by Liz Tolsma
Rand froze. “What? Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “Mercedes came from her shanty and ran him off. Told him never to come back.”
He clenched his fist. “You sure he didn’t harm you?”
“No. I’m so thankful she came out when she did. Otherwise …”
“That’s good. She’ll see now what kind of man he is. That she shouldn’t have anything to do with him. And maybe he’ll leave you alone.” Rand would make sure of that.
“But the harm has been done. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive her for choosing that Japanese guard over me.”
He squeezed her hand. “I’m just glad you aren’t injured. That beast …” He tamped down the fury building in his chest. Because the guard may not have hurt her, but he was about to.
If he could just put it off. But no, he had to take away Covey’s ammunition. Or part of it, at least.
They came to his hut, and he wished they could go inside and have some privacy. He didn’t want the world to see her tears. Maybe she would slap him. “Is it okay with you if we stop here and talk awhile?”
She bit her lip and held up her hand. “You don’t have to say anything. There is no need for regrets about last night. It is a memory I will carry with me for the rest of my life. I understand that I’m not the type of girl for you and—”
He placed his finger on her lips and hushed her. “Stop it. Nothing could be further from the truth. That kiss was amazing. And so are you. Irene, I love you and you …”
He should have let her go, thinking he didn’t want anything to do with her.
“There is something else. I want to tell you what information Covey has about me.” He wrung his hands and took a deep breath to steady himself. Just say it. Just spit out the words. “He is blackmailing me.”
She touched his bare arm, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. “You don’t have to tell me. Whatever it is, you work it out with him. I should never have gone to him behind your back. That was wrong.”
“I have a daughter.”
Her eyes widened. “You never told me you were married before.”
He had to force the words past his lips. “I wasn’t.”
“Oh.” She stood there, her mouth round, not saying a word.
His heart pounded. “Somehow Covey found out about her. She’s six years old. Her mother and I were college sweethearts.”
“No wonder you’re so good with Sheila.”
“I’ve never met her. I didn’t know Catherine was expecting when I graduated and returned to Manila. She moved to Virginia. I only found out a couple of weeks ago myself.”
“Oh.” Much of the color fled her face, and he was afraid she would faint. He led her to the step to sit.
“I know what I did was wrong. I am sorry for it. Can you ever forgive me?” He held his breath.
“This is … this is so much to take in at one time.”
He knelt beside her, grateful that no one else walked along the wall this time of day. It was too hot to be out. “Let Covey have my clubs. I can start again.” His heart wrenched as if it were being plucked from his chest. “There will be nothing left of them by the end of the war, so I would have had to rebuild either way. What I care about is you.”
Could he rebuild his clubs with his tarnished reputation and without financial backing?
Irene smoothed her skirt over her knees. “I understand. It’s right that you should see your daughter and marry her mother. You need to make a family with them.”
“I don’t want to marry Catherine. I want to marry you.”
Now Irene stood, tears coursing down her face, making tracks through the dirt. “I can’t marry you, Rand. It would never work between us. I had hoped to have a wonderful friendship with you here, but I let myself feel too much for you. I should never have let it go that far. I’m sorry, Rand, I truly am.”
And she ran off down the drainage ditch until she reached the end of the road.
He watched as she disappeared from sight.
“Thirty percent is all you will get.” Rand stood face-to-face with Covey across his kitchen table and had to restrain himself from spitting in the man’s eye.
“So she left you.”
“I chose the truth over lies. If I wanted to have a relationship with Irene, it needed to be built on honesty. She had to know about Melanie. And now she does. She has chosen to end our relationship, but that doesn’t affect our business. I refuse to hand over controlling interest in my clubs to you.”
Covey ground his teeth. Rand had the satisfaction of knowing that he had bested his rival, at least for now.
Bright colors exploded in front of Rand’s eye as Covey’s fist met his temple. The room spun. He grabbed for the kitchen chair, which toppled over. He stumbled against the wall.
Covey came at him again. He blocked Covey’s blows and pushed the man against the counter. Rand socked him in the stomach and chopped him on the neck. Covey slumped to the floor and Rand stood over him.
“Don’t ever come near me again. Next time I might not be able to control myself. The threats are over. Over. Tell whomever you want about my daughter. I’ll shout it from the rooftops. You will get none of my business. I would rather close the doors to the Monarch and the Azure and never own another club than have your dirty hands in the till. Get out of my sight.”
Rand stepped back so Covey could get up. He followed the man out the door and down the street.
For the longest time after he returned to the hut, Rand sat on the porch, the picture of Melanie in his hand, watching couples walking and talking together.
He had lost everything.
His clubs. His position. His standing.
Absolutely everything.
Chapter Twenty-Six
August 21, 1944
Irene opened her eyes as soon as light began slanting through the mats that made up her hut. She had slept here last night after seeing Mercedes and Paulo heading for the Annex, perhaps because of the driving rainstorm.
A splitting headache greeted her as it had every morning for a few weeks. As she sat up, she noticed that her hands and feet and abdomen were swollen and her lips were thick. Signs of beriberi. Almost everyone in the camp had early symptoms of it. Subsisting on rice and gravy with a fourth of a can of meat once a week would do that to a body. Gas had been cut and, as a result, there was no more noonday cooking at the shanties unless you could find wood to burn for fuel.
For her, once she moved around for an hour or so, the swelling and headache went away. For the elderly, they suffered day and night. The death rate in camp climbed steadily each month.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her stomach cramping so much that she doubled over in pain. The wave passed, but Irene hurried as fast as she could to what the internees called “The Little House on the Hill.” Even at this early hour, a queue of women waited for the restroom. Not in all the time they had been in camp had there been adequate sanitary facilities.
But for Irene today, it took on more urgency. She had contracted bacillary dysentery. She clung to her little can of water and her rag, her only means of cleaning herself once she finished. The new commandant announced that there was not a square of toilet paper left in the entire Philippine Islands. The camp had been making do with four squares per person per week for some time. This, though, was a bitter pill for the internees to swallow.
Tessa met her in line, her usually fair face unusually pale.
“You too?”
Tessa nodded. “Who in the camp doesn’t have it? We’ll all be laid out by the time the Americans arrive. What is taking your boys so long, love?”
“They dropped a few bombs on Davao at the beginning of the month, or so the rumor goes.”
“A few bombs. Pfff. What good will that do? We need steak and kidney pie.”
“Oh, Tessa, that image is not helping my stomach.”
They inched forward. Irene’s cramps intensified. A dark-haired w
oman in front of them in a faded pink dress swayed. Irene reached out to steady her. She almost dropped the woman when she saw her face. “Mercedes. What’s wrong? Are you ill?” A ridiculous question, really. They all were sick.
The woman fainted, slumping in Irene’s arms. She lowered Mercedes to the ground. Tessa leaned over and fanned the Filipina with her hand.
“Come on. Paulo needs you. Don’t leave him alone.” The dampness of her hands had nothing to do with illness. Mercedes’s face was as pale as Irene had ever seen it. Her own legs began to quiver.
Not getting a response, Irene did the only thing she could think to do. She reached for her can of water and doused Mercedes with it. She spluttered and revived, then sat back when she realized who had aided her. “Irene.”
“Do you feel better?”
Mercedes nodded, biting the inside of her cheek.
“You have to make sure you’re eating enough. I know times are tight because you’ve severed ties with that Japanese guard, but giving all of your food to Paulo won’t help him if you leave him an orphan.”
Mercedes nodded. “It’s not that.” She lifted the now-empty can of water.
“Like all of us.”
Tessa helped Mercedes to stand. “You have to get to hospital.”
“No. I have to keep working in the kitchen to get the extra rations for Paulo. I would do anything for him.”
It appeared she would. Like Anita did for her. It’s what a mother did for her child, she supposed. In a way, she admired Mercedes and the love she had for Paulo. Irene had never known that kind of love from the woman who gave birth to her. “You can go get treatment. Tessa and I will make sure Paulo is looked after until you’re stronger. Likely, they’ll give you sulfa and send you on your way. There isn’t enough room in the hospital to keep you there.”
“But—”
“Don’t let him suffer because you and I don’t see eye to eye. That’s not what you want.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
Irene bristled at the word.
Mercedes studied her broken, dirty fingernails. “I’m sorry about everything.”
“I’m helping Paulo. That’s all.” Irene didn’t mean to be short or want to be ill-tempered, but she couldn’t forgive Mercedes now. Maybe not ever.
“Do you think you can stand now, love?” Tessa cupped Mercedes under the elbow.
Mercedes rose to her feet. “Thank you both.”
“I’ll take her to hospital and see you later, Irene. Perhaps they can give me some medication while I’m there.” Tessa led Mercedes out of the building.
Irene gasped at the next round of cramps and tightened the muscles of her buttocks so she would make it to the toilet. There was no use asking to move ahead in the line. All of the women were in the same condition.
She made it, just barely, and just in time to line up for roll call in her shanty area. The Japanese had now forbidden all chairs during roll call. Only the weakest could sit on the ground. The rest had to stand in double rows, hands behind backs, eyes straight ahead, facing the Rising Sun in the east. The guards now required everyone to bow every time they passed. The bow had to meet regulations, be a certain angle, otherwise the internee would be slapped, much like she and Anita had been.
Irene no longer gave it a second thought. She bowed, never looking any of her captors in the eye. It was easier that way.
After that twice-daily torture, she stood in line for a very long time for a bit of gruel called lugao. It was a tasteless mixture of rice and ground corn and did nothing to ease the constant hunger pains.
The food did give her enough energy to take the short walk to Santa Catalina to see Anita. Perhaps she and Tessa could walk to the kitchen together afterward.
Anita’s beriberi symptoms were much more severe than Irene’s. She was often confused and ate very little. Nothing, it seemed, stayed in her stomach.
Irene sat on a chair beside her aunt and held her hand. “Good morning. How are you doing today?”
“Who are you? Why are you here? I want my mother.” Anita’s voice was thin and hollow.
“I’m Irene, your niece. Anita, do you know me?”
“Why can’t I see you?” Anita thrashed. “Turn on the lights. I’m scared of the dark.”
Irene rubbed her aunt’s arm in an attempt to calm her. “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here with you. There is nothing in the dark that will hurt you.” Her own heart, however, raced. Anita had never been this confused before. Her memory lapses had lasted only a few minutes and had never resulted in such agitation.
When she was little and frightened, after Father had run off, Anita had sung one particular hymn. Though she didn’t have an opera-worthy voice, Irene began to sing in hopes of stilling her aunt.
“Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home.”
Anita lay more still, her mouth open.
“Under the shadow of Thy throne
Thy saints have dwelt secure;
Sufficient is Thine arm alone,
And our defense is sure.
“Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day.”
Irene’s voice broke. Was that what God was doing with Anita? Was He bearing her away to her eternal home? No, Lord, no. Not now. I need her.
“Keep singing.”
Irene finished the hymn.
“Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Be Thou our guard while troubles last,
And our eternal home.”
“I like that song. Where did you learn it?”
“You taught it to me, Anita, when I first came to live with you. The trees in the jungle made scary shadows on the wall in my room at night, and you would sing it so I would go to sleep.”
“That’s nice. You’ll have to teach it to me.”
“Don’t you remember lying in bed with me, singing that hymn?”
“That’s a good idea.” Anita scooted over and patted the mattress beside her. “Snuggle next to me and sing the song again.”
This was not how it went. Anita came into bed with her and sang to her, not the other way around. Even though her throat threatened to swell shut, Irene climbed in bed beside her aunt and sang the hymn once more.
Anita joined in on the last verse. “‘Our eternal home.’ My eternal home. Do you know what heaven will be like?”
“What?” Irene smoothed back what little hair Anita had left.
“The streets are made of pure gold and the gates of the city from precious pearls. There will be a river as clear as crystal. There will be no more tears, no more pain, no more dying. And the best part? The best part is that we will be with the Lord forever.”
Anita made it sound so real, like she could see it and touch it.
“Won’t it be wonderful to go there? I can hardly wait.” Anita’s face shone.
“Yes, it will be beyond our imagining.”
“Will you go with me?”
“I can’t. But Jesus will be there waiting for you.”
“I see heaven opened.” Anita closed her eyes and her face relaxed.
Irene sat up. “Anita. Anita.” She shook her aunt. No response. “Nurse, nurse, come quickly.”
The nurse rushed over.
Irene couldn’t breathe.
After feeling Anita’s pulse and listening to her heart, the nurse shook her head. “She’s in a coma. It won’t be long now.”
Irene jumped from the bed. “No. No. No.” God, don’t do this to me. She had to get out of this place, away from this. Then maybe it wouldn’t happen. Maybe it was a bad dream.
She sprinted through the hall, her bakyas clicking on the tile, down the stairs, and out the door. All around her, people went about their business as if this were just
another day. Not the day her aunt would die and leave her alone.
Ack-ack-ack-ack. The racket startled her, and she jumped higher than she ever had in her life. The internees milling around her stopped. “What was that?”
From somewhere in the crowd a voice answered, “The Japanese are practicing their antiaircraft fire. Our planes will soon be here!”
A roar of approval rose up.
Ack-ack-ack-ack.
Irene hated the noise. She covered her ears but could still hear it. It grated on every nerve she had left.
Ack-ack-ack-ack.
She fled to her shanty where she began tearing out the white lilies growing in front of it, yanking them from the ground. One after another after another, she ripped them out by the roots and flung them to the side. Sweat poured down her face, hair tangled in her eyes. Her bare arms were wet.
“Stop. Irene, no.” A man called to her, but she ignored him. Kept on pulling. Another plant out.
Then arms stronger than hers lifted her and pulled her away from the next stalk. “What are you doing?”
She recognized the voice. “Let go of me. Leave me alone.” She tried to kick Rand’s shins but didn’t have the strength.
He lifted her from the garden and sat her on the ground, then dropped to his knees beside her. “Why are you pulling out your flowers?”
Ack-ack-ack-ack.
Irene screamed, “Make it stop. Make it stop.”
Ack-ack-ack-ack.
“Shh, shh.” Rand wrapped her in his arms and held her while she trembled. “That’s a good sound. Our planes are coming. We’ll be going home soon.”
“Make it stop.”
“I can’t. I don’t want to.”
“I want you to.”
He released her, wiping her hair from her face. “Sweetheart, what is going on?”
“I’m not your sweetheart. I can’t be, and I never will be.”
“What has you so upset?”
She didn’t want to say the words. If she didn’t say them, they wouldn’t be true. Once they passed her lips, there would be no taking them back. They would be reality.
“I can’t tell you.”
“You can tell me anything. You know that. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
“If I say it, it will happen.”