Free A Pledge of Silence by Flora J. Solomon

nurses’ quarters. A comfortable bed and thick-cushioned chairs and tables made from native bamboo and rattan, which stood up to the heat and humidity, furnished her room. Her window overlooked a well-tended garden of orchids, gardenias, and purple bougainvillea. A mahogany ceiling fan stirred the air. A houseboy greeted her each day with a glass of juice and the newspaper, and, for a small fee, did her laundry and shined her shoes. Manicures, facials, and massages were readily available after a day of tennis, golf, or sunning at the beach. Evenings might mean dressing for dinner and gaming at the Jai Lai Club or attending an opera at the Metropolitan Theater with one of the many available doctors.
    Because of the hot, muggy climate, work schedules were light, leaving time to explore the island. With a long weekend ahead, Margie hopped on a train for a four-hour trip north to the town of Baguio to shop in its open-air markets and to visit Helen at nearby Camp John Hay.
    Helen met her at the station, helped her settle into one of the guest rooms kept available for visiting nurses, then showed her around the compound.
    “It’s the most picturesque scenery in the world,” Margie said. She and Helen gazed over the ridge of a lushly forested mountainside, plunging steeply down to a still mountain lake. “You don’t get the humidity like in Manila. It’s refreshing up here.”
    “It’s pretty; I’ll give you that. But all I do is pass out quinine pills. I don’t know why I’m here. I’m putting in for a transfer. I want to go to Europe where I can be useful.”
    “Then think of this as a well-deserved vacation.”
    Helen introduced her to Hattie, the only other nurse at the camp, and Dr. Robb, a rail of a man with a friendly smile. They toured the barns where the 26 th Cavalry Regiment’s horses were trained, feeding the handsome animals oats from the flat of their hands. They tried playing the hilly golf course, but gave it up after three miserable holes to go shopping in Baguio. The next day, they hiked along trails through trees filled with monkeys, gibbons, and rainbow-colored birds.
    “Helen, I love it all. It’s so peaceful. Can you smell the cinnamon and cloves?”
    “Now that you mention it, I can.”
    “What’s that noise?”
    “Just a waterfall. They’re all over the place.” They rounded a bend, and sure enough, gushing water cascaded from a limestone cliff.
    Margie took off her shoes and dipped her toes into the water. She peered through the dense forest. “Do we dare?” she said with a mischievous smile.
    “Margie!” Helen looked around. “Well, I guess it’s okay. Most people are napping this time of day.”
    Stripping off their clothes, they waded in, skinny-dipping in the emerald pool at the base of the cascade. Floating on her back, Margie tilted her head and let the cool water flow through her hair, thinking her life had turned into a delightful fantasy.
    While getting dressed, Helen said, “Thanks for coming, Margie. I needed someone to talk to. You’re a true friend.”
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 8
     
    Manila, July – October 1941
     
    Evelyn delighted in showing Margie the sights of Manila with its complicated overlays of Chinese, Arab, and Spanish influences. More recently, 40 years of American intervention brought modernization to the flourishing, cosmopolitan downtown area. She pointed out the curvilinear forms of the Art Nouveau buildings in the business quarter, and the stylized geometric Art Deco architecture in the newer theater district.
    Parks were plentiful and luxuriant, and the avenues wide. Off the main streets, wealthy Filipinos built large houses with brick walls, tiled roofs, and windows made from translucent shells called capiz.
    Older and quainter neighborhoods begged for exploration. Intramuros, a medieval-style walled city built in 1571, while the Spaniards reigned, had thick stone walls enclosing ancient barrios crowded with colonial houses,