by Lisa Bingham
He didn’t respond, but she could see that the vein at his neck was beginning to relax.
Not sure how to proceed, Glory Bee asked, “Who’s Mary Francis?”
He looked startled.
“I know…personal,” she said quickly. “You called out to her in your sleep. I got the impression that you thought she was in danger.”
His jaw worked for a moment before he said, “She was, uh…one of the sisters who worked at the…the girls’ school.”
“Were you in love with her?”
Rather than being annoyed, John laughed. “No. Sister Mary Francis was at least fifty, but she was…a dear friend.”
“She was…hurt?”
His amusement faded and he nodded. “She was raped and killed by the Japanese.”
Glory Bee felt a shiver of horror. “They raped and killed a nun?”
He nodded. “She was ordered to make her students available to…entertain the needs of the soldiers. When she refused, the soldiers scaled the walls of the convent. Then they tortured and killed her. As an example.” John stared down at his hands, drawing them into fists, then releasing them again. “Afterwards, they…mutilated her, then hung her naked body outside the school as a warning to others who might try to disobey their edicts.”
Glory Bee shuddered. “No wonder you have nightmares.”
As if suddenly realizing that he sat wearing nothing but his undershorts, John rolled to his feet, turning his back to her as he stepped into his trousers and buttoned them. Then, he stood, leaning against the windowsill, loath to being alone again, but not sure how he should proceed.
“Is that why you left China?”
He shook his head. “I left because I was ordered to do so. I wanted to stay behind. To help. But the diocese was given permission by the Japanese for its staff to board a boat headed for Shanghai and we were all told to be on it. I would have forced the issue, but after what had happened to Sister Mary Francis, I was afraid that if I ignored the Japanese’s none-too-subtle hint to leave, they would turn on my students in retribution.”
He bowed his head. “In the end, it didn’t matter. Since my students were young and male and could conceivably fight against the Japanese, they were taken out into the woods and executed.”
“Dear God,” Glory Bee whispered.
“That’s the reason I left the priesthood. What kind of God could allow that to happen to children?”
Glory Bee didn’t know how she could even respond to that, so she stood and moved toward him, laying her hand on his back. He flinched but did not step away.
“So you came here?”
“Eventually.”
Again, she was at a loss for words, so she wrapped her arms around him and laid her cheek against his back.
“I’m sorry. So, so sorry.” Too late, she realized that, again, she had allowed herself to get too intimate with a man who probably wasn’t accustomed to such physical outpourings of comfort. So with one last squeeze, she released him and turned.
“Would you like some coffee? Or perhaps tea. I saw tea in the cupboard.”
“Tea, thanks.”
She padded into the kitchen and busied herself with stoking the fire in the stove, filling the kettle with water, then setting it over one of the burners. While the water heated, she gathered thick mugs and set them on the table along with spoons and a small sack of sugar.
Minutes later, John joined her. He’d donned a shirt, but left the top two buttons undone. He was rolling the cuffs up to his elbows as the teakettle began to shriek. After dumping the leaves into the pot, Glory Bee grasped a strainer from the coffee can on the stove, then set everything on the table. Taking a chair opposite, she said, “Have you managed to shake the wiggly woolies away?”
His brows rose and she laughed. “When I was small, I was deathly afraid of the little wooly caterpillars in the garden—wiggly woolies, my Nanna called them. So when I had a nightmare, she would ask if the wiggly woolies had come to get me.”
John’s smile was rueful. “I’m doing much better, thank you.”
Setting a strainer over his cup, she poured his tea, then did the same with her own. Sensing he remained unsettled, no matter what he might say to the contrary, she continued her prattle.
“I spent most of my time growing up with my grandmother—Nanna Sue, I called her.”
“You had no mother?”
Glory Bee grimaced. “Oh, I had a mother. She just wasn’t sober long enough to be much good at the job. So by the time I was two, I was living with Nanna Sue.” She laughed. “She was a rip-snorter, I’ll tell you that. She had only two things in life that she hated. The demon alcohol and Yankees. But she was sweet with me. If I’d asked for a star of my own, she probably would have found a way to pluck one from the heavens and pin it on my shoulder.” She shook her head. “We didn’t have a lot of money, but there was love and laughter in that house, I’ll tell you.”
“What happened to her?”
Glory Bee shrugged, stirring a scoop of sugar into her tea. “Kicked by a mule, can you believe it? Nearly ninety-five at the time, but it was the ornery animal that brought her down, not her age. Still, I couldn’t complain. Her worst fear was that she’d become an invalid and a burden to those around her—not that she could ever have been a burden to me. But this way her death was quick, just like she wanted.”
“So that’s when you…when you became a…”
“A stripper?” she supplied with a laugh. “Lord, no. I wanted to be an actress. Didn’t matter how poor we were, Nanna Sue and I still found money for the pictures every single week. I knew I wanted to go to Hollywood someday.”
John took a sip of his tea. “I take it that things didn’t work out.”
She shook her head. “I got work in the theater right away, first in Richmond, then Washington, D.C.. But it wasn’t long before I realized that I’d never get past the chorus. Never had enough schooling to put on airs the way some of the other girls did, and that didn’t sit well with the men in charge. So, after a time, I found something I was good at. It so happened that meant taking off my clothes.” She pointed her spoon at him. “But, mind you, I’ve got class and I’ve got standards. I never take everything off, at least not so the men in the audience can see from London to France. No, I put most of my emphasis on the tease, rather than the strip. And it’s served me well. Men prefer a little mystery, even though they don’t come right out and say it.”
John laughed, the first time she’d ever heard such a thing from him. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He took another gulp from his mug, then said, “So how did you end up in the Philippines at the outbreak of a war?”
She sighed heavily. “Damned if I know. I needed a little…time off. I was told that if I came here, I could have a vacation in paradise.” She grimaced. “Some paradise. If it weren’t for you, I’d be in a hell of a fix, wouldn’t I?”
“I’m glad I could be of help.”
Glory Bee stirred at her tea, then said more seriously. “We’re in a bad spot, aren’t we, John?”
When she looked up, his eyes were dark, quiet. He didn’t bother to lie. “Yes.”
“But we have a chance of staying away from the Japanese, don’t we?”
His thumb rubbed over the edge of his cup. “I think we have a good chance, Glory Bee. With luck, we’ll only have to hide for a few weeks. By then, if all goes according to plan, the Americans should be landing in Manila.”
She heaved a deep sigh. “I hope you’re right. I really hope you’re right.”
Because, after hearing what John had been through in Nanking, the alternative was far too horrible to contemplate.
• • •
It took much longer to process the new batch of wounded than Rosemary had expected, and she was afraid that in that time Gilhouley would have left—or that the encounter in the yard had been a mirage. But as she rounded the corner of the hall, she saw him sitting where she’d told him to go, his back against the door to her of
fice, his wrists resting loosely on his up drawn knees. She would have thought he would have fallen asleep since she’d been gone for so long, but he sat staring at the wall. Staring, but not really seeing.
It wasn’t until she knelt beside him and gently touched his head that he jerked back to awareness. Then he smiled, a slow, weary smile. And in his gaze, she saw it all—his exhaustion, an echo of the horrors that he’d seen, and an overwhelming joy at seeing her again.
Tears threatened again, but she pushed them away. She cradled his face in her hands and kissed him, not caring who might see, grateful that he was here. He was safe.
“Come on. I can’t leave the hospital yet, but I’ve got a short break.” She pressed a palm to his chest to help push herself upright, then frowned when it came away wet with blood.
“It’s not mine,” he said again.
“Gilhouley, this is fresh. You’re bleeding.”
Taking his hand, she pulled him upright, leading him through the pallets of the injured to what had once been the supply room and was now a makeshift treatment room. She motioned for him to get up on one of the tables, then gathered water, soap, and antiseptic. Since there were no available towels, she took a pair of bandage scissors and cut a chunk of her slip free.
“Take off your shirt.”
Rosemary quickly moved to help him. After tending to so many wounded, she couldn’t help lingering over the task, needing to reassure herself that Riley was all right, that he was here, he was safe. After pushing the fabric aside, she hissed, seeing several gashes in the fabric of his undershirt.
“You must have been cut by shrapnel.”
He looked down at himself in surprise. “It doesn’t hurt. I didn’t even know I’d been hit.”
“It will. You’ve still got a lot of adrenaline running through your system, but you’ll be crashing here pretty soon.”
Not wanting to pull at the wounds until she could see them more clearly, she took the scissors and cut him free of his undershirt. He was covered with several pockmarked abrasions, but two of the gashes were giving her the most concern.
“These will need stitches, but we’ve got to clean you off first.” She thought for a moment, then said, “Can you stand?”
He shot her a sharp look.
“Some people don’t react well to the sight of their own blood.”
He grimaced. “I’ve seen enough blood to last a lifetime today.”
On that point, she had to agree. “Bring your things.”
She gathered a few medical supplies, then led him to the nurses’ locker room, which was a few doors down from her office. “There’s a shower in there. Wash yourself off as much as possible. I’ll stand out here to make sure no one comes in. Then we’ll go to my office and I’ll stitch you up.”
Rosemary snagged one of the last remaining sheets that her nurses had gathered from around the base. “Clean towels are long gone, but you can wrap yourself in this.”
Gilhouley hesitated. “Are you sure—?”
“Just go.”
He disappeared into the locker room and a few minutes later, she heard the sound of running water. To his credit, his shower was brief, barely more than five minutes. Then he emerged with his filthy clothes in one hand and the sheet wrapped tightly around his middle.
Rosemary ushered him into her office, locking the door behind her. Then she slid the boxes of supplies off the desk so that he could perch on the edge.
After a quick examination of the gashes, she said, “You’re going to need about two dozen stitches.”
He looked wary. “Don’t you need a doctor for—?”
“I’ve been doing it all night,” she said. “Right now, the doctors are busy with more serious cases.” She shot him a soft smile. “I’ll hurry.”
He nodded, but she saw that his knuckles grew white as he gripped the edge of the desk.
“Do you have a problem with needles?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good.”
She withdrew a syringe and filled it with Novocain, then carefully deadened the areas around the deepest gashes. Glancing up, she saw that Gilhouley had pinned his stare on the opposite wall.
“Okay?”
He nodded and she worked as fast as she could to draw the edges of the wounds together. When she carefully snipped the thread and straightened, he let out his breath in a whoosh.
“Not too bad, I hope.”
He gingerly fingered the wounds.
Now that she was finished, Rosemary couldn’t help but admire his physique in the harsh light. He looked battered, bruised, and weary, but otherwise fit for duty. The fact brought a rush of relief that nearly brought her to her knees.
“What happened?” she asked, her words so soft they were barely audible.
“I was coming down from the control tower when the first wave hit.” He shook his head. “It was…”
She squeezed his hand, moving closer, and without a word, he drew her between his legs, his arms pulling her close so that her head rested on his shoulder. The warmth of his body seeped into hers, easing a place deep inside her that had been cold and afraid and fearful since she’d known he’d been caught in the thick of things.
“Next thing I knew, I was helping with the wounded, carrying them to trucks, taking care of them while they were transported here. I don’t know how many trips I took or how many bodies…” His voice grew husky. “A lot of good men died today, Rosemary.”
She nodded against him. “I know.”
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “The Japs will be back.”
She wound her arms around him, holding him as tightly as she dared. “I know.”
Rosemary felt him shudder against her. “I felt so damned useless out there. I’m from the goddamned press corps. What good am I in the middle of a war?”
“You can tell people the truth about what happened.”
“That’s just it. I can’t. There is no way that I could ever put into words what I’ve seen today, Rosemary. And even if I did, the brass would never allow me to publish it. We were caught with our pants down—and why? We knew about Pearl, we knew the Japanese would strike us as well, and yet…” A sob caught in his throat. “Those pilots, Rosemary. They were under fire, most of their aircraft exposed, yet they were still running toward their machines, willing to do anything to get into the air in order to save their fleet or at least down a Jap or two. There was this one guy…”
Rosemary waited, as Gilhouley shuddered against her.
“His…uh…He was thrown free from his plane when a shell went off.” Gilhouley swallowed hard. “When I got to him and rolled him over…Geez, Rosemary, there was nothing left of his chest, these…these white strips of rib and…the zigzag of intestines. But he was still breathing, still…begging me to help him get to his plane while he gripped my hand and his blood bubbled from his gut.”
Sobbing, Rosemary drew back, cradling his face in her hands, sweeping the tears on his cheeks away with her thumbs. Then she kissed him, again and again—and as if the dam of his control had finally broken, he covered her lips with his own, drawing strength from her passion as she drew hers from him. The events of the day, their weariness, the horrors that they had seen and their gratitude that they were together, alive, added fuel to the fire until neither of them could deny their overwhelming need.
Rosemary wrenched at the sheet wrapped around Riley’s waist just as he grappled to bring her skirt up. Frustrated, wanting him with her, in her, she helped him with her underthings until he was sliding into her, pounding against her with the same frantic need that yawned within her. With a measure of adrenaline still pumping through her system, her climax was quick and powerful, and Riley joined her almost instantaneously, his body shaking with the intensity of his release. Then they sank against one another, exhausted, spent, their bodies momentarily sated, but their minds and hearts still hungry for the closeness.
A knock came at the door, startling them both.
“Y-yes?” Rosemary called out, her voice garbled and husky.
“Major Dodd?”
“Yes?” Rosemary quickly tore herself out of Gilhouley’s arms and began hastily gathering her clothing.
“Dr. Packard needs your help with an amputation.”
“I’ll be right there. Tell him I’ve got to…wash up first.”
The whisper of crepe soles against the floor moved away from the door.
“I’ve got to go,” she said to Riley, turning to kiss him, once, twice, wishing, more than anything, that she didn’t have to leave him.
Not yet.
Not now.
Judging by the expression he wore, Riley was equally torn.
“I know. I’ve got to find my own staff and then see what we’re supposed to do. Somehow, I don’t think that finishing the latest base newspaper is going to be a high priority.”
They stood frozen, their eyes taking in what their hands had enjoyed only moments before. Then Gilhouley turned away. He scooped his filthy clothing off the floor and began stepping back into them. Rosemary wanted to protest, but she didn’t have anything clean for him to wear and he couldn’t make his way around the base in nothing but a sheet.
As soon as he’d turned back again, she whispered, “Find me. When you’re free, find me.”
Still, she hesitated. And then, knowing that she was needed elsewhere, she smoothed her hair with her hands, replacing the pins and righting her cap. “I don’t even know if my house is intact, but if it is, let yourself in.”
She had her hand on the door, hesitated, then ran back for another kiss.
“Watch after yourself, Gilhouley. Whatever happens next.”
“You too.”
Then, after one last quick kiss, she unlocked the door and hurried back to the operating room.
He’d sent the letter each day with Kilgore when he’d gone out to garden. And each day, his friend had returned, imperceptibly shaking his head.
Not yet.
Not yet.
If not for the quinine bottle he’d hidden under his bunk, he would have thought that the mention of a person called padre sending help from outside had been a figment of his imagination. Certainly, with every day that passed, the likelihood of making contact again had become more and more remote.
