Saving Grace: A Novel (Healing Ruby Book 3)

by Jennifer H. Westall

  We made the bed, and then headed over to the supply depot to gather my basic toiletries. I never realized how happy I could be to have a bit of soap and a comb. I could hardly wait to take a shower. “There’s a barber in the tunnel too,” Janine said as we walked back to quarters. “You can get your hair cut if you like.”

  “This is like a little city down here,” I said.

  “Oh yes. This is so much better than the jungle, even with the bombings every day. These tunnels are impregnable. I imagine if we had enough food, we could all stay down here until the war was over.”

  “But we don’t, do we? Have enough food?”

  She shook her head. “Rations here are much better than on Bataan, but they’re dwindling fast. Especially with all the sudden evacuees being added. The rumor is that we might be able to last another six weeks. If that.”

  “And then what?”

  We’d made it back to my bed by then, and Janine stared back at me with anxious eyes. “Surrender.”

  ***

  Over the course of the next couple of weeks, my appreciation for the safety of the tunnel wore off. The stale air became filled with more and more dust as the bombs shook everything around us. Respiratory problems increased dramatically. It seemed like everyone was coughing. And when the bombs fell, which sometimes seemed constant, the air pressure made my head ache so badly I could barely see. Rations were cut again. I thought about food to the point of obsession.

  Then there was Natalie. She hadn’t said much when I first arrived, watching from afar with a disgusted expression as I was cared for and instructed in my duties. But it only took a couple of days before she insisted on claiming my rations again. This time I refused. When she threatened to tell Mrs. Fincher about me, I almost laughed.

  “Do you not understand anything?” I said. “We’re all facing a death sentence here. Even you. No one cares about what you have to say.”

  Her face paled before she pressed her mouth into a thin line. “I suppose this means your promise to get me on a plane out of here was a lie as well. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Perhaps I’d be more inclined to help you if you hadn’t left me to be attacked and nearly raped by Japanese soldiers on Bataan.”

  “I didn’t leave you!”

  “You looked right at me from your seat on the bus. I saw you.”

  She huffed and narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t over, you know. You’re going to get what you deserve. All of you will.” With that, she stormed away.

  I went back to my duties, vowing never give her another thought. There was such precious little time left before Corregidor would also fall.

  ***

  Matthew and Henry had been assigned to the artillery unit, managing some of the huge guns along the coast. They took direct hits from the Japanese on a daily basis, setting my nerves on edge all day. I was in a constant state of prayer, imagining each concussion to be the one that would take either one or both of them away from me. Every evening, after my duties were complete, I waited at the tunnel entrance with Janine as if I were waiting for oxygen. When Matthew and Henry finally appeared, I could breathe again.

  Gathering at the entrance became a social occasion for many, including the four of us. Someone set up a radio, and most would gather to smoke and visit while ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas’ or some other reminder of home played in the background. Sometimes, a couple or two might sway along. A few solitary types wrote letters. Most simply wanted a moment away from the oppression of the tunnel.

  A few civilians, like myself, had wound up on The Rock either by choice or by fate. One of the better-known civilians was Homer Freeman, a journalist with Time magazine who’d been sending back army-approved stories of our courageous boys holding out against the heinous enemy. I hadn’t read any of the stories, of course, but he was rumored to be a fair reporter, despite a flare for embellishment. I sometimes saw him strolling the laterals inside, but he was usually at the tunnel entrance in the evenings, leaning back in his chair against the cement wall, chatting with anyone nearby and scribbling in his notebook.

  One evening as I waited with Janine, Mr. Freeman made eye contact with me and smiled. He was probably in his mid-thirties, though it was hard to tell how old anyone was at that point with so much disease and stress adding years to our bodies. His smile was friendly, and he motioned with his head for us to join him. We weaved around a few people and I took a chair next to him, while Janine rested against the wall beside me.

  Mr. Freeman leaned forward and offered his hand. “Homer Freeman.”

  I shook his hand. “Grace Doyle. This is Janine Graves.” It was the first time I’d used her married name, and it sounded a bit strange on my tongue.

  “You ladies come over from Bataan?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  His eyebrows shot up. “None of that ‘sir’ stuff. Just call me Homer.”

  “All right.”

  He leaned back against the wall again and jotted down something in his notebook. “You going to write about us in one of your stories?” Janine asked.

  “Depends,” he said without looking up. “You got anything interesting to tell?”

  I glanced up and met Janine’s gaze, giving a slight shake of my head. It hit me that talking to a reporter wasn’t the smartest choice of pastime. So I answered instead. “We’re just here to serve the brave men out there in harm’s way. They’re the ones whose stories you should tell.”

  He looked up at me then and nodded. “That’s mighty humble, Grace. But I’ve heard some of the other nurses’ stories, and I know for certain you all are just as brave as the men. What was it like over there on Bataan?”

  “Well, if you’ve talked to the other nurses, I imagine you’ve gotten a pretty good picture already,” I said. “I doubt we’d have anything to add.”

  He bit the end of his pen and studied me for a long, uncomfortable moment. “I see.” His eyes slid to Janine. “See any Japanese on your way over here?”

  “Nope,” Janine said. “Just their planes and mortar fire.”

  I knew I should remain quiet for my own sake, but something in me also wanted to let the world know what was going on across the bay. “I saw them,” I said quietly.

  Mr. Freeman plopped his chair legs on the ground as he leaned forward. “What did you see?”

  I told him about the never-ending columns of broken American and Filipino soldiers marching along the coastal road, about the brutality of the Japanese, and their complete disregard for the lives of the men who’d surrendered. He was quiet for a while afterward, scribbling furiously with his pen.

  “And you saw them do these things with your own eyes?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Can I quote you on that?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  Just then, Matthew and Henry walked up, and as soon as Matthew saw whom I was talking with, his expression darkened. I excused myself and went to him, wrapping my arms around him.

  “That’s a reporter you’re talking to,” he whispered into my ear.

  I released him from my embrace and stepped back. “I know. I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t have.”

  He eyed Mr. Freeman, who I noticed was still watching us. “All the same, probably best to steer clear of him.”

  Artie Shaw’s ‘Dancing in the Dark’ began playing behind me, a reminder that I was determined not to waste a moment of our time together. So I smiled up at Matthew. “Want to dance?”

  His eyes softened, and he smiled down at me as he slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me close. “Absolutely, Mrs. Doyle.”

  ***

  Matthew and I did our best to be discreet—Henry and Janine less so—as Mrs. Fincher had requested. Most evenings we’d steal away to a bunker Matthew shared with several Marines during the day’s bombings, and we’d have a few solitary moments to forget the nightmare we were living. They’d even found a mattress in an abandoned house down the hill, making our accommod
ation just a bit more comfortable.

  Some evenings, we would imagine ourselves in some far off, mysterious corner of the world. Matthew would pretend to serve me the most wonderful meal, describing it in such detail my mouth would water. Sometimes, we imagined being in our own home, a quiet little bungalow on the coast of Australia. If I closed my eyes while his hands roamed over me, I could imagine it perfectly.

  But even our momentary escapes couldn’t last. The Japanese grew more persistent in bombarding The Rock, and casualties mounted every day. They were even firing from Bataan throughout the night, and it was becoming ever more dangerous to even try to slip out to the bunker. On April 26th, Matthew and I were making our way back to the tunnel when we heard the booming sound of the huge shells being fired. We raced back to the bunker, and were spared the atrocity that followed. But many of our friends were not.

  The first shell was a dud, but the second landed right at the main entrance to Malinta Tunnel. Matthew and I sped to the entrance, only to find a scene right out of a horror movie. Those who had been gathered for a few moments of music and laughter, fresh air, and a bit of hope, had instead taken a direct hit. I skidded to a stop as soon as the devastation came into view and dropped to my knees.

  The massive iron gate had been slammed shut by the explosion, crushing bodies in its path, and mangled limbs were strewn between the slats. Slowly, medics and other servicemen were able to push it open, and they stared open-mouthed at the slaughter. After a moment of pure shock, everyone jumped into motion.

  Matthew and I began checking for anyone who might have survived. Screams echoed into the tunnel, reverberating off the walls and down my spine. At least a dozen were dead on impact, and as many as fifty or more were wounded to various degrees. I went to work triaging the wounded, sending the most urgent to immediate surgery. I had almost cleared the area of the entrance where I’d been working, when I saw Henry sitting on the ground, holding Janine in his arms.

  He cradled her like a baby and sobbed as he kissed her hair. They were both covered in blood. I ran to him to help, kneeling in front of him.

  “Henry! Let me help her.” He wouldn’t release his grip on her. “Henry, please.”

  I took her wrist and felt for a pulse. Nothing. I slid my hand along her shoulder and up to her neck. I couldn’t look at Henry. I was sure he already knew. She was dead.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Matthew

  April 28, 1942

  There were no funerals for the dead. Just a somber goodbye as the bodies were stacked outside the south entrance to the tunnel. The Japanese assault had grown so intense and so frequent, there was no time for burials, not even time to mourn. Sometimes a single assault would last for hours, with bullets and mortar bombs launching from Bataan to the north and Cavite to the south, and bombers dropping their payloads from the sky.

  I’d gone back to the .50 caliber machine gun battery just up the hill from the south docks. I hated leaving Ruby when she was so upset, but there were enough casualties to keep her busy, and I was needed to help man the gun. Every time I turned around, another marine was injured. I made two trips to the tunnel to help carry the wounded. But there was no time to do more than make eye contact with Ruby.

  She was so thin, so frail and desperate-looking. Being unable to give her the life she deserved was maddening. I had to wonder if maybe the quiet life we dreamed of was never really meant for us. But somewhere in my mind, I knew I couldn’t lose hope. So I kept praying the Lord would find some way, somehow, to get her out of this torment. And finally, after months of prayers, He sent an answer.

  As I was leaving the hospital ward a couple of days after the entrance bombing, I nearly ran smack into Major Prescott. I was shocked to see him, and he seemed just as surprised to see me.

  “Major Prescott!” I exclaimed. “Why, I thought…forgive me, sir, but I thought you’d been killed.”

  He shook my hand vigorously. “Captain Doyle, my goodness. I feared your entire unit had been destroyed on Bataan. Good to see you, son. And it’s Colonel now.” He tapped the insignia on his shoulder.

  “Congratulations,” I said.

  “Well, I wish it were under better circumstances. I replaced a brave fellow who took a hit from a mortar bomb while he was outside the tunnel.” He frowned as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Say, where are you stationed?”

  “On a .50 calibre machine gun above the south docks.”

  He shook his head. “Listen, I can’t guarantee anything, but Wainwright has gotten word of two PBY planes coming in the next day or so. They’re going to evacuate key personnel and some of the nurses.”

  My heart jumped. Finally, a chance to get Ruby away.

  “They’re going to need engineers,” he continued. “MacArthur is specifically requesting officers to plan the reconquering of all the Pacific islands taken by the Japanese, and they’ll need airstrips, bridges, barracks. You name it. I’d be happy to put your name up for consideration.”

  “I do appreciate that, sir, and would happily accept such a position. However, it would be more important to me to get my wife evacuated first.”

  “Your wife?” he said. “I had no idea you even had a wife, much less one on the island. My God, man. Why didn’t you evacuate her sooner?”

  “We just married on Bataan, sir. During the lull in the fighting. She’s a civilian who’s been working with the nurse corps.”

  “By all means, I’ll put in a word for her, and for you as well.”

  I shook his hand, trying not to explode with gratitude. “Thank you so much, Colonel. I can’t tell you what that would mean to me.”

  ***

  I returned to my gun battery with renewed hope. Maybe that dream of a life together was still possible. I thanked God continuously as I ran along the side of the hill, forgetting altogether that shells could drop on me at any moment. I climbed up the side of the cliff and around to the pit where we were dug in, and I jumped down into the trench where Henry sat waiting on me.

  “There are two PBYs coming in. They’re going to evacuate some personnel and some of the nurses. This could be our chance to get Ruby out of here.”

  Henry sat with his back against the wall, his eyes closed, puffing on a cigarette. He didn’t move as he answered. “Good. It’s about time.”

  I hadn’t been a good friend the past two days. I had no idea what to say. When I’d thought Ruby was dead, there was nothing in the world anyone could’ve said to make things better. But Henry had tried. I owed it to him to try to get him out of here as well.

  “Prescott says MacArthur is looking for key personnel for planning a counter attack on all the Pacific islands. Says he’ll put in a good word for me. I’m sure they’ll need pilots too.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Get yourself and Ruby out of here. I can handle a few Japs.”

  “Henry, I know you must be devastated. I understand, believe me.”

  He turned his head and met my gaze with dark, despairing eyes. “Yes, I know. But Janine isn’t coming back to me. I don’t get another chance like you did.”

  I squatted next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been like a brother to me out here, man. I ain’t planning on leaving you behind. We should stick together. Help me get Ruby out of here.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just puffed on his cigarette. Then he tossed it out in front of him and stomped it into the dust. “You’ll get Ruby out. I know you will. As for me, I’m going to stay here and kill me as many of them dirty Nips as I can. Till I kill every last one of ’em.”

  Ruby

  April 29, 1942

  I hadn’t known Janine for long, just a little over half a year, but I felt her loss all around me. Despite the relentless bombings, and the unending procession of injured through the hospital laterals, I found a few moments to grieve my friend and sister-in-law. I went to her bed and gathered her personal effects, placing them in a small box. I took them over to my bed
and prayed over them. Then I cried for a little while as I thought of Henry. How many more friends and family members did we have to lose in this living hell?

  While I was sitting on the bed, Roberta came over to offer her condolences, and before she left, she handed me a note. I was to report to the dining lateral at sundown. It contained no more information than that, and Roberta had nothing to add. So I went back to my duties, dressing wounds and praying over dying souls. It all seemed so hopeless. And I was so tired.

  As I made my way to the dining lateral, Matthew caught up to me from behind and swept me into a big hug. “Didn’t I tell you not to lose faith?” he said in an excited whisper. “We’re getting out of here. Tonight.”

  “What?”

  “Keep moving. Go to the dining lateral. You’ll find out everything.” Then he kissed me and stopped at the headquarters laterals. “I have a meeting too. I’ll find you afterward. I love you so much.”

  He looked almost giddy. Was it true? I walked into the dining area and took a seat among several other nurses. Despite my curiosity I was exhausted, so I laid my head on the table and waited for whatever was to come.

  Shortly, Mrs. Fincher marched over and stood before us with a grave expression. “Ladies, I will get right to the point. We’ve been presented with an opportunity to evacuate you all immediately.”

  So Matthew had been right. Mrs. Fincher handed each of us a piece of paper as she continued. “You have each been relieved from your present assignment and duty and will proceed by first available transport to Melbourne, Australia, reporting upon arrival to the Commander in Chief, Southwest Pacific Area, G.H.Q., for further disposition.”

  Murmuring filled the room as the girls began to ask questions. How soon would we leave? What about the others? What about the patients?