Remember the Lilies

by Liz Tolsma

  “Who said I was sneaking? I was out for a walk in the cool of the evening.”

  “You don’t even live in Glamourville.”

  “That”—Covey spit in Rand’s face—“is the arrogance I despise about you.”

  Rand wiped his cheek on Covey’s T-shirt. “Not arrogance. A fact.” Rand grew tired of Covey’s verbal dance moves. “Why are you here?”

  “What are you and your little band plotting?”

  “We are enjoying a friendly round of poker. Would you care to join us?”

  “Would you be willing to put more of your business at stake?”

  Rand’s fists itched to lay into Covey’s cheek, to break his nose further. “Would you be willing to wager your share?”

  Covey’s mustache twitched, his scar glowed in the dark. “I don’t play poker.”

  Rand grinned. “I didn’t think so.” He leaned closer to Covey. “The next time I catch you anywhere in the vicinity of my hut, I will not exercise such restraint.” He stood straight. “Now get out of here.”

  “I’d be careful about making threats if I was you, Mr. Sterling. What would your business associates think about your little escapade?”

  Frank Covey slithered into the night. After taking a moment to still his shaking hands, Rand made his way back to his hut. “What did I miss?”

  John shook a finger at him. “I told you someone was out there. We heard your voice.”

  “Just a couple out for a stroll. We chatted about the weather for a few minutes before they continued on their way.” Rand turned his attention to taking his seat so he didn’t have to meet any of his friends’ eyes. “Are we decided on next week, then?”

  Bruce nodded. “Let’s not blow this. It may be the only way to save the camp.”

  John traced the rim of his highball glass. “I wish there was another way.”

  Rand tented his fingers. “The Japanese have hamstrung our leadership. Our friend cannot continue doing what he was. Things will get worse before our boys arrive, mark my words. We must act.”

  “But it might be at the cost of our own lives.”

  Rand remembered the teenager shot by the Japanese.

  He shuddered.

  Though the deep of the night had fallen and the camp was still and quiet, Rand never felt more alive. He, Bruce, and John had gathered at a hole in the gymnasium wall. On the other side was their Filipino friend’s office. A clever disguise of furniture and curtains hid the hole where he fed through rice and mongo beans and tinned meat.

  They would take turns running the precious sacks to the kitchen.

  No moon shone tonight, and the guards, sure that no internees would escape to conditions that were just as bad on the outside, had become more lax with their patrols. Still, each one of Rand’s senses was heightened. He strained to hear approaching footsteps, adjusted his eyes to the lack of light due to the blackout, sniffed the air for the odor of hibachi.

  A whistle sounded on the other side of the wall and John answered with a whistle of his own. The exchange reminded Rand of Armando. He wondered how they were faring.

  He shook his head. He couldn’t be distracted tonight. One wrong move could jeopardize the operation. Not only would they suffer, but so would the entire camp.

  Their contact shoved the first bag of rice through the hole, and John ran off with it. About five minutes later, another bag came through, and Bruce took this one. John returned just as the next bag made its way through. Rand hefted it on his shoulder and started in the direction of the kitchen.

  He hadn’t gone very far when he had to stop and rest, setting the bag on the ground and sitting on it. They were living on very few calories. Meat, eggs, and milk disappeared from the camp long ago. He estimated that he had lost sixty or so pounds of the almost two hundred he started with. He picked up the bag and continued his journey. Jobs that had been effortless for him before now left him winded. Beriberi was rampant.

  The children, though thin, remained the healthiest. That wasn’t the Japanese’s doing. They would starve the little ones too. The internees’ executive committee made sure the children received the most calories. The one thing they had gotten right. But even they were hungry.

  After dropping off his precious cargo, he stood with his hands on his knees for a moment, trying to catch his breath and clear his dizziness.

  Once his vision returned—the vision he had in his left eye—he made his way back to the hole in the wall as fast as possible. Another bag of rice was waiting for him. He had to keep up a strong pace. Bags of rice piling up against the wall would only arouse Japanese suspicions.

  After a half-dozen trips, Rand was exhausted. Sweat poured down his forehead and into his eyes. His shirt was soaked and his muscles screamed in pain. One last bag. Their contact had given the signal that he had delivered all he could for the night.

  As soon as they were liberated, this man would be the first person Rand would go see. Even if they never got another grain of rice into the camp, this would be helpful. Lifesaving.

  Rand hefted this last bag of rice over his shoulder and slipped into the dark night. The air hung still and heavy. No crickets chirped. No cats screeched. No cars honked outside of the walls.

  Then a sudden noise broke the quiet.

  What was that?

  Who was that?

  He played statue, not daring to breathe.

  Footsteps.

  Rand squeezed his eyes shut.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Every muscle in Rand’s body tensed as he listened to the sound of footsteps growing closer. The weight of the rice sack on his shoulder threatened to collapse his weak knees. He held his breath, sure whoever would pop out of the shadows could hear him inhale and exhale. Terror iced his veins.

  The footsteps stopped.

  “I know you are here.” The unmistakable nasal accent of a Japanese soldier.

  Had Covey betrayed them?

  Rand had never been more thankful for a moonless night.

  He heard the guard slide his rifle from his shoulder.

  Sweat poured down Rand’s face and dripped into his eyes, stinging them. The world buzzed around him.

  A heavy footfall sounded on his left, then on his right. The crazy guard was lunging in the dark. Rand imagined the bayonet slicing into his stomach.

  He couldn’t stand here and wait for the soldier to find him at sword point.

  He had to run.

  But what about the rice? He couldn’t let it go. It meant life to too many people.

  Still clutching the precious bag of grain, Rand set off at a sprint. He heard nothing but the whooshing of blood in his ears, the pounding of his feet on the hard-packed road.

  The soldier shouted something in Japanese.

  Rand remembered the feel of the hammer on his fingers and pumped his legs harder. He recalled the bone-chilling wet of the Fort Santiago cell and drew in deeper breaths.

  The well-fed soldier gained on him. He grabbed Rand by one shoulder and pulled him to the ground. He landed on the bag of rice.

  Before the soldier could stab him, Rand grabbed the burlap sack, rolled from under his assailant, and swung with all his might.

  The thud of the bag against the man’s head was more satisfying than any brandy had ever been.

  September 21, 1944

  The Japanese guards roamed the columns of internees like hyenas searching for the next carcass. Irene squirmed under their gazes, the merciless sun increasing her discomfort. The roll call had lasted almost two hours already. Several of her fellow prisoners fainted. The world around her buzzed. She would be next, she knew.

  One of them barked out a speech, much like she imagined a drill sergeant would. “A Japanese guard. Pummeled with a sack of rice. Illegal grain someone had been hoarding. Left for dead on the street.”

  Irene shifted her weight from one aching foot to the other.

  The soldiers’ boots beat out a tempo echoed in her pounding head. “We will find the culprit.”


  The entire camp fell into silence. Only the bees hummed.

  “And bring him to justice.”

  Irene’s knees quivered. Fear? Malnutrition? She didn’t know.

  The soldiers walked the length of the columns and back again, hands gripping their rifles. Which one of them would receive a bullet to the head? Or a bayonet through the stomach?

  She saw spots in front of her eyes.

  “Dismissed.”

  To her great relief, the torture ended. They had endured these unending roll calls twice a day for three days now.

  “You look terrible, love. Let’s get you into the shade.” Tessa took Irene by the elbow and led her in the direction of the hut they now shared.

  “We need to eat. They can’t keep cutting back our rations this way.”

  “Tell your boys to hurry up, then. And the man who clobbered that soldier over the head to give himself up.”

  Irene stopped short. “No. No. We can’t hope for that. No one should be subjected to what the Japanese have in mind for him.” She thought of Rand’s hand and took a deep breath. “We’ll endure what we have to until the commandant feels we’ve all been punished enough.”

  “Whenever that may be.”

  They arrived at the shanty. Irene sat in a chair, a glass of water in her hand, feeling better already. “Go on. I know you have plans to meet Bruce on the patio. I don’t need a nanny.”

  The sparkle in Tessa’s green eyes lit the dim interior. “If you’re sure …”

  “I am. Thank you.”

  Her friend just about skipped from the hut. Irene heard her singing “Cheek to Cheek.” “Heaven, I’m in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak.”

  You’d think a two-hour ordeal in the sun would have dampened Tessa’s enthusiasm. Then again, Irene reasoned, that was impossible.

  Bruce may not care for her very much, but he had taken a liking to Tessa. And she to him.

  A visitor announced his arrival, and she went to answer the door. Rand checked on her every day, and she anticipated his visits. They were the only good left in her life. He never stayed long, but just long enough to lift her loneliness.

  She opened the door and found not Rand but Mr. Covey. She started to shake. According to Rand, he should no longer be a problem.

  “Good morning, Miss Reynolds.” He pushed his way inside without an invitation.

  “I’m sorry, but you aren’t welcome here. Please leave.” She didn’t have the strength to deal with him right now.

  “I wish to express my deepest sympathies for your loss. I was sorry to hear that your aunt passed away.”

  “How do you know so much about me?”

  “I know more than you think I do.”

  A slithery shiver worked its way up and down Irene’s spine. “I’m going to have to ask you once more to leave. Rand will be here soon, and he won’t be happy to see you. He told me about your last meeting.”

  “Rand is occupied with a business meeting in his shanty. He won’t be here for a while.”

  “Are you following us? Why go through all of this just to get Rand’s clubs?”

  He tented his fingers over his bent nose. “Can we please sit down? You’ll be interested in what I have to say.”

  “I have no interest in anything you say. No, I will not sit.” She crossed her arms.

  “I’m sure Mr. Sterling wouldn’t want the Japanese to know what business he is discussing with his associates just now.”

  “What are they talking about?”

  “That will be for Mr. Sterling to tell you. If he cares to.”

  He was baiting her. “What do you want?”

  “As you know, your father embezzled money from Mr. Sterling, then disappeared.”

  She straightened. “Where did you get that information?”

  “I have my sources, Miss Reynolds. And I have my ways of getting the information I want.”

  “No one would have told you that. No one but Anita knew.” She sucked in her breath and stood on her tiptoes to look him in his scar-marred face. “You took advantage of a dying woman. You are the rottenest man I’ve ever known.”

  “That is quite a compliment. But as you know, I don’t go fishing for information unless I intend to use it.”

  “You have nothing on Rand anymore. He would rather the news about his daughter get out than give you any portion of his clubs.”

  “And that is where you come in. I need you to convince him that word of his daughter would be detrimental to him. Unless you want me to tell him about your father and his relationship to Mr. Sterling’s business.”

  “And if I decide to tell Rand myself?”

  “The Japanese would also be interested in his recent activities.”

  Rand had been brave enough to tell her the truth. Yes, and look at what she did—she walked away from him. Right now she needed him. She knew they had no future together beyond these walls, but for the here and now, he was all she had. She couldn’t lose him too. If he walked out of her life—or was taken from her by the Japanese—she would be alone.

  She paced the tiny room for a minute, twirling her hair around her finger, then turned to Mr. Covey. “What is it you want me to do?”

  When Rand arrived at her shanty later that morning, Irene tried her best to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Come in.” She pasted on a smile she didn’t feel.

  He gave her a chaste peck on the cheek. “You sound better today.”

  “Do I?” Her voice was too high. She cleared her throat. “Do I?”

  “I would say you’re almost chipper.”

  “One day closer to liberation.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He didn’t believe her.

  Nor should he. “When our boys arrive, the first thing I’m going to do is find the biggest roast I can and make you a proper dinner. You come every day, and I never have anything to offer you, not even a cup of tea or coffee.”

  “You don’t need to do anything for me, Irene, and you know that. You’re more nervous than a squirrel whose nut stash has been discovered.”

  “I’m not.” She stilled her hands. “You had a meeting this morning?”

  He grinned, his face thinner than ever. “Irene, Irene, prettiest little spy I’ve ever seen.”

  “What was it about?”

  His smile faded. “It’s better that you not know.”

  “And the Japanese?”

  Now his face blanched. “What about them?” He grabbed her upper arms with a viselike grip.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing.” Now his voice sounded too bright. He frightened her.

  “Are you in collusion with the enemy?”

  He released her. “If I was, would they have sent me to Fort Santiago?”

  “Is that why you came back?”

  “No. Quite the opposite. That’s all you need to know.”

  She couldn’t decide if she should be relieved or worried. She wrung her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m out of sorts.”

  “This confinement has gotten to all of us.” He embraced her. She drew comfort from his strength, his closeness. He kissed the top of her head. “To help myself, I think more and more about what I’m going to do to rebuild my life when we walk out of here.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of what Mr. Covey will do when he is released? You need to put Melanie’s welfare ahead of your own.”

  He creased his forehead. “What do you mean?” He drew out each word.

  She made a circuit around the room. “We both know Mr. Covey to be an underhanded, sneaky type of man who will do whatever he has to in order to get what he wants. Once we are free, what’s to stop him from going to Virginia and threatening either Catherine or Melanie?”

  “Threatening them how?”

  She clutched her hands so her knuckles whitened. “Their lives. He might go after them physically if you don’t give in to his demands.”

  Rand rubbed his square chin. “I hadn’t though
t about that.”

  “You should.”

  “He might go after you too.”

  Irene stood with her back to Rand. “He might.”

  “You’re right here in camp.”

  “Like I said before, I think their lives are in danger. Both of them. If you want to protect them, you have to give Mr. Covey what he wants.” This lie was getting harder and harder to keep up. All of the lies—the one about her father, the ones Mr. Covey forced her to tell. She longed to reveal the truth. Every bit of it.

  Anita would tell her she should. Her aunt would urge her to accept whatever consequences would come from it.

  But she couldn’t lose him. Since Anita’s death, he had been by her side whenever she needed him. She hated that she relied on him this much, but she did. He was the best friend she had in camp. In the world. Without him, she would be emptier than ever.

  Rand cracked his knuckles. “I don’t want to see Melanie or Catherine get hurt because of me.”

  The thundering roar of aircraft filled the air. It shook the ground and reverberated in her bones. They both ran to the window. “Rand, look! Planes coming from the south. Look at them all. Are they ours?”

  He shrugged. “Let’s hope so.”

  Ack-ack-ack-ack. Intense Japanese antiaircraft fire split the day.

  Then the air-raid sirens shrieked. A command boomed over the loudspeaker. “This is an air raid. Seek shelter immediately.”

  No more practice. This was the real thing.

  Those horrible days of the beginning of the war flooded back. The bombs falling around them. The Japanese marching into the open city of Manila. Moisture gathered on her hands. “Rand, these are our planes.”

  He whooped and picked up Irene, swinging her in a circle. “The Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming,” he sang.

  “This isn’t a time for dancing. We have to take cover.”

  They scurried under Irene’s bed, beneath the bamboo slats holding her mattress. Rand had to fold his long legs as much as possible in order to fit. Together they listened to the music of the American planes in the sky. Rand squirmed and wriggled. “I can’t sit in here and listen to it. I want to see our planes. Wave to our boys.”