Tracie Peterson (16 page)

Chris nodded. “No doubt they will—probably have.” He leaned down on the desk. “Look, if he does something and you can prove it, come to me. Ray’s good at his job here, but I want to protect my girls. I want to run a tight ship with quality people, and we don’t need—how did you put it?—‘smooth operators.’”

“I appreciate your saying so, Mr. Chandler. I suppose I’ll just keep praying about it and keep going with Mary Ann when she accepts Ray’s invitations.”

“If she’s engaged to your brother, why is she so eager to accept?”

Ellen shrugged. “My guess is that she’s bought in to all his sob stories. He’s told her about being turned away when he volunteered for the service. Apparently he has one leg shorter than the other.”

Chris shook his head. “That’s a line for sure. I’ve never seen anything that would suggest any truth in that. I do know that his father has connections and money, and it wouldn’t surprise me any if his stay from military service isn’t connected to that. In fact, it’s probably why my superiors have tolerated his Romeo advances and overactive affections.”

“So he wasn’t 4-F?” Ellen asked in disbelief.

“Oh, that very well might be what the record showed, but I doubt if there is any truth in it.”

“Well, that just makes me even more committed to not leaving her alone with the guy.”

“That’s probably best,” her boss agreed.

Ellen felt only marginally better. At least she knew that someone else had his eye on Ray Blasingham. “Thanks, Mr. Chandler.”

“I’ll be praying about it,” he added as he headed to his office. “You’d do better to do that than to sit around fretting.”

Ellen smiled. “You sound like my dad,” she said without worrying about whether it might offend him.

But instead of being offended, Mr. Chandler stopped and smiled. “I’d be proud to have a daughter like you, Ellen. Your folks did a good job in raising you, and you’re a dynamic young woman.”

Ellen felt her face grow hot. “Thank you,” she said, quickly turning away to take the cover off her typewriter.

“Don’t be so embarrassed by praise, Ellen. It’s the light of Jesus shining through you. Just remember that. Trust in God to keep you straight and true—Mary Ann too. You can’t do this on your own. No one can.”

Ellen looked back to see her boss’s compassionate expression. “I appreciate what you’ve said. Sometimes it’s just nice to hear the truth confirmed.”

“Mary Ann, will you marry me?” Erik Anderson asked. Reaching up, he gently brushed back golden curls from her ear, then whispered the question again.

“Oh yes!” she exclaimed in absolute delight. “I’ve always dreamed of the day you’d ask me that question.”

He felt her gently touch his shoulder and neck, then her hands seemed to trail down to caress his chest. Something pinched at his flesh and Erik awoke with a start, only to realize that it wasn’t Mary Ann’s touch, but some kind of crab. In fact, several crabs had taken to crawling up his flight suit as he dozed beside a tree. Flicking them away, Erik wished fervently he could somehow recapture the dream.

Yawning, he tried to figure out what to do. He’d long ago given up trying to find the remnant of his survival gear and had headed in the direction of the river. But without a path or any working knowledge of the island, Erik tired quickly of fighting off the perils of jungle life. He hadn’t intended to nap, but the tension of the day and all the events that had brought him to this place had taken their toll.

Glancing around, Erik found himself faced with a real dilemma. In the thick undergrowth of the jungle and the high canopy of trees overhead, he had no idea which direction to go in. The river had been to the south of where he’d landed, but now he wasn’t really all that sure which way that was.

“I’m no Boy Scout,” he said, laughing at his own stupidity. He pulled out a blue ball cap and snugged it down on his head. It was then that he got the idea to put a notch in the trunk of the tree, just a little mark to let him know he’d been there.
That way
, he figured,
if I go in circles I’ll see the mark and be able to set myself straight
.

He reached up to mark the tree trunk and saw that his hand wound was oozing blood. It wasn’t a steady flow, but it needed some
attention. The best he could do was cut a strip from his already torn flight suit. Using his knife, he finished slicing through the ripped material on his right pant leg. He only took as much as he needed in order to cover the wound and tie it off tight. It seemed to work well to just cut the lower portion, leaving as much length to the pant leg as possible. When he brought the piece up for inspection, he had a complete circle. After cutting the material, he opened the strip and wrapped it around his bleeding left hand. He wasn’t the best at tying a knot without the use of both hands, but between his right hand and mouth he managed to get the wound covered.

“That’s not so bad,” he said, eyeing his accomplishment. He sheathed the knife and looked around the area in despair. “But this is impossible. What am I supposed to do?”

Through the various shades of green, Erik couldn’t make out any sign of a path or civilization. Maybe that was to his benefit, he thought. But then again, maybe not. He had no idea what kind of animals might live on this island, short of tree boas and crabs, which he’d already been introduced to. He remembered enough about his training to know that poisonous snakes abounded in the South Pacific. Boas weren’t poisonous, he remembered, but it was rumored that they’d coil around you while you slept and squeeze the life right out of you. It didn’t sound like a friendship he wanted to cultivate.

A strange noise came from overhead. It almost sounded like some kind of music, but then the sound changed and with it came the unmistakable droplets of rain. With the steady increase of the rain, the sound changed again and soon a heavy shower filtered down through the lush, leafy ceiling to soak Erik to the bone.

“Great! Just what I needed.” He pulled down his hat and tried to keep a positive outlook. Perhaps the rain would drive the inhabitants of the island into hiding. Be they four-footed or two, Erik was fairly certain he wouldn’t want to run into either one. So many of the Solomons had been invaded and taken over by the Japanese that he could only pray that this island had gone unnoticed. But then there was the worry that if the Japanese had left this island alone, there would be a reason for it. Perhaps it was already inhabited by headhunters. Or maybe there was no fresh water. With a sigh, Erik tried to pray.

“I know you’re there, Lord,” he whispered, “but it doesn’t feel
like you’re here. I could sure use a break and a real sense of direction. I need to find water and food and hopefully a way off this island and back to my unit. If you could just see your way to helping me, I’d be much obliged.”

Hearing a noise somewhere to the left, Erik felt for the reassurance of the .45 under his arm. “Oh, and please don’t let there be any headhunters on this island. Amen.”

The noise came again and this time Erik decided it was time to move on. Nobody was getting his head without a fight. He pushed aside some vine growth and looked past for some sign of a path. There was none. The only thing he could do was push through the jungle and hope for the best. It was a fairly small island, at least from what he remembered while coming down on top of it, but now it suddenly seemed massive.

Deciding to stop feeling sorry for himself, Erik pressed on. He sidestepped and manhandled branches and vines, flowering bushes and long-stemmed plants that seemed to be all leaf and nothing more. The rain let up for a moment, then increased for a time and then stopped altogether. He paused and listened from time to time, hoping to hear the rush of water or the sound of animals. What he didn’t want to hear was the sound of voices, but after about twenty minutes of negotiating through the humid dampness of the rain forest, that was exactly what he got.

With water and sweat dripping from his face, Erik stood stone still and listened to what he had been certain was a human voice. Silence met his unspoken question and for a moment Erik wondered if he’d imagined the entire thing. Then it came again. Only this time a chorus of other voices followed.
Natives
, he thought warily.
Maybe headhunters or cannibals
. He swallowed hard and tried to reason a logical course of action. His reasoning failed him, however, as two native children with warm brown skin and dark, tightly curled hair came bounding through the brush, laughing and squealing. Obviously they were entertaining themselves in some sort of tag game. When they caught sight of Erik, however, they screamed in terror and immediately turned to run the other way.

Erik, having no idea if he was about to encounter an angry headhunting father, ran in the opposite direction.
Guess that answers the question as to whether or not the island is inhabited
, he thought. At least
they weren’t Japanese. Of course, that didn’t mean they weren’t working for the Japanese. Erik remembered hearing stories of missionaries to the area who had met with untimely deaths at the hands of just such folks.

When he thought he couldn’t run another step, if indeed running constituted inching your way through the tangle of jungle while being slowly beaten to death by the plant life, Erik paused to regain his breath. The rain had started to fall again, although this time it wasn’t as heavy. Erik was dying of thirst, and rain didn’t seem to be such a culprit anymore. He held his mouth open and lifted it toward the sky, but it didn’t do much to satisfy his thirst. He looked around for any sign of water, but short of seeing the glistening way it ran on huge elephant-ear-shaped leaves, there were no creeks or pools that beckoned to him.

It dawned on Erik that he might use one of the large leaves to funnel water into his mouth. He didn’t even stop to think if the water might be contaminated with some sort of poison by the leaf until he’d already sampled the moisture. It didn’t taste bad, however, so he cupped the leaf and let it gather rain until there was enough for a good swallow.

With a sigh of relief, he let the leaf fall back into place. It snapped into form without any visible sign that Erik had ever disturbed its slumber. Looking behind him, Erik could see that this was pretty much the way the rest of the area was as well. It was hard to see any sign that he had ever even passed that way.

Feeling depleted of energy and hope, Erik realized a growing weakness. He’d contracted malaria right after arriving at Guadalcanal, and now he could count on having a spell at least once a month. The signs were upon him now, even though he tried to deny it. He’d denied those feelings when he’d climbed into his Wildcat to go to battle with the Japanese. Fellows flew in worse shape than he had been that morning. No sense in making a big deal out of a few aches and pains. Now, however, the buzzing in his ears and intense headache made Erik gravely concerned. There was no place to get help here. He had to suffer through this bout on his own. Suddenly Erik didn’t feel at all hopeful. If he succumbed to a bout of malaria, he would be helpless. It was the final straw.

This isn’t fair, God
, he grumbled inwardly so as not to make any
noise.
I’ve had nothing but trouble since I’ve come into this war
.

He thought back over the last few months. He hated his assignment in the South Pacific, when he had figured to be flying in the war over Europe. He hated the tropics, much preferring his Longview home and the not-so-distant snowcapped mountains. The men he had to work with were arrogant risk takers who seemed to live only for the moment. And added to all of that, he hadn’t received a bit of mail since finally being stationed at the Canal.

Erik continued his internal prayer.
Nobody at home sees fit to write me. Nobody on earth cares that it’s nearly Christmas and I’m stuck in this tropical rat maze. And I’m beginning to wonder if you care, either
. He felt awashed with guilt for his doubt. The guilt caused him to push on through the vegetation. He had to keep his wits about him.

He thought of Christmas and how much he enjoyed cold weather. He liked going north from Longview. North to the mountains and the snow. He liked just walking in the snow, hearing the way it crunched under his feet. This forest floor crunched under his feet as well, and frankly, he didn’t want to know half the time what it was he was crunching. He’d already seen bugs that were big enough to saddle and ride, and no doubt there were plenty of them underfoot.

“
You can eat bugs if you get hungry enough
,” one of his commanding officers had mentioned. “
Not all that appealing in thought, but they’ll keep you alive in a pinch
.”

Erik grimaced. A person could do a lot of things in a pinch, he agreed, but he wasn’t feeling compelled to cry “uncle” just yet. He’d save the beetle platter for later—for when he’d exhausted the possibility of any other means of nourishment.

Thinking of food made him think of home. His mother could cook up a storm with little more than a pinch of flour, a couple of eggs, and a bit of this and that. Marshall, his older brother, had always said that he wouldn’t get married until he could find a woman who could cook like their mom. Marshall had never gotten married. Marshall had died at Midway Island, performing his tasks as a gunnery sergeant right up until a Japanese bullet stopped his heart.