by Lisa Bingham
John considered the lieutenant’s words carefully. “It’s too dangerous to head back the way you came.”
Using the stick, he began to draw a rough map of Luzon in the dirt. He put a “C” in the approximate spot where Clark Field could be found, an “M” for Manila, then a series of “X’s” to show the location of the Sierra Madres.
Gilhouley bent low to point to the range of mountains. “Is there a way to go south, maybe even on the eastern slope of this range?”
John considered it for a moment. “Anything’s possible.” He hesitated, then added, “I don’t know if I would recommend it over other routes.”
Gilhouley’s gaze was suddenly attentive. “Other routes?”
John held the other man’s look for long seconds, trying to read him, then finally said.
“I know some people who could help you. Filipinos. I think that if I explained your situation, they might have a way to get you there faster.”
“How?”
John drew a line east to the coast, then circled the bottom half of the island. “By boat.”
Gilhouley stared at him in astonishment. “Boat?”
“It would be risky, but not as risky as trying to make your way over land. You’d have to take a small craft so that you could dodge anything the Japanese have out in the water. But if you hugged the coastline, you could probably make the trip in a couple of days, a week at most. It would beat the hell out of walking.”
“And you could arrange this?”
John shrugged, thinking of Esteban and Maria. One of Maria’s brothers, Pascal, was rumored to have been forming a guerrilla band for several months now. John wasn’t sure that he’d even be given the chance to talk to Pascal. But if he could talk to Esteban…
“I might. If the people I know are agreeable to the idea.”
For the first time, a slow smile spread across Gilhouley’s features. “What if I offered them something valuable as a sort of…trade for their services?”
“I suppose that would depend on whether they feel you’ve got something worth the risk. I’d be happy to pass on the message.”
This time, Gilhouley’s eyes fairly snapped with excitement.
“Then tell them I’ve got a radio and codes to connect directly to the U.S. armed forces.”
“They’re here,” Kilgore said, dodging into the hut, his voice ringing with urgency.
He barely heard him. He was shaking so hard from malaria that he truly thought that he would rattle apart at the seams. He was cold and hot and his joints ached as if he were a hundred years old. And he was thirsty, so thirsty. But when he’d tried to drink the water Petey had brought him, his stomach had rebelled and he’d thrown it all back up again.
“Who’s here?” Petey said listlessly. He was so emaciated that he was little more than a walking skeleton. He’d long-since lost most of his curly hair, and what was left was a curious gray color. He’d aged decades in the last few weeks.
“The Americans,” Kilgore said, his voice low and filled with excitement.
Petey offered a mirthless laugh. “And so’s my Aunt Fannie.”
“No, honest. They’re here!”
Kilgore dug a piece of crumpled paper out of his pocket. “They flew over the garden, over the camp, and threw these out the windows. I saw ‘em. I saw ‘em close enough to make out the fucking bars on the pilot’s uniform.
Petey was the only one with enough energy to take the bait. He grabbed the leaflet Kilgore held and squinted, trying to make out the words.
“I’ll be damned.” The kid leaned toward him. “Lieutenant, would you look at this?”
But he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take one more false hope. He wasn’t even sure if he could take one more night.
Chapter Thirteen
December 27, 1941
It wasn’t even dawn yet when Glory Bee gave up all pretense of trying to sleep. Her rest had been fitful, compounded by the hardness of the ground. Despite the netting, she’d been plagued by mosquitoes—and who knew what other kinds of nipping, biting insects. Her back ached and her own food didn’t agree with her. Most of all, she was heartsick in a way that she would never have thought possible. She had to try to talk to John, if only to explain.
But there had been no real opportunity. Whether it was due to the soldiers or the knowledge of her pregnancy, he’d slept close to the stream, his shape a barrier between her and the other men, nevertheless.
Not long ago, she’d heard him stirring. Although she’d kept her eyes closed and feigned sleep, she knew he’d approached the soldier who was on guard and offered to take his place. Then, the camp had grown quiet again.
After carefully folding up her blanket and slipping her feet into shoes and socks, Glory Bee nervously wiped her palms down her slacks, then moved to sit by him on one of the rocks.
He glanced up at her only briefly, his features an impassive mask, and she mourned the fact that he’d become the man she’d first encountered at Fort Stotsenberg. Quiet, forbidding, radiating a quiet, private pain.
“I want to explain,” she said quietly.
John returned his gaze to the impenetrable forest around them.
“That’s not necessar—”
“Yes. It is.”
She curled her hands in her lap, staring down at her nails. She’d always been so careful with her appearance—especially around Michael. Perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect outfit, perfect nails. But now, as she stared down at the chipped polish and the skin marred by scratches and bug bites, she realized that perfection had been an overwhelming burden.
“I-I know, that…being a priest and all—”
“I’m not a priest.”
“But you were,” she insisted softly. “And you can’t deny that having been a priest, you were faithful to a certain…set of standards.”
When he tried to interrupt her, she continued. “I’m not saying that I have an excuse for the things I’ve done.” She grimaced. “Even though I’m realizing that I don’t much like the person that I’ve become.”
He would have spoken, but she held up a hand to stop him.
“I’m not making excuses,” she began again. “But I would like to explain some of the reasons.”
John dipped his head in a curt nod.
“I envy you, you know. I’m sure that you made a lot of sacrifices to become a priest. I would never want to discount that. But I would have given anything to be able to be immersed in a life that encouraged a person to make honorable choices. Me?” Her laugh was bitter. “I grew up poor in the South with a drunk for a mother.”
She rubbed at one of the bug bites on the back of her hand, concentrating all her energies there rather than the censure she feared she would see in John’s eyes.
“I told you about my Nanna Sue. But what I didn’t say was that I spent only a few years with her. Every few months or so, my mother would show up, pack up my things, and insist that she needed me, couldn’t bear to be without me. She’d swear she was off the booze and ready to be a real ma.” Her breath hitched at the remembered pain. “But invariably, that meant there was a new man in her life. It wouldn’t be long before the romance had worn off and she was back to drinking and fighting.
“Some of the men were nice to me. A few even treated me like I was their own kid. But some of them…Some of them wanted to do things to me that no child should have to endure.”
She felt John grow still and quiet and suddenly remembered that he’d been in Nanking. He knew all about the depravity of dishonorable men.
“That’s why I loved my Nanna Sue. With her I felt safe.”
Glory Bee shifted, wedging her hands beneath her thighs. “I was only sixteen when she died, but I swore that I wouldn’t go live with my mother. Never again. So I ran off to Richmond, determined to become an actress, but even that was a disaster. I managed to snag a couple of roles in the chorus, but soon discovered the stage managers weren’t much better than my mother’s boyfriends. As soon as they
realized I wasn’t about to play their games, I’d find myself back on the street. After a while, it got harder and harder to find work—and I was willing to try anything. Waitress, maid, even a cooch dancer for the circus. But finding a job with so many people already out of work was tough. So by the time I got a chance to audition for the Burlesque Revue, I didn’t care if I had to take my clothes off. I was hungry and tired and wanted a job that would last more than a week or two.
“It was tough, but after a while I got used to it. And as I became better known, I developed a bit of a following. Men would send me flowers and gifts—even jewelry—just to get a chance to meet me. I let a few of them take me to dinner. Not many. I don’t know…there was always something about them, a hint of lechery, that reminded me of my mother’s male friends.”
She bit her lip.
“Then I met Michael Griffin, Senator from the Great State of Texas.” Her lips twitched. “That’s how he introduced himself.”
She took a quick breath. “He was different, or so I thought. He took his time, courting me, spending time with me. He never pressured me for anything more than my company. In time, I convinced myself that he truly loved me and we could have a future together. So when he offered me an apartment and a huge diamond ring, I believed that he wanted to marry me.”
Even now, the pain was sharp and raw. “I was a fool,” she whispered. “I didn’t know he was married. When I did find out, I convinced myself that Michael loved me, and in time we could be together. Somehow.”
A streak of moisture hit her cheek, and too late, she realized it was a tear. She swiped it away angrily, refusing to cry for Michael Griffin.
“Then I found out I was pregnant.”
She sobbed, looking at John again. And this time, she saw a hint of compassion in his gaze—and it was that, more than anything, which was her undoing.
“How could I have been so stupid? It’s only been in the last few days that I’ve realized that when I refused to get rid of the baby, he planned and plotted a way to get rid of me. He wanted me away from Washington and his precious career. So he sent me here, halfway around the world.
“Then I met you, John. I met you. And in the space of a few short weeks, you’ve shown me that what I shared with Michael was an illusion, a pack of lies wrapped up in pretty paper. But when I’m with you…”
She couldn’t continue, knowing that she’d already lost whatever might have been between them.
Just when she feared that she couldn’t take another breath, John’s hand slipped around her shoulders and he drew her to him. And her relief was so shattering that she buried her face in his chest and sobbed, huge piteous sobs that came from the depths of broken dreams and betrayal.
As she clung to him, she knew that his act of comfort was by no means a statement that things would go back to the way that they’d been between them. But at least he knew the whole sordid truth. There were no lies between them, no secrets. And the purging of those burdens erupted in his arms until she lay quiet and quivering against him.
“Can you forgive me, John?” she finally whispered, exhausted.
“For what?”
“For everything…for the person I’ve been…the secrets I’ve kept.”
She thought, but could not be sure, that his lips pressed against the top of her head.
“There is nothing to forgive.”
• • •
The air raids over Bataan began soon after dawn and continued unabated for hours—to the point where Rosemary no longer knew what time it was, or how long she’d been in surgery. The wounded were pouring into the hospital quicker than they could treat them. It wasn’t long until, much like Stotsenberg, every cot, every inch of floor space had been used and more injured waited beneath the trees out of doors.
At one point, bed sheets had been lain out in the clearing, and someone had painted a big, red cross in the center, but if the Japanese saw it, they gave it no heed. The bombs that fell were close, far too close, to have been an accident. Thankfully, the bamboo and thatched roofs provided them with some shelter from the rain of shrapnel, but with each blast, the doctors and nurses would crouch low to the ground or fling themselves over the open wounds of their patients. Then, when the reverberations had passed and the roar of planes faded away, they would return to their tasks.
Arching her back, Rosemary lowered her mask and stepped into the sunshine. As least with more surgeons and nurses here than what they’d had in Stotsenberg, they were able to see to the wounded more quickly. The huts had been assigned specific specialties, which had also helped with the turn-around. But it was still a far cry from the medicine she’d practiced before. “Battle medicine”, Dr. Grimm called it, and she had to agree.
“We’re out of surgical caps,” she said as she approached Alice who was manning the sterilization pot that they’d rigged up the day before.
“Check with Lieutenant Reyes.”
Rosemary laughed. “You mean she’s conscious?”
“Conscious and ready to spit bullets. When she discovered another crate of supplies needing to be scrubbed with ether, she nearly blew a gasket.” Alice leaned low. “Apparently, she now has the mother of all hangovers.”
“I heard that,” Reyes said as she marched past, “and I am not amused.”
Alice giggled. “See what I mean.” She tipped her head toward the beach. “This time, she got smart about it and insisted that the work be done in twenty-minute shifts out on the beach where the breeze can help push some of the fumes away. As for the hats, she was even more livid when she discovered that they’d gone down with the ferry, but the cook had received three cases of chef’s hats. So she stole two of the boxes, and she’s been cutting them down for us to use in surgery.”
“Smart girl.”
“You have no idea. I wouldn’t cross with that one. Especially in the mood she’s in.”
Unfortunately, Alice made the remark as Lt. Reyes stalked toward them, her arms full of white chef’s hats.
“I heard that too, Alice.”
“At least your hearing’s not affected,” Alice grumbled good-naturedly.
Even Reyes had to smile at that.
“There’s someone in the examination hut asking to see you, Rosemary,” Reyes said.
Rosemary’s heart flip-flopped like a landed fish.
Gilhouley.
“Who is it?”
Rita shrugged. “Don’t know. Dr. Grimm told me to get you.”
Stripping the bloodstained surgical gown from her shoulders, Rosemary hurried toward the first long hut. But when she stepped into its shady confines, there was no sign of Gilhouley, merely dozens of wounded waiting for attention, soldiers and nurse’s alike. But then, just when she was about to cross to the far side of the room where Dr. Grimm was setting a plaster cast on a little girl’s arm, she saw a familiar, grizzled leprechaun, and she knew immediately who’d asked for her.
“Napoli!” she said as she approached the man. “What are you doing in this neck of the woods? I heard you were headed for Australia.”
He looked up, a grateful grin immediately spreading over his features. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Instead, he looked pale and clammy, his body racked with shivers.
“I t-tried to t-tell ‘em to wait for you, Major. I d-don’t want ‘em t-touching me until I t-talked to you.”
Rosemary slid her stethoscope from her pocket and looped it around her neck. “What’s the problem?” she asked, looking at him, then at the nurse who hovered behind him. Immediately, she recognized the girl as one of the new nurses.
“That one d-doesn’t know what she’s t-talking about,” he grumbled. “She keeps t-telling me I can’t f-fly. But I keep t-telling her I g-got to get my plane repaired and g-get out of here before the Japanese b-bomb it out of the water.”
Rosemary tipped her head, silently giving the other woman permission to leave, while she slid the earpieces to her stethoscope into place. “You’ve got your plane here?”
His heart was steady, if fast, so she looped the stethoscope around her neck again.
“You must be one of the last people on the island with a plane, Napoli. Last I heard, the Army Air Corps was down to a few dozen machines. Word has it, they’re flying in formations of one.”
Napoli chuckled, then coughed. “Well? T-tell me I can f-fly. It sh-shouldn’t take too long to fix my bird up.”
Rosemary shook her head. “I’m going to have Dr. Grimm take a look, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got malaria and you’ve got it bad.”
“But—”
“No buts, Napoli. We’ll give you some quinine, but the best thing for you right now is rest.” She tipped his head back. “You’re pretty jaundiced. You’ve got fever chills. If you were airborne, I doubt if you’d have the strength to man the controls. And if a Zero came up behind you, you wouldn’t be able to react quickly enough. There’s a ward right next to my tent. I’ll have them put you there, then I can check on you throughout the day. As soon as it looks like you’re on the mend, I’ll have Dr. Grimm give you the go-ahead.”
Napoli nodded reluctantly. “Thanks, Major.”
“Rosemary, please.”
His eyes sparked a little when she urged him to treat her as a friend rather than one of the many medical officers.
“How’s G-Gilhouley?” Napoli asked. Now that he’d been told he would have to stay for treatment, he didn’t bother to try to hide his symptoms, sagging in on himself, his arms wrapping even tighter around his body.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since we were forced to evacuate Stotsenberg.”
She urged Napoli to lie down.
“He’s a good fella, G-Gilhouley is.”
“Yes. I think so too.”
“And h-he’s t-taken a r-real shine to you.”
She smiled. “I know.”
“I-it’s the first t-time I’ve s-seen him looking so happy. H-he was a bit of a h-hellion when I knew h-him in D-dago.”
