Remember the Lilies

by Liz Tolsma

  “That’s not really true.”

  “Adequate, then. Good enough.”

  Sheila looked up at her with those clear, innocent sea-green eyes. “You will sing with us, won’t you, Miss Reynolds? Then we’ll sound even better.”

  The ice in her soul began to melt. “Only if you sing ‘It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.’ That’s my favorite.”

  “It came upon the midnight clear,

  That glorious song of old,

  From angels bending near the earth,

  To touch their harps of gold;

  “‘Peace on the earth, goodwill to men,

  From Heaven’s all gracious King!’

  The world in solemn stillness lay,

  To hear the angels sing.

  “Still through the cloven skies they come,

  With peaceful wings unfurled;

  And still their heavenly music floats

  O’er all the weary world;

  “Above its sad and lowly plains,

  They bend on hovering wing,

  And ever o’er its Babel sounds

  The blessed angels sing.

  “And ye, beneath life’s crushing load,

  Whose forms are bending low,

  Who toil along the climbing way

  With painful steps and slow;

  “Look now! for glad and golden hours

  Come swiftly on the wing.

  O rest beside the weary road,

  And hear the angels sing.”

  Irene had tears in her eyes by this time and had difficulty getting out the words. The internees were bending low, and all of their steps were painful and slow these days. Rand squeezed her hand when they sang of glad and golden hours coming swiftly on the wing. For today, the skies remained void of American planes.

  Rand applauded wildly as Irene bent to kiss the girl’s tanned cheek. “Thank you, Sheila. You have made my Christmas.”

  “And mine.” Rand kissed the child’s other cheek and patted the other carolers on their heads. A wide grin caressed his narrow face as they walked away. “Now that is what Christmas is all about.”

  “I agree.”

  “And your voice is very nice.”

  “You must be tone deaf.” They walked in silence for a while, their feet quiet on the hard-packed road. “So what made you come to me today?”

  “I wanted to give you time, Irene, to come to the realization that it’s you I want in my life, not Catherine. And Catherine doesn’t want me.”

  “That sounds like you’re settling for me.”

  He stopped short and looked her square in the face, his golden-brown eyes searching hers. “Not at all. I haven’t loved Catherine in more than seven years, if I ever loved her. I’ve never felt about a woman the way I feel about you. Never. You have to believe that. And who your father is has no bearing on my feelings for you. He is he and you are you. You bear no responsibility for him.”

  Irene couldn’t stand to see the feelings written on his countenance or continue this discussion, so she directed her attention to the groups of people gathered on the front lawn.

  “Glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing.”

  Irene blinked away the tears. “I hope—I pray—that this song is a foretelling of what’s ahead. But it’s been so long since Leyte, and nothing.”

  They stopped and sat in the grass.

  “Our release will happen. In time. God’s time. For today, I’m happy you agreed to see me. It’s been too long.”

  She shushed him with a finger on his lips. “Don’t read anything into this. It’s Christmas. That’s all.”

  Rand reached into his pocket, then handed her a small package wrapped in old copies of the Tribune, the camp paper that had been discontinued due to the lack of supplies. “I hope you like it.”

  She untied the string and pulled back the paper. Inside was a perfect Philippine lily carved out of golden wood. Her stomach fluttered. It was so delicate she was afraid she would crush it. “Oh, Rand, I don’t know what to say. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned.” She turned and gave him a peck on the cheek. Fire shone in his eyes. He wanted more. The one thing she could not give him.

  “I almost didn’t get to finish this. The day we had to report to our buildings, I hid it in the couch but took the knife with me. The guard searched me, demanding I empty my pockets.”

  Irene dug her fingernails into her palms.

  “I put my hands inside them, meeting nothing there but the knife and my handkerchief. I slid the knife into the folds of the handkerchief and set it on the table, holding my breath. He never looked under it.”

  She shook her head. “You are bound and determined to get sent back to Fort Santiago, aren’t you?”

  “No way. I’m not leaving you.” He kissed her on the forehead, lightly but enough to send her heart racing.

  She slid back a bit. She had to protect herself. “But I don’t have anything for you.”

  “Just you spending time with me is present enough. There will be other Christmases.”

  But Irene knew that to be untrue.

  “I hope you saved some room for my surprise.” Rand dipped his hand into his pocket again and came out with something round, also wrapped in paper. “A Christmas cake.”

  Irene sat forward. “How did you? Where did you? Who made it?”

  “I did. Cook always ruled the kitchen, but my culinary skills have improved over the years.”

  “With what?”

  “Don’t be so skeptical. I charmed one of the kitchen girls into selling me a bit of brown sugar and cassava flour. I had a little coconut oil left in the bottom of the jar. Violà. Christmas cake.”

  Irene didn’t want to be unkind, especially since he was so excited about the cake, but she had to pull up her nose. “Wasn’t your oil rancid?”

  “Let’s hope the sugar hides the flavor.” Rand broke the dense little cake in two and handed half to Irene.

  She popped it into her mouth, then spit it out. “Don’t touch it.” She pulled Rand’s hand away from his lips. “It’s terrible.”

  Poor Rand’s shoulders slumped. “It can’t be worse than weevils.”

  They had long ago stopped picking the disgusting bugs from their rice, figuring the extra calories were beneficial. “It is. Your oil was rancid. You’ll end up as sick as you must have been at Thanksgiving if you touch it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” She stroked his smooth cheek, his mouth downturned. “It was a lovely thought. Truly it was.”

  “Next year I’ll make a real Christmas cake.”

  “You will use a recipe?”

  “Who needs a recipe?”

  Irene laughed.

  Irene’s laughter was one of the most beautiful sounds in the entire world. Rand would never tire of listening to its music. He wanted to wake up to it every morning and go to bed with it every night. He ached to be with her.

  He fingered the loop of metal in his pocket. His heartbeat was off the charts, and the twists and turns his stomach was doing would give circus tumblers a run for their money. He knew the perfect way for this wretched Christmas to end.

  Irene looked stunning tonight in the filmy green dress she had worn to the dance, though it hung on her frame more than it had before. She had once again molded her white-blond hair into curls pinned to the side of her head. She wore no lipstick, but her lips were as red as the earlier sunset.

  Only the edict against public displays of affection kept him from kissing her right then and there.

  Last night, during the long hours when he couldn’t sleep, he memorized a speech for this moment. The trouble was, he couldn’t remember a single word of it.

  What if he botched it? What if she said no? He swallowed.

  And that was a very real possibility. He knew what her objections would be, and he knew how he would rebuff them. If he could recall his arguments.

  She was talking to him, saying words he couldn’t comprehend. The air around him buz
zed.

  “Don’t you agree? Rand?”

  “I’m sorry. I lost the train of thought.”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  “About how beautiful you are. That green is a swell color on you. I love the dress.”

  Even in the near darkness, he saw her cheeks turn pink and a smile spread from one side of her face to the other. “You look rather dapper yourself.”

  “Yes, I went all out for you. I put on pants and a shirt.”

  There was that laugh again, as intoxicating as any brandy.

  He cleared his throat, having decided to speak the words that came to his mind. “You know how much I love you, Irene.”

  She opened her mouth, but he shushed her. “Please let me say what I have to say. I love you from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t bear the thought of not having you with me when we leave here. You are the most generous, thoughtful, loving, caring woman I have ever known. You think of others before you think of yourself. And you love the Lord and have taught me to love Him too.

  “I’ve prayed about this, and I know it is right. Catherine made her choice when she chose not to tell me about my daughter. She and Melanie have made a life for themselves. It’s what she wants.

  “I’ll support my daughter every way I can, but I gave up my right to raise her when I walked away from her mother seven years ago. It’s in you that I see my future. It’s with you that I want to build a family, whether here in Manila or in the United States.”

  He pulled the metal ring from his pocket and got down on one knee. “Irene Reynolds, would you please marry me and make me the happiest man on earth?” Surely she heard his heart pounding.

  She sat and stared at him. He didn’t venture a guess as to whether her speechlessness was a good thing or not. She blinked her eyes and clasped her hands.

  Then she got up and ran away.

  He stared at the ring in his hand.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Rand searched the grounds for Irene. She wasn’t in her shanty, nor was she in her room. He hoped to find her in Father’s Garden, but the place was empty. Each moment she slipped further through his fingers.

  Curfew approached. He didn’t have time to look anymore. He would have to wait until tomorrow to speak to her.

  He had prayed she would accept his proposal. Had braced himself for the very real possibility that she would say no. He never expected that she would run off and leave him kneeling in the grass by himself.

  He had said something wrong. That had to be it. His prepared speech had been perfect. He should have written it down and read it. Then he wouldn’t have bungled it the way he did. Had he lost his chance with her?

  The familiar empty ache filled his chest.

  He returned to his shanty and lay down on his mattress in frustration. Lord, will any good thing come from this camp? He managed a smile as he knew the answer. Yes, he had found his strength and his help in the Lord. If God meant for him to be married to Irene, God Himself would have to make a way.

  But that didn’t mean that Rand couldn’t play his part. When he went to Irene’s shanty the following day, hoping to convince her to spend her life with him, Tessa told him she refused to see him. A crushing pain raced through his abdomen.

  Then he lifted his chin. All his life he’d gotten what he wanted. His parents bought him the toys he wanted. Cook prepared the meals he wanted. Father gave him the money for the club he wanted. He wasn’t about to stop now. He would win Irene, one way or another.

  He was determined to make a pest of himself until she broke down and spoke to him. Each day he would sit on his sawali mat outside of her bedroom. He would spend the hours talking to her about anything and everything—camp rumors, his hopes, her dreams.

  He woke up this morning with dysentery. He suspected that almost everyone in camp suffered a bout of the affliction. The illness left him weak and exhausted, and walking across the campus to see Irene or get meals was difficult. But he wasn’t about to be deterred. If he had to crawl on his hands and knees, he would continue his quest to win her.

  On his way to her hut, he spied a group of four internees being led by a horde of Japanese soldiers toward the camp’s prison. Through the guards, he managed to make out who the men were. He knew three of them. E. E. Johnson, Carroll Grinnell, Alfred Duggleby. Members of their executive committee. The fourth was an internee by the look of him, but not one Rand recognized.

  He stood rooted to the spot, his knees weak. The Japanese were arresting them. And their end couldn’t be good. Neither could the other internees’.

  He shared the grim news with Irene as he sat outside of her shanty. “Our boys must be closing in, otherwise why would they arrest the committee now?”

  Silence.

  Most of the day he spoke to her the thoughts that came to his head. There were no air raids. Their boys must be taking the holiday week off, giving him the most time possible to speak to her. He tried to catch Irene on the way to roll call and meals, but she ignored him. Her walk, however, concerned him. She moved like a seventy-year-old woman, her legs paining her.

  The week passed, Rand spending his days outside of Irene’s hut, making a general nuisance of himself.

  On New Year’s Eve, the last day of the wretched year of 1944, Rand again sat on his mat speaking to Irene. “Sweetheart, I am sorry if I hurt you in any way. But please don’t push me to marry Catherine. She told me in her letter that she wants to be left alone. I know I’ve read it to you a thousand times.”

  Silence. Utter silence. He didn’t have much strength left. He couldn’t go on much more. How long could she hold out?

  “When I convince you to marry me—and I will convince you—I’ve thought about what we will do. I have to reopen the nightclubs, but they won’t consume me. I want to do meaningful work. I want to help you with your orphanage.”

  Irene’s silence remained icy.

  How long could he continue to beat his head against a wall?

  An orphanage? That’s what Rand wanted to do with the rest of his life?

  Yes, he was good with the children of the camp, playing games with them, making up rhymes for them, asking them about school. He bore up well under these living conditions and didn’t complain about his lack of a butler or cook or chauffeur. He worked hard.

  But could he be happy with that kind of life forever?

  She had been considering his proposal, praying about it whenever he would go away and leave her in peace and quiet. At any rate, he was making sure she didn’t forget about him.

  She imagined spending every night for the rest of her life in his arms. She wondered what it would be like to be loved by him. Oh, the joy that would be.

  And then Catherine’s face would pop to mind. Or what she imagined Catherine looked like. She had never seen a photograph of her, but she must have some of Melanie’s features. Rand said she didn’t want him to disturb the life they had built for themselves. But would he want to stay away? How could he not desire to meet his daughter?

  He would make a wonderful father. And now he wanted to work with orphans. He wouldn’t be able to turn his back on Melanie.

  When he saw Catherine again, the spark that had existed between them would flame, and they would fall in love. Who could help but love him? Irene would be left at the side of the road.

  Oh, God, help me know what to do. Tell me what is right. How can I be sure that he will love me and only me for the rest of our lives?

  Tessa came to her and sat on the edge of Irene’s mattress. “You’ll have to talk to him at some point, so why not make it now? We all have to listen to his chatter and would prefer if you would just accept his proposal.”

  “There are hindrances you don’t understand.”

  Tessa tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. “That’s where you’re wrong, love. We understand—very well. We’ve been listening to him all week, remember? Yes, he has a daughter in Virginia he’s never
met. So what? Catherine should have told him right away that she was expecting. She shut him out of Melanie’s life. It wasn’t his choice.”

  Irene smoothed the sheet over her swollen legs. Tessa was right.

  “Don’t you think if he had known about her from the beginning, he would have chosen to make a family with them?”

  “I know he would have. I complicate matters. If I’m not in the way, he can still do that.”

  “But it’s not what Catherine wants. Bangers and mash, don’t you see? Rand is doing what is right for his daughter. He doesn’t want to disturb her life. She’s happy, and his appearance would only upset her. That part of his life has been decided for him. He does want a family—with you.”

  “And what if, in the future, Catherine tells Melanie the truth? Then what?”

  “Then Rand will get to know his daughter, and she will have a wonderful stepmother.” Tessa got up but stopped and turned around. “Think about what I said.”

  And Irene did think. Whether it was right or wrong, Catherine had made her choice. It would be great if Rand could know his daughter, but he knew she was happy. To him, she was but a face in a picture.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  Tessa laughed. “Marry him.”

  From outside, Rand cheered.

  Irene lay back on the bed. They were ganging up on her. But she had to be sure.

  January 1, 1945

  The new year started with a bang. The vacation was over for the Americans, and they once again began bombing the city. The raids went on all day, with only short breaks. The shrapnel and pompoms falling all around made Mercedes nervous. Any moment a shell might crash right through the roof and explode in front of their feet. They needed to go to the Annex where the ceiling was thicker and stronger.

  Paulo jumped with each and every sound. Her little boy was thin and nervous and withdrawn, not the happy child of even a few months ago. She longed to provide him with peace and stability.

  She met Irene and Tessa leaving their shanty. Mercedes nodded at Irene’s suitcase. “We have the same idea. It’s not safe to stay in the huts anymore.”

  “No.” Irene took a couple of feeble steps forward.