Tracie Peterson (21 page)

“
Semper Fidelis
,” he muttered. “Always faithful. A marine is always faithful.” He continued working his way downstream, alternating between fighting the vegetation and talking to it. Pausing beside another mangrove, he questioned, “What about you? Are you always faithful?” He was starting to feel punchy, almost like he’d had too much to drink. His head seemed to be pulsating with a jungle rhythm all its own.

His thoughts were coming in loosely connected visions. “Are you being faithful, Mary Ann? Did you get rid of that no-account Ray What’s-his-name?” Erik shook his head, trying to clear his vision. His arm itched furiously, burning and nagging at him, demanding his attention. He scratched. His mother always told him not to scratch when he’d managed to get into poison ivy. But this time he was scratching. If his mother couldn’t even write him a Christmas card, why shouldn’t he scratch?

“I’m scratching for everyone,” he said, giving his arms a good going-over. “You can all sit at home and forget about me. Don’t remember me. Don’t worry about Erik Anderson. I’m a marine. I’m Semper Fi!” He stumbled over his own feet and crashed to the ground below. Mud oozed up, coating the front of his flight suit. “Now I’m a mud marine!” he declared, laughing at his own little joke. Sick and weary, he rolled onto his back. “I wish I were a mud marine. At least then I’d have a pack full of rations.”

Glancing overhead, Erik felt serious despair begin to settle over him. Maybe it was just the malaria or maybe it was the fact that he’d
had nothing to eat in days, but he couldn’t help but think back to Job in the Bible. It was suggested to Job that he curse God and die. Erik began to wonder if maybe that was the answer.

He sat up and tried to regain his composure. It was then that he spotted the leeches firmly attached to his right ankle. He pulled at one of the slimy creatures, but it didn’t want to come off. Yanking it, Erik couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just done something very stupid. His vision blurred and he wiped at his eyes. Then, without warning, a clear and concise declaration rose up from somewhere deep in the heart of his soul. “I’m not going to make it.”

He gave in to the misery. “I’ve tried, Lord,” he said weakly. He picked at the leeches, not knowing exactly what to do to rid himself of them. “I can’t go on. Hate me if you will, but kill me off and let it be done with. This slow torture is driving me mad.”

The birds overhead cackled and called in mocking fashion. Perhaps they had come to accuse him or, as Job’s friends did, to make helpful suggestions about where he must have gone wrong.

Falling back against the wet soil, Erik knew there was very little fight left in him. He didn’t really want to die, but there didn’t appear to be many other options. His stomach churned, and a piercing pain caused him to double up. With this came a wave of nausea that sent him into a round of dry heaves. There was just no end to his misery.

Panting for breath as the nausea seemed to pass, Erik rolled to his side and forced himself to sit up. Sometimes life was just too much to understand. Marshall had died only months earlier defending Midway Island, and now Erik would die having been shot down defending the Solomons. Up until a year ago, he’d had no idea where any of these places even were, much less that they needed defending. But until December 7 of the previous year, few had envisioned the American military having any reason to concern themselves with those islands. Wake was a stopping-off place for trans-Pacific flights of the China Clipper, while Midway, a barely heard of outpost, took the northern route of the same. Neither seemed the kind of place a boy from Longview, Washington, should even wonder about.

“
Think of the world you’re seeing, men!
” his commanding officer had boasted. “
Few people will ever experience all that you will in the next few months
.”

“Thank God for that,” Erik said aloud, only the words sounded
like moans. He squinted and tried to see what might be down the river. His vision blurred, however, and he buried his face in his hands.

“Okay, okay. I give up. Do you hear me, God? I give up. You can kill me now. I give you permission. Not that you needed it.” He pressed his hands against his temples to ease the pain. “My mom’s going to be awfully disappointed. She didn’t want me to follow in Marshall’s footsteps. Said that one son was more than enough to give any country.”

Erik tried to fight the dizziness that he knew would soon claim his conscious mind. He wouldn’t stand a chance of defending himself if he passed out. Not that he had much of a chance anyway, but at least he had the .45. He patted the holster reassuringly. A wave of reasoning came with this act.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Act like a man
.

“I’m a marine,” he said, rolling and pushing himself up on his hands and knees. “Death before . . . dishonor.” He fell sideways and landed hard against the ground.

Noise came from the brush behind him. Erik reached for his revolver and pulled it from the holster. Clutching it as tightly as he could manage with his shaking hands, Erik licked his dry lips and tried again to sit up.

Voices sounded and without warning, Erik found himself surrounded by several dark-skinned native men. He looked at each one, barely able to focus. The one closest to him stepped even closer.

“
Watkaen nem blong iufala nao?
” the man questioned, leaning down. He noticed the gun and added, “No shoot.”

Erik could understand the latter words, but the first held no meaning for him.

“
Iufala save toktok languis blong Solomon?
” another man asked.

Erik heard the words
toktok, languis
, and
Solomon
. Were they asking him if he could speak their language? “Do you speak English?” he asked, barely able to keep his shaky hold on the gun.

“
Ya, toktok plante. You see
.” The man grinned at him, and Erik could see that his teeth were nearly black. The apparition was unlike anything Erik could have dreamed up.

Having no more strength, Erik began to sway.
God, if you’re listening to me at all, please help me
. The native reached out to catch
Erik before he lost consciousness. The man nodded and said something more, but nothing made sense. Blue skies and green trees swirled around the dark faces that now stared down over him.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Erik muttered and gave up the fight. “I didn’t mean to scratch.”

Mary Ann could still see the delivery truck bearing down on her. In spite of a quick-thinking sailor who pushed her out of the way in the nick of time, and in spite of her determination to keep the details of the previous evening from Ellen, the images and feelings refused to be shaken. There was no haven of rest for Mary Ann. If she lingered at the boardinghouse and rode to work with Ellen, the truth might come out about Ray. Yet coming to work early, as she had, meant the possibility of having to deal with Ray all over again.

She couldn’t win. She knew Ray would probably want to talk to her—if not fire her. Dread left her almost unable to function. How could she deal with this situation and not expose her own stupidity? She didn’t want to discuss the matter with Ray and neither did she want to talk to Ellen. That left her with only one choice.

Swallowing hard, Mary Ann tried to settle her nerves with a quick unspoken prayer.
God, I don’t know where I went wrong. I was just trying to be nice to him. To believe the best about him. I felt sorry for his loneliness and disappointment. I wasn’t trying to be wanton or a flirt
.

I’m a fool, God. I know that
. She trembled as she peered out of the ladies’ rest room. Workers were coming in at a steady stream now and she felt safer. Ray wouldn’t pull anything with so many watchful eyes keeping track. He might corner her to talk, but at least he wouldn’t put his hands on her, and given the hour, he wouldn’t have much time to talk to her either.

She crept out of her sanctuary and glanced out onto the plant floor. No one seemed to notice her arrival. She cautiously walked to her area, fully prepared to do battle in whatever manner presented itself, but instead of Ray, she found Ellen waiting for her.

“I was so worried about you,” Ellen told her. “You didn’t come in until late and then when I got up this morning you were already
gone. Are you okay?”

Mary Ann knew that if she looked Ellen in the eye, she would probably start to cry. She had to remain composed. “I’m fine. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You aren’t a bother to me,” Ellen said softly. “Look, we’ve got a few minutes. I want you to come with me.”

“I better stick around. You know I was late the other day. They aren’t going to like it if I’m not here working when it’s time to start.”

“I’m not going to keep you that long,” Ellen replied, taking hold of her arm.

“Ow,” Mary Ann yelped. She hadn’t realized how sore her bruised arms had become. The obvious hand-shaped bruises, compliments of Ray’s insistent hold on her, weren’t going to be easy to explain.

“What happened to you?” Ellen questioned, inspecting Mary Ann’s wrist.

“Nothing.” Mary Ann was barely able to croak out the word.

“This doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’” Ellen pulled Mary Ann toward the rest room.

“Really, I’m fine.”

Ellen wouldn’t listen and Mary Ann knew she’d have no other choice but to tell her everything that had happened. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. It was all so embarrassing. Ellen had warned her and now Mary Ann would have to humble herself and admit that Ellen’s concerns had been justified.

Surprisingly, the ladies’ room was empty. Ellen practically pushed Mary Ann inside and demanded to know all the details.

“Oh, Ellen, I feel so stupid. I’m just as dense as everyone thinks I am.”

“What are you talking about? What happened?”

“Ray got out of hand,” Mary Ann admitted. “He got fresh and I decided to walk home. He grabbed me and tried to keep me in the car, but I fought him off and left.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. “I didn’t want you to know. I feel so stupid.”

Ellen put her arm around Mary Ann’s shoulders. “You aren’t stupid, Mary. You were just too trusting.”

“Maybe at first,” Mary Ann said, lifting her head. “I just wanted to be nice. But after a while, even I sensed there could be a problem.
You told me not to keep encouraging Ray.” Ellen looked surprised but said nothing. “I thought he was a nice enough guy. I really thought I could handle it.”

“And you did,” Ellen replied with a reassuring smile.

“Oh, Ellen, I don’t know what to do. I just can’t stand the idea of seeing him again.”

“Well, I know what we’re going to do,” Ellen told her. “We’re going to talk to my boss. Mr. Chandler knows all about Ray. Apparently there have been other times—other girls. Mr. Chandler wants to do something to put an end to it.”

Ten minutes later they sat in chairs in front of Chris Chandler’s desk. Mary Ann couldn’t keep her hands from shaking, even as he offered her a cup of coffee.

“I know this kind of thing is hard,” he told Mary Ann gently, “but I’m afraid I need to know what happened.”

Mary Ann nodded. “Ray invited Ellen and me to a dance. We went, but Ellen’s head cold was making her feel bad, so she wanted to go home. She got a ride home with friends, and I stayed at the dance with Ray. When it was time to go, Ray and I headed home.”

“Then what happened?”

Mary Ann took a sip of the hot coffee. She hated even remembering the events of the evening. “I thought at first he was being a little fresh, but then he started talking about how bad he felt that his buddies had gone off to war and he was left behind. He was saying all these things and I . . . well . . . I . . .”

“You felt sorry for him?” Mr. Chandler questioned.

Ellen patted Mary Ann’s hand reassuringly. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I did feel sorry for him. He said he’d fallen in love with me and that even though he knew I was taken, he couldn’t help the way he felt. He kept saying things like that and I didn’t know what to do or say.”

“How did you get the bruises?” Mr. Chandler questioned.

Mary Ann shrugged. “I guess when he grabbed hold of me to keep me from leaving. I know he held on to me pretty tight.”

“Is that all?”

“No,” Mary Ann admitted. She hated confessing the part about the kiss, but figured if she was going to do it right, she had to tell
them everything. “He talked me into letting him have a kiss.” She shook her head and looked down at the cup of coffee in her hand. “I know it was stupid. I feel like ten kinds of a fool, but I felt sorry for him. He asked me to give him something to hope for until the right woman came along. I never should have let him kiss me—I know that—I knew it then.”

“Miss Roland, you needn’t be too hard on yourself. Men like Ray Blasingham have a way of enticing young women and then demanding more from them than they should give. He’s a real wolf when it comes to working with the ladies. I’ve heard rumors for months now and wondered how I could put a stop to it, but I never had any proof. Until now.” He turned to Ellen. “Miss Anderson, I want you to send a runner to bring Mr. Blasingham to my office.”