Twenty-three

Heedless of her safety, Imogene ran across the campus and up the steps of Franklin Hall. She raced up the stairs to the second floor, threw open the door to Gloria’s room, and flicked on the light.

“What’s the matter?” Gloria sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes.

“Jimmy didn’t show up.”

“Shut the door—quietly.”

“He didn’t come,” Imogene gasped between breaths. “I waited and waited, and he didn’t come. No sign of him. Nothing. Oh, Gloria!” she wailed. “Something awful has happened to him—I know it.”

“You don’t know it. Pull yourself together.” Gloria swung her feet to the floor and put on her robe. “Now sit down and be logical.” She gestured toward a straight-back chair at the desk.

“Most likely he simply wasn’t able to get the medicine. Maybe someone was in the room where they keep it, or the door was locked. Maybe he was given an assignment by the commandant and couldn’t get to the hospital.”

She reached over and patted Imogene’s hand, which rather surprised Imogene. Gloria wasn’t inclined to affectionate gestures.

“He and I agreed, if there was ever any risk, he just wouldn’t come. Better to miss one drop-off than ruin a whole operation. Believe me—Jimmy doesn’t take unnecessary chances. He drives me crazy the way he’s so careful.”

“I don’t know.” Imogene realized she was wringing her hands and lowered them into her lap.

“Trust me—everything’s going to be fine.”

“I hope you’re right, Gloria. I pray you’re right.”

But when she looked up into Gloria’s face, despite the woman’s consoling words, Imogene saw concern.

❧

By the time Imogene crawled into bed, it was almost four.

She wondered why she had bothered. No way was she going to fall asleep. Even her eyes refused to close, her gaze darting around the room as restless as her thoughts.

With the first faint splash of dawn across the opposite wall, her spirits lifted a bit. Things never seemed quite so grim in the light of day. Nevertheless, it would be a great relief to see Jimmy at roll call, even if they couldn’t speak to each other.

There was the usual early morning rush, people at different paces, lagging and fleet, bumping into each other on the way to the showers or getting dressed. Stumbling out to roll call, they lined up in two straight lines. They stared straight ahead, arms at their sides. And waited.

And waited.

No officers with roll-call sheets.

No Jimmy.

A cord of concern began to tighten around Imogene’s heart.

And then the commandant came striding across the lawn, striking a riding crop rhythmically against his thigh. Two soldiers followed. Between them they dragged a third.

Jimmy!

Her knees buckled.

Gasps fluttered down the line.

Instinctively she reached out.

“Don’t,” the woman beside her muttered and pulled her hand back.

She heard a low, almost guttural moan. Did that come from her?

Oh, my dear Jimmy, what have they done to you?

His chin lolled on his chest, as if he didn’t have the strength or will to lift his head. His strong, handsome features were a mass of bruises and cuts, his dark hair matted with blood.

What have they done to you?

His right eye was swollen shut, and an oozing wound from his hairline to the corner of his mouth dripped blood down his cheek and onto his torn shirt. His ripped trousers exposed a slash across his left thigh. His bare bleeding feet were encrusted with dirt.

It took all her will to keep from breaking away, taking him into her arms to comfort him. Comforting herself. She would have, but she knew she would not get two steps before the commandant meted out his retribution on her.

“The commandant wishes me to tell you—”

That voice. Surely not Jimmy’s voice, so garbled with pain as to sound less than human.

“—wishes me to tell you. . .yesterday it was called to his attention by someone in the camp that. . .drugs and other medical supplies have been stolen from the military hospital.”

Oh, if given the chance, she would run to him and kiss those poor lips until they were smooth and well again.

“The commandant wishes me to tell you—” He sagged and was propped up by the soldiers on either side.

She could hear his mangled breathing as he struggled to speak.

“—wishes to show. . .when emperor defied”—he took another labored breath—“treason.” His voice had dwindled to a whisper. “Punishment. . .death. . .day after next.”

The stillness was as thick as the humid, tropical air.

Only the incongruous joy of birds warbling in a nearby tree broke the silence.

The commandant barked an order, turned, and strode back across the lawn, slapping his riding crop against his thigh. The two young Japanese soldiers followed in his wake, dragging Jimmy between them.

Almost immediately Miss Goldie was at Imogene’s side.

Dazed, Imogene allowed herself to be led toward the dorm. She felt as if she were pushing through water, everything floating and shimmery as she met its resistance.

It could only be a dream. It was too frightening and painful to be real.

She stopped suddenly. “I can’t go back to the room, Miss Goldie.” Her mouth felt dry as cotton. “All those people—Gloria. We’ll tell Gloria. She’ll know what to do.”

She felt Miss Goldie’s comforting arm leading her up the stairs. She heard the murmur of her sweet, consoling voice but was too far into her grief to understand the words.

Miss Goldie knocked on Gloria’s door.

“Who is it?”

“Imogene and Goldie Yoder.”

“Come in.”

Gloria was in her robe, sitting at the desk when they entered. “Oh, no.” It was as if the expression on Imogene’s face told her what she had feared. “It’s Jimmy, isn’t it?”

Imogene had held back until this moment. Now she burst into uncontrollable sobs. She fell to her knees, her arms wrapped around herself, and swayed back and forth on the bedroom floor. Tears coursed down her cheeks. She was vaguely aware that Miss Goldie had shut the door and that she and Gloria were now kneeling beside her. She sensed their comforting presence and their wise silence.

They let her rant and wail, until she had used it all up and all that was left was her grief, so deep, so inexplicably deep, that she did not know how she could bear it.

Miss Goldie finally spoke. “You’re not alone, Imogene. Remember the Lord’s promise, ‘I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.’ He is here now, willing to share your burden, if you’ll let Him.” She spoke calmly and with such certainty that it would be almost impossible not to trust the truth in her words.

Gloria remained silent, continuing to hold Imogene’s hand.

Imogene looked up at her, remembering Gloria’s own sadness. How Gloria’s young fiancé had been killed in the invasion, just days before they were to be married. Gloria was studying Miss Goldie, and Imogene saw on her face a peace that had not been there before. As if she’d found in Miss Goldie’s presence and in her words the comfort that at last she was ready to receive.

Imogene sighed deeply. She wiped her wet cheeks with Gloria’s proffered tissue. “We have two days to come up with a plan.”