Saving Grace: A Novel (Healing Ruby Book 3)

by Jennifer H. Westall

  The other nurses agreed, but we decided to make the best of it, since the men would expect us to complain. We set to work gathering all the ingredients we needed. I thought back over Mother’s recipe for biscuits, did some math in my head, and tried to get the amounts right. As we mixed up the dough, each girl seemed to feel compelled to tell me how her mother had made biscuits, how this one ingredient or that way of kneading made all the difference in the world. We were a little low on lard, and it was hard to manage the large amount of dough we were working with. The first batch of biscuits came out hard as rocks.

  Sam took a break from his stew to taste one and frowned as soon as it was in his mouth. “Thought you said you knew how to make biscuits.”

  “I do!” I said. “Just haven’t figured out how to make a large batch. I’ll get the next one right.”

  “Don’t matter much to these fellas anyhow,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re so hungry they won’t notice. Don’t worry yourself over getting ’em perfect. Just get ’em done.”

  We finally got the process down well enough to turn out enough biscuits for the camp that were just a bit softer than rocks. They weren’t anywhere close to the light, buttery bread my mother had made, but I didn’t hear too many complaints.

  While we were serving the staff in two shifts, since there wasn’t enough room for everyone at once, another convoy of trucks rolled up. I stepped where I could see the men unloading, relieved when Matthew jumped down from the back of one of them. All I wanted to do was run to his arms, but I held my ground. Instead, it was Natalie who greeted him.

  He smiled down at her, that same smile that had done me in so long ago. My stomach knotted watching him hug her. When she stepped back, he scanned the camp until he found me. I waved, and decided welcoming him back couldn’t be enough to raise Natalie’s ire.

  As I walked toward the trucks, another familiar face rounded the end of the truck. “Joseph!” I yelled. Then I did break into a run.

  “Grace!” he exclaimed with a huge grin. “I was hoping to find you here.”

  I threw my arms around his neck, thinking of nothing else but how glad I was that he wasn’t in the hands of the Japanese. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

  He held me close and kissed the top of my head before letting go. I stepped back and looked over at Matthew, whose face was frozen in a deep scowl. In fact, his whole body was rigid as he regarded Joseph with both anger and curiosity. Beside him, Natalie looked on with an expression of pure enjoyment.

  I instinctively put another step between Joseph and myself. “Matthew, this is Joseph Grant from Manila. We—”

  “Yes, we’ve met,” Matthew said, coming over to us with Natalie still in tow. “But how do you two know each other?” His eyes moved from me to Joseph, and then back to me.

  “I worked as a nurse in Joseph’s clinic. He’s a missionary, and we went to the same church.” Then I looked up at Joseph. “How do you and Matthew know each other?”

  Joseph smiled awkwardly. “I caught him raiding a supply closet at the hospital and thought he was stealing. Once we got everything straightened out, I volunteered to help.”

  “But I thought you were going to stay in Manila and care for your mother?”

  “She went into the mountains with her family, and I stayed behind to help transfer patients.”

  “Do you know what happened to Henry?” I asked, forgetting the awkward tension for a moment. “Was he still there?”

  Joseph put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “He was evacuated just this morning.”

  As soon as Joseph touched me, I could sense Matthew stiffen. I did my best to keep things light and friendly, but my stomach tightened.

  “Joseph, this is Matthew. He’s…he’s the one I told you about. We’ve been friends since I was a girl.”

  “Well, Grace,” Matthew said. “We’ve been a little bit more than friends.”

  He shot a strained smile down at me. I took a quick glance at Natalie, who slipped a possessive hand around Matthew’s arm. He didn’t seem to notice. Behind me, I heard a loud clanging and Sam calling for the second shift of diners. I was relieved to have a distraction. “You boys hungry? I hear we’re having slumgullion stew. Sounds like an adventure for your taste buds!”

  Matthew gave Joseph another hard look before nodding his head. “I’m famished.”

  Matthew

  January 5, 1942

  Over the next few days, everyone in the camp worked from sunrise to sunset to get the hospital in working order. There was no time, or energy for that matter, for much conversation, so I decided to focus my efforts on my work rather than looking for opportunities to speak with Ruby alone. Besides, she was never alone. She ate with the nurses, sometimes that guy, Joseph, and she worked tirelessly. Actually, it was a small comfort to realize that at least that much remained the same. Ruby worked harder and with more stamina than anyone I’d ever known.

  The fact was, just about everyone in the camp was working themselves to the bone. And the accomplishment was nothing short of a miracle. Within a few days, the dense jungle location had been transformed into a hospital with roads, a mess area, supplies, and transportation for patients. We’d created a ward with a few hundred beds, covered by a canopy of palm leaves, vines, and creepers as perfect camoflauge. Headquarters were established, along with general quarters for personnel, and I had worked with other engineers to create a water filtration system using the Real River, providing the entire camp with clean water. In fact, we were able to divert the water in such a way as to create an island effect for the nurses’ quarters, giving them even more privacy.

  We built a fully functioning operating room, wired and camouflaged so surgeries could be performed while under blackout. It was almost immediately expanded. And a particularly brave young medical officer had made a daring run to Fort Stotsenburg to retrieve a field sterilizer, without which the doctors wouldn’t have been able to perform even the most basic surgeries. He’d returned in a mad dash just ahead of the approaching Japanese. All around me was the very evidence that kept my hopes high we would eventually win the war. Americans didn’t know how to lose.

  But all of this, combined with our rations being cut in half, started to take its toll. And the frustration of watching Ruby, day after day, keep her distance from me, barely looking at me, was maddening. I tried to tell myself it was just because she was working so hard, but even that didn’t hold water. She had time to chat with Joseph.

  I had decided I couldn’t stand that guy. The day after he arrived, some Filipinos from a nearby village came to offer some help. Joseph, who naturally spoke their language, was able to communicate the needs of the hospital quite well. That same day, and all the days following, a multitude of Filipinos built furniture and other essentials out of bamboo that surrounded the camp. The beds, tables, chairs, medicine cabinets, even the flooring in the operating rooms were made from bamboo. Joseph was a hero. Of course he was.

  A week after arriving, most of the engineers were heading back to Cabcaben and other airfields nearby, with a few staying at the hospital to help with more minor construction tasks that remained. I’d had about enough of being mostly ignored by Ruby, and hounded by Natalie, so I decided to join the fellas returning to their posts. The trucks were scheduled to pull out shortly after mess, and I debated with myself on whether to attempt once more to figure out what was going on with Ruby. After going back and forth on the matter, I decided it was worth one last shot.

  After getting my food, I found her seated near a group of nurses, but still a few chairs away. She looked up at me as I stood across the table from her, and I saw how deep her weariness went. She gazed past me with bloodshot eyes that didn’t seem to register who I was.

  “Can I join you for a few minutes?” I asked.

  She nodded and chewed a forkful of rice. I slid into the chair across from her, eager to finally speak with her, but suddenly losing all train of thought as soon as I took a couple of bites of
food. Hunger seized my body. I wolfed down the rice and canned meat, and shoved a biscuit down so fast I didn’t even taste it. Once I finally came up for air, I saw her plate was empty as well.

  I leaned onto my elbows toward her. “Ruby, I don’t understand what’s going on with you. The only thing I can figure is that you never wanted me to know you were alive, and you wanted to move on with your life without me in it, and somehow I’ve messed up your plans. Is that it?”

  She glanced around, almost like she was afraid someone was watching her. “No, that’s…that’s not it at all. I’m just so tired all the time. And there’s so much to be done. I can’t think about you and me right now, okay?”

  “But you can think clear enough to speak with Joseph?”

  “What? No, you don’t understand.”

  “Then make me understand.”

  Another glance around. “I can’t.”

  “Okay, I know something is wrong. And it’s got nothing to do with being tired. Why do you seem so nervous when we talk?”

  She rested her forehead in her hands, staring down at the table for a long moment. When she looked back up at me, I could see she was struggling with a truth she didn’t want to tell. I knew that look on her face. I’d seen it over and over after she’d been arrested, until she’d finally told me the truth about Chester’s death. Ruby was the worst liar in the world. I had no idea what she was keeping from me, but I saw it was tearing her up inside.

  I reached across the table and took her forearm in my hand. “Hey, listen. You don’t have to explain anything to me right now. I know you’re tired. I know something is eating at you. But I’ve also learned that you won’t tell me nothing till you’re good and ready. So I won’t push. Just tell me something though, are you involved with Joseph?”

  She shook her head, and relief flooded through me. Whatever else might be wrong, I could face. Ruby with another man…that would rip my heart out.

  She jerked her arm away from my hand and sat up straight as several other nurses joined us at the table. And then Joseph took the chair next to her. He eyed me with a hint of suspicion. The feeling was mutual. But before I could say anything, Natalie dropped into the chair on my left.

  “I am so tired, I don’t think I can swallow one bite,” she said.

  Ruby gathered her plate and stood to leave. “Are you finished already?” Joseph asked her.

  She looked down at him, and then she looked at me. “I’m flat out exhausted. I’m going to bathe and lie down for a while.”

  “All right,” Joseph said. “I’ll check in on you later.”

  My stomach clenched. Maybe Ruby didn’t have feelings for him, but he clearly had feelings for her. He watched her walk away, and then turned back to me with less effort to hide his distaste for me. “Is she all right?” he asked.

  “I reckon,” I said. “She didn’t say a whole lot.”

  Natalie dropped her fork onto her plate and gripped her stomach. “Oh, my stomach is cramping from this terrible food,” she moaned. “I’m so hungry I can barely stand it. Then I come here and have to eat this stuff.”

  “Be thankful for what you have,” I said, barely making the effort to control my disdain. “Who knows how long it’s going to last.”

  She looked alarmed by this thought and went back to shoveling her food. I had to meet up with the convoy leaving the camp soon, so I gathered my plate and dismissed myself from the table. Natalie gripped my arm. “You’ll come say bye to me before you leave, won’t you?”

  My instinct was to say no, but at that moment a terrible thought entered my mind. Something inside of me said, at least she cares…

  “Sure, darlin’. I’ll come say bye to you.”

  Ruby

  January 26, 1942

  For the better part of a month, caring for the patients pouring into our hospital from the surrounding areas consumed nearly every moment of my days. That was true for everyone though, and amazingly, morale stayed high. Soldiers came to us every day, some of them merely boys, who had lain where they’d fallen for days before being discovered and brought to us for treatment. By that time, their wounds were decaying from infection, infested with maggots, or worst of all, bubbling with the horrifying effects of gas gangrene. They came to us with broken, ravaged bodies, and yet their spirits remained hopeful. I made it a point to smile at each face I greeted, and I was greatly surprised by the number of wounded who returned that smile.

  We continued to expand the hospital, adding new wards every few days, and by the end of January, we had over two thousand patients scattered throughout numerous open-air wards, which provided beds for anywhere from two to six hundred men. With only a staff of forty-three army nurses, twenty-one Filipinos, and eight of us civilians, we kept up a rotation that burned up every ounce of energy in our calorie-deprived bodies.

  I spent each day going through my duties with a singular focus: to pour everything I had into keeping each patient in my care alive. I bathed them, cleaned their burns and lacerations, packed the wounds with sulfa powder, and changed their dressings with as much care as I could. Some of the poor men needed morphine just for the removal of bandages. The blood-caked dressings were practically glued to the raw flesh, causing some of the soldiers to pass out from the pain.

  Nights were the worst. Even if you weren’t on duty, which itself was quite a challenge under the blackout conditions, no one slept well. The local Filipinos had fashioned cots that, under different circumstances, might have been quite agreeable. The bamboo frame was supportive, and the rice-stuffed mattress was comfortable enough. But nearly every night I was awakened by the chatter of monkeys, or a rat crawling across my feet, or the yelp of someone else being assaulted by a nighttime critter. Thankfully, early on, one of the girls remembered that putting the legs of the bed into cans of water would keep ants from climbing up and terrorizing us in the night.

  By the third week of January I had settled into a routine, and finally felt as though I were getting a decent handle on my duties, when Natalie approached me one morning with a request. We’d both been so busy, I hadn’t seen much of her, and I’d nearly forgotten all about her knowledge of my past. But something inside of me snapped to attention when she dropped into a chair across from me at breakfast.

  “Ruby, I need your help,” she said, looking at me with bloodshot eyes. “I can’t do what Mrs. Fincher wants me to. I just can’t.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “She moved me to the gas gangrene ward for this week.”

  I could immediately understand Natalie’s distress. Every nurse dreaded that assignment. Gas gangrene wasn’t your everyday, run-of-the-mill infection. It was its own special brand of torture for soldiers. Had been for centuries. The bacteria worked its way deep into the muscle, where it destroyed blood and tissue as it gave off a sickeningly sweet aroma. The name came from the tiny gas bubbles it left behind. If not treated properly, the disease spread, causing entire limbs to swell to four times their normal size. Many limbs were simply amputated.

  I actually felt sorry for Natalie, despite our disagreements. “How can I help?” I asked.

  “I don’t think I can do it. Just thinking about working with the…the wounds, makes me nauseous. And the smell! Every time someone has come into the operating room with that stuff, and that odor filled the room, I have vomited. Every time!”

  My stomach felt a little queasy just listening to her. “I don’t know, Natalie. Seems only fair for every nurse to take her turn. I did a week already, if you’ll remember.” I’d volunteered for the first week, preferring to jump into the most difficult assignment while I still had my strength.

  “I know, I know. And I wouldn’t ask normally. It’s just that I just haven’t been feeling so well lately. I think I might be coming down with malaria.”

  “Have you been taking your quinine every day?”

  “Yes, but…I just feel sick all the time. I’m so drained! I can’t keep this up.”

  “All r
ight,” I said. “I’ll switch with you, but just for today.” I hated the thought of going back to that ward, but a small part of me hoped that if I helped her out, she’d be more inclined to keep her mouth shut about me.

  She smiled and thanked me. “Ruby, you are the best!” I felt my face go rigid, and she must have noticed too. “Oh, I mean Grace. I’m sorry. I mean, Grace, you’re the best.”

  I should’ve known better. One day turned into two. Two days turned into three. And before the week was out, I had done her entire turn in the gas gangrene ward. My dreams were haunted every night, what little I slept, by men crying out, “Just take it off!” as they flailed monstrously swollen limbs at me. I was grateful when that week was finally over, and grateful to be done with Natalie.

  But, as it turned out, she had only just begun.

  February 8, 1942

  As January came to a close, the fighting near the tip of the Bataan peninsula intensified as the Japanese bombarded Mariveles in an attempt to cut off supplies from Corregidor to the south of us. We heard many first-hand accounts of the terrifying dogfights between our boys and the Japanese Zeros from the injured, but it felt like we got a front row seat to the fighting as well. The falling shrapnel from the nearby antiaircraft guns was as much a danger to us as the Japanese.

  By early February, nerves were shot. There were bombings throughout the day and night, and planes flew directly over us, firing bullets and sending large chunks of metal into our midst. One medic had just left his bed when a large, burning chunk landed right where he’d been resting. One of the cooks in the third mess area was killed when a stray bullet struck him in the head. Everywhere I went—the ward I was assigned to, the mess area, or my bed—I was always aware of the nearest trench. We all were.

  The thing was, I could handle the constant threat of injury or disease, or even hunger. I could handle being completely drained of energy. But what I struggled with daily, the thing that kept my spirit in turmoil, was the acute absence of God’s presence when I prayed.