Saving Grace: A Novel (Healing Ruby Book 3)

by Jennifer H. Westall

  I grabbed hold of those words and buried them in my heart, memorizing everything about that moment as if it were an anchor. His arms around me, the promises between us, and my pounding heart.

  ***

  I slept in Matthew’s arms until it was his turn to take watch, and then Henry was able to rest until dark. I ate four more helpings of canned meat, and I paid for it less than an hour later. My stomach churned, and I had to find a large tree to hide behind for a while. It was about the most embarrassing thing I’d ever done. But Matthew did his best to keep his distance without letting me out of his sight. It wasn’t far enough.

  After darkness fell, we gathered our things and made our way quietly back to the road. It was still fairly busy, with trucks moving south toward Mariveles, as well as Japanese troops. But it wasn’t a constant flow like it had been earlier. There were breaks in the traffic, and Matthew figured if we moved north to some bends in the road, we could find a place to cross where we wouldn’t be seen.

  Steeling ourselves, we turned north and crept along parallel to the road for more than two hours. Finally, we got to a sharp curve and waited for a break. I raced across the road with my heart nearly coming out of my throat. I was certain a Japanese truck would come around that curve, and we’d be shot dead on sight. But we made it across without being seen. I doubled over when we were in the clear.

  “You all right?” Henry asked.

  I nodded. My pitiful little body was having a hard time keeping up with theirs, even though they were pretty emaciated themselves. “I’m fine,” I said. “Just give me a second to catch my breath.”

  “Want me to carry you for a while?” Matthew asked.

  “No, no. Save your strength.”

  Henry grimaced as he looked up and down the shoreline through the trees. “Yeah, you may need it for rowing. Or worse, swimming.”

  “There’s a dock just a little ways north of here,” Matthew said. “There’s gotta be a boat.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Henry asked.

  Matthew shrugged. “The Lord’s just worked everything out so far. I mean, think about it. If that truck hadn’t been where we left it, we wouldn’t have made it in time to save Ruby. Then we were able to bury those dirty Japs in the jungle without being discovered. And haven’t you noticed how few patrols we’ve encountered? God’s clearing our path. And he’ll have a boat for us. You watch and see.”

  Henry looked over at me with an exasperated smirk. “He’s been married to you for what—a month—and you’ve already got him talking like you.”

  Matthew and I locked gazes for a moment, and he smiled at me. It reminded me of the days when he’d been so sick with T.B. that he couldn’t get out of bed, and I would sit in the chair opposite, listening to the high-pitched whistle of each breath he took. He’d sometimes lock eyes with me, just like now, and he’d smile at me as though we were the only two people on earth, and he was just fine with it. That smile still stirred me, just as it had when I was barely fourteen.

  “Well, let’s go find this boat God’s gonna have ready for us,” Henry said.

  We headed north between the road and the coast, ducking down each time a vehicle passed. Eventually, we saw the dock up ahead, and a tiny rowboat floating beside it.

  Henry stopped and turned incredulous eyes to Matthew. “You have to be kidding me.” He turned his eyes toward the sky. “After everything You’ve managed to pull off over the past few days, You’re going to leave us to cross the bay in that?”

  I was just grateful that even one small boat was there, but I was concerned about getting across the bay before we were spotted by Japanese planes. And how would any of us find the strength to row that far? Maybe if we weren’t starved near to death, it would be possible. But there was no way we’d make it in the few short hours before daybreak.

  We picked our way down to the dock and looked the boat over. Matthew rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the boat skeptically. “It’s the best we can do for now. I say we go for it.”

  “Just take it?” I said. “You mean steal it?”

  “Ruby,” Henry said, rolling his eyes. “Now’s not the time to worry about a measly little boat. Apparently, according to your husband, God put this here for us to use. So use it we must.”

  I didn’t like the idea of taking something that didn’t belong to us, even if it was war, and even if we were running for our lives. I turned my back on them while they discussed the best route to take across the bay. But only about a hundred yards away was another small dock, and it had a motorboat tied to it.

  “What about the motorboat?” I asked. “If we’re going to steal something, wouldn’t that be faster?”

  “Of course, but what motorboat?” Henry asked, turning around.

  “That one.” I pointed at the other dock.

  “Now, see,” Henry said, turning to face Matthew. “She’s much better at finding God’s gifts than you are.”

  ***

  It turned out that the boat belonged to an old Filipino man who was camped out in the trees near the dock. He was taking a group of other stragglers over to Corregidor just before dawn, and for five pesos, we could go as well. I wondered where these other passengers were, but since we were hiding in the dense foliage along the coast, I figured they were too.

  Around five in the morning, we went back to the dock, and paid our five pesos to the old man. Then we stepped on board what had to be the oldest boat on the entire island, with a huge hole in the left side near the front and just above the water line.

  “Please stand on right side,” the old man said. “Keep from sinking.”

  “I don’t know about this,” I said to Matthew.

  Henry had a good laugh. “Figures. Guess we might be swimming some after all.”

  We climbed on top of the cabin, figuring it was furthest from the water, and sat and waited for the rest to get on board. Seven American soldiers slipped out of the trees and loaded up, looking every bit as gaunt and exhausted as we must have appeared. A Filipino man, his wife, and their four kids got on. And last came two Filipino men: one older and gray-haired, the other probably in his twenties. Each of them carried sacks that they held close to their chests.

  Henry called down to them. “Hey, whatchya got in the sacks?”

  They looked up at him, then at each other. The younger one answered. “Canned fruit. Mangos. Peaches. Pineapple.”

  That sparked interest from all the starving Americans on board. “What’ll you take for them?” Henry asked.

  “What you got?” the young one said.

  Henry dug through his pockets and pulled out some papers. “Twenty pesos.”

  “Not enough!” The older man answered.

  Henry looked at Matthew, who dug around and found ten more pesos in his rucksack. “How about thirty pesos? And some canned meat?”

  “Not enough!”

  Henry took the money from Matthew and jumped down to the deck. He walked over to the seven other Americans, and each of them dug through their pockets as well. “Forty pesos!” Henry said.

  “No. Not enough!”

  Henry grimaced, looked up at me where I sat on the edge of the cabin and shook his head. He walked over to the older Filipino and shoved the money into his shirt pocket. Then he grabbed the sack from the younger one, who stepped back with wide, frightened eyes.

  Henry tossed several cans to the seven soldiers, then he climbed back onto the cabin and sat beside me. I didn’t bother scolding him. What good would it do? And that pineapple was so delicious; I couldn’t bring myself to feel bad. We feasted on the fruit as the boat pulled away from the dock and slid along the coastline toward a spot of land that jutted out into the bay. From that point, we turned directly toward Corregidor.

  As we chugged away from shore, I looked back at the jungle I was leaving. The place where so many had suffered and died. The place where I’d buried friends and colleagues, and my dress from Daddy, still hidden beneath the dirt outside my tent at the
hospital. It was where I’d married Matthew, where we’d played in the river and loved each other more deeply than I’d ever imagined possible. As much as I wanted to escape the horrors on that peninsula, the moment was bittersweet. I was leaving a part of myself behind. That part of myself that believed people were essentially good, and that hope was enough to carry me through to the next day.

  ***

  Morning broke as we neared the middle of our journey, and tension rose along with the sun. Corregidor lay in front of us, teasing with its safety that was just out of reach. I felt so exposed and vulnerable. I prayed the boat would move faster, but it chugged along at the same speed, with the distance to the shore seemingly unchanging.

  I lay back on the cabin roof, hoping that when I sat up, the island would be closer. Matthew sat beside me, keeping watch on the sky. “We need to decide what we’re going to do about Natalie,” he said. “She’ll be there when we arrive, and she’ll expect to be a part of any attempt to get to Australia.”

  I recalled her blank stare as I’d run after the bus. “We’ll do our best to appease her and keep our plans quiet. I don’t know what else we can do.”

  “Does she know we’re married?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. She knows we’re together. That seems to be enough to incite her anger toward me.”

  He gazed out over the water for a long minute before speaking again. “You saw us, didn’t you? At Fort Stotsenburg, after I taught you to shoot. You saw me kiss her, didn’t you?”

  My chest ached at the memory. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was…that was stupid, and cruel of me. I knew it would hurt you. I wasn’t thinking.”

  I sat up and took his hand in mine. “That’s in the past, along with everything else painful between us. Let’s just leave it there, all right?”

  He nodded and squeezed my hand. Corregidor was finally drawing closer. But as I glanced to the east, I noticed the unmistakable outline of Japanese bombers approaching from over Manila. “Matthew, look!”

  By then, others had seen the planes and were shouting at the captain. “Speed up! Speed up!”

  “She’s sailing as fast as she can!” The captain called back.

  Matthew and I jumped off the cabin roof, and moved to the front of the boat, still careful to stay on the right side. Water slopped around our ankles. Everyone onboard stared helplessly at the approaching planes. I looked again at Corregidor. I could see a dock, or at least the remnants of one. We might just make it.

  “We’re not going to make it!” Henry shouted.

  “Yes, we will!” Matthew said.

  Wind and water stung my face. My heart pounded. The planes were lined up directly with the island. I grabbed Matthew’s arm.

  “When we get to the shore,” he yelled, “don’t wait for me. Just run. Find shelter. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Move back!” the captain called. “Don’t weigh down the front!”

  All the passengers stretched along the right side of the boat, preparing to jump as soon as the shore was in reach. The Filipino woman and her children moved to the front, and Matthew pushed me in line behind them. I still had Matthew’s arm in a vice grip, but he squeezed my hand and spoke into my ear. “It’s all right. Let go. You’ll be fine.”

  The planes were nearly on us now. Shiny flashes of silver fluttered down like leaflets. For a moment, I thought maybe the Japanese were just dropping more propaganda on us, as they’d done throughout our time on Bataan. But Matthew shattered that hope.

  “Bombs are away! Move as quickly as you can and get into the cement building there just off the right side of the dock!”

  The boat never slowed down, barreling up to the wreckage that had once been a dock and onto the shore. The Filipino woman jumped first, then Henry followed. Matthew and the other soldiers handed the children to the woman and Henry while I jumped into the waves. I ran and stumbled up to more solid ground. The first bomb exploded at the other end of the island, followed by another. The ground shook as I ran with every ounce of energy I could muster, my eyes set on the small cement building Matthew had pointed to. Run! Run! I screamed at myself. My legs burned, and I could’ve sworn I was running through quicksand.

  Another bomb exploded. Closer. I stumbled and fell forward, my face hitting the sand. Another concussion made my whole body feel like it was ripping apart. Feet flew past me. The snatched sound of children screaming. I pushed myself up and ran again. More bodies passed, running into the building. Then I was on my face again. I was finished. My legs gave out.

  But then strong hands grabbed under both my arms, and I was carried the last few feet into the building. The door closed behind us, and we dropped to our knees. I felt Matthew’s body surround me from behind, his arms tightening around my shoulders. More explosions, more pain in my ears and head. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. It went on like that for another few minutes. Then there was silence. The kind that’s unsure, waiting for the death blow. But it didn’t come this time. We were safe. For now.

  Someone pushed the door open, and light streamed inside the small shed. The sudden brightness made me dizzy. Matthew stood and helped me up. My legs were weak, and they buckled. He scooped me up into his arms. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  I could barely breathe, much less talk. So I nodded instead. He carried me up the hill, following Henry as he and the other soldiers from the boat led our little procession around to a huge cement entrance to Malinta Tunnel. I could barely move, so I rested my head against Matthew’s shoulder as he carried me into the belly of Corregidor. All I could think about was how grateful I was to have cement and rock above me rather than open sky.

  “Let’s find the hospital,” Matthew said to Henry. “I think she’s going into shock.”

  Shock. That was what it was. I hadn’t recognized the symptoms in my own body. The shivering. The disorientation. I closed my eyes as Matthew carried me deeper and deeper into the tunnel complex. When he stopped, I heard familiar voices and opened my eyes as he laid me on a bed.

  Several of the nurses from the hospital on Bataan came over to us, relieved to discover I’d made it. Janine pushed her way through and wrapped her arms around me, sobbing an apology for leaving me behind. “I thought you were on the bus! I’m so sorry!”

  Before long, Matthew herded the group away from me so that I could be examined. A medic came over to check my vitals. “Can you answer a few questions?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I’ll d-do my best.”

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  My name? “M-maybe you should start with something easier.”

  He placed two fingers on my neck, concern coming into his eyes as he checked my pulse. “You don’t know your name?”

  Matthew came up beside him and took my hand. I gazed into his weary, bloodshot eyes and spoke the honest truth. “It’s Ruby Grace Doyle.” The words felt lovely rolling off my tongue.

  Matthew grinned. The medic took no notice of my declaration. “Well, Miss Doyle—”

  “It’s Mrs. Doyle,” Matthew interrupted.

  “All right, Mrs. Doyle, are you in pain?”

  “No.”

  “Any injuries?”

  “No.”

  The medic made a note on a clipboard and said he’d return to check on me after I’d had some food and rest. Janine brought over some rations, which I practically inhaled. Matthew sat in a chair beside the bed, looking completely spent. “I’m all right now,” I said, concern for him flickering at the edge of my dwindling consciousness as the darkness crept closer. “You should go…get some rest…too...”

  He leaned onto my bed and kissed my forehead. “I’ll go once you’re asleep. Now close your eyes.”

  I wanted to keep looking into his eyes, but I couldn’t hold mine open any longer. The combination of a full stomach and the safety of the tunnel worked its magic quickly, and I was soon asleep.

  ***

  I slept for almost two day
s straight, vaguely aware of the muffled sounds of bombs and the occasional rattle when one hit directly above our section. When I awoke and was able to get around, Mrs. Fincher walked me through the various tunnels that branched off Malinta’s main tunnel, showing me the hospital laterals, the mess, the pharmacy, and the quarters where the nurses slept.

  “You can take any bed that’s open,” Mrs. Fincher said. She gestured toward Janine, who had volunteered to get me settled. “Janine will show you where you can get the basic items you’ll need. And I’m sure she’ll cover the expectations we’ve set in place for making the best out of our situation. You’re welcome to continue working in a nursing capacity with the others, or I can assign you to civilian duties.”

  “I’m happy to do whatever is necessary, but I would prefer to continue working with patients,” I replied.

  Mrs. Fincher gave me the closest thing she had to a smile. “You’re a fine nurse, and we appreciate your skills. When you get settled here, report to me and I’ll assign you to a ward.” She began to leave, before turning back to us with a more serious expression. “And one more thing. Janine has informed me of your nuptials in the jungle. There are strict policies in place here to protect the integrity of the nursing corps. I will expect you two to be discreet.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. She bustled away as I turned to Janine. “What was that all about?”

  “Since we arrived here, the servicemen have been frequenting this area of the tunnel more often than she’d like. She called us all together and laid down some rules. No more coveralls, for example. She had some Chinese women in another section of the tunnel sew everyone khaki skirts and regulation shirts. Hair has to be pinned up off the collar. Guess she thinks returning to shipshape standards will keep everyone in line. And no fraternizing with the soldiers.”

  “Why did you decide to tell her about the wedding?”

  Janine walked over to a shelf and grabbed a white sheet and blanket, bringing them back over to my bed. “I guess I was a little emotional when Henry showed up here. I just couldn’t help myself. I was so happy to see him. I made quite a scene, and she was none too happy about it. I had to explain.”