If Not Today

By Minh Anh Nguyen

In times of war, love may only be an illusion. Yet under the Saigon sky, two mothers found shelter from their personal storms in a quiet Catholic school. 

Child prodigy Tuan Minh has always been afraid to love. As an orphan in the Les Frères Catholiques Ecole, his only refuge was to retreat into his mind. His dearest friend, Th

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Nov 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643458014

Book preview

Contents

1953

I. He Never Would

II. Sang Her to Sleep

III. Money on the Counter

IV. Everything Will Be Fine

V. A Precious Gift in Return

VI. Weakened House of Faith

VII. Resurrected Presence

VIII. Heaven Would Answer

IX. Left Alone

X. Would Have to Wait

XI. Whirlwind of Delight

XII. Sweeter than Any Sugarcane

1959

XIII. Full and Alive

XIV. Same Silly Games

XV. Head Start

XVI. Lonely Cloud

XVII. Innermost Thoughts

XVIII. Behind the Closed Door

XIX. Measure of His Love

XX. To Find a Muse

XXI. Puppy Love Crush

XXII. Ideal Circumstance

XXIII. Tumultuous Melancholy

XXIV. Morning Bell

1964

XXV. Malady of War

XXVI. For Anything

XXVII. Had No Words

XXVIII. Steadfast Recovery

XXIX. Perfect Kiss

XXX. Differing Plans

XXXI. Falling into Place

XXXII. Just like Her Mother

XXXIII. Our Greatest Concern

XXXIV. God Will

XXXV. To Be a Mother

XXXVI. Contentious Proposal

XXXVII. Time and Distance

1969

XXXVIII. Alive Somewhere

XXXIX. Mind or Heart

XL. Manipulation and Intrigue

XLI. Good Night’s Sleep

XLII. Bulldogs and Tigers

XLIII. Rice Candy

XLIV. Father and Mother

XLV. Let Her Go

XLVI. Love Given and Love Received

XLVII. Two Lost Tears

XLVIII. Waiting for Him

XLIX. Dealt by Providence

L. Drown His Lullaby

LI. Redemptive Sojourn

LII. One for the Other

LIII. Fade into Silence

LIV. Welcomed Her Home

LV. World of Darkness

1970

LVI. Long Ride Home

LVII. Final Time

LVIII. Each Other’s Arms

LIX. Mercy of the Storm

LX. Start Anew

LXI. One Thing Left to Do

LXII. Unusually Heavy

LXIII. Just like Days Before

LXIV. Deliver the Message

LXV. Believe Anything

LXVI. Greatest Gift

1988

LXVII. Long Forgotten Song

LXVIII. Small Places

LXIX. Leaving Soon

LXX. Your Story

LXXI. In Too Deep

LXXII. Fine without Me

LXXIII. Share His Kiss

LXXIV. True and Everlasting

1989

LXXV. Trembling Lips

LXXVI. One Last Miracle

LXXVII. Solo Tear

LXXVIII. She Never Left

LXXIX. For All My Tomorrows

1995

Epilogue: Two Months

Acknowledgments

To my loving family throughout the world, Laos, Vietnam, France, Indonesia, and Seattle, your love and support have contributed dearly to this redemption story.

Special thanks to Regine Wiranata for her beautiful cover art that captures the heart and spirit of the story.

1953

I.

He Never Would

Even the clamoring of the market could not drown the cry of her newborn baby swaddled in a ragged assortment of towels. The infant trembled in her arms, seemingly aware of the distress she tried in vain to hide as she made her way through the bustling crowd.

Đi vào trong! cried a voice from the melee of the market while umbrellas popped open and fruit stands closed. Get your baby inside!

Just a little rain, nothing new, yelled another. Come, come, buy some food before we close!

The merchants continued their banter—undaunted by the warm deluge—but the only value she possessed could not be sold nor purchased.

She continued forward, ignoring their barks, and waded through the countless distractions. The wind increased its howl, announcing the arrival of a sudden autumn monsoon as if nature tried to keep her from reaching her destination, but she scampered forward through mired streets, knowing it would be her child’s only hope for a decent life. The rain pounded makeshift shacks and fruit carts, but Phương Le appreciated this deluge—one of many that frequented Saigon.

On this day, which began with such great sorrow, the raindrops masked the tears of her daughter, but they could not hide the trail of pearls streaming down her thin soft cheeks. The bundle grew heavy in her arms, absorbing the downpour as her hands and feet grew numb with each step. Soon the wrappings provided little comfort against the wet and cold, failing to impede the relentless rain and wind against her daughter’s pale face. She held Thu Thũy tightly. The rags drew in more water than they shielded from the tiny baby who weighed a little more than a small bag of rice. Her one free hand swabbed the pool of water with a silky red ao dai. Just a year earlier, the dress drew the attention of many admirers as she walked down the street, but on this day, it was nothing more than a cloth that collected the saline from her daughter’s eyes. Amid the torrent, the shivering infant suddenly gasped; she stopped crying in hopes of catching a breath. At that moment, the teenage mother lifted her eyes to the heavens in hopes of a miracle.

Desperation followed Phương Le as she raced down the dirt road, each step more cumbersome as the surface quickly morphed into mud. Had she been wearing shoes, they would have sunk into the mire, but shoes were a luxury she left far behind. As the muck sloshed between her toes, she wrestled with the possibility of raising a child alone in a country wrapped in a bitter war. The very notion haunted her mind these past few days; the foreboding reality kept her awake more than the persistent crying of her infant daughter.

A few months ago, Phương Le discovered she was pregnant, even though she and her fiancé had yet to wed, their marriage would be soon enough in her pregnancy to not warrant any suspicion. Her parents arranged a marriage to a family friend in Nha Trang and agreed that the two of them would travel the ten-hour train ride to Saigon to earn some money for the wedding.

Then the war began.

Trung Hoang, her fiancé and soul mate, enlisted with the Việt Minh as a medic to fight the French occupation. Phương Le found a job at a local boulangerie and lived in the backroom while he made occasional visits in between campaigns.

She was a gifted baker who loved welcoming patrons into the boulangerie. The smell of croissants and baguettes greeted early morning shoppers, drawing them into the bakery with their enticing fragrance. Those who walked the streets before sunrise were rewarded with the freshest batch. They came in needing only breakfast, but always left with a smile. Prized golden baguettes glistened in the window until they were taken off shelves and lifted from baskets. Customers cracked the crust to release the aroma trapped within each loaf before they received their change. In that brief moment, they forgot the bitter war being fought outside the door, but soon enough, the sound of breaking bread was drowned by echoes of explosions and gunfire.

Cảm ơn, cô, Phương Le said, thanking the lady as she handed her the bag of bread and a few coins.

A sudden chill raced from the pit of her stomach up to her neck. She heard her Trung’s voice coming from outside, but there was no sign of him to be found when she raced out the door and scanned the street. She returned inside and noticed a box of spilt croissants on the floor.

Phương Le’s porcelain glow faded from her cheeks.

A befuddled customer offered comfort to the best of her ability. Chào em, khỏe không?

Yes, I’m fine, thank you, she answered.

She walked behind the counter, hiding the apprehension that followed her premonition. Her conversation returned to the customers, but her thoughts lingered elsewhere. The morning sky darkened as if it were trying to warn her of an unseen horror.

Her husband was a young man who just turned eighteen. Trung went off to serve the Việt Minh near Điện Biên Phủ. He hoped he would gain some valuable skills and experience to jumpstart his medical training when the war ended. Supported by the Chinese government, Vietnamese soldiers were assured of a quick and decisive victory against the French garrisons entrenched in the north. He enlisted when she first became pregnant and promised her a swift return so they could marry. Every four or five weeks, he would burst through the bakery door. He spent every free night wrapped in her warm, passionate embrace, then left just as suddenly as he came. Each subsequent visit was accompanied by greater expectations as their child’s birth quickly approached. At three months, Phương Le barely began showing, but she could feel the baby dancing inside her. As Trung bolted through the door, she sauntered from behind the counter to proudly reveal the subtle progress of her pregnancy. First, he shared a supple kiss with his beloved, a tender moment growing from weeks of yearning. Then he knelt in front of her, pressing his ear close to the haven of his unborn child. One hand followed her gentle curves while the other caressed her warm stomach. These past few weeks were special for him. Upon his next return, they would marry for his six-month commitment would be completed and he could find work in a local Saigon hospital. Furthermore, he would soon be the proud father of a beautiful baby sleeping in the arms of his lovely wife. But weeks soon passed without him. And then a month.

His last visit was eleven weeks ago, and she knew the baby would arrive any moment—with or without him. Each time the bakery door opened, she prayed it would be him, but only disappointment greeted her. Nonetheless, she welcomed every patron with a warm smile while concealing her greatest fear. Some were lucky, receiving a friendly wink in the rare moments she was not lost in her thoughts and prayers. As days passed, she buried her hopes, promising to serve her customers with the warmth and love they had grown to expect and appreciate. Phương Le loved her work, and it kept her mind from the negative.

However, with each passing day, her personality changed. She shadowed her sorrow behind a smile and drowned her lament with a lullaby. Her song was enchanting, a gift appreciated in the bakery more than the bread lining the shelves. At no extra cost, customers were treated to a simple melody while they perused the store. Her favorite was Ngày Em Xa Anh, but she had many songs to share. The music filled the boulangerie as much as the fragrance of fresh bread. However, the burden of fear, doubt, and uncertainty weighed heavily on her brow. She aged more in a month than in a year. Worry found its way onto her face, burrowing itself into her forehead, snaking under her eyes, and then finally stealing her smile. The sparkle which once danced in her brilliant gaze dimmed with each passing sunset without word from Trung. Her radiant smile, once as bright as the sun, lost its splendor. Leaves browned unseasonably early as the August heat wilted away their lush foliage. They reluctantly fell from their branches, hoping her smile would return by spring to welcome them. Winter clouds filled the horizon, enveloping the sky as despair encamped itself within her heart. Hope turned to hopelessness, and the song in her soul, like the summer sun, disappeared. Their neighborhood was small, personable, and each mother knew the burden Phương Le carried. They offered her words of encouragement and glances of support, but they, too, had busy lives and loved ones at war. She appreciated their kindness, but the only cure for her malady would be Trung coming through the wicker door of the boulangerie—in any condition. But he never did. And he never would.

II.

Sang Her to Sleep

Evenings at a bakery were slow and lonely. Phương Le locked the door under the squeaking sign that read Linh’s Boulangerie. Customers joined their families at home to share a meal made with love as much as food. She, however, found herself alone, standing at the door, brushing out the only remnants of a busy day. The cash register made a lousy friend, chiming in with an occasional ping as she counted the day’s earning. She routinely wrote the profit in the ledger and was proud of the bakery’s success. She continued with her evening chores, picking up a towel and wiping down the counter. For a brief moment, music crept into her heart and a song slipped past her lips. A familiar tune from her childhood lifted her hand as it glided along the grooves of the countertop. She began to daydream, a gift she had forgotten since Trung’s absence. Her apron extended from midthigh and flowed to the floor, wrapping around her long, slender legs. The silk fabric hugged the curves of her body as she found herself in a beautiful white dress. She glided over to the mop, and the two sashayed across the wooden floor.

She closed her eyes and saw her beloved in the distance. He rested underneath a makeshift tent of coats and blankets in the middle of a field. He searched the night sky for the brightest star to remind him of her quiet eyes. She blew him a kiss. A gentle breeze carried the message to him. She opened the window, wondered if he could hear her heart beating among the mortar shells. Autumn’s evening warmth invigorated her, pulling her away from the current misery.

The image lingered in her thoughts as she leaned out the window to embrace it, but as quickly as it appeared, the vision ended. A sharp pain interrupted her reverie. She looked around for what may have caused the pain, but nothing was around. She made her way to the door only to find it closed. Phương Le tried to return to her dream, but the only thing she found around her slim waist was an old dirty apron. The dream was gone, and the grimy rag in her hand reminded her that dreams are far from reality.

Again, a pain stung her entire body! She wanted the comfort of her bed, but knew her remaining chores had to be finished. Reaching for the mop, she saw a wet spot on the floor next to the window where she once stood. She headed toward the kitchen where she earlier placed a soap-filled bucket. Again, another surge of pain doubled her over! She lumbered toward the window, realizing her water had broken, but blood had also stained the floor.

She bowed over in anguish as pain exploded throughout her frail frame. She cried for help, but the walls refused to answer, and that fact terrified her more than the ensuing contractions. She stumbled to the door, but a tremendous jolt forced her to stop. The pulses quickened, heightened. Phương Le knelt on the floor, clutching her body in agony.

It was easy for her to cry and easier to scream. She spent a month bottling up all her fear, and finally, she could carry the burden no longer. The trepidation of an unknown future only exacerbated the pain of each contraction. Minutes slowed their march through time as she lay helplessly on the floor. Her physical and emotional state struggled for control—the first fragile, the latter shattered. As the realization of Trung’s possible death and the severity of her contractions climaxed, she let out a scream that shook the bakery. The birth pangs were unbearable, crippling her resolve to continue, but it was at that desperate moment that an infant rescued her from the depths of her self-pity. The agonizing pain prevented her from seeing that the baby had crowned as she writhed in pain, but there it was, an infant struggling to enter an unknown world. She pushed with might and courage until one last burst freed the baby from its embryonic coffin. Then in the aftermath of pain and suffering, the papaya-sized infant gasped for its first breath on a cold, wooden floor.

She picked up the newborn with mustered strength and crawled to the counter. Reaching up, she pulled open a drawer and blindly fumbled through the contents. She worked in the bakery long enough to know the feel of a bread knife. She pulled out the blade and quickly severed the umbilical cord. With the infant quivering, she carefully formed a cradle with her left arm. Her free hand threw open the cabinet doors below the drawer. She grabbed a handful of towels and dropped them on the floor. Carefully, lovingly, she wiped the blood and unfamiliar fluids from her child.

It was then that she finally noticed—she had a daughter. In the midst of the agony, she never once considered the preference of a boy or girl. Yet there she was, a beautiful baby girl. They lay together on the floor of the bakery. Together, but still alone. She wrapped her up in the remaining towels and held her close to her heart.

The silence was a suitable midwife.

Ah, Thu Thũy, she whispered, "Thu for the autumn that brought you to me, and Thuy for the vast sea that is your future. She tickled her baby’s cheeks. You have your father’s smile, but those are my eyes."

She tried to share a lullaby, but exhaustion finally found her as she stretched across the floor. She pulled the soiled towels together for a pillow and rested her daughter upon her breast. She ran her fingers over Thu Thũy’s wrinkled face, marveled at the tenderness of her smile, and savored the softness of her skin. When she felt the weight of her daughter’s head fall heavy on her chest, the proud mother closed her eyes and pressed her lips against her daughter’s head. Then with a simple sigh, her happiness sang her to sleep.

III.

Money on the Counter

A beautiful morning should have greeted both mother and daughter; instead, the frantic screaming of a man shook them from their slumber.

Em đang làm gì?

Her eyelids refused to open, and her body was too sore to wake. The voice continued its relentless barrage, Wake up, stupid girl! How could you do this to me?

Phương Le was disorientated from last night’s whirlwind of events. Her confusion gave way to embarrassment, which gave way to panic when she realized she was still in the bakery. Her infant added to the turmoil with her first cry.

And what is that? Are you…were you pregnant? the man shouted.

Her daze cleared and she finally recognized the voice. With great fear, she opened her eyes and saw the angry stare of her boss pinning her to the floor. He stood over the hapless girl and raised his hand as if to strike her for insubordination and shame. Instead, his fist slammed down on the counter, sending a quake to the floor. He reached with both hands, grabbed her by the shoulders, and flung her to standing. Phương Le dangled from his grip—her feet barely touching the floor, but even in her weakened condition, she managed to firmly secure her daughter close to her chest.

When were you pregnant? his words echoed through the empty bakery.

Phương Le, always slender and sleek, hid her pregnancy behind loosely tied aprons and well-positioned baskets. The patrons suspected her added weight was from the stress of a war or perhaps a missing loved one, but no one gleaned that she was expectant.

And look at this place. The store is a mess! He forced her to look at the empty bakery. No bread! Where is the bread?!

Bác Linh, she said, casting her eyes to the floor, I am so sorry. Last night, the baby came and—

I can see that, but why did you not clean up after yourself? Look at this place. Why didn’t you just go into your room and sleep? I gave you this job, gave you a room, and this is how you thank me?

He passed the point of reason, and his words pounded Phương Le’s fragile body with an onslaught of fury. How can I run this bakery without bread?

I will get to it, she begged, please, just give me a moment.

A moment? Look out there!

He swung her pale body around until she faced the door. A group of curious onlookers peered inside. He continued his tirade as she dangled helplessly from his grip.

Seven o’clock! I woke up at seven o’clock when I heard people knocking on my door! They asked me why the store was closed. I didn’t know the answer. How could I know? Then I came down and saw you behind the counter, sleeping here, on this dirty floor!

Xin lôi, bác Linh—

Don’t interrupt me, girl! Know your place!

He shook her violently, almost jostling the baby from her arms. She pulled away with all her might and broke free from his rage. She twisted as she crashed into the counter, cushioning her baby from the impact.

Look at this place! He pointed to the soiled towels. Nothing is clean! Nothing is baked! And what is that smell?

It’s my baby! she cried. I was cleaning last night when I felt this pain. Before I could do anything, she was born. I was too tired to—

Too tired! he said as he took a step toward her with his right fist shaking in the air. If you are too tired to work, when will you find rest with a new baby?

The infant interrupted with a wail, kicking and screaming in her mother’s defense.

Can’t you stop her crying? he yelled.

Maybe…maybe… She tried desperately to calm the infant.

Maybe nothing! Your family is too far to help—he leaned into her and lowered his voice to keep the crowd from hearing—and you’re not even married. What kind of girl has a baby without a husband?

The weight of those words crushed her. Phương Le fell to the ground like an anvil. She was not ready to hear those words—not now, not ever, but they were true and they hurt more than any pain she suffered last night.

The crowd pushed their way through the door, thinking he struck the helpless girl.

Reality was louder than any cry and more painful than any slap. Her family was in Nha Trang, too far away to help. She followed Trung to Saigon so they could start life anew. With tear-stained eyes, she looked at the customers who made their way into the bakery. Mr. Linh paced frantically in front of the window, an unusual sight due to his crippled right leg and apparent limp, but no one gave him any sympathy. Like Phương Le, he searched desperately for answers as he lumbered back and forth.

Đi, đi! he said. Take your things and go.

The young mother did not move. There was nothing she could say or do. His words were final. The patrons once saw her as a beautiful young girl who baked the best bread and sang the sweetest songs, but now she looked like the dirty towels left on the floor. Cô Mai, a mother herself, caressed Phương Le’s arm and helped her to her feet. Another straightened her apron and offered her much needed words of support, but they could not welcome her into their home—their husbands would never approve.

Come now, Phương Le, do not worry, said cô Mai. He does not know what it is like to have such a precious little baby.

Here child, give him to me. I will hold him. You go clean yourself.

She, Phương Le kindly corrected.

What?

She. She’s a girl. Her name is Thu Thũy.

Chào em, Thu Thũy, the ladies crooned.

The baby smiled when she heard her name.

Behind tear-soaked eyes, Phương Le handed her baby to cô Mai. She went alone into the kitchen and wiped the grime from her face and arms. She brushed her hair as best she could and took off her apron. For a moment, it was liberating, but then she realized how much her life had changed. She treasured her job. She valued her customers. She enjoyed baking. She loved Trung. And now they were gone; they were all gone. How could she raise her daughter alone?

Phương Le walked behind the large ovens into her secluded room. What once was a storage closet, Mr. Linh gutted out the space to make enough room for a mattress and a small dresser. She changed into a clean dress but left behind her other clothes and modest possessions. The only thing she valued was her child, but they had no place to go, no future to forge. With a heavy heart, knowing this would be her last day in the boulangerie, she opened a drawer and pulled out a carefully folded silk red dress.

She walked through the kitchen, barely lifting her feet as they scuffed the floor. Her sandals were somewhere in the bakery buried in a pile of towels. She remembered removing them so she could dance with the mop, but at this point, they meant nothing to her. The pas de deux seemed ages ago. In one night, her life turned upside down. She was now a mother without a husband, without a job.

Phương Le soon joined the others waiting in the bakery. She burst into tears at the unexpected sight. The women had cleaned the floor, wiped the counters, and sorted the towels, all the while proudly passing around the tiny baby.

Em bé xinh đẹp, complimented one as she handed the beautiful girl back to her mother.

She was swaddled in clean towels and slept peacefully in the midst of the commotion. Phương Le humbly walked up to Mr. Linh with her baby nestled against her breast. He was tired from his pacing and stared aimlessly out the open window. She hoped for an ounce of humanity as she pleaded, Bác Linh, please, give me a few weeks to get everything in order. I will find a way to work and care for my baby.

He did not move, but even with his back turned, she could see his breath fogging the window. His mind wrestled with saving face and human decency. He answered her plea with frightful silence. There was nothing left to say. Phương Le was at his mercy. Her future was unclear, clouded with doubt and fear, a wave of uncertainty. Who would watch her child? Where would they live? Who would provide for them?

Thu Thũy would never know her father.

Mr. Linh’s tall, frail body turned from the window. He tried to hide his tears, but she caught a gleam from the morning sun. He said with hesitant words, Sorry, em Phương Le. A young woman with a baby and no husband can’t work in my store. There is no honor there, and I would lose face with the other businessmen. I have a niece in Huế. She will take a train to Saigon and work for me.

"But, bác Linh, the autumn storms are here…that means winter rain. Where will we go?" Her words, spoken in vain, fell like pearls before swine.

My decision is final. Please, take the money from the cash register. I didn’t take any from yesterday, so there should be two days’ worth of profit. It should last you a week, maybe longer. I am so sorry, but there is nothing more I can do.

Please, sir, your son is five! She moved toward hysteria, fell at his feet, and implored his humanity. You know how difficult it is to raise him. You waited so late to have him, but now, can you imagine your life without Lai?

The young girl was correct, and it pained him to realize. It was rare for a man his age (just turning fifty) to have a child, but his son, Lai, was his greatest treasure. Linh’s first wife died after suffering years of illness. She bore him no children—no heir. He arranged a second marriage for himself to a daughter of a business associate in Huế. She was quite young and gave him a son when she was only eighteen. He had never been prouder as a husband and father. Linh understood a parent’s love, but a community’s respect was more important when it came to running a business. He gestured to the crowd and yelled, Everyone, out, there is nothing more to see. The store is closed! We will open again in one week.

The exodus left a vacuum in the bakery. Mr. Linh limped to the door and slammed it shut. Phương Le stood motionless while her baby squirmed in her arms. He hobbled to the cash register. His hand trembled while opening the drawer. Removing the tray from the register, he dumped the contents, bills and all, into a paper bag and placed it on the counter.

Em Phương Le, you have to go now. Please do not come back to the store.

The words strangled his heart as they struggled to leave his mouth. His humanity briefly returned. He placed the bag on the counter, then walked to the window and slowly closed it.

Last night was beautiful, he said.

Yes, yes it was, bác Linh.

But the storms are coming, and with them will be lots of rain and difficult times.

I know.

Good luck, to you and your baby. He gestured to the bag waiting patiently on the counter. Please take the money and go.

Thank you, bác Linh. Thank you for everything.

She rose onto her toes, placed her hand on his shoulder, and thanked him for his kindness with a gentle rub. Her hand slid down his arm as he tried to hide his anguish. He stared at the window, but could not see beyond the glass. Tears splattered the floor to the sound of a door creaking open.

One…one more thing—his stuttering words stopped her—your daughter…Thu Thũy…she is a beautiful girl.

Thank you, bác Linh. Thank you for saying so.

She closed the door on her past. She held her baby in the bundle of towels and looked to the sky for comfort, but all she saw were gray clouds convening above.

Thu Thũy rested peacefully in her arms. Phương Le leaned over and covered her delicate face with a red silk dress. She ran from the store as quickly as her feet could carry her, hoping bác Linh would not be able to find her when he realized she had left the bag of money on the counter.

IV.

Everything Will Be Fine

A crack of thunder returned Phương Le to the present. She continued along the muddied road until the shadow of the cross greeted her. Missionary schools had sprung up around Saigon, disguising their evangelism with the promises of a western education, but this school was different. There was no cost for attending the prestigious institution. Families enrolled their children with the understanding that they would receive academic excellence along with Catholic nurturing. A group of men called the Brothers of the Christian Schools were in charge, worked with the families, and ran every aspect of the school from cooking, cleaning, and most importantly teaching (their founder, St. Jean Baptist de la Salle, originated from Paris where he opened a school for poor neighborhood kids who could not afford a quality education).

The sign above the stone mason read Les Frères Catholiques Ecole. In only four years, the school built a reputation as the top educational institution in South Vietnam. Its beauty added to its allure. Located on an inlet where the Mekong river narrowed into a small lake, it housed two buildings, an arboretum, and a small pond within its perimeter. A stone wall stood two meters high and marked the western edge of the campus. A vista opened along the river on the east side. From the street, the buildings hid behind a grove of banana trees, but from the sea, ships sailed by and marveled at the well-groomed school grounds. Phương Le stood below the cross and pounded on the wooden doors. How could anyone hear her frantic knocking with the thunderous storm? Undaunted, she banged on the door until her fist grew numb.

Xin! Có ai về nhà? she cried. Anyone! Anyone at all?

Time stood still, mocking her with its impartiality. Hours seemingly passed in those few cold moments. Her hand, bloodied by the knocking, pounded continuously at the foreboding gate. A frightening sensation jolted the young mother—Thu Thũy’s body no longer shivered, but instead lay perfectly still. Worry gave way to panic.

Open the door! Please! Is anyone there? she cried as she wailed on the door.

It was Saturday. The possibility that the campus was empty haunted her. She pushed past the pain, knowing the importance of her daughter’s life far exceeded hers. Her knuckles wrapped against the door as drops of blood clouded the nearby puddles. Fatigue found its way through her clammy skin and suffocated her lungs. Panic gave way to exhaustion, and the two bodies sank to the bottom of the barricade and collapsed. Phương Le dropped the baby from her arms, and the towels unraveled in the mud. Thu Thũy would have drowned in the grueling mud if it were not for the silk red dress shielding her from the sludge.

The door groaned, opening just enough for Phương Le’s body to slip through the crack. A man dressed in a long black robe stood above her, his single white collar framing the wrinkles along his neck. He knelt beside the frail body and followed the legs laying limp beyond the doorway. It was then that he saw a baby nestled in the mess of towels. His attention turned to the child, placing her in his welcoming embrace.

«Ma foi!» said Brother Donald. Quickly, I need blankets.

His calm demeanor hid the urgency of the moment. Two other men, dressed in similar attire, joined him at the entrance. One held a blanket while the other wrapped the young girl in its warmth. The larger of the two, a giant in the eyes of the Vietnamese children he taught, carried the teenage mother’s listless body to the boarding rooms.

Be careful, George. It looks like she just gave birth.

Donald turned his attention to the baby. He brushed the debris from her face and placed her in the arms of his colleague.

Thomas, bring the child to her mother after you have tended to its needs. He closed and secured the mammoth door behind him. It appears this day has a few surprises in store for us.

As you wish, Donald, Thomas answered, but as you know, our facilities are not meant for babies.

Nor was the manger, Thomas.

The two made their way through the rain with their demeanor, concealing their concern. Calmness and wisdom were traits cherished by the Christian Brothers and they would need both on this day.

Thomas looked at the baby trembling in his soft hands. She could have passed for one of his nieces. As the only brother born in Vietnam, he joined the novitiate after his parents were killed in a campaign against the French. Thomas was adopted by a French missionary and his wife. He spent his remaining childhood in Troyes, a small city outside of Paris. It was there that he decided to join the Christian Brothers after graduating from high school. He focused on his religious studies in hopes of returning to Saigon to give children an opportunity to overcome the injustices of war, and when the Generalate posted the building of a new school in Saigon, he eagerly volunteered and graciously accepted the offer to return to his country.

Thomas quickened his pace, scampering down the stone trail in his muddied sandals. His heavy breathing drowned the gush of rain pelting his black robe. With each exhale, his breath warmed the child, returning life to her tender cheeks. Thu Thũy wiggled inside the blanket—a sign of good fortune, for hypothermia was a forerunner to pneumonia, and he saw many children die from the latter.

On this day, the faith of the Christian Brothers would be tested. Before one crisis was resolved, a young student presented another.

«Frère Donald! Venez-vous ici!» His voice shook like the storm. It’s Thoa! She’s calling for you! I think it’s time!

I believe we may have to build that nursery after all, Donald suggested to Thomas. Attend to our new visitors. I will be in the guest room with George.

Donald’s gait increased, but he was never mistaken for an athlete, and his thin frame wore its age. His cumbersome effort only tired his progress, and he chose to return to his initial pace.

A dozen heads sprouted from the second floor window. They clamored with curiosity for the new visitors and concern for their classmate.

Everything okay, Brother? asked one.

She’ll be fine, won’t she? inquired another.

We’re praying for her, Brother, added the third as he hung over the windowsill.

«C’est bon,» he said as he followed the meandering path. Thank you, boys, but you will serve her best from inside your rooms. We will inform you of the outcome as soon as we know. I know it will be difficult, but please, return to your studies. I should not keep Thoa waiting.

Donald’s voice calmed the storm for a brief moment. The boys closed their windows and waited patiently inside. He knew their homework was farthest from their mind, but so too was teaching from his. As he approached the guest room, the bright light from the candles inside sent an eerie glow through the hallway. His quick steps mirrored Thoa’s frantic breathing in the background. He tried to comfort her from the hallway. I am almost there, Thoa. Keep breathing and everything will be okay.

The tone of her voice did not convince Donald that she felt the same way.

Please, Brother, hurry! she said between contractions.

Before her cry had finished, Donald was in the room and holding on to her hand.

I am here, Thoa. Everything will be fine.

Something doesn’t feel right, Brother! she said with trepidation.

Promise me you will not push, he warned, no matter how much you want to. Do not push. Do you understand?

Yes, Brother, I promise, but please hurry.

He felt the pain race through her body with each contraction. He reached inside her, searching for the head of the unborn baby. His calming voice provided little comfort. The baby has breached.

She cried out in confusion, What does that mean, Brother?

Your baby is facing the wrong the way, Donald answered, and the umbilical cord is wrapped around the neck. If you push, you risk choking the baby.

I don’t know how much longer I can keep from—ahh! She interrupted herself with a deafening scream.

Stay calm, Thoa. I have to try something.

Donald, the eldest of the brothers, turned to George who stood diligently in the doorway. Thoa found his presence reassuring as the pain briefly subsided. She could hear him lifting her name in prayer.

George was a mountain of a man whose Dutch heritage contributed to his two-hundred-centimeter frame. In Vietnam, his height was a rarity, but George’s heart was as large as his stature, and the children loved the daunting task of climbing up to his shoulders.

Thoa’s contractions grew and the pain became unbearable. Donald whispered into the Dutchman’s ear, George, call the hospital and ask for an ambulance immediately.

But with the storm and it being Saturday, the Dutchman answered, who knows when or if they will even arrive.

I’m aware of that. In the meantime, I’m going to need the entire bottle of aspirin crushed and mixed in warm water. Also, bring to me as many towels as you can along with the carving knives from the kitchen. He turned his attention back to the girl. Just continue to take deep breaths, Thoa, just like you practiced, and everything will be fine.

V.

A Precious Gift in Return

George left the room in a frantic state of mind—candle wax splattered under the quake of his massive footsteps as he lumbered down the hallway. Rarely did the Dutchman move with quick speed, but never did he find himself in such dire stress. He scoured the kitchen, searching for the items Donald requested.

Back in the room, Thoa’s frantic cry was eased with gentle strokes along her jet-black hair. In the midst of the crisis, Donald, her teacher and mentor, ran through the complicated procedure in the quietude of his mind. He had performed two cesareans in his life, but only one was successful. This situation, however, was quite different than the prior. Thoa was much younger than the other two, and Vietnam was an underdeveloped country, lacking supplies most doctors took for granted. He pulled the nearby desk and wooden dresser closer to the bed and placed candles on each for optimum light. His preparation was interrupted by a quiet voice.

Brother Donald, she gasped, "I