After the Fall

by Lisa Bingham

  As John eased to a stop in front of the wide veranda, Glory Bee breathed a sigh of relief. She needed to use the facilities something fierce and had been debating whether or not she should ask John to pull over.

  Gathering her purse and the make-up case that held the last of the sandwiches, she waited as John gave instructions to Esteban on where he and his family could stake out the goats and quarter the chickens. As if they were as eager as Glory Bee, the children jumped from the bed of the truck and disappeared, squealing, into the trees.

  As soon as John headed back in the direction of the house, Glory Bee darted from the truck, following closely on his heels.

  He stopped at the threshold, running his fingers across the top of the lintel. “There’s usually a key kept…” He sighed, kneeling to check beneath the rug. “Damn.”

  “I thought priests weren’t supposed to swear.”

  “I’m not a priest anymore.”

  Turning, he jabbed his elbow at one of the panes of glass inset into the door, causing it to shatter. Then he reached inside and turned the knob. “After you.”

  Stunned by his response and the suddenly harsh expression that settled over his features Glory Bee followed his orders, her physical discomfort forgotten. Stepping inside, she discovered that the house was indeed compact. To her left was a sitting area with a door that led into a small bedroom. To her right was a dining room and beyond that a narrow kitchen.

  John strode inside, weaving his way around lumps of furniture covered in dust covers. Flinging open the draperies, he revealed a huge picture window that looked down upon the valley below. It was an imperfect view of the world they’d left behind, but Glory Bee supposed that they would see something to warn them if the Japanese began advancing south.

  “Make yourself at home,” John said, reaching into a cupboard below the window seat and removing a pair of field glasses. Bringing them to his eyes, he said distractedly, “There’s no electricity up here, but there’s a wood stove for cooking and heating water. I’ll get a fire started as soon as I can, but I need to make some radio calls first.”

  “Okay.”

  “Up the stairs, there’s an attic bedroom. You can take that one or the one through there.” He pointed to the door that led off of the sitting room. “There’s a small bathroom off the kitchen if you need it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Glory Bee made her way through to the kitchen, setting her things down on the table. After availing herself of the facilities, she stood in front of the tiny sink and twisted the taps. The water, when it emerged, was tainted with rust, so she waited until it ran clear before washing her hands and splashing more liquid on her face.

  As she straightened, she caught her reflection in the mirror.

  Had it really only been a couple of days since she’d arrived in the Philippines? Her supposed haven?

  A bitter laugh bubbled from her throat. If Michael only knew what had happened to her…

  Word about the Philippines had probably reached the United States by now. He must be worried sick. That first afternoon on the island, she’d managed to send him a telegram stating that she’d arrived safely. But that had been before Pearl and the attack here in Luzon.

  Would he be wondering if she was in harm’s way? Or would his duties as a congressman be even more pressing now that American holdings had been threatened? He’d told her several times that it was only a matter of time before the U.S. was drawn into war, but he’d always mentioned the Germans, not the Japanese.

  Still, he must have known there was a threat brewing in the Pacific. How could he not have known? Sgt. Wilcox had told her that the wives and families of the personnel on Luzon had been evacuated months ago.

  So why had Michael sent her here? Right into the mouth of the dragon?

  Shaking her head of such thoughts, she straightened and left the bathroom, intent on gathering the rest of their things from the truck.

  Michael couldn’t have foreseen the imminent danger in the Far East, that was all. He would never do anything to harm her. He loved her. He just couldn’t afford for her to be seen around Washington in her current condition. A discreet affair could be tolerated. A love child with a stripper could not.

  Unconsciously, her hand strayed over the roundness of her abdomen beneath her un-tucked shirt. Since abandoning her girdle, the kid had spread out. There was certainly no doubt that she was pregnant, even though she still couldn’t accept the fact. She felt no excitement, no fear, merely a curious detachment from the whole process. To date, her only real emotions over her situation had been a sense of inconvenience and an overwhelming loneliness at being parted from Michael.

  But now, she found herself plunked in the middle of a Japanese offensive, hiding in a mountain lodge with a man who was an ex-priest. She was thousands of miles away from home, unable to contact Michael in any way. She was tired, frightened…

  And pregnant. Very, very pregnant.

  If that pregnancy hadn’t already gone away by being ignored and denied, it wasn’t going to go away now. It was only a matter of time before she would have to tell John about her…condition.

  She could only pray that American reinforcements had arrived by then.

  Frowning, she went outside in search of wood for the stove. She might not be much help with the radio or in keeping their group hidden from the Japanese. But she could at least get the stove fired up so that they could have something warm to eat for dinner.

  Nevertheless, as she began gathering twigs and sticks, she couldn’t help staring down into the valley below where the smudges of smoke could be seen in the distance.

  “Damn you, Michael,” she whispered under her breath with sudden vehemence. “Damn you for sending me here.”

  • • •

  Rosemary didn’t know how long she’d been in the hospital, moving from one hellish injury to another. She couldn’t have said if it was day or night, or how much time had elapsed while she’d been shut away in the operating room. She only knew that when Dr. Grimm asked for a clamp, she stared blankly at the array of tools on the tray for several long moments, her mind frozen.

  “Major Dodd!”

  Dr. Grimm’s gentle command jerked her back into motion and she quickly grasped the clamp and turned to slap it into his hand.

  Grimm’s eyes were gentle above the edge of his mask. “How long have you been on duty, Major?”

  She shrugged. “A while.”

  “Ten hours? Twelve?”

  “Since before the attack.”

  “How long before?”

  He wasn’t going to take an evasive answer so she said, “Since eleven last night.”

  Grimm pointed to another nurse. “You. Take over the instrument tray.” He then pointed the clamp in Rosemary’s direction. “You. Take twenty minutes. No duties. None. I want you to get something to eat, drink, take a ten minute nap, then get back.”

  “Dr. Grimm, I appreciate your concern but—“

  “That’s an order, Major. Then I want similar rotations passed out among the other women. We’re in this for the long haul, and we all need our wits about us.”

  When it became clear that he wouldn’t resume his surgery until she complied, Rosemary nodded and backed away so that Lt. Wakely could take her place.

  Moving wearily, she crossed into the hall, blinking at the brilliant sunlight streaming through the gaping windows and glinting off the shattered glass that was strewn across the tile floor like diamonds.

  She’d been so sure that it would be nighttime.

  She’d thought she’d been a hundred years in the operating theater.

  A glance at her watch told her it was barely seven-thirty. Soon, the long shadows of evening would appear. But not yet. For now, the buttery stream of sunlight illuminated the crushed, broken, and maimed men filling every bed, every gurney, every possible inch of floor space. She was forced to weave her way among them like a drunken man, until finally, she was able to dodge through the door to her offi
ce.

  Surprisingly, the room was empty. Since it was too small to be of much use for the wounded, the space had been crammed with odd pieces of furniture, boxes of books, and superfluous equipment.

  Picking her way through the medical flotsam, she went to her desk, only to discover that her chair had already been filled with containers of tongue depressors and surgical tubing. But the window in this room, miraculously, was intact.

  Unable to summon enough energy to lift the boxes away, Rosemary tipped her chair, sending the boxes tumbling to the floor. Then she collapsed onto the seat, resting her head on folded arms propped on top of a desk cluttered with cleaning supplies and file folders.

  She needed to close her eyes. Just for a few minutes. Enough to ease the pounding ache in her head and shoulders and the numbness that had invaded her brain.

  But as soon as she blocked out the chaos around her, she was flooded with images: the ride in Napoli’s seaplane, a corsage of violets, the cornflower blue of Gilhouley’s eyes.

  The thought caused her throat to grow tight.

  Had it only been a day and a half ago? It felt like a lifetime since she’d been in his arms.

  Rubbing the spot between her eyes, she couldn’t keep her brain from looping into her most pressing concern. Where was Gilhouley now? He’d gone to Clark Field—and judging by the casualties they’d received from the airbase, the area had been one of the prime objectives of the Japanese. At first, when Rosemary had encountered some of the pilots, she’d asked if any of them had seen Gilhouley. But as the injuries from Clark became more and more severe, she’d stopped asking.

  • • •

  Glory Bee woke slowly, by degrees—not really sure how she had fallen asleep in the first place. But as she surfaced from a swirl of hazy, unsettling dreams, she realized that she was lying on the sofa, a soft lap blanket tucked around her waist.

  Vaguely, she remembered coming back into the sitting room after all of the tinned food had been stowed safely away. By that time, John had dragged the kitchen table into the sitting room next to the radio by the window. As he spoke with other plantation foremen in the area, he made notes on the map with a red carpenter’s pencil.

  At first, she’d tried to listen in on the conversations, moving silently around the room as she stripped the furniture of its dust covers, folded them, then set them in a pile on one of the chairs. But with her task finished and no other useful occupation apparent, she’d sunk onto the sofa. Soon, her weariness had overtaken her to the point that the static and the garbled transmissions had hissed around her like an incomprehensible symphony. And somehow, through it all, she must have fallen asleep.

  The shadows had all but overtaken the room. Except for a pair of hurricane lamps, one on the table and the other on the mantel, she might not have been able to see at all. But the flickering glow illuminated the man who sat looking out the window into the blackness beyond.

  John Macklin could have been carved from stone. His features were harsh, his posture still and stiff. A faint muscle pulsed in his jaw as he contemplated the valley below. Yet, even with his forbidding appearance, Glory Bee couldn’t help staring at him.

  Glory Bee had always been a sucker for wounded strays. As a child, she’d brought home birds with broken wings, lost puppies, and half-drowned kittens. Once she’d matured, things hadn’t changed much. She’d transferred her affections to wounded boys from abusive homes, then men. Even her affair with Michael had begun because of the abject loneliness she’d seen in his eyes. Of course, she hadn’t known at the time that his melancholy was due to an unhappy marriage rather than a checkered past.

  But with John, there was a difference. Even if she’d wanted to take him on as one of her projects, she couldn’t fix him. Nor was there anything that she could do to alleviate the turbulence that lingered behind his steady gaze. No, this was a man who warred with his own inner demons, and she’d learned long ago that such pain couldn’t be alleviated with a kiss and a cuddle. Only John could come to terms with the things he’d seen and experienced.

  But even knowing that on a logical level didn’t prevent the emotional tug she felt every time she was with him. A part of her longed to draw him into her arms until some of his pain faded away. But the more practical part was dying to know why he’d left the priesthood, even though she sensed that she might find the knowledge even more disturbing than her imagination. It was clear that whatever had happened still warred within him. And she knew enough about John to rest assured that he hadn’t made his decision lightly.

  So what vagaries of fate had brought him here, to the Philippines, to this lodge, to this moment, where his path tangled with hers?

  As the last few wisps of sleep faded away, Glory didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. She stared at her unwitting companion, trying to understand why she was so drawn to him despite all the reasons why she should leave him alone. She was already in more trouble than she could imagine. She didn’t need to borrow more.

  As if he’d heard her thoughts, he suddenly turned and met her gaze.

  “Feeling better?”

  Glory Bee nodded, feeling her cheeks flush. How long had he been aware of her stare? “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “You’re still getting your land legs.”

  “Perhaps.” Or perhaps, it was the fact that pregnancy exhausted her.

  The silence blossomed in the air between them, thick and fraught with danger. Glory Bee told herself to keep all conversation light and casual, but before she knew the words had even been formed in her head, she blurted, “What did you do in China? As a priest?”

  He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he all but skewered her to the chair with his dark gaze.

  “Sorry,” she said hastily. “Personal. I really didn’t mean to—”

  “I taught school.”

  “What did you teach?”

  “I taught English at a Catholic grammar school.”

  Her brows knit together. “I didn’t think there were many Christians in China, let alone Catholics.”

  She thought his lips tilted in a hint of a secret smile. “There weren’t many. But there were lots of children who longed for an education.”

  “Did you teach boys and girls together?”

  He shook his head. “What few girls were allowed to attend school were taught in a different section by the nuns. Co-education is primarily discouraged in China.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  His eyes took on a faraway sheen, as if he were picturing himself in another time, another place.

  “Yes. Yes, I enjoyed it very much.” Abruptly, he stood, putting an end to the current tack of their conversation. “Are you hungry? We can poke at the fire you started in the stove.”

  She shook her head, disappointed that he hadn’t been willing to tell her more. “No. I’m fine. You go ahead if you want.”

  When he moved into the kitchen, she raised her voice to be heard. “Where are Esteban and his family?”

  “They’ve set up under the trees out back.”

  “Wouldn’t they rather sleep in here where it’s more comfortable? Especially with the children? We could lay out blankets on the floor. I’d be happy to take the couch and give Esteban and his wife my bed.”

  John returned carrying a sandwich. “I made the suggestion and was politely refused. They tell me it’s too hot inside.”

  “But—”

  “Esteban is proud, and I’m his boss. He doesn’t feel comfortable sharing quarters with us yet. Not with his whole family in tow. In time, maybe, but not tonight.”

  Glory Bee nodded. She could understand precisely what Esteban was feeling. She felt like an interloper herself. John didn’t know her from Adam, and yet he’d taken it upon himself to see that she’d been taken out of harm’s way. No one would have faulted him if he’d left her at the plantation or dumped her off at the nearest American base.

  Standing, she moved to the map where John had been plotting the information
he’d received over the radio. When she saw that it was studded with bright red x’s, she gasped. “All of these areas were attacked?”

  He nodded. “Stotsenberg, Clark Airfield, Iba, Manila…They hit most of the key areas, airfields, fuel dumps, the docks.”

  Until that moment, the reality of the attack had been an ephemeral thing, ink blots of smoke against the brilliant blue Filipino sky. But looking at the splashes of red, the danger of their situation hit her full-force. If John had not brought her here, she would have had no one to turn to for help.

  “How long do you think it will be before the Japanese bring troops onto the islands?”

  He hesitated, trying to decide if she could handle the truth. Then he offered quietly, “From what I’ve been able to gather, it’s already begun.”

  She gasped, her stomach wrenching as if she’d dropped twenty floors in a too-fast elevator.

  “I think they’ve begun amphibious landings on a few of the northern islands. Bata is the only one I’ve been able to confirm so far.”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle, suddenly chilled. “But they’re being fought off, aren’t they?”

  John shook his head. “Not officially. I’m sure there’s opposition from the Filipinos, but no one could tell me if the Americans are involved yet. With their limited resources, they might be waiting until the Japanese land on Luzon.”

  Her gaze strayed to the map.

  “The Americans will have their hands full, won’t they?”