After the Fall

by Lisa Bingham

  “Oh?” Rosemary had heard the rumors, but she’d never had them confirmed before.

  “T-that’s how I m-met him. In a b-bar r-room brawl. H-he had a ch-chip on his shoulder big as the G-golden G-gate.” He shivered violently before continuing. “H-his d-daddy was in the freight business, y’see, an’ he h-had money. W-when Gilhouley announced he was g-goin’ t-to West Point, h-his daddy came unglued. S-said G-Gilhouley had betrayed him, by not t-takin’ over the family b-business. He said Gilhouley would never amount to nothin’ but bein’ a drunk and a bully.” Napoli laughed. “And for a t-time there, G-Gilhouley was determined to p-prove him right.”

  Rosemary took a blanket and drew it over Napoli’s body. He clutched at it gratefully, drawing it to his chin.

  “B-but then, after h-he got in some trouble, he ended up here in the Philippines,” Napoli said, his eyes closing. He turned onto his side on the narrow examining table and drew his knees up to his chest. “T-then he musta met you.”

  The man’s voice dwindled away as he fell into a fitful sleep.

  Rosemary drew the covers more tightly around him, motioning for Dr. Grimm to come her way when he had a chance. Then, with her own mind whirling to absorb all of the information she’d been given, she perched on the edge of a chair, keeping watch over Napoli.

  “Come back to me, Gilhouley,” she whispered beneath her breath. “Please come back to me.”

  • • •

  For the first time, Glory Bee understood why there were some folks who truly loved their religion. She’d never really had much experience with it herself. Her mother wasn’t concerned about the hereafter, and her grandmother had been a simple woman who read her Bible and prayed over her food, but did not attend any organized sect.

  But after pouring her heart out to John, Glory Bee could see how confession was good for the soul. If the kindness and compassion that John had extended to her was an example of his days in China, he must have been adored by his students, whether or not they were Christian. In speaking to him, Glory Bee felt curiously cleansed, as if all the poison of the past hurts she’d endured had been leeched from her body, leaving her lighter. Cleaner.

  She still didn’t know quite where things stood between them. When the soldiers had begun to rouse, John had put plenty of distance between them. She wasn’t sure if that was an effort to protect her from gossip, or to tacitly inform the men that they were to keep their distance too. But at least she’d known he wasn’t angry with her. She couldn’t have borne it if he’d thought that she’d been trying to manipulate him.

  Petey, the soldier who’d given her the chocolate, offered her a reassuring smile when she suddenly bolted upright, her gaze searching the clearing.

  “Your friend isn’t here,” Petey said.

  Her pulse slammed against her throat, her stomach dropping like a lead weight. She’d been wrong, so wrong. John couldn’t bear to be around her. He’d foisted her off on the soldiers to keep her safe.

  Sensing her panic, Petey hurried to add, “The lieutenant’s gone too. They went further into the jungle to find one of John’s friends.”

  Her fear lessened slightly, but not completely.

  “Esteban?”

  Petey nodded. “You know him?”

  Glory Bee whispered, “Yes. We traveled together for the first few days.”

  Petey was oiling one of his pistols and he glanced up from the job, his brow furrowed. “If you don’t mind my askin’, ma’am…How the hell did you end up in the middle of the jungle behind Japanese lines?”

  So they were behind enemy lines now? For some reason, she’d never really thought of her situation in that light.

  When she didn’t answer, Petey hurried to say, “I mean, I was at Stotsenberg when you…uh…when you…” His cheeks flushed. “When you gave your performance. How the hell did you end up here?”

  Glory Bee sat up, sitting cross-legged, her elbows on her knees. Wiping the last of the sleep from her face, she said, “I left the base that night. I’d been invited to stay at a nearby plantation.” Invited? More like sentenced. “I was there when the attack began.”

  Petey pursed his lips together thoughtfully. “So, you and John. You’ve been friends for a long time?”

  Glory Bee shook her head. “No. He was the foreman at the plantation where I was staying. He knew we wouldn’t be safe there, so he brought us to another house in the hills.” She pointed in the general direction of Wilmot’s lodge. “When the Japanese advanced, we were forced to keep moving.”

  Petey’s hands had stilled over his task and his jaw dropped. “Geez, you’ve had a time of it, haven’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “Still, this seems like a pretty good place to hide out for a while.”

  This time, it was Glory Bee’s turn to press for answers. “How are things? At Stotsenberg?”

  His gaze grew dark, his expression grim. “It got pretty bad. Heard tell that they’ve evacuated south, to Bataan.”

  “So soon?” Glory Bee whispered.

  “That’s where we’re headed.”

  She plucked at her pant leg. “Then things are serious, aren’t they?”

  He debated whether or not to tell her the truth, then said, “Yeah.”

  “How long do you think before more American reinforcements arrive?”

  “That, ma’am, is the million dollar question. Scuttlebutt around camp was that it would take at least a month. Maybe six weeks.”

  Her stomach clenched. “That long?”

  “’Fraid so. Some of the big brass were saying it could be about ‘one hundred and eighty days’. Why the hell don’t they say six months?” He shook his head. “One hundred and eighty days sounds like a lifetime.”

  “So does six months.”

  Petey grimaced in acknowledgement. “S’pose you’re right.”

  “Do you think that y’all can hold out until then?”

  “We don’t have a choice. If the Japanese overrun us, they either push us into the sea or take us prisoner.” Petey snapped his pistol together and eyed her grimly. “Word has it that the Japanese don’t believe in taking prisoners.”

  • • •

  Gilhouley trailed a few feet behind John, alternating between scanning the path ahead and checking behind them as well.

  When they’d stepped out of the bamboo forest, he’d sensed the smoke in the air immediately. It was stronger than it had been the day before.

  John pointed to a line of hills in the distance. “Looks like there’s more Japanese just over the ridge north of here. They must be following the western slope of the mountain. Far as I can tell, they haven’t crossed over into this valley yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”

  Gilhouley removed his binoculars, scanning the area as they crouched low behind a clump of bushes.

  “We’ll have to stay in the foliage as much as possible,” John continued, his brow furrowing as he studied the terrain ahead. “If we’re in luck, they’ll continue north, out of the area. But it won’t be long before the Japanese send patrols this way. If so, it might be a day or two before Esteban can get word to Pascal.”

  Gilhouley nodded. “I suppose we could camp close to your contact.”

  John shook his head, removing his canteen and unscrewing the lid. “I’d rather you didn’t. Esteban and his family are non-combatants. His wife is due any day, and there are little children present. If you and your men are found anywhere nearby…”

  “I understand.”

  John drank deeply, then recapped the canteen. “You can stay where you are, for now. Esteban can send a runner once he has news.”

  Gilhouley eyed him thoughtfully. He hadn’t missed the strain between John and Glory Bee—nor had he been unaware of the sexual tension that radiated between the two of them like a hot electrical wire.

  “As long as you don’t mind the company,” he offered carefully. If it were Rosemary back in that forest and Gilhouley had a chance of being alone with her…he didn’t th
ink he’d let anyone short of Franklin Delano Roosevelt share his camp.

  “I think that would be best.”

  There was such a rueful ring to the words that Gilhouley wondered if he’d misinterpreted the emotions between John and the stripper.

  “This Esteban fellow. You can trust him?”

  “With my life,” John said, standing again. “Let’s go. I want to make sure we’re back by nightfall.”

  They continued with their hike, moving slowly through the trees, trying to make as little noise as possible. Until finally, somewhere on the breeze, Gilhouley thought he caught a hint of something other than smoke. Something succulent and meaty…

  Fried pork?

  “It’s up ahead,” John said, pointing.

  Following the direction of his finger, Gilhouley saw a wisp of smoke emerging from the trees, and unbidden, his stomach grumbled. It had been a while since last night’s meal.

  John held up a hand, gesturing for Gilhouley to wait. “Let me go in first. I don’t want to scare them.”

  Gilhouley nodded, but his finger continued to rest over the trigger of his rifle.

  John brought two fingers up to his lips, issuing a mournful sound much like a bird. Then, lifting his hands, he stepped into the clearing below.

  For an instant, Gilhouley couldn’t see anything to warrant the need for caution. But then, several men melted out of the shadows—one of them, a huge, broad Filipino who grinned so broadly that Gilhouley could see a flash of a gold tooth.

  “Padre!”

  As if the word had unleashed a torrent, the area was suddenly full of squealing children who clambered around John until he hugged each of them in turn, then scooped a little boy onto his shoulders.

  “I’ve brought someone with me, Esteban. A friend.”

  “Come, sit, sit!”

  John motioned to Gilhouley and he cautiously stepped forward.

  He’d expected to be met with suspicion, but evidently, John’s word was good enough for the men who had only moments ago emerged carrying rifles and shotguns. They eyed Gilhouley curiously, but made their way through the trees to a settlement of huts. In the center, a cooking fire held several pots, one of them rattling from the heat.

  If the men with Esteban paid him little attention, the children were wild with excitement, clustering around him like slippery fish, all of them wanting to touch his hand, his clothes.

  “Americano! Americano!”

  John laughed and motioned for Gilhouley to follow, but with the children scampering under his feet, he finally gave up, clicked the safety on his rifle and scooped a pair of the giggling youngsters into his arms and carrying them to the clearing as if they were a pair of footballs.

  Esteban laughed, a huge belly laugh that shook his entire body like a Filipino Santa Claus.

  “This is Lieutenant Gilhouley, Esteban,” John said as Esteban took a seat on a felled log.

  He held out his hand. “Aren’t you too far north, Lieutenant?” he said with a wide grin.

  Gilhouley couldn’t help laughing. “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “Esteban! Call me Esteban.”

  A woman walked toward them, carrying a pile of plates. She waddled with the stooped posture of a woman who had endured nine months of pregnancy and did not wish to endure any more. She smiled shyly at Gilhouley before turning to ask John, “How is Glory Bee?”

  John’s smile was curiously tight. “She’s doing well, thank you, Maria.”

  “Not sick?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  Finished with what she had to say, Maria used the edge of her skirt to lift the lid from the pot, revealing a simmering concoction of meat and vegetables in a thick broth. From another vessel, she scooped out rice, and from another, stewed greens.

  The first plate was passed to John, the second to Gilhouley.

  When he tried to demur, Esteban waved away his concerns. “We caught a wild pig so there’s more than enough to go around. Eat, eat. It’s hard work getting through the forest, eh?”

  Gilhouley laughed at the understatement of that remark. Even though he felt a pang of guilt at eating when the rest of his men were still back at the camp, he began scooping the hot food into his mouth, knowing that meat of any kind would be a luxury in the days to come. He wouldn’t have begrudged his men eating if they’d come across such bounty, and he doubted that they would look askance at him.

  “Lieutenant Gilhouley needs your help, Esteban,” John began after they’d had several mouthfuls.

  “My help?” Esteban grinned. “How can that be?”

  “I take it you’ve had a chance to contact Maria’s brothers?”

  Esteban waved to the group lining up to receive their portions. “These are their sons, their daughters, their wives.”

  John chose his words carefully. “But Pascal and his men are elsewhere?”

  Esteban’s eyes narrowed, his expression becoming carefully bland.

  “We all take turns looking for game and supplies,” he responded vaguely.

  “Do you think you could get a message to him?”

  The large man chewed thoughtfully. “Perhaps.”

  John gestured to Gilhouley. “Lieutenant Gilhouley and his men would like to propose a business arrangement with Pascal.”

  “How many men?”

  “Five altogether.”

  “And what sort of business would Pascal want with the Americanos?”

  John set his plate aside only half eaten and sat with his elbows on his thighs, his hands loosely clasped in front of him.

  “They need to get to Bataan. If Pascal would be interested in helping them get to the coast…and if they could supply a small boat…”

  “Ahh,” Esteban drawled. “You want to circle the island to Bataan.”

  “Could it be done?”

  Esteban’s lower lip jutted out as he thought carefully. “You would have to go at night to escape the patrols, but yes, I think it could be done.” He set his own plate aside and slapped his thighs. “But you said that this would be a…business arrangement.”

  John nodded. “Lieutenant Gilhouley has something that he thinks would be of use to Pascal.”

  Esteban grimaced. “Guns? Ammunition?”

  “Not exactly.”

  This time Esteban turned to Gilhouley, asking him directly. “Then what have you got, Americano?”

  Gilhouley’s gaze bounced to John, who imperceptibly nodded in encouragement.

  “I’ve got a radio that Pascal can use to coordinate his efforts with the U.S. military.”

  Esteban stared at him in astonishment, then began to laugh his Santa Claus laugh. Grabbing his plate, he stood, leaning over to slap Gilhouley on the back, his ham-sized palms nearly unseating Gilhouley before the large man strode toward his wife for seconds.

  “Do you suppose that means he’s interested?” Gilhouley asked under his breath.

  John’s smile was more restrained than Esteban’s, but still encouraging.

  “He’s interested.”

  “Padre! Bring the lieutenant over here and fill your plates again. There’s more than enough and you’ll need your strength for the hike back.”

  He grew stronger after seeing the leaflet. Especially when the distant sound of mortar fire was heard only days after the papers were dropped.

  Unfortunately, news of an offensive was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it was the first tangible proof that the Americans weren’t just flying planes over the island. They had invaded.

  But the noise made the guards antsy, and Tanaka was especially frantic. He’d dispensed with communicating at all with his American prisoners. Instead, he played his own vicious game of Russian roulette. On a good day, he stayed in his hut, drinking saké and listening to his damned collection of Jap opera. On a bad day…

  On a bad day, the man strode outside, picked a prisoner at random, and shot him.

  More and more, he and his men had begun to depend on their time outside the wire.
The garden had become the closest thing they had to a refuge. The guards, as if sensing the encroaching battle, had become more lax.

  They spent their time speaking in low voices, huddled together as they mulled over the latest news from the front. Their control of the prisoners slipped enough that a few of the villagers dared to approach the Americans during their midday break, bringing rice wrapped in newspaper or bundles laden with fruit.

  He’d become obsessed with his garden, obsessed by the only thing he could count on for sure—that nature would ignore the chaos and desperation around her and the laws of the harvest would apply.

  He was so intent on his hoeing, that he barely noticed the little boy who sidled up beside him. It wasn’t the same youngster he’d seen before. This was a child, no more than five. The kid looked up at him with wide eyes, tugging on his trouser pocket. Then he turned and ran into the jungle.

  It wasn’t until later, when he was crawling into his bunk, that he realized a scrap of paper had been slipped into his pocket.

  Glancing over either shoulder, he lifted the paper free, squinting at it in the darkness. The message was simple and chilling.

  Take care. J’s exterminating POW’s as A. Army advances.

  Padre

  But it was the postscript that caused his hands to tremble so fiercely, he could hardly keep hold of the paper.

  P.S. Letter to R. received and forwarded.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Darkness was falling when John and Gilhouley approached the camp. After Gilhouley’s offer of radio equipment had been made, Esteban’s mood had brightened even more. Just as John had projected, once they’d eaten their fill, the Filipino had told Gilhouley that he would extend the offer to Pascal, but it could be days before he managed to contact his brother-in-law. As soon as he had an answer, he’d send a runner back to John’s camp.

  As they slogged through the underbrush, John suspected that they wouldn’t have long to wait. Somehow, he wouldn’t be surprised if the guerrillas knew everything that happened in the surrounding area. He’d bet that they’d had a man watching Gilhouley and him make their way through the jungle. But he could also understand their need for caution. Especially when Gilhouley had explained to Esteban what had happened to Santo Tomas.