Abiding Hope: A Novel: Healing Ruby Book 4 Page 18

  “Yes. Which way do we need to go?”

  He looked down at the road again. “East.”

  A string of gunfire in the distance interrupted us. “How far?” I asked.

  “Not far now. We must hurry.”

  It was all I could do to keep the men in front of me within sight as we ran. I thought my chest was going to explode, and my hamstring pulsed with stabbing pains. But I thought of having to tell Ruby that I hadn’t been able to keep Henry safe, and I forced my legs to keep moving.

  As we neared the gunfire, we had to take a slower, more deliberate approach. We rounded a curve along the ridge, and I got my first view of the scene of the ambush. Five trucks were stopped in a line on the road just as they were coming out of a curve. Japanese soldiers were stationed around the trucks at various points—behind open doors, lying beneath truck beds, crouched behind tires. As they fired into the surrounding foliage, I could just make out a few sparks of return gunfire.

  “Captain,” Diego said. “What are your orders?”

  The only way to ensure Henry made it out of this alive was to join the ambush. I surveyed the layout quickly. Harris’s attack was coming from four points, two squads in front and two at the rear of the convoy. Several Japanese soldiers gathered at the back of the third truck, preparing to make an assault on one of the rear positions.

  “There,” I said, pointing this out to Diego. “We need to hit the middle. We’ll split up and come in from the sides. Once they hit the ditch, they’ll be sitting ducks.”

  Diego took half our platoon and slipped down the ravine toward the middle of the convoy. I signaled for the rest to fall in behind me, and we swung a wider path as we descended toward the road. Shouts in both Japanese and English echoed in every direction.

  Reaching the bottom of the ravine, we dropped to our bellies, crawling through the grass parallel to the road. On my left, I caught sight of Harris with four of his men, bunkered down behind a thicket of dense palm trees. They fired several shots at the trucks, hitting metal and earth, but no Japanese.

  I whistled and caught Harris’s attention. I signaled that I was moving to his right, and he acknowledged. We crawled toward another group of trees. These were less dense, and bullets whizzed and popped above our heads.

  We made it to the trees, spread out and lay flat to the ground, firing at the advancing Japs I’d seen gathering behind the third truck. They ran straight toward us in formation, with the outside men providing cover. With my heart in my mouth, I aimed my pistol at the first face I could make out. I fired over and over, dropping one, then two, then a third. More of them fell, but the group kept coming.

  A flash of metal swung through the air, and I saw Diego just off to my right. He seemed to come out of nowhere, and he slashed through one Japanese soldier after another. The last of the surging group fell, but Diego continued his assault on the remaining soldiers barricaded around the trucks. Several more Filipinos and Americans joined him, finishing off the last of the resistance.

  As I emerged from my cover, I met Diego near the third truck. His chest heaved, and he was covered in blood. Harris came from the front of the trucks, checking the cabs as he passed. He stopped at the second truck, firing a single shot into the cab before continuing over to us. “Secure those trucks at the end!” he yelled to the men at the back of the convoy.

  After three more shots, someone called, “All clear!”

  Harris strode up to me with a huge smile on his face. “Decided to get in on the action after all, I see.”

  “Where’s Henry?” I asked.

  “Lieutenant Graves led one of the rear assaults. I’m sure he’ll be along in a moment.”

  I stepped between the trucks, keeping my hand tight around my pistol, and headed for the back of the convoy, determined to give Henry a piece of my mind.

  “Medic!” someone yelled ahead of me. “Get Sanders over here, now!”

  I broke into a jog, veering left into the ditch. Four men stood around another on the ground. I pushed through the group to see a young Filipino struggling to get his breath. The medic dropped beside him and tried to staunch the bleeding from the wound in his neck. I turned away, intent on finding Henry.

  At long last, I saw him jump down from the back of the last truck. He saw me coming and crossed his arms over his chest as I approached.

  “You’ve got some nerve,” I started.

  “Now hold your horses before you go getting all riled up,” Henry said.

  “You put our entire team in danger!”

  “No, you put them in danger by coming out here.”

  “We only came out here to get you!” When I reached him, it was all I could do to keep from punching his lights out right there.

  “I didn’t ask you to come after me. I’m a grown man, and I can decide which battles I fight.”

  “What about our conversation last night? I gave you a direct order, and you agreed.”

  “You don’t order me around.”

  “Out here, yes I do! I swear, you are just like Ruby. You get some fool idea in your head and can’t nobody talk any sense into your brain. I’ve had it with you Graves people making me crazy! If you want to fight the Japanese so bad, and you’re so determined to die, then you can just stay here with Harris.”

  He threw up his hands. “Fine! I will.”

  “Great! That will be one less headache for me.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment, until I felt someone come up behind me. I turned to see Diego approaching, still brandishing his bloody bolo.

  “We need to move out, Captain,” he said. “More Japanese will come soon.”

  “Get the men together,” I said. “Henry’s not coming with us.”

  Diego shook his head at Henry. “This place is no good for you, Lieutenant. Come back with us.”

  “Diego, look,” Henry said. “You’ve been a true friend through all this, and I’m grateful. But I told Harris—”

  “Never mind Sergeant Harris. You and Captain Doyle are friends, yes?” Diego asked. “You knew each other before the war?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You…uh, like brothers, yes?”

  Henry gave me a sideways glance before huffing and turning his back on us. Behind me, Harris ordered the remaining men to load up with as many supplies as they could and fall in at the back of the convoy.

  Henry stopped short as he reached the back of the truck. Without warning, he let out a loud, guttural moan and lashed out, kicking the bumper. “I hate this godforsaken place!” he cried.

  I jogged up to him with Diego close behind. Henry spun round, pressing his hands against the sides of his head. His frustration was etched across his face, his eyes simultaneously wild and pleading. “This jungle is going to drive me crazy. All I wanted was to fly my plane, swing a bat at some baseballs, and have a few laughs with my wife at the end of the day. Why is that so hard?” He threw his hands in the air. “What am I doing here? What are we even fighting about, Matt?”

  “I don’t know, all right?” I said. “I can’t explain any of this. Who can make sense of any of it? All we can do is get through today. And then get through the next day, and the next, and the next. One day. That’s all we have. You gotta hang in there, and get through today for me. Understand? Eventually those days are gonna add up to us getting outta here.”

  His eyes searched mine, before he gestured over my shoulder. “Tell that to that poor soul.”

  I turned and watched as Sanders stood, shaking his head at the group. Harris yelled at them to get moving. Two men picked up the limp body and carried it into the jungle while the rest fell in with loaded-down rucksacks. My squad stood about ten yards beyond them, awaiting orders.

  I put a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Look, Henry. This ain’t the way to get home. All this is gonna do is bring the Japs roaring to our doorsteps. We gotta be smart about this. But we gotta stick together. Whaddaya say?”

  Henry looked between Diego and me, then down at h
is feet in silence. “I reckon you two wouldn’t make it more than a day without me,” he mumbled at long last. “Guess I’ll put up with ya a bit longer.” A slow smile spread across his face. “But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna take orders from you when I don’t agree.”

  “All right, then,” I said, “I reckon that’s the best I could hope for here. Diego, let’s get outta here while we still can. I’d say Harris’s cooperation is a no-go.”

  “Sí, Captain.” Diego turned and jogged over to our men, barking at them in Spanish. They fell in behind him, and we headed back up to the top of the ridge.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ruby

  July 16, 1945

  Houston, Texas

  I lay in the bed praying over Matthew as his breathing deepened. The smell of alcohol swam around me, making me nauseous. I couldn’t believe he’d gone out drinking. What had he been thinking?

  Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned going back to Alabama. I’d expected resistance from him, and I’d planned to talk to him when it seemed like a good time. But it was never a good time. And then I went and just blurted it out. Typical Ruby.

  Lord, please soften Matthew’s heart to Your will. He’s in so much turmoil. I can sense the war still raging inside of him. Help me to be a comfort to him so he doesn’t have to turn to alcohol. Give me wisdom, and give us strength. Lord, You are a righteous and just God. I know in my heart You desire obedience over sacrifice. My spirit is willing, but my flesh is weak. If there’s any other way, please show me. But if Your desire for us is to return home and face the consequences of our actions, I pray you would reveal that to Matthew. I fear that path, Lord, and I don’t think I have the strength to carry us both.

  My eyes grew heavy, and I drifted off to sleep with images of courtrooms and jail cells haunting me. I couldn’t have been asleep long when I jolted awake from a lurch beside me. The room was pitch black. I could barely make out Matthew’s shape sprawled out beside me. He must have startled in his sleep.

  I sat up and moved his arm closer to his side. He was drenched in sweat again. I set his arm down, but he flung it back at me, catching me across the face.

  “Get down!” he yelled.

  I fell back and tumbled off the bed, my head colliding with the corner of the nightstand. I yelped as pain streaked through my head.

  “They’re flanking you on the right!” Matthew yelled again. “I need cover on the right!”

  I sat on the floor holding my throbbing head. Hope called out to me. “Momma?”

  “I’m here, baby,” I said, moving to the cot.

  Matthew thrashed around again, screaming incoherently, as if he were in pain. Hope took my hand and climbed off her cot. “Momma? Momma?” Her voice shook with fear.

  “It’s all right. Daddy’s having a bad dream.” I picked her up and reached for the lamp on the nightstand. It fell over, crashing to the ground.

  Matthew shot up on the other side of the bed. “Diego! Diego, get in here!”

  I managed to grasp the lamp and turn it on just as the door swung open behind me. Matthew stood on the other side of the bed, his pistol raised at the open door.

  “Oh my heavens!” Mrs. Sawyer screamed.

  “Matthew!” I cried, barely able to breathe. “It’s just us.” I kept my arms wrapped tightly around Hope as she whimpered in my arms. “It’s us. You’re home. Put the gun down.”

  His eyes were wild and unseeing. He dropped to a crouch behind the bed, his arms straightened across the top of it, the gun still pointed at the door. “Diego! Bruno!”

  I heard shuffling behind me. “Get out of here, Mother,” Mike commanded. “Grace, come on outta here.”

  I slid across the floor, handing Hope to Mike. He took her out the door as she screamed for me. Hope’s wailing must have penetrated Matthew’s consciousness because he dropped the gun onto the bed and blinked. Slowly, he straightened, looking at me and then the door with confusion.

  “What’s…what’s going on?” he asked.

  In the hallway I could hear Mrs. Sawyer trying to comfort Hope and explain to Mr. Sawyer. George, Jr. wailed from the other room. “Matthew?” I asked, standing as well. “Are you all right?”

  He rubbed his hands over his face. His hair was drenched, and his undershirt clung to his chest. “I think so. Was I…did I just point a gun at you all?”

  “You certainly did,” Mike said, coming into the room. He took me by the shoulders and looked me over. “You all right, Grace?”

  “I hit my head, but I’m sure it’s all right.” I went out into the hallway and scooped Hope into my arms.

  “Momma,” she sobbed. “What’s wrong with Daddy?”

  “It was a bad dream, that’s all.” I tucked her under my chin and brought her to the door. “See? Daddy’s fine now.”

  She pressed her body into my chest and gripped my arms even tighter. “No!”

  Matthew came around the bed and reached for her back. “Oh, no, sweetie. It’s okay now. I’m so sorry I frightened you.”

  She turned her face into my neck, refusing to even look at him. Matthew continued rubbing her back, his tortured gaze meeting mine. “I am so sorry, Grace. I don’t know what happened.”

  Mr. Sawyer approached, still tying his robe. “Son, I think everyone here is sympathetic to what you’re going through. But it’s probably best to lock that gun up somewhere.”

  “Yes, sir,” Matthew said. “I assure you, it isn’t loaded. I can’t explain what happened.”

  Mr. Sawyer put his arm around Mrs. Sawyer’s shoulder. “Well, all the same. I’d appreciate it if you locked it up somewhere while you’re staying here. I think that’s best for everyone’s state of mind.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mrs. Sawyer looked over my shoulder and smiled at Hope, pushing her hair away from her face. “It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re safe now.” Then she glanced at Matthew warily. “Grace, honey, you want me to take her downstairs and get her some warm milk?”

  “If you don’t mind,” I said. I pried Hope loose and handed her to Mrs. Sawyer. “I need to get the bedroom back in order.”

  Mrs. Sawyer took Hope downstairs. Across the hall, Jillian paced her bedroom and bounced George, Jr. in her arms. “You all right?” she asked.

  “Yes, we’re all fine,” I said. “Sorry we woke everyone.”

  Matthew’s face reddened, and he went back into our room and sat on the edge of the bed. Mr. Sawyer announced he was going back to bed. Mike looked from me to Matthew and back to me again.

  “There’s a safe in Dad’s office,” he said. “Want me to take the gun?”

  “Yes, please,” I said.

  He stepped over to the bed with his hand out. Matthew held the gun for a moment, looking it over. Then he looked up at Mike. “It wasn’t even loaded. I just keep it beside me out of habit.”

  “Then it shouldn’t be a big deal to put it away, right?” Mike said.

  “It shouldn’t be. But it is. I don’t know.”

  Mike sighed and dropped his hand. “Look, I get it. I’ve been in some pretty sticky situations. It’s hard to set aside all your training and experience. But you don’t need that here. You’re not at war anymore.”

  Matthew looked over the gun once more before handing it over to Mike. “I guess you’re right. Sure don’t feel that way sometimes.”

  Mike took the gun out of the room. Matthew propped his head in his hands. I sat down beside him and rubbed my hand over his back. His muscles were tight with tension.

  He dropped his hands and shook his head. “I don’t understand what happened. I was dreaming, I know that. But they’ve never been so…so vivid.

  “Must have been a pretty intense dream. Were you in a battle?”

  “Yeah. Felt like I was right there, back in that ambush. So strange.”

  “I’m sure it’s a common reaction. I had some awful dreams after leaving the Philippines.”

  “Bet you’ve never pointed a gun at anyone while you were
dreaming.” He glanced at me with a small smile.

  “Um, no,” I said, smiling back.

  “Poor Hope. She’s probably terrified of me now.”

  “She’ll be all right. It’s you I’m worried about. Obviously everything you went through is still weighing heavily on your mind. Are you…Have you prayed about it?”

  He stood and went to the dresser, pulling out a clean white T-shirt. He stripped the soaked undershirt off and pulled the T-shirt over his head. I couldn’t help but notice the scars again. There was so much evidence of his suffering. I wanted to find some way to heal his pain, just as God had healed his tuberculosis. But in many ways, this was so much worse than tuberculosis.

  He faced me, but he didn’t meet my gaze. “I uh, I don’t pray much anymore. Doesn’t seem to be much point in it. God knows who I am, what I’ve done, and what I need. He works things out as they should be, no matter what I pray for. So what’s the point in asking? He doesn’t answer my prayers. Well, I suppose He does, it’s just more of a no than anything.”

  I stood and crossed the room, sliding my arms around his waist. “The purpose of praying isn’t to get God to do your will.” I laid my head against his chest, listening to the thump-thump of his heart. “We pray because we love Him. We pray because He tells us to bring our cares to Him. We pray because no one on Earth is able to understand our pain like Jesus does. He feels your anguish, even when you don’t have the words to express it. Prayer doesn’t change God; it changes you.”

  His arms tightened around me, and we held each other for a long moment. But then he dropped his arms and stepped away from me. “I appreciate what you’re saying. You just don’t get it. You’ve always had this connection with God that I can’t understand. He doesn’t talk to me the way He talks to you. When I pray, I get nothing in return. Just a silent room that feels empty.”

  “Matthew—”

  “No, no. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I need to get some air. I’m going outside for a bit. Just put Hope in the bed with you if she’s scared. I don’t think I’ll be going back to sleep.”