The Bungalow (21 page)

He shook his head. “Sorry. Not since yesterday.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was on the front lines, and . . .”

My heart raced. “What are you saying?”

“He wasn’t on the plane with us.”

“What does that mean?” I cried. “That he isn’t coming home? That you just left him there?”

“There’s another plane coming in tonight,” he said. “Let’s pray that he’s on it.”

I nodded as Ted tipped his cap at me and filed back in line with the men making their way back to camp, eager for a hot meal and a soft bed.

I clutched the locket that stood guard around my neck, hoping that wherever Westry was, he could feel my love. I would will him home. I had to.

A chill filled the air that night, unusual for May in the tropics. I shivered as I walked along the beach, a foolish move given Kitty’s state. She’d been having mild contractions for days now, but she assured me they weren’t serious. Even so, I promised her I’d only be gone an hour. I felt guilty about leaving, but I needed the comfort of the bungalow now more than ever.

I unlocked the door and draped the quilt around me, listening for airplanes overhead.
Is he coming? Please, God, bring him home.

But instead of footsteps on the sand, I could only hear rain—just a few drops at first and then a hundred, a thousand. The sky appeared to have opened up, dumping its contents right on the roof of the bungalow.

I opened the door, extending my hand outside to feel the raindrops, like firm kisses on my skin, beckoning me outside. I took another step, and looked up to the sky, eyes closed, letting the warm drops cover my face, my hair. Moments later my dress was soaked. I unfastened the buttons on the bodice as the rain seeped down beneath my slip. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure. It was faint at first and blurred in the distance. I walked closer, unafraid, pushing my way through the rain, like a curtain of beads extending from the sky, until I could make out his face, thin from months of fighting, and hungry for the love I desperately wanted to give him.

Our bodies collided, fitting together perfectly as his bag dropped to the sand. “Oh, Westry!” I cried. Even in the dark, I could see the scratches on his face and his ripped, mud-stained uniform.

“I came directly here,” he said.

“Oh, Westry!” I cried again, pulling his lips toward mine.

He ran his hands along my dress, tugging at the fabric as if to make it disappear. I leapt into his arms, wrapping my legs around his body, kissing him again and again, before he smiled and gently set my feet down on the sand.

He reached inside his bag. “Let’s do this the right way,” he said. “Ever seen a proper military shower?”

Westry pulled out a bar of soap. “When we were on the ship, this is how we bathed,” he said. “Right out on the deck, in the tropical rain.”

I reached for his collar, running my hands down his shirt, unfastening each button as quickly as my fingers could move, until my hands caressed his bare chest and the dog tags hanging from his neck.

He slipped out of his trousers and lifted my dress over my head. We stood there for a moment, without a stitch of clothing, in the warm rain, until Westry moved toward me, running the ivory bar of soap along my neck. I gasped as he touched it to my breasts, lathering my skin with bubbles.

I moved in closer, loving the way our bodies felt against each other, and took the soap in my hands, rubbing it across his chest, his arms, and his back. The rain washed away the bubbles as quickly as I could lather them. Westry pulled me close, and I felt the intensity in his kiss, the hunger. He lifted me in his arms, and the soap, what was left of it, slipped out of my grasp and fell to the sand as he carried me to the bungalow, setting me down on the bed.

I liked the feel of the bungalow’s quilt on my bare skin, and an hour later, when the storm had passed, I lay there tracing Westry’s face with my finger as he gazed out the window facing the beach. The stubble on his jaw was thick. I counted the scrapes on his face. Four—well, five if you counted the gash on his ear.

“What was it like out there?” I whispered.

“It was a living hell,” he said, sitting up against the pillows on the bed.

I sensed his hesitation. “You don’t want to talk about it, do you?”

“I’d rather enjoy this perfect moment,” he said before planting a soft kiss on my lips.

I thought of Kitty, and realized that hours could have passed.
Is she all right?
I felt guilty for being gone so long.

“Our clothes,” I said, a little panicked. “They must be soaked.”

Westry stood up, letting the blanket fall to the bed. I giggled shyly, studying his strong, beautiful unclothed body.

“I’ll go grab them,” he said.

He returned a moment later with my damp, wrinkled dress. I fit it over my head, as he slid into his trousers.

“Can you stay for a while?” he asked, combing my hair with his fingers.

“I wish I could, but I need to get back.” I wanted to tell him about Kitty, but I decided against it. “I told Kitty I’d be back hours ago.”

Westry nodded, kissing my hand.

We both turned to the window when we heard a rustling sound in the brush, followed by a faint knocking sound on the door.

Westry opened the door cautiously, and I peered over his shoulder to see Kitty standing outside. She clutched her belly in agony. “Anne!” she screamed. “It’s
time
.”

I didn’t stop to think about how she found us. There wasn’t time for questions. “We need to get you to the infirmary,” I said, running to her side.

“No. I can’t bear to have the other nurses see me like this. Besides, it’s too late for that,” she said. “The baby’s coming
now
.”

Westry’s mouth flung open as I helped Kitty up the stairs into the bungalow, where she rested on the bed, moaning in such pain, it was heartbreaking to witness.
Lance should be punished for leaving her this way.
I shook my head, wiping the perspiration from Kitty’s forehead with the edge of the blanket, and began to pray silently.
Please, God, let Kitty be comforted. Give me the strength I lack.

Kitty moaned louder now. Something was wrong; I felt it. I remembered Tita’s eerie warning and shuddered, forcing the thought from my mind, and tried to stay focused. I carefully positioned myself below Kitty’s legs, helping her lean farther back on the bed. My hands trembled as I lifted her dress and tried to recall an ounce of what I had learned about childbirth in my nursing courses. Hot water. Forceps. Ether. Blankets. I shuddered. I had nothing but my two hands.

She was bleeding, that much was clear. “Kitty,” I said as she screamed. “Kitty, you need to push
now
.”

She seemed alone with her pain, unable to hear my voice. I squeezed her hand. “Kitty,” I continued, “stay with me. This baby is coming and you need to help me. Please, push. You must be strong.”

“Anne, let me help you,” Westry said once he finally found his voice.

He knelt down beside me. The bungalow’s lantern illuminated his skin, darker from months in the sun. I could only imagine what he’d gone through, and now he returned to this.

Westry soaked his handkerchief with water from his canteen and dabbed Kitty’s forehead as I talked her through her next contraction. “I can see the baby’s head,” I said. “It won’t be long now.”

Kitty looked up at Westry with eyes full of gratitude. He held her hand and stroked her hair. One more push and the baby slid into my arms.

“A girl!” I cried. “Kitty, it’s a girl.”

Westry helped me sever the cord with his pocketknife, then placed the baby in Kitty’s arms. She clutched the newborn to her chest.

“We need blankets,” I said when I noticed that Kitty was shivering.

Westry tucked Kitty’s limp body under the quilt, and then unbuttoned his shirt. “Here,” he said. “Let’s wrap the baby in this.” Carefully, he swaddled the child in his green army shirt, ragged and a little bloodied from weeks of fighting.

Once Kitty and the baby were settled, we walked outside together and sat down on the sand. I could no longer repress the emotion I felt.

“Don’t cry,” Westry said softly. “She’s fine. You delivered that baby better than any doctor could have.”

I nodded, blotting my tears with the edge of my sleeve. “It’s just not what I wanted for her. Lance should be court-martialed for leaving her in a position like this.”

Westry looked confused, but nodded. “And the baby? What will become of her?”

“A missionary couple here on the island is taking her,” I said. “Kitty agreed to it, but”—I gestured inside the bungalow—“I know how hard this will be for her.”

“When she’s well enough to stand, I’ll carry her back to camp,” he said. “If you can take the baby.”

I nodded. “We should probably get her home before sunrise to avoid spectators.”

Westry paused and stroked my hair softly. “Anne,” he said, “I hated being away from you.”

My eyes filled with tears. “I worried about you every hour of every day.”

“It was misery,” he said. “And the only thing that got me through it was knowing I’d return to you.”

I nestled my face into his bare chest, smooth and warm. “I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t make it home,” I said. “I don’t know how I could have gone on.”

He held my hands in his, lifting up my left hand and touching the ring on my finger. “I can’t share you with him anymore,” he whispered.

“I know,” I said, breathing in his breath. I slid the ring off my finger and let it drop into the pocket of my dress. “You don’t have to anymore. I am yours. Completely yours.”

Westry kissed me with such passion, it erased the familiar guilt I’d felt about Gerard. We might have stayed like that, locked in an embrace, until dawn if I hadn’t heard the baby’s cry from inside the bungalow, reminding us of the task at hand.

“We better get them home,” I said to Westry, kissing his cheek and then his nose, and then the back of his hand softly. I had never felt such true and unfaltering love.

Westry carried Kitty, wrapped in the quilt from the bungalow, along the beach back to the base. It was no small feat, even for a man of his strength, and when we returned to camp, beads of perspiration dripped from his sun-kissed skin. The baby slept in my arms while we walked. She looked just like her mother, even swathed in army green. She had Kitty’s nose, for sure, and those high cheekbones. I wondered if she’d one day grow a headful of curls. I hoped so.

“We’ll get you settled in the infirmary now,” I said to Kitty.

“But Anne, no, I—”

“Shh,” I whispered. “Don’t you worry. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

It was five a.m., and while there may have been a few nurses tending to patients in the far wing, it wasn’t likely we’d run into any of them, except Nurse Hildebrand.

Westry carried Kitty inside. I directed him toward a small private room to the right, where he set her down gently on the bed. I nestled the baby girl in her arms. The child fit like a puzzle piece. Kitty looked at me, and then at Westry, before running her hand along the stubble of his chin. “How can I ever thank you?”