1.Tess
December 1941
The Philippines
We headed to Manila for an overnight escape from the countryside having no idea that our lives were on the verge of changing forever. Four of us piled aboard a commissary truck and motored southbound along the highway toward the coast, our shoulders jostling against each other while the rolling golden plains of Luzon retreated. The smell of ripe copra swirled around us, along with heavy diesel fumes, and though it would take several hours to drive to Manila, anticipation was running high for that evening’s annual Christmas gala at the Army-Navy Officers’ Club, the OC as we called it. Rumors of a coming war with Japan had consumed everyone for months, but they felt so far-fetched, so gloomy that all we wanted was to drown out the worrisome chatter with a few gin-soaked hours of jitterbugging and jiving.
Virginia and I sat on one side of the truck’s bed with Sally and Darren opposite us. An olive-colored canvas tarp protected us from the direct intensity of the sun, but still, the air was hot. Though my cotton sundress clung to my back, it was a relief not to be stuck in our stiff high-necked army nurse’s uniforms.
“Jeez, Virginia, what do you have in there? The cavalry?” Darren shook his head at the size of her suitcase.
“If you must know, Doc, I couldn’t land on what dress to wear tonight. I wanted options,” Virginia said in her heavy Texas accent. Gravelly, smoky, and deep, it belied the wholesome expectations implied by her blond hair and blue eyes and reliably created a swarm of admirers wherever she went. “A smart woman likes to have options. In fact, we’re just waiting for Sal to come to her senses and give you the heave-ho so she can take advantage of playing the field around here.”
“Now that’s a load of hogwash. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” Sally said, tracing her index finger along Darren’s ear as if preparing to nibble on it.
“Ugh, if you two lovebirds keep mooning over each other, we’re going to throw you right out the back,” Virginia growled. “Maybe less weight in this thing could actually make it travel a little faster. I don’t know about all of you, but I’m champing at the bit to get back to the bustle of the city.”
Though Manila had its advantages, we had also found plenty of entertainment at our new posting at Fort Stotsenburg. Riding horses in the jungle, golfing, tennis—our new rural assignment offered plenty of diversions. I’d arrived in the Philippines almost nine months earlier, only nineteen years old, but well-versed in the hardships of the ’30s. My childhood consisted of Washington State’s gunmetal-gray skies, of chilled toes and chapped fingers, and of the ever-present smell of wet wool.
From the moment we’d disembarked our transport freighter, the USS Saratoga, and landed on Manila’s Pier Seven and the small city spread out before us—elegant coconut palms; seventeenth-century Spanish-style buildings; stucco walls dotted with vining purple bougainvillea; and fragrant breezes laced with frangipani—it was like we were walking into some sort of wonderful dream. Of course, we had no idea what was coming. None of us did.
“What time are we supposed to be at Nell’s?” I asked.
Virginia shrugged. “Whenever we get there.”
“But didn’t we say four? We’re going to be late.”
“Tess, it’ll be fine. Loosen up.” Virginia yawned.
“You make me sound like such a stick in the mud,” I said.
“It’s just that you need to live a little. If you don’t do it now, you’ll regret it later,” she said.
I made a squeak of annoyance and frowned.
“You’re not a stick in the mud,” Sal insisted, “but it’s just that . . .” She tapped her finger on her chin, thinking. I waited, knowing her verdict was going to sting a little. This wouldn’t be the first time I’d allowed these two to transform me.
WHEN WE’D FIRST met during our Pacific crossing and I’d introduced myself as Esther Abbott, Virginia had openly inspected me from head to toe. “Honey, you’re too young to be an Esther. It makes you sound like a fifty-year-old orphanage headmistress who darns stockings for fun. Let’s call you Tess instead,” she said.
It was as if she’d proposed piercing my ears or swearing off meat—I’d blinked in shock at the proposed name change—but rather than be offended, I couldn’t help but feel intrigued by the possibilities. Why not?
And that was just the beginning. I was Pygmalion’s Eliza Doolittle to their Henry Higgins and Colonel Pickering. During our second morning at sea, as I’d washed my face, I’d turned to find Sally and Virginia appraising the long thick braid running down my spine.
“How would you feel about a new hairdo?” Sal asked.
I pulled my braid into my hand and wrapped it around my wrist. My wavy chestnut-colored hair was my one vanity. “I don’t think so.”
“Did you see Rebecca or The Women?” she asked.
“I did. Loved them both. Why?”
“What if I make you look like Joan Fontaine?”
Virginia snorted. “Joan Fontaine? Are you kidding me? Let’s shoot for someone a little juicier than that. With Tess’s waves, she could be more of a Rita Hayworth than boring ol’ Joan Fontaine.”
“Hayworth it is,” Sal said. “Although I really liked Rebecca. I know she was supposed to look kind of boring, but I thought she was pretty.”
“Well, I also really liked Frankenstein, but that doesn’t mean I’d suggest we turn her into Boris Karloff,” Virginia said.
“Pay no attention to her, Tess. I’ll make you look divine. Sit right here.” Sally tapped at the floor in front of her. I hovered for a moment, uncertain of the familiarity and intimacy she was suggesting. I had no real experience with friends. Orphaned at ten years old, my childhood under the care of my older sister, Sue, had been lonely. Though Sue cared for me deeply, she was reserved and consumed with the industry of living on our apple orchard. Until leaving for the Philippines, I’d kept myself quiet and withdrawn, closed like a fist, but the thrill of leaving home split my defenses.
“Sit!” Sally insisted.
So I sat, my shoulders tensed around my ears, but she didn’t notice my discomfort. “Don’t worry, back in Michigan, I cut my brothers’ and sisters’ hair all the time. I’m the oldest of ten, so I have my work cut out for me—and they keep me busy with everything, not just hair. They’re always begging me to make them meals or to referee a game. Our house is a zoo, an absolute zoo. Not a single moment of peace and quiet. It’s why I’ve always liked going to the movies so much—I escape everyone for a couple of hours.”
“Nine brothers and sisters? My word,” I said. “I have a sister, but she’s much older. I was basically an only child.”
“I can’t imagine being an only child, not even for one minute.” Sally’s fingers grazed my shoulders and the snip snipof scissors whispered near my ear. “Did you ever get lonely? My brothers and sisters drive me nuts but I think I’ll miss them. They promised to write tons of letters. I left stationery and stamps and assigned each one a day to write to me.”
“You’re so organized,” I marveled, trying not to wonder about what she was doing to my hair.
“Ha, if I wasn’t, nothing would get done! In fact, I have no idea how Mother’s holding down the fort with me gone. They must all miss me terribly. I don’t even want to think about it. I don’t mean to boast, but I’m a very essential part of my family.”
I laughed before realizing Sal was completely serious.
And then I wondered: Who would miss me? Of course, Sue and her husband, Dan, loved me, but was I an essential part of daily life on the farm? I doubted it.
Sal must have seen my anxiety. “How about I get my sisters and brothers to write to you, too? Lord knows, a few of the younger ones need to work on their cursive. You may not be able to decipher much of their letters, but it would be nice to get more mail, don’t you think?”
“It would. You’re generous to offer.”
And before I knew it, half of my hair lay on the floor surrounding me, but my new friends were right—my fresh hairdo felt perfect. It made me lighter. Freer. Did I resemble Rita Hayworth? Not really, but I didn’t care. This was the new, more stylish me. Tess.
BOUNCING ALONG IN the back of the commissary truck, I fingered the waves of my shoulder-length hair and steeled myself for whatever improvement Sally was about to suggest next.
“Maybe you should change things up a little,” Sal said. “What did you bring to wear tonight?”
“My pale yellow silk.”
“But haven’t you worn that a million times?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, how about something that . . .” She pursed her lips, searching for the right words.
“Shows more cleavage,” Darren said.
“Darren!” Sally elbowed him.
“Are you joking? I don’t have anything that fits the bill for that,” I said, half laughing, half indignant. I couldn’t believe Darren—our mild-mannered family doctor from Portsmouth, New Hampshire—had just made such a risqué suggestion.
“Don’t worry, Doc,” Virginia said. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing for months now. Who doesn’t appreciate a good view, right?” And with that, she leaned forward to rest her elbow on her knee in a way that gave everyone a view straight down into her ample décolletage.
Sally laughed, but Darren’s face turned such a dark shade of red, I feared for his blood pressure.
“If Virginia brought a few different evening gowns, maybe you could try one of hers,” Sally suggested.
Virginia arched a perfectly penciled eyebrow. “I think I’ve got some extra dimensions that will make that tricky.”
Sal rolled her eyes. “I’m sure one of the other girls will have something. Maybe a strapless dress would be just the thing!”
“I don’t know,” I said slowly.
“I promise, nothing vulgar. You’ll look classy,” Sally said.
“But also, maybe a little trampy,” Virginia drawled, resting her arm along the back of the bench and grinning. It was clear she was having a ball of a time at my expense.
“That’s not helpful,” Sally said.
“Trust me, when I’m done with her, she’ll be a knockout.”
“Fine, maybe a smidge”—Sal held her index finger and thumb an inch apart—“daring. Just for tonight.”
I studied the delighted expressions on my friends. Despite how the late-afternoon heat was making us wilt, I felt a flicker of excitement, but tried to cover it up by smacking Virginia’s knee. “Quit looking so smug.”
She gave my leg a return smack. “Relax. Tonight is going to be the most fun y’all have ever had—I can feel it in my bones.”
WE ARRIVED AT the house in Manila where the nurses lived, a tall ivory-colored stucco building with bright fuchsia bougainvillea crawling up its facade. Nell Farmington, Virginia’s roommate aboard the USS Saratoga, had invited us to stay with her.
When we explained my dress predicament, Nell looked at me and shrugged. The tall blonde had been a champion swimmer back in Pasadena and was built like a prizewinning thoroughbred, all long lines and muscle, a fine balance of power and grace. “You’ll need stilts for anything I’ve got, so let’s check with the other gals.”
It didn’t take long.
The new gown barely needed any alterations, but clung to me in places where I usually looked for breathing space. Also, it was strapless so I felt entirely exposed, which was cause for alarm, but also—I’ll admit it—a bit thrilling. Soft pale pink satin crisscrossed in an artful drape across the bodice and cinched into a narrow waist before cascading to the ground in a four-piece full skirt. When I stepped into the boardinghouse’s hallway and spun, sending up a pale pink cloud of satin into the air, a chorus of whistles from the other nurses greeted me.
Virginia applauded. “My, my, give the rest of us a chance, will you?”
“Don’t worry, you gals are hard to overlook,” I said.
She threw back her chin, laughed, and wrapped her arms around all of us in a dramatic embrace. “It’s times like this when I realize how boring my life was before I met y’all. Now let’s see what mischief we can scare up!”
With her call to action ringing in our ears, we pranced out of the boardinghouse and headed into the muggy evening, swanning behind Virginia and Nell, their two blond heads gleaming like lanterns leading the way.
We arrived at the holiday party, sparkling in our colorful gowns, stylish updos, and costume jewelry. Icy drinks were thrust into our hands, but it didn’t take long before a group of officers invited us to another club. We lowered our glasses, now sucked dry of gin and tonic, and off we went, tottering outside into the crush of Manila’s nightlife.
We rounded the corner onto a busy thoroughfare and sounds of yelling and a scream reached us. Ahead, a cluster of people gathered around a caretela. Despite the commotion, the shaggy calesa pony attached to the cart eyed the crowd balefully, swatting its tail back and forth as if it hadn’t a care in the world.
We all paused, but it was Darren who swung us into action. “Stand back! I’m a doctor,” he shouted, plunging into the crowd. I followed, amazed at how he transformed from goofy friend to serious professional in the blink of an eye.
Within seconds, I stood above a small boy, perhaps three years old, lying next to the caretela. His right leg appeared crushed and a woman crouched beside him, screaming in terrified agony. My heart dropped at the sight of his delicate limbs splayed so unceremoniously on the cobblestones. His leg looked terrible. An astonishing amount of blood had pooled around him, reflecting the garish-colored lights from the surrounding shop and restaurant signs.
Across from me, Sally fell to her knees and yelled, “Hand me something to cover him!”
A scarf and blanket were proffered. She reached for the scarf and began to bind the mangled leg. Virginia wrapped a blanket across the child’s shoulders and began talking to him in a low, soothing tone, but the boy seemed to register nothing.
“He’s going into shock,” Darren announced, crouching by the boy’s side. He moved from checking the child’s pulse in his hand to inspecting the leg. “Sal, wrap up his femoral. He’s losing too much blood.”
“Is there time to get him to the hospital?” Virginia asked.
“No,” Darren barked. The mother’s screaming sliced through the air around us. A man, perhaps the boy’s father, started yelling at the driver of the caretela. Around us, the crowd muttered prayers. It was so noisy and hot that I could scarcely think. Darren ran his hands over the sweat pouring from his face. “We’re losing him,” he whispered, staring at the maimed limb.
Under my fingers, the boy’s carotid pulse grew fainter. I lowered my face to his, saw the velvet softness of his baby skin up close. I wanted to simply whisper Wake up! Wake up! but we were well beyond that. Below my hands, he appeared lifeless and his eyes took on a glassy, unseeing stare. He was slipping away. But that’s when I noticed the faintest flaring of his nostrils. My fingers on his neck detected a weak stirring of muscle. I stared at the boy’s chest, squinting in concentration. Everything around us faded away. It was just me and the boy.
And then I saw what I’d been looking for: his chest strained to rise. It was slight, but it was something!
At that moment, a jolt ran straight through me as if someone had hit me with a live electrical wire. When we had arrived on the scene, we had immediately focused on the bloody leg, but we’d missed something.
I tilted his head back, opened his jaw, and leaned close. The smell of something sweet and sugary emanated from the boy.
“Tess, what are you doing?” Sal asked.
But I didn’t answer. I stuck a finger between the child’s blue lips. Sure enough, deep in the back of his mouth something was blocking his airway, something hard and slippery. I hesitated, knowing this was a critical moment. The last thing I wanted to do was push whatever was blocking his throat down deeper. I turned his head to the side so the object would fall out of his mouth rather than down his trachea. Channeling the most delicate of motions, I flicked at the object. And it moved! It popped away against my fingers and I scooped it out.
Lying on my palm was a glistening piece of butterscotch candy, but there was no time to dwell on it.
I leaned over the child, watching for a sign of life. Time seemed to stop. I held my breath. A twitch of his fingers, a trembling of his eyelashes. Anything.
And then, a cough. The boy convulsed with a gagging sound and then wailed. Never before had I been so happy to hear a child cry.
I stared in amazement. And then finally, I exhaled, shuddering. Goodness, we had come so close to losing him.
Beside me, his mother’s screams turned into pants of excitement and the crowd cheered. “Thank you,” she repeated over and over as she dropped her forehead to her child’s chest.
Darren clapped my shoulder. “Smart thinking. Wow, I’m embarrassed I missed that.”
“Holy hell, how’d you do that?” one of the officers asked in a voice filled with wonderment.
“Tess kept a cool head. The kid must have had the candy in his mouth when he got hit,” Darren explained, easing the child onto a blanket and then nodding at Sally to stand and lift it as a stretcher. A Model T had stopped and the driver offered his back seat to the group.
“We’ll take the baby to Sternberg Hospital and find you later,” Sally called, before someone slammed the door. They sped off.
My legs quaked with adrenaline as I watched the car’s taillamps disappear into the crush of street traffic. Every fiber of my body vibrated with energy. If someone had asked me to scale the side of the building beside us, I could have done it easily. I felt capable of anything! I was invincible!
“Bet you could use a drink.”
I turned to see an officer with sandy-colored hair standing next to me.
“And they say mind reading isn’t real,” I said, glancing down to check on the state of my gown. At the sight of my cleavage, I felt my face flush, but then I realized: What was I so afraid of? I was invincible, remember?
“Please, allow me,” he said, taking my hand. The next few minutes were a blur of smiling faces and listening to people retell the story of the accident. Still unable to believe what had just happened, I simply focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Suddenly I found myself in a hotel’s gilded lobby. My new officer friend steered me toward the bar.
“That was the best thing to happen in ages!” Virginia crowed. “Someone get our gal a drink!”
An icy coupe was pushed into my hand and I lifted it to my lips, ignoring the bubbles sloshing over the rim, the result of my unsteady hands. Cold champagne filled my mouth. Fizzing atop my tongue, I savored its refreshing tang.
“Cheers.” With a satisfying clink, the officer nudged his drink into mine. Even in the buzz of my excitement, I glimpsed a smattering of freckles dotting the tanned skin under his white dinner jacket’s cuff. My gaze continued up his arms to his broad shoulders and then to his face. He was tall with a square jaw and glowing light blue eyes—a looker, no doubt about it.
“How’d you know to check his mouth?” he asked.
“It just popped into my head. I realized we’d forgotten our first step of assessing the patient. Think they’ll be able to save his leg?”
“You’re the expert, not me.”
“Oh, I hope they can fix him.”
“The kid’s alive and that’s what’s important.”
“I suppose.” I lifted my glass again only to realize it was empty. “Huh, guess I made quick work of this.”
He chuckled, lifting a sweating green bottle to refill it. “So how’d it feel? You saved that kid’s life. Now I’m rethinking this whole soldiering business, that’s for sure.”
“Until this evening, it’s been pretty routine stuff. I’ve been on hand for the delivery of a few babies, which is thrilling, but this . . .” I trailed off, lost for words. In the past, I’d always been an assistant responding to directions. But back there with the boy? I’d figured it out on my own. For the first time in my life, I felt useful. I could really help people—save them even, and it was a big feeling for an orphaned girl like me who had spent much of life feeling like a burden. A very big feeling.
“So you’re a nurse at Sternberg?”
“No,” I said. “I’m at Stotsenburg. Heading back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Tonight’s all we’ve got?”
“Well, how much time do you need?”
Those dreamy blue eyes locked on me. Tiny flecks of gold appeared to dance around his irises. “To do what?”
“To impress me.”
He grinned and shook his head. “Somehow with you, I have a feeling all bets are off.”
I was surprising him, and it was heady stuff. The dress, the accident, and now this man—all of it was causing a sense of daring to color everything. Sure, it was a foreign feeling, but I liked it. I wasn’t even twenty yet, but I’d known more than my fair share of grief. This was my chance to start anew.
Here, in this far-flung corner of paradise on the other side of the world, I could leave everything behind, forget all the dreariness of home—the sadness, the hard times—and be whoever I wanted. And deep in my heart, I’d always wanted to be independent and adventurous. It’s what prompted me to go to nursing school in search of a vocation and it was why I hadn’t skipped a beat when asked if I wanted a transfer to the Philippines. I was capable of all kinds of things and now could be the time to experiment. I took a deep breath. “I’m Tess. Listen, you’ve got twelve hours to make an impression so let’s see what happens, shall we?”
He laughed and I wanted to bottle the sound of it.
“I’m George.” He held out his hand for me to shake. “Now, enough talk. And just so you know, this is a big leap for me. Normally I’m the kind of guy who likes to dot his i’s and cross each t, but tonight I’m tossing caution to the wind. So, come on, I’ve got to use every second with you wisely.”
I laughed and he led me to the dance floor where Virginia was holding court with a group of officers, but she peeled herself away and approached us, appraising George up and down. I introduced her, but then he placed his hand on my waist and steered me away into a waltz. I couldn’t believe it; not once did he glance back over his shoulder to look at Virginia. Not once. This was a first.
We spent the rest of the evening together in a riot of blaring trumpets and saxophones and clanking glasses filled with gin and scotch. We sang and told jokes and nonsensical stories. After a while I realized my shoes should have been pinching and my cheeks should have been tired from smiling, but instead champagne seemed to bubble through my veins. I could have stayed awake for days. As we wended our way from the hotel to a club and then to another club, I could feel George watching me as if he couldn’t quite believe his luck. It amazed me, really, because I could tell he was older than me, maybe by ten years or so, and he had been to school and seen more of the world, and yet I was the one who was captivating him.
Eventually we found ourselves on the waterfront staring out at Manila Bay. Behind us the sun was rising over the city. The dawn air was brackish and thick with humidity, making the satin of my dress stick to the small of my back, but these discomforts were a small price to pay for the moment. I’d always been careful to not find myself alone with a man, to not risk any shadow on my reputation, but there was a frisson hanging over us, a sense of impending change on the way, so I decided to ignore caution for once and sighed, waving my hands at how the water and sky were aglow with the same breathtaking shades of dark blue, streaked with dashes of pink and gold. “Sometimes I wonder if the hard times at home were necessary so I’d be ready for this.”
“Me too,” he said quietly.
“Where are you from?”
“Coast of Maine. Grew up on a lobster boat. I’m on my own now. My parents died a few years ago so I left my small town and went to college and then law school.”
Grief lowered his voice and I knew its weight all too well. The OC was filled with young people like us, men and women who were no strangers to rising on cold mornings, building things with our hands, and going to bed at night with not-entirely-full stomachs—we were the types who joined the army and then opted to be sent far away for a once-in-a-lifetime type of escapade.
“Let’s just hope things never change,” he said.
I glanced at his profile in time to see a slight frown darken his face. Though the evening’s steady flow of drinks had left me unstrung, I could tell he was sober, an amazing feat of discipline given the reckless air hanging over everyone. “Are you thinking about the war?”
He shrugged. “Aren’t we all?”
“Will we get drawn in?”
“There’s a lot of saber-rattling coming from the Japanese.”
“But wouldn’t they be crazy to take us on?”
“Waging war isn’t necessarily the result of rational thinking.”
Silence descended upon us for a moment, but then he cleared his throat. “What do you say I borrow a ride and drive you back to Stotsenburg later?”
“Really? You can get one?”
“Sure, why not?”
“What do you do?”
“I’m in military intelligence.” He winked. “All those years on a boat taught me how to be resourceful.”
“Intelligence, huh? So you must know lots of special things.”
“I only know I’ve never met anyone like you,” he said.
It was the kind of thing officers said when they thought they had a chance at getting something more, and since arriving in the Philippines, I’d been surrounded by men and they were all in the market for something more. But as I gazed into his kind eyes and saw the way they widened with amazement as he looked at me, I shivered and reached out to stroke the enticing small cleft on his chin, the one irregularity on his otherwise classic features.
“Are you cold?” he asked in a low tone, but without waiting for an answer he pulled off his white dinner jacket and wrapped it around my bare shoulders while gently pulling me to him. He smiled almost shyly, and his earnestness inspired me to lean in and kiss him. Our noses bumped together awkwardly and we laughed a little, rearranging ourselves so we could continue to kiss. I twisted my hands together behind the nape of his neck and a patch of his closely shaven hair bristled against the tender skin on the inside of my wrists. Sparks flared inside me.
Our kiss deepened and his jacket slipped from my shoulders and fell to the ground, but neither of us cared. Instead he tightened his grip on the small of my back and pressed his lips into mine more intensely.
This—this—was beyond anything I’d ever imagined for romance.
When we pulled apart, I felt dizzy with the sense of tumbling into a different world, a magical one. Who knew what could happen next?
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, I found myself passing through the white gateposts to Fort Stotsenburg in the passenger seat of an army jeep with George at the wheel. When we reached the Officers’ Commissary, George pulled into the shade of an acacia tree and Virginia, Sally, and Darren hopped out.
“Thanks, George. You’re a sport.” Darren gave a quick salute.
“Hope to see you soon,” George said.
“Oh, I have a feeling we’ll be seeing you again.” Sally gave an exaggerated wink.
Darren raised his hands in apology. “Sorry, she doesn’t get out enough.”
Sally punched Darren on the shoulder and the two dashed away, laughing, while Virginia sashayed off with a little extra sway in her stride, but when I turned to George, he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was on me.
“You must be exhausted,” I said.
“Not at all. I’m not the one who’s been performing miracles. You raised the dead last night, remember?”
I smiled. That morning, when George had arrived in a jeep outside the front door of Nell’s boardinghouse, he had surprised us with a picnic basket packed with sandwiches and fruit. Since we’d eaten it along the way, I wasn’t hungry, but I also wasn’t ready to let him go. “Want to come to the mess and get something to eat?”
“Do I ever, but I need to get back.”
“So this
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