hopes of a little nursish solidarity. This one was new and only offered a weak smile as if to say, You’re on your own with this one, sorry.
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