After the Fall

by Lisa Bingham

  For the first time in her life, Glory Bee found that growing up poor had its advantages. As a child, she’d eaten squirrel, raccoon, and even snake. But as she did her best to make their offerings palatable with her limited culinary skills, she couldn’t control the cravings that besieged her. She wanted ham and greens and bread with rich creamy butter. And chocolate.

  But food wasn’t her only craving. After a week where every waking moment had been spent with someone guarding the camp or ensuring she was well protected, she needed privacy.

  Privacy and a real bath.

  Finally, when the itch of bug bites and the lank texture of her hair became more than she could bear, she carefully chose a moment when John was standing away from the other soldiers and made her approach.

  Things had been better between them for the past few days. The mood between them had become warm. Friendly. He’d taken to sleeping next to her at night when he wasn’t assigned to guard duty. But other than stretching out next to her, or drawing her onto his shoulder, he didn’t touch her. Didn’t kiss her. At times, he was so careful, so solicitous, that she could scarcely bear the way he kept her at arm’s length. Since discovering her pregnancy, he’d begun to treat her as if she were made of spun glass, refusing to let her carry anything heavy or strain herself in any way. She supposed that with the other men so near, he didn’t want to give them anything to gossip about when they returned to the base.

  Nevertheless, while he remained outwardly calm and unaffected, his actions had the opposite effect on her. By denying her emotions and impulses, the sexual tension had built up inside her with such force that her frustration had become pique, her pique, anger, until she felt as if she were a powder keg about to blow. And, by heavens, if she couldn’t satisfy her raging need for John Macklin, at least she would satisfy the need to wash her hair.

  John must have sensed at least a portion of her mood because he frowned as she approached and his posture stiffened, as if he were bracing himself for whatever storm she might bring.

  But Glory Bee had no wish to make a scene. She’d never been that kind of a woman. Instead, she said lowly, “I need to take a bath. A real bath. Sometime today.”

  He regarded her uncomprehendingly for a moment, then understood the gist of her request. He didn’t speak, but nodded.

  Without another word, she returned to the lee in the rock and gathered up their blankets so that the insects wouldn’t find new places to hide. Then, knowing that John would somehow grant her request, she dug into her pack for fresh clothes, her comb, and the small precious cake of soap. If only she’d known she would be marooned in the jungle for weeks. Then she would have brought bars and bars of the stuff.

  It was only after she’d gathered everything together in a pile that she became aware of a stillness in the camp. Peeking around the edge of the rocks, she discovered that the clearing was empty except for John, who stood poking at the fire underneath a pair of pots.

  Confused, she rolled to her feet and approached him. “Where have all the men gone?”

  John offered her a soft smile—and again, she was struck by the way that hint of tenderness made him look so much more approachable. Young. Attractive.

  “When I explained your need for privacy, they decided to head downstream a mile or two and take advantage of the water themselves.” He glanced at his watch. “They’ve given me their word they won’t return for at least an hour.”

  An hour.

  One hour alone with John.

  Her hands twisted together. “You didn’t want to go with them?”

  He scowled. “I’m not leaving you here alone. I’ll keep an eye on things while you wash up.”

  For a moment, she felt a flare of hope. What kinds of things did he intend to keep his eyes on?

  Feeling suddenly free, like a hostess who’d finally rid herself of persistent houseguests, she hurried back to collect her things. Then, returning to the same deep spot in the river where she’d bathed once before, she kicked off her shoes.

  “Promise me that you’ll watch for lizards,” she said breathlessly as she dragged her shirt over her head and kicked out of her trousers.

  Just in time, she peered over her shoulder to see John look in her direction. Unable to dampen the wicked voice that whispered in her ear to tempt him even more, she reached behind her to unfasten her brassiere, then allowed it to drop to the ground unheeded.

  He swallowed. Hard. And she couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Dear God, Glory Bee.” His words begged her to stop, but his eyes clung to the fullness of her breasts like a dying man being offered salvation.

  “After the last few days, I was beginning to believe that you didn’t want me anymore,” she whispered, surprising even herself with her boldness.

  “Nothing could be farther from the truth.”

  She considered pushing things even farther. But she feared that if she forced him to admit how much he desired her, he might decide to flee and finish his guard duty from the safety of the woods. So, instead, she slipped the silken tap pants down over her hips. For several long moments, she stood still, allowing John to see what she had never exposed onstage. And then, when she feared he might bolt, she stepped into the stream and sank down into the water.

  She had thought that he would turn away, that he would pretend to guard her from Japanese and forest animals alike, but he continued to face her, watching, his expression at once rapt and horrified.

  Sensing that he warred with the values that had made him a priest, she didn’t say a word. She reached for the soap, dipped it into the water, then began to rub it over her arms, her neck, her breasts, until her skin was shiny and slick. Then, sitting back, she ran the bar over her legs, her belly.

  At that point, John didn’t even pretend to keep guard. He set his rifle on the ground and faced her more directly, his elbows on his thighs as he leaned toward her. But his posture couldn’t hide the effect she was having on his body.

  “You’re killing me, Glory Bee.”

  “Then come join me.”

  He shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  He looked heavenward for a moment, then back at her. “You know why not.”

  “You’re not a priest anymore,” she reminded him, shocking herself with her brazenness.

  “No, but I…”

  Her head tipped to one side. “Have you ever been with a woman before, John?”

  The forest pulsed for several long seconds before he shook his head.

  “Not even when you left the priesthood?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Personal. Very, very personal. But Glory needed to know the answer, needed to know what made this man so different from any other male she’d ever encountered.

  “It always felt…wrong.”

  “Sinful, you mean?”

  “No.” He looked up at her then. “More like I hadn’t found the right partner yet.”

  The words caused a slow heat to spill through her veins. He’d never felt tempted. Until he’d met her. The idea was so powerful, so overwhelming, that this time, it was her turn to shift in discomfort.

  Wrapping her arms around her up drawn knees, she regarded him carefully as she asked,

  “Does it bother you that I’m pregnant?”

  He chose his words carefully. “It concerns me.”

  She wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, so she asked, “Does it bother you that I’ve been with other men?”

  “A little. But only a little.”

  Again, she was astonished by his honesty.

  “Does it make you want me less?”

  He shook his head. “No. Nothing could ever make me want you less.”

  When he stood, she was sure that he meant to come to her, to draw her in his arms, to kiss her—and her body trembled from the need of it. Instead, he moved to the fire, and she frowned until she saw that he’d taken hold of one of the pots and now carried it toward her.

 
Warm water.

  Here in the midst of the jungle, surrounded by the most primitive conditions, he had thought far enough ahead to supply her with warm water. John stepped into the stream and crouched beside her.

  “Undo your hair, Glory Bee,” he said, his voice low. “I love your hair.”

  Lifting her arms, she began to remove the precious pins from the braids she’d looped over the top of her head. The action caused John’s gaze to slip down to the fullness of her breasts as they swayed from the movement. And sensing the slender control he had on his emotions, she prolonged the task, removing her hairpins with infinite slowness, then using her fingers to unwind the plaits, until the tresses hung over her shoulders, teasing the taut tips of her nipples.

  Standing, John began to pour the warm water over her head, and she couldn’t help the moan of pleasure that escaped from her throat. She felt as if she were being bathed in liquid sunshine as the liquid sluiced down her throat, between her breasts, then down, down, to the part of her that ached for John’s possession.

  When she thought she could bear no more, John knelt beside her again. Reaching for the bar of soap, he rubbed it against his hands, then plunged his slick fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp until she thought that the pleasure building within her might come to a climax then and there.

  Only after the strands were squeaky clean, did he stand again, rinsing the soap away with the rest of the warm water. Then, when she thought that she could bear no more, he reached for her, pulling her upright into his arms. Heedless of the way she soaked his clothing, he lowered his head to kiss her, tenderly, slowly, then with increasing fire until Glory Bee wasn’t sure where her body ended and his began. She only knew that it felt so good, so right, to be with this man, to have him strain against her, his mouth ravishing hers.

  Her own hands clutched at his waist, tugging his shirt free until she could spread her hands wide over his bare flesh. She wanted him more than anything she’d ever wanted in her whole life. More than air itself.

  She tunneled between them, searching for the buttons to his shirt, needing that contact, flesh to flesh, heart to heart. But he drew away from her to hold her hand.

  “Not yet,” he whispered hoarsely. “Not here.”

  She whimpered against him with her need—and she knew that she’d finally managed to crash her way through his emotional barriers because he whispered, “They’ll be back soon. Gilhouley and his men.”

  She mewled in distress. Why hadn’t John sent them away for a day, a week?

  John kissed her again, his own desperation and want so palpable that she was slightly mollified.

  “They won’t be here for much longer. Esteban is bound to send a runner soon. Then, as soon as they’re gone and we’re alone…”

  He kissed her again, so powerfully that common sense was nearly overruled.

  But from some distance away, she heard noisy footfalls and knew that their idyll was about to be disturbed.

  Breaking away from her, John quickly handed her the clothing she’d set out—a dress this time, since her trousers were already growing uncomfortable. She’d barely managed to put on her underthings and pull the frock into position before Petey appeared, then Gilhouley, Berman, Kilgore, and Baptiste. She knew them well by now, knew where they were from, why they’d joined the Army, what their specialties were.

  But in that instant, Glory Bee couldn’t wait until they were gone.

  “Lieutenant, come quick!”

  He looked up from his attempts to repair his pants. They were literally falling apart at the seams, and since he’d cut them off at the knees long ago, he was pulling frayed threads from the edges and using a bit of bent wire as a needle in order to patch up the holes.

  Kilgore’s expression held such terror that he immediately dropped the pants and staggered toward him on trembling legs.

  “What is it?”

  “Petey. They caught him bringing a handful of greens in from the garden.”

  “Shit, shit, shit!” He’d told Petey to watch himself in the next few days. Tanaka had been foaming at the mouth with fury earlier that week, and so far, he hadn’t come out into the compound, gun cocked.

  “Who caught him? Putzy-sahn?”

  Kilgore nodded.

  “That won’t be as bad. He’ll—”

  “He’s already gone inside to tell Tanaka.”

  The sound of screams came from the compound and he dodged outside. Petey was being held by two guards while Tanaka charged toward him, beating him with a cudgel.

  He lunged toward his friend, but Kilgore and another soldier held him back as Petey was struck again and again. Even from this distance, they could hear the bones crack, until his face became an unrecognizable, bloody lump, and his body crumpled to the ground. Even then, Tanaka continued to kick him—head, ribs, crotch—until Petey no longer moved. Then, offering a torrent of barely intelligible syllables, Tanaka ordered the prisoner strung up from a pair of poles in the center of the compound.

  “At least Tanaka didn’t shoot him,” Kilgore whispered, his features pale.

  Was it better? Or would a quick death have been more merciful than the vicious beating and days spent hanging by his arms in the sun?

  “Is he breathing?” he whispered desperately. When no one answered, he shouted, “Is he breathing!”

  “I don’t know, Lieutenant.”

  They watched in horror as Petey’s body was strung up by his wrists. His head lolled forward, blood dripping into the dust beneath him. His arms strained beneath the burden of supporting his dead weight, looking as if they might separate at the shoulders.

  “Come on, Lieutenant. We gotta back off. If we stay here, Tanaka will come at him again.”

  “No.”

  “Lieutenant?”

  “No! I’m not moving. Not until I know he’s breathing.” He sank into the dust, sobbing again, “Not until I know he’s breathing.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  January 9, 1941

  Rosemary sat wearily on the beach, nursing a precious bottle of Coca-Cola. There had been a bodega in one of the barrios a few miles away and the nurses had begun congregating there between shifts. It was so easy to sit on the wide stoop, sipping sodas and pretending to be at a mom-and-pop store back home. But earlier that afternoon, the little shop had received a direct hit and all that was left was a few scattered bottles of cola, dented tins of food, and splintered wood.

  The scuttlebutt floating through camp was that the Powers-That-Be were already looking for another location for the hospital.

  In one respect, Rosemary would be glad for the move. This close to the bay, the facilities were too exposed, and the Japanese had no respect for the bed sheets painted with red crosses that had been laid out in the clearing and on the roofs of the huts. If Zeros weren’t flying overhead and strafing the staff who wandered into the clearing, the Japanese Artillery was lobbing shells over their heads.

  On the other hand, the move might cause problems of a different nature. The only logical alternative to their current site would be a spot further inland where the jungle would provide better cover. And the interior of Bataan was known for its inhospitable conditions. It was the perfect breeding ground for malaria, dysentery, and dengue fever.

  Even more concerning, it was one step farther away from Gilhouley. If the hospital were repositioned, would he be able to find her if he ever had a chance to break away from his duties?

  A shadowy shape slowly made its way toward her, and she smiled when she recognized Napoli.

  “I see you’re feeling better,” she said with a smile.

  He grunted, standing above her, his hat in his hand. “Good enough t’ give my bed up to someone else who needs it.”

  She nodded. “I’m glad. I was worried about you for a day or two.”

  Napoli’s smile was disconcerted and he shuffled his feet like a shy teenager at his first dance.

  “I want t’ thank you, Rosemary.”

  She stood,
brushing the sand from her trousers. As promised, the women had been issued army tans—and the uniforms were cooler than the coveralls. But after a day spent wading through a sea of death and destruction, there were times when she longed for the femininity of a dress and the sweet scent of perfume.

  “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

  He nodded, gripping his hat in his hand.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “I’ve got a little camp a few miles down the coast. Not too bad of a place. Got a supply of food, even a radio. My plane’s hidden in a cove there while I try to scrounge up a part I need. I’ll spend some time fixin’ her up. Then, maybe in a week or so, I’ll try to make a run to Australia.”

  “Have you got enough fuel to get that far?”

  He shrugged. “Probably not. But there’s plenty of islands where I can ditch if I have to. Hopefully the Japs haven’t got control of all of ‘em.”

  To Rosemary, his plans for fleeing the Philippines didn’t seem much safer than sticking around, but she couldn’t blame him for trying.

  “I wish you well, Napoli.”

  He nodded. “I’ll come and say goodbye before I go, just to check and see if you’ve heard anything from Gilhouley.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “Well…” Running out of things to say, he held out his hand for her to shake, but she ignored him, and drew him close for a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  When she stepped back, she was sure he was blushing, but his grin was pleased.

  “You’re a good lady, Miss Rosemary. Gilhouley’s lucky to have found you.”

  Then, with a quick salute, he jammed his hat on his head and began to trudge through the sand toward his camp.

  Rosemary watched him until he was completely swallowed by the darkness. Then, wrapping her arms around her waist, she turned her attention back to the bay, hoping, praying, that the promised reinforcements would show up soon.

  • • •

  Dawn had barely begun to color the sky when Glory Bee felt a hand on her shoulder. Immediately, she was awake and struggling into a sitting position. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she looked up into John’s features.