Remember the Lilies

by Liz Tolsma

  “The Lord spared me. How are you, darling?”

  “You heard what happened?”

  “Yes. My heart breaks for you. But God is gracious. You escaped with no permanent harm done. Praise Him for that. His angels were watching over you.”

  “I can’t argue with you.” Only angels could have protected her and given her the strength to fight that monster. “I’m sorry for what I did.”

  “My dear, don’t be sorry. Perhaps you shouldn’t have ventured out on your own, but that didn’t give that man license to do what he did.”

  “I was foolish. Rand tried to talk me out of it, and Mother Superior, too, but I insisted. I even tricked him into giving me information on where he lived.”

  Anita laid her fork beside her plate on the tray. “That’s what I don’t understand. Why were you so insistent on going there? What business did you have to take care of?”

  “I was trying to help him. His longtime houseboy is very ill. That’s why Rand tried to escape. He’s desperate to help the man.” She just realized she’d dropped the rucksack with the medication somewhere along the way. Her stomach dipped, and she sobered at the thought that the enemy would have the drugs and not those who needed it most.

  She pursed her lips, not wanting to say more. Anita would scold her for sure if she knew about the note.

  “You’re young and impetuous. You need to learn restraint. But as I said before, that doesn’t make this your fault. Don’t ever, ever think that. Lean on the Lord and on me, and let us help you heal.”

  “Will life ever be normal again? Will we be free?”

  “Life will be good, though maybe not as we knew it. Bring me my Bible.” She handed Irene her tray.

  Irene found the large, heavy tome on the table beside Anita’s bed. Her aunt ran her fingers over the Braille markings on the page, flipping through until she found the verses she wanted.

  “ ‘But fear not thou, O my servant Jacob, and be not dismayed, O Israel: for, behold, I will save thee from afar off, and thy seed from the land of their captivity; and Jacob shall return, and be in rest and at ease, and none shall make him afraid.’ Jeremiah 46:27. That is God’s promise to us.”

  “Life isn’t as simple as the Bible makes it out to be.” No matter how much time passed, she would never forget a single detail of what happened yesterday. Nor would she ever forgive the man for what he did.

  “Yes, it is. Trust in Him. Put your hope in Him. You may suffer, but joy is on the horizon. God is taking care of you.” Anita turned more pages, running her fingers over the Braille print. “ ‘Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. If then God so clothe the grass, which is to day in the field, and to morrow is cast into the oven; how much more will he clothe you, O ye of little faith? And seek not ye what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, neither be ye of doubtful mind. For all these things do the nations of the world seek after: and your Father knoweth that ye have need of these things. But rather seek ye the kingdom of God; and all these things shall be added unto you.’ ”

  Irene wandered to the window and watched the raindrops splash in the puddles below. “It’s too dark now for me to see.”

  “Come, sit beside me.” Anita patted a spot on the mattress next to her, and Irene did her bidding. “Don’t give up hope. Forgive. Forget. Trust. God is taking care of you, just like He takes care of the lilies.”

  The words slipped past Anita’s lips with ease, as they had hundreds of times before as she taught the village women. But to live them out was so much more difficult. Impossible, really.

  Anita’s hands trembled as she closed her Bible’s cover.

  Irene kissed her forehead. “I’ve tired you out too much, so I’m going to leave and let you get some rest. We can finish our conversation another time.”

  She knew in her head all of what Anita had told her was right. But her heart refused to believe.

  Behind Irene, the car that had brought her and Rand from Hospicio de Santiago idled. She stared at the heavy iron spear-headed gates at the entrance of Santo Tomas. Had she been coming here as a university student, she might have thought them grand or majestic. Now, as an internee, she found them imposing and intimidating. She hated them.

  Rand harrumphed beside her. “We’re back where we started from. Isn’t this swell?”

  “You sound a little bit too much like me.”

  “See, you’re rubbing off on me.” He laughed and held her hand. “I think the guard wants us to go in.”

  She nodded, and he gave her fingers a squeeze. Together they entered the now-familiar yard, rows of nipa huts greeting them.

  A soccer ball rolled in their direction from a group of kids. Mercedes’s son, Paulo, chased it. “Mr. Sterling, you’re back. We heard you were sick.” The boy with pale skin and dark eyes looked up at Rand.

  Sheila King was hot on his heels. She ran and wrapped her arms around Irene’s leg. “I missed you. And Mr. Sterling too.”

  Rand handed the ball back to Paulo. “I see you’ve been practicing your dribbling. Keep it up. I need to get a bit stronger, like Miss Sheila has here. Then watch out. Tell the goalie to be prepared.”

  “I am the goalie.”

  “Ah, then you’d best get back to your teammates and get practicing. I show no mercy.”

  Paulo grinned and picked up the ball. “We know that.”

  Irene kissed the top of Sheila’s head, then glanced down at the child. “You play with these boys? And with Mr. Sterling?”

  Sheila nodded, her dark curls bobbing against her slender neck. “And I’m good, aren’t I, Mr. Sterling?”

  “Well, not as good as me, but you’re a swell player.”

  Irene chuckled. “And he’s cocky too.”

  “Precisely.” Rand grinned.

  “I’m glad you’re out of the hospital and feeling so much better. Enjoy your game.” Irene gave Sheila one last hug before turning her loose.

  The children ran off and resumed playing. A bit of normalcy in this crazy, mixed-up world.

  Irene shook her head. “When I was out in the city, I saw children on the street. Poor. Hungry. Stealing. They were orphans, I’m sure of it, reduced to desperate measures to survive. They broke my heart. I gave one girl all of the money I had brought along for the carromatas driver. And the longer the war goes on, the worse the problem will get. These kids may be prisoners, but at least they have someone to watch over them. Even Sheila.”

  “You like kids.”

  “I spent all of my time at the mission with the village children. Those days taught me to love God’s little ones, especially the most vulnerable.”

  They walked on for a short way. Rand nodded at a Filipino man driven in a jeep into the compound by a Japanese soldier.

  “Who is that?”

  “It’s a classified secret.”

  She gasped. He had the nerve to laugh. “What is so funny?”

  “I’ll tell you. If you can’t trust a missionary, who can you trust?” He leaned over to whisper in her ear, his breath tickling her neck, giving her goose bumps. “That man smuggles in briefcases full of pesos for the internee committee to buy extra rice on the black market.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “I imagine there is much that goes on behind the scenes that most people don’t know.”

  “Why did you tell me?”

  “Because I think I can trust you not to give up our secrets if you end up in Fort Santiago.”

  Irene gasped again. “You do like to have fun with me, don’t you?”

  There was that gleam in his eyes.

  After a fashion, life had continued as it had before they left. The little stands selling staples, food, and basic necessities dotted the campus. Irene looked with longing at the bologna, fruit, and vegetables, going as far as to stop at the stand and handle a potato.

  Rand came beside her. “I’m going to purchase some of that ch
icken and a bit of bath soap.”

  Irene drew in a breath and let it out slowly. The chicken was selling for the exorbitant price of six pesos a kilo and potatoes for four and a half pesos a kilo. She and Anita had no money for such things. They depended almost entirely on what they got in the food line. Already, before leaving for the hospital, the quality and quantity of the meals had dwindled. She envied Rand to be able to buy whatever he wanted. He must have brought a good deal of cash into the camp with him. And he must be hiding it from the Japanese.

  “We don’t need anything right now.”

  “Let me treat you. What do you want? Anything at all.”

  She didn’t want to be beholden to him. “Nothing. We have all we need.”

  “Irene, Irene, haven’t you seen, there’s not a pickle nor a bean.”

  She stopped and stared at him, his light-brown beard scraggly. “Why do you make up those silly little poems? Conditions are a bit too serious to be fooling around.”

  “And that’s why I do it.” His golden eyes danced. “My parents were always serious. At first, I started rhyming to make them smile. When I got to be a teenager, I did it to annoy my father. The habit sort of stuck. Besides, being sullen doesn’t help matters.”

  “You won’t know until you’ve tried it.”

  Irene breathed a sigh of relief as Rand walked away from the stand. “I’ll come with you to the release committee office and make my purchases later.”

  Though she protested, he insisted. They entered the building and climbed the stairs. A doctor from Hospicio de Santiago met them there. The stabbing pains in Irene’s stomach felt more like bumblebees than butterflies. She didn’t want to stay here, especially after seeing the conditions. She wanted to be with Anita. Needed her aunt when the nightmares came.

  Irene swung her legs back and forth as they sat on straight-backed chairs and waited in the stuffy hallway.

  “Irene Reynolds?” One rather flabby-looking gentleman indicated she should step inside.

  “Good luck.” Rand hooked both corners of his mouth upward, but she couldn’t.

  She wove her fingers together to steady them before entering, her bakyas clicking on the floor. The committee questioned her as to why she needed to return. “To care for my aunt.”

  One gentleman cracked his knuckles. “And what is your aunt’s condition now?”

  What could she say? Anita had taught her to always tell the truth. “She is improving, sir.”

  He shook his bald head. “The commandant has been stingy when it comes to handing out passes. We cannot go to him and argue your case. I’m sorry, you won’t be getting a renewal.”

  Her heart nose-dived. “But, sir, I’m all the family my aunt has.”

  “From your description of her condition and the doctor’s, she should be returning soon as well. We have to deny the pass.”

  And with that, he shooed her toward the door.

  She would be interned at Santo Tomas until the end of the war.

  If it ever came.

  A lump grew in the back of her throat.

  Rand rose and stared at her as she exited the room, asking the question with his eyes. She could only shake her head.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a soldier moving their way, chin held high, strides long.

  She clenched her fist until her fingers went numb. She’d never forget that face. “That’s him.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rand turned from the Japanese soldier striding down the hall, his boots heavy on the tile floor of the cool Administration Building, to face Irene. “Who? Who is he?”

  “Shh. The guard. That’s him.” Irene’s hands were clammy.

  “What guard?”

  “Don’t let him hear. Please don’t let him hear you.” The world buzzed around her. For the first time in her life, she thought she might faint.

  Then Rand stood ramrod straight. “From my house?”

  She nodded.

  He leaned forward, but she pulled him back before he could interfere. “What are you doing?”

  The soldier drew closer, a hard glint in his eyes.

  She’d be expected to bow out of respect to their captors. She wouldn’t. Would. Not.

  Never.

  He was now a few steps from them. He drew his lips into a firm line, nostrils flared.

  Irene could see nothing but him. She heard nothing but her heart slamming in her chest.

  He approached and raised one corner of his mouth, an evil snarl.

  She turned her head.

  His boots stopped. She didn’t bow. She didn’t feel Rand bow beside her.

  Thwack. His hand connected with her cheek. The sting brought tears to her eyes. She crumpled to the ground.

  He kicked her in the side.

  Pain exploded in her midsection. She hugged her arms around herself, her breath coming in ragged gulps.

  Rand lunged. She grabbed him by the ankles. He fell to the tile floor with a smack and a cry of pain. He tried to crawl after the soldier.

  The soldier turned. “I’d love to take you back to Fort Santiago.” The dare was unmistakable in his voice. Then he marched away.

  Rand struggled to free himself from her grasp.

  “Don’t, please don’t.” The rock in her throat made it difficult to force the words through. “You don’t want to go back there.” God, no.

  “I’m going to wrap my one good hand around his neck.”

  She turned cold all over. “You can’t. Promise me you won’t. They’ll send you back to that horrible place. And the message writer wasn’t kidding when he meant last time would look like a picnic.”

  The sound of the guard’s boots faded. “He hurt you. That beast hurt you.” Color heightened in Rand’s neck.

  “Not much.” She was sure she sported a red mark on her cheek, and she must have a bruise on her side.

  He touched her face, his fingers as light as feathers. “Don’t lie. It’s not becoming for a missionary girl.”

  She swallowed hard. “Don’t ever leave me alone in a room with that man.”

  Dread occupied the space in her stomach that breakfast hadn’t filled. What would Rand do if he ever encountered the man in camp? And before the war ended, how many times would she run into him?

  November 14, 1943

  Rain slashed at the windows and pounded the roof of the Education Building while lightning lit up the sky with the brilliance of noontime. Thunder rumbled almost without ceasing.

  Except for the four years he attended college in the States, Rand had lived in Manila all of his life. Never did he remember a typhoon of this magnitude. Rain fell in sheets so heavy it was impossible to see across the yard.

  Men were packed into the building, internees ordered to retreat to their dorms during the storm. They were stuffed into classrooms built to accommodate thirty students. Each room now held one hundred or more, all sleeping on cots or desks. He lounged on the mattress on his cot, then stared at the strange curly-haired man in the bed to his left. The bed where Henry had slept when they first arrived.

  Where was he now? Still in Fort Santiago? Dead? If he’d been there this long, there was no way he would have survived.

  He should never have gotten Henry involved in his harebrained scheme. The cost had been too high.

  The pain in his chest deepened.

  He flopped back on the bed and stared at the white sheet hung like a hammock above him. A place where he could store a few possessions. Some of the men snored, cashing in on their midafternoon siesta. Some huddled in groups playing cards, and some wandered in circles around the outer edge of the stuffy classroom.

  The wind howled, and Rand wondered how his hut was faring. Everything had survived his absence, but this gale was enough to rip off the roof and send a torrent of rainwater into the shanty, even though he’d ordered it built on stilts.

  A short, thin man with a bald spot in the middle of his head and a thick, dark mustache wound his way to Rand’s small
claim in this mass of males. He looked rather familiar, but Rand couldn’t place him. He sat on the empty bed to Rand’s right, a spot vacated by a man sent to the camp hospital a few days ago with enteritis.

  “How are you, Mr. Sterling?”

  Rand sat up. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you have the advantage on me.”

  “I apologize.” The man made a move to shake Rand’s hand. “Frank Covey.”

  “Ah yes, Mr. Covey.” Rand still didn’t recall the man with a scar across his cheek and a crooked nose, even as he shook his hand. “How have you been?”

  “Stuck in this hole, the same as you. Though I heard about your escape attempt. I’m unsure if it was brave or foolish. You paid a high price.”

  Rand couldn’t put his finger on it, but the man’s demeanor—something about the way he looked at Rand, gripped his hand a bit too hard—set him on edge. Frankly, Mr. Covey gave him the heebie-jeebies.

  “I visited your club, the Monarch, in the summer of ’41. You know, when things were still good here. I was very impressed.”

  At least Rand now knew the connection between himself and Mr. Covey. The man had been a patron of his club. Rand often circulated among his guests, making them as welcome as he could. It’s what he loved best about the job. “I’m glad you were satisfied with your visit.”

  “Very much so. Do you plan to reopen after the war?”

  “Reopen and expand. The Monarch and the Azure are just the beginning.”

  “Those are some pretty lofty goals.”

  “This place gives you plenty of time to dream.” And for him, with his father’s backing as well as Bruce’s and John’s, the sky was the limit.

  Mr. Covey leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Have you been dreaming about a gorgeous platinum blonde?”

  Rand got up and strolled to the other side of his cot, with the mattress between him and Mr. Covey. How did this man know so much about him? And the fact that he mentioned Irene … Rand shoved his good hand in his pocket. “There are quite a few of those here.”

  Mr. Covey also rose. “I think you know who I mean. Have a good day, Mr. Sterling. I hope we run into each other soon.”