Island Storm

Island Storm
by Vivian Gilbert Zabel

         The setting sun sent reflections of red and orange skipping over the ocean. Waves pounded on the beach hundreds of feet below where Clara stood behind the low rock wall at the rear of her backyard. The freshness of the salty breeze tickled her nose while it teased her hair, causing the long, black tendrils to flutter against her neck. She smoothed her hand over the rough rocks of the wall as she enjoyed her favorite part of the day.

         “Miss Clara?” a soft voice called from the back porch of the bungalow.

         Clara pivoted enough to face the slim, black woman who seemed to glide over the lawn toward her. “Myna, I’ve asked you to call me just Clara. Won’t you please?”

         “I’ll try,” Myna answered. “I wanted to tell you I’m ready to leave. Rafe should be here to pick me up any minute now.”

         At the honk of a car horn, Myna looked toward the house as if she could see the road on the other side. “There’s Rafe now. Oh, yes, what I really came out to tell you - be sure and keep your doors locked. The other women I work for have found food missing.” She paused before adding, “Goodnight, Miss, I mean, Clara. I’ll see you Thursday.”

         “Goodnight, Myna.” Clara watched the young woman, who acted as her housekeeper two days a week, walk around the side of the house.

         She turned her attention back to the view on the other side of the wall. Nearly two miles to her right, Pati Point jutted into the Pacific, its cliff-front occasionally pocked with the dark mouths of caves. Sitting on the wall, she twisted to look toward the cliff.

         "All I can see are the black spots over there, but I wonder if... No, those are just rumors," she half-laughed at her vivid imagination. "The war's been over for five years. No Japanese soldiers could still... no way." With a slight shiver, she stood, taking a last look over the ocean as the sun dropped into the waves, leaving night behind.

         The black of the water, with a few foaming white tops, stretched forever to the slightly lighter dark of the sky at the horizon. The sound of the sea against the beach and rocks below soothed her, but she had papers waiting in the house to be graded. “Ah, the life of a teacher,” she mused as she started for the bungalow. “At least tomorrow’s Friday.”

         Early Friday morning, Clara arrived at Heialyn School, the school provided for children of military personnel stationed on Guam. She carried her satchel with graded papers, books, and her lunch to the Quonset hut where her English classes met. The huts for secondary classes sat to the right of the school compound, made up of individual Quonsets rather than a building with rooms. The restrooms were centrally located in a building of their own. Students and staff brought lunches since no cafeteria was provided; although, many teachers ate at the hut set aside for a teachers’ lounge and workroom. Just as she reached the steps leading to the door of her “room,” Joan Hayes, the science teacher, called to her.

         “Hi, Joan,” Clara greeted the older woman, the wife of a pilot stationed at Anderson Air Force Base. Her eyes, though, stayed glued to the man beside the other teacher.

         “Clara, I want you to meet Tad Tyler, our new math teacher.” Joan patted the man on the arm. “He’s also my nephew, came to visit us between graduating from college and his job starting, and I talked him into finishing the school year here.”

         “I’m, um, glad to meet you. We’ve needed a teacher. The students have had to... to deal with substitutes since school started.” Extending her hand, Clara wondered if he were married. He has to be, she thought as she looked into deep, Pacific-blue eyes at least eight inches above her own.

         “Thank you,” he replied as his hand swallowed hers. “Joan told me most of the teachers are spouses of military people. Is your husband Army, Navy, or Air Force?”

         “Uh, well, none of them. I mean, I’m not married,” she stammered. “My, um, my dad is military, and I thought this would be...” She glanced down at the ground a moment before bringing her eyes back to his. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually so mumble-headed. I came to visit my parents and fell in love with the island. This position gives me the chance to stay here.”

         “Great. I'm learning to be civilian again. so, uh, would you join me for dinner?”

         Noticing Joan’s grin at the same time she realized her hand still remained in Tad's, Clara pulled her hand away. “Dinner?”

         “Sure, at the officer’s club.” He looked at his aunt. “I’m rushing, aren’t I?’

         “Maybe a little.” Joan smiled at both of them. “You two continue while I get to class. Tad, you know where your hut is. I’ll see you at lunch.”

         Watching the other woman stride toward her own classroom, Clara swallowed the urge to call her back. Returning her attention to the blond-headed man gazing at her with a puzzled frown, she gave a slight smile of her own. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m a bit... I’m not always this awkward, really.”

         “Just when surprised?”

         With a quick nod, she agreed. “And you surprised me.” In more than one way.

         “Then let’s start again.” Tad took her hand in his. “Hi, I’m Tad Tyler. You know my aunt, Joan Hayes.”

         “I’m glad to meet you, Tad.” She slipped her hand from his. “I understand you’re the new math teacher.”

         “Yes, and I’m rather harmless.” His grin flashed again. “So, would you join me for dinner this evening?”

         “I’d be delighted.” She laughed. “Don’t we sound ridiculous? I’m sorry I’m acting so silly.”

         “Ah, a woman who can laugh at herself.” He threw up one hand as if to protect himself. “No, no, don’t get angry. I should have said, ‘a person who can laugh.’ Most people can’t, you know.”

         “True, perhaps. I do find myself quite funny at times, though. Just when I think I may have grown a bit more mature, I do something entirely childish.”

         “Such as?”

         “Um, let’s leave that topic alone for now, okay?” Glancing at her watch, she gasped. “Look at the time. We have only about ten minutes before the buses start unloading kids. I’ve got to get some things ready.”

         “Guess I’d better get ready, too. I’ll see you at lunch?”

         “Probably, unless I have a student who needs help.”

         “If you do, I’ll stop by after school, okay?”

         “That’s fine.” She smiled again. “I really am glad to meet you.”

         “Believe me, the pleasure is mine.” He waved as he started toward his Quonset.

         Midway through third period, a message was delivered from the administration office. Clara read the note twice before telling her class, “An extremely fast moving typhoon is moving this way. The buses will be loading in an hour to take everyone home. Until then, you will stay in this hut and help me prepare for the storm. If any of you have younger brothers or sisters, you will be dismissed ten minutes early to get them.” Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Any questions?”

         Since all the students in this class had experienced at least one tropical storm, no one said anything, but started stacking desks and chairs in the middle of the room. All loose supplies and books were stored in large metal lockers at the end of the room farthest from the door, lockers which were watertight. Some of the taller boys went outside to unhook the shutters from their normal up position and, after lowering them, fastened the shutters closed. Clara had some of the students carry things she wanted taken to her house to her car. Within forty-five minutes, the hut was as secure as possible.

         “Miss Waters,” one of the girls asked, “may I go get my brother and sisters now?”

         “Yes, Abbie, we’re finished. Anyone else need to go?” Several hands raised. “Then all of you go. I’ll see you Monday or whenever we have school again. Take care, people.”

         Gathering up her satchel, Clara left the hut, locking the door behind her. At the bottom of the steps, she glanced back, hoping the water wouldn’t rise high enough to reach the porch. The hut, like most buildings on Guam, stood on pilings or a foundation with openings that raised the structure at least two to three feet off the ground. With a sigh, she continued to her car, where she found Tad standing, waiting for her.

         “I guess we’ll have to wait on dinner at the club,” he greeted her.

         “Well, the club will be open, because many people take shelter there, but I don’t think I want to be caught away from home.”

         “Where’s home? Don’t you live on base?”

         “No, I have a bungalow in one of the old officer’s additions, not far from Pati Point.”

         “Hey, you mean the MacArthur addition?”

         “Yes, you know where it is?”

         “I just moved into one of the smaller places, on the side away from the cliff.”

         With a chuckle, Clara admitted, “We’re just about two blocks away, if you cut across yards. I’m on the cliff.”

         Tad gave a low whistle. “You must have one great view.”

         “Yes, I do.” She tipped her head as she studied him a moment. “Since we live so close together, why don’t you come to my place for dinner tonight?”

         “That I’d like. What time?”

         “About seven?”

         Before Tad could comment, his aunt called from a few feet away, “Tad, are you ready to leave?”

         “Yes, just one second.”

         Clara looked at Joan and then at Tad. “Do you ride with Joan?”

         “Yep, I don’t have a car here, and I’m not eligible for anything from the motor pool.”

         Facing Joan, Clara offered, “Joan, since you’d have to drive miles out of your way, why don’t I give Tad a ride? Then you and the kids can get home and get your place ready.” She turned to the man beside her. “If that’s okay with you.”

         In unison aunt and nephew answered, “Sure.” “If you don’t mind.”

         Several miles later, Tad asked, “I’m curious. How did you manage to have a car? Did your dad have it shipped from the States?”

         “No, I bought it from a family friend who was being shipped out.” She turned off the main road onto the street leading to the housing addition. “Dad did have a car shipped from the mainland, but Mom uses it.”

         “I see.” Tad’s voice didn’t sound as if he “saw.”

         With a chuckle, Clara explained, “My dad has a car and driver furnished by the base.”

         “Now I do see,” Tad admitted. “Then he must be a high ranking officer, huh?”

         “I, um, I guess that’s right. He’s General Waters.”

         “General...” Tad turned to stare at the young woman beside him. “Uh, yes, I guess he is rather high ranking.”

         “I try not to bank on his position, though. He’s my dad and has access to special services that he wants me to have, too, but I’m really trying to make my own way.” She gave a half-giggle. “Sometimes he goes ahead and forces some of those services on me anyway.”

         “Sounds like a regular father. Most want their children to have the best they can provide.”

         “Can we change the subject?”

         “Sure. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it? I can’t believe a major storm is expected to be here before morning.”

         “Yes, the day is gorgeous, but, believe me, you’ll know before too many hours just how bad a storm here can be.” She hesitated before asking, “Would you like to see the view from the top of the cliff before getting your place ready for the big blow?”

         “Sure, I’d like that. I don’t have much to get ready, though. The place was all closed up, and the furniture in the middle of the rooms. The only getting ready I have to do is to put things so that I can sleep there tonight.”

         Pulling into the drive beside her house, Clara stopped the car and turned off the ignition. “You mean your bungalow isn’t really ready to live in, yet? How are you going to manage?”

         “Well, Joan helped me stock the frig and cabinets, but I told her I’d take care of everything else. She furnished some cooking stuff and dishes and some sheets and towels. I’ll manage.”

         Shaking her head, Clara opened the car door and slipped out. When Tad joined her, she told him, “Come on.” She led the way between an unattached garage and the house.

         “Wow,” Tad breathed as he crossed the yard to the wall. “This is... this is unbelievable. If I were you, I think I’d live out here.”

         “I practically do. See those caves in the cliff face over there?” She pointed toward Pati Point. “The rumors are that Japanese soldiers still hide in them, soldiers that don’t know World War II is over and the Japanese lost.”

         “Do you believe the stories?”

         “No, not really. I can’t imagine anyone existing for so long without being seen.”

         Supporting himself by placing his hands on the wall, Tad leaned over as far as he could to gaze at the pounding surf below. “You can’t see the beach, can you?”

         “No, it’s about 500 or 600 feet below us. But, if you follow the path about ten yards that way,” she pointed to her left, “you can get to the beach. It’s a rather rough and winding path, but manageable.”

         “Want to be my guide sometime?”

         “Sure, but not today. The waves are way too treacherous with the storm coming in.”

         They stood watching the surging waves roll and thunder toward land. The color of the ocean still reflected the clear blue of the sky with no hint of the coming storm. The wind whistled as it gained strength flying across the ocean.

         “Well, I’d better get you to your bungalow so that I can get my place ready.” Clara gave a last look at the vista before rotating to head back to the car.

         “I can walk.” Tad grasped her hand. “You don’t need to drive me. Let me help you with your shutters before I go.”

         “You don’t...”

         “I know I don’t have to,” he interrupted, “but I want to. Please?”

         “Well, okay, I could use the help. Come on, then, let’s get to work. Then you’d better check everything at your house. Believe me, you have no idea how destructive a typhoon can be.”

         “I’ve lived through hurricanes in Florida, so I have a bit of an idea. Now, let’s get to work.”

         Three hours later, the couple sat in a darkened kitchen drinking glasses of iced tea. “I guess I could turn on the lights,” Clara suggested.

         “Don’t unless you want them on. I’m fine.” Tad took a big gulp. “Umm, this hits the spot. The air has certainly gotten still and hot.”

         “Typical. The clouds should start building before too long.”

         “Well, I’d better go.” Sitting his glass on the table, he stood. “I’ll be back about seven, if you’re sure you still want a dinner guest.”

         Joining him as he walked toward the door, Clara stated, “I’m sure, if you don’t mind getting a little wet. It could be raining by the time you come back. Do you like fried chicken?”

         “Almost my favorite. Anything I can bring?”

         “No, don’t think so.” After following Tad to the porch, she added, “Thanks for the help. I’ll see you after a while.”

         With a smile, Tad turned to trot across the front yard, by flower beds overflowing with blooms, and under the palm trees. Clara watched until he passed behind the houses across the street. Then she returned to her kitchen to finish planning dinner.

         A few hours later, Clara stood at the stove checking the chicken frying in the cast iron skillet. The potatoes cooked in a covered pot, and everything needed for gravy sat on the counter top beside the range. A tap on the backdoor caused her to whirl. Tad, a paper sack in one arm, tapped again. With a smile of welcome, she stepped across the room to open the screen.

         “Hi, dinner’s not quite ready, but you’re welcomed to keep me company while it finishes.” After a glance at the dark-clouded sky, she returned to check the food on the stove.

         “Well, what if I make the salad?”

         “Salad! But, it’s almost impossible to get fresh produce.” Clara watched, her eyes wide, as Tad removed tomatoes, leaf lettuce, green onions, and a couple of carrots from the sack. “Where did you get those?”

         “When I got to my bungalow, my neighbors to the north were trying to pick everything they could from their garden. I helped them, and this is my reward.” He winked at her before starting to wash the produce in the sink. “Tell me where to find a bowl and a paring knife, and I’ll show you how to make a mean salad.”

         After telling him which cabinet held the bowls and which drawer, the knives, Clara checked the pot and skillet once more. “Before you begin cutting and chopping, want to go see the ocean view now? Believe me, it will be very different from earlier.”

         With a quick peek at the cooking food, Tad asked, “Do we have time?”

         “Sure. Everything on the stove will be fine for a few minutes. With the wind blowing like it is, we won’t stay long.”

         As the couple strode across the expanse of the backyard, the wind whipped Clara’s skirt and plastered Tad’s shirt against a broad chest. Her hair snaked from the chignon at the base of her head. She tugged the locks back, holding them away from her face. At the wall, they couldn’t hear each other above the thundering surf below them. Greenish-gray waves towered high before rushing to crash against the cliff bottom, sending spray high enough the couple could see and feel the mist where they leaned against the wall. The piling clouds seemed to mock the waves as they also towered and surged across the sky.

         “Amazing,” Tad mouthed.

         With a nod, Clara agreed before motioning toward the house. The first drops of rain hit them as they began running toward the protection of the porch and house. Moments later, they finished dinner preparations as rain pinged on the tin roof.

         The two sat with cups of coffee in hand, dinner finished, when someone pounded on the front door. “Who in the world?” Clara wondered as she rose to go answer the thumping, pausing to flip the switch for the living room and porch lights.

         When she opened the door, her father stood on the porch in his soaking uniform, backed by a curtain of pouring rain. “I thought maybe you’d already lost power since the house was dark. Guess not yet.” He entered the house, dripping water on the small rug inside the door. Discovering Tad waiting just inside the door to the kitchen, he froze before demanding, “Who are you?”

         “Dad, everything is okay. This is Tad Tyler, Joan Hayes’ nephew. He’s the new math teacher. Just a second, I’ll get you a towel.” She scurried from the room as Tad crossed the room, offering his hand to her father.

         “I’m glad to meet you, sir.”

         Both men, tall and muscular, stared into each other’s eyes a moment before the general answered, “Same here. Have you known my daughter long?”

         “Long enough to be invited for dinner, Dad.” Clara tossed a bath towel to her father. “Now, don’t start with cross-examining him.” Giving a shrug, she faced Tad. “He goes into this protective mode anytime he sees a man anywhere near me. I’m sorry.”

         “That’s fine. I’d probably be the same way if I had a daughter.” Tad’s grin reassured her.

         “Oh, you would, would you?” The general’s near-growl brought the attention back to him. While he mopped water from his head, he continued to glare at Tad.

         “Yes, sir, I would.” Tad appeared relaxed and at ease as he leaned against the back of a stuffed chair.

         “What’s this sir stuff?”

         “Force of habit, I guess.”

         “You’ve been in the service?”

         “Yes, sir, a marine. Served the last two years of the war.”

         Clara’s father made a sound half like clearing his throat. “Marines aren’t the worst. Too bad you weren’t Air Force, though.”

         “You’re probably right. Maybe I wouldn’t have seen so much...” Tad paused, his eyes bleak.

         “Yes, right. You marines always landed first, saw a lot of action.” The general stared at the towel in his hands. “Clara, this thing isn’t doing much good. Besides I’ll be going right back out, just as soon as I get you loaded up and ready to go.”

         “Dad, I’m not going anywhere.”

         “Clara.” The general’s voice brooked no disagreement. “This storm is going to be a rough one. You need to come stay with us until it’s over.”

         “I can stay right here. This house has stood many typhoons. I’ll be fine.” She gave her father a sassy look. “If you had called, I could have told you the same thing, and you would have stayed dry.”

         “Your mother is worried about you being here by yourself.”

         “My mother, huh? Not you?” Clara chuckled. “That’s all right, Dad. You don’t have to answer.” She tiptoed to kiss his cheek. “I’ve been through typhoons before.”

         “Maybe, but not by yourself.” He grinned, changing from a stern faced general into a concerned father. “Won’t you please come with me? Your mother would feel better, and, yes, so would I.”

         “Dad, I appreciate your offer, but I’ll be fine.” After glancing over to Tad, she looked back at her father. “You can do me a favor, though.”

         “And that would be...”

         “Give Tad a ride home. Then I wouldn’t have to get wet getting out to drive him.”

         “Drive him?” The general returned as he scowled at Tad.

         “Yes, Dad. I wouldn’t expect him to walk in this storm.” She smiled as she batted her lashes. “Please?”

         The general motioned toward the door with his head. “Come on, let’s go.”

         “Clara, I can’t just leave you to clean up by yourself,” Tad stated as he straightened away from the chair.

         Turning her head toward him, Clara answered, “Yes, you can, and you will. It’s okay. I can clean up the kitchen by myself. Now, go.”

         “Well, sir, I guess you have a passenger. I’ve just been kicked out.” With a wry grin, Tad turned to his hostess, taking one of her hands. “Thank you for a delicious dinner and a wonderful view. May I call you tomorrow?”

         “Sure,” Clara answered. “Goodnight, and thanks for the salad.” Eying her father, she quirked one eye brow. “Everything okay now?” She reached up to kiss his cheek again. “Goodnight, Dad. I’ll be fine.”

         After the men left, Clara quickly cleaned the kitchen. She then checked the oil levels in the four lamps she took from the storage closet. With two in hand, she carried them to the living room, placing them on end tables with matches beside each one. Finally she took a flashlight from a cabinet drawer, sticking it in one pocket of her sundress and matches in the other. She left the kitchen carrying the last two lamps, snapping off the lights with her elbow. In the living room she flipped off the light switches by the front door before moving toward the hall. She left one lamp, with matches, on a small table in the hall before slipping into her bedroom to set the lamp and flash on a table. Then she moved to the bathroom. After removing her makeup, she changed into pajamas, returned to the bedroom, and crawled into bed. The lullaby of the rain on the roof and the ever louder wind sang her to sleep.

         A violent crash brought Clara out of a deep sleep. Jumping from the bed, she turned the switch of the lamp, but no light appeared. “Electricity’s out, great,” she muttered as she flicked on the flashlight. The roar of the wind shook the walls. She could hear the downpour had become like a rushing waterfall.

         Clara followed the path of the circle of light she held in front of her through the hall to the living room. With the shutters all closed, the only access to the outside became the small window in the door. Peering into the blackness, she couldn’t see anything even when pressing the light against the glass. She then made her way to the kitchen where she found broken glass from the backdoor window on the floor and a post from the porch roof sticking through the opening.

         Wind and rain raced around the wood into the room, drenching her from top to bottom. Hurrying to the storage closet, she found nails, sticking several in her pj shirt pocket. She tucked a hammer under one arm before grabbing a small sheet of the tin kept there for emergencies. Battling the raging wind, she struggled to the broken window, but she had forgotten the glass shards on the floor until one pierced her bare foot.

         “Ouch!” She hopped back to flop on a chair and to pull her foot into her lap. Aiming the light on the glass splinter, she pinched it between her thumb and finger and yanked it out. “Now what do I do?” she wondered as she looked around the destroyed kitchen. Water already covered the floor and inched its way toward the door to the rest of the house.

         After placing the flashlight on the table and untangling the table cloth from where the wind had wrapped it around another chair, Clara hobbled back toward the door. When glass glittered in the light, she threw the cloth on the floor, covering the pieces of glass. Once below the level of the window, the cloth no longer became the wind’s plaything. Rain streamed down her face as she forced the post back through the window. The wind seemed to steal her breath as she struggled to hold the tin over the opening with one hand while she hammered nails to anchor it to the wood of the door. Finally, the forces of nature no longer swirled inside the house.

         Exhausted, she hobbled through the water and pieces of wood to pick up the flash and leave the kitchen for the relative safety of the bathroom. Propping the light on the back of the toilet, she removed a first aid kit from under the sink before cleaning and doctoring the still bleeding cut on her foot.

         “Well, that’s done,” she mumbled before yawning. “I think I’ll try bed again. Whew, I’m so tired.”

         Taking a towel from the rack beside the lavatory, she stripped from her pajamas before drying herself. Wrapping a small towel around her hair, she snatched the flashlight and made her way to her bedroom and into another pair of pajamas. Minutes later, she snuggled under the sheet as she listened to the roar of the storm beating against her home.

         Maybe I should have gone home with Dad. I’ll never get back to sleep. Finally, though, her eyelids closed and sleep came again.

         A pounding brought her upright in bed. Clara swung her legs over the side of the bed as she tried to bring her sleep-dazed senses awake. As she brushed her hair back with her hands, she realized that the faint light surrounding her meant morning had arrived The pounding continued, but now she could also hear someone calling her name, someone yelling over the wild tempest.

         “I’m coming! I’m coming!” She forced her arms into a robe and took time to push her feet into slippers before stumbling to the living room, where Clara could hear Tad calling her name outside the door. Fumbling with the lock, she threw the door open to admit the half-drowned man, a rain poncho flopping around him. As the wind pushed him inside, he helped her force the door back closed.

         “What? What are you doing here?” Clara panted as she leaned against the door. “And what is that?” She pointed to the huge hump on Tad’s back under the poncho.

         “Oh, this.” He wiggled until a duffle bag strap slid down his arm and the duffle plopped on the floor at his feet. “Part of my roof disappeared, and I didn’t know where else to find help.”

         “Oh, no. At least the house didn’t fall on you. It didn’t, did it?”

         “No, I’m okay, just tossed around and drowned.” Tad removed the poncho. “Where should I put this?”

         “Just drop it beside the door. My kitchen is flooded, or I’d have you take it to the storage closet.” Clara started toward the hall, adding over her shoulder, “I’ll get you some towels, and some for the floor.” She stopped and faced him. “Wait, do you have some dry clothes in that bag?”

         “Yes.”

         “Then come with me. You can change in the guest room.” Shaking her head, Clara continued, “I’ll change, too, and then start mopping up in the kitchen while you dry off.”

         “What happened?”

         While she took towels from the linen closet in the hall, Clara explained the collapse of the back porch. “I don’t know if a tree fell or what, but it looks like the porch is gone. I need to drive some more nails in the tin covering the broken window, too.”

         “I’ll do that as soon as I’ve changed. You dress and start the mopping. I’ll be there in a minute.”

         “If you need some light, there’s a lamp and some matches on the table in the hall, and there should be a flashlight in the top drawer of the chest.” She gave the tall, young man with the rumbled blond hair a quick grin before heading for her own room.

         By the time the kitchen floor no longer sloshed water and kindling, Tad had secured the tin so that the wind couldn’t force any more rain into the house. The wreckage of one kitchen chair and the remains of glassware swept off the cabinets had been removed by the time Clara dropped into one of the remaining chairs.

         “I’ll be glad when this is over.” She wiped her hair back as she slumped against the chair back. “I hate to think of what the yard looks like. And other houses... your bungalow. What a mess.”

         Tad agreed as he took one of the chairs across the table. “But it’s not over.”

         “No, not over, I... I know.” With a gulp, Clara discovered tears welling up and sobs forcing themselves from her throat. Pillowing her head on her arms folded on the table, she cried from unexpected fear and relief.

         Not sure what to do, Tad awkwardly reached across the table to pat her arm before muttering, “What the... So what if we don’t know each other.” He walked his chair next to Clara’s and slid his arm around her shoulders. “Here, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine,” he whispered.

         With a loud sigh and sniff, Clara raised her head to wipe her tears on an edge of her shirt sleeve. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know... I’m not a... a crying person, usually.”

         “You’ve had a rough night and morning. Why don’t you take a few minutes for yourself. I can take care of myself.” He touched her chin with a fingertip. “Take a nap, whatever.”

         “Thank you. I think I will go put myself back together.” Giving him a watery, faint smile, Clara escaped.

         Thirty minutes later, she felt ready to face life again. Squaring her shoulders, she tread soundlessly to the kitchen, while delicious odors teased her nose. When she stepped inside the door to the kitchen, Tad smiled. The table was set, and he placed a platter of eggs and bacon in the center beside a lit lamp.

         “Hi. Hungry? I hope you don’t mind me fixing breakfast. I’m starved.” He smiled again before turning back to the cabinet for a saucer of toast.

         “No, I don’t mind at all.” She tried a small smile. “I’m sorry I’m such a goose.”

         “Goose? Don’t know what you mean.”

         “Thanks. Then let’s eat.”

         Once the first bite reached her mouth, Clara realized she was famished. “Thanks for cooking. I’m really hungry.”

         “You’re welcome.” After a few bites, Tad asked, “I was wondering, how is your refrigerator still so cold? I mean, the electricity went off early last night.”

         “It’s not electric, runs on kerosene. Electricity often goes off out here.” She looked at him a moment. "Your fridge would have been on kerosene, too."

         “Makes sense. I never even noticed mine wasn't electric, never thought about it.”

         Both finished their meal in comfortable silence as the storm continued to howl and scream around the house, often shaking the walls and roof in its furry. The rain pounded its own frustration on the tin roof.

         The couple spent the rest of the day working on lesson plans for their classes by the soft glow of the lamp on the kitchen table. In the background, music played from the battery-operated radio Tad had brought in his bag with his clothes and books. Sporadically, an announcer, from the Anderson Air Force Base station, interrupted to update listeners on the progression of the typhoon, now named Miranda.

         After one such announcement, Clara took a deep breath and released it. “How nice. Why did Miranda have to decide to rest here?”

         “Yeah, knowing that we’ll be under attack for at least another day isn’t a fun idea.” Tad grinned. “But I sure am enjoying the company.”

         Clara rolled her eyes and brushed back the wisps of dark hair escaping the ponytail holding the heavy hair from her face and neck. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

         “A little. Any objections?”

         “Not many, as long as you don’t get sappy.” Clara returned his grin with a wide beam of her own. “One thing about this, I can get caught up on my paper-grading and class preps.”

         “And I’m learning living on an island has its own kind of excitement.”

         With a nod of her head, Clara replied, “In more than one way. You’re just experiencing one type of storm.”

         "Really? What other kinds are there?" Tad asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

         Clara giggled. "I know you're trying to flirt, now. What other kinds indeed."

         The two continued working with occasional breaks for conversation and meals through the rest of the false twilight of the day. When they retired to their separate bedrooms for an early bedtime, Clara found she felt safer with Tad nearby. “Don’t know what he could do against dear Miranda, though,” she whispered as she slid underneath the sheet.

         By the time Miranda fled and the sun shone once more above Guam, Trina and Tad had become close friends. However, looking at the destruction made them feel as if they had come out to face an alien world. Clara's back porch had been flattened by one of the many felled trees. Tad's bungalow wasn't usable; but at least another bungalow, just across the street from Clara's, was available for Tad to rent.

         In the months to come, they spent many long hours together exploring the island. Clara showed Tad her favorite vista in the south part of Guam, a waterfall surrounded by the boondocks, the native jungle.

         After a traditional Thanksgiving dinner at the officers' club, Tad and Clara joined a group of younger officers and their wives or girlfriends for an afternoon on Tumon Beach, enjoying the warm white sands and gentle swells of the Philipine Sea. The reefs off Tumon Bay tamed the rough ocean waves to provide a pleasant swimming area.

         As the young adults lay soaking up the sun on the warm sand, Tad realized he wasn't the only man enjoying the view. One of the young officers kept his eyes on Clara rather than on his date. Yeah, she's great to look at, Tad silently fumed, but she's mine. Shocked at the direction of his thoughts, he jumped up from the towel, grabbed Clara's hand. "Come on, let's go back in the water."

         Smiling at his frowning face, she rejoined with, "Sure. Want to invite..."

         "Nope," Tad interrupted, "don't want anyone but us."

         Once they reached far enough into the bay that Clara's feet didn't reach the bottom, her arms snaked around his neck as their bodies gently brushed together. Tad closed his eyes with a smothered groan. His arms crushed her against his chest.

         "Tad, what's wrong?" Clara brushed his hair back from his forehead.

         "Nothing... I don't know." He opened his eyes to gaze into her concerned ones, noticing the green had specks of golden brown scattered around the iris. "Huh, everything is wrong. Nothing is wrong."

         "You aren't making a lot of sense, Tad."

         "No, but I plan on changing that." His lips met hers in a deep kiss.

         For a moment, Clara seemed frozen in place. With a sigh, she tightened her arms around his neck, and her response matched Miranda's power. The sound of a throat clearing brought them back to the sea and sun.

         "Uh, folks, I think you need to find someplace else for that." One of the men of the group stood beside them, his wife holding on to one of his arms. "We don't want the water to boil away."

         Clara glanced around, but no one else appeared to be looking their way. With an embarrassed laugh she whispered, "Tad, I think we had better stop. Maybe we should swim for awhile."

         Brushing his fingers across her cheek and down her throat, he nodded. "That might be a good idea. Sorry." Catching her hurt expression, he added, "Sorry I didn't choose my time and place better, not sorry for the kiss." Bending close to her ear, he whispered, "No, not a bit sorry for the kiss."

         Christmas Eve arrived, warmed by balmy breezes off the Pacific. Clara finished wrapping the last of her presents, singing Christmas carols as she worked, and sitting in the middle of the living room floor. A small Christmas tree glittered on a table in a corner, gaily wrapped gifts piled high on the floor below. When she started “White Christmas,” Clara stopped mid-note.

         Now, that’s a funny song to sing here, she thought as she tied a bow on the package for Tad. I may dream of a white Christmas, but one’s not ever likely here.

         With a quick tap on the door, Tad entered. “Hi, how’s my girl?” He crossed, squatted, and kissed her upturned face.

         “Hi, I didn’t expect you. I thought you’d be with Joan and family today.” A bright smile allowed him to know she wasn’t disappointed.

         “I couldn’t stay away. I know we’ll be going to midnight service together, but that’s hours away.” He pressed his lips to hers again. “I needed to do that.”

         “Uh, Tad, what are you doing after the service?” Clara nibbled on her lower lip.

         Rubbing his thumb over her lip, disrupting the nibbling, he answered, “I’d hoped we could celebrate by ourselves a bit before I went home to my lonely bed.”

         The heat of a blush caused Clara to duck her head. “I’m... I’m glad. I’d rather give you my present without anyone else around.”

         “Just what I was thinking.” He gave her another kiss before standing, drawing her up beside him. “I only have a minute. Since I’m spending tomorrow with you and your family, I promised Aunt Joan I’d be with them until time to pick you up tonight.”

         “I’m glad you stopped by,” Clara murmured as he gathered her close.

         Later, after the Christmas Eve service at the base chapel, Clara and Tad sat outside on the wall at the back of her yard; an oil lamp sat on the ground not far from them, giving muted light. The rumble of the surf below them provided background music.

         “You want me to give you your gift first, or you want to give me mine?” Clara asked.

         “Uh, if you don’t mind, I’d like to give you mine first. I’m getting more nervous all the time, and I want... Well, if you don’t mind waiting?”

         “That’s fine.” Clara set the red and green wrapped package on the ground beside her feet. “What...” she gasped as Tad knelt on one knee beside the present to take her hands in his.

         “Clara, I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” His eyes searched her face as he touched his lips first to the back of one hand, then the other.

         “Marry you?” Clara whispered. “Oh, my, yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

         Rising to sit beside her again, Tad cuddled her in his arms. “When?”

         With a shuddering laugh, she echoed, “When?”

         “Next week?” Tad answered.

         Pulling back, Clara studied him in the near darkness. “You’re serious.”

          After kissing her deeply, Tad jerked back. “I forgot.” He dug into his pocket and brought out a small silver-wrapped gift and handed it to her. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

          Her hands holding the small box close to her chest, she asked, “Is this what I think it is?”

         “Open it, and tell me.”

          With shaky hands, Clara loosened the paper to reveal a small, square jewelry box. Opening the box, she looked at the delicate twist of gold surrounding a ruby. “Ohhh,” she sighed. “It’s beautiful.”

          Tad removed the ring from its cushion. “May I?” He took her left hand and slipped the ring onto its new home.

         “It fits perfectly. How?” Clara whispered, resting her head against his shoulder as she held her hand so she could gaze on the ring.

         “I had your mother swipe one of your rings.”

         “My mother knew?” Drawing away far enough to stare at her new fiancé, she repeated, “My mother knew?”

         “Sweetheart, everyone knew. They are just waiting to hear when.” Tad laughed quietly. “So, when?”

         “I.. I would like my family to be at the wedding, and I’m sure you would, too.”

         “Uh-huh, so?”

         “Dad will be transferred back to the States in April... your family is back there.” She paused, thinking. “School will be over the middle of May. You start your new position in August. Why don’t we plan on the last of June?”

         “Sure seems like a long time, but if that’s what you want. Now, all we’ll have to decide is where, but we have time.” His kiss stopped all thought.

          The middle of May, Clara stood at the front of the Quonset hut, her classroom for two years. She looked at the sunlight flooding the windows that stood open to the cooling breezes and over the now-empty desks. Just two more days and she would be leaving this room, this school forever. She had finally told her students that she wouldn’t be coming back, and the intensity of the sorrow she felt surprised her. The realization that she would be leaving Guam, and probably never returning, overwhelmed her.

         "Ready to go home?" Tad asked from the open door.

         "Yes, let's go."

         After they settled in Clara's car, Tad took one of her hands in his. "Now, what's wrong, sweetheart?"

         "Oh, I told my kids today that I won't be back next year." She took a deep breath before blowing it out. "I didn't think that would be so hard. I mean, no one ever knows who will be here and who will be gone from year to year."

         "You're really going to miss this place, aren't you?" Tad pulled her across the seat to wrap her in his arms. "We can always plan on coming here for vacations, you know."

         "I've heard so many people say that before they leave, but they never come back." She snuggled against him a few moments before straightening up. "Would you mind driving home?"

         "Of course not. We'll go look at that wonderful view of yours and talk about our wedding."

          The brief twilight arrived once more as Clara perched on the wall. Tad had left just moments eariler, and the tranquility of the evening allowed the stress of the day to dissipate. She enjoyed the blackness of the night blanketing the sun as it sunk into the Pacific. She closed her eyes and sniffed the refreshing air, as a sigh started rising from her chest.

          Her peaceful sigh caught in her throat when a hand plastered bony fingers over her mouth. A thin, yet powerful arm yanked her back against a body so gaunt she could feel ribs pressing against her back. Clara's heart stopped in shock before banging a drum solo so hard that her chest expanded with each beat. With a lunge, she twisted her body off the wall, kicking and flailing arms and body. The restraining hands and arms, like bands, held without easing. The being, whatever it might be, gave off whiffs of musky mold with each abrupt movement of their desperate, tuneless dance.

         Her mind cried, Tad! Tad! I need you. Help me!

          Grasping her harder, the thing, as she called him in her head, pulled and yanked her toward the bungalow. Up the steps to the porch and through the unlocked back door, they jigged and twisted. Inside the kitchen, he threw her into a chair, pressing the sharp edge of a knife to her throat. She stared in disbelief at the scarecrow-like creature glaring at her, practically a skeleton in a tattered, ragged Japanese uniform. When she started to speak, he gave his head a violent shake while covering her mouth with the gag of his skeletal hand, as the knife-wielding hand pressed the blade slightly into her skin. Clara squeezed her eyes closed. He removed the knife.

          Fear infused her mind as she pressed her body to the back of the wooden chair. Trembling began in her and spread to the legs of the hard seat, sending them chattering against the floor like her teeth against each other. Her eyes, wide in terror, watched the emaciated form in its faded, nearly colorless remnants pull drawers and slam cabinet doors open. Finally he grabbed a length of clothes line. In a few staggering steps, he reached her, captured her hands, and bound them before Clara could make her body fight.

          Once more, when she would have spoken, he pushed his hand against her mouth and sharply shook his head. When Clara nodded, he jerked his hand away and returned to his search of cabinets and drawers. Finding canned vegetables, fruits, and meats, he stacked them on the table. He added coffee, sugar, and flour to the pile before stalking to the refrigerator. Pulling milk, cheese, and a stick of bologna from the shelves, he sat at the table to wolf down the milk, allowing it to dribble down his chin to his chest. Spying a loaf of bread on one of the cabinet tops, he snaked his arm to grab it and add it to the pile on the table. Standing, he glared around the room.

          As his observation stopped at her, she shivered, her mouth becoming dry, her heart pounding hard enough that she felt it would jump from her chest. He strode toward her until he stood bent over her. Her eyes closed as she pulled away from him as far as the chair would allow. His finger touching her throat, following the line of the bloody cut, caused her to clench her jaws to keep the screams from erupting. When he grasped her arm and yanked her to her feet, she staggered, nearly falling. His eyes swung around the room before spying the door to the hall. With a sudden start, he headed toward the hall, hauling her behind him.

          Stalking down the hall, he opened each door until he reached the bathroom. Without looking in her direction, he pushed Clara toward the stool, where she sat with a thump. He opened the medicine cabinet. In moments, he had cleaned the wound with alcohol, the sting bringing tears to her eyes. As she stared at the skull moving near her face, the man’s fingers spread ointment on her neck. He stepped back, stared at her before fleeing the room, slamming the door behind him. A few seconds later, she heard the back door close with a bang.

          Pushing herself from the stool, Clara slid from the bathroom into the hall, her eyes searching in all directions. Reaching the kitchen, she found the tablecloth, and all the food items that had been stacked in the middle of it, gone. She grabbed a knife, held it between her teeth to saw through the rope binding her wrists. Running to the door, she bolted it with trembling hands. Leaning her forehead against the cool glass of the window above the door knob and lock, she took several shuddering sobs. In the darkness of the night, screams, yells, and shots rent the silence, then nothing but the quietness of midnight.

          Her heart beats slowed as she continued to huddle against the door, but her body shook until she felt a quivering mass. Just as she found the strength to push herself away, a pounding on the outside caused her to jump back, her hands grabbing her chest. She stared in horror, expecting to see the gaunt features of her abductor before realizing the face in the shadowed glass was Tad’s. She fumbled the lock open and fell into his waiting arms. He held her close, his hands smoothing her hair, his lips touching her wherever they could reach. Her fears seeped from her as her trembling ceased. The safety of his arms warmed her chilled mind and soul.

         “It’s all right, sweetheart. I have you. The Military Police got him.” His hand smoothed her back. “Did he hurt you?” His breath sucked in with a ragged whoosh. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” When she shook her head against his shoulder, his body relaxed. "I'm so sorry I left you so early. If I had just been here..."

         Clara placed her fingers over his mouth. "Don't you dare blame yourself. He didn't hurt me; in fact, he treated the slight cut..."

         Before she could finish, Tad dragged her into the kitchen under the light. "Where? Where did he cut you?" With a growl, he uttered, "I'll kill him. I'll kill him!"

         Frighten by the wildness of the anger of the man who had always been in control, Clara pulled back a few inches. "Tad! Tad?"

         Forcing himself to calm down, realizing he was scaring her, Tad took several deep breaths. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I couldn't stand something happening to you. I nearly went nuts before I could get to you." Seeing the slight line on her throat, he bent to lightly kiss it.

         Running her fingers through his hair, she admitted, "I was so scared. I was so scared. I wanted you with me so badly."

         "I'll never let anything happen to you again. I promise."

         Drawing away, Clara took Tad's hand. "Let's go sit on the sofa. I think we need to talk."

         "Whatever you want, sweetheart."

         Once they reached the sofa, Tad sat and pulled Clara onto his lap. "I need you close."

         "Oh, honey, I think this... this experience was harder on you than it was on me." With a wan smile, Clara searched Tad's eyes. "I know you wouldn't want anything to happen to me, just as I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you. But, Tad, you just made me a promise that I want you to take back."

         A puzzled frown brought his eyebrows together. "What do you mean?"

         "You can't promise to keep anything bad from happening to me, because you don't have conrol over everything." She brushed her lips across his and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Just promise always to love me. That's the best promise you can ever make."

         "I do promise, sweetheart. And, that's a promise I will never take back."

          Two days later, the sun shone brightly once more, literally and figuratively. Its healing warmth started to thaw the ice of fear from around her heart. The wind rustled the palm fronds above her head as it whipped locks of her hair into a dance around her head. With a sigh, she dropped to the rock wall, her legs rubbing against its sandpaper surface. Her eyes searched the face of the distant cliff with its pocks of dark cave-openings scattered across its face.

         Tad joined her, his hand taking hers. The sea breeze stroked her bare arms, drying the tears on her cheeks. Licking her lips, she tasted the salt left by tears and wind, causing her tongue to tingle. The scent of the humus spread in the flower beds assaulted her nose when she sniffed at the end of a sob.

         "Don't cry. I'm going to make you another promise: We will come back." Tad gathered her into his arms.

         Her heart and mind said goodbye to Guam but hello to a life waiting with the man she loved.

First place - Pickled Mangoes Contest by emeralddaisy, July 14, 2003