Abiding Hope: A Novel: Healing Ruby Book 4 Page 12

  “Ruby, I’m so sorry. I haven’t been able to figure out a way to tell you this. But…Henry isn’t coming back. He was killed by the Japanese.”

  My heart lurched. I couldn’t have heard him right. “What? How? Wh—when?”

  “I was with him, after I escaped Mindanao. We met up and joined the guerrillas together.”

  “No, no. He was on Corregidor when we left. He was captured when they surrendered. He was on Corregidor!” My mind couldn’t understand, couldn’t connect Henry to what Matthew was saying. My heart raced wildly in my chest.

  “He escaped from Corregidor shortly after the Japanese captured it. He and a couple of other guys swam across Manila Bay before the Japanese were able to straighten out all the prisoners. By the time I ran into him, there were guerrilla units organizing all over Luzon, and we decided to join up.”

  I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt like it was caving in. No, Lord. Not Henry. He can’t be gone. Matthew’s wrong. Like Colonel Dorsey had been wrong about Matthew. He had to be wrong.

  “How…how can you be sure?” I choked out. “Colonel Dorsey said you were dead. He showed me the telegram. But you weren’t. You’re…you’re alive.”

  He knelt in front of me, looking directly into my eyes. “Ruby, listen to what I’m saying. I was with Henry on Luzon. We joined up with the guerrillas together. I was there. I saw them kill him with my own eyes. He didn’t make it.”

  A sob flew out of me, and I couldn’t control myself. I reached for Matthew, wrapping my hands around his neck. “Please, no. You have to be wrong. Somehow…you have to be wrong. Please tell me you’re just not sure. Maybe he was captured instead.”

  He shook his head. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I tried so hard to save him.” He came up onto the bench beside me and pulled me into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

  I sobbed for a long time, begging him to tell me he was mistaken. But all he could do was say he was sorry, over and over. I cried like I hadn’t cried in a long time, like I was ten years old again, and I was on my face in the woods, begging God to save Henry’s life because I’d thrown that knife at him.

  “He can’t be gone,” I said into Matthew’s chest. “He just can’t be.”

  Matthew held me against himself while I cried, but he didn’t say anything else. All I could do was picture Henry and me playing together as kids, swimming and fishing, playing basketball, and walking home from the drugstore with ice cream melting down our hands. I remembered his first home run, how he’d strutted around the house for nearly half an hour before Daddy put a hoe in his hand and sent him out to the garden. I remembered his face, full of excitement and wonder, when he’d come back from his first time in an airplane. I’d wanted to jump right into an airplane with him. We’d talked all night about his plans, about how he might get through college and become a pilot. He’d worked so hard for that dream.

  I couldn’t stop crying for Henry. I couldn’t make sense of a world without his smile and his laughter. I didn’t want to doubt God, didn’t want to let my thoughts stray toward anger, but why would He let this happen? First Daddy, then Joseph and Janine, and now Henry. I was so tired of losing my family. I didn’t have the strength to face it again.

  But like so many times before, the quiet voice in my heart spoke words of life:

  Hast thou not known? Hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary? There is no searching of his understanding.

  He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.

  Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall:

  But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

  ***

  As we neared San Antonio, I tried my hardest to pull myself together. I went to the bathroom and wiped away the streaks on my face. I freshened up the best I could, but there wasn’t much I could do about my pale skin and puffy, bloodshot eyes.

  When I returned to the compartment, it was completely dark and Matthew was gone. I walked through a few of the other cars until I found him in the dining car seated alone at a table by the window. He held a drink in his hand that looked like whiskey, and he sipped on it as he stared out at the night sky.

  I took the seat across the table from him. “I wondered where you’d gone.”

  He downed the rest of the drink and set his glass on the table, unable to hide the shaking in his hand. “I just needed to move around a bit.”

  A waiter came over and asked what I’d like. I ordered tea. Then he asked Matthew if he’d like another drink. Matthew slid the glass toward him and nodded. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  When the waiter left, I leaned onto the table. “Since when do you drink whiskey?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t, usually. Tried it a few times when I was in college. Now seemed like a good time to try it again.”

  It seemed like the worst time, actually. But I decided to let it go. “I need to know something,” I said. “I need you to tell me—”

  “No,” he said, glaring at me. “I know what you’re going to say, and trust me, you do not want to know what happened.”

  “Yes, I do. I need to know. Was he…was he in pain?”

  Matthew closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

  “Do what to myself? I just want to know what happened to him. Was he alone? Did he suffer?”

  The waiter returned with our drinks, and Matthew downed his in one long gulp. When he came up for air, his eyes were cold and hard. “Don’t sit there and interrogate me about Henry. It’s only going to cause you more pain. I won’t be the cause of making you cry like that again. All you need to know is that he gave his life in service to his country. He’s the real hero.”

  That wasn’t enough. And even though something inside of me knew I shouldn’t press him, a bigger part of me was desperate enough to try again. “Matthew, please. Just tell me something I can hold on to. It’s so hard to accept. I need to know.”

  “I said no!” he bellowed, pushing away from the table and storming out of the dining car.

  I sat in shock for a moment, unable to move. It seemed like everyone in the entire car froze along with me, staring at me as they whispered to one another. My face flushed hot, and I turned away from the stares. I took a sip of my tea, trying to calm my racing thoughts. Tears pricked my eyes again, but I was determined not to break down.

  I finished my tea and paid the waiter. Then I slipped out of the dining car with my gaze on the floor. I found a passenger car that was mostly empty. Grabbing some tissue from the bathroom, I found a row to myself and leaned against the window.

  I’d been so certain that all I needed was for Matthew to come home alive and well. That anything else, I could handle. I even thought I was prepared to face the possibility that either Matthew or Henry wouldn’t make it off the island alive. Maybe even both of them. But the reality of it, the sock in the gut of actually hearing the words come out of Matthew’s mouth, made me realize I was prepared for nothing—absolutely nothing—that lay ahead.

  ***

  Just before dawn, I felt someone take the empty seat beside me. I’d dozed off. Even before I turned to him, I knew it was Matthew, and my emotions swelled.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, as I buried my face in his chest once more. “I didn’t mean to blow my cap like that.”

  The train’s whistle and its squealing brakes announced our arrival in San Antonio. I pushed away from him and took the handkerchief he offered, dabbing at my eyes. I couldn’t control my voice well enough to say anything, so I just nodded my acceptance of his apology.

  As the train came to a stop, he stood in the aisle. “I reckon we should get our things.” He held out his hand. “Come on.”

  I took his hand in mine, clinging to it as
he led me back through the passenger cars, the dining car, and finally to the compartment where my small bag was located. I gathered my things in silence, stuffing my mirror and brush inside my purse.

  “You ready?” he asked from the doorway.

  I nodded. There was no hand extended this time.

  I followed him off the train to where our bags sat waiting for us on the ground. When Matthew went to pick up his, I grasped it first. “Let me get that,” I said.

  “I can carry it,” he said, setting his mouth in a hard line.

  “No, you can’t. And you shouldn’t even try. We need to get you over to the hospital. You look like you could fall over at any moment.” Part of me wondered if the alcohol was contributing to that state, but I kept my mouth shut on the subject.

  He wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t argue any further. We headed over to the counter and bought bus tickets for the ride to Brooke General Hospital. Then I carted the bags over to the bench where several others were waiting. That was when I noticed all the uniforms.

  Soldiers in all sorts of conditions moved around the station in the gray light of approaching dawn, some in wheelchairs, some on crutches, most escorted by someone carrying their army-issued bag. Less than half appeared remotely well. I noticed Matthew looking around, catching the eye of a fellow soldier with a missing leg and giving him a curt nod.

  I thanked God that at least Matthew’s body was intact, even if his heart and mind were far from healed. Lord, please heal his body and soul. Make him whole again. Give him Your peace. And please, help me find that peace as well.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Matthew

  May, 1945

  San Antonio, Texas

  Brooke General Hospital was located on three acres of flat emptiness that had been carved out of the even larger flat emptiness of Fort Sam Houston. Situated at the back of a long horseshoe curve, the main hospital building rose up out of the earth like a prison; it was missing only a fence with barbed wire running around it, as far as I was concerned. Sure, there was a smattering of trees here and there, but mostly it was just wide open space. Made me feel exposed, like there was no place to hide.

  Ruby stayed with me through my initial physical exam, my bath and shave, the meetings with doctors and nurses. I was diagnosed with malaria, amoebic dysentery, acute malnutrition, and general nervous collapse. I knew Ruby had questions, but she deferred to the staff and mostly just listened. She seemed particularly agitated when I explained the circumstances of my emergency appendectomy, but again, she said nothing. It was a long day for us both.

  Afterward, she helped me get settled in my room. She put the picture of Hope on my windowsill, touching Hope’s face and once again pointing out that the little girl had my eyes. I had a hard time looking at Ruby during all this, knowing I’d been a real jerk on the train. I wanted to apologize for so many things—things I hadn’t even confessed yet—but I was afraid she’d go back to asking for details about Henry, and I couldn’t go down that path with her. Besides, I was so tired; I could no longer control the tremors in my arms and legs.

  Once I was settled into my bed and the nurse hooked me up to an IV, Ruby took a walk around the room to inspect it. After the nurse promised she’d return with supper soon and left us alone, she came beside me and took my hand.

  “Looks like you’re going to be in good hands here,” she said. “Just make sure you do what you’re told and don’t get ornery.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t take.

  “I’m not ornery,” I said.

  “Oh, yes you are. Especially when you’re sick. I remember.”

  Our eyes met, and I remembered too. I remembered how she’d cared for me when I was sick with TB, so long ago. How she’d cleaned up after me as I’d coughed my very life out of my lungs. She’d never given up on me.

  “Ruby, I love you very much. You know that, don’t you?”

  She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. I was exhausted, and I couldn’t take her crying again. I glanced away and pulled my hand out from under hers. “Listen,” I said. “Everything’s going to be just fine. I’ll be out of here in no time. We can put all the pain and suffering of the past behind us. And we can finally live our lives in peace.”

  “I need to contact Mother somehow. She should know—”

  “The army will take care of notifying your mother. She’s probably known for some time now. I reported…everything…back in March. In fact, I recommended Henry for a medal.” I glanced up at her, but still couldn’t hold her gaze.

  She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Thank you.” Then she straightened and swiped at her eyes. “Do you think you might…someday…be able to tell me what happened?”

  I dropped my head back onto the pillows supporting me. She was still as stubborn as ever, and I might have to eventually tell her everything. But not yet. “I don’t know,” I said.

  She closed her eyes for a moment before letting out a shaky breath. “At least you’re home. You’re safe. And you’ll be better soon.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I should get going. The train leaves early in the morning, and I should get some rest. I need to get back to Hope and I really should report in at work—Ms. Wharton’s been so generous with allowing me extra leave. But I’ll be back as soon as I can, and I’ll bring Hope with me.”

  That brought a genuine smile from both of us. “I can’t wait to meet her,” I said.

  She leaned over and kissed me gently, her lips lingering on mine. Despite all the turmoil still stirring inside of me, she still stirred me as well, and in the best ways possible. I needed her, needed the peace and love that flowed out of her.

  I reached up and slid my hand around her neck, holding her close for another moment. “I wish you didn’t have to go,” I said.

  “I’ll be back soon, I promise.” She kissed me again before straightening. “I love you, Matthew Doyle.”

  “I love you too.”

  Ruby grabbed her bag from the corner and slipped out the door. As soon as she disappeared, my heart sped up a notch. My chest tightened, and a sharp pain shot out from the center of my chest into my left arm. The room swayed. I took a slow, deep breath and reasoned with my uncooperative body. She isn’t leaving for good. Just keep it together, and get out of here as soon as possible. And whatever you do, do not let them put you in the psych ward.

  ***

  My first two weeks in the hospital were focused mainly on getting acclimated to my surroundings and resting my weary body. The chloroquine they gave me helped bring my dysentery under control, as well as the malaria, which meant I was able to absorb more of the nutrients from my food.

  The nurses soaked my feet twice a day in Listerine and vinegar, and they too gradually began to feel normal again. As my energy returned and my feet healed, I could walk around the hospital without tiring out too much. That was when I realized that I was one of the lucky ones.

  There’s no humane way to describe the evidence of inhumanity I witnessed, both in the jungles of the Philippines and in Brooke General Hospital. There just aren’t words to explain how explosions and shrapnel, starvation, and torture can ravage a man’s body. I saw all of it. Arms and legs missing. Faces disfigured. Bodies burned and blistered.

  But the worst part was the screaming. Some fellas cried out as their phantom missing limbs itched uncontrollably. Many screamed in the middle of the night, wrestling with demons in their sleep. A few were completely mad, sitting in a daze by a window one moment, shouting out maneuvers to their company the next. Yet along with this madness, the staff remained relentlessly positive. The nurses had a smile with every dose of medication; the doctors had an encouraging word for every setback. The army even brought in former patients to give us all pep talks about adjusting to life after war.

  I wasn’t buying it. Life might be difficult for the guys who lost a leg or an arm, but I was going to be just fine. I was determined to get well as quickly as possible and get out of that place. I list
ened carefully to everything the doctor said, followed every step of my regimen, and made sure I let every member of the staff know that I was improving each day.

  About a week into my treatment, I received a letter from Ruby telling me all about her first conversation with Hope after my homecoming. They were both excited to come visit, and Hope had not stopped asking questions since Ruby had told her the news. “I’ll have to bring her to you as soon as possible just to get some peace,” she’d written. Included with the letter was a crayon drawing of what I assumed was Ruby, Hope, and myself holding hands in a grassy field, surrounded by butterflies and bunnies. It had both thrilled me and terrified me. Could I really be a father? Could I take care of them and protect them? I’d taped the drawing to the window beside the picture of Hope, and it reminded me every day of why I had to get well. And soon.

  Every afternoon, Red Cross volunteers called Gray Ladies came through our ward passing out candy and light-hearted conversation. Most days, a young lady named Regina visited with me for a few minutes, asking about how I was feeling and encouraging me to keep my spirits up. She’d do her best to make small talk, asking about my home and family, but I wasn’t much for conversation. Every day before she left, she would try to hand me some stationery to write letters, and I would pass.

  “Don’t you think your family wants to hear from you?” she asked in her Texan twang. “I’m sure they want to know how you’re doing. When’s the last time you wrote to them?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not much for writing letters.”

  She gestured to the drawing on the window. “Well, someone is sending you letters. I’m guessing that’s from your daughter. Why not write back?”

  “I’m sure she’ll come visit soon.”

  Regina reached behind me as I reclined in my bed, pulling out a pillow and fluffing it for me. “Well, what about your family back in Alabama? You mentioned a sister and some brothers a few days ago. Bet they’d like to hear from you.” She placed the pillow back behind my head and gave me a sympathetic sigh. “If my brother was in the hospital, I’d want to know if he was all right.”