Along the Broken Bay Read online

  Vivian placed her hand on Edith’s. “Honey, don’t fret so. Your kids will be okay. I’m sorry to hear about your mama.”

  “Thanks. She’s been slowing down for a while.”

  “Well, don’t worry. If Japanese planes show up in our skies, it’ll be over in a blink. We’ll bomb those Nipponese islands straight off the map.” Vivian lit a cigarette and blew out a long stream of smoke. “That’ll be the end of it, and they know it.”

  Slightly embarrassed, Gina said, “You’ll be all right here, Edith. Manila’s the safest place in the Orient.”

  Stella scoffed. “That’s MacArthur’s story. A big bluster in my opinion to fool the Japs into believing it. We’re nowhere near ready for war. And there’s no telling what the Japs will do or when they’ll do it. They’re crazy as crackers.” She grabbed a handful of mixed nuts from the bowl on the table. “Anyhoo, I’m staying in Manila. I don’t want to leave my horse, Tomboy, or my husband . . . in that order.”

  Gina and Viv exchanged an amused glance. Gina cackled. “Stella, you’re terrible.”

  “Yeah. Paul’s a good guy. He built us a bomb shelter. He lined the floor and walls with bamboo so it doesn’t seem so much like a cave. The roof is reinforced, and there are a couple vents. He was a fireman in New York, so he knows all about those things. It’s big enough for a crowd. Feel free to duck in.”

  “For bombs and bridge?”

  “Or ‘Kumbaya.’”

  Edith flicked a tear away. “My worst fear is we’ll end up in an internment camp. Mom would never survive that.”

  Stella’s demeanor softened. “It wouldn’t be so bad for a few weeks. I’d be there to help you keep her comfortable. Does she play bridge?”

  Gina said, “If things turn ugly, I’m taking Cheryl to our cottage near Pilar on the Bataan Peninsula. You and your mama are welcome to come and stay with us. The invitation is open to all of you.”

  Lunch with her friends lasted through two martinis and a rum-fortified coffee, followed by window-shopping along trendy Escolta Street. The four tipsy women laughed away the hour while they assessed the dresses, shoes, and hats in the storefront windows and pointed out to one another the diamond earrings, bracelets, and brooches they expected to find under their Christmas trees. After wandering into Chinatown, they purchased baubles and doodads to fill Christmas stockings for their many children.

  Gina loved being with her friends whiling away the time, and she basked in the city’s vibrancy and savored its diversity—a perfect blend of the colorful old and the pristine new. It was a privileged lifestyle the Pearl of the Orient offered her, and she trusted that General MacArthur would never let the Japanese anywhere near it.

  At home, she found Cheryl on the terrace with Luisa. The amah, from a large Filipino family and just out of her teens, never seemed to tire of Cheryl’s constant bilingual chatter.

  “Mama.” Cheryl waved a paper. “I need to take a snack for the Christmas party. It says so right here.” She handed the important paper to Gina. “Can the cook make those coconut maca . . . maca . . .”

  “Macaroons.” Gina kissed her child’s chubby cheek and sat on a chair next to her. “She will if you ask her politely. What did you learn in school today?”

  “I drawed triangles and squares. Do you want to see?” She took a fat pencil and wide-lined paper from her school bag and demonstrated her new skill.

  The child resembled Ray, with the same wide-set eyes, short nose, and square jaw, but her dark coloring came from Gina, with hair almost black, eyes deep brown, and skin that tanned dark enough to seem almost native. She looked tiny sitting at the round rattan table, her face in studied concentration and her feet not quite touching the floor.

  She drew more triangles, this time in a chain. “Harry says there’s going to be a war. I told him there wasn’t either, and he stuck out his tongue at me.” She stopped drawing. “He’s a very rude boy, Mama.”

  Cheryl had a sassy way of talking that reminded Gina of her mother. Stifling a smile, she mirrored her daughter’s knitted eyebrows and pursed lips.

  Cheryl asked, “What’s a war?”

  Gina’s knitted brows turned into a frown. She and Ray had never discussed the rumors of war with Cheryl around. “It’s when men fight, honey.”

  “Is Daddy going to fight?”

  “No. Daddy builds roads and bridges. He won’t fight.” At least, Gina hoped and prayed not.

  “Will Harry’s daddy fight?”

  Harry’s dad was Major Davy McGowan, an important figure at Fort Santiago, an ancient thick-walled fort down by the Pasig River that was now home to the US Army Thirty-First Infantry. Gina and Davy’s wife, Sissy, worked on school projects together. She liked Sissy’s easygoing nature and Harry’s polite manner. The families hobnobbed at the ubiquitous cocktail parties and cookouts held among their clique. “He’s a soldier, so he might have to, but we hope not.”

  “If he does, will he get killed?”

  Startled by the question, Gina rapidly blinked. “What makes you ask that?”

  “Harry started to cry, and his mama had to come to school to get him. He said if his daddy went to war, he might get killed. What’s it mean to get killed?”

  Gina didn’t want to have this conversation with her five-year-old. The child should be dancing around in her new dress, excited about the upcoming party. She carefully chose her words. “It means getting hurt very badly. When we say bedtime prayers, we’ll ask Jesus to keep Harry’s daddy safe.”

  That answer satisfied Cheryl. When she finished her snack, Gina hugged her tighter than usual. Cheryl wiggled away and ran off to find the cook to ask politely if she’d bake macaroons for her school party.

  A war with Japan, only speculation, nonetheless was touching Cheryl in ways Gina hadn’t realized. She pondered the ugliness of the unending news, ubiquitous gossip, and wild speculation swirling around her child like a hurricane—it would be good to get away from the tension this summer. She read through her dad’s letter again, and unexpectedly, feelings of love and loneliness brought her to tears. How very much she missed seeing his handsome face, hearing the sound of his voice, and savoring his loving embrace folding around her.

  Chapter 2

  WAKING UP TO WAR

  I watch the Japanese bombing Manila just three miles across the North Channel. In impotent fury, I can only pray that Gina and Cheryl escape the carnage.

  —Ray Thorpe, Corregidor, December 1941–May 1942

  Gina felt Isabella tap her on her shoulder, and she heard in her half sleep, “Wake up, Miss Gina. Mr. Ray is on the telephone.”

  The clock read 7:00 a.m. Ray never called this early in the morning. Maybe he was excited to tell her he’d gotten leave, and he’d be home in time for the Christmas dance. He’d know she’d be pleased. She slipped on a cotton robe and hurried to the phone.

  Ray’s voice was barely audible over a background of commotion. He asked, “Do you have the radio on?”

  She didn’t like the tone of his voice, and it was a strange question to ask this early in the morning. She answered hesitantly. “No . . . what’s going on, Ray?”

  “Nothing good. The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor early this morning. It was a surprise attack, about three hundred Jap warplanes, they’re guessing. At least four of our ships were sunk, and four others were damaged, maybe more. They don’t have a final count yet. The harbor’s on fire.” Ray’s voice broke. “They’re estimating a thousand men are dead.”

  Gina could only gasp. “A thousand?” Tears came to her eyes. “So then . . . we’re at war?” Just saying it sent a chill up her back. She heard a deep sigh.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  It couldn’t be. General MacArthur had assured them that Japan would never dare attack the American bases in the Pacific. She motioned to Isabella to bring her a glass of water. “Are they coming here?”

  “We don’t know.” The phone crackled and buzzed. “This line is bad. Can you hear me?”

  She
held the phone tighter against her ear. “Not very well.”

  He spoke louder. “We don’t know what the Japs are doing. They could be on their way to the Philippines or not. Can you get to Stella’s bomb shelter?”

  Gina felt her knees go weak, and she quickly sat down in the chair by the phone. The answer came out a croak: “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Stella said there’s room. Do you think we’ll need to?”

  “Maybe. If you hear sirens, get to the shelter. In the meantime, prepare for the worst. Get money from the bank. Stock up on groceries and medicines. Have Miguel service the cars. Get to the cottage in Pilar if you need to get out of Manila. Miguel will tell you when it’s safe to drive. Take Route 7. Are you there? I can’t tell with this crackling.”

  “Yes, I’m here. Are you all right, Ray? Are you safe? Can you come home?”

  “No, I can’t come home—no one can leave—and yes, I’m safe. I’m working in the Malinta Tunnel. It’s a huge complex the military uses for storage. It’s bombproof. They’re converting some of the side tunnels into offices in case MacArthur has to flee Luzon. Men are lined up to use the phone, sugar. I need to hang up. Give Cheryl a kiss for me.”

  “I’ll do that, and a hug too. We love you. Be careful. Are you sure you’re not in danger . . . ?” The line went dead. After she hung up the phone, her fingers lingered on the receiver as her mind raced through all Ray had said.

  Standing nearby, Isabella clutched at her necklace, an amulet that she believed protected her from any peril. Luisa, who had arrived to walk Cheryl to school, was teary eyed. Gina poured a cup of coffee and lit a cigarette.

  Isabella said, her voice tense, “It’s bad, isn’t it, Miss Gina?”

  Gina deeply inhaled and then said in a way she hoped sounded calm to her maids, “It’s not good. The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor earlier this morning. It’s best we prepare in case they come here. Luisa, Cheryl will stay home from school today. Let her sleep. When she wakes up, I want you to keep her busy. If she asks questions, bring her to me. Dry your eyes, please. I don’t want you scaring her.

  “Isabella, have Miguel take you to the grocery store. Buy as many canned foods as you can. When you get back, I want you to pack for us. We might go to the cottage. Tell Miguel to service Ray’s car—gas, oil, and tires. I have some errands to run. Don’t be afraid. I’m just being cautious. General MacArthur promised he wouldn’t let the Japanese anywhere near Manila.”

  Gina thought she sounded confident while talking to her maids, but her stomach felt tied in a knot. She warmed up her coffee and turned on the radio, hearing about the multiple air strikes on Pearl Harbor, the ships sunk and others on fire, the innumerable casualties, and the overflowing hospitals. She struggled to retain an impassive front.

  The announcer’s voice rose. “Just in! Japanese attack planes have been spotted approaching the Philippines. Stay tuned. News is arriving as I speak.”

  The coffee cup dropped from Gina’s hand and smashed on the counter. She saw Isabella stiffen and heard Luisa gasp. Gina steeled herself and addressed her maids. “The best we can do is stick with our plan. If the Japanese come here, we’ll be ready. Let’s get busy.”

  Gina drove into the city center in heavy traffic. Her mind churned. Would enemy planes come from the north or south? She should have asked Ray. If from the south he could be in their path, and the thought made her shiver, regardless of his reassurance that he was safe in the tunnels. Had he said how much money to draw out of the bank? She didn’t remember. She wished he were here to take care of these details so she could be home when Cheryl awoke. Her child would be frightened. Gina stepped harder on the gas pedal.

  The business area was swamped, and Gina had to park the car blocks away from the bank. She joined the end of a slow-moving line that started at the bank’s door and snaked around the block. The woman ahead of her was crying, and the man behind her cursed the line’s crawl. As the sun rose higher and hotter, a kid arrived selling water he dipped from a bucket at a centavo a cup. What she would give for just a swallow—but thinking better of it, she waved the boy away.

  Inside the cavernous bank, the impatient crowd jockeyed shoulder to shoulder for space, and Gina pushed her way to one of the many service windows. She placed her passbook on the counter. “I’d like to withdraw all but ten pesos.”

  The harried-looking clerk opened Gina’s passbook. “Two hundred pesos a week is the limit, Mrs. Thorpe. It’s a new ruling this morning.” She mechanically recorded the transaction, counted out the bills, and passed them through the window.

  Gina leaned in and whispered, “We’re good customers. Let me talk to the manager.”

  “Take the money and get out of the way,” a red-faced woman behind Gina hissed, using her generous body to shove Gina aside.

  Someone else growled, “Move along, lady.”

  Gina thrust the two hundred pesos into her purse; how would her family survive on the meager amount? She fought her way to the outside, where people were jabbering about strange lights they’d seen in the east and objects in the sky they swore were Japanese paratroopers. She walked a block to the Chinese drugstore, where she picked up vitamins and aspirin and was elbowed by a man who grabbed for the last bottles.

  Her arm ached where she’d been jabbed, and a blister had formed on her heel. Gina limped to the car only to find a truck had double-parked beside her. Blocked in, she sat on her bumper and watched the merchants tape their windows and stack sandbags in front of their establishments. Feeling in a surreal world, she wondered how this could be.

  A man in a red hat shouted, “The Japs are at Clark,” causing a panic in the street. Clark Air Field was fifty miles north of Manila. Gina paced and stewed, learning through talk on the street of countless casualties happening at Clark and that the newly arrived B-15 bombers and P-40 fighters, Manila’s main source of air defense, had been parked in rows on the ground and were being demolished by heavy Japanese bombing and strafing.

  My God, my God. General MacArthur promised this wouldn’t happen.

  By the time Gina arrived home, Isabella was in a frenzy. “You go, Miss Gina. You take Miss Cheryl and go to the cottage. If Japs come here, it be very bad for you.” Her hand gripped her amulet.

  “Hush,” Gina snapped. “You’ll scare Cheryl.” She looked at her maid’s terrified face and softened her voice. “We’re okay. If anything happens, it’s not going to be this minute. We have time to think of what to do. Shush now, please.”

  Cheryl, still in her pajamas and her little face tearstained, ran to Gina. “Are the bad guys coming, Mama?”

  “Bad guys?” Gina knelt down and dried Cheryl’s tears. “Where did you hear that?”

  “At school. Harry says the bad guys are coming to get us.”

  Gina led Cheryl to the rocking chair, wondering what else Harry had told her. She pulled Cheryl onto her lap and wrapped her in a protective embrace. They rocked quietly for a moment while Gina gathered her thoughts. “Some Japanese people want to live in Manila, honey. You may see their airplanes in the sky. They’re not bad guys, and they’re not coming to get us.” Gina paused, wondering how to prepare her daughter for danger without scaring her. “General MacArthur will tell the Japanese to take their planes and go home. They’ll be gone soon; you’ll see.” Gina hoped it was true. “For now, we’ll stay snug in our house. Maybe later we’ll go to the cottage.”

  Cheryl was crying, and she rubbed her eyes. “I want Daddy here.”

  Gina felt like crying, too, but she pushed down her feelings and forced her voice not to waver. “So do I, but General MacArthur needs him to stay on Corregidor. Would you like to send him a message?”

  Cheryl nodded, her dark eyes large and teary.

  “It will be our secret communication channel to Daddy.”

  “What’s a secret communication channel?”

  “It’s like a telephone. Link pinkies with me.” She showed Cheryl how to entwine their little fingers. “Now close your eyes and talk t
o Daddy.”

  Cheryl frowned. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then I’ll go first.” Gina closed her eyes. She knew Ray’s leanings, and she wished to tell him to stay inside the tunnels where he was working and not to take risky chances. Instead she said, “Ray, sweetheart. Cheryl and I are together, and we’re sending our love and kisses. We miss you. Be safe. Come home soon.” Her voice cracked. “Your turn, honey.”

  Cheryl scrunched her eyes closed. “Daddy, I miss you. I love you. Isabella and Luisa are crying, and my tummy hurts. I’m scared. I want you to come home.” She opened her eyes. “Do you think he heard me?”

  “I know he did. You can talk to him anytime you’re afraid and tell him you love him. Do you want me to rub your back?”

  Gina felt Cheryl relax and her breathing slow as she rubbed her back. They rocked for a while longer, Gina savoring the heaviness of her child’s body against hers while contemplating all she must do to keep her safe.

  General MacArthur wasn’t able to protect the islands from Japanese aggression. For six days their bombers crisscrossed the sky attacking US military bases scattered throughout the Philippines, leaving behind wide paths of destruction.

  Goose bumps formed on Gina’s arms when she heard a buzz and felt a vibration. From her window she saw formations of Japanese fighters approaching the bay.

  Air raid sirens wailed in the city, the howl turning Gina’s blood cold. She hurried Cheryl and her maids to Stella’s backyard, where a dozen neighbors were gathering. Gina got in line behind Vivian and her two daughters, Maggie sixteen and Leah six. “You doing okay, Viv?”

  “We’re hanging in there. Leah won’t let go of my skirt, and Maggie has pulled into herself. And you?”

  “I’m jittery all the time, and Cheryl’s weepy. She wants her dad.”

  Stella hurried the edgy crowd down the six steps into the shelter, while her two little boys ran in frantic circles, aiming imaginary guns at the sky. “Pow!” they hollered. “Bam! Bam!”