by Liz Tolsma
“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
Ramon snarled. “I prefer to keep that secret. What matters is that you have done nothing to help my father.”
“I’m sorry. If I could do anything, you know I would.”
Ramon took three steps in Rand’s direction. In a flash, he tackled Rand, his arm around Rand’s throat, the knife sharp and cold against his windpipe. “Take me to your hut. I’ll make sure you help him.”
“I got caught that night and sent to Fort Santiago. By the time I was able to contact you, sure that my note wouldn’t be intercepted and put you in danger, they had closed the packet line.”
Rand had to walk bent backward because he was taller than Ramon, but he didn’t dare straighten, afraid of what the blade would do to his neck. “Listen, just tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you. I promise not to turn you in to the Japanese. For your father’s sake and because I know firsthand what Fort Santiago is like.”
“I don’t trust you anymore. This is how it will work. If you help me, you won’t get hurt. But if you try to turn me in, you’ll wish you were back in Fort Santiago.”
Fort Santiago will look like a picnic.
It couldn’t be.
It just couldn’t be.
Chapter Twenty
Rand’s shanty lay not far from the spot where he found Ramon. About halfway there, Ramon moved the knife from Rand’s throat to his kidneys. At least he could walk upright. If this had been any other miscreant, he would have taken the opportunity to escape from his grasp and turn the tables.
But he did want to help Ramon. Armando deserved that much.
They entered Rand’s hut, and he turned up the lamp. “Please put that knife away. There is no need for threats. I’m willing to help you, but only if you get rid of that weapon. Your father came to my family as a teenager, much the same age as you are now. He has been loyal to the Sterlings for many years. He killed a snake for me, fixed all my toys for me, acted as a buffer between my father and me when I was a kid. I owe him.”
“That’s right, you do.” Ramon’s words hissed between his teeth. “He gave so much to you. All you did was take and take. You took time from him, time that should have been mine. Love that should have been mine. He deserved better from you. From your family. And I’m going to make sure he gets it. That we both do.”
“Why resort to this?”
Ramon’s eyes darkened, his voice singsong. “Poor Rand. You have it so bad here.” He sneered. “You are not the only one in the world suffering, you know. My father is sick. There is no medicine, no food. We cannot afford anything for him. And what do you do? Sit in here and let the Red Cross feed you.”
Rand bit his tongue to keep back the caustic words he wanted to hurl at the young man, to tell him the way it really was. “Where were you the night I tried to escape?”
“The place was crawling with Japanese the night before. If you wanted to get over, fine, but I wasn’t going to get sent to Fort Santiago. Then where would my father be? I value his life.”
“And now? Why come now?”
“You never showed up, so I had to. Just like you to let us down.”
Rand thought he understood. The boy was young, frightened, and now, desperate. He moved to the kitchen area, Ramon not lowering his weapon. “What do you need?”
“Flour. Sugar. Meat.”
Rand procured those items from his stores.
Ramon glared. “More.”
“And what do you have to carry it with?”
Without putting the knife away, Ramon pulled out a canvas bag.
“How are you going to get it home? The Japanese aren’t going to let you waltz through the front gate.”
Ramon scrunched his thick brows together. “Do not worry about that. Just keep putting in there what I tell you to. More.”
Rand obeyed the order.
“Now clothes and shoes.”
“I don’t have much.”
Ramon chortled. “You have more than I do. They were in the Red Cross box.”
“How do you know about that?”
“Word gets out and around.” He waved his knife.
Ramon was not making this easy. Rand rummaged through the trunk in his sleeping area and came up with a pair of shorts and two shirts. He added the precious pair of shoes he’d received in the Red Cross package, even knowing that his size twelves would never fit any Filipino. At least he was finally able to help Armando.
Ramon lifted the sack, testing its heaviness, smiling at its weight.
Rand’s heart broke that Armando’s son had been reduced to stealing. “How is your father?”
“Hungry and sick, like the rest of us. You left, and he has no job, no money. Not that there is anything to buy.”
“Those Japanese. Doing this to innocent civilians.” Rand took a breath to steady himself. “Don’t let your father know you’ve been here. It would not make him happy to know his son is stealing. And don’t you dare come back. You are risking your life. It’s not worth it.”
“You owe us.”
Rand was well aware of that fact.
Ramon slipped away into the darkness of the night as mysteriously as he had arrived.
A few days later, as Rand made his way back to his hut from the chow line, he spotted Mr. Covey headed in his direction down Tiki-tiki Lane. And Mr. Covey spotted him. It was too late to turn around without being rude.
“Ah, Mr. Sterling, what a nice surprise running into you here.” Covey stopped so they could shake hands, then fell in beside Rand.
“Did you have business you needed to take care of?”
The mustached man shook his head in an eerily familiar way. “I was out for a stroll, so it’s no problem for me to go this direction. I was hoping to run into you, in fact. Let’s walk together for a while.”
In this moment, Rand wished his mother had not raised him to be such a gentleman. He would have made up an excuse and slipped from Covey’s slimy grasp. “What can I do for you?”
The street was quiet, many having retired to their shanties for siesta. Covey rubbed his crooked nose. “I need to talk with you.”
Rand didn’t want to play games with this little, slimy man.
Covey directed them to Father’s Garden, a peaceful spot behind the hospital. At this time of day, they had the place to themselves. “You are a man of mystery, Mr. Sterling.”
“I didn’t realize that.” Covey was a mystery Rand was desperate to solve.
“You have a public persona. Gallant ladies’ man. Gracious host. Shrewd Manila businessman. On top of the world. We all have the image we want to present to the public, don’t we? It’s who we want to be. We erase the negative and highlight the positive.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Rand shivered despite the tropical midday heat.
“Do you have much that you want to hide?”
“No. I have conducted my life with integrity.” Rand crossed and uncrossed his arms.
“But you don’t deny that you enjoy the company of lovely young ladies.”
“What is your point?”
Covey rocked back and forth on his feet. “You have been seen around the city squiring more than one debutante on your arm.”
“Is it a crime that I haven’t chosen one woman to be with?”
“You enjoyed the company of several coeds when you were at school in the States, didn’t you?”
Rand sat in one of the wrought iron chairs in the garden and gripped the armrest with his left hand. What did this man know? “Mr. Covey, please tell me what you are getting at.”
“Does the name Catherine McLeod mean anything to you?”
A vision of a beautiful brown-haired, brown-eyed woman sprang to his mind. She loved to laugh and had an amazing singing voice. In many ways, Irene reminded him of her. “What does Catherine have to do with anything? I haven’t seen her in more than six years. We lost contact soon after I returned to the Philippines.”
“Curious.”
Covey walked a circle around Rand, then stopped short in front of him. “Did you know that she has a six-year-old daughter?”
“Am I on trial?” Rand leaned forward, hearing his heartbeat in his ears.
“Yes. And you are guilty. You are this girl’s father.”
Rand ground his teeth. He and Catherine had made a mistake, but only once. This girl couldn’t be his daughter. Catherine must have married right after he left. It would explain why she answered none of his letters. “You have no evidence.”
Covey reached into his pocket and withdrew a photograph. Rand held it, scrunching his eyes to examine it. Hadn’t he seen this picture before? Then he realized. Except for the ringlets around the cherubic face, the child looked like him.
His heart froze in a chunk of ice. All of the fight drained from his body.
“I can see by your face that you agree with my assessment.”
“I will agree to nothing until I hear it from Catherine. And that won’t happen until after the war.”
“Funny thing about that.” Covey reached into his pocket once more and handed Rand the paper he pulled from it.
With clammy fingers, Rand unfolded the sheet. The handwriting swam in front of his eyes. He didn’t recognize it.
Dear Rand,
We made a mistake almost seven years ago. But to me, it was no mistake because it produced our daughter, Melanie. She is a beautiful child and the love of my life. I don’t know how Mr. Covey located me, but he wanted me to write this letter for you. When I found out I was in the family way, I moved to Virginia to live with my aunt and uncle as their widowed niece. We are happy and have made a life for ourselves. Please understand, I’m not asking for anything. I have a job as a nurse that I love. My aunt watches Melanie when she’s not in school. We have a good life that I don’t wish to be disturbed. Mr. Covey wanted me to let you know. He said you deserved it, and I suppose he’s right.
All the best to you,
Catherine
Rand took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. A daughter. He had a beautiful daughter. His insides churned. He didn’t know a thing about her. Was she like he was at that age?
And now that he knew the truth, he was stuck in this hole in the middle of the Pacific gone crazy.
Catherine didn’t ask for money or support. She said she didn’t want anything. But judging by the grin stretching across Mr. Covey’s face, he did.
Rand balled the page in his fist. “You are a lying, conniving snake in the grass.”
“You can’t call me a liar when you have the evidence of the truth in your hand. It arrived in the Red Cross package a few weeks ago.”
“Get out of my sight. Don’t you ever come near me again, or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
“Now, now, Mr. Sterling, don’t be hasty. You don’t want this information to be made public, do you? It might damage your reputation with the well-heeled women of this city. You want to rebuild your clubs after the war. Well, the ladies won’t be as willing to flirt with you knowing what might happen to them.”
He recalled his conversation more than two years ago with Peggy. And recently with Bruce. They agreed that Peter Williams’s dalliance would cost him his business. If the news got out about Catherine and Melanie, he’d never be able to get either of his clubs off the ground again. Bruce and John and even Father would withdraw their financial support. And Peggy would make sure none of her many friends would ever visit the club.
Then he would be nothing. A fate worse than Fort Santiago.
It wasn’t Ramon who sent that second message. It was Mr. Covey.
“You wouldn’t.” He begged the heavens to let this man be bluffing.
“I would. But you can keep your little secret. It will cost you.”
Rand felt like a boxer backed into a corner. “How much?”
“Not much, Mr. Sterling, not much. Nothing outright monetary. Just a stake in your business.”
“A stake in my business? No. Out of the question. You will never lay a hand on either the Monarch or the Azure. Do you hear me? Never.”
“I don’t like the word never. I have the power to ruin you right in my hands.”
Rand had found it. A way to duck out of the corner. He held up Catherine’s crumpled letter. “No, it’s in my hands.”
“Do you think I would be as careless as to not make a copy? The original is safely in my possession.”
“My business lays in shambles, Mr. Covey. The clubs have been shuttered for more than two years.”
“I have faith in you. If anyone can cause the phoenix to rise from the ashes, it’s you.”
What price would Covey demand if he never reopened the clubs? But that wasn’t an option. Without the clubs, he was empty.
“I can’t give you an answer right now. I need to think about this.”
“There isn’t much to ponder. If you value your business and your reputation, you will give me controlling interest in the Monarch and the Azure.”
Rand sprang to his feet, his face inches away from Covey’s. “Controlling interest? It’s gone from business partner to controlling interest already?”
“If I were you, I’d make my decision by the morning or the price will rise again. To heights you might not like.” Covey grinned a crooked grin.
Rand doubled over.
Long into the night, Rand lay under the mosquito netting on his bed in the hut. A daughter. That made him a father. One thing he wasn’t sure he wanted to be. The single life had been good to him. True, he was nearing thirty, but he liked having a different lady at his table each evening. He enjoyed being able to flirt with whichever girl he chose.
Catherine had been his one and only serious relationship. In a way, he supposed he loved her. She was sweet and innocent and the only girl he knew who wasn’t all about furs and cars and diamonds. She was about people and her horse and laughing with her friends.
Real. Like Irene. It was one of the things that first attracted him to her.
Did Catherine hate him? Resent him for what he did to her?
And what about the girl? Did she know anything about him? What had Catherine told her about her father?
There was that word again. Father.
A role he felt completely inadequate to fulfill. He had missed her first smile, her first steps, her first words. Things that couldn’t be replaced.
What was he going to do?
He flipped over on his mattress.
His businesses were on the line. Everything he had worked for these past seven years, all he had ever dreamed of. When he was young, his parents showed him pictures of themselves at these clubs, having a great time. He wanted to be in the middle of the action. Important, like them. Even at ten years old, he knew he wanted to own and run clubs like those.
All at stake now. Because of one small mistake, everything he ever wanted was at risk.
About three o’clock in the morning, he gave up on sleeping. He rose and sat on the porch, staring at the stars and the moon hanging in the sky.
He needed to decide in the next five or six hours what was most important in his life—his Philippine dream or his daughter in Virginia. Or Irene.
What would Irene think?
No, she could never find out.
He buried his head in his hands. A missionary would never forgive him for his indiscretion. She would shun him, and he would never see her again. The thought made him sick, then made him sit back in his chair.
His feelings for Irene were similar to those he’d had for Catherine. Maybe even stronger because when he didn’t hear from her after his return to the Philippines, he didn’t mourn the loss of that relationship for too long.
How long would he mourn Irene? A day? A week? A month?
The difference was that he and Catherine were an ocean apart. He and Irene lived on the same university campus. He wouldn’t be able to get away from her. She would haunt him.
And every time she passed his way or he caught her eye at rol
l call, his knees would go weak.
What should he do? Was there a right or wrong answer in this mess?
He had never been a praying man. Armando had tried to take him to mass a few times, but Mother and Father had forbidden it. Right now, though, he wished he could offer up a few words on his own behalf.
It couldn’t make matters worse, that’s for sure.
He knelt beside his chair as Armando had always knelt when he prayed. “God, please help me. I don’t know what to do. I need to figure out a way to save my business. Show me the right thing. Amen.”
He sat back on his haunches and waited for an idea to strike. For something, anything, to happen.
Nothing did. The heavens remained silent. No lightning bolt lit the sky. No meteor fell to earth. No choir angels sang.
Rand rose from his knees and paced the small porch, mussing his hair and rubbing his eyes.
If God wasn’t going to answer him, he had to come up with the solution to the dilemma himself. Before, solving crises had never been a problem. If the clubs encountered any difficulties with suppliers or staff or customers, he knew how to handle them. A calm demeanor, a firm tone of voice, a confident carriage. Most often it got him what he wanted.
Then again, he’d never been at quite such a disadvantage. In the past, he never would have lost the upper hand. That was key.
Covey had him over a barrel, for sure.
Thoroughly exhausted and thoroughly defeated, Rand made his way back to bed. If he wanted to keep control of his clubs, if he wanted to woo Irene, he knew what he had to do.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mercedes shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she stood in the hot kitchen, her paring knife grasped in her hands. The pile of camotes waiting to be peeled beckoned to her as her stomach rumbled and growled. Every part of her wanted to slip one in her apron pocket and take it to Paulo. Every part but her conscience. Was it wrong to steal food if you were starving to death?
Even with Mr. Tanaka’s help and Charles’s forethought, they were hungry. She worried most about Paulo. A growing boy like him needed proper nutrition to become a healthy man. She remembered her father, struggling with a large family to feed and no funds with which to do so. He had wasted away before their eyes.