Remember the Lilies

by Liz Tolsma

  A heart attack couldn’t hurt more than the pain in Mercedes’s chest at Irene’s coldness. After she had been kind to her at The Little House on the Hill, she had thought Irene was coming around. Tessa had even watched Paulo for a few hours. Mercedes had to make this right. “I haven’t seen him since the night he hurt you. Please talk to me.”

  Irene stopped, leaning on Tessa. “You’re fortunate he didn’t hurt me worse.”

  “I don’t know who to believe or what to believe anymore. I miss Charles. I need him here to tell me what to do. But I’m not willing to lose our friendship over a Japanese soldier. You will never know how sorry I am for the things I said to you. For what I did to you.”

  “Could you have lived with yourself if he had taken advantage of me? Or worse?”

  Mercedes clutched her throat and shook her head.

  “Then why didn’t you listen to me the first time? Why did you get involved with him at all?”

  “I told you. You know what it’s like to be alone.”

  The truth dawned on Irene’s face. “But I didn’t turn to one of our captors.”

  “We all make mistakes. I’m asking for a second chance.” She longed for the companionship of another woman.

  The air-raid siren called out its shrill warning. Tessa motioned to the Main Building. “We have to go and so do you.”

  Mercedes didn’t want to let this chance to speak to Irene be for nothing. “What would Anita say?”

  “That I am to forgive you. Anita was a better person than I am. But I’ll think about it.”

  Mercedes deflated and dragged her feet toward the Annex for mothers with small children, pulling Paulo behind her. What would the rest of the war be like, cooped up in a room with women who despised her?

  If only Irene could find it in her heart to forgive her.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  February 3, 1945

  Rand missed seeing Irene, but she had been wise to move to the Main Building. It was better to be closer to all they needed. He preferred his shanty only because it kept him away from Frank Covey. One of the first things Rand planned to do when he was freed was contact his lawyer and have the document ripped to shreds.

  He didn’t plan to resurrect the clubs, and he didn’t want Covey to force him to do so. He would pay for protection for Catherine and Melanie if necessary.

  Roll call this morning was a miserable affair. His joints ached so much it reminded him of his grandmother when she was seventy. That’s about how old he felt. Word from the secret radio was that their boys had landed at Lingayen on January 9. Excitement had been high then, but no Americans showed up. Now they all wondered if their boys would make it in time.

  After eating his single scoop of watery mush at one of the long tables outside, Rand wandered over to the patio, hoping to spend time with Irene today. Smoke drifted from the Japanese area of the camp where they had their offices and barracks. They were getting nervous. They knew their time was running out. Their captors were burning large numbers of papers.

  He rubbed the goose bumps from his arms.

  Bruce ambled over and sat beside Rand. “You’re looking rather forlorn.”

  Rand tried to crack a smile. “Nice way to compliment someone.”

  “I wasn’t complimenting you.”

  Rand noticed how this once-burly man had been reduced to a pile of skin and bones. All of the men resembled walking skeletons these days.

  “Where is your lovely lady?”

  “Now you think she’s lovely?”

  “For a missionary girl, she’s pretty swell. Sweet isn’t so bad. I give you my blessing.”

  “Thanks. It’s good to know I have it. I wouldn’t feel good about pursuing a relationship with her without it.”

  “That’s why I gave it.”

  “Tessa is softening you.”

  “You know, she’s not here. I hope neither of them are sick.”

  “The women can’t keep on like this. None of us can.”

  Bruce flapped his bony hand. “Our boys have to be near. The Japanese are jumpy. I just hope they don’t blow us clear to China. Or slaughter us the way they did those American POWs in Palawan.”

  He couldn’t even think about it. Their own executions here at Santo Tomas became more and more of a reality with each passing day. Lord, watch over us. Protect us and send our boys here soon.

  His hopes of seeing Irene this morning weren’t disappointed. She and Tessa arrived and joined them.

  Irene gave him a wan smile. Her face was pale and drawn, her knuckles and wrists swollen. Her beautiful blond hair had lost its luster. He rubbed her knee. “How are you?”

  “Alive. That’s the best we can ask for today. And you?”

  “Alive.” Even now, in her condition, she didn’t complain.

  She worried the hem of her mustard-yellow dress. “I’m scared, Rand. They’re going to starve us all.”

  “What would Anita tell you?”

  “That dawn will break. And we should pray in the meantime.”

  “Then let’s do that.” He joined hands with Irene and Tessa. Even tough old Bruce joined them. “Dear heavenly Father, we pray that You would be near us right now and that You would send our boys here very soon. Sustain us until that time. Deliver us, Lord. Give us Your peace and take away our fear. We ask this in Your Son’s name. Amen.”

  The roar of jets drowned out all else as they dove low, silver bodies glinting in the sun. “Look at those planes.” Irene pointed to the sky.

  “I’d rather not.” Rand grinned. Then leaflets dropped from the bellies of the planes, floating down to earth like a thousand birds.

  Along with many other internees, Rand hurried to the yard to pick up the fliers. What did their boys want them to know? Any word from an American on the outside would be so welcome.

  “Away, away.” Bayoneted guards rushed toward the crowd. “Do not touch those.” Rand took a step back, as did those around him. A few words from home weren’t worth risking his life.

  All day planes swooped low. They didn’t bomb or strafe.

  “What are they doing?” Irene dared to shade her eyes and gaze heavenward.

  Rand kept his eyes low. “Reconnaissance, possibly.”

  Bruce hazarded a guess. “Troop transport, I think.”

  Irene’s mouth formed a perfect O. “Are they bringing our boys in that close to Manila?” She was almost breathless.

  God, if that could but be true. “Let’s bring our boys in, we’ll give them a grin, because then we’ll win.”

  Irene tipped her head in the direction of the yard. “Don’t let the Japanese hear you. They aren’t wasting time with Fort Santiago these days.”

  Rand nodded. The committee members he’d seen being arrested had disappeared, along with all hope for them. “Let’s pray whoever is up there is careful in their shooting.”

  “And hope they see that.” Bruce pointed at the machine gun nest the Japanese were constructing at one end of the compound.

  “All the better to kill us with.”

  Irene grabbed his arm. “You’re scaring me, Rand. Please tell me our boys will get here soon.”

  “I wish I could.”

  From somewhere outside, in a home across the street from Santo Tomas, a radio crackled to life. “General MacArthur’s forces are converging on Manila from three sides and now control all the major roads and railways in the Central Plain. The Americans coming in on the city from the north are about twenty miles away. A second force …”

  Ping, ping, ping. The shots from a Japanese gun silenced the radio.

  Rand was afraid the radio man was injured—or worse—but he couldn’t stop the smile that broke out across his face. “Twenty miles.” He wanted to kiss Irene right then and there, but really didn’t want the wrath of the Japanese to fall on him at this point. “Days, just days before they are here.”

  Bruce asked the question all of them were thinking. “But will we be here?”

  8:40 p.m.
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br />   Rand lay back on his bed in his room in the Education Building, staring at the hammock-sheet above him. Worry, peace, anger, love all warred for dominance in his mind. What was going to happen to them in the next couple of days?

  Lord, if it is Your intention to take me home, please prepare me. Forgive me of my sins, cleanse me, and fit me to be with You forever. Above all, give me peace. And if it be Your will, protect Irene from all harm. Keep her safe, please.

  From outside of the gates came the sound of shooting. In the past few days, the internees had become accustomed to the noise. A guard signaling to his late-arriving reliever. A Japanese shooting a poor Filipino caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  As long as they didn’t aim at the internees.

  Anything but that.

  The entire camp held its breath.

  Then he heard the low, deep rumble of tanks. What would Japanese tanks be doing here? What was going on?

  Had they come to begin the slaughter?

  His heart beat out an uneven, jazzlike rhythm.

  He wasn’t the only one wondering. Many of the men from his room made their way to the window and peered at the scene below, down on the front gate of Santo Tomas. Their home for more than three years.

  He grabbed his shirt, stuffed his trembling arms into it, and went to the window. As he stood on shaky legs, he knew he would never forget the sight that met his eyes. A huge, gray metallic vehicle stood at the iron bars, then rumbled forward, smashing the gate, the driver rolling over it with his tracks until he stopped not far from the building where Rand was.

  The markings on the side were not Japanese.

  The words read Battlin’ Basic.

  English.

  Their boys had arrived.

  He couldn’t stop the tears that poured down his face. Who cared that he was crying? They all were. He turned and hugged the men in his room. Cheering filtered upward and men, women, and children poured from their shanties and dorms.

  Japanese soldiers filed out of the gates. Their captors but moments ago, now the captured.

  He had to get down there. He wanted to shake an American soldier’s hand. He wanted to touch the Battlin’ Basic. He wanted to be in the midst of the action.

  He moved through the hall with the other men and down the stairs.

  And he could go no farther.

  Japanese soldiers blocked his way. These guards stood their ground, their weapons sighted on the American troops.

  “Get back. Get back,” someone shouted. Rand fell back.

  One of the soldiers turned around. “Get upstairs. No one is going anywhere.”

  Rand’s shoulders slumped as he climbed the steps. So close. Liberation was so close he could see it, feel it, taste it.

  And he couldn’t grasp it.

  He was now a hostage.

  Gunshots rang out. A body hit the ground with a thud. “Crazy fool,” someone shouted. One of their fellow building denizens had attempted to escape out of the third-floor window, a rope tied around his waist. The Japanese guards riddled him with bullets.

  That might have been him a year and a half ago.

  Rand continued to wait out what he knew would be a battle. Many avoided the window, but he couldn’t. To lose sight of their boys might be to lose sight of freedom forever. To not lose hope, he had to watch their every move.

  What was happening to Irene? People spilled out of the Main Building. Surely that meant Irene was safe. She was not still holed up in her room, held hostage by the Japanese guards.

  Relief filled him. If nothing else, she was safe. Nothing else mattered. If she came through this alive, that would be enough for him.

  “How are we going to get out of here?” Covey’s voice at his elbow surprised him, but it shouldn’t have. Panic laced the man’s words.

  “We’ll get free.”

  “But how? We’re going to be stuck in here forever.”

  “God will deliver us. Wait and see.” Rand wiped his clammy hands on his pants, trying to believe his own words.

  Bruce joined their conversation. “If we could get our boys to start a commotion up front, a distraction, the Japanese would be too busy to notice us slip out the back.”

  Rand shook his head. “There have to be at least two hundred of us in here. That will never work. In no time the guards will figure out what we’re up to and turn their guns on us.”

  Covey jiggled his bony leg. “There has to be a way. We could attack the soldiers.”

  “A bunch of weak, unarmed men? It will never work.” The talk made Rand anxious. Though, if they could find a way out, a way for this to be over, a way for him to get to Irene, they had to try. He paced, running his hands through his hair. “If we armed ourselves …”

  Bruce grunted. “With what? Like you said, we’re weak.”

  “We will have to wait on the Lord, then.”

  “That’s not good enough for me.” Covey made his way to the end of the hall. “I’m getting out of here, one way or the other.”

  “What do you mean? Where are you going?” Rand hurried to catch up with him.

  “Out.”

  “You can’t walk out the front door. You’d never even get past the guards.”

  “What can they do? Shoot me?”

  “You’ll get yourself killed.”

  “I’ll be out of here.”

  Rand turned and stood in Covey’s way. “You’re insane.”

  “I refuse to spend one more night as a prisoner in this place. One way or another, I’ll be free.”

  Rand spread his legs and pushed his palms against Covey’s chest. “There’s no love lost between us, but I can’t let you do this.”

  “Why not? Then you’ll be out of your contract. Your daughter will be safe. I’m a rotten man. No one will miss me. Not even my own daughter.”

  Rand’s breath stuck in his throat. “Your daughter? You have a daughter?”

  “Think about it for a moment, Sterling.”

  He couldn’t. “Who is it?”

  “Look at my eyes.”

  Rand did. He had seen those eyes before.

  “Picture me without this scar. Imagine what my nose would look like if it hadn’t been broken.”

  In the semidarkness, he studied Covey. “You have the same eyes as her. And if your nose wasn’t broken, it would turn up …” Praying he’d remain on his feet, Rand gripped Covey’s arm. Why had he never made the connection?

  “It’s all we have in common.”

  “Does Irene know?”

  Covey—Reynolds—shook his head.

  “Why haven’t you made yourself known?” Rand’s head pounded.

  “Before I could tell her who I was, I had to have a way to provide for her. I failed her when she was young, too much and too often. Without the means to take care of my little girl, I couldn’t reveal myself to her.

  “It was risky, coming back to you, someone who might recognize me. And then when I saw you with my daughter, it grew even more dangerous. But I had discovered your secrets even before the war. And being confined in here gave me the chance to come up with a plan to use that information to my greatest advantage. I banked on the fact that I’ve changed so much, neither of you would know who I was.”

  And it was true. Covey—Reynolds—had changed. He’d been a rotund man, now as skinny as the rest of them. He’d aged in the eight or nine years since he disappeared.

  “She’ll want to know you’re alive. She’ll be happy to see you.”

  The man turned away, his shoulders heaving. A few minutes passed before he spoke. “No, she won’t. Look at what I’ve done. I was blinded by my greed. She’ll want nothing to do with me. The jig is up. It’s time I face the music. Please don’t let her know it was me. Do that for me.”

  The man ducked under Rand’s arms and skittered down the hall toward the stairs.

  “Covey, stop. Stop!” Rand sprinted after him, then tackled him on the top step.

  “Get off of me. Leave me alone.
Let me die.”

  They wrestled, as much as two almost-starved men could. Rand landed a punch on his cheek or eye while Covey kicked him in the stomach.

  Men poured out of the classrooms and separated the two. Bruce hung on to Rand’s collar. “What is going on here?”

  Rand stood and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I’m trying to save this man from sacrificing himself to the guards.” What would he tell Irene if he watched as her father threw himself into the line of fire? He could never live with himself.

  With a glowering glance, Covey walked away to nurse his black eye.

  All the better. “We have the Japanese to fight. Let’s not go after each other. The worst thing you can do for your daughter is to get yourself loaded up with Japanese lead.”

  The squeal of wheels drew Rand’s attention away from his aching middle. One of the tanks that had forced its way through the main gate now rolled toward the Education Building, then stopped in line with the front door.

  “To the back of the building.” Rand didn’t know where the orders came from—perhaps from outside—but in this instance, it appeared wise to obey. Without electricity and no lights other than those on the tank, it was difficult for Rand to pick his way through the building. He stumbled over beds and chairs and men’s belongings and down the hall until he arrived in a back room.

  Then the big guns on the hulking monster blazed to life. Machine gun fire spit from the long barrels. The building shook as the rounds hit the concrete. Windows on the first floor shattered.

  Rand covered his ears. Never before had he heard such a loud noise. It shook his bones and rattled his teeth. The building trembled with each shell that struck it.

  A shriek threatened to rupture Rand’s eardrums. White heat seared his face as the shell exploded not far from him.

  “I’m hit. I’m hit!”

  In the light of the tank’s headlamps, Rand turned to see Covey on the floor, blood pouring from his side.

  Rand ripped off his last decent shirt, the one he’d been saving for this day, and threw it to the men nearest Covey. Keeping Irene’s father alive was proving difficult. “Wrap this around him to stop the bleeding. Our boys are going to kill us. I have to see what I can do.”

  Crouching low, Rand made his way to the front of the building. Bullets and shells whistled all around him. Another shriek had him flat on the floor, his face pressed to the cool tile. He had to work to steady his breath.