by Liz Tolsma
She wanted so much better for her son. Would fight for that for him.
She ran the knife over the orange-colored peel, careful to leave as much flesh as possible. The internees needed every calorie, every bit of food they could manage.
Irene worked beside her, her lips drawn into a thin line, puffy dark bags under her eyes. She tipped her head to the left and then to the right and gripped her paring knife so her knuckles were white.
The pile of peeled camotes grew until they were both down to their last few. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Irene dropped the knife and bent to retrieve it. “I warned you.”
“He’s been kind to me and Paulo. He helps us. Helps my son.”
“That doesn’t make a difference. He was kind to me too. To get what he wanted.”
Mercedes sighed and let her hands fall still. “If he wanted to hurt me, he’s had plenty of opportunities. I don’t believe it’s the same man.” But she thought of his advances, the way he kissed her.
What would be the price for his kindness?
“I will never forget him. He is missing a fingertip on his right hand.”
Mercedes leaned against the sink, then straightened. “Many men are missing fingertips. That doesn’t make Mr. Tanaka unique.” She wasn’t sure she believed her own words.
“Why won’t you listen to me?” Irene stabbed her knife into the heart of the camote in her hand, her fair face reddening.
“Look at me. I am a woman alone here. I have my son to think of, to feed and care for. With Charles gone, I need all of the help I can get. Befriending a Japanese guard ensures our survival. At the least, aids in it greatly.” She began working once more.
“Don’t be so sure. Rand is right. The game you play is more dangerous than Russian roulette.” Irene wagged a long finger at her.
“If I play it right, I win.” Mercedes tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She had to win.
“He will hurt you, sooner or later. Spare yourself that trouble. Rely on God.”
“The heavens are silent now.” God felt very far away, like He had brought them to this camp and forgotten about them.
“Do you know what Anita would say to that? ‘The Lord will open the heavens.’ ”
“I can’t wait around for Him to do so. In the meantime, my son and I will die. Don’t condemn me.”
“He’s a monster. There are other ways to survive. Many other ways.”
“I do not have a wealthy patron like you.” Mercedes’s voice rose. Another peeled camote hit the pile.
Irene sucked in her breath. The barb hit its mark. “Money doesn’t make a difference anymore.”
“Exactly my point.”
“If you were my friend, you would understand what he did to me and stay far away from him. I can’t be around you if he’s lurking behind your hut. And next to mine. How will I ever sleep?”
“I’m sorry, Irene. I truly am.” And she was. She hated to lose Irene’s friendship. She, Irene, Anita, and Charles had spent many pleasant evenings talking and laughing. Most of the other women in the camp shunned her because of her relationship with the Japanese soldier. She had thought Irene, a Christian, to be different.
But could there be a chance Irene was right? How far should she trust Mr. Tanaka?
Irene rubbed the back of her neck after Mercedes stormed from the kitchen. From now on, she would have to sleep in the relative safety of the Main Building. How could she even go to the shanty alone? Her attacker might show up anytime.
How could Mercedes do this to her? Did she crave the attention so much she would risk her reputation and perhaps her life? Or did she sympathize with the Japanese?
By rote, she whittled away the remainder of the camote peels and slipped off her gingham-print ruffled apron. On her way out the door, she filled the pot from home with vegetable peels to supplement her meager diet.
The sun shone with a brilliance that belied the grim reality of Santo Tomas. She didn’t need to tend to her garden plot right away, so she took a detour to Father’s Garden. After her conversation with 0ees were turning over as much land as they could to grow food for themselves, but Father’s Garden remained untouched.
For now.
By the time Irene walked the short distance past the washing troughs, she was tired. The lack of food along with the physical labor took its toll. Even the young, like herself, didn’t have the stamina they did before the new food restrictions.
She turned the corner of the Annex and saw two men huddled together at the far end of the garden. One’s wavy, light-brown hair struck a familiar chord. He stood a full head taller than the other man. He was thinner these days, but so were they all.
Rand.
What was he doing here? And who was that man?
They were so deep in conversation they didn’t notice her. She didn’t hear their words, but she detected agitation in Rand’s voice. The shorter man turned away. Rand scurried to cut him off. He shook his finger in the man’s face. The man returned the gesture. Rand nodded and bowed his head, his hands limp at his side.
The man left.
Irene gave Rand a moment before making her way to him. “Rand.”
He lifted his head, sadness brimming in his eyes. “Have you been here long?”
“I only just arrived. I’m taking the long route home from the kitchen.” She held up her pail. “Who was that man?”
“Mr. Frank Covey.”
“The man who broke into your shanty?”
“That’s the one.”
“You were agitated. What was he saying to you?”
Rand scrubbed his long, thin face. She loved the cleft in his chin. “It’s complicated, Irene. A delicate situation that I don’t want to explain.”
“I’m not smart enough to understand, you mean.”
“You are much smarter than any of my usual circle of women.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“If you want it to be. But this story has more twists and turns than a mountain road.”
Why was he so evasive? “Who is this Frank Covey?”
A crease marred his forehead. “I believe he’s the man who has been threatening me.”
Irene grabbed his upper arm to steady herself. “Why?”
“Why do I believe it?”
Irene nodded, unable to force any more words through her tight throat.
“Just some of the things he’s said to me. He’s a slippery fish, that’s for sure.”
A thought raced across her mind, and she relaxed a bit. “But that note came from the outside.”
Rand bit the inside of his cheek. “True. But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have had a friend on the outside write and deliver it.”
“What reason would he have to do that to you?”
Rand twisted his hands and directed his gaze downward. “I don’t know.”
She thought he did. “Maybe you’re jumping to conclusions.”
He shrugged. No, he did know why Mr. Covey threatened him. He knew but refused to share with her.
Much more was going on than he was saying. They both had secrets.
Goose bumps broke out on her arms.
Chapter Twenty-Two
April 1944
Irene stood in the chow line, waiting for the meager meal of rice and beans, tapping her tin plate against her thigh. The intense late-afternoon sun beat down on her, and rivulets of sweat tracked down her face.
She dreamed of a cool stream, the water trickling in from the mountains, the brooks converging into a river that then plunged in a deafening spray to a placid lake. She imagined herself in her green-and-black swimming suit, the chilly water washing over her hot body, cooling, soothing, relaxing.
Tessa Wainwright, a friend from the Main Building whom she’d been working next to in the kitchen lately, nudged her. “Where were you off to, love?”
“To this beautiful waterfall near where Anita and I ministered. If you come back here after the war, I’ll take
you there. It’s the most beautiful place God ever created.”
“What I want right now is shepherd’s pie.” Tessa tucked a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. “The ground lamb in a dark, rich gravy, the corn golden and sweet, the mashed potatoes creamy and browned and crisp on the top. Just imagine digging your fork into that, the crust crunching, the potatoes melting on your tongue.”
Irene laughed. “Stop it. You’re making my mouth water.”
“When I eat my dinner, that’s what I’m going to imagine. I can taste it already. Now if only this line would move along. What about you? What’s for dinner tonight?”
“Christmas ham, salty and sweet at the same time, and green beans browned in butter and sautéed with almonds.” Irene had to swallow the saliva gathering on her tongue. “And cherry Jell-O with a dollop of real whipped cream on the top.”
“Good afternoon. Miss Reynolds, I believe?”
Irene spun around to find that a short, thin man with a dark mustache and a scar across his cheek had appeared at her side. She hadn’t seen him before. Or had she?
“Hey, mister, you’re cutting in line.” The pimply faced teenage boy behind Irene and Tessa objected to the man’s presence.
He nodded to the girls. “I’m with them, if that’s agreeable to you.”
Tessa didn’t give Irene a chance to open her mouth. “Sure, it would be swell to have you join us, love. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. I’m Tessa Wainwright, from England via Hong Kong, and you were correct. This is my friend Irene Reynolds. Have you two met before?”
They had, Irene was sure of it, but she couldn’t place him. The look in his blue eyes, though, gave her the willies.
“A friend pointed you out and told me your name. It is a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance.”
“Which friend was that?” The second the words came out of her mouth, Irene’s stomach took a dive over that waterfall. This was the man with Rand in Father’s Garden. The man Rand thought was threatening him.
“Rand Sterling. A business associate of mine. And I’m Frank Covey.”
“Rand told me about you.”
“Did he now?”
Irene clutched her plate so tightly she was afraid she might bend it. “Yes. He said you have a complicated relationship.”
Mr. Covey’s mustache twitched underneath his crooked nose. “You might say that. In fact, that is a good way to describe it. But I like Mr. Sterling and admire his business acumen.”
Irene wished Mr. Covey would go away.
“Irene is sweet on Rand.”
Irene stepped on Tessa’s foot. “That is not true. We are friendly acquaintances, nothing more. He was at Hospicio de Santiago at the same time as my aunt. He has been good to me and Anita, and we appreciate his kindness.”
“He is a generous man. One of his many fine qualities.”
“It is curious to me that, though you were business acquaintances on the outside, Rand didn’t mention you to me until a short time ago.” She crossed her arms against her chest, her metal plate against her middle.
Mr. Covey rubbed the bald spot at the top of his head. “If you aren’t that close to Mr. Sterling, why would he? Has he mentioned to you everyone he knows?”
The man had a point, but Irene’s skin itched. “This heat has gotten to me. I’m not feeling all that well. I believe I’ll visit my aunt for a while. I’ll see you later, Tessa. Good day, Mr. Covey.”
Before either of them could stop her, she hustled away.
But Mr. Covey’s laugh as she left sent a shiver up and down her spine.
Irene kept her head down as she hurried across the campus toward Santa Catalina. She hated to leave Tessa in the lurch with Mr. Covey, but she couldn’t stand to be in his presence one minute longer. She would give Tessa her last can of chili as a thank-you gift to make up for her abrupt departure.
She needed to speak with Anita. Perhaps a little perspective would help her sort out the situation and help her decide if she should speak to Rand about Mr. Covey. If they were involved in a shady deal, Irene would be better off staying far away from Mr. Sterling.
Besides, if he ever found out who she was, he would want nothing to do with her.
Having walked this path a hundred times before, she didn’t watch where she was going and slammed into something solid.
Not something. Someone. Someone with blue knee-length shorts and hairy legs. Her gaze traveled upward. Someone with a sunken stomach and light-brown hair on his chest.
She gasped when she saw his face. “Rand.” Heat rose in her cheeks—and not from the afternoon sun.
“Irene. What a pleasure running into you here.” A smile graced his entire face, like he meant what he said.
“I am so sorry. I-you-you usually wear a shirt.” Why on earth had she blurted that out?
“I wanted to get a tan.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Actually, I’m saving it for a special occasion. Like escorting you to the camp’s dance on Saturday night. A special treat from the Japanese. Magnanimous of them. That is, if you would be comfortable in my arms.”
If possible, her face grew warmer. Her hands sweated, but Rand’s embrace would be nothing like that of the Japanese soldier’s. He would be gentle and careful. She realized she wanted him to hold her and to protect her. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
“Good.” He stood with one hand on his hip. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“To visit my aunt.”
His mouth danced as he tried to hold back a smile. “With your plate?”
“I had a strange encounter in the chow line. Your Mr. Covey cut in and invited himself to dinner with Tessa and me. Isn’t that the man I saw you so deep in conversation with that day?”
“Ah yes, Mr. Covey.”
“He said you told him about me.”
“I never did.” Rand’s eyes were large. “I never told him your name or who you are.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing. Just stay away from him.”
“I did. I left right away because he made me uncomfortable. You still believe he is the man threatening you?”
“Not believe it. Know it.”
“He admitted it to you?” Squeezing milk from a bean was easier than getting information from this man.
Rand grabbed her forearms with a tight grip. Her heart beat faster than an Olympian running a race. He released her. “I’m sorry.” He stroked her blazing cheek. “But listen to me. Please drop the subject. Let’s never speak of Mr. Covey again. Just tell me if he is anywhere near you or if you see him doing anything unusual or suspicious.”
“Rand, you’re frightening me.” A vise gripped her midsection. “What is he holding over your head?”
“I told you not to ask. I will not answer. Ever. Don’t badger me or pester me because I won’t tell you.”
She wanted to stomp her foot. Never had God made a creature as stubborn as the man in front of her. Instead, she clenched and unclenched her fist and shook her head.
He had the gall to laugh.
“What is so funny?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“You. I think I finally got the best of you.”
She decided to let him think that. True, he had said not to ask him what Mr. Covey was holding over his head. But he never said she couldn’t ask Mr. Covey himself.
Over the next few days, Irene made a point of being in the dinner chow line at the same time every day. As she waited today, she stood on her tiptoes, searching for a bald head in a sea of bald-headed men.
Tessa tugged on her arm. “What are you doing? Are you looking for someone?”
“Yes, Mr. Covey. If you see him, please let me know.”
Tessa felt Irene’s forehead. “Are you sick? The other day you couldn’t get away from him fast enough, and today you are searching him out. What is going on, love?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I just want to speak t
o him.”
Tessa squealed, and her green eyes shimmered. “You like him.”
“I do not.” Irene shook her head so hard she thought it might fly right off of her shoulders. “He’s old enough to be my father.” She grimaced.
“Admit it. Your face changes when you talk about him.”
“Not in a good way, I imagine. I need information from him, information Rand won’t give me. I’ve decided to go directly to the source.”
“Getting the goods on Rand. Bangers and mash, it’s him you like.”
“Stop it, Tessa. Not all of life is about catching a man. Women can make their own way. Look at Anita.” Or her own mother. No, she was a bad example.
“And look at all the women in this camp with men to take care of them and to see to their needs. Wouldn’t that be swell?”
What would be swell would be having her father here, taking care of her. Like he should be. She couldn’t erase the image of that little girl in her daddy’s arms. “Look, I think I see him. Over there. Keep my place in line.” Irene made her way toward the little man striding in their direction, his chin high. “Mr. Covey.”
Confusion suffused his face for a moment before recognition dawned along with a crooked grin. “Miss Reynolds, what a pleasure to see you so soon again. I trust you are well?”
“I am, thank you. Tessa—Miss Wainwright—and I were wondering if you would like to join us today. I want to apologize for leaving the way I did earlier in the week.”
“I would love to dine with you, but you don’t need to make the overture as an apology. You couldn’t help it if you weren’t feeling well.” He walked with her in Tessa’s direction.
“Just a touch of enteritis.”
“Well, we all have that, don’t we?”
“I mentioned to Rand that I saw you on Monday.”
“Ah.”
“He doesn’t recall telling you about me.”
Mr. Covey waved his hand, dismissing her words. “We don’t remember everything we say, do we? He must have forgotten that part of the conversation. We were discussing other serious matters.”
She decided to play a bit coy and see if that would get him to open up. Tessa did it with great success. “Serious? How serious?”