Abiding Hope: A Novel: Healing Ruby Book 4 Page 9

  I couldn’t let go of him, so I held on while the anger, hopelessness, and fear that I’d carried around with me for so long welled up and spilled forth. He held me close, still mumbling reassurances every minute or so. We must have stood like that for a long time, long enough for all the other families to abandon us.

  I pulled my head back enough to look up into his dark eyes. His face was so gaunt and his cheekbones so pronounced, it took me a moment to find my words. He looked like he’d come from the very gates of hell. “Are…are you all right?”

  He reached a hand to my face and cupped my cheek, looking me over as if he was unsure I was real. “I’ll be fine. I just need some rest is all. And a few sturdy meals.”

  “I’ve missed you so much. There’s so much to tell you.”

  He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to mine. “You’re so beautiful. I’d almost forgotten.”

  A nurse cleared her throat beside us. “Major Doyle, I have your bag here.”

  Matthew kept his left arm tight around my waist as he reached for the bag with his right. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” He took the bag from her hands and turned back to me. “You ready to get out of here?” He brought the bag toward his shoulder, but couldn’t quite lift it.

  “Let me take that,” I said, stepping back with the bag. He released it and frowned.

  “Reckon I’m in pretty bad shape.”

  “I’ll get you all taken care of,” I said, wiping my tears from my face. I must have looked terrible. We headed toward Coach Hudson standing patiently off to the side. “This is Frank Hudson. He was Henry’s batting coach when he played ball. He drove me here today, and he’s going to take us to the train station tomorrow.”

  Matthew extended his hand, and I saw it quivering just before Coach Hudson took it. “Thank you for helping us out,” Matthew said.

  “It’s my pleasure, Major Doyle. You’re a true hero. I’m here to help you and Grace out any way I can.”

  “Grace…” Matthew said quietly, shifting his glance to me. A dark expression came over his face, but it retreated just as quickly.

  Coach Hudson took the bag from my hands. “I guess we should get going. I’m sure you’ll want a hot meal and a comfortable bed to sleep on.”

  “I appreciate your hospitality, Mr. Hudson, but I don’t want to be a burden. Perhaps it would be best if Ru—, if Grace and I stay in a hotel tonight.”

  “It’s no burden, I assure you. Mrs. Hudson has a wonderful meal waiting on us. You can take a hot shower, relax, and get a good night’s sleep without all the fuss of being surrounded by people.”

  “That sounds nice. I can’t thank you enough,” Matthew said, his mouth pressing into a line.

  I was still having trouble finding my voice. I nodded my agreement as well, and we set off for the car.

  ***

  The ride back to the Hudsons’ home was somber and unsettling. Matthew stared out of the window most of the way. I sat beside him in the back of the car, clutching his hand in my own. I tried not to stare at him, but I couldn’t help myself. He was so thin, frighteningly thin. And his skin was tanned like leather. His eyes had dark circles under them, and the whites had a sickly yellow tint. I kept wondering, who was this man beside me?

  “The message I got from the army said you have to report to the base hospital in San Antonio,” I said. “We should get you there as soon as possible.”

  He turned his gaze away from the window and on me. “Where are you living?”

  “Houston, so I’ll only be a short train ride away. I went through a nursing program there and got a job at the hospital.”

  “I thought you’d be in Australia, like we talked about.”

  “I was for a few months. But then MacArthur moved headquarters, and I couldn’t go with them. I thought if they found you, they’d send you back to the States. And I wanted to be here in case that happened. And I needed to find a way to support myself—”

  “Didn’t you have my pay?”

  “There was no record of our wedding. Sergeant Watters was missing in action, and Henry and Janine…” My thoughts trailed away, and I glanced down at our entwined hands. He no longer wore his wedding ring.

  He leaned his head back against the seat. “So you had no money.”

  “It worked out, though. Mike’s parents had a place for me, and—”

  “Mike?” Matthew’s head snapped up. “Who’s Mike?”

  “Mike Sawyer. He was the pilot of the PBY on Mindanao. He’s friends with Henry. Taught me how to fly. Remember? He’s been keeping tabs on everything for me. He writes to let me know what’s happening, and he’s done his best to find you and Henry—”

  “So, you two are close, then.” He turned his gaze back out the window, and an uncomfortable silence filled the car. “And you thought I was dead.” He looked back at me again, a hint of an accusation in his gaze.

  I had no idea how to answer. I hadn’t actually thought of Mike in days. I would need to let him know that Matthew had been found and had come home to us. But that would have to wait.

  “I…they told me you’d died, but I didn’t believe it. That’s why we kept searching for more information. I never believed you were really gone.”

  His mouth eased. Not quite a smile, but he seemed to relax. I wanted to talk to him, to share so many things on my heart and mind, but I had no idea where to start. I wanted to tell him about Hope, but I felt like we should be alone for that conversation. That would have to wait as well.

  So we rode the rest of the way to the Hudsons’ home with very little conversation. Every once in a while, Matthew would look over at me with this sad sort of smile and squeeze my hand. I’d squeeze his in return, and he would go back to looking out the window. All I could do was wonder what was on his mind.

  We crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and headed through the city. The streets were crowded with vehicles and streetcars, slowing our progress. Finally, we reached the sloping street where the Hudsons lived and parked on the side of the hill.

  When we stepped out of the car, Matthew stood and looked up and down the street. “Noisy, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose,” I said.

  “And crowded. Houses are on top of each other.”

  Coach Hudson took Matthew’s bag out of the front seat and we all climbed the stairs to the front door. As we entered the foyer, Mrs. Hudson came out to greet us from the rear of the house where the kitchen was. Coach Hudson kissed her on the cheek and wrapped an arm over her shoulder, turning to Matthew to introduce her. “This is my wife, Jun,” he said, smiling as she bowed her head slightly.

  The color drained from Matthew’s face and he stood frozen in place, staring at Mrs. Hudson with an intense gaze. “He—hello,” he said. “Thank you for having me.”

  I squeezed his hand, and that seemed to bring him out of his shock. He smiled at us all, but again, I had the feeling it wasn’t genuine. His eyes darted around the room, as if he were looking for an escape.

  Mrs. Hudson’s smile faltered as well. “I hope you like dumplings. I make chicken and carrots also.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be just fine,” he said.

  “Come,” she said, motioning for us to follow. “You must be very hungry.”

  Coach Hudson set Matthew’s bag in the guest room, while we followed Mrs. Hudson into the dining room. Matthew and I took our seats next to each other. I slipped my hand into his again as Mrs. Hudson brought out platters filled with roasted chicken, carrots, dumplings, brown noodles, and rice.

  “This looks wonderful,” I said.

  Coach Hudson joined us. “Shall we say grace?” Matthew’s eyes flickered to mine before we bowed our heads. “Lord Almighty, we come to You with gratefulness in our hearts for bringing all of us to Your table. You have blessed us with our daily bread, as well as the joyful return of our dear brother, Matthew. We ask that You watch over Henry as well, and we pray that he will also return safely. May You continue to bless all those who are still serving oversea
s, as well as those here at home who are sacrificing so much. And may You bring peace to us all. It’s in Christ’s name we pray. Amen.”

  I let go of Matthew’s hand and began to fill my plate, gushing over the food. Mrs. Hudson thanked me shyly, waiting until we were all served before serving herself. I took a quick glance at Matthew’s plate. He’d taken a small amount of chicken and carrots. Nothing more.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” I asked him.

  “Uh, well, of course. Just still adjusting to regular meals is all. Doctors said it’s best to pace myself and eat small meals for now.” He shot a quick glance at Mrs. Hudson. “Thank you. It’s all very kind.”

  He took a bite of chicken, and even that he seemed to have to force down. I was shocked. He was obviously malnourished and grossly underweight. I recalled having a similar reaction when I first arrived in Australia. And yet, he seemed repulsed by the food before him. I had to wonder if it had something to do with the Asian nature of it all. It had taken well over a year for me to eat rice again after returning to the States. Even now, I barely touched the stuff.

  “So, Grace tells us you’ve been on the Philippines all this time,” Coach Hudson said. “What were you doing?”

  “I commanded a large group of guerrillas in the central Luzon province. We mostly monitored the Jap movements and troop sizes to relay to MacArthur.”

  “I served in China myself, from thirty-two to thirty-four. Had a few run-ins with the Nips. Savages.”

  Matthew nodded, but then changed the subject. “This is a nice home you have here.”

  “Thank you. Built it myself several years back.”

  Every time Coach Hudson asked Matthew about his service, he expertly steered the conversation away. He continued to nibble on the chicken and carrots, but managed to put away several helpings by the time we’d come to the end of the meal. This confirmed my earlier suspicion about his aversion to the Asian dishes. I hoped Mrs. Hudson didn’t pick up on it as well, but I was glad to see him get some food in his system.

  ***

  Not long after supper, Matthew excused himself to the guest room for the night, and I followed suit. He still seemed uncomfortable, stealing long looks at Mrs. Hudson occasionally. Once we were alone, I asked him if he was all right.

  “We should’ve stayed at a hotel,” he said, looking around the room. He stood on one side of the bed, and I stood on the other. It wasn’t late, but he looked exhausted.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I didn’t think. Everything has been so topsy-turvy the past week. Let’s just try to get some rest tonight. We’ll have lots of time over the next few days to get things sorted out.”

  He nodded and rubbed his hands over his face. “I suppose.”

  When he dropped his hands, we stared at each other for a long while, and I became acutely aware of the fact that it was our first night together in three years. My husband was standing before me. How many times had I ached for this very night? And yet, I was paralyzed by the magnitude of it all.

  “Do you want to go to bed?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly.

  “I want to lie down,” he said. His eyes moved over me, sending my heart racing. I broke eye contact and began turning down the bed for him. I started on my side, pulling down the comforter and sheets, then moved over to his side, still unable to look at him. I felt his eyes on my every move.

  When I straightened and went to move past him, he put a hand on my hip and stopped me in front of him. His other hand slid around my neck, his thumb stroking my cheek. He looked at me as if he was trying to remember me. Tears I’d been trying to keep at bay broke loose.

  “Why’re you crying?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s just been so long. I was so afraid you were gone. I’ve been carrying this terrible hole in my chest around for so long, and now I don’t know what to do.”

  He leaned down and kissed me, and that only shattered what was left of my control. I kissed his lips, his cheeks, his hands, crying the whole time. It was humiliating, but it was a release I needed. And he seemed to understand.

  He kissed my cheeks too, and he held me as I cried. I didn’t even realize he’d moved us to the bed. I lay cradled in his arms, still crying long into the night.

  ***

  Matthew

  May 2, 1945

  San Francisco

  Ruby finally fell asleep in my arms, but I couldn’t find any sleep myself. The entire day had been so overwhelming, and my body was beyond the point of exhaustion. But I lay there throughout that first night thinking of how different everything around me was now. And how it felt all wrong.

  It had started with all the traffic and the noise. It drowned out everything. I couldn’t hear myself think. Then I’d seen Mrs. Hudson, and without a thought, my mind had gone on the defensive. I knew it was completely irrational—she wasn’t even Japanese—but I couldn’t help looking around for escape routes. Even as I lay safely in bed, with Ruby beside me, I had an uncontrollable sense that Mrs. Hudson was a threat I needed to be ready for. To top it off, the bed was so soft, I thought I might sink right through it.

  So I lay there all night, replaying events in my mind, wondering what Diego was doing, how my men were fairing in their training. Who would lead them against the Japanese? Would they gain the freedom they’d been working so hard for? I began to wonder if the army would send me back once I was healthy again. What would that do to Ruby?

  I thought back over everything we’d already been through. Could we face another obstacle? Would she be safe in Houston? What if the Sawyers discovered who she really was? There was so much still at stake. And at the end of all my troubling questions lay the one most troubling of all. Was this the life I really wanted?

  Chapter Ten

  Matthew

  August, 1942

  Luzon, Philippines

  Diego was an expert guide, and I thanked God for him each day we climbed through the foothills of eastern Luzon, heading west toward the mountains north of Manila. Diego did indeed know the area well. He led us from one barrio to the next, entering first on his own to establish friendly relations, and then introducing us to the leaders of each barrio. We spent very few nights without some sort of shelter and a bit of food.

  I learned more about Filipino culture during those days than I had in my entire seven months in the Philippines to date. Each barrio was set up as its own clan, with local leaders who may or may not welcome outsiders. Some barrios were better off than others, with a superior water supply and more crops. Some had been decimated by the Japanese and were trying to get back on their feet again.

  Most welcomed us and offered to feed us regardless of their supply level. One such barrio leader, a man with three wives and thirteen children, had the last three chickens in the entire barrio killed in order to serve us a meal. He welcomed us into his humble home, a bamboo hut with thatched nipa palm leaves for the roof.

  The one-room hut housed all seventeen members of his family, from infants to teens, all sleeping on the floor together. How they managed to adjust themselves to allow three more bodies inside was a mystery. I slept with my back pressed against the straw-covered wall while Henry slept on his back, head to toe beside me. Occasionally his feet would move toward my face, and I’d get hit by the most awful smell imaginable. It was the longest night of our journey so far. Still, the family had shared with us out of their meager stores, and it reminded me of when Jesus pointed out the poor widow who gave all that she’d had—only two copper coins—as her offering.

  Lord, I prayed, please bless this poor family out of Your abundance. Please take their generosity and multiply it back to them. Thank You for Your safekeeping thus far. Guide us and keep us from those who would harm us. Please be with Ruby, Lord, and please bring us home safely.

  ***

  The next day, we left the foothills behind as we entered into the floodplains of central Luzon. This felt like the most dangerous part of our trip so far, having lost the cover of the
vegetation. We moved only at night, wading through rice paddies up to our thighs, praying the mosquitos would keep their malaria to themselves.

  We headed west toward Mount Arayat, where Diego had been told we would find more Americans and Filipinos banding together. The only times we came across Japanese units was when we had to cross a road. We’d hunker down and study their pattern, waiting for a break in the line of armor, infantry, and equipment being moved in mass numbers.

  It took us a couple more days to reach the barrio we’d been searching for. I realized we were heading back into the very landscape I’d traveled through six months prior when the Americans retreated to Bataan to make what turned out to be a futile stand.

  As we approached the barrio from the south, we could hear music and children singing. Diego slowed our approach, sensing we were being watched. Within a few minutes, two armed Filipinos stepped in our path, commanding us to stop.

  Diego spoke to them first in Spanish. I caught the words “Americanos” and “amigos.” Then he addressed them in Tagalog, and they nodded, waving us forward.

  “They say they will take us to American soldier in barrio,” Diego said quietly.

  “Do you trust them?” I asked.

  “Sí, Captain.”

  I glanced over at Henry to my right. “What do you think?”

  “Sí, Captain,” he said, winking.

  I couldn’t muster a smile. My feet had gone numb from pain, my skin itched like it was covered in a million ants, and another fever had zapped me of nearly all my energy. I prayed this barrio would be our last stop for a while until I could recover more of my strength.

  When we came to the outer edge of the group of huts, an older Filipino carrying a bolo approached us with an American enlisted soldier alongside him. The American was as skeletal as I was, and his tanned, leathery skin gave him the appearance of being in his forties. I was shocked to learn he was a corporal in his twenties. It made me wonder just how much of a toll this jungle life would take on my body as well.