by Liz Tolsma
“I could never hate you.”
There was no way around it. She had to tell him the truth. Now.
She swallowed hard and drew in a deep breath to steady her shaking limbs. “My father is Walter Reynolds. The man who embezzled from you.”
His jaw dropped wide enough to land an American bomber. “Walter Reynolds.” He paced in front of her. “Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t figure it out the moment I heard your name. You even have the same turned-up nose and blue eyes as your father. You’re Walter Reynolds’s daughter. The little girl he had.”
She couldn’t see the expression in his eyes. Her airway constricted so all she could do was squeak, “Do you hate me?”
“Oh, Irene.” Rand stopped, studied her, and ran his fingers through her hair that hung loose around her shoulders. His voice softened. “I could never hate you. You and your father are two separate people. You shouldn’t pay for his crimes. Don’t you see? I love you. No matter what.”
“Please don’t say that. You can’t love me.” When this had time to sink in, he would hate her for all her father had done to him. And then his rejection would be even more unbearable. She had to walk away now and let him live his life.
“If this is about Catherine and Melanie …”
“It is and it isn’t. When you look at me, you will see the man who almost ruined your young business. Then you will realize that Catherine and Melanie need to be the most important people in your life.”
Rand sighed and rubbed his square jaw the way Irene loved.
Yes, she loved him. When he almost ran her over with his red convertible, he was the last person on earth she thought she would ever love.
But she did.
“I’m not walking away from you.”
She touched his whisker-roughened cheek. “When the war is over, you will. You need to figure out where your life goes from here and so do I.”
“We could do that together.”
“You signed the paper with Covey that states you must reopen your clubs. You will return to that lavish, glittering lifestyle. Don’t you see? We live in different circles.”
“And you belong with me.”
“Nightclubs aren’t what I’m interested in. They are the furthest thing from the orphanage I want to open. Please don’t try to make this work when it won’t. Let’s agree to be friends. Nothing more. Nothing less.” Her heart ached more than her body.
“Is that what you truly want?”
“It is what I truly want.” Oh, how she truly wanted him.
December 23, 1944
Bruce sat with Rand in the shade of his little screened porch. Someone in the area played “Jingle Bells” on the phonograph. In his hand, Rand held a piece of the kitchen table’s leg and a whittling knife.
“What on earth are you carving?”
“Irene’s Christmas gift.” Part of it, anyway. “It’s supposed to be a lily.”
“Supposed to be are the right words.”
“It would be nicer if I could use my right hand better.”
“Excuses, excuses, Sterling. I hope she’s worth it.”
“She is.”
“At least Tessa’s family has money and connections.”
“Is that all that matters?”
Bruce rubbed his mouth. “Honestly, not as much as before this war.”
“Would you feel the same way about Tessa if she didn’t have a penny to her name?” Rand hadn’t failed to notice the way Bruce’s hard face softened when he was around the woman. He bore all of the signs of a man in love. Rand ought to know.
“You have me there. I’ll admit, it’s what first attracted me to her, but now that I know her, it doesn’t matter. But she isn’t a missionary girl.”
“That’s what makes Irene better than all the rest. Someone I’d give my last bag of rice for.”
“And that’s about all I have left.”
“Me too. And then what will we do?”
“What can we do?” Bruce rubbed his ruddy face. “There’s no rice remaining in the entire city.”
Rand stared into space. Their friend had stopped delivering food. There just wasn’t any to be found. “How long can we hold out?” He knew the answer but had to ask the question.
“Weeks. Not much more. Some of the elderly men won’t last but a few more days. We’re going to start having deaths from starvation.”
In his former life, Rand would have cursed then. “Those Japanese. Do they intend to kill us all?”
“If the kitchen staff doesn’t kill us first.”
Rand grabbed his stomach. “Don’t remind me. I don’t know who decided to cook the cassava root that way for Thanksgiving, but my stomach still hurts thinking about it.”
“Well, one way or another, this will be our last Christmas here. Our boys are so close and yet so far away.”
“Let’s pray they’re here sooner rather than later.” Not only for the sake of the internees, but for the civilians of Manila. He wondered how Armando and Ramon were faring. Please, Lord, keep them safe too.
The loudspeaker hummed and screeched, and then a voice sounded. “Everyone must report to their rooms immediately. You are not to stay in your shanties. Report to your assigned rooms at this time.”
Rand looked up from his work. “What might this be about? I didn’t hear an air-raid siren, did you?”
Bruce shook his head. “I have no idea. The commandant is so fickle, who knows what the reason is. I wouldn’t doubt that they’re going to take this opportunity to search all of our quarters. Off to the Education Building, I suppose.” He rose from his chair with a bit of effort.
If they were going to go through his belongings, he didn’t want to be caught with a knife. That he slipped into his pocket. Not wanting them to take or damage his crude carving, he wrapped the wood in a piece of cloth.
He tucked the little flower through a rip in the material on the underside of the couch, along with his picture of Melanie. They were his most prized possessions. No way was he going to let the enemy get his hands on those.
They followed the stream of men making their way to the Education Building. Bruce pointed to the sky at the low-flying planes. “Those are land based, I’d bet my last can of Spam on it.”
“Land based?” Rand didn’t dare look to the skies.
“I’m positive.”
“That means our boys have taken and now hold an airfield.”
A wide grin brightened Bruce’s craggy face. “It sure does. Maybe they’ll be here by the new year.” He slapped Rand on the back. “No more worries about our lack of food. We’ll be free before we run out.”
“I don’t know.”
They wound their way around a group of slower-moving, older men as the stream of internees headed to the classrooms increased. “What’s the problem?”
Rand shook his head to clear his thoughts and chase away his unease. “Nothing. I pray you’re right.”
They came within sight of the iron gates that robbed them of their freedom. Bruce harrumphed. “At least they got rid of that military equipment they had piled on the front lawn, thanks to those old priests.”
“But what about the drums of fuel rumored to be buried just outside?” Rand’s heart seized. “With all of the bombs falling around the city, we’re in as much danger as ever.”
“Now that’s the Christmas spirit.”
“It’s contagious.”
“Old Mr. Scrooge has nothing on you.”
“Just don’t let the Ghost of Christmas Past visit me.”
“We have to stop them.”
“How? Dig up barrels of gasoline outside of the gates with our bare hands? If there are even any there. You’re out of your mind, Bruce.”
“We can’t let them murder more than three thousand people. Women and children.”
Sweat dripped down Rand’s forehead. “We’re powerless. Sick. Starving. Our boys need to come. And soon. There’s nothing we can do but pray that God will bring them. That’s t
he only way.”
“What happened to your fighting spirit?”
“Fort Santiago. A soldier with a bayonet. I know this command to report to our rooms is a practice for our death. They want to collect us together to make it easier.”
“You’ve tried to escape, and you’ve smuggled rice. Why stop there?”
Rand turned to his friend. “You tell me what we can do.”
His friend didn’t answer.
“Just pray like you’ve never prayed before.”
They dragged their feet until they came to the steps of the Education Building where they lived when not in their shanties. “You’ve become all religious on me.”
“Because when you come down to it, God is our only hope.” Everything had been stripped from him. All he had left was God. He needed that to be sufficient.
The men separated after they climbed the steps to the third floor, each into the classroom allotted to him in the first days of their captivity. Rand found his cot and settled in, staring at the sheet hanging over him with a change of clothes.
Not five minutes passed before Covey moseyed over. “I haven’t seen you in a while, business partner.”
Rand’s hackles went up at the sound of those words. “A good thing.”
“Come, come. We want this to be a profitable venture for both of us.”
“What is it you want?” Rand didn’t have the energy to deal with this problem right now.
“I think it’s about time we sit down and discuss the reopening of the Monarch and the Azure as soon as we can after the war. I have some ideas sure to attract many customers.” He scratched his cockeyed nose.
Rand bit back a retort. If he had all of these grand schemes, then why didn’t he use them and make money himself? “We’ll see. Not until January, for sure. The holidays aren’t a time for conducting business.”
“On the contrary. It’s only a matter of time before we’re free. We need to be ready, up and running, as soon as possible. If we want to make Manila the Pearl of the Orient again—”
“If?” Rand jumped from the bed. “There is no if. Of course I want to see this city I love restored to its former glory. But are nightclubs the answer? What about these children who are losing parents in the fighting? What will happen to them?”
A brief shadow crossed Covey’s face, a sort of sadness. Then the hardness returned. “They are of no consequence to me.”
But they occupied Rand’s thoughts. He had been blessed. He had been somebody. And now he knew what it felt like to be nobody. What about all of the other nobodies out there? The children, the most innocent of them all. “Go away, Covey, and leave me alone. We may not even live to see the new year. We’ll talk when we know we’re going to survive and not a moment before. You’re going to get what you want, so don’t pester me anymore about it.”
Covey humphed. “Have it your way. But mark my words. When—and I mean when—we survive, I will hold you to our agreement. I will bring the Monarch and the Azure out of the ashes.” Then he stomped away, much to Rand’s relief.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d told Covey. Were nightclubs really going to help restore Manila to her former glory? It could never be what it once was while children roamed the streets, hungry and sick. Irene had told him about the children she’d seen when she was out in the city.
He thought of Paulo and Sheila and the other tens of thousands of children in Manila, alone on the streets. He could imagine what it was like to be hungry or lonely or scared.
And Irene wanted to care for them.
If he could help in some way … maybe work beside her?
Crazy. It was an insane thought.
But one that took root in his heart. He’d be somebody to those children.
Not more than five minutes passed before soldiers with fixed bayonets stormed into the classroom. Not their usual guards. The Kempeitai. Like the ones from Fort Santiago. “We will search everyone. We must see all of your possessions.”
They were looking for weapons. A way for the internees to fight back against what they planned to do to them. A way to stop an uprising as the Americans approached. Rand fingered the knife in his pocket.
The secret police came to Rand’s area. He rubbed his goose-pimple covered arm with his bent right hand. The Japanese had no hearts.
They searched through the hammock hanging above his bed where he placed his personal items. Here he kept a razor and a change of clothes in case he decided to take refuge inside in the face of a typhoon. He stored all the rest of his earthly goods in his shanty.
Who could read the mind of the Japanese? Especially the fickle commandant.
One pointed his sword at Rand’s heart. “Empty your pockets.”
With an icy cold finger, Rand touched the knife.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Empty your pockets.” The Japanese guard took another step forward, his bayonet aimed at Rand’s stomach.
What could he do? If they found the knife, he would be headed back to Fort Santiago. Or worse. They could shoot him in the head right here and now like they did with that boy he saw running from them. He was sure the soldier could see his heart beating in his chest.
Then his fingers brushed his handkerchief, worn and stained as it was.
But useful.
Carefully and with as much deftness as he could muster, he wrapped the knife in the cloth, along with a metal band he also had in that pocket. Grasping the items tightly, he pulled the handkerchief from his pocket. The knife thunked as it hit the table.
Rand held his breath, waiting for the stab through his midsection that would end his life.
It never came. Didn’t the soldier hear?
He let his breath out, careful not to let it whoosh.
He glanced at the handkerchief beside him, hoping it appeared just to be in a pile, not hiding a weapon. And hoping that no bit of the knife peeked through.
“Turn them inside out.”
Rand did so. A coin that he didn’t realize was in his pockets fell out, clinking on the tile floor. The soldier picked it up with a smile. “Thank you.”
He turned his attention to the handkerchief. Rand’s mouth went dry. The soldier wouldn’t be as sloppy as not to lift it. He’d gone through everything else.
Rand could feel the pain as the hammer hit the fingers of his left hand this time. No, the Japanese would do much worse to him.
He stood tall and lifted his chin but felt no confidence whatsoever.
The soldier grunted, then jabbed Rand in the stomach with the rifle butt. He landed on his cot as the soldier walked away.
Oh, Lord, You had mercy on me. Thank You for blinding his eyes.
Before the guard changed his mind and returned to search him again, Rand returned the items to his pocket. He was relieved that he maintained possession of his knife. He was even more relieved that the soldier hadn’t found or confiscated the little metal ring.
Christmas Day, 1944
Irene couldn’t help it. She just couldn’t help it.
Couldn’t help comparing this Christmas with the last. Last Christmas Anita had been with her, and they had a wonderful time at Rand’s shanty eating ham and mashed potatoes and cassava cake.
And now? She sat alone in the empty shanty. Anita was dead. She had lost Mercedes’s longtime, precious friendship. Rand had a daughter and would build a life with the child’s mother. As he should. As she had wanted him to.
The commandant, beneficent as he was, gave them an extra hour before curfew that Tessa and Bruce were out enjoying. They had been inseparable since the dance. Irene paced from one side of the tiny hut to the other. Some who had rice left burned their furniture in order to cook it. She and Tessa didn’t have that problem.
How long, O Lord? How long? Will we ever be free?
More than anything, she ached to be out of here, to get to work with the children of Manila.
But she had ears. She heard the rumors about what the Japanese were planning.
Like she had told Rand the day the bombing began, she wasn’t afraid of being dead. She was afraid of dying.
Outside, a group of children sang “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” How appropriate. Yet she had no desire to sing along with them.
One of the little ones knocked on the door. Carolers. Just what she didn’t want in her melancholy mood. She opened the door, not to children, but to Rand. She sucked in her breath. It had been a few weeks since she had seen him. He looked thinner than ever. “What are you doing here?”
“Merry Christmas to you too.” He bowed. He had tamed the waves of his hair and put on a shirt, hiding his ribs. Straightening, he handed her a bunch of Philippine lilies.
“Merry Christmas. And thank you for the flowers. From your hut, I assume?” Their sweet perfume lifted a bit of her gloom.
He nodded.
“I thought you had a brown thumb.”
“I happen to have the best gardener in Santo Tomas.” He winked. Heat filled her face. “The promise of new beginnings. Of all things yet to come.”
“I haven’t gotten mine to bloom yet.”
“They will. May I come in?”
“Bruce and Tessa are out enjoying our extra hour before curfew tonight.”
“Then let’s do the same. Shall we?” He offered her his elbow.
She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t. But then again, they might all be dead in a matter of hours or days. Why not enjoy this time they had left? If they survived the war, then she could worry about mending her broken heart. She slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow.
“I’ve missed you.” His voice was low and husky.
She smiled. “Me too.” As soon as the words slipped out, she regretted them, not wanting to give him false hope. But then, perhaps each of them was living with false hope for tomorrow.
They came upon the carolers. Sheila skipped to them. “We’ll sing a song for you. What would you like to hear?”
Rand pulled at her pigtail. “Are you good singers?”
“Oh, the best, Mr. Sterling. We’ve been practicing real hard since Thanksgiving and we’re real good now. You could sing with us, if you like.”
Rand laughed. “Not me. You don’t want me to ruin your beautiful singing. But Miss Reynolds has a nice voice.”